#and at and time BOOM! you could just crease to exist!! you could walk outside right now and get struck by lightning

[maraeffect]

started watching hopecore right before bed and MAN. what a life it is we live on this earth.

[polaristhngs]

Fearless (11/x)

Pairing: Dodge Mason x Female OC

Summary: Relationships are pushed to the test as secrets and mysteries began to unravel themselves. As Josie and Dodge draw closer to each other, they also come closer to the truth.

Warnings: Minor Explicit Language, Mention of Disability, Implications of Assualt

Word Count: 6.1k

Disclaimer

I do not own the series of Panic or the characters. This is a slight AU of Season 1.

Masterlist || I. PANIC || X. TRUST || XII. TENSE

XI. CAUTION

Every rising beat from his chest continued to remind Josie that he wasn't a dream as she lay her head at Dodge's soundly sleeping figure. After their kiss last night, Josie sadly remembered that she had to go home, but Dodge didn't want to let her go. His sweet whining grasp on her hand made her laugh as he dropped her off at her front door. One thing led to another, she was now gazing at him while he slept peacefully beside her. His chest rising and falling convinced her that the events of the past hours were not a delusion.

Dodge was sunkissed as the light beamed through the bedroom curtains. The golden yellow sunlight was almost highlighting him as something important. He looked beautiful. Certainly, a sight to see, but Josie was feeling selfish. This was all to herself. 

"Mhm..." Dodge whimpered. 

He must've sensed something was missing. Without lifting an eye, his arm shifts across the mattress to search for her. Josie almost let out a chuckle at the distressed crease on his forehead before he found her and settled his arm on her waist, pulling her closer to him and nuzzling his lower lip on her forehead. 

"You're staring at me, aren't you?" Dodge said in his morning voice. 

The red reached Josie's cheeks, shutting her eyes before he manage to catch her. "Nope, I'm not."

"You're staring at me." He flirts. "Is it because you like me so much?"

She teased. "Hmm...I don't think I remember saying that."

"It's probably because you were too busy kissing me last night."

Josie lifted her head, flushed and surprised. Dodge then sooner opened his eyes, a large grin peering on his face. "See, I knew you were staring at me."

"Careful now Slater, you're gonna be so damn in love with me."

A warning she would fail to steer clear of. Josie was done with the restraint and mindfulness because with Dodge, she was sure. She didn't need to be afraid or watch her back because, for the first time in a long while, she could properly rest. It felt like a nice exhale after a long time of holding her breath. She didn't have to overthink everything all the time. She didn't have to speculate on how long things were gonna last. For the first time, delightful times like these were overlooking the bad parts. Dodge was like a rush of euphoria. If only they could stay like this forever. Josie didn't believe forever could've existed, but with Dodge, she's reconsidering it. 

"You're an idiot." She says so with a wide smile.

He would want to get used to waking up beside her every morning. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder or holding her hand when walking on the street or just simply being domestic together. Those little gestures and moments they would get to spend together made him look forward to waking up from his miserable life. Because, just like now, Josie was the glowing light of his life. 

Narrowing his eyes in a determined and cheeky look, he inches closer to her. His right palm cupping her cheek, he took a second to soak her in, taking his time. Dodge tried to hide his satisfied smirk as red blushes on Josie's cheeks as he glances down at her lips, ready to kiss them once more. 

"Joooosieee! You want some breakfast!" The older Slater shouts from outside her room, causing the pair to pull away from their morning bliss. 

Nick's booming voice nearly made Josie scream in frustration. She didn't understand what had gone through his mind because he is not often this loud and obnoxious when he is off duty. His abrupt intrusion caused the two to recoil, which led to Josie unintentionally pushing Dodge off her small bed. "Shit! Sorry." She whispers apologetically at the tall boy. 

"Uhm...You can't cook, remember?!" Josie tried to distract her brother while talking to him. 

"You keep saying that and end up eating it anyway!"

"I'll just help you make breakfast." 

"Alright, sure. Get out here and help me!" Josie's eyes widened at the sound of incoming footsteps. "J-just a minute!"

Nick responded with some words Josie was failing to comprehend because she was busy trying not to panic to figure out how to get Dodge out of her room. Nick wasn't an overly protective brother who would forbid her from speaking to boys. Unlike some, he would encourage it. But having a boy sleepover in her room overnight after playing an illegal game where she had to answer questions to avoid falling to her death and her realizing her feelings for the boy afterward and kissing him and not wanting to separate from him just yet, she invited him over without his knowledge is a whole other story. 

As he much hated to do so, this was his cue to leave. Thump. Ruckus can be heard from Josie's messy bedroom as Dodge bumps into her stuff, mostly books on the floor, as he hurriedly looks and puts on his jacket and shoes.

"Remind me to lend you some of mine, if you want." He says, referring to his books. 

"Really? Thanks." Josie's eyes soften at the gesture. Damn, she loves this guy. "Now get out of here before Nick sees you." She led him out to her window before tossing him the keys to his car. Dodge knew he needed to, but his feet remained stubborn as she continued. 

"Wait!" He halts before turning to her. "When can I see you again?"

"I don't know...later?"

"Later? I can't wait that long." She bit the inside of her cheek. Jeez, he sounded like a kid. At least he's cute. "Sucks for you." Josie razzed. 

"What time?" Dodge asked intuitively. "If you don't give me a time, I think I'm gonna lose my mind—" 

"DODGE, just get out of here," Josie laughingly whined before giving him a quick peck on his lips to shut him up. The gesture appeared to be effective since Dodge stopped abruptly his defiance and completely paused on the spot. She took use of the opportunity to push him toward the window once he had respectfully approached it.

"You still haven't given me an answer though," he said midway.

"Fine," she surrendered. "12:30. Does that work for you?"

Climbing back up closer to her, all he gave was a sweet peck at her cheek for an answer before saying, "See you at 12!"

Josie watched him jog towards his car parked across their driveway. As cheesy as it sounds, she kind of already missed him. As if his heart triggered the same feeling as her, he turns back around in her direction, giving a light wave before getting in his car and driving off. 

Gathering the courage to exit her bedroom, Josie made her way to the kitchen table. Sitting on her chair and feeling herself rest on that cushion, she breathed out as if she had just gotten off a high rollercoaster. The moment of adrenaline coursed through her veins became like a morning call for her. Josie was genuinely delighted by the endearing touches, hilarious quips, and things to look forward to. All she could think about was him.

"Good morning." Nick greeted. 

"Hey!" 

Given that everything he had been seeing for the previous several days had been the opposite, it wasn't too difficult to notice the brilliant smile spreading across much of Josie's face.

"Pancake?" He skeptically offered. "Sure."

She's either drunk or on drugs, Nick surmised. Josie wouldn't just blatantly accept anything he cooked, maybe except for sandwiches, without a certified quip at the beginning and her gentle reminders about his inability to be a reliable cook. Nick was merely trying to conceal his tremendous disbelief at how drastically she had changed overnight as he watched her uncomplainingly dig into her breakfast. He is clearly rethinking it in light of her increasingly creepy-happy grin.

"So I take it Dodge isn't joining us." He says, taking a sip of his coffee as she nearly choked. 

"W-what?"

"Dodge? Wasn't he just here?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't know?" He raised a brow. Josie experienced her oldest brother's presence with a new level of apprehension.

"We don't have curtains, Josie." His shoulders fell. "His car's parked across our house. I saw him start the car and drive off." The younger Slater felt like she was about to facepalm. "If you guys are gonna sneak off, at least try not to get caught."

"I just hope you guys are at least using protection." 

Hrrk, Jose wheezed. That time she actually choked. 

"I'm just saying, kids your age are sort of active with se—"

"Oh my God, Nick, please stop talking!" She yelped. "Dodge and I... We're not...W-we're not even... He literally just slept over that's it!" 

"I'm not talking about last night. Maybe sometime in the future—"

"Oh please, please, please, shut the fuck up, Nick. Pleaseee." Josie pleaded. Perhaps avoiding awkward talks like this was one perk of having absent parents, but she failed to remember that her brother is a hospital nurse. He essentially gets paid to give these kinds of conversations.

"I just want you two to be safe. I want you to be responsible and maybe I just don't want you to end the same way as Abby Clarke, Josie."

"Wait." She wavered. "What do you mean? Why mention Abby?"

"I guess only her parents knew but," Nick says. "During the summer of last year, she came to see Dr. Robbins and she asked to get an abortion. I was the nurse on duty that day and I  remembered that she went to your school. After her death, we told her mom. She was devastated." Nick recollected. 

"Like I said, I just want you to understand what you're getting into." He advised. 

Josie's thoughts were filled with new information after his abrupt disclosure that Abby was pregnant. She was pregnant and had the abortion during the summer of Panic.  Nobody else knew or knew the reason why, but did Jimmy know? Was she planning on telling him? Josie remembered her suggestion of blackmail during her conversation with Dodge. A secret of hers could have allowed Abby to be manipulated. This could be it. With the right resources and dedication, nothing was a secret in this town. Someone with power and knowledge must've gotten to Abby. 

When they began playing Panic, everyone was aware of what they were getting themselves into. Their fears and secrets would creep up from deep inside, ready to resurface and haunt them. As invincible as they like to perceive themselves to be, the players were the pigs. Animals who fought irrationally for their own piece while they were being prepped for slaughter. Even if it didn't seem like it now, there were bigger things happening within the game.

————

His drive back home almost felt uniquely strange but in a good way. It was like he left and came as a whole new person. Almost complete. Dodge kept shifting to the passenger side of the vehicle during the whole trip, remembering that she had been lying next to him only moments earlier. He missed her, which would have made him seem mopey. 

Dodge chuckled to himself, blushing and shaking his head, still in disbelief of the events of last night. He may as well prepare for Josie, who has a habit of catching him off guard. Locals must have thought he was insane, not knowing the context of his joy. As his fingers brushed over his lip, Dodge was reminded of how it had been against hers only minutes before when his. He merely looked back on that evening and wished he had taken the initiative. Josie, however, did, which would've meant that she was finally letting go of constraints and allowing him to love her.

As he strutted towards the pavement with a broad grin on his face, Dodge was welcomed by his sister, who was sitting in front of their porch watching him with a mood that was markedly different from the one with which he had left the home.

"What're you smiling about?" Dayna interestingly asked. The younger Mason left the house around midnight and returned the following day, smiling and beaming. Of course, she was curious.

"Me? Oh, nothing." His tone didn't seem like it was nothing, she knew. 

"Mom was worried all night. You didn't even call."

"Yeah, I must've forgotten. I was just..d-driving all over town after Panic."

"Okay..." Dayna hummed. Dayna rolled her eyes as Dodge attempts to either play dumb or gatekeep whatever it is that was going on. "Fine, don't tell me."

Peering over her phone, Dayna decided to change the subject. "Anyways, I have to tell you something."

"Remember that coach. The one that Anne told Mom about—the one that specializes in physical disabilities. I just got an email from him." Dayna could already see the bubbles forming in Dodge's head. "He thinks I could be in competition shape by next year."

"Dayna," He mumbled. "It's crazy."

Dodge folded his arms in uncertainty. This wasn't the first time they were fooled by hope. She'd seen a dozen different doctors and been going to physical therapy for over a year now. But there'd been no change. No sudden miracle. Dayna had made an effort to be optimistic, but Dodge couldn't help but feel reality hit him in the face every time he noticed his sister's disappointment.

"How are you gonna stay on a horse? You're gonna get knocked off before you even get to the gate—"

Dayna grimaced. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"It's too dangerous." He warned. 

She scoffed, laughing. "You're hardly the one to lecture me about danger." 

Dodge deeply sighed, knowing what she was talking about. "I am playing Panic because of what happened." He reminded.

When the plan of Dodge competing in Panic came up to the light, Dayna was reluctant as he was persistent. Dayna never approved of the notion of his putting his life in danger to exact revenge for her. But Dodge knew it was worth it if it meant Luke Hall finally getting what he deserved. The satisfaction he would feel to finally be able to see the broken down Luke Hall on his knees defeated after Dodge got the justice they deserved for what happened to his sister: his best friend and partner in crime. 

"Ever since we moved here, it's been about what happened. Getting justice for what happened, and making things right as if they can be fixed or undone as if they can unhappen." Dayna said miserably. "Y'know, the funny thing is, the closer we get to justice, the lesser I care about getting it."

"Dayna, Luke ruined your life." 

"No, he didn't." She cuts him off. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He didn't ruin a life that never happened." She bowed her head, trying to hide her sorrow. "Sorry, you can't stand the one that did." 

"Come on," He calls after her leaving figure as she fled back to the inside of the house. "That's so unfair. Dayna, that's not what I—"

Dodge could only frustratingly run his fingers through his hair as Dayna continued to ignore his callings. He berated himself for upsetting her.

Although she felt thoughtful of Dodge's protectiveness over her, she couldn't help but feel guilty for being the reason for his reckless actions. She doesn't want to see her little brother take on dangers in order to give her justice that would ultimately be meaningless. Dayna knew she was never gonna walk again and she had made peace with it. Dayna could only wish that Dodge would too.

————

"What am I looking for again?" Heather asked as she and Josie surveyed around the acre of Anne's farm. The three figures are now standing in front of a giant gate, staring across an open field.

"You'll know it when you see him," Anne says. "They're usually crepuscular."

"Late risers." Anne nods at Josie's note. The woman then opens the agent's door, throwing treats into the ground then locking the door once again. The two teenage girls kept their eyes wide open at whatever they should be looking at. Ready to feed on their curiosity and anticipation. This should be interesting. 

On Anne's whistle, a large tiger emerges from behind the fallen trees. Both Heather and Josie took cautionary steps back as the big animal runs, making its way toward them. Both girls looked at each other, they were just thinking the same thing. Oh my god. Its black stripes on its orange hair glistened in the air under the hot Texan afternoon. It then made slower steps as it paused in front of the treats laid out for him, eating. She figured the animal's name is Tom, as Anne pointed it out.

"Anne, that's a tiger." Heather looked at Anne like she was insane. Anne only looked at Tom with such admiration as if he was the most beautiful thing in the whole world. 

"He was only 20 pounds when I took him in. Some creep had a whole zoo full of exotic animals that he kept in locked cages."

"Isn't he still dangerous?" Josie asks.

"Yeah. Extremely." Anne's words definitely did not reassure a feeling of safety between the two girls. "I raised him from a cub, so he knows me. But he's still a tiger."

"What do you mean?" Heather looks at the woman insightfully.

"Just because I have him in the yard, it doesn't make him a pet. These gates have to stay closed at all times." Anne warns Heather. "Understand that?"

Heather nods her head, signaling her understanding. Why would she want to leave the gates open? The tiger might get out or someone might stumble inside the cage. It is dangerous. Heather looked back at the tiger ravaging the treats in front of him. After finishing its meal, her eyes didn't leave the animal as it travels back to the safety behind the trees. Probably shielding itself away.

"You girls don't mind helping me feed the horse for a while, right?" Anne asks.

Heather and Josie happily agreed to do the task as they head down the stables following Anne, ready to take the horses out for a walk in the field. 

Heather invited Josie to help to intend the animals. Thankfully, Anne agreed to tag the other girl along. Since she had nothing else to do, Heather invited the girl to help in tending the animals. Heather started working for Anne after encountering her at the market. Maybe it was just some luck out of nowhere that they met when she was looking for a job. It wasn't bad at all. All she had to do was basically take care of the animals there. Feed them, watch them, watch the house and the farm. A little pet sitting and light chores. 

On such usual afternoons, the sun shined brightly. In an effort to cool them off, the wind whipped past their faces. Josie enjoyed the day. She smiled at the sky and ecstatically felt the warmth. 

"You're in a good mood," Heather observed. 

"Am I?" A little sense of smirkiness can be heard in Josie's tone. 

"I guess something exciting happened other than Panic last night." The brunette's voice had a slight gloom in it. After keeping Heather up to date about the previous night's challenge, she couldn't help but hide her despair in missing it. Heather's absence meant she was out of the game. The brunette didn't give it a second thought and drove off when her sister needed her. She wasn't sure what would happen to her now.

"So, how's it going for you and Lily?" Josie asks her friend.

All she understood was that Heather and her mom had a bit of a fallout, and the two girls kept their distance from their mom, causing her to miss last night's challenge. Heather told her that they had to sleep in her car just to get away from her mom and her stoner boyfriend. Josie's expression softened as she turns to the girl beside her. A sullen expression rose to Heather's face but she tried to cover it up with a smile.

"We're doing fine." Heather tries to reassure her. "My mom's gone AWOL but I'm handling it."

"You could always stay at my place," Josie suggests, Heather shaking her head. "It's not a problem for me and Nick. We have a spare room, we've got enough space, and it's perfect for you and Lily."

"I can't ask you to do that for me, Josie." 

"You'd do the same for me."

Heather paused, giving it some thought. She nods in agreement and the dark-haired girl pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back in comfort. Josie hated seeing Heather look so down. The girl was ever optimistic but there were moments were her spirits were tested. The girl basically raised her little sister and would go through hell and back just to protect her. She didn't deserve these stones thrown at her. Heather was the strongest person she knew.

"I'm always gonna be here for you, Heather."

"I know." She sniffled. Heather knew that Josie would always have her back. She's lucky to have a friend like her. The kind of friend who would run back into a burning building, looking for her.

"What will I do about Panic?" Heather sighed. "Nat said I could use my immunity and be back on the game." 

"Could you do that? Why'd you want to be back on the games?" She wondered. The girl didn't understand why her friend would be reluctant to go back. It was unsure if the judges would allow her to reenter Panic. Continuing the game might be overwhelming for Heather's situation.

"I just don't want to let go of that $50,000," Heather said reluctantly, thinking cautiously. 

Heather was worried. Worried about the judges' questions. Worried about whatever Ray must've said. And what if he answered questions about her. If he did, then people would know. And if people would know, then it wouldn't be long until Bishop finds out everything about her and Ray. Heather doesn't want to ruin the already growing relationship between her and Bishop. Heather needed to enter Panic once more and prevent all of it.

"Girls in here!" Anne hollers. 

The two girls sauntered their steps towards Anne's direction inside the stables. Wow. Both girls' hearts raced at the sight of the selection of horses positioned tall near the barn doors. Heather and Josie followed obediently after Anne, grabbing a bucket of grass alongside her and heading toward the steeds and feeding them.

Josie approached a horse that drew her attention. As she notices a black stallion hunching over in the corner and appearing to be in distress, her eyes soften in pity. Josie felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. "Charlie strained his ligament a few weeks ago. Poor thing's been in pain for days." Anne said.

"But he's gonna walk just fine soon, right?" Josie asked. 

"Oh yeah." The woman slung her arm encouragingly at the girl. "The boy who tends the horses here is great. He's dealt with harsher injuries from my other horses. Believe me, Charlie's gonna be fine."

"He's about your age. You should know him, he goes to your school. His name is Dodge Mason." Anne announced. 

Wait, Josie paused. She halted her actions of feeding the horse and turned to face the woman. "Dodge Mason?" She asked. "Andrew Dodge Mason? He works here?"

"Yes. For a while, actually." The grey-haired woman said. "See, I knew you knew him." 

"We're friends with Dodge." Heather chimed in, who was equally shocked to know of Dodge's connection to Anne. 

"That's great!" She was grateful. "Poor boy, I thought he didn't have any. He seemed a little reserved." Josie silently shook her head in agreement. "Especially with what happened to his sister, I can understand why. It tore him to shreds."

"W-what happened to Dayna?" Josie stutters. 

"She had a hit and run accident about two years ago. It was a very terrible accident that cost her her legs. They were devastated and his family decided to move to Carp for a fresh start."

"Did they manage to catch the culprit?" The brunette asked. 

"They still haven't." She looked down. "Luckily, Sheriff Cortez has been helping the family since they got here. He's been trying to lock up the driver for a long time but he said they haven't found any leads." 

"Sheriff Cortez?" Anne nods at Josie's query. "That's really nice of him to help Dodge's family." The Slater girl stated blandly. 

The idea of Cortez helping Dodge didn't sit right with Josie. His whole involvement with the Mason family never did sit right with her. His drives near their neighborhood and his visits to their house. Dodge didn't like it when he'd show up to talk to him or his mother privately when he shows up in Dot's diner. Josie remembered the quick shift of mood on Dodge's face when it was Cortez entering the place. Now she finds out that he's been helping them to find a culprit to Dayna's suddenly sinister cause of disability. 

Josie recalled a talk during the player's ball. She had speculation about an injured girl too and a potential hit-and-run accident, but it was too far-fetched and a bit of a long shot to be true. Can it be—

"Oof," Josie muttered as she bumped into a rough figure and items of theirs started dropping. 

"Watch where ya going, little girl." 

Fuck. She recognized that voice. Among all the creeps in this town she could've bumped into, the universe picked him. Even Tyler or even Ray would've been better. As she anxiously raised her head up from the ground and onto his face, Josie still shivers at being close-ranged with Luke Hall. 

You know when big scary things like lions or tigers felt less menacing and large from afar? Because of the large distance separating between you and the predator and from afar, it feels like they can't hurt you in any way?  It was like that with Luke Hall. 

She felt uncomfortable as Luke looks at her, up and down. "Well, I guess not a little girl anymore." He comments. 

"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." She immediately tried to leave but then he blocked her way. Josie swallowed in dismay. 

Helplessly grabbing his fallen items on the ground to avoid meeting his preying eyes, familiar pieces of ballots grabbed Josie's attention. It was the betting ballots for Panic. Why would Luke have this, she wondered. He must've noticed her looking before he suddenly spoke up. 

"Ya'know you should be more careful there." He lights a cigarette he took from his pocket. "You wouldn't want to cause some trouble, now would ya?" 

"Sorry, I was uhm...busy. Thinking," Josie explained. 

"Care to share?" Josie moved back as he hovered closer to her. "No. I'd much rather move away from here, thanks." Her feet quickly tries to escape from him without waiting for even a second, but his hand constricted on her arm and prevented her from doing so.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that." Luke kept going. Josie was desperate. It was like fighting against an annoying dog. She kept her stance on the ground, refusing to give in. "NO. I don't think so." She snatched her arm away from his clutch and started to walk away at once. 

Luke smirked as he watched her depart, her drawbacks just made her more appealing to him. "Well, you can come to visit me anytime." 

Josie felt panic and uneasiness. Her heart was beating so quickly that she was on the verge of running farther away with her strides. She turned around once again after sensing his gaze. She was chilled by the creepiness of his look. Distracted, she felt herself collide with another body. Josie jumped. Her already shaky self made her flinch at the clash. 

"Woah. Hey, Josie, you okay?" Looking up, Josie immediately felt safe. She had already breathed a sigh of relief and contentment upon hearing Dodge's voice and seeing him.

"Thank God. It's just you." 

"That's a good thing, right?" The sound of her chuckling gave Dodge a small sense of respite, but he is still worried. She had distress visible in her eyes, he saw. 

"Seriously, Jo. Are you okay?" He asked seriously. "Yeah, I'm fine." Josie shakes her head and tried to formulate a convincing smile. But that never worked on Dodge, who could see right through her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. It's—" She breathed out. "I bumped into Luke and we talked, and then, um— Don't worry about it. Everything's fine now."

"No, it's not, Josie." Surveying the street, Dodge quickly spotted the back of Luke Hall's head like a hawk. The Mason boy huffed sharply as his legs strode towards his direction. Seeing the piercing look in his eyes, Josie immediately stood in front of him, blocking him from doing anything stupid. 

In an effort to stop him, she grabs hold of his shoulders. "No, no, no. Dodge, please don't do anything—" 

"I'm just gonna go talk to him." His tone sounded seething. She could practically see the fumes radiating off his head. She could see the fist forming in his hand which made her worry about what he was gonna do. Dodge doesn't usually get ticked off. He usually keeps his head down, avoiding trouble by avoiding people. But Josie wasn't just any person. He's not gonna keep his head down. Dodge wasn't going to allow anyone to mess with her.

"Just let it go, Dodge. Please..." Her pleading collided with his thirst for confrontation. Flexing his hands, and breathing in and out, Dodge tried to calm himself down. 

Seeing his disappearing back walk away, he felt bitter but he listened to Josie anyway. She was right. This wasn't the time nor the place to confront Luke. Guess he'll just have to do it in Panic. He was furious to see Luke Hall almost hurt another person he loved. It was like he was taking joy over fucking people over. What pissed Dodge, even more, was that he couldn't do anything about it. Just like Dayna, she was telling him not to do anything about it even though she deserved the defense she should get. But he still listened to her. Josie's pleads were the only thing that was holding him back. 

"If he bothers you again, promise that you'll tell me, ok," Dodge asks desperately. Josie nods, rubbing his shoulders, reassuring him that she will. 

If Luke ever tried to hurt her again, Dodge is gonna ruin his life. More than what was initially planned. Josie might say he was overreacting but he wasn't gonna sit on the sidelines until her life was ruined and destroyed like Dayna's. He wasn't gonna let Luke get away with it this time.

"Let's go." She nudges him forward with her hand holding his. His eyes stayed on hers, trying to fight the urges to turn back. Josie exhaled as she could feel Dodge relax as they took a minute of silence in their walk. 

Dodge turned towards her. His eyebrows crinkled at the sight of the Slater girl trying to resist a giggle. "What are smiling about? What's so funny?" He innocently asks, confused as the girl beside him looks at him with that hint in her eyes. 

"Did I overreact?" He asked. "No, you didn't," Josie shook her head, reassuring him. 

"I totally did." Dodge lamented. "I'm sorry for that. Sometimes I just get—"

"You apologize too much." She cuts him off. 

"Sorry." Dodge apologized earning a playful eye roll from Josie. "Some people would say I'm being too much."

"Well, too much is better than nothing." 

"I never really remembered a time where someone would come up to defend me. It was always me doing the defending." Josie expressed. "But you did. And it was sweet. And I'm thankful." She gave his hand a light squeeze. 

Guess he was on an emotional edge from his talk with Dayna this morning. When he saw the distressed look on Josie's face, a part of him was about to snap at Luke. His strong emotions always seemed to get the best of him. When it's all overbearing, he'd act on impulse. Maybe it was a cry of desperation to save them. An echo in his mind told him that despite his trying, he would never save anyone. He could try again and again but he'd be always too late. But then, it was like her words were magic. Any sense of insecurities about himself washed away from her mention of thanks. 

"Is it weird that I'm kind of liking this vibe from you?" Josie raised her brow. Her statement made him throw his head back from laughter. "A little bit," said Dodge. 

"I just don't want anyone messing with my girl. If anyone tries anything with you, they're gonna get way more than just too much."

"My girl?" She smirked. "I didn't know Dodge Mason had a knack for pet names."

"It sounded pretty confident too. Assuming you did kind of like me first, I should've seen this coming." 

"Well, I've got to figure out ways how to show you off."

"I didn't think you were the type to show off." 

"I'd be subtle, but you just have this effect on me." 

"What kind of effect?" She was curious. 

"The kind of effect that makes me not want to screw this up. I don't know what's gonna happen in the future. Screw Panic. Screw Carp. I want this to work."

Dodge had never been a big believer in long-lasting relationships. Growing up, he never really had reliable relationship figures in his life that made him believe in such things. Even if his dad were alive today, he and his mom would've gotten a divorce. He remembered the times when they used to argue and he could hear it all the way in his room. Dayna would tell him stories and other things in an effort to divert his attention. It was clear they didn't love each other anymore but both were just stubborn to make the first move to end it. But with Josie, it felt right. Like the way his hand is still holding hers, as Dodge noticed. She makes him want to try and Dodge is never the type to give up. 

Touched by his words, Josie gave him a peck in the cheek that's probably becoming a thing now. Dodge wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they continued their walk. 

"Speaking of work..." Josie recalled the previous conversation. "You didn't tell me you worked at Anne's farm." 

"How'd you find out about that?" 

"Heather works there too. We were there earlier and Anne said you helped tend with the horses." Josie couldn't help but feel curious. "Yeah, I go over there sometimes after the ranch," Dodge answered quickly, surprisingly wanting to end the talk soon. 

"She really knows a lot about you, doesn't she?" Her voice meandered. "I wouldn't say a lot."

 "Well, she's mentioned you and your family a lot." Josie breathed. "Especially Dayna." The boy's steps halted by a second as Josie spoke of Dayna like she spoiled a secret. 

"Y'know you never did tell me about her accident."

"Well, it's not really a topic I like to talk about." He was starting to sound defensive again. "I'm just saying, maybe it would've been nice for you to be able to talk about it to someone. I'm right here, Dodge." His gaze resisted meeting hers, knowing he would lose if he does so. 

Dodge knew if he said anything more, Josie would react the same way Dayna reacted. Perhaps he was scared that once she knew the truth, she would look at him differently. The same eyes that looked at him with such affection would turn into disdain. He knew what would happen when he would give in to his feelings. When he woke up beside her this morning, a part of him wished they could've just stayed like that forever. He wouldn't need to leave and then go back to reality. He wouldn't need to compete against her in Panic. And he wouldn't need to think about getting revenge against Luke Hall. But nothing seemed to go his way. 

"Anne also mentioned that Cortez was helping you guys find the culprit. Any idea who it was, Dodge?" She searched his eyes for any reaction but it remained as it was. 

The Mason boy hesitated to speak. Rehearsing the words in his head to get it right. It killed him to lie to her, but it was for her own good. "No. I don't know." 

He didn't know what to feel at her plain expression smiling at him. "Alright." She said. Josie didn't know if what he said was the truth. Whatever it was, she accepted it as it is. A part of her hurt that Dodge didn't bother to tell her. Despite the reveal, that was the part that stung her the most. Dodge is very protective of Dayna. If he trusts Josie, he would've told her, right? Maybe he didn't get a chance before, Josie tried to remain optimistic. She just wanted him to tell her something or anything. Could be the truth or a lie, she didn't care.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 35

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: once again i am veryyyyyy late but i rly don’t wanna let go of this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

The static sound of silence and the full view of darkness was what she woke up to. She wasn’t sure when she had lost conscience but at the moment the only thing she could see was the flickering light of a single lamp dangling overhead. Sometimes breaking through the silence, the irritating and yet somber noise of single drops of waters hitting the ground would make themselves heard leaving Y/N to feel like she was in imminent danger. As she tried to move, she noticed her ankle was tied to a shackle bolted to the ground which grounded her in the reality she had found herself in. However, instead of screaming or wondering what to do her first instinct was to lay her freed hands on top of her textile covered stomach trying to almost feel for the wellness of life growing inside her. 

Taking a deep breathe, she looked around, trying to understand where she was yet the low light room didn’t give much. However, the existence of a staircase a few inches away from her led her to believe she found herself in a lower floor than regular, maybe some sort of basement. Wherever it was, it was quite clear to the young handmaid it was a hard enough place to escape. The sheer chilliness of the room made her scared enough for her own safety, wondering what plans Mr. Williams had for her and if she would ever return to her life. What she’d give to return to the life she had known, in that sheltered, clueless mindset everyone believed she have. 

She sighed, biting onto her lip so she wouldn’t start crying. Her mind kept rushing, rushing too fast even with the events and stories told to her by the same man who now held her captive. She wondered what all of these years were, they surely weren’t truthful yet unlike lies they were palpable, palpable years of being placed right under everyone, hearing whispers of several other high society people pitying the orphan taken under a powerful’s family’s wing. What good was it to train someone to be submissive for the rest of her life for her safety? It was useless as she was standing idly at the feet of the same man who had brought her mother’s demise. 

All those thoughts did no little to help to tears remain in their ducts and soon, a few of those were rolling down her cheeks hitting the ground along. Along with this, one of her hairpins fell to the ground, the sound removing her from her pitying state. She grabbed it from the floor, looking at the details through the veil of her teary eyes. It was a rather sharp hairpin, she herself had noticed that prior when the hairstylist had stuck it into her hair, lightly scratching her scalp. 

Her eyes moved from the sharp edges to the shackle around her ankle and the key hole just a bit centred in the metal. Shaking like a leaf, she inserted the hairpin into the keyhole, shimmying it enough to cause the lock to give in, freeing her in the process. She found herself dumbfounded with it before quickly getting on her feet and climbing up the stairs to the door. Her hand gripped the door handle and pushed it down, however, the door proved to be locked. She sighed, looking around the room for any exits but there were no windows or any other doors. There was a drawer unit and her most hopeful self hoped there would be maybe a pair of spare keys.

Her hands rushed through the drawers which were mostly empty except the very last drawer where a small razor phone was. She looked around, ensuring her safety before she grabbed the phone with shaky hands, sighing in relief once she noticed one small bar on signal. Y/N quickly pressed the number on the phone, bringing her nails to her mouth as she waited and waited for the recipient to pick up but nothing came out of it. 

     - Please pick up ... I really need your help, I ... - she interrupted herself as she heard steps from above her. Quickly, she stuffed the phone back on drawer, rushing over to the chain which she shackled on her ankle again. 

The door opened rather fast, beams and beams of light streaming through the badly light room which hurt her eyes. Two voices were distinct and her eyes were glued to the door as Mr. Williams walked in with a smug look, however, it wasn’t him that made her heart beat a bit faster, it was Sebastian coming from behind. His pristine ironed suit was completely wrinkled, his tie loose enough to dangle around his neck, heavily wrinkled forehead, a very far cry from the put together man he normally was. 

    - You have a visit, birdie. - he stopped Sebastian from taking any steps further towards her. Ignoring her, Mr. Williams turned to face the mob boss, taking a particular pleasure in seeing him in agony over his own actions. - Told you she was safe. All it takes is just a signature and you can give her a happy ending. 

    - No, before I sign anything you gotta assure me that once you have that document she can go. - Sebastian wasn’t stupid. If there was a spark of his father that lingered in this psyche it was a very analytical and rational thinking, troubleshooting if you’d like to call it. For all he knew, he would sign those papers and Williams would do whatever he pleased with Y/N. The mob boss just couldn’t risk it with her. No, her safety came first. - She leaves, I sign it. 

    - Why should I believe you won’t just back away once she leaves? 

    - You’ll just have to trust me. 

    - You better not play me. Even if she’s out of this room, I have my own ways of making sure she doesn’t leave. - he threw the key towards Sebastian who strutted towards Y/N. Her gown was severely messed, almost a symbol of what he had done to her. It was his fault she was all over this mess, he could’ve protected her, he promised her he would protect her and here she was, shackled to the ground. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his skull as he uncuffed her, hands still shaking. 

   - You’re gonna run. Okay, angel? You’re gonna run, run as far and fast as you can and you won’t look back, okay? - Y/N’s eyes didn’t seem as worried as he would expect, instead they held this creased look as her hand moved to cup the side of his face, the other hand pushing a piece of his hair away from his forehead. 

   - What about you? - her eyes quickly moved from Williams to Sebastian.

   - Angel, it’ll be okay. You gotta run, okay? Run. - he helped her onto her feet, expecting her to start running the moment she was up. Instead, she stood a few seconds immobile looking at him as her mind told her something bad was coming. She could just feel it, nevertheless the push on her back by Sebastian caused her to start running up the stairs. If only she could get to Dan or Mr. Forrest, they surely could help Sebastian.

Sebastian watched her leave, his heartbeat calming down as he realised she was safe. It didn’t matter what else would happen, she was safe and that was all that matter. Maybe Williams was right, maybe this wasn’t the life for him, a life with her sounded better, a life with her just sounded ... simpler, easier. Just him and her somewhere in a small town starting a family. With that thought in mind, he has handed the document and a black pen, his eyes wondering to the line asking for his signature. It almost seemed to mock him, mock him for not being able to keep a dynasty and her safe. With his gaze away from the paper, he quickly signed it, handing it over to the despicable man.

Mr. Williams smirked out of delight, eyes turning upwards to the door, giving one of his men the sort of look that led some doubt into his mind. This quickly got confirmed as the door was firmly locked, the darkness barely lit by the lamp on the ceiling involving the two of them.

    - You probably don’t remember her mother, you were too young but god ... does she resemble her, those beautiful eyes, exactly the same. Sometimes the universe does give you a second shoot. Maybe I couldn’t be with the mother but I guess the daughter will do just fine. - he raised his arm towards the now ex mob boss, pointing his gun at him. - After all why should I only control one family when I could control two?

   - YOU FUCKING BASTARD! - before he could make any moves towards him, a shot burst through his leg, weakening his stance sending him against the floor. 

   - Did you seriously think I would let you go on and marry her? Get her family support and gain your position back? I didn't peg you for a gullible one but I guess I was wrong. - he chuckled taking another shot to the same leg. - I will take such pleasure in raising your kid. I will raise your child to know just how weak you were, how you never rose up to the challenge. You will cease to exist, gone, just like things should be. 

His mother used to talk to him about death when he was younger, how people just shouldn’t fear it and that when it comes everything is white. Sebastian had to disagree as once another bullet hit him, this time close to his stomach, he didn’t see white, no, he saw her. He saw her, the very first time he saw her on the floor, he saw her eyes peaking from the covers whenever she would sleep near him, her touch, and her laughter. In that moment all he wished was for her to be somehow outside the house, to be safe, far away from all of this. Maybe it was this hope, this conviction that kept him pulling on the single thread belonging to his life. He really hoped she was safe.

   - Drop it. - a feminine voice boomed through the room. Mr. Williams furrowed his eyebrows turning around to a scenario he never expected to experience. Y/N had her arms forward, holding one of his guns and point it at it. - I said, drop it. 

    - Well, well ... - he lowered down sightly, placing the weapon on the floor before putting his hands up. - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna kill me? 

    - Shut up. - her hands were far from being stiff, shaking with the fear of the situation she was standing in but still firmly holding her revolver. 

    - What are you gonna do, birdie? You’re gonna shot me? For who? Him? Listen to me, Y/N, you and I are the same. We work hard and those above us mistreat us. Join me child, you will have the power you deserve. You won’t serve anyone else, no more hand me downs, no more screaming. 

    - I will not join you, you’re not powerful, you’re a coward. You’ll never be anything other than a coward even if you become the head of the family. You’re a coward, only cowards murder innocent, only cowards are so insecure in their own skin they would crave power. - she lowered her weapon. - I will not be the one to kill you. 

    - Well, isn’t th ... - he was interrupted by a gun shot echoing through the room sending him onto his knees leaving only a very weak Sebastian holding the same revolver he had placed on the ground.

    - She won’t but I will. - she had never seen this side of him. He sounded cruel, cold yet she couldn’t blame it, what she could do was be worried about him as he held a weapon with one hand and the other hand held onto his gashing wound. - I will kill you, slowly, painfully. Before you’re dead, I will make sure all your stupid bastards are dead, all your men are dead, and I will have you front and centre to their deaths. 

    - Y/N .. - the man winced in pain from the gunshot, eyes looking up to the handmaid who had took a few steps back.

    - Don’t you fucking say her name! - he shot him once more, no sign of mercy in his actions. 

    - Sebastian. - she called out to him, effectively gaining his attention. There were no words exchanged, she just looked at him, her lip trembling ... disappointment even. 

There are moments in your life when you can chose to be the villain or the hero of your story. You can either live being the villain or others can tell your story and keep it on. Sebastian looked at her, from her eyes to her hands laying on top of her stomach. No, he wouldn’t be the villain, he wouldn’t be his father. He lowered his weapon, cuffing the man he most despised where he had just had the woman he loved captive.

Once that was done, whatever was left of the adrenaline keeping his wounds from hurting ran out and the pain overtook his muscles, sending him against the ground. Y/N rushed from her standing position, lowering herself to catch him before his head hit the ground. She pulled him over her lap, pushing his hair away from his face. 

   - C’mon, you have to get up. - she spoke softly but he could hear the underlying anxiousness. - You have to get up, we have to get out of here, okay? Just you and me. 

    - No, angel. - he reached to his pocket, her music box still there, and he placed it softly on her hand. - I don’t think I can. You can, you can go, take the next plane out of this place, go to France ...

    - No. - she threw the box away. - You have to get up, you will get up, you’ll come with me to France. Just us, no one else. 

    - You deserve everything you’ve ever dreamed of. 

    - You are my dream. 

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[namgee]

where there are no notes (1/2) | jjk

❥ pairing: jungkook x reader ❥ genre: angst, fluff, fantasy (ish, probably very little ) ❥ summary: In a society where unsung notes meant the inevitable demise of one’s life, you spent the entirety of your own surviving on small snippets of sounds, whispered careful so to only be heard by your own ears. Never could you have imagined the magnitude your shy voice would take in the ears of the town’s curious prodigy. For Jungkook, there is hope but can he manage to bring out your unsung notes? ❥ word count: 1.9 k ❥ warnings:  mentions of death, brief mention of violence/alluding to violence ❥ author’s note: This is just a cute lil idea I’ve had for a while that has been siting in my drafts, so I wanted to try out something new i guess. This is a part of a two shot. The next part should be up around the same time next week (i write slow okay T_T). Also sorry for any mistakes ;( . I hope you enjoy ;))

Whenever you sang, even for a small while, everything around you wilted, grays creeping in, dark tones accentuating themselves further. unrhythmic notes bouncing off onto blank walls to hit back at your curious ears. You sang, but never long enough to let your voice and its frailty travel through the cracks present on old squeaky doors and windows and allow your unknown regular visitor, whose steps emitted careful tones that tickled your attentive ears, to hear you sing.

At nights, just like this one, where you feel less alone now that much can’t be seen, you dare to open your mouth, to push with hesitant muscles against your stomach, to feel the vibrations rise through your chest and let the unpracticed sounds leave your barely open mouth. Only then, your eyes shielded by darkness, unable to bear witness to the way your voice murders all color, do you manage to let some of it go and grow into the air.

Unlike the rest of your family you managed to escape. It’s the least you can do, sing a little, night by night for yourself and to remember the lost voices of your loved ones.

Just like you, they didn’t sing often, only enough to stay alive, the collective burden of your voices too much for their eyes to bear.

Your family wasn’t like the others, unable to do the very thing that keeps them alive and colors their loved land. For that they had to pay the price. There were only so many singing evaluations you could manage to escape with the help of the few kind hearted people you encountered. It was only a matter of time until silence raised suspicions, ones that turned into interrogations that revealed your malign voices.

The problem was dealt with however they saw fit. Helping would have been too much of a bother, the easy way out, was simply to cleanse the bad fruits from the rest. It was in well accustomed darkness that your family was muzzled, left alone as the little life they had managed to conjure up with their disjointed singing, wilted into extinction. You, the youngest all of them all, had been left to watch them leave as silently as they lived.

Restless, bordering on lifeless, you laid down on the floor awaiting your time, listening to the rhythmic sounds of coarse boots as they echo louder than you, setting its tone on the long hallway bordering your freezing cell, the same way the notes you admired with pitiful eyes coloured your favourite music sheets.

You had thought the steps had come to give the last order to your heart, like a director swings his stick to welcome the end. Anticipating it all you drifted off, lighthearted in your mind, but heavy in your chest from all unsung melodies. If only you had known that in fact, what was coming to you wasn’t an end, but the light taping of the director’s stick against his stand, letting you know, the beginning is near.

Call it what you want, a miracle, a blessing, a sign. Someone must have sang life back into you as you had found yourself by the gate of your house. Someone had thought that the sheet of your life still had room for more uncertain notes, no matter how rare they were to you.  

Every couple of days, the rustling vegetation outside would indicate the arrival of your unidentified visitor. You don’t know who they are, only that they come by once in a while to sing healing melodies. However sweet and familiar the gesture is, your curiosity never arises. The short life you’ve so far had has already sung its notes to you, clear and harsh: nobody can be trusted.

Tomorrow is your birthday. Like all the previous years, the night before, clinging to childish hope that your heart can speak louder than your mouth, you wish to magically wake up with the ability to sing. You didn’t have to have the most beautiful voice, you just wanted to sing. Yet, for the past years, every birthday morning has been quieter than the other. So when you wake up, you keep silent. Your wish has not been granted.

You go through the day ravaging your dead sister’s drawer for her piano sheets. Your family couldn’t sing notes, but they could play them. You continue searching for the light notes of childhood songs, a little birthday tune to color your day. As the night settles, so does that the need to do something about this day. You never asked for much, but if you were going to keep living like this, a little celebration and room for your frustration should be acceptable on such a day.  

The rush of the ocean waves crashing against your closed window frame get you to hurry. You cover up as much as possible, sneaking out of your estate. You didn’t want to surprisingly find out that your secret visitor decided to come by and risk getting caught. Even the kindest voice could house hatred in the worst scenarios.

You rush into town with trembling limbs. There’s a definite lack of energy for you to be exerting this much effort. Tonight, you had chosen not to sing. The day was meant to celebrate you for you, the you that is everything except her inability to carry out pleasant notes.

Head down, you stumble your way through the stores prompting a few curious glances. Hand weighed down by a small plastic bag, you head towards the park. It’s vast enough for you to find some place secure to sit under gleaming stars and far enough to allow you to scream and free some of that heaviness in your chest without having to face the competing crashing sound of ocean waves. And you do just that, you scream, voice amplifying more as the sweet mixture of cheese cake and liquor settles in your body.

The walk back home is as slurred as your incoherent mumbling about any random sad or happy subject that your fleeting mind manages to catch. With your hazy vision, head somehow hanging even lower than before it takes a lot longer to find your way to one of the many gates of your estate. One you thought you had closed upon your departure. Apparently not. Usually, your first instinct would have been to hide, even if it’s your home, your property. After all, who would like to lay claim on something you’ve disregarded for so long. Your reality doesn’t matter, people only judge what they can see.

Yet, you stand still, leaning onto the cool metal of the gate, anchoring your stance. With the backdrop of the rising sun and clearing night, you watch as your sunflowers radiate with warming yellows and dark chocolatey centers. The scene doesn’t register in your mind given your non-existent belief in drunken thoughts. Your uncoordinated limbs manage to shift your body past the entrance, allowing you to peek into the corner.

Now that you can see the person colouring your estate does the dainty sound of soft melodies reach your ears. Shivers lay a claim on your condition, the plastic bag filled with the remains of your pitiful night falling down. You take full breath, the rejuvenating sound lightens your mood and brings a smile to your lips. The more you listen, the warmer you get, not because of the beauty in the sound but because of its uncanny familiarity. You let your mind wander, as inept as it might still be in your current state, and let it trace back to the oldest memory you have of any similar feeling.  

It all goes by quickly. Creases adorn your face with every rushing image of your time back in the cell, weak, desperately hanging by any thread of hope you had managed to conjure up. The doom-like sound of incoming steps on that very day you managed to leave abruptly ceased. You know something happened, but the solution is still unknown to you. But the current melodies colouring the incoming sea breeze feel like an answer.

The man ahead of you keeps singing, eyes closed as his hair, tucked behind his ears, frees itself to sway in the breeze. Out of curiosity, or maybe enchantment you walk closer. His voice booms with a growing intensity and the sudden gush of energy has you stepping back far enough to stop being entranced with his presence and realise the new state of your estate.

For the first time in your life you get to see past the potential of your home and get to witness the vibrancy it can own. Your parents were well-off as professional musicians and music educators. They took advantage of that and set to live by the sea, far from the prying eyes of the bustling city.

The land was vast, it was covered with unkempt vegetation that blocked the small gravel pathways leading to your home. Surprised by your own thoughts you avert your gaze up to look at the tall building. It’s unusual for you to call it your home, now that you’re the only one residing in it. But it is your home, no matter how much you wish to detach yourself from it, given the pain it has brought you. That’s something this mysterious man singing life back into it is making you realise. Is this what you had been missing your whole life?

This sweet and calming feeling you’re getting every time you take a breath. The happy, giddy bouncing of your eyes as you try your hardest to look at every nook and cranny of your home and garden. You wouldn’t want to miss any transformation happening before your eyes.

The man suddenly turns to you and on instinct, you look away, head facing down. He sings, erasing the little space in between you as his boots come into your constricted field of vision. Your body reacts the only way it knows to, out of fear, as you fist your hands and screw your eyes shut, trembling from the intensity of your force. He sings and you get warmer. Your body is being bathed in a pool of positive emotions few of which you know how to place. For now you sum it all up into happiness, and it all feels good, you conclude. Addictively good.

The sound rustling sound of plastic clashes with the fading melody of his voice. You don’t dare to open your eyes. Your body and heart surely are betraying you but your mind contains the memories of your life, wired to make you act on instinct which is what you do when he reaches for your hand, his warm fingers brushing your fisted ones as he attempts to place the bag where it was.

You jump back, hands slapping away at unknown feelings as you rush into your house, heartbeat banging against your eardrums. The door slams hard enough for a painting to fall off the wall. You distance yourself from the door, ragged breaths and shaky limbs. Simply from memory you’re in your current crumbling state. The last time someone had touched while you were still conscious shouldn’t be something worth remembering. As your body fears for your survival, the soft and warm singing resurges.

Your breath starts to even out, pulsing calming down only to spike at a question no one, not even yourself, has ever asked you before.

“Don’t you want to learn how to sing?”

[sketchy-saram]

Hello! This is Chapter 2 of a Kiwren (Kiran/Wren) story I wrote a while back, although you can find it in their tag if you want to read part one! For anyone who is new, Kiran is @lazyvoyager​‘s fan kid of Illain and Muriel, and Wren is the adopted kid of my Celeste and Julian.

Summary: After seeing her crush with someone else, Wren goes to drink her sorrows away at the Rowdy Raven...after hatching a plot to leave Vesuvia, fate has other plans, and she is rescued just in time to throw up on her rescuer and pass out. xD

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

KIWREN CHAPTER 2

     Wren stood in the middle of a beautiful meadow. Dappled sunlight shone through the cherry blossom trees, petals gently floating down to the ground and forming a pillowy, light-pink carpet under her feet. She was barefoot--oh, no, she was actually wearing extremely cute slippers, with ribbons that tied up the length of her calves, meeting with the frothy hem of her skirt. It was a dress she had been toying with, beautifully tailored, and now she was wearing it here--wherever here was--and the scene was absolutely perfect. She reached for her braid, only to realize her hair was already loose and in gorgeous honey-amber waves, and had grown a foot or two as well, adorned with a cherry-blossom crown at the top.

     Everything was adorable and elegant, and the warm glow she felt wasn’t only from the sun, especially when she glanced across the field and saw the love of her life standing there. He was tall and svelte; that scar across his face adding such character; the dark lines of the tattoo on his chest just peeking out from underneath a billowing white linen shirt. The sight of it had Wren feeling weak in the knees; her stomach trembled, her heart fluttered.

     Giddy, she began to run through the petals towards him, in what felt like slow-motion...or, maybe she was running in slow motion? Weird...and he turned to look at her fully, a smile spreading across his face, his arms opening wide in preparation for her. Any confusion she felt was forgotten. 

     Perfect.

     And then there was the oddest sensation of falling. A sudden drop. Everything around her darkened to the black of deadest night. She was barely able to catch herself...except, wait, she hadn’t caught herself at all. She was in a firm grip, surrounded by muscle. Her stomach pitched; this time uncomfortably. Wren’s eyes wildly rolled, trying to find where he had gone...only to see him, walking away, his arm around a beautiful woman with curves everywhere and ever-expanding breasts…

     With a jolt, Wren sat up in bed, sweat covering her face and neck, what was left in her stomach threatening to come up. With a heroic amount of effort, she choked it back down, although it was touch-and-go for a few seconds. When at last she could open her eyes without the room spinning, it was with no small amount of consternation.

     While she was pretty sure she was no longer dreaming, this was not  the room she remembered. It wasn’t her room, and, she was fairly certain, it wasn’t ANY room in her house. She wasn’t even sure it was a room, if she was being honest. Was that...a tree root? Was this house built into a tree? Was that sanitary? Didn’t bugs live in trees? Squirrels? Birds? 

     Were there birds in this house??

     Her mind whirled, and she had to press her hand to her mouth again and stop all thought in order not to be sick. The strange musty smell surrounding her didn’t help, and when she looked down at the blanket that had pooled around her waist, she realized it was some sort of pelt. 

     Opening one eye, she tried again to take stock of where she was, and to remember what had happened. Why couldn’t she remember? What did she do last night??

     And then the last part of the dream flashed before her eyes in stark relief. 

     Oh. That’s right. That part...wasn’t a dream. Well, the enormous breasts part might have been, but the rest wasn’t. Her chest seized in pain before she could stop herself from thinking about it. She didn’t want to think about it, and luckily for her, there were other pressing matters to focus on. Wren could recall walking through town, dwelling on her misery, and then…

     She groaned.

     The Raven.

     Yes, that was where it had all gone south, so to speak. She had a vague recollection of leaving, and something about her sketchbook…?

     Ugh. Her mouth was like cotton, every part of her face felt puffy and blotchy from yesterday’s crying, and she desperately wanted to curl under a blanket that wasn’t made from animals and pretend not to exist for at least a day. Maybe a couple months. If she could, she would hibernate this whole heartache away. But, it seemed, that was never going to be her luck, so instead, she had to figure out what to do next.

     Gingerly, Wren threw back the rest of the hide with her forefinger and thumb, revealing with relief that she was still wearing everything from the day before...with a few new, dubious stains. She added fresh clothes and a shower to the list of things she would have killed for right about then. Instead, she got her feet planted on the roughly-hewn wooden floor, just about ready to try standing…

     When the door of the hut? room? crashed open to reveal one of the biggest men she’d ever seen.

     Reflexively, she grabbed the hide again, yanking it up to her chin to cover herself despite being fully clothed. The stranger didn’t seem to notice as he looked towards her, his face a mess of freckles and beaming smile in dark, sun-tanned skin. The visage looked vaguely familiar, but the pounding of her heart stopped Wren’s mind from being able to place it. 

     “You’re awake!” he said, voice booming cheerfully around the homely abode. It was not as deep as she might have expected from someone so...well...built. “I wasn’t sure what we were going to do with you if you didn’t wake up, honestly.”

     That statement had the hairs on Wren’s neck bristling, and instead of staring at this newcomer, she remembered that all else aside, she was in a dangerous situation. A woman, alone with an extremely burly man, in a strange place, unsure of what was happening. 

     Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, that was for sure.

     She screamed, and the sound seemed to have the desired effect--the stranger froze, and it gave her enough time to scramble up, her entire attention only on reaching the door he’d left open in his wake. She could see the outside through it--if she got there, she was free.

      “Wait!” The man’s face was creased in confusion, and his eyebrows rose almost comically. In fact, watching the series of expressions was almost interesting--Wren had never seen someone with such an openly expressive face. Every thought seemed to cross its deep-set, rugged expanse.

     Is he simple? Wren thought. She didn’t know if that would help or hurt her situation. So far, nothing seemed to have happened to her, but she didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary to find out. Glancing to her side, she saw she was next to a low-banked fireplace...and right by her hand was a cast-iron skillet. Grabbing it, she held it out in front of her like a sword.

     To her surprise, the man actually took a step back, his green eyes widening.

     “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” 

     Slowly, she crept her way along the floor, her eyes firmly held on the stranger, whose face was now comically torn between concern and confusion.

     “Listen, I didn’t mean--”

     “Nope. Don’t say anything.”

     “But I--”

     “Shoosh.”

     “You really should just--”

     “You have the wrong girl, buddy.”

     At last, Wren reached the door he had come in through, and risking a look back at it, saw that it wasn’t locked. She brandished the skillet at him once more, then tossed it on a nearby table and swiftly turned, slipping through as quickly as her still-wobbly legs would carry her.

     Finally! Freedom!

     Outside, bright noon-time sun was filtered through a thick layer of forest vegetation, and Wren realized with a start that she was in the middle of the woods. Her stomach, still in a bad way, tied itself into further knots. She could be almost anywhere, although the Dark Forest seemed the most likely answer. Now, from outside the hut, she could see that it was indeed built into the roots of the nearby trees, and a newer addition looked like it had been added onto the original one-room home haphazardly. Maybe by magic? It honestly did not look architecturally sound.

     Here in the yard there seemed to be a host of various animals roaming, cultivated in a miniature forest farm--chickens pecked the ground around Wren’s feet, and she had to jump back to avoid one that was aiming for her toes.

     Now even chickens are trying to get me? Could I catch a break for one freaking second?!

     Wren sucked in a deep breath, trying to center herself, her eyes nervously trained on the door. She could vaguely tell which way the sun had risen from, which meant she knew which way Vesuvia was. You didn’t learn nothing about wayfinding growing up on a ship, after all. Her house sat beyond the Vesuvian walls to the west of South End, which was the complete opposite of town from the Dark Forest. Great. She was tired before she even started, but with a groan, Wren set off into the woods.

     She hated the woods. They were full of bugs and dirt and rocks and...nature. Honestly, nothing good came out of the woods, of that she was sure. Still, the fresh air was nice for her queasy hangover stomach, and it seemed to jog awake her half-asleep brain at last as the adrenaline faded away. She had time to think about that man, who had seemed vaguely familiar, although she was sure they’d never met before…

     And then something from her dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream dawned on her. Falling, and strong arms catching her like a doll from thin air. It certainly could have been him...he looked like he probably snapped tree trunks over his knees for fun. Arms strapped with muscle every which-way. At the time, trapped in a room with him, that had been unsettling, but now…

     Wren coughed, shaking away the thought. His outfit, on the other hand, was an absolute tragedy. With that build, she thought, there were a few styles she could imagine that would better suit--

     My sketchbook! 

     With absolute horror, Wren realized she no longer had possession of her sketches, even as her hands patted her down to be sure. Had they been left behind in South End? Or were they… She turned to look back over her shoulder, where the hut had already vanished, but a faint puff of smoke from the chimney still gave away its location. 

     I can’t go back there for my sketchbook. That’s crazy. That man could be an axe-murderer you surprised before he had time to murder you.

     But...that book had all of my most recent designs. A month of work, gone. I’ll never remember all the details exactly as they were. I don’t want to have to start them from scratch again…

     After a brief mental struggle, Wren finally turned on her heels with a sigh, begrudgingly headed back in the direction she came.

     There was still no sign of anyone when Wren quietly snuck back into the clearing, chewing her thumbnail as she thought about how to proceed. The man hadn’t actually done anything to her...maybe if she just...asked him about the sketchbook, he would answer her? It was so crazy, it just might work. So, sucking up her courage and trying to pull her flyaway mane of hair from her face, Wren stomped across the grounds and back to the door of the hut.

     Just as she was wondering whether or not to knock, it swung open, revealing the stranger again. They blinked at each other, unsure who was the more surprised.

     “You!” he began, obvious surprise in his tone. It was startlingly loud--did he ever just say anything without shouting?

Wren glanced around, wishing she had brought the skillet with her. Instead, she bent down and grabbed the best thing she could find--which happened to be a nearby roosting chicken, who clucked indignantly in her grasp.

     It was probably a poor choice of weapon, she thought, but hoped it might at least stop him from attacking her outright. What she hadn’t expected was this tree-trunk of a man to suddenly look so panicked and fretful.

     “Wait wait! Just...wait!”

     “You. I don’t know who you are, or what I’m doing here, but if you don’t want this...chicken...harmed…”

     “No, not Mr. Cluckers!”

     “...” Wren blinked, then shook her head. “...Yes, if you don’t want Mr. Cluckers harmed, then listen to me and answer my question. Do you have my sketchbook?!”

     “Your what? Be careful with her, she’s old!”

     Mr. Cluckers let out another string of cries from under Wren’s arm.

     “Why did you name your chicken Mr. Cluckers if it’s a girl chicken??”

     “We never name them, my dad does!”

     “That’s not--okay, whatever, that doesn’t matter. My sketchbook! Do you have it?”

     The man stood with his arms raised, large hands that looked like they were more callous than skin, and Wren couldn’t help being struck by the absurdity of this situation. He was actually, really and truly scared for the chicken, and it was beginning to make her feel bad as he struggled to think around his fear.

     “I...maybe? Was that all those papers you had? Yeah, I have them in the house! I made you breakfast! Can we just...could we talk about this?”

     After a tense moment where Wren looked between the man and Mr. Cluckers, she finally let out a huge sigh, holding the chicken in both hands and tossing it out into the yard, where it flapped its wings and came to an awkward landing amongst its fellows. Visibly, the large stranger relaxed, wiping the sweat off his forehead and running a hand over his short brown hair.

     “Fine. Talk.” Wren ground out grumpily.

     He opened his mouth. Instead, an extremely loud grumble practically rattled the leaves on the trees around them, and Wren felt her face flame as she realized the sound had come from her stomach. She closed her eyes and grimaced. Was there a chance that the Dark Forest would swallow her whole? At this point, she wasn’t even sure why she was worried about what this man might do to her--her entire life was nothing but a string of misery and embarrassment, anyway.

     When she opened her eyes, to her surprise, he was grinning, and it made him seem more youthful, somehow. In fact, despite his hulking size, she would have almost wagered he wasn’t too much older than her--maybe Felix’s age.

     “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I made eggs,” he said, gesturing towards the door and holding it open.

With a flick of her messy braid and a loud ‘harrumph’, Wren stomped past him and entered the hut again, avoiding his mirthful eyes.

Well, she was hungry, anyway. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

[bubblyani]

Good Year

(Alfie Solomons x Reader)

An Alfie Solomons One Shot

Genre: Fluff

Authors Note: What a wonderful way to end 2019...and begin 2020 with an Alfie fic! Missed writing for him so much. Loved writing this to the point I might consider continuing this story. Hope you all feel the same. Enjoy! Happy New Year! 🥳

The fingertips left your scalp the moment you heard clock strike at midnight. Looking up from several heavy bound books, your neck suddenly felt a crease of pain as it was in the same position for what seemed like forever. And suddenly, you were back in reality.

Your family surely must have been enjoying to the fullest. Why wouldn’t they be? When they were out on a lovely holiday, away from any trace of London. Regret hung on one side of your conscious, but Determination seemed heavier on the other, making sure you’re hell bent on getting some much needed, important reading done in peace. Thus, you were homebound, awake at midnight. 

But wait! Midnight? You gasped. It was midnight, already?

Your body ached to step outside, and soak in the society that was poured into the streets. There was never a year where you missed it ; The spectacle that was brought forth by this occasion. With a quick shot of rum that promised warmth, you grabbed your shawl. And wrapping  it around, you stepped outside.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The year, it had finally come to an end. Time flew by in such a flash, it seemed unfathomable.

Out with the old, in with the new. You certainly did not want to start the dawned new year merely surrounded by books and sheer loneliness. 

You were a simple woman, your demands were not high. Just a few steps outside seemed enough for you. Especially when the spectacle existed, everywhere you laid eyes on.

The street may have not been comparable to fancy hotels or night clubs, but you witnessed the excitement , and you witnessed the joy only new year could bring. And it was from the ones you’ve known all your life. People singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the distance, made it impossible for you not to hum along. 

Until a loud firecracker, bursted inches close by, making you jump and shriek in response.

Clutching your chest, you finally recovered your breath, only to discover  the culprits to be a group of younger men, who amused themselves with fire crackers, tossing them around mindlessly. Laughing and possibly  intoxicated.

“OI! WHAT YOU BLOODY THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

A voice, deep, booming and masculine, echoed from the distance. A voice that managed to stop their laughter, forcing them to halt on their tracks.

A voice that sent unexpected tremors through your soul.

“Lads...easy now” you breathed, extending your hand.

These boys, they were not strangers. So you didn’t hesitate to step up.

“You wouldn’t want to stir up the crowd by being reckless now, would you?” your tone may have been stern, yet you maintained the tone of alliance. And to your relief, they appeared guilty.

“Sorry Y/N...” With a sudden shyness, they scattered off, realizing their fault. Shaking your head, you watched them disappear.

“You alright, miss?”

You turned to your right. It was that voice from earlier, finally taking form of a man. The voice sounded gentler as a matter of fact.

“I’m fine...really-“ you replied.With very little light outside, it seemed quite difficult, to fully make out the appearance of the man. Even still, you could tell he was protective. Standing far enough, he kept you comfortable. “Fucking careless twats ...in front of a lady” He growled, which surprisingly made you smile. “No...It’s quite alright. I know them” you replied with assurance. The way his head moved, you could tell his eyes scanned you from top to bottom. But in a genuinely curious manner. There was no hint of vulgarity.

“Yeah I could tell. You seem to hold your own ...” he said, with an impressed  tone. To which you chuckled embarrassingly.

“Well...there are young...” you replied, “and if I can’t...then...it would be quite concerning...” you said, “But thank you...anyways”you added, smiling at him.

“For what? You managed it yourself just fine, innit?” The black coat certainly made him look majestic. At least that was what you were able make out.

He was right. For what indeed?

He may have been a stranger, but his presence brought comfort. But how on earth were you to convey that?

“Maybe I did....” you began, “But still, I appreciate the effort...Oh!...”

The sound of fireworks steered your attention to the sky in an instant, reminding you of the true purpose of stepping outside. And the winter chill certainly managed to worm it’s way into that reminder as well. 

“Beautiful ...” You breathed. The multiple colors of light reflected in your eyes as you stared at them in wonder.

“Alfie...”

A hushed voice that sounded younger emerged nearby. With a quick, secretive glance you saw a young lad  standing next to the man, “...shouldn’t we-?”

The lad quickly quietened the moment the man shot him a look. It all happened so quickly. And it was all quite amusing. They could have just left. They had every right to. Strangers they were merely, just passing by. But the fact you managed to share silence with them, made you happy. And the fact they stayed, made you even more happy.

“Shana Tova!”

You finally heard the man utter.  Confused, you looked at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s Hebrew, love...” he said, in his gruff voice “...for ‘Good Year’”

Taking a step towards you, he finally stood under a lamppost, fully revealing his face.

His knowledge of the Hebrew language was self explanatory, once you saw him clearer. With his attire, hat and beard, his Jewish roots were given away easily. His face, you realized, looked quite distinctive. Handsome too, in fact.

“Oh....” you said, your mind preoccupied with what you just witnessed, “I see...” You breathed.

Shana Tova

Contrary to his gruff nature, the way he said it, it sounded sincere. But most of all , the warmth it made you feel seemed incomparable.

It may have not been daytime. But the light sufficed for you to remember those eyes. It also sufficed for you, to remember that face. 

To remember his effect on you. “Right!”

You were freed from your trance as the man cleared his throat, “Ahem!..we better be going then....Ollie!” As you watched the two men pass you by, you were speechless. You were surprised how a stranger leaving could make your heart heavy by a little. But, it was indeed a new year. And there was one thing you could do. 

“Wait!...”

The two men turned upon your calling. Taking a breath, you smiled.

“Shana Tova” You said gently, relieved how it rolled out of your low so easily. And given the younger man, Ollie’s pleased expression, you have done a good job. But his response was not what you longed for.

“Happy New Year!” Alfie, the man greeted back.

Unlike his assistant, he seemed to be more in control of his emotions. Yet it made you smile, “now...” he continued, “Go home quick! It’s fuckin’ freezing out!”

With a nod, you watched the two men disappear, blending in to the nearby  crowd, before you walked back home.

The rum really did warm you up. But the rum was simply weak the moment he showed. Nothing seemed to warm you enough the way he said those words:

Shana Tova

Good Year. It was definitely what you hope to have.

——————————————————

Tagged: @starlightmornings​ @rogerfxckingtaylor​ @daydreamerinadazedworld​ @courtney-thevixeniris​

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[pffbts]

grocery shopping with yoongi

GENRE. fluff, angst, crack.

CHARACTERS. min yoongi x reader | no supporting character.

W.C.  1.3K

AUTHOR`S NOTE.  domestic yoongi is my kink but this was meant to be fun one but ended up becoming a tiny bit angsty. liyan, you know me, i`m a sucker for sad fics. but anyway, happy reading love!

[08:16 PM] [the sound of rain is the proof that someone is there with someone]

―your closest best friend, your fellow escaping-for-solitude best friend―min yoongi was currently slouched against the other side of your grandfather`s sixty years old sofa scrolling through his twitter feeds, being the most silent about your existence beside him rather than the crickets which almost barks louder than the dog at the neighbor`s place.

you, on the other hand, had yourself scared to death when you found out there`s absolutely nothing in the fridge for tonight`s dinner. your reflex works faster than your literal brain and so you kick his feet which makes yoongi staying as unbothered as possible. then, at least three seconds later, for your eyes which felt like suns shooting through his phone, yoongi moved aside his phone from his face to lift his brows at you.

“i`ve an idea.” you declared, your chest sticking out in an unladylike way. not that yoongi was bothered by that.

too lazy to speak, your couch partner raises one of his brows this time.

“let`s just skip dinner tonight and binge-watch free`s first season.”

yoongi felt like his insides will collapse any further second if he sees another night of makoto tachibana flexing his muscles in front of his face.

“now now….,”yoongi, finally lifting himself up from the couch, sit at your level with a disgusted face and you knew what that face meant but that also means you were successful in your attempt, “you might get fed by that muscle pig but not me. i need real food.”

“but-.”

like a flash, he gets up from his place and stands beside your sitting self. you, out of habit, tried straightening the creases of his t-shirt at the back.

“wear a pant at least, we`re going grocery,” he mumbles the last part but stayed as loud as possible for the first part.

you attempt to hide your bare legs by stretching the front of your baggy t-shirt while yoongi attempts to hide his face of disappointment and walks off towards the kitchen to probably plan for tonight`s dinner. your evil smile comes to your face as you watch your little friend wiggling his way away from your sight.

“chicken.” yoongi `s voice booms through the grocery store and you look back at him with stars in your eyes, “we definitely, need that.” yoongi gives a little nod at you, along with that a pressed side smile.

sighing heavily, you tug onto his t-shirt`s sleeve, “that`s why yoongi, that`s why i`m telling you we need to get married as fast as possible. see? you even know what i wanted. you would be such a good, loving, sincere and hot husb-.”

“broccolis….yes! we oh so definitely need that too.”

angry at his sudden ignorance, you throw his hand away from your grip and pick up the basket you were carrying and moved to the spice section.

you heard his laughter from other side and almost giggled at yourself too. he should be at least thanking you for calling him hot when all he does is crash at your place to sleep and give you company while you`re busy fangirling over anime boys by cooking your dinner.

but it`s alright, you pull out a packet of powdered red chilli as your thoughts wander back to the times when yoongi didn`t even ask what happened back at home but stayed with you that night when you moved in at your grandpa`s place. he knew what happened instantly. he said he could read what was there on your face. you had laughed at him because of all you knew throughout your life that your face was the hardest to read by everyone you acquainted in your days.

“bullshit,” yoongi had said, “your face is the most expressive. you`re literally like an open book.” but in his mind, yoongi knew your face screamed for help and though he didn`t have his own complexity sorted out, he tried overcoming them just for you. he became your permanent best friend two years ago and stayed the same way till this very second.

yoongi`s voice calling your nickname in that urgent tone snapped you out of your reminiscing thoughts. you walk back to the non-veg section and the sudden sound of rain welcomes you along with a crease filled forehead of yoongi.

“aaahhh, it`s your worst fear.” you give him a sad smile continuing, “it`s raining.”

“and, i thought i would be able to eat our chicken faster than your makoto`s muscle flex.”

you slap his chest and give him a wide-eyed look, “don`t you dare insult my husband. at least he loves me.”

yoongi hums back at you in return while you take his basket from his hand and moving towards the cash counter.

you heard one of the store worker saying to his colleague that it`s going to be a long spell. he confirms that it`s been forecasted this afternoon. yoongi and you both have settled yourself against the exit of the store while the packets filled with your grocery stayed sitting on the floor. at the end, yoongi paid half the total bill while you paid the other. it`s been very usual in-between both of you so you didn`t stop him. you knew it won`t bear any fruit at the end.

“it`s been a long time, right?”

you, who have closed your eyes while listening to the lullaby of the raindrops hitting the road, opens them back at the sudden question from the boy in front of you.

you hum back in reply and it became silent for a while again.

“what are your thoughts about rain, y/n?”

you felt indifferent hearing your name in his voice. it`s not very usual that he calls your name rather than your nickname and so, you stared at him for a long time before it dawns upon you that he has asked you a question.

“i don`t know….i`m not very lyrical like you but all i know is that,” you tried looking away from his face and looked hard at the droplets that have gathered against the glass door outside the store. though you were standing inside the store, you could feel the coldness seeping through the glass and cooling up your skin. “when it rains, it always means that someone is always with you. no matter where you are, alone or not, if it rains, it means you`re not alone. and especially if you`re in pain, rain becomes that someone who listens to your screams when no human does.”

the rain stopped after an hour and when both of you went home, yoongi, while you changed up in your room put free season one on your television and hurried back with silent steps towards the kitchen making the most delicious chicken in his lifetime.

fin.

▶RULES. ▶ REQUESTS/QUESTIONS. ASK BOX

[aintgonnaleaveyoumikey]

Pairings: Trikey Rating: M Summary: They fell into a pattern, an infinite loop. To break it, Michael has to stay or Trevor has to let him go. Post main story pining and a suggestion for why Trev is so bitchy when he’s found throwing grenades in his driveway. [AO3]

.*Breaking Chains*.

Trevor pulled the pin and for a brief moment, it was like holding sundown in the palm of his hand: fleeting. And then he let it go.

The subsequent bang brought with it a flash of gold, a rumbling in his eardrums and bones...and the routine appearance of a black sedan pulling up garage-side in the dusty street. He watched it come to a stop—watched while the scent of cash blew into a slum and a lamb fell into a shark tank.

He wasn’t sure which he’d rather be.

Fuck.

There wasn’t enough liquor in the entire world now, not that there ever had been or would be when it came to Michael fucking Townley. It was the same feeling, whether he wore the clothes of a lover or a traitor, whether he had the swagger of youth in his step or a decade of mistakes written between the wrinkles now creasing his features. Mikey: always two steps out of reach with meaningless promises, a mirage of water in a parched wasteland of loneliness.

And yet, there he was. Again. And again and again and again and...

Despite the futility of it all, cracked lips met the whiskey bottle while Trevor’s eyes rolled back with his head. Bottoms up, he drank deep to will away the ghost now leisurely approaching, as if another unannounced visit to Sandy Shores was no more than a Sunday stroll around the block.

“T. Hey.”

His lashes parted again to a pair of black birds soaring over the colors of dusk and without facing the apparition, Trevor blindly set the whiskey down behind him. “I’d get out of the way if I were you.” He pulled another pin free and breathed a singsong, “Thank fuck I’m not you, though.”

Toss. Bang. Gold. Rumble.

Sundown after sundown.

“Guess this is what fun in the desert looks like. Heh, wish I’d known about it when we were playing house here.” It was a joke, both the sarcastic-laden suggestion and how it could still pierce Trevor’s heart despite knowing its jest.

“Mmhm, yep.” Still refusing to offer even the hint of a glance over his shoulder, he reached back for the booze. “Your life in Plastic Town isn’t playing house though, right? Sugar Tits, how do you live in such denial?”

With the kick of a polished shoe to the driveway, Michael squinted and sucked his teeth. His shoulders were loose, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets and he jingled his keys before giving off an airy sigh. “Some things never change, huh...”

The laugh that erupted from the depths of Trevor’s throat went short-lived and preceded another swig of liquor stinging its way down. “Now if those ain’t the truest words ever spoken.” At last, he turned and thrust the bottle toward his visitor. “You’ll always be an entitled prick, for instance.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, T, can we just—”

“Disappearing for ten years and then just showing up whenever it suits the frequent swingin’ of your moods. Must be nice, Mikey.”

“Look, man.” Shrugging, Michael pulled his hands free and slid the tinted shades from the bridge of his nose. They folded with a pointed snap. “If you wanna keep throwing grenades and pissing off your neighbors, that’s fine by me. I can go get lost for another ten if it’s what you want.”

Ouch.

Trevor peered at Michael for long enough to err on awkward silence, before his arm finally fell with the whiskey sloshing as consequence. “You are an asshole.” He relented, however, the anger that shaded his tone dissipating in the bat of an eyelash. “So what favor do you need from ol’ T this time, mm?”

Michael’s brow twitched but he wasn’t quick enough to inquire.

“What? What else would bring you to my ever humble abode again, if not to inconvenience me in some beyond annoying way?” Trevor’s fingertips caressed over grooves and smooth edges, turning the next grenade around in his hand. If his dear compadre over there wanted to do this ridiculous dance every week, they’d dance. Every week. Until it got boring, of course.

Would it ever get boring, though? The name inked on Trevor’s bicep suggested he already knew the answer, but his imagination could deflect and chase a proverbial butterfly all it liked.

“Nah, it’s not...it’s not like that, T. Come on. I was in the neighborhood and felt like dropping in.”

“In the neighborhood.”

Rocking to and fro on his soles, Michael remained aloof and let his gaze wander. “So, uh, drinkin' with me is an inconvenience?”

Trevor scoffed and cocked his head. “When you speak in bullshit innuendos, yeah, a bit.” The final pin hit the ground with a soft clang and the shell went rolling toward the street. Boom. “Buuuut I never did like doing shit the easy way, so let’s get a move on, porkchop.” He approached with a slap to Michael’s arm, his fingertips pressing inward then and trailing down to the small of his back. “Let’s get a drink.” The words spilled from Trevor’s lips in a dangerous half purr. “Make up for a whole seven days of lost time.”

Michael’s face turned in slow motion until the tips of their noses nearly touched, his eyes half-lidded and the curl of his dark lashes prominent. He spoke just as softly then, a whisper riding out on his breath over the scent of mint and cigarettes. “Whatever it takes, Trevor.”

And that was that.

The pair approached the trailer door without so much an acknowledgement of Ron sitting on the porch, tinkering with some dilapidated tinfoil hat device as per usual. He’d have enough sense to leave soon anyway. ...Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Whatever the case, Trevor had one fuck to give at present and if Ron wanted to linger about while the whole universe rattled and his voice sang to the gods, so be it.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

His gaze met Michael’s while Phil Collins’ “I Don’t Care Anymore” played on the kitchen radio.

...Nor would it apparently be the last.

~

“I love my life,” declared a vapid voice, while cigarette smoke drifted in lazy tendrils through a conspicuous melancholy looming over the bed.

Outside, the sun had long relinquished its reign to a sea of diamonds, the moon a giant glowing pearl cradled in the lap of glittering celestial fabric. It was strange to think that Sandy Shores and Los Santos existed under this same sky, and even stranger that for ten years, Trevor and Michael had too—as separate and distinct as their places of residence. It was strange that neither yet moved now to trade the view of a rusty metal ceiling for the stars outside, strange that each found some vestige of comfort lying beside the other in less than favorable conditions.

Such was life, though: the very one Michael spoke of.

“I love it,” he repeated in a whisper, his eyes unblinking for too long.

Though an empty can was present on the nightstand next to him, Trevor flicked accumulated ash over the side of the bed. His right arm was raised and resting against a wafer-thin pillow, the crook supporting his head. The cigarette met his lips and he drew on it once more, while music no one was listening to continued wafting from the opposite end of the space; it was just Pat Benatar, anyway...

Only when the glowing orange line threatened to burn into the filter was when he put the smoke out, stretched, and finally turned his face. “So. What’s next, cowboy? Mm?”

Michael kept his attention trained on the ceiling, several moments of mock consideration passing before he answered, “The Yellow Jack?”

“...The Yellow Jack,” Trevor repeated in disdain.

Squinting, Michael licked his lips. “All right. The bar next door.”

When that suggestion was met with a huff out the nostrils, he sat up in annoyance. “The meth lab then. A fucking...road trip to the mountains, tennis at the god damn beach. Let’s steal a fucking plane and fly it until it burns up in the fucking atmosphere, I don’t know, T. What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“It’s the same shit every week, Mikey. Think about that.” Trevor pushed himself to stand at the bedside, and bare-ass naked, peered down at his companion humorously opting to remain covered by a thin sheet. “You’re not stupid. You just love denial.” From there, he itched at his groin and strutted to the bathroom for a piss while calling out, “Always have, always will.”

“Fucking whatever, man.”

It wasn’t long before Trevor reappeared in the doorway. “So, the Yellow Jack. And after that, the lab, the mountains, the beach. Then we fly into the sun. And then?”

“And then what?”

“How long would you say is too long, Michael? To wait for someone.” Trevor wandered to the closet and swatted at a pair of moths. “Ten years?”

Silence.

“Or is it twenty?”

Silence.

“Mm, I see.” He slid into the greatest treasure ever found at Binco—his prized pink leopard print briefs—and continued dressing. “Looks like the Yellow Jack Inn it is, porkchop.”

“Trevor.”

“Hurry the fuck up or you’ll be walking. I’m ready to stomp out some redneck ass, relieve myself of some fucking pent up aggression.”

The front door swung open and closed, Trevor’s voice muffled and permeating from the porch.

“Ronald, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Everything, Trevor!”

“It’s one week,” Michael answered at last, to no one. “One week is a long fucking time.”

He dragged out the process of cleaning himself up and donning his clothes, simultaneously hoping and dreading that he’d taken too long. To no surprise, though, Trevor still sat waiting in the truck when he finally made it outside.

~

Climbing to the roof of an abandoned motel while intoxicated was both a stupid idea and cheap thrill. Driving hours to the desert to run from a reality he’d given everything up for was a fitting parallel, so naturally, Michael went along with it.

He stood at Trevor’s side under a million stars and stared into infinity itself.

“I want to love my life, T.”

“Yeah.”

“So I should stop. Man, I gotta stop, it’s...”

“Yeah.”

“And we should probably...”

“For sure, Michael.”

They were quiet for a long while in a universe only big enough for two, each wondering in a drunken haze if the other knew what the hell he was even talking about. And then they questioned if they even knew, themselves.

At some point, their pinkies entwined first to test the waters, and the other fingers followed, threading together tighter and tighter yet. Was this holding with possession before letting go forever, or the intention of never letting go at all? The answer remained irritatingly elusive.

In any case, when the first rays of sunlight embraced the horizon once more, Michael’s eyes opened to find himself back in a bed which both did and didn’t belong to him. He elongated himself in a stretch, pointed his toes downward, and then looked to Trevor—watched while he took steady breaths in his sleep, focused on his barely parted mouth, and felt the magnetism drawing him in.

He used to feel this pull on his heart, twenty years ago.

Michael leaned over slowly. Their noses touched, the space separating his lips from Trevor’s closed to mere millimeters and just before it became none, a familiar ghost posed a familiar inquiry.

What’s next, cowboy?

He stopped short of consummating the kiss.

Get a drink. The Yellow Jack. The bar next door... Michael’s gaze drifted to the side. Actually feel alive for a few hours and then return to the life he should love, must love—the life he gave up everything, gave up Trevor for.

...How long was too long to wait for someone?

And how long was too long to burn in the inferno of a self-made purgatory?

He withdrew; got up, got dressed, walked by Ron passed out on the porch couch with a beer in hand, and slid into the car. It was only 6AM and the heat was already suffocating, but that wasn’t a new feeling for Michael. He turned up the AC, pulled onto the dirt road, and drove.

It wasn’t until he reached the entrance ramp of the highway when he noticed how silent the world was outside of his mind, so he reached for the radio just in time to once again hear Phil Collins singing about how he didn’t care anymore. Must be nice.

~

He was becoming a true creature of habit. That was what Michael decided when he found himself strolling up a dusk-colored desert driveway exactly seven days after the last time he found himself doing the same thing...after a previous seven and another seven before then, and more yet. But he wasn’t the only one. In the same place, entertaining himself with the same activities, was the same person as always.

And that was when it occurred to him, the infinite loop: redundant and reiterating, comfortably uncomfortable, never a change or deviation. And in it, with no foreseeable end and no clear beginning, they were both stuck.

Michael slid the shades from his face and closed them with a snap. “...T. Hey.”

“I’d get out of the way...”

His freshly polished shoes remained in place and he said nothing more, simply opted to watch Trevor’s avoidance of him while he kept tossing grenades and drinking straight from the bottle. Someday, Michael thought, he might be strong enough to stay. Or perhaps Trevor might be strong enough to finally let him go. The latter was the path of least resistance, and what he strangely both dreaded and hoped for.

But when his eyes fell to his name inked on a bicep, he studied it for some time. And then finally... “T.”

“Time for the weekly drink, the weekly argument. The Yellow Jack, the bar next door...” Shrugging, Trevor set the whiskey down. “Let’s get a move on, porkchop. Make up for that lost time, mm?”

Michael huffed with a shake of his head. “A week? Or ten years of it?”

Raising his chin quickly, Trevor looked to him but Michael pivoted and let his footsteps carry him back to his car.

“I dunno, T. But I’m going back to the roof of the motel to try to figure it out.” The alarm disengaged with a chirp and as the door opened, he cocked his head. “You comin’?”

Trevor hesitated, scrutiny worn with conspicuous measure across his features. At last, his shoulders rose and his apathy was almost believable when he capitulated. “Ah, sure, why the hell not?” He tossed the bottle over the fence and strutted to the passenger door. “Would break up this fuckin’ monotony anyway.”

Michael breathed a laugh. “Yeah.” When he slipped into the seat, he changed the radio station to something new—some kind of electronic noise kids these days listened to. “I was thinking the same thing.”

As they drove down the street, Trevor put his feet on the dashboard and pressed his thumbs together. “So. This is really the end of us getting drinks, Mikey?”

“Shit, T. The end, the beginning.” Michael’s right hand slipped off the steering wheel and fell open-palmed between them. “Who fuckin’ knows anymore.”

It was a moment before Trevor’s fingers entwined with his own. “Good enough for me, Michael.” A beat. “For now.”

“For now,” Michael echoed. He drove past the motel and chased the sun until the last of its rays bled into the darkness—without ever letting go of Trevor’s hand, without Trevor ever letting go of his.

Hey. Maybe it was a start after all.

~

// Thank you for reading! This is my first story for this pairing and fandom. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

[heungtanbts]

love of the game

reader x jungkook

1,577 words

complete utter fluff

Your first baseball game. At that time all you knew for sure was that it was the KIA Tigers versus the Lotte Giants, Jungkook was a major Giants fan, and the sport involved a lot of swinging and sprinting. But Jungkook enjoyed the sport so much that he decided to take you to your first game on the 7th date, having already bought a season pass and everything. It was funny, though, being at a baseball game when the sport itself piqued negative interest in you. But your one and only loved the sport, and you wanted to love it too. Or at least try.

It wasn’t as hard as you had expected it to be, growing to love the sport that initially bored you to death. Game after game, date after date, one patient explanation after another from Jungkook, slowly but surely you started to actually enjoy the sport. There was something about the casual atmosphere, the booming voices of the announcers on the PA system, the blinding stadium lights and the blur of cheering that was addicting, and soon you became a fan of it all. So much of a fan that you even began to catch yourself standing up with indignation whenever the umpire made a bogus call, joining in with other fired up fans because the ump was definitely biased towards the opposing team. You began to lose count of how many games you’d attended, and how many times Jungkook had to pull you back down in your seat to calm down from all the yelling, but never bothering to hide that big fat cheeky grin of his. He was obviously overjoyed with your transformation into a new woman - one that appreciated this sacred sport as much as him (or dare he say it, possibly even more than him.)

But it was true - he changed everything for you.

You liked baseball now, for crying out loud. One of the few sports you never thought you’d ever learn to enjoy. And now, baseball games didn’t just mean cheap beer, greasy stadium food and feeling alive for a couple of hours, feeling like one body with the rest of the fans filling the stadium bleachers. It was about being with him, feeling alive because of him, simply being in his presence and soaking up every moment of it. It meant having stupid silly conversations with him about nothing during lulls in the game, or more serious ones while walking home hand in hand after some games when there were no Ubers available for pick-up. It meant admiring his wide toothy smiles, his cackling laughter, the way he’d always turn his baseball cap backwards when things were getting serious. The way he’d furrow his eyebrows together in concentration, or death grip your hand as the batter prepared to swing during the last inning. The way his eyes would light up and his cheers would echo clearly in your ears as he’d shoot out of his seat at an amazing homerun, pulling you up with him so he could wrap his arms around your waist and hoist you high in the air, planting kisses to your cheeks that were tinted a dusty pink from a mix of beer buzz and pure elation. You had grown to love the game not just for the game itself - but because a certain someone loved it first.

The October weather was still just as unbearable as the humid sticky summer months but luckily was easing off now that it was growing late into the evening. Crowds of people flooded through the stadium exits, hands waving at taxis and all the post-game chatter serving as the perfect summer soundtrack. The Lotte Giants had just demolished the Samsung Lions in a suspenseful game of ups and downs, and to your and Jungkook’s delight they were steadily making their way to glory. The excitement for the upcoming playoffs was enough to get your nerves buzzing and for you to bear the sudden drop in temperature as you stood outside of the stadium, waiting for your ride home. A sudden sharp gust of wind did make you shiver though, your short sleeves Giants jersey doing very little to warm the skin on your arms. You distractedly rubbed at your arms as Jungkook’s gravelly voice caught your attention. Turning, you observed as he paced around just a couple of steps away from you, his phone held up to his ear as he calmly explained your exact location to whom you assumed to be your lost Uber driver. He looked content, the post-win glow still radiating off of him as he caught your eye and winked playfully, still somehow keeping the phone conversation going.

“Yes sir, the corner of 56th and Washington... Yes, and then make a left there and keep going to avoid the game traffic.”

Another bout of wind swept on by and you couldn’t help but instinctively let out a small yelp, the chilling air mercilessly slapping against your bare skin and nearly blowing your cap off your head. You were beginning to shiver, every muscle in your body tensing up. Looking up, you caught Jungkook’s gaze again, except this time his eyebrows were creased, lips quirked downwards in a slight frown. You gave him a puzzled look with a cock of your head, silently questioning his expression when he simply responded by opening up one side of his jean jacket with his free hand, his posture welcoming and inviting you in. A smile stretched across your cheeks and without hesitation, you leapt forward and into his embrace, looping your arms through his jacket to wrap them around his warm jersey clad waist. Your sudden attack tipped him off balance just a bit, enough for him to have to take a small step back to regain his bearings, but he just chuckled and wrapped his jacket tighter around your back, nuzzling affectionately into your hair.

“Then once you hit McDuffy’s Pizza Parlor, you wanna make a right.” You quietly groaned into Jungkook’s shoulder at the sound of your favorite ball game restaurant, suddenly feeling ravenous from all that cheering and shouting, even though you just had their pizza a few hours earlier. Still, there was nothing you wanted more in that moment than some piping hot pizza - well, that and Jungkook’s warmth and embrace of course. He had to hold the phone away from his mouth to laugh at your reaction, knowing how much you loved McDuffy’s, and he gave your side a loving squeeze as he continued to give the driver directions. You contentedly stood there, Jungkook gently rocking your intertwined bodies from side to side, the brutal wind no longer having any effect on you. Was the wind even blowing anymore? You were so blissfully warm, from your bare short-clad thighs pressed up against his jeans all the way to the crown of your head where he rested his chin comfortably, leaving absentminded kisses there during pauses in the phone conversation. It was like the chilling temperature ceased to even exist anymore, or at least matter. 

Standing there, you took the time to breathe in his familiar scent - lingering clean cologne mixed with a slight hint of beer and an overwhelming amount of just him, his own unique scent. It suddenly dawned on you that you were here, all wrapped up in Jungkooks embrace, feeling the vibrations of his velvety voice against your ear, hearing his heart beat, slow, strong and steady, his arm wound around you so tightly like a silent reminder that he’d always keep you safe and warm. You thought about just how you came to be a part of his life, how he entered into yours, how this all started with a baseball game and some pretty low expectations on your part. The night air was still freezing, the stadium lights were still illuminating the surrounding area, and the crowds were still slowly dispersing to return to their respective homes, and yet internally it was all so overwhelming for you. To others, it may have seemed like a small, trivial moment, and yet it was monumental for you.  And you wanted to enjoy every bit of this seemingly small yet monumentally huge moment - the realization of your love for this man. 

“How many riders are there?” You heard Jungkook repeat the driver’s question, causing you to look up at him, only to see him already staring down at you, his large eyes sparkling from the glow of the stadium lights. Or maybe they were sparkling for another reason, maybe, just maybe it was because he was there with you. The amount of affection in his gaze certainly made you feel that way, like you were the only other human being to exist, at least in his world. As if to confirm your suspicions of his affection, he crinkled his nose adorably and leaned in to brush it against yours. “There’s just two of us, sir. But please do hurry, my poor girlfriend’s about to get frostbite out here.” He pleaded dramatically. You snorted audibly at his ridiculousness, pulling away to roll your eyes with a smile to make sure he could clearly see your reaction. And utterly satisfied with your reaction, he grinned in response and pulled you into his chest again, rewrapping his jacket and arm around you like he was never planning on to letting go. A sigh of content left your lips and you buried yourself deeper into his embrace, eyes closing, a soft hum resonating from your chest. You wanted this moment to never end.

This surely must be why you loved baseball. Simply because you loved him.

[sarahw-writing]

“Saiyan Love”

Summary:

Sometimes, a Saiyan warrior finds himself experiencing emotions that his native tongue can't even describe, so he needs to resort to his limited imagination, and find a way of his own to express the real depth of his feelings for his mate.

Hi guys!

I'm deep into my new chapter of "Yellow Roses", but things got pretty intense and I needed to take a little break and write something else.

This one-shot is inspired by an anon I got in my inbox on Tumblr, but I'm not sure if it was exactly a play along, so I've decided to publish it independently.

I've never really written anything regarding the Saiyan language, but I hope you enjoy this one...

You can find it on AO3 or on FF.

Or you can keep reading under the break:

She stepped out of the shower with cautious feet, fluffy bathrobe cozily wrapping up her naked body as she stood in front of the misted mirror, leisurely defogging it with the palm of her hand and reaching for her favorite comb, proceeding to untangle her short locks as she contemplated the dazed reflection staring right back at her.  

He was already outside.

She could feel him.

After more than five years of coexistence, living under the same roof and doing the best they could to bring up their little boy together, Bulma’s scientific mind still hadn’t found a rational explanation as to why her heart had become so in tune with that of her Saiyan lover, and why she could always sense his presence, at times even his carefully hidden emotions, flowing through her as if they’d become one single spiritual being.    

Her bare feet caressed the white carpet as she walked the few light steps separating her from their private bedroom, anxious hands clutching the collar of her robe when her eyes of sapphire were faced by that one-of-a-kind silhouette, sitting casually on one of the large armchairs in the lounge area, his gaze looking absentmindedly out the windows, lost into the bright city lights dimly illuminating the dark shadows of the night.

 ‘Should she ask?’      

 In spite of his apparent nonchalance, with that one foot resting on the seat, and an arm leaning on a coolly bent knee, her man was looking as alien as ever, enveloped by that undeniable, otherworldly aura, reminding her that she’d long ago given up on the absurd idea of Vegeta sharing any kind of resemblance to an ordinary man.

The Prince’s black stare chanced upon her at last, following Bulma’s every move as she graciously tiptoed in his direction, and making her wonder, as he often did, just what invisible force made him shift like this, that unseen power compelling him to leave his own private world behind to turn his full attentions on her.

It was almost as if her elusive partner lived two lives, an uncaring, distant existence of his own, making him walk and act as if nothing and no one in the entire Universe mattered but him, and a life shared in secret with her and their son, those rare but profoundly meaningful moments in which he’d let his guard down, bringing to light a truthful softness, surprising perhaps even himself.

Her feminine brow creased softly, eyes roaming with concern all over the quiet figure now shifting awkwardly on the chair, on the hunt for any of those painfully familiar signs of self-destruction, the nightly ritual of a woman sharing her life with a man always walking on a tightrope, standing at the edge of the abyss as he gambled with Life and Death with a tenacity that made her skin crawl.

His feet gingerly touched the ground, just as Bulma exhaled a faint sigh of relief, satisfied to discover no real damage on his nude torso, nothing but a handful of harmless cuts and bruises that would magically heal before the Sun even rose come morning. And, for an ephemeral instant, they both exchanged a sphinxlike glance, trying to decipher each other’s emotions with not one word, nothing but the mystical bond fiercely binding them together.    

 ‘Should she ask?’      

 “Did you have a nice day?” She asked kindly, her honeyed whisper breaking the unsettling silence as she rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling something breaking inside of her when the Prince responded by turning towards her gentle touch, sinking his nose into her wrist and inhaling deeply, almost desperately, seeking comfort in his mate’s warmth.

Her fingers twitched on his hot skin as she let him do as he wished, savoring and exploring her in his own primal way, and surrendering to his humble dominance when his arms found her slender body, draping themselves around her waist, and around the back of the bare thighs of a pair of shaky legs that could barely support her anymore, stunned by his heartbreaking humility.

There he was, the Mighty Prince of All Saiyans, ghosting the fuzzy fabric of her robe with his ragged breath as he teared her apart, shamefully hiding his face from her, burying it in her stomach, like the coward that he knew himself to be; a man with each foot firmly planted between two crumbling worlds, a haunting past and a hopeful future, a man always keeping something to himself, without the strength or the courage to take a leap of faith and surrender to the unexpected happiness that his beautiful woman and son were so eagerly offering to him.

Bulma’s arms gratefully took him in, polished fingertips soothingly scratching the nape of his neck as she battled the crushing stream of emotions overcoming her at the terrifying memory of her man lying on a pool of blood just days earlier, the wound inflicted by such chilling image still fresh in her mind.

 ‘Should she ask?’      

 Seven days.

It’d been seven days ever since he’d surprisingly agreed, without any resistance, to attend his son’s sixth Birthday party, right after she’d managed to bring up the subject with as much casualness as she’d been able to muster.

In truth, Vegeta had never actually missed any of Trunks’ birthday celebrations, and he appeared to have grown increasingly comfortable joining her and her loved ones on most special occasions, something that always meant the world to her, even if her mate’s presence was often a lonesome one. Even so, that still didn’t stop Bulma from being hit by the occasional pang of insecurity whenever she tried to invite him to be a part of events and celebrations which she knew to be embarrassingly foreign to the man she loved.

As always, Vegeta had acted with decorum during their child’s party and, even though he’d mostly kept to himself, choosing to happily focus on the lavish abundance of delicious food instead of wasting his precious time interacting with what he most certainly considered worthless strangers, it would have been impossible for Bulma not to notice the furtive glances that he’d kept throwing to their son throughout the entire morning, and the rare contentment swimming behind those impenetrable eyes, at times looking, dare she say it, happy, pleased to see their little boy clearly enjoying his special day.

But the ecstatic spell was broken as soon as the last guest left the gathering, with the Prince somberly announcing his retreat into one of those strenuous training sessions in his beloved Gravity Room, a grueling one it seemed, based on how categorically he rebuffed his son’s enthusiastic pleas to join him, and on his inexplicable instructions not to expect him for dinner that night, a gloomy command that shook Bulma up straight away.

Her gut feeling warned her back then, announcing something disturbing the Prince’s already troubled spirit, a dark turmoil she’d caught glimpses of here and there all through their rowdy years together, proving her right when, well into the night, she chose to disobey his orders, hysterically looking for him and finding his shattered body splayed upside down on the tiled floors of his training room, pitiably drenched in a puddle of crimson.

Nothing would ever describe her relief when she promptly got her hands on one of the few senzu beans she had left in the secret stash of the chamber’s medicine cabinet, just like she wouldn’t be able to put into words the raging fury she unleashed upon him immediately after he recovered his good health.  

Bulma burst into tears, wailing screams booming across the room as she smacked him repeatedly with those minute fists of hers, flailing and kicking in impotence, knowing that she couldn’t possibly hurt him but needing to do something, anything, to make her man wake up from his delusional pattern of self-slaughter.

She yelled viciously at him, reminding him that it’d been his choice, and only his, to stay on Earth with her and Trunks, and that he was free to leave whenever he pleased, at any time, rather than letting their little boy see him like this, because the child was now getting old enough to understand what was happening around him, and she’d be damned if he allowed his selfish stupidity to hurt or traumatize her baby in any way, her protective maternal instincts taking over, going as far as promising to kill him herself if he really wanted to die with such foolish urgency.

Vegeta completely lost track of just how long their disgraceful confrontation truly lasted, all he knew was how gladly, almost thankfully, he’d embraced it, taking blow after blow with resignation, for once wishing his woman to be physically stronger, if only so that she could cause some real damage and punish him for his egotistic idiocy.

“Why? J-Just why, Vegeta?!” Bulma demanded in a hoarse sob, her voice broken, tears streaming down her flushed face as she leaned into his naked chest. “Why?! Why can’t you just be happy?!”  

Her body trembled all over as she bowed in defeat, too exhausted to resist the strong arms lifting her from the ground with utmost care, carrying her all the way through the narrow flight of stairs leading to the cramped room in the ship’s basement, and lying her attentively on the single bed that was once the only witness to their first intimate encounters, long before their only child was conceived.

His nervous mouth descended on hers with heartrending need, merging their lips into a deep, agonizing kiss, and giving her no chance to speak any further, because she was right and they both knew, because it was happiness what terrified him the most, the reason behind the absurd physical abuse he’d been inflicting upon himself. And she was the only one, the only one who could clearly see that the Saiyan’s spirit was torn, torn between the man that he was becoming, and the one he’d been nurtured to be.

The longer he lived on their splendid little mudball, enjoying a life of harmony surrounded by people who, without a doubt, truly cared for him, the stronger his dormant resistance grew, as if there were an immobile part of him who thought himself unworthy of any kind of joy, resorting to brutal self-destruction whenever he let his guard down and allowed himself to fall into such peaceful contentment, and straightening himself up in the only way he knew how, through the most suicidal torture.

“We… We love you, Vegeta… Can’t you see?” She implored hopelessly, cupping his cheeks with her palms and bringing him closer, his brow on hers, whimpering into his mouth in languorous desire when she felt him freeing himself from his skintight pants, pulling her panties to the side with a trembling hand and slowly burying himself inside of her, not even bothering to remove her silky negligee.

His body trapped hers underneath him, driving home into her as he shielded her in his arms, nestling her head protectively in one hand while the other found one of her thighs, thick fingers digging into her flesh as he invited her to hold onto him with everything she had.    

“Bulma…” Vegeta murmured against her parted lips, his sheepish whisper betrayed by the blazing intensity of those ravenous eyes, a wild madness she’d very rarely ever seen in him before. “I-Ish felah…” He hissed fervidly, mouth pursed into a thin line, hating himself for the weakness of the emotions he was about to profess. “Ish felah… Ish felah nehteh…”

She shook her dizzy head back and forth, eyelids heavy, frowning in a delicious blend of desire and confusion as she dug her long fingers into the marred skin of his shoulders, jolting in pleasure at the friction of his flesh against her core as he kept thrusting into her, making her lose control, falling apart with the slow, relentless rhythm of his powerful hips.

“Ve-Vegeta… What…?”

“F-Felah…” He reassured her while closing his eyes, mortified by his vulnerability, even though the woman shivering beneath him didn’t understand the deep meaning hiding behind his zealous words. “Bulma… Felah! Ish felah nehteh!”

He hastened his pace when she rose to meet him with ever growing urgency, her fire burning out of control as he kept pronouncing those melodic words, over and over again, kissing and nipping her lips with animalistic need, and uncontrollably spilling himself within her when the pinnacle of climax hit her, collapsing on top of her as their spent bodies pulsed in ecstasy as one.    

The heiress could barely recall what happened next, only the iron safety of his hold when he flew her in his arms in the middle of the night, settling her back into the warm sanctuary of their matrimonial bed and joining her under the covers as he tucked her in, freely indulging her when she snuggled sleepily against him, and laying the most affectionate kiss on her temple, allowing those enigmatic words to gradually sink into her subconsciousness after he gingerly uttered them one last time.

 ‘Ish felah nehteh…’

 That was a week ago, and the man now sitting on the lush chair in front of her, holding her in the fiercest embrace, almost on his hands and knees, as he took in her calming scent, had been on his best behavior ever since, satiating his warlike thirst with daily training sessions, but taking great care not to overdo it, for her sake and that of their son.

To all appearances, not much had changed in their habitual routine in front of others and, much to Bulma’s relief, not even their young son seemed to have suspected of the bloodcurdling incident taking place in the secrecy of that cursed Gravity Room.

The treasured privacy of their sumptuous bedroom, on the other hand, had been a completely different story, a secluded place where Vegeta had given free rein to a side of him he’d never fully bared before.

As always, the Prince had remained a man of few words, permitting his body to express the fond emotions that Bulma secretly knew him to profess towards her and their son. But there’d been something different in the way he’d made love to her, a heart wrenching sensibility that could almost strip tears from her eyes, at times alternated with the most feverish passion, as if he were desperately attempting to reach out to her inmost soul through his frenzied ardor.

And then there were those words, those three cryptic words melting in his alien tongue whose meaning she’d been powerless to decipher, but that she truly believed to hold some sort symbolic significance to her mate, judging by the raw longing burning in those ebony eyes whenever he voiced them.    

 ‘Ish felah nehteh…’

 The sound would be both lascivious and pure, confident yet painfully shy, but in the mysterious harmony of those esoteric words, Bulma had recognized something vaguely ancient, an exotic archaism that could only belong to the Saiyan language of which her man was now the sole keeper, with the only exception of the little boy who’d recently become his one and only student.          

And so, after seven restless nights lying in bed with the living enigma that was her Prince, staring wide-eyed at the high ceilings with his beaten body dreaming in her arms, Bulma’s innate curiosity had prevailed in the end, resolving to make a little visit to a certain lavender-haired baby boy, in search of the longed for answer that she was still much too cowardly to ask directly to her man.

 “Mooooom!” Trunks whined boyishly when she’d visited his muddled bedroom earlier in the morning. “I gotta go! Goten’s waiting!” He pouted as he trotted impatiently all over the place, ready to leave now that he’d finally found the fugitive shoe he’d been looking for for a good twenty minutes.

“I know sweetie, but just come here a minute…” Bulma sighed tiredly, already frustrated after only one quick glance at the spiral notebook in her hand, knowing that there was no way she’d ever be able to make some sense out of the chaotic cluster of extra-terrestrial symbols childishly scribbled all over the small, wrinkly pages. “I can’t understand these symbols, baby… Don’t you want to help Mama?”

The rambunctious child’s eyebrows rose in sudden understanding. “Oh!” Trunks gasped, a huge grin spreading on his adorably chubby face. “Ah! Right! Papa made a list! Wait!” He exclaimed, tiny hands rummaging through the untidy pile of dinosaur drawings and brightly colored crayons spread across the short-legged table that served him as a desk. “Here!” The boy yelped triumphantly, eagerly placing another equally crumpled notepad in his Mother’s hands. “Papa made me make a list! It’s… Um… Phoni… Phani… Pho-Phoniti…”

“Phonetic?” Bulma corrected him knowingly, helpless to stop herself from smiling fondly at her little boy’s lovable antics.

“Yup!” He affirmed, happy to see the pleased look glowing in his Mama’s face as she run her gaze through the pages of his second notebook.

“I’m sure this will work!” She reassured her son, overcome by a new rush of hope now that she could at least understand most of the infantile calligraphy laid bare before her prying eyes. “Wait a minute, young man…” Bulma gently chastised him, latching onto Trunks’ new training gi with one firm hand the minute she saw him newly attempting to escape. “Do I get a kiss?” Her motherly voice reprimanded him, playfully offering her cheek to the rebellious little brat already fleeing from her, and giggling softly when Trunks readily obliged, planting the loudest smooch on his Mama’s face before taking flight, right through the window, in search of the best friend who was now like a twin brother to him.

She gawked through the window until her son’s minuscule, but extraordinarily powerful, figure faded into the distant mass of cottony clouds, her heart rabbiting in her chest when she turned around at last, taking a seat in Trunks’ yellow chair and hoping that the tiny piece of furniture would successfully bear her adult weight.

Bulma’s anxious hands laid the small notebook on the table with extreme care, handling it as if it were one of those prized treasure chests from her childhood stories, filled with the most precious secrets.

The scientist opened the notepad, fingers twitching edgily as her eyes wandered across the squared pages, rapidly noticing the clever pattern that her mate had surely designed: there were three vertical columns in each page, the first one containing the unknown Saiyan symbols, and a second one with what it looked like the phonetic pronunciation of such foreign words, followed by a third column, filled with the final meaning of each cryptogram, quickly revealing that the peculiar language was not made up by an alphabet, but by a single symbol representing each cryptic word.

Trunks’ handwriting was still infused with the typical babyish messiness of a boy his age but, thanks to Bulma’s clever genius, and to those increasingly longer hours dedicated to the one-on-one education of her little boy, she was already quite used to such sloppy scribbles, having no trouble at all, not only in fully comprehending every word penned in those wrinkly pages, but in successfully unveiling the meaning of two out of the three mysterious words coyly murmured by her Saiyan mate.

In effect, the words ‘Ish’ and ‘Felah’ were fairly quick to find, with the second one prompting an agonizingly tight lump in her throat. It’d been the word that Vegeta had repeated the most, the one which seemed to hold the greatest importance to him as he’d recurrently whispered it in her ear during those cherished nights of passionate lovemaking within their private Haven.

 Forever.

 The most exhilarating anticipation built up inside of her as her child’s scrawls progressively exposed her mate’s most intimate secrets, particularly after the shocking significance of that vital second word. But it didn’t take long for those great expectations to morph into bitter disappointment, just as soon as she realized, after an uncomfortable second reading, that the slippery third word was nowhere to be found.    

But Bulma Briefs was not the kind of woman to give up so damn easily and, after giving her brilliant mind carte blanche to ponder at liberty for a handful of minutes, mulling over that substantial list of words, a new thought came to her, the canny idea that perhaps the Prince’s puzzling expression was made out of four words instead of three.

A third thorough investigation of Trunks’ scribblings proved her suspicions right, making her hands delve in excitement into the messy pile of colorful drawings in search of a clean sheet of paper, ready to put all the pieces of Vegeta’s enigmatic riddle together, once and for all.

 Ish

Felah

Neh

Teh

The red crayon twirled shakily on the thick paper, wide blue eyes already overflown with tears of sheer surprise as they gaped, without a blink, at the astounding sentence finally revealed when she joined those mysterious words together.

 I

Forever

Need

You

 Her next vision were the blurry palms of her shuddering hands as she covered her eyes with them and she let it all out.

All of it.

Every poisonous insecurity, every single one of the doubts consuming her throughout all of her years shared with the distant Prince, wondering if he’d truly developed profound feelings for her, or if perhaps he’d chosen to stay with her and Trunks out of some twisted sense of loyalty, simply because she’d accidentally conceived his child and he had nowhere else to go in this world.

There had been times when she’d gone as far as believing that his emotional hermeticism was a sad sign of him still thinking of her as a mere pastime, a warm body to share his lonely nights with during those miserable times when it’d been clear as water that the death of his Saiyan rival, and his defeat at the hands of that diabolical green monster, had made him sink into the most melancholic depression.          

She lost any rational notion of time, not knowing how long she’d cried for while sitting on that little chair in the middle of her son’s lively room, or for how long she’d stood in the dark with her mate in her arms. All she felt was relief, miraculous relief at knowing that he cared, that behind that unbreakable façade of solitude and half-silences, Vegeta needed her in his life, just like she felt the light tug of his hand pulling on hers, inviting her without a sound to join him on the plush chair.  

Bulma gladly cosseted him, sitting on one muscular thigh and leisurely reentering reality thanks to the strong arms carefully sitting her on his lap, one of them enclosing around her waist, bringing her closer, while his other hand rested lightly on her bare thighs, delicately exploring the naked skin hiding beneath that white robe.

The pair of hungry lips finding the mouthwatering curve of her neck were making it increasingly hard to think, brushing her frenetic pulse with maddening tenderness and grunting in soft triumph when her head fell back in submission as she gave herself to him, hanging possessively onto his neck with trembling hands as her throat choked pitifully on the new downpour of tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

Too much.

It was too much.

 It would have been impossible for her to count how many times she’d been intimate with her man like this, but tonight felt different, tonight she knew, she knew just how deep his feelings for her run, and when Vegeta’s fingers began to move away the fabric of her clothing, languidly tracing the line of her bare shoulder with a hot tongue, all it took was that unnervingly salty scent to make his avid lips freeze in the spot.  

“Bulma?” He called for her into the night, his tone a fearful whisper, seeking her gaze as he brushed away her poignant tears with reverent fingers. “Is…? Is everything alright?”

Her words wouldn’t come, thoroughly overcome by the day’s astonishing revelations, and by that mesmerizing look of concern beaming in her lover’s confused eyes. And she simply nodded in shy reassurance, smiling sweetly through her tears as she instinctively tightened her minute hands around his neck, clutching a handful of his wild mane as she engaged her lips with his for a long, idle kiss, allowing herself to drown into him, and into that rare comfort that his quiet presence never failed to bring into her life.

 ‘Should she ask?’      

 “Vegeta…” Bulma murmured, feeling herself relax under the protection of her mate’s solid grip. “Can I…?” She stuttered with wariness, briefly biting on her lip as she took Vegeta’s face in her hands, running her thumb across the fresh bruise spoiling his cheekbone, as if her loving touch could heal the minor wound for him. “Can I ask you something?”

The warrior’s expression didn’t budge as he bowed his head in silent assent, knitted brows betraying his pretend aloofness while he stroked her damp hair with a coarse hand, patiently waiting for his woman to share her burden with him.

“Did…? Did your people…?” Her voice shook in apprehension. “Is there a Saiyan word for ‘Love’?”  

She could see his pupils dilating, even in the dark, waiting for what felt like an eternity for him to shake his head in denial, confirming a sad truth that she’d known all along: that those elusive Saiyans were so viciously uptight towards any kind of emotional attachment, that not even a word existed in their enraged world to voice the most powerful emotion of them all.

“I see…” Bulma timidly carried on. “But would you…? Would you say that…?” Her hands now rested nervously on the Prince’s naked chest, knowing that she was about to step into a dangerous territory, but needing him to know that she knew, that she’d just discovered emotions inside of him that rivaled her own, and the joy that such revelation had instilled in her fragile heart. “Would you say that love is…? That it’s like a need? Like… Like a need that lasts forever?”        

Her boldness could have made him run scared, forcing him to retreat back into his shell in the same way he used to back in the old times, those earlier days and nights spent away from home, away from her, brooding and driving himself to insanity through his own emotional stupidity.

But tonight, as he rejoiced in those glorious turquoise eyes staring at him in expectancy, it wasn’t fear what took a hold on him but liberation, a strange freedom arising from his woman’s unconditional acceptance of him, and the happiness that the acknowledgement of his embarrassingly sentimental emotions for her had brought her.

Vegeta glanced out the window, thoughtful eyes lost into the dazzling city lights, and the faint ghost of a lopsided smirk etched on his lips, taking pride in his woman’s cheeky intelligence, and in how effortlessly she’d managed to decipher another one of his most guarded secrets, marveled at how little he was now fearing the inevitable day in which Bulma would eventually strip him from his every mask.

And, when he met the nerve to nod in sincere acceptance, turning his sights on her, once again, he wasn’t at all surprised by the tearful face welcoming him back, or by those pretty lips trembling into the crook of his neck as she curled up against him, not even by how frighteningly natural it was for him to drape his arms around her narrow figure, cradling her affectionately as she dissolved into those happy tears that he could so easily recognize these days.

The Prince leaned back on the chair, holding the weepy bundle that was his Bulma as close as he could, soothingly running his hands up and down her quivery back as she set her emotions loose, holding onto the blackened stone that once was his heart just a little tighter with her greedy hands.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, cooling breath, lulled by the distant sounds of the luminous city that he now called home, and the gentle breathing of the woman nodding off in his warm embrace, the woman who’d, against all odds, become an intrinsic part of his very soul, the woman he couldn’t possibly live without anymore, even if he still found himself stubbornly rebelling against the undeserving love that she so freely offered.

And he could have sworn that he wasn’t yet dreaming when her final words caressed his ear, not long before Morpheus claimed her for himself.

 “I love you too, Vegeta…”  

There it is!

I don't know if I got this one right, but I really enjoyed experimenting a little bit with the idea of Vegeta trying to find a way to express his feelings for his Bulma...

I hope you liked it!

[elegantshapeshifter]

Distinguish Real Visions from Imagination

“Everybody daydreams and imagines things which have no basis in reality, undressing people with our eyes, savoring a kiss that has yet to be had, basking in the Tahitian sun although we are stuck in a high-rise office. Are these visions of the future, or even of future possibilities, or are they simply images that have been evoked in the mind to provide temporary relief from boredom or unfulfilled desire?  Is the same boredom with reality and lust for something more the originating force behind visions? In trying to analyze and interpret an Inner Vision, my first task is to ensure the reality of the thing, being certain that if there is any reasonable doubt as to its concrete and objective reality, that the whole thing is dismissed before I become lost in the splendor of a falsity. True visions possess exact attributes which are not shared by any sort of emotional, mental, psychological, or imaginary process.  In my own experiences with visions, I have collected and catalogued these attributes, and have used them to verify each subsequent experience to aide me in making this distinction.

The first attribute of a true Inner Vision is its spontaneity. The vision will appear without the Seer having to “conjure” it up, and without building an imagined scenario in the mind until it takes on a life of its own.  The vision will simply appear, presenting itself like a stranger at the door.  This is usually rather startling. Even if the intention of the Operation was to receive such a vision, when it appears its sudden force and magnitude will often buckle the Seer’s composition.  I have received such visions while going about my daily life, while washing dishes, folding laundry, while at work, and most often, while taking a recreational walk. The vision will move upon me with such speed that I have little time to prepare for it, and I will be overtaken so forcefully by it that taking a seat becomes an instant necessity.  This has proven to be a rather awkward situation when in public, as I stumble through a crowd with my eyes flashing, trying to find a chair, a bench, or even a stretch of grass where I can sit and receive that which is being delivered.  

The second test of the reality of the Inner Vision is in its originality.  Daydreams are drawn from memory of a thing, rather than from some sort of clairvoyant prediction of what it might be like.  If you look closely enough at your daydreams, the beach in Tahiti may appear very similar to a beach seen on a televised beer commercial, while the real beach might be covered in much finer sand with a more bleached appearance, and the ocean might be more green than  blue.  Your mind has drawn from your memory of that one commercial an entire view of Tahiti, filling in the unknown spots with the most likely images.  This often results in disappointment when the place is actually visited, giving the tourist a feeling of frustration for having made a preemptive assumption as to the appearance of the place, even though reality may be much more fulfilling than the fantasy. That which is seen and experienced in a vision is entirely original, having a birthplace not within the mind and the memory but in something that is outside of our awareness altogether.  If you tried right now to imagine what an angel might look like, your mind would begin searching your memory for an image to recall, resulting in pictures of chubby cherubs, thin, blond girls with halos, or Michael Landon. The spontaneity of the vision does not allow time or opportunity to search your memory banks and produce the image that you are seeing.  The product is a completely unique image of a personage which you have never before seen. The same principle is applied to every type of vision that is experienced.  If a voice is heard, rather than being the thunderous booming of God above, it may very well may be a soft, nasal tone, or will come instead as a musical concert of chimes which form words, or countless other possible sounds, completely unanticipated until such has been experienced.  Places that are viewed in a vision might have never been seen by you before, yet they appear in perfect detail as they should be.  Some Seers, myself included, have even tried to intellectually debate with the vision, reasoning that if I really were seeing Tahiti, wouldn’t the sand look just a bit more course, or wouldn’t the water be more blue, trying to change the image into that which I know it should be. The vision does not change from its original form, however, and all of these things which we try to alter are later verified to be true.  

The third attribute of an authentic vision is the clarity of the manifestation itself.  If you try to imagine once more what an angel might look like, without digging into your memory to find a suitable representation, you will end up with an image that is almost cartoonish.  Without having a reference memory of a real angel to build upon, your mind will throw together whatever it can and will call it good!  On the other hand, when such an entity is beheld, it will seem very real, as if an angel were actually standing before you!  The details of the face, every wrinkle and crease in perfect place, the brilliance of the light emanating from within the being, the individual strands of hair, and the unquestionable threedimensions of the vision would consume so much time and conscious work to create that the authenticity of the whole thing would instantly be exposed as a fraud.

The fourth test is in the verifiability of the images, or of the message itself. The account of the vision which I shared with my former occult partner, while I was in the discipline of a Christian mystical order, was of visitations by beings that would often be classified as angels, although I later learned that they exist outside of any religious paradigm whatsoever.  One of these beings visited me with the message that I needed to receive the highest initiation offered by the order outside of direct leadership, and that I needed to progress through specific grade rituals before I could leave the order. At the time of this visitation I was content to remain in the order indefinitely, and my fiancé and I had planned to be married by their priesthood in a rather extravagant ritual of union that they offered.  I asked about this and the angel informed me that the marriage would not take place, and that I would be forced from the order altogether once I had completed that which he had instructed me to complete.  This saddened me for quite some time, and although I was unable to question to reality of the vision or to rationalize it as some creation of my mind, due to its intensity and its verifiability, I tried with all of my will to believe that perhaps the messenger was wrong, perhaps once I had received this knowledge I could alter the destined course.  I even tried to tell myself that perhaps this was a test, and that I was to not only endure, but to rise up in the order and to remain there forever, despite the warnings of the angel. Within days after having completed the grade ritual necessary to receive the final initiation, my fiancé informed me of her desire to look elsewhere for love, and we parted.  Days later, the ritual of initiation was performed, the powers of that position were conferred upon me, and I was excommunicated from the order within two weeks for various reasons.  And I remembered the words of the messenger and his prophecy that I had tried so hard to dismiss. When a vision is manifested, the information received from it must be verified if at all possible.  When I have seen in my mind a location relating to the issue for which I am requesting guidance, when the place is visited I have never been disappointed by the difference between that which I beheld and that which is real.  In fact, I usually find myself startled and in a state of momentary psychological shock by the exactness of it. This is one of the great divides between the prophet and the schizophrenic: the reality of that which is seen, heard, and understood. Sitting by and waiting for the verification of the information received in a vision, or even chasing after it to see if you were right, is not only undesirable, but is often unnecessary. The truth of the thing will make its own self manifest.

These tests can be applied to every type of vision, whether divine or diabolical, of the deceased or the unborn, beheld internally or externally, each vision should be measured against these standards.  This will seem a waste of time for the person who has experienced visions with his physical senses, but all things must be measured and recorded, all things must be proven rather than taken on faith blindly.”

- “Questing After Visions: Making Conscious Contact”, by E.A. Koetting

[littlemissheartfilia]

Stubborn Loving

My contribution to @ftlgbtales October event: day seven: Stubborn

Part(s):  [1]   [2]

Summary:  Minerva just wanted to come home to her loving girlfriend and maybe a nice cup of tea. Instead she got a face from her past and a lot of reminders of her ruined childhood. Luckily Yukino is always going to be there for her.

Pairing(s): Yukinerva

Setting:  Modern day AU. This two-shot exists within a universe I set up in a OS ages ago. The OS is The Rolling Pin if you wanna check it out on AO3? Not at all necessary to do that in order to understand this though, everything’s self explanatory.

Sunlight glittered off the disco ball hanging in the window. Now that Yukino had gotten used to it, she quite liked having it there. It hung perfectly in a corner between two windows where it caught the most light and reflected it in decorative circle beams all around the living room.

Yukino put her book down when one of its beams began shining directly on the page she was reading. She remembered when Minerva had first gotten it, claiming it was a gift from Sting to “spice up their apartment”. Minerva said she took it only to make Sting happy and to get him off her back, but Yukino saw the way she admired its decorative capabilities before.

Yukino also remembered how when Minerva had first gotten it, the disco ball was painted over. In actuality, it was just a large styrofoam ball with bits of reflective plastic glued to it. Something Sting had made by hand. Only, Sting took it a step further and painted the plastic (presumably in hopes that it would shine different colors around the room). But the paint had the opposite effect, and ended up making it’s reflective lights dimmer, almost nonexistent.

Minerva had sighed when she first noticed it. “For someone who tries so hard he doesn’t get very far…” she remarked under her breath. Minerva then spent the next hour enlisting Yukino’s help in washing off the paint, which came off too easily, and buying tinted plastic to glue onto it, doing the job Sting wanted it to do in the first place.

Now it flashes white circles of light with a colored outline around the room. Not exactly the rainbow disco Sting had wanted for them, but all in all effective. Of course, Minerva and Yukino had never told Sting about all the work they had to do to get it that way. So whenever he came over he was always pleasantly surprised that they still had it, and that it reflected light the way he had wanted it to. He liked to praise himself on it at least once a week.

Yukino bookmarked her page and set the book on their new coffee table. After Minerva’s father destroyed the last one, they were forced to spend what little money they had on a replacement. Yukino insisted as long as they were paying for it, they might as well make it good quality. Preferably one that matched with their couch. If Sting prides himself on his disco ball making skills, Yukino could pride herself on her coffee table buying skills.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed the next moment with a snapchat from Sting. Opening it, Yukino found Sting’s face extremely close to the camera, Minerva and Rogue just barely visible beyond his messy blonde hair, talking with each other seemingly unaware Sting was taking a photo. They all looked happy and the thought made Yukino’s heart soar.

Sting had captioned the picture with, “Everyone’s here and they miss you.” Yukino was about to reply when her phone buzzed again with another snap. This time it was Minerva’s face right beside Sting’s. Both of them with wide eyes, squishing their faces together; trying to be closest to the camera. Yukino stifled a giggle and read the caption. “Your woman says to stop being an antisocial bookworm and get your ass over here.”

Yukino grabbed her book to pose with it covering half her face and replied, “Books are such good company but if you insist…”

Seconds later she got a snap from Minerva. It looked to her like Minerva had snuck away from the boys because she was in a differently colored room. In the photo, her thin eyebrows were raised suggestively and she was biting a large chunk of her burgundy painted bottom lip. This was something she knew Yukino hated, but also loved immensely. “Come play with me”, the caption read, and Yukino had to put her phone down because her heart was pounding so much.

She snapped a quick photo in the middle of her getting up, one which featured contents of their living room in blurred motion and a quick message saying, “I’m on my way”.

It only took about ten minutes to find a cab and ride it into town where she knew Sting and Rogue’s apartment was. She stepped out of the car after tipping the driver, and already she could hear yelling singing coming from Sting’s open window.

From their snaps, Yukino had thought that she walking into a hang out between Sting, Rogue and Minerva. But she was very certain she heard Orga’s booming laughter over Gajeel and Natsu’s competitive bickering. All the while, Minerva and Sting had a screaming sing off. Although Yukino knew both of them had a rather nice singing voice, it certainly didn’t sound that way now. The fact that Yukino could hear them all the way from the third floor was an impressive feat.

On a whim, Yukino pulled out her phone and quickly took a video of the only window of Sting’s that faced the street. The curtains were drawn but the window was flung wide open and Yukino caught their auditory chaos on camera. Laughing, she sent it to Sting.

Yukino was about to head up the steps to their apartment when suddenly Sting stopped singing, the music from the karaoke game and Minerva’s voice continuing in his place. In a split second he was yelling Yukino’s name and ripped open the curtains to his window.

Yukino gave him a polite wave while Sting slammed his hands down on the windowsill. He leaned his body out of the window so far Yukino thought he might fall. There had been a metal grate there once, but after a particularly rowdy party and Sting’s body slamming into it, the grate popped off its hinges and was lost on a street corner.

“Get your butt up here, Aguria! Or Rogue’s gonna eat all your cookies.”

Yukino squeaked, “Save a magical floating cookie for me!” That was a name Sting coined when he first got high off Yukino’s cookies and it stuck ever since. Yukino had to run up the steps to the third floor. The elevator was still out of order, and at this point she doubted they’d ever fix it.

If the sound from outside the building was loud, then opening the door brought a whole new blast of energy to her. Immediately upon entering she was greeted with at least five hearty welcomes that boomed out into the hallway.

Orga caught her hand and pulled her inside with a wide grin. Six bodies all writhed around the small one bedroom apartment. Sting still hadn’t gotten around to buying more furniture aside from the beat up couch in the living room. Rogue had at least got him a wooden desk that he could use for his laptop. It sat in front of the couch and by location and functionality mostly became Sting’s new mock television/radio set.

Aside from that, the apartment was largely empty, Yukino surmised months ago that this was the only reason they all came here to party: the lack of furniture and the open floor plan left them able to fit many bodies inside of a small space. That, and she was pretty sure Sting loved the company more than he loved himself.

The karaoke song ended, not because Sting had stopped singing altogether, now choosing to entertain his guests, but because Minerva had stopped the music on Sting’s laptop as soon as Yukino walked in.

“Oi, don’t turn off the tunes!” Yukino heard a disgruntled Gajeel yell from across the room.

Minerva didn’t even bother glancing back as she shouted to him, “Then you pick the song metalhead!” Then she flashed Yukino a smile and made her way over to her girlfriend.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Natsu screamed, lunging for the laptop before Gajeel could get there. “The last time you chose the music my ears bled. Let me DJ this time.”

While Natsu and Gajeel bickered over the music choice, Yukino was distracted as Minerva sauntered her way over. She’d never be over the way Minerva’s hips swung wildly as she walked, her side slit skirt showing off just the right amount of thigh to give Yukino goosebumps.

There was no time to talk, not even a hello, just Minerva grabbing Yukino by the waist, dipping her and planting the most passionate kiss on her lips. Half of the room erupted into teasing and Yukino was pretty sure she caught Rogue snapping a picture of them.

She ignored all the eyes on her the minute Minerva opened her mouth and let her tongue dance over Yukino’s lips. Minerva’s hot breath brought the stench of alcohol and Yukino had to pull back.

She creased her brows. “Babe?” Yukino started, but Minerva only gave her a sly smile. It wasn’t too late in the day to drink quite honestly. Yukino had walked up the apartment steps by six in a summer afternoon, but Minerva knew how alcohol set Yukino’s anxiety off. She’d seen Minerva be a victim of it for too long.

“I’ve only had one glass, relax,” Minerva said voice low in Yukino's ear. She wasn’t inebriated, in fact she wasn’t even tipsy yet, but Yukino was uncomfortable with it anyway. She decided for just this once, she wouldn’t make it a big deal. She knew that Minerva wasn’t working tomorrow, so she guessed it would be fine.

And it was fine...for the most part. Yukino was able to enjoy the party with her friends. She enjoyed it even more after she had one of her magical floating cookies. Now at least twice a month, Sting or Rogue would request Yukino to make more of those cookies for all the parties the boys liked to hold.

Yukino knew Sting just wanted to have a good time, and although she knew Rogue had never liked crowds as much she guessed the cookies helped take a little of the edge off so he could enjoy himself. Yukino knew what that felt like, because she knew Minerva was often the same way with alcohol.

But for tonight, Yukino was able to put her worries about her friends’ physical and mental health aside. Natsu and Gajeel were easily the life of the party, and if you combine that with Sting’s uncanny ability to keep whoever engaged in conversation with him happy and upbeat, these parties were always something that Yukino looked forward to.

Yes, everything was going well...that is, at least until the end of the night. Yukino could tell that Minerva was steadily drinking too much. And although the cookie she had did a lot to quell her ability to care about this, it wore off around ten then got impossible to ignore closer to midnight. Minerva was pacing herself but once the sky got darker it seemed like she let herself go wild.

Gajeel and Orga had already been called home by their significant others, and had left the party. Natsu, who seemed to have no problem making himself at home, was passed out on Sting’s couch. Minerva was still entertaining them with card games. She tried to get a round of strip poker going once but Rogue and Yukino, the only sober ones left at this point, talked her down from it.

Yukino glanced at the clock on her phone; it read nearly one o’clock. She pinched Minerva’s elbow by her side and leaned it to whisper in her ear. “It’s late, we should head home.”

Minerva tilted a little as she replied too loudly, “You’re always ruining the fun! Drink a little, let go of that stick in your ass!”

Yukino frowned deeply at Minerva. She was talking too loudly and she was definitely too drunk at this point. The entire room had heard her and although Natsu was still asleep his snoring had stopped. Yukino wondered if he was just pretending to stay asleep for the sake of staying out of the oncoming fight.

Yukino grabbed Minerva’s arm and in her serious voice told her, “Min, I mean it. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Sting we should get you to bed too,” Rogue cut in and Yukino was thankful for it though she kept her staring contest with Minerva. Sting was much easier to handle drunk than Minerva was and the only protest he offered was a mumbled request to cuddle with Rogue. To which Rogue blushed and told him gently, “Just go to sleep, Eucliffe.”

Yukino pulled her lips thin and waited until Rogue had helped Sting to the bedroom before speaking again, more patient this time to try and appeal to Minerva’s good side. “Minerva please. It’s late, I’m tired and you shouldn’t drink anymore tonight.”

Minerva pulled away and her lips made a pffftt sound as she waved her hand. “I’m fine, Yuks,” she said then nearly fell off her chair reaching across the table for the vodka bottle. Yukino stood up quickly and caught her arm.

“Stop being so stubborn, Minerva!” Yukino shouted the words a little louder than she meant to. “You always get like this when you drink, that’s why I hate it! Can’t we just enjoy our friends and have a good time without you going overboard like this?”

Minerva frowned now, trying to stand up but having to lean into the table heavily. “I am having fun, Yuki! You just wanna be an anal bitch.”

Minerva tried to move from her spot but Yukino caught her arm to stop her from falling and then pinned her hands on the table to keep her in place. “Stop with that. Please for once let’s just go home without making it a big deal,” Yukino pleaded.

Minerva shook her head belligerently, her dark hair falling over her face, catching on the tip of her pointed nose and making her look even more a mess. “Why do you even care so much?” She began to try to remove her hands from Yukino’s grip but didn’t find it easy. “You shouldn’t care, you know that?” Minerva’s words were beginning to slur, already they were so mumbled Yukino could just barely understand her.

“Minerva-” Yukino began losing her patience.

“Yukino!” Minerva mocked. “Yukino, Yukino, stuck with my depressed ass because all you do is pity me. You can just leave if it’s that horrible, Yukino! I’m better off on my own anyway!”

This time her words shocked Yukino and Minerva was able to wriggle free from her grasp. Minerva stumbled back into the other chair Rogue had left pushed out but she caught herself and tried to walk to the fridge next.

Yukino shook herself from her trance and caught up to Minerva quickly. She took Minerva’s shoulders and whirled her around so she could look in her eyes. “Min,” she said. “You don’t really believe that do you?”

Yukino knew talking to drunk Minerva never went anywhere. Minerva wouldn’t remember this come morning and she was too far gone to handle herself or her thoughts correctly. But Yukino wondered if maybe the drinking had somehow brought unaddressed issues to the surface that Minerva wouldn’t have told Yukino about otherwise.

Part of her yearned to try and fix Minerva, to help her see how much Yukino loved her and see her be happy. The other part of her knew that it was pointless. Minerva was too stubborn when drunk, too unwilling to listen to anyone. And anyhow it was just the alcohol talking. Minerva never would have said these things sober.

Minerva pushed Yukino’s arms off her and stumbled until her back hit the fridge, rattling its contents. “You’re the only one who doesn’t!” she retorted. “I’m too ffffucked up for you,” Minerva stammered, having trouble saying the ‘f’ sound. “You’re too good. You’re too...perfect! And everyone knows it’s only a matter of time until you leave me. Just like everyone leaves me.” Now Minerva’s face contorted and she let out one loud ugly sob.

Yukino could barely think straight as Minerva slid down the fridge in defeat. She curled her knees up to her chest and folded her arms over her head, openly sobbing now. Suddenly the sight of her snapped something inside Yukino. She couldn’t stand here and just watch as the love of her life curled up helplessly on the dirty kitchen floor.

Yukino knelt beside her and tried to take Minerva in her arms. “Babe, I’m never going to leave you.” Minerva sobbed louder. Yukino tried to lift her chin now. Minerva was hiccuping and couldn’t control her erratic breathing. Her eyes scrunched into anguish as tears fell down like tiny rivers. It was enough to make Yukino tear up. “Minnie, I’m not going anywhere.” She tried to make her voice reassuring but was afraid it fell short. “I promise. I love you, Minerva. I don’t want to leave you.”

Minerva didn’t respond to her but she stopped sobbing, tears falling silently now. She pulled her gaze away from Yukino and trained it on the floor between her thighs. Without a word she shuffled over and dropped a hand on the spot beside her.

Yukino knew what she meant and positioned herself at Minerva’s side, wrapping her arm around her girlfriend. Minerva sniffed loudly, resting her head in the crook of Yukino’s neck. Neither of them spoke and the antics of the night was suddenly lost to deafening silence.

Now Yukino could hear the constant buzzing of the streetlights right outside the window. Sting’s laptop, now halfway to closed, left a faint outline on Natsu’s still form on the couch, one of his arms draped over the backrest. It provided the only other light aside from the ceiling lamp which had dimmed years before Sting moved into the apartment.

Soon Minerva’s hiccups and shaky breaths died down into a steady rhythm as she fell asleep. Yukino pulled her tighter, dragging Minerva’s limp form into her lap and letting her head rest there.

The apartment was so quiet she was nearly startled when the door to Sting’s bedroom opened and Rogue’s padded footsteps came out. Over the kitchen counter Yukino could see him looking around for them. He raised an eyebrow when his eye fell on Minerva and Yukino cuddling in front of the fridge.

Yukino lifted a finger to her mouth as Rogue came close. He knelt down beside them. “Everything ok?” he asked placing a gentle hand on the toe of Yukino’s bare foot.

Yukino nodded but her head dropped to the floor in spite of her attempt at positivity.

“Yukino?” Rogue said her name like a parent would when they know a child is hiding something.

Yukino didn’t look up at Rogue but simply brushed some of Minerva’s long locks behind her ear. “She’s afraid I’m going to leave her,” Yukino said, her voice too small even to her ears but yet the words were also too loud in the empty, silent apartment.

Rogue didn’t answer immediately. Instead he sat down cross legged in front of them and asked, “Well, are you?”

Yukino shot him a look halfway between indignation and confusion. “I could never.”

Rogue sort of smiled at her and said, “Yeah, I kind of knew that.” He paused and Yukino let out a sigh. “Minerva needs you, Yukino. Just like you need her. She may drink sometimes but I think you know by now how insecure she is.”

“I never knew about this…”

“She never told you?”

Yukino shook her head and took a deep breath. “I get it. Her father’s the biggest asshole on this planet. He did horrible things and left her with so many problems. I just-” Yukino paused trying to search for the words while also trying to keep her voice steady. “I never knew she was afraid for me too.”

Rogue didn’t look at them. His red eyes wandered to somewhere beyond the open window. “We all have something we’re hiding. But whatever it is, don’t let that stop you from getting help. You know Sting and I are always here for you both.” Yukino nodded and Rogue sort of chuckled as he continued. “Even Orga and Rufus, however often they like to ignore the sentimental stuff.” This made Yukino smile.

Before either of them could say anymore Natsu’s sleepy voice floated over from the couch. “You forgot about me, idiot.”

As Yukino and Rogue turned to look at the couch they saw Natsu sitting up and turning around so his arms rested over the back of the couch. Yukino smirked. “How long have you been listening?”

Natsu shrugged, a gesture barely picked up in the dim room. “Long enough. But I mean it, Yuks. Friends are supposed to be there for each other. And you’re my friend so I’ll always be there for you.”

Yukino smiled at him, “Thank you very much,” she said sweetly.

There wasn’t a moment's silence before Natsu’s phone started buzzing. He pulled it out, the bright screen lighting up his face more than anything else in the room. He looked at them sheepishly then and said, “Ah, sorry. Horrible timing but Gray’s calling. Probably wondering where I am.”

Rogue nodded in understanding and Natsu stood up to answer the phone, grabbing his things and exiting out the door as he did. As Natsu walked Yukino caught snippets of his conversation that faded out the farther he went down the hall.

“Hey...Yeah I’m fine, ice princess, relax...Don’t have to yell at me, I’m coming home!”

Yukino and Rogue shared a look and a laugh as Natsu and Gray’s bickering quieted into nothing. There was a moment where Yukino was too tired to think of anything to say. Rogue filled the returned silence with, “Now that the couch is free let’s move Minerva. I’ll make up the air mattress for you beside it.”

Yukino wanted to refuse but she knew she wasn’t in any position to. There was no way she could get Minerva home when she was passed out. Instead Yukino nodded and said, “Thank you, I’m sorry to impose.”

“Nonsense. Wait there, I’ll get blankets and pillows. Lord knows Sting has enough of them on his bed.”

Rogue stood up and walked around the kitchen counter to the hallway where he paused. “Oh, and Yukino?” she looked up at him. “Let her know none of us are going anywhere,” he said with a quick glance down at Minerva.

“She’ll know soon. Because we’re all here for her.”

Rogue nodded then added, “We’re all here for each other.”

[theredwallrecorder]

TLOL - Papa Ou T’ai

This is, without a doubt, @raphcrow‘s fault.

For raph, and for the esteemed @the-redwaller, whose human AU fics I’d die for.

- - - - - -

Tell me where he comes from, then I will know where I'm going Mommy says if you search hard for it, you always end up finding it

Whether you believe in this or not One day will come when we'll stop believing One day or another we will all become papas And one day from another we will disappear

Will we be detestable? Will we be admirable? Genitors or genius, tell us who gives birth to irresponsibles Eh, tell us who!

Everybody knows how to make babies But nobody knows how to make papas Mister "Know-It-All" would have inherited it, that's it Does it come from sucking our thumbs or what? Tell us where it is hidden!

Eh, Papa... where are you?

- - - - -

Windred lingered outside the middle school's security doors, anxiety etched into the extra creases across her wrinkled brow. Moments ago she had pressed the buzzer on the external intercom panel, but she pressed it again, mentally chiding the shakiness of her thin hands. It was the second time in a month that Martin had gotten in trouble at school. She contemplated the meager words spoken to her over the phone by the dean's secretary, their bitter tinge pulling down the corners of her mouth.

"Martin's been in a fight again, we need you to come by."

The buzzer sounded, indicating that the door had been unlocked for her. She struggled to open the heavy thing, surprised by its stoic weight. The edge of her handknit shawl caught on a chip in the metal handle, momentarily entangling her. Alarmed, she flashed a desperate glance at a passing teacher. He sauntered by without a word, never turning to acknowledge her presence, and Windred was left to extracate her shawl from the difficult door by herself.

A handful of laminated paper signs aided Windred in finding her way to the school's main office. It was a stunningly simple affair, one secretary's desk floating awkwardly in the center of the room, a young woman typing away busily at the computer as the phone by her side beeped and chirruped incessantly. Against one wall stood a row of cheap plush chairs, their uniformity broken up by a miniscule side table littered with school pamphlets. A half-dead ivy plant languished in the far corner, flanking the door that lead to the administrative offices within. Windred hovered silently by the secretary's desk, hoping the woman would notice her and speak first.

Just then, a boy entered the room in a flurry of motion. He darted in front of Windred and planted his hands upon the desk, gasping, "Miss Whittaker just let me come from class... is Martin here? I saw the whole thing, please Miss, can I go in?!"

The secretary stopped typing to stare levelly at the boy. "Timballisto, you've just cut in front of this nice lady. Please mind your manners, and wait your turn."

The boy gulped, turning around. His face lit up at the sight of Windred, and he clutched at the curls of his mussed, raven-colored hair, offering her a timid bow. "Miss Tristram! You're here cuz they called, aren't you? It wasn't Martin's fault, Cessair started sayin' things and--"

"Timballisto," interrupted the secretary.

The boy froze. "Yes, Miss?"

"Please have a seat while I help this woman."

"Y-yes ma'am..."

Soundly deflated, Timballisto shuffled over to the wall of chairs. The secretary offered Windred a halfhearted smile. "Welcome, Miss..."

"Er, Tristram," Windred finished, inclining her head politely.

"Yes, Miss Tristram. May I see your ID please?"

Windred studied the secretary quizzically. "My... ID?"

"Yes ma'am. I will only borrow it for a moment. We use government-recognized forms of personal identification to make visitor passes for our guests. It is school policy that all guests wear a clearly visible visitor pass when they are upon school grounds."

"Oh, yes, of course," Windred murmured, fumbling with her purse. "Will this do?"

She handed the secretary her passport. The woman glanced at the booklet's contents, her finely manicured nails dancing across the keyboard of her computer. A curious grey block squatting upon the secretary's desk began to hum before spitting out a length of wax paper. The secretary plucked the piece of paper from the instrument, presenting it back to Windred along with her passport.

"Martin is sitting with the dean of students at present," the secretary stated, rising to her feet and smoothing the crinkles in her pencil skirt. She indicated the door behind her with a toss of her head. "If you would follow me, I will take you to his office."

Walking behind the secretary, Windred felt as though the walls were closing in on her. The sunlight glinted off the picture frames hanging in the narrow hallway, causing Windred's eyes to water. At least, that's what she told herself. She hated this feeling, the creeping suspicion that Martin was slowly entering a world which she could not access. She shoved her fingers up behind her glasses to rub away the tears and almost bumped into the secretary, who had stopped at another doorway. Without a sound the secretary ushered her through the door, closing it behind her.

The dean's office was considerably darker than the hallway. The blinds along the western window had been closed, blocking out the mellow afternoon sunshine. A pair of lamps with stained glass shades lit up the half-circle of chairs kneeling before the dean's desk. At one end of the circle sat a sniffling boy, his bright red hair and clothing disheveled. He glanced up in fear upon Windred's entrance, and she caught a glimpse of the angry purplish-red welt gracing his swollen cheek. Across from the boy, on the opposite end of the circle, was Martin. He appeared wholly unscathed, though he had not yet made eye contact with Windred. She blinked a few times to clear her vision, reaching behind with one hand to steady herself against the doorframe. The old woman's heart ached for the two boys. Why must the children fight, too? she wondered to herself. She wanted to listen to their stories, to offer both of them comfort, but she was not the one in authority here. That particular individual peered over the top of his glasses at her as he shuffled the paperwork in his hands.

"Ah. Good afternoon," the dean said gruffly. He swiveled in his office chair to get a better view of Windred. "I am familiar with Cessair's parents, so might I presume that you are Martin's legal guardian?"

"Yes," Windred nodded. "I am Martin's grandmother."

"Welcome. Please, take a seat. Forgive me if I remain silent for a few minutes; I am just going over the referral papers, and I would like to address everyone once all parties have arrived."

"Of course. Thank you very much."

Windred settled herself in the chair beside Martin. Intuition told her that words were meaningless in this space of judgment. She reached over to rub Martin's back comfortingly, her eyes roaming across his body. A pang of sadness jolted her heart when she realized he was nursing one arm in such a way that she could not note the extent of his injury. Finally, Martin's weight shifted, and he looked up at her. Tentative gratitude shone clear in his inquisitive gaze. She offered him a warm, reassuring smile. Encouraged by her loving attitude, Martin smiled back.

It was during their wordless exchange that Cessair's father entered. Windred smelled him before she saw him, a noxious bouquet of sweat, cigarette smoke, and alcohol. She turned to catch the glare of disgust stamped upon the man's face and was surprised to discover his anger was not directed at Martin.

"Cessair!" the man boomed, in a voice much too loud for a school office. "Who gave yeh a bloody tune up, eh? Damned other kid better've lost more 'n a few teeth for a rose like that 'un... hmm?" The man paused, blinking harshly at the sight of Windred and Martin. It was as if the pair of them had sprung into existence out of thin air. "What 'n the fu--"

Before any more could be said, the dean brought his kingdom to order. "Mister Borka, kindly have a seat, if you would." He indicated the remaining empty chair. With a rude snort, Cessair's father swallowed the remainder of his comment and plopped down onto his behind. The dean cleared his throat.

"Thank you both for coming. As you already know, your sons have been involved in an altercation that resulted in physical contact. This occurred in the cafeteria during the class lunch period. After speaking with both boys and gathering teacher testimony, I have come to find that some unkind words were shared before things escalated. Cessair, what did you say to Martin before he punched you?"

Silence reigned in the office. Windred could almost feel Cessair squirming under the dean's scrupulous, hawk-like stare. Just before the period of quiet became unsettling, Cessair's father stirred, dealing his son a slight blow on the shoulder with the back of one hand.

"When a man asks you a question, you answer!" he growled.

"I said he was a bastard orphan," Cessair confessed, his voice barely above a murmur.

The words stung Windred more than she could have expected. Shocked, she stared at Cessair and his father, the slow realization of all that had happened beginning to dawn on her.

"Do you understand how cruel and hurtful those words are?" the dean pressed.

"... I guess."

The color began rising in Mr. Borka's face. Just in time, Cessair noticed his father's mounting anger.

"Yes, Mister Ako, sir!" he cried, shrinking back into his seat. The boy's father slouched further in his seat, muttering some unintelligible words under his breath. Windred was utterly speechless.

With a sigh, the dean rotated his chair to face Martin. "Martin, do you understand why punching Cessair was wrong?"

"Yes sir," Martin answered humbly. "I... let my anger tell me what to do, but I should have just ignored him, or told a teacher."

The dean reshuffled the paperwork on his desk, obviously pleased by Martin's show of maturity. He proffered to Windred and Mr. Borka a pair of cheap plastic folders, voicing their contents as the two perused the papers within.

"It is the joint decision of myself and the administrative faculty that Cessair and Martin be suspended for two days, beginning tomorrow," he quipped. "Thankfully, several teachers were able to intervene before anyone was seriously hurt. We take physical fights between students very seriously here at Markshan. Their suspensions will have accompanying work from each of their teachers, all of which must be completed and handed in the day of their return to school." The dean rose up from behind his desk, and Windred correctly interpreted his motion as an indication that their meeting was coming to a close. She shuffled her feet and stood up, Martin rising to stand beside her.

"Forgive me," the dean began, "but I must attend an urgent meeting. I will send for Ms. Bella from security, who will make sure you find your way out of the building. School policy, of course." In a few strides he crossed the room, opening the door for Windred and Martin. She murmured a polite thank you before exiting, one arm resting across Martin's shoulders. It was only after they had made it partway down the hall that she became aware she had subconsciously placed herself between Martin and Cessair's father. She glanced back over her shoulder, embracing the subsequent feeling of relief that washed over her when she noticed that the monster in question had chosen to follow the dean. The man's furious protests and threatening curses reached her ears, but she tightened her grasp on Martin, steering him towards the waiting figure of Ms. Bella.

Only once before had such righteous feeling risen in her spirit. Only once before had she seen fit to describe another person as a monster. So distracted was she by the wraiths of fear and loathing fluttering against one another in her chest that she did not notice her surroundings until she sat down too roughly on the public bench by the bus stop, Ms. Bella's genial words of farewell ringing faintly in her immediate memory. Windred shook her head, squinting at the bright sunlight and noisy cars rushing by.

"Grandma?"

Martin's voice startled Windred. Though she could not recall it, at some point she had removed her arm from his shoulder, and now they perched side by side on the rough plastic bench. She glanced over at him. Martin's attention seemed fixed on a small grove of crooked trees on the other side of the busy road, but Windred knew he was thinking very deeply.

"Yes, my dear?"

Martin fidgeted with the straps on his backpack, a light wind tousling his dark hair. "I know you don't like talking about it, and I'm sorry, but... I just, I don't remember." He paused to wipe a bit of snot from his nose with the back of one arm.

"Was... was dad ever... like that?"

Windred's eyes filled with tears. She gathered Martin into the strongest hug her creaking joints could muster, and like a weary soldier released from duty, he melted into her embrace.

"No," she whispered. "Your father was a man of honor. Never did he raise a hand against you, or I, or your mother, or any of us. Everything he did he did in love. Protecting his family was his most powerful motivation, and if he were here, he would have some very severe words for Mr. Borka. I am so sorry you had to witness that horrid behavior, but remember it. Remember it, and let it remind you to love, Martin."

[oceanotides]

Sᴄɪɴᴛɪʟʟᴀ

Pʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ 

« “Here we go, gametime.”, Yoongi whispered and you watched him adjust his AK 47 at the column he was hiding behind, giving you a thumbs up and a slight, barely noticeable smile.

“Kooks, you need some fresh air?”, you asked tensely, aiming at the doors your rival gang was supposed to come out of, testing what weapon you’d use, “’cause you’ll get a whole lot of it.”

“Y/N, cut it off. I swear to god, I’m going to kill you all if we get out of this alive.”, and again, quiet chuckling was audible through the comm – until the defeaning, irritating sound of the sirens boomed through the streets, shaking through your body as they drowned out everything else. » 

ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ: yoongi x reader

ｇｅｎｒｅ：gang!au, thepurge!au, angst, fluff

ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ： mentions of blood and death, a LOT of statements inspired by movies and books, content may be confusing

ｉｎｓｐｉｒｅｄ　ｂｙ： @lets-go-north ‘s the purge vine, lover, fighter and meet me on the battlefield by svrcina, bts x the purge by saera kim, bts // the purge by polarisdreams & bts x monsta x by datjimilly

ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ： 8,532

ａ／ｎ： i really recommend watching all the videos and listening to the songs mentioned above - just so you get the vibe!

remember back in spring ‘16 where i had announced i’d write some thepurge!au? no? well, anyways, i’ve finally done it and here it is. be prepared because i didn’t take a second look at it, so there may be a few grammar mistakes. btw, i’m dead, i’ve written this on a single day and the way it ends is kind of awful, so let me know if you’d want me to write an alternative ending and, as always, what you think about the whole story. if anyone even reads that damn long oneshot, lol. anyways, here you go!

A fresh breeze whistled around your ears. The petrichor; the world’s smell caused by the sky crying its eyes out, lingered in the air. The soft rain dampened your face and your eyelashes tickled your eyelid crease as you rolled your eyes and laughed out loud at the joke Jin had just made which actually wasn’t funny at all. Life was more tolerable for a moment.

The small backyard you were sitting in had always seemed calming to you. The high and grey brickstone wall entrenched you and gave you the small amount of privacy you needed whenever you felt like being alone, spending your noons organising your thoughts – in case you found time to do so in between all the things on your to-do list.

The rusty lawn chair Taehyung was sitting in made a nerve-wrecking noise as he got up, walking towards the brick house the backyard belonged to and you thought about following him but thinking about what day it was made you stay in your place, messily scribbling things you thought of as essential for tonight down onto a piece of paper.

Clanking noises which sounded suspiciously like the beverage bottles existing in abundance at the headquarter’s kitchen came from inside, reminding you of how thirsty you actually were and of how you’d need to stay hydrated for the event nearing.

“Tae? Bring me a desperados, will you?”, you called.

It didn’t take long for him to answer with the ‘When will you finally learn that you veritably have your own legs’ that was ridiculously characteristic of the currently brown-haired guy you happened to call a best friend of yours. Consequently you weren’t exactly surprised as he crossed the threshold, entering the yard again with some bottles in his hands.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on getting drunk.”, you said, looking at the seven bottles he was putting down on the small table you, Jin, Jungkook and Namjoon were sitting at. The lemonade he had been holding under his arm in order not to go twice followed suit and he fell back into the black chair he had claimed as his.

“Correct”, Namjoon agreed, putting the files he had been reading onto the brown ebony. Some drops of sweat covered his forehead, barely noticeable, yet somehow sticking out to you. It was a unusual hot day and the sun was illuminating the firmament with its last rays – spring was nearing its end and summer was to follow.

“Yoongi, Hoseok and Jimin said they’ll be here soon,”, he opened his bottle, the label reading pepsi, took a huge sip and flipped his hair back, “at 6:30, to be exact.”

His eyes settled on you when you crossed your arms and leaned forward, furrowing your eyebrows in thought as you took a sip, too, then focusing on what you had written down till now.

Yoongi, Jimin and Hoseok were a weird trio: one of them was most sarcastic person you had ever met; the other one probably the cutest; yet most dangerous person in this town while the latter managed to be the most positive human being in spite of his job as an assassin. Yoongi was a year older than you and you had become friends in your junior year when the both you were paired for a chemistry project.

Min Yoongi, the most intimidating guy out of all the people in your grade – scratch that, in the whole school. He didn’t even bother to give a shit, neither about other’s opinions nor about his grades that had caused him to repeat the junior year. The only reason for him not getting kicked out was Mrs Peterson, and, to be completely honest, you hadn’t been able to unterstand her back then. Maybe it was his ultra sarcastic attitude she relished – but had that been reasonable?

No, not at all. You hadn’t known him that well and at that point, you didn’t really want to, either. Your brother was his age and consequently shared a few classes with him. From what he had told you, Yoongi was no guy who liked to make friends. “He doesn’t even like to meet people.”, your brother said on a Friday evening when the two of you had been eating dinner together, watching one of your favorite series. You had helped him finish an assignment earlier that day since your parents weren’t home, as usual. But let’s not talk about that.

However, being absent thinking about what you had used to think about Yoongi, you hadn’t noticed him, Jimin and Hoseok entering the backyard.

Only when he draped a black hoodie around your shoulders you blinked, recognizing the three boys. Jimin looked at you with an excited smile on his face which partially disgusted and partially amused you.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Today was different from all the other times the eight of you hung out together. The mood seemed chill but you knew better than that, being close with the boys for more than a year now. What seemed to be joyful actually was gloomy; what seemed to be carelessness was worry about what was going to happen today, about what was going to happen tonight – tonight defined as the period of time starting in less than a hour. Aᴘʀɪʟ 21sᴛ, 7:00ᴘᴍ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ Aᴘʀɪʟ 22ɴᴅ, 7:00ᴀᴍ. America’s 7thPurge was going take place tonight.

You looked at the dark brown haired boy you had grown to respect and like so much sitting across the table, unfolding a map on it. The dimples he caused to show up when he was smiling were a perfect cover for what, who he actually was.

At the age of twenty-one, he was ruling one of the most dangerous gangs in Los Angeles, and whole LA to be honest. Rumors had it that he had cameras installed around the whole city and knew what was happening everywhere before anyone else was even capable of doing something. Of course the whole camera-thing was not true – well, not completely at least. And moreover he was not nearly as hostile as everyone thought, but incredibly smart and powerful instead.

Powerful was his voice as he spoke up to tell you about tonight’s plans, taking a look at his watch attached to his wrist.

“It’s 6:37pm.”, he said, giving the three boys who had just sat down a stern glance, before continuing. “However, we’re left with 23 minutes to discuss and prepare for tonight which is not a lot of time at all so I’ll just wrap it up.

I won’t have to tell you guys that us being a gang of more or less criminals makes us an outsticking target. Adding to that, Taehyungie here has taken it upon himself to defy Dom..inic at school which makes it highly likely for his gang to aim their guns at us tonight.”, he smirked, adding “what I would’ve done, too, by the way.” before making the boys turn toward you who had just pulled everything you’d need onto the table.

Aᴘʀɪʟ 21sᴛ 6:48:34ᴘᴍ, 11 ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴀɴᴅ 26 sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ 7ᴛʜ ᴀɴɴᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴜʀɢᴇ

The car ride to the place Hoseok located Dom’s gang to be was as silent as the streets outside, the only sounds audible Jin and Namjoon going through the plan over and over again and Jungkook and Jimin chewing bubblegums while guiding Hoseok through the city.

It was rare to see all the downtown places that were usually busy all day and night deserted like this. There was not a single soul walking on the pavement or hiding in a dark alley. Normally you’d have enjoyed the view – you didn’t like crowded places, but knowing the reason for the emptiness was much less satisfying. Different from most of the people you were out tonight because you had to; and, on top of that, you’d never let any of your friends go out on their own, not tonight.

So there you were, leaning against somebody’s side, nervously playing with the ripped threads of your denim jacket, not caring about how it was just causing the holes to get bigger and bigger; you were just trying not to make up any horrible scenarios that could happen to any of the seven guys you were sitting in the black van with.

You couldn’t afford losing any of them.

“You scared?”, Yoongi’s voice finally broke the heavy silence, sliding into your thoughts as smooth as a feather.

You scoffed in an attempt to seem more relaxed, but there was no point in that, obviously not.

“To say the least. Of course I am.”

He shifted under you, a skinny arm wrapping around your shoulder.

“I am, too.”

There was a short moment of silence (again) before he spoke up again.

“But don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I promise.”

And to be honest, in any other situation you would have believed him, but right now you weren’t sure whether he was saying that to convince you or to convince himself. Yet though something, maybe it was the way he gave you the feeling of being protected by wrapping his arm around you, made you relax a bit.

You were squatting, taking cover in a small alley behind a trash dumpster. Visible in front of you was an abandoned warehouse downtown. The place looked totally rundown, but there were gleaming silver chains latched to the huge doors and you were pretty sure this is the place. You eyed the doors warily as you mumble “Where are we?” while holding your hand to your ear, speaking over the comm system attached to it.

It didn’t take a single second for Jimin to answer as he murmured “I don’t know, but whatever this is, I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Yeah well I’m good. It’s nothing”, Jins voice was dripping with sarcasm so obviously, you could literally hear the drops falling.

You identified the next voice speaking as Taehyung saying, “Oh honestly. Come on guys, it’s not that scary.”

The speakers attached to each and every of LA’s inersections made a somewhat creaking noise.

“Yo Y/N, you’re freaking out over there, ain’t you?”, Namjoon chuckled.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “No.”

“Yeah you are.”, Yoongi and Taehyung agreed simultaneously and you didn’t need to look at their positions on the opposite side of the street and on top of the old cinema to see that they were grinning.

“I said no.”

“Listen, man, it takes-“

“Woman.”, you corrected him.

“What?”

“I’m a woman.”

“Well whatever. However, it takes a grown man-“

“-woman!”

“…to embrace their feelings. If you want to cry, just go ahead and cry.”

Quiet laughter and chuckles were shared through the comm, and, once again, you felt a bit lighter.

“No but listen Y/N, as your friend you know I’m concerned about your well-being –“

“Oh listen can’t you just chill out, man?”, you imitated his habit of adding man to every sentence when Hoseok spoke up.

“Listen guys, I’ve seen some crazy shit but among all the things we’ve done, this is definitely an outcast so let’s just try to keep it as lowkey as possible. And always remember – oh my, honestly Tae? You’re playing crossy road right now?!”

There was a moment of silence and, indeed, the typical crossy road noise of the chicken bumping into a truck - boof! – was audible, making you shake your head as you actually smiled because oh my god, this kid.

“So obviously Tae’s not as tense as me right now, but would somebody mind to walk me through what we’re supposed to be doing?”, Jungkook snapped.

“Oh come on Kooks, this was your plan, you gotta embrace it.”, you said, now finally relaxing and preparing for what was going to come.

“No, jumping off a rooftop onto Domincs – emphasis on Dominic – was not my plan. Taehyung –“

His sentence was cut off by the booming, penentrating bass sound of the speakers you had grown to hate so much and from that moment on, all of your senses slowly returned to you and your heartbeat increased incredibly fast.

Blue light was illuminating the streets as the projection screen at the crossing lit up, displaying the oh-so-familiar text of the purge’s announcement. You unintentionally whispered the words yourself as the cold voice of the woman sounded through the alleys and streets down to venice beach.

“This is not a test.

This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of  ᴛʜᴇ Aɴɴᴜᴀʟ Pᴜʀɢᴇ sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during ᴛʜᴇ Pᴜʀɢᴇ. All other weapons are restricted.

Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from ᴛʜᴇ Pᴜʀɢᴇ and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

Police, fire and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7am when ᴛʜᴇ Pᴜʀɢᴇ concludes.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.

May God be with you all.”

“Here we go, gametime.”, Yoongi whispered and you watched him adjusting his AK 47 at the column he was hiding behind, giving you a thumbs up and a slight, barely noticeable smile.

“Kooks, you need some fresh air?”, you asked tensely, aiming at the doors your rival gang was supposed to come out of, testing what weapon you’d use, “’cause you’ll get a whole lot of it.”

“Y/N, cut it off. I swear to god, I’m going to kill you all if we get out of this alive.”, and again, quiet chuckling was audible through the comm – until the defeaning, irritating sound of the sirens boomed through the streets, shaking through your body as they drowned out everything else.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see all of them getting into position – Jungkook and Jimin on the warehouse’s rooftop, Tae on the first door in the parkade next to it, Hoseok and Jin adjusting their snipers and Namjoon putting the black mask you all wore on to cover his face. It had kind of become your special trademark, the soft fabric giving you the artificial feeling of personal privacy and anonymity. You knew it wouldn’t last for too long, the siren had sounded for the 4th time now, 2 times to go. In just a few seconds the streets would be filled with gunshots, screams and, most of all, blood. Even the smallest mistake; a wrong movement or a moment of negligence could be the cause for you to be buried tomorrow. You were aware of the fact that you were slightly exaggerating and just making your heart beat faster and faster, but you couldn’t help it.

The rush of adrenaline pumping through you made you feel invincible and as the siren boomed for the 6th and last time, the doors of the warehouse burst open.

Just to make things more clear, you thought you had been prepared for any and everything possible – fist fights, gun fights, a wild chase – but you definitely didn’t expect Dominic and the rest of his gang to drive a..how to describe it?

The thing they were driving out the doors with resembled a team bus but it was longer and higher and it’s tires were the ones of a truck but twice the size, at least. It’s license plate read 1-800-FUCK-OFF instead of any valid number and, to be honest, you thought of it as a little bit funny, but right now you had much more important things to care about, for example a man covered in black sticking his head out of one of the black mirrored windows, positioning a MG3 machine gun.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”, you heard yourself saying as you ducked in order not to get shot, “Jungkook, where are you!?”, you screamed, firing your gun once, twice.

“What!? You want me to jump on a fucking killer truck!?”

You considered explaining the situation to him but, seeing how Jimin pushed Jungkook to the warehouse’s edge and then jumped down with him, it wasn’t necessary anymore. More importantly the truck with Jimin and Jungkook on it was threatening to speed away while Namjoon was giving orders. You need to do something, you told yourself before an idea popped up in your head and you cut Namjoon off.

“Namjoon, I’m sorry but we’re going to lose them if we continue hiding like this! I’m going in right now”, you shouted.

In the next second you were jumping over the dumpster, securely landing on the concrete of N Los Angeles St; your weapons safely tucked away in your backpack, the silenced sniper rifle’s material cold against your cheek as you tried your best to stand still and slow your breath.

“Fuck this.”, you sighed in defeat as you angrily threw a stone against the target you were supposed to hit with your bullets. 50 minutes had passed and the bost shot you’ve made had hit the target’s nonexistent hair. Great, even the stone didn’t miss it – but you, attempting to shoot it with a sniper rifle? Never. Never ever were you going to get this.

“Fuck what?”, Yoongi appeared next to you, crooked his head and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for you to answer.

You pointed at the 480 cheytac dangling off your shoulders, to the target and then to you, “all of this.”

“Well, as welcoming that invitation is, I’d rather not sleep with you in a…training center.”

You sneered, “very funny. It’s just that I can’t seem to get a good shot and I’ve been trying for about an hour and ugh.”

“Yeah, well, you have never used a sniper rifle before, either, not to mention a 480 cheytac which is fairly hard to handle.”

“Oh, wow. Yoongi, this is the literal first time you’ve been kind toward me.”, you said out loud. Realising what you had just confessed you quickly managed to continue speaking, “what about shooting that target over there –“, you pointed at one which was pretty far away, all the way on the other side of the gym,”and showing me how to do it?”

He chuckled, “sure.”, and took the rifle out of your hands, his right eye closed as he turned to the side. Despite his character, his looks were …wow, they were amazing. The sharp jawline of his, his pale skin in contrast to his pink lips – a silent swish stopped you from keeping to drool over him and you watched the silver bullet smoothly hitting the target’s brain as he turned to you, the satisfaction of his success prominent in his facial expression.

“Told you.”, he said mockingly; caused you to roll your eyes.

“See, all you have to do is hold it like this.”, he put the rifle down only to take your hands in his, wrapping them around the sniper, aiming at the fake body in front of you. His warm breath tickled the side of your neck as he explained, “control your breath and focus on nothing else but the target.”, he watched you do so. “A sniper is characterized by their few but precious and unerring shots. If you shoot, you have to strike whomever you want to kill or hurt, whatever. There’s no such thing as a second chance – it’s like this all or nothing shit. So stay concentrated.”

You nodded, correcting your aim while you kept your left eye shut. The target’s head was the only clear outline right now, everything else being blurry. The small target cross covered the target’s brain, “now shoot.”,

and with a last glance at whoever henchman of Dominics and Owens gang that was, you pulled the trigger.

It was as though someone had pressed the slow motion button on their IPhone when the tiny bullet hit the shooter’s left shoulder and he fell back into the truck-bus-something. Confidently you threw the 480 cheytac over your shoulder and inhaled. Hoseok’s voice saying “now that was a real shot.” popped up next to you and with a smile shared between the two of you, you started to run.

Turning left and right in order not to get attacked by someone else purging you felt the urge to vomit. Every corner and place your gaze wandered to was decorated with signs of cruelty. It took a while for you to realize that a slogan to your right reading ‘h e a r t b r e a k e r – l o v e f a k e r – n e v e r g o i n g t o w a k e h e r’ had been mistaken for spraypaint by you when it was actually written in the blood by the female body hanging next to it. You were sure the girl must have been beautiful before but now the long, blonde strands of hair covered her face, her once white dress now blood-stained.

Quickly looking to your left as your stomach turned, your gaze fell upon a couple being beaten up by four short men, their faces hidden behind suicide squad masks, their hands swinging baseball bats – wait, were those children?

It was weird; the downtown being this alive when it was basically dead just minutes ago – the silence had been replaced by gunshots and screams and crazy laughter, the streets wearing red.. it was disgusting.

You were about to continue letting your mind rant about everything the Purge did as you turned your head straight once again and, suddenly, the truck was gone. It was just gone. There was no sign of it having ever existed, even when you did a sharp u-turn – there was nothing but other people chasing each other and, out of all sudden, you felt tricked, standing in front of the dead end. You felt scared somehow.

You knew the truck had to be somewhere near you, but there was nothing, the doors of the buildings around you as locked as they had been before. And besides, the truck wouldn’t even fit through any of them.

“What the fuck..”, you murmured, not caring that you were interrupting the heated and breathless conversation that had been going on through the comm system.

You heard Yoongi trying to answer when another familiar voice filled the air with laughter. This time it wasn’t coming from the headset attached to your ear, it was louder and you figured it was coming from a speaker which soon proved itself to be true.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” (GUYYYYYS I’M SORRY I JUST HAD TO INTEGRATE THIS;; DOES ANYONE ELSE KNOW THAT VIDEO?? IN CASE YOU DON’T GO WATCH IT NOW)

By the time you looked up you found yourself surrounded by Hoseok and Yoongi and it took you not even a mere second to recognize the person standing on top of the two-story parkade straight ahead.

You were damned for him to show up here, tonight, and recall everything you had buried under dozens of happy memories and work and assignments and plans and college courses. The last months you hadn’t even wasted a single second thinking about him, you were sure you were over it and, to be honest, you hated admitting that you got emotional right now when it was the literal worst time to get sentimental or caught up in thoughts, just because you saw certain brown eyes boring into yours.

They caused all the memories to come to your mind again. You remembered all the late night sessions where you stayed up late to help him with several assignments and presentations, and on your worst days you did miss him, indeed. It hit you at the most random moments; when you walked out of the house in the morning or when you saw a jeep, or when the midnight air crept through your window and nipsped at your cheeks. Whenever you listened to Cole’s songs you remembered everything he had told you, each and every detail and you wanted to rip off your head. He had never meant anything to you and you haven’t to him, either, you’d tell yourself – and it was the truth. Even though you were hurting when you thought about it, you missed it, but it always ended with you realizing how easy it was for the both of you to throw it all away because in the end, you didn’t care about the other at all, you just didn’t want to be alone.

That was what life was like in high school and you accepted it, yet still, seeing him reopened a door to your past and you hated getting flashbacks from things you didn’t want to remember.

“I see you’ve brought your personal guards. Didn’t know I was so difficult to take down.”, you said in an attempt not to show him he had the upper hand, your head nodding at the people standing on the pavement after they had realized they didn’t have to hide anymore.

You felt Jungkook’s and Jin’s presence behind you and your mind started to fill with relief on the one hand, worry on the other hand.

Chris, or Tej, his name in the business, looked at his henchmen and shook his head, faking a chuckle while anger started to fill your body, “nah, I could take you without wasting a single bullet. These”, he pointed at the assassins positioned on several rooftops, “are for your oh-so-beloved gang leader and the members that actually pose a threat.”

You snickered. “You’re just playing. Are you going to fight or do you want to spend the whole night talking shit?”

Yoongi took a step closer. “Y/N, I’m not saying we’re in danger but that’s exactly what I’m saying.”, he murmured.

“I know,”, you replied, “but I have to do this.”

Gun shots echoed from the walls as Tej shot into the night once, twice; looked at you threateningly. Immediately you felt the pearl handle of your gun in your palm, several clicks of other guns cocking audible behind you. Still hidden behind your back, your fingers curled around the trigger.

Once again, everything else was blocked out by your ears. You knew as soon as the five of you’d lift your weapons to shoot down as many fiends you possibly could, they’d open the fire, too, and more than a few lifes’d be ending soon.

You weren’t exaclty sure who drew his weapon first, but in a matter of seconds you found yourself among a crowd fighting like it was a matter of living and death – quite ironical since it indeed was. Yoongi was standing his ground in front of you. Jungkook hit one of their heads and you quickly looked away, firing your gun here and there as you did your best in helping Hoseok and Jin to keep the steadily raising number of enemies at bay. Luckily, Namjoon and Taehyung soon joined the 5 of you fighting, Jimin appearing out of nowhere taking out men from the top of an empty car. You shot another one into the leg but his companies charged so quickly that you soon found yourselves preferring the methods of a fist fight. A text example of a street fight, your brothe would have said if he were to take part in it.

Eight on you-didn’t-know-how-may was definitely not favorable, you decided as you slammed your fist into someone’s stomach, then looked around in trying to find Tej’s head in the midst of the brutal brawl, immediately regretting it as you earned a punch straight to your previously-injured shoulder and cried out in pain. Little did you know the wound had reopened as you gritted your teeth and blocked your attacker’s view with your hand, easily causing him to fall backwards, afterwards battering him with the handle of your gun.

Oh how much you hated fistfights.

They were way too personal, no doubt, you’d choose a gun over your fist anytime. You were tempted to run and just join Jimin on the car’s rooftop in taking them down smoothly from afar, just so no one important to you was exposed to danger anymore but you knew fully well that, for the next hours, you’d be living dangerously.

Just when you were about to help Namjoon fight off his two attackers a certain green fabric flashed in front of you and without a second glance you recognized the guy dressed in a green bomber as Chris, but that wasn’t exactly what stopped you from fighting.

It was rather the wired box he had left standing on the concrete and the small, almost invisible device in his hand, better known as detonator. Apparently you weren’t the only one who had noticed the approaching danger ‘cause just as you uttered a loud Oh, shit! thin fingers wrapped around your wrist. They were pulling you around the corner and down to the ground, a body promptly guarding you by embracing you close to its chest.

It was then that the detonator was being pressed, the detonation present in a dazzling flash, illuminating the dead end in red, white and yellow; a loud Bang!; the unmistakable, abominable stench of burned flesh and you felt your gastric acid raising in your throat. You wanted to vomit, to cry out loud, break something to cleanse your nostrils from the bloody smell, your hands from the blood covering them; but there was obviously no time for that in view of the hands that pulled you up. You finally recognized your savior as Yoongi when he shouted at you to run since you weren’t out of danger yet but his voice sounded distant, reverberating in your brain. It felt like you had been thrown into a well or something; yet still you followed his instructions, jumped to your feet and ran.

Your body was moving on its own, you yourself completely unable to do anything about it. Looking down to the ground, your red platforms connected and disconnected with the ground, not coming to a halt until Yoongi, who had been holding your hand the whole time, pushed you into a inconspicuous side  alley, sliding to the pavement right next to you.

For a minute or two neither of you spoke a word, the air filled with the sounds of two people catching their breath. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to speak, it was rather the fact that you were unable to, both due to shock and exhaustion. You wondered where you were, but there was no point in asking since you both had just ran and ran, without the slightest bit of a plan – which was fine with you, you had just needed to free your mind, yet you didn’t exactly feel lighter.

You let out a noise, a mixture of sighing, groaning and inhaling as you passed your hand over your forehead and turned to your right, opening your eyes to the sight of a battered Yoongi and you sat up straightaway, groaning with pain at the headache you were having.

“You look horrible.”, you managed to say, even though it was a rasping sound rather than a human sound. With shaky hands you reached up to cup his face, your hand tracing the outlines of several still bleeding scars and cuts on his cheeks.

“I could say the same.”, he whispered as he watched you reaching into your backpack for the first-aid-kit you had luckily taken with you, the backpack’s contents now displayed on the asphalt. He let you take care of his wounds and calmed down whenever your fingers touched his skin. The both of you were still panting and you did your best to ignore his hot breath against your collarbone as you reached behind him to adjust his jacket, afraid that he’d get sick given the fact that he was sweating and the air was not just a comfortable breeze.

Acting normal too, Yoongi let his gaze wander over the different items laying in front of him. A comparable huge amount of different ammo, spraypaint, a lighter, a knife, a map, a black hoodie, tissues…what caught his eye was a small, plain black journal, ‘YOUTH’ written on its cover with silver ink.

With you still patching him up he reached for it, palm brushing over the envelop previous to opening it, a small polaroid instantly falling out.

He turned it around, the caption reading oceans and without thinking about it, he confronted you. “Oceans?”, he asked.

You stopped in your action, letting go of his left wrist you had been wrapping up with band-aid. Your eyes fell upon the shiny, small image and you furiously shook your head, a little too fast.

“Rip it. Just – it’s nothing.”, you said, snatching the paper out of his hands and tore it apart.

The two of you were climbing over a fence, again. You had been strolling through alleys and streets and over railways for what seemed like ages, nothing relevant happening. Yes, there were a few not-so-pleasant encounters with people purging, however you were on the same page with not wanting to throw any more punches tonight, instead taking down each purger with one bullet, and one bullet only. You hadn’t talked much, pretty much due to the fact that neither of you felt like it. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his company, though. You were relieved you weren’t out on your own and you were quite sure that he was the person you’d most likely choose as a companion tonight, just because…you couldn’t explain it, yet still you didn’t doubt your thought. So you both just walked next to each other in silence and you were fine with that, and, on top of that, you were partially doing it for the safety’s sake. Somewhere between two trains, one of them burning, and voices followed by gunshots you took his hand and never let go of it, not until he started to speak.

“What’s on your mind?”, he said, pushing branches out of his way.

“Huh?”, you murmured, snapping out of your trance to look around and see if he was talking to someone else until your realised that you were pretty much the only person he could’ve talked to, silently cursing you for your stupidity.

“I..”, you kicked a stone, “..don’t really know. Pretty much everything.”

He looked at you, an expectant facial expression prominent on his face, urging you to continue which you never did.

Sighing, he shook his head.

“Listen, I know I’m probably not the person you wanted to be with tonight –“

Oh, if only you knew, Min Yoongi.

“  - Don’t.”

He abruptly stopped walking when you cut him off. “What?”

You smiled, seeing as he was the stupid one now, copying his movements as you shook his head.

“I said don’t.”, you stopped breathing for a second, “’cause you weren’t telling the truth. I’m just worried about the others – you know, leaving them behind was not the right decision.”

You could literally see him rolling his eyes although you were looking to the ground.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that we would have died if we hadn’t done just that.”

“Yeah,”, you exhaled, “I know. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying about them.”

“They’ll be fine.”, he said, clearly avoiding eye contact.

“You’re saying that to convince yourself.”

“Partially.”

The dry branches made a crunching sound when you stepped over them, then you turned left to get to a street where you’d – hopefully – find some kind of a vehicle.

“I simply don’t like the fact that we left them behind with him.”

“So I was right? I knew you knew that fight-obsessed oh-i-am-so-powerful freak.”

You were biting back a smile at the names he called him, “Yes, congratulations. But you were right, indeed, I used to know him, we were..friends?” It was more of a question than a statement, you realised after finishing.

“Well, back then he wasn’t as much of an asshole as he’s now, I guess.”

“You guess? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have befriended him if he was.”

“That’s a point.”, you nodded, then you fished the polaroid out of your pocket. You hadn’t thrown it away yet, you hadn’t had the heart to dispose it yet. Assembling the two shreds, you pulled out the old, rusty silver lighter Namjoon had gifted you at your accession to his gang.

“Funny how pictures never change but the people in them do.”, something in the back of your mind was telling you you had just quoted someone, but that didn’t matter right now, “But that’s just how it goes, you grow older and your best friend becomes your arch enemy.”

Yoongi let out an understanding sigh as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, checking the street before he led you through a hole in the fence that marked the end of the containment area you had been walking on in order not to come across some murderous purgers.  

“That was quite poetic.”, he chuckled, “still, it’s the truth. People erase you from their lives because they’re too damn lazy to try and work things out.”

It was then that you both stopped walking and you turned around to face him, making eye contact. There was no real reason behind your actions, but something within you made you take your time to study his face, and, most of all, his eyes.

They were the first thing you had ever noticed about him. The ones he hid under his hair or behind his glasses; he called boring, brown. He always wanted any color, any other pair of eyes except her own. At first you had found it strange, it was a fair contrast to his i-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude; but you soon learned that he cared more about others and their opinions than he’d ever admit. However, you loved them. You loved how they lit up when his brain produced another brilliant idea. When he laughed his happiness wouldn’t be prominent in a smile or a grin, you’d notice it in the way his eyes started to sparkle and dance.

You had stared into them and he had stared right back into yours, like you should have kissed and made love and laughed and hurt together so many times that you didn’t even bother to count it anymore, but you had chosen to stay friends instead. Both yours and his eyes had been glistening back then, yours in tears and his in anger at himself.

And just the same, they’d dull and blur and lose their joyful aura when he was being bothered by something. They were the only thing left of his dark and ugly past, they were hiding something and you were eager to find out just what exactly it was that he was trying so hard to forget.

You were wondering what in hell he must have witnessed that made him the person he was now, you wanted to know what made him so desperate and hopeless that he became responsible for the ugly, knife-shaped scar extending from his artery to his collarbone he made sure to curtain with whatever top or hoodie he was wearing. You had only seen it once, but that was enough for the question persistently floating around in your head.

What happened to him?

It wasn’t the question that bothered and stressed you, it was you being aware of the fact that you’d never be to find the answer. He wasn’t going to open up to anyone, you knew it.

And now you were looking into these very eyes as you took a step forward, his fingers still intertwined with yours. His eyes were overflooding with emotions, mostly dark and sad ones, but so were yours as you both looked at each other with what if’s and could have’s and hearts and souls full of regret. For a moment your gaze travelled down to his red lips, sore as he had been biting them all the time, but then you got a grip on yourself and pulled away, your fingers no longer filling the gaps between his as you, once again, pulled out the lighter, flicked it and watched as the polaroid caught fire, whirling to the ground.

“Geez,”, you breathed, stomping onto the leftovers, “should’ve done that long ago.”

When you turned to Yoongi, his eyes were dull again, no emotion visible, his facial expression empty once again. He didn’t speak a word other than “let’s go” after you had thrown all the other polaroids displaying Chris to where the first one was still smoldering, a small fire developing.

You only shook your head, staring right into the flames illuminating the night, drowning out his words. Everything you remembered was Chris telling you that “beautiful, you’re playing with fire” and you took that quite literally. He was the fire and if you get too close to the fire you’ll get hurt, that’s just how it is.

The smoke was burning in your eyes and stinging in your nose and soon you attempted to turn away and go, but apparently Yoongi bet you to it.

You remembered hearing a “What the fuck are you waiting for?!” that sounded distant in your head and a gun being fired right after. Your head was snapping up and through the smoke you made out a quartet consisting of men, all of their heads covered with – you actually screamed at that – clown masks. Then, a small, silver object – a bullet – was just barely missing your left thigh with a hiss.

It took another gunshot, this time brushing your jacket, which was – thank god – oversized, for you to finally snap out of your stone-like state. You were firing your gun before you even realised that you were reaching for it but it was obvious that you couldn’t beat them since you’d have to reach into your backpack for ammo – in your foolishness you hadn’t grabbed the sniper that was still securely tucked away in your backpack and, with a glance to your right your suspicion about Yoongi, too, having grabbed his handgun instead of something more powerful was confirmed. In any other situation you would have rolled your eyes, but this was dead serious – literally.

So you quickly decided to do what you were best at; you grabbed his wrist and ran. The fact that they were looking like clowns scared the hell out of you and you completely forgot to look where you were going, leaving the route up to Yoongi who stumbled as a bullet brushed his upper arm. In your rush you didn’t waste a second thought on it, suddenly changing your mind as you took the lead again, turning left, right, running down a street before you took a sharp turn into a smaller, barely visible alleyway.

You were about to slump down when suddenly, you were pushed back, the cold brick wall of the building behind you touching your back. Your reflex was to slap whomever was touching you right there and make a run for it but, hell, this was Yoongi pinning you to the wall, one hand at your iliac bone, the other one at your shoulder, his eyes reflecting anger and frustration, but most of all something you could only decipher as worry.

“Do not”, he stopped due to his heavy panting, “do that ever”, now he was licking his lips and all you could think was oh hell, min yoongi, you’re going to be the death of me, “ever again.”, he finished.

You almost thought he was pulling away when he came back with full force. And then, he was slamming his lips into yours in a desperate attempt to convey all he never said because there were simply no words for it and, to be fully honest, he succeeded in that mission. Right now, in this small, hopeless alleyway, Min Yoongi was giving you all you had ever hoped for, you were letting out all the emotions you had bottled up and tried to keep hidden in this one, literally breathtaking, kiss.

And honestly, you could have kissed him all day. You could have swept back his mint, thin and loose strands of his hair from his eyes and spent the hours that were left just like that. Perhaps it was because there was so, so much sadness and pain in his heart, but he kissed like he needed to be kissed, like he was aching all over, and you knew he was. And you were willing to lend him some kind of comfort as you cupped his face with both hands, deepening the kiss as you traced the prominent cheekbones of his.

That you were, in fact, all lovey-dovey instead of hiding on the Purge’s night didn’t seem to get through to you and neither of you stopped until your palm brushed against his elbow and a thick, dark liquid started to cover it.

“Oh my god”, you breathed, panting from both running and the kiss, pulling away. His left sleeve was blood-stained and you didn’t even bother listening to him when he told you that “Y/N, it’s nothing”, instead pushing him down to the floor, all the way while rummaging through your bag, grabbing what you’d need to patch him up.

“The bullet..”, you murmured quietly, repeating it louder when he didn’t answer, “Yoongi, is the bullet still stuck?”

He shook his head with a “No, it was just a graze shot” and you let out a long, relieved sigh because oh, you would have killed him if you had had to take the bullet out. You had done that once and, to be real, it was kind of the most disgusting thing you had ever done. Raking around in the wound was a necessarity and goodness, there was no way in hell anyone’d ever like to do that.

“We’ll have to praise god for our damn luck tonight.”

A deep, silent chuckle rumbled through his chest you were leaning on in order to be in a better angle and you stole a glance at his dark orbs, enjoying the sight of the stars they were reflecting – or his eyes simply consisted of stars, you couldn’t tell.

“I’d love seeing you do that without even being religious.” You groaned, forcing back a grin. “Oh, watch me. You’ll see.”

You dampened a compress with antiseptic and scrunched your face at the acrid smell that started to fill the air with the action of removing the bottle’s cap.

“This is going to hurt.”, you said guiltily, but Yoongi just shook his head.

“Just get it done and over with. And, if the pain’s too much to bear, I’ve still got the gun. You know, just in case.”

He grinned as you hissed and dared him never to make jokes about such serious things ever again. You had almost had an heartattack when you recognised the damage the bullet had done; like he said, it had only been a graze, still, he was losing a lot of blood to the point where you started to wonder how in hell he was still able to crack jokes like that.

Perhaps it was because he had already been going through so much pain that a bullet was just an annoying pain in the ass – nothing more, nothing less. You didn’t know. Still, he grabbed your jacket and stuffed the hem of his shirt between his lips in order not to scream. After all, you didn’t want to be found.

When you pressed the compress to the wound, he silently hissed and you truly felt sorry when you saw the pain filled expression on his face. However, you continued since you knew it’d be best to finish to fix him up as fast as you possibly could, wrapping another bandage around his arm, careful not to put too much pressure onto it.

As you visibly exhaled and turned around to stuff the things you had taken out back into your backpack, he caught your wrist and stopped you.

“No. Just –“, he never finished his sentence, he just opened his arms and right then you couldn’t help but willingly give in, letting go of whatever you were holding and wrapping your arms around his torso. While you were still seated on the pavement he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, so tight that you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. You felt like some cliché girl in a cliché book the moment you breathed in and instead of inhaling air, you inhaled his scent. He wasn’t wearing his blackberry fragrance tonight, but still, despite the iron smell of his blood and the sweat there was something else that didn’t go unnoticed by you and, after a few moments, you became aware of the fact that what you were smelling right now was no cologne or perfume or shampoo, it was just him.

And godness, he smelled good. Like something wild and untamed yet angelic, like the ocean does when the waves crash onto the beach, but not those soft, gentle waves but the bigger ones. He smelled like rain on a hot summer night, like milk and honey when you couldn’t sleep at night, like a thunderstorm you were watching on a balcony. It didn’t made sense at all, but you couldn’t describe it any other way, so you just settled down with not trying to describe but enjoy it instead.

It was weird how his embrace made you feel like home, even though you had rarely hugged before. Your head fit into the crook of his neck better than it did into Chris’, your figures hugged each other more passionately, you were two magnets attracting each other.

His lips pressed against your scalp and you were feeling him smile as he did it, you were filled with a sudden warmth and triumph, for you knew then that he was yours. It was damn cheesy and you were cringing at your own self, but right now, that didn’t matter. And you loved him, and it was something that you had known somewhere within you all the way until now.

Why did you love him?

You didn’t have a set answer for that, but you guessed it was just how you felt around him, how he was never leaving your mind, the vibes he gave you and the laughs you got from talking to him. You loved that you knew him so well that you knew what he’d answer before he even said something, you loved his attitude, his looks, his eyes, freshly-added; you loved his scent, you loved the way he’d never fail to comment something sarcastic and you loved that beyond the cold guy, there was a guy caring for all the people he loved, but most of all, for you. And, as you sat there, a déjà vu from just hours earlier crossed your mind, where you had been sure that you’d never be to find out what he was hiding, that he’d never open up to you, but little did you know he was.

Tʜᴇ Eɴᴅ