#and when I pulled out my phone and showed him my hand dyed bloodied shirt for post reveal billy loomis he went noticeably pale

[bugbrains]

being a horror fan when i had long hair: horrible. awful. constantly hit on and quizzed as if i was lying

being a horror fan after i impulsively gave myself the billy loomis cut: peaceful. beautiful. no one will talk to me except other queers and men with daddy issues who look a little scared to make eye contact with me because they think they’ll get medusa’d

[bun-z-bakery]

A/n: this took wayyy longer than expected! But we're so back! This ones a bit short but I still hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone who's been reblogging and liking my stuff 🩵 also if you want to be tagged whenever I post the next chapter let me know!

Silent sun (8)

"Done!"

You exclaim as you finish tying off the string. You scoot back to admire your work.

"Looks good! I'm honestly surprised!"

Poppy praises your stitch work. Even you admit it wasn't all that bad at all. 

You place a hand on DogDays leg closest to you.

"Can you feel my hand, sunshine?"

His ears perk up at the nickname and he sits up. He tries to move his legs to no avail.

"Give it a minute."

Poppy is hopeful. She knows more about these things, so you don't question her. 

He sighs in frustration.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll– WOAH!"

You're caught off guard as DogDay grabs you and sits you sideways on his lap, his legs now crossed as he hugs you.

"Now I can finally protect you properly, Angel!"

"Aw, I'm so glad you– your tail!"

His tail thumps loudly against the floor.

The three of you laugh, and you rise from his lap. 

DogDay attempts to stand, but he wobbles like a newborn puppy exploring the world for the first time. You were much smaller than he was, but you still held his giant hands to help stabilize him.

It took a while for him to get used to the feeling of his legs, but once he became comfortable, it was like he became a whole different person with his new range of movement.

Oh my god, he's massive! 

You mentally freak out at the behemoth mascot towering over you.

"Shall we dance?"

He jokingly offers his hand and you take it.

"Gladly good sir."

You play along and dance to your own rhythm, the sound of your combined laughter fills the room, but that doesn't last long.

Unfortunately for you, he's observant.

"You're bleeding?!"

He grabs your arm and inspects the rip in your jacket. You haven't been able to tend to your wounds, nor did you think it was a big deal, your companions thought otherwise.

"Who did this?! When did this happen?!"

"Please calm down!"

You shout as you cover your arm, the guilt now washing over you.

"I'm sorry... It's just this was supposed to be your moment..."

"Can we see?"

Poppy adds, and hesitantly you remove your jacket, revealing the slightly tattered and dirty shirt that your jacket was protecting.

You hold your jacket in your free hand and show off the blood-covered makeshift bandage. 

"That looks pretty bad Angel..."

"I'll be ok guys, plus it's not my first injury, no need to worry."

"Come here."

DogDay frantically rips a clean part of one of the blankets and pats the open spot next to him.

"You really don't have to..."

"I–we can't have you dying on us! Please"

Dogday pleads, making you sigh in defeat as you hold your arm out. He unwraps the bloody bandage and does his best to tend to your wounds.

"How did this happen?"

He panics as he pulls out a shard of glass that is still in your wound. The thought of it being trapped under your skin makes you shutter.

"It's... A long story..."

If you told him he'd probably panic even more, plus you just didn't want to relive everything this place put you through again. 

"If you need more rest, we could stay!"

Poppy offers, at this point you've made everyone worried. It wasn't your intention, but that seems to be common when it comes to you.

You shake your head in response. 

Once DogDay is done tying your new bandage, you stand and offer to help him up. 

"Alright, let's head out!"

You clap your hands and head towards the door, the others following right behind you.

"It's clear, come on!"

You wave to others, you've never been so happy to see light, even if it's artificial. Before the four of you can go any further, a phone ringing catches your attention. 

"What's that noise?"

DogDay asks as he looks around. 

"Oh, it must be Ollie!"

"Who?"

They haven't met either? How odd. 

"Ollie is a friend of ours!"

Poppy explains while you answer the phone

“Hey, are you alright?! No ouchies or lost body parts?”

Ollie asks from the other side of the phone. You quickly glance at DogDay and continue the conversation. 

"Yep, I'm good! So is everyone else!"

"Everyone else? Who else is with you?"

He asks, confused, which in turn confuses you as well. 

Could he no longer see us?

"Well, I've got DogDay, Poppy, and Kissy with me!"

You exclaim, DogDay makes his way closer to you and places a hand on your shoulder hinting to you to 'hurry up'. 

"Angel who's–"

"Here!"

You shove the phone into his hand, he shakes his head, and you motion for him to speak. Reluctantly, he holds the phone up to speak to Ollie.

"Uh hello?"

"Who's this?"

"... "

"Speak"

You whisper to the giant dog, now frozen in place. 

"DogDay."

DogDay really didn't know what to say, he was too preoccupied with deciphering if this friend might be a threat.

"Hiya DogDay! I've been helping our friends locate their way around Playcare! I hope you're treating them well!"

From where you're standing, Ollie sounds muffled, but Dogday's response helps you piece together the conversation. 

"Well, of course! Angel has been nothing but wonderful. I owe them my life..."

He shifts awkwardly in his stance.

"Uh, who's this "Angel" you're talking about?"

“OH! It's a nickname."

He chuckles awkwardly, you hold his hand and mouth 'You're ok'.

"Oh, I get it now! I’m really glad you’re both okay… I don’t wanna lose any more friends in this place. So where are you four now?"

DogDay playfully places an arm on your head, careful not to put too much weight on you, his giant hand covers your view. You could hear Poppy giggling behind you.

"We're back at playcare, and we're unsure where to go next..."

"Hmm well, we're really close to the end! You're going to head to the Counselor's Office instead. It's not ideal... but it should have enough juice. If you can get that generator going and plug it in... Reroute the red smoke and ba-bam! I think we'll be done! See ya!"

"Wait!"

The line goes dead and DogDay puts the phone back.

"He's odd..."

"Pfft let's go!"

You lightly punch his arm as you continue making your way to the counselor's office. 

You know you can trust Ollie, he helped you get this far after all.

"If we make it out alive... What's the plan?"

You ask, breaking the uncanny silence.

"Well... We'll be free!"

Poppy replies as if it wasn't obvious. 

"No, no, I mean... What if I found us someplace safe?"

"That would be nice Angel."

DogDay adds, his tail wagging in excitement at the thought. 

"Hey, I'm going to check in here! Wait out here! I'll be quick!"

You quickly make your way into one of the rooms, leaving the three to stay on guard as they wait for your return.

"So when's the wedding?"

DogDays was caught off guard by Poppy's question. He knew what she was referring to.

"Oh don't act dumb, we can tell!"

She teases and giggles at him. He was clearly flustered by her remarks.

He catches sight of his reflection in the dark window across from the room you're searching in. Seeing himself instantly shifts on his mood.

"What's wrong? I was just messing with you, I'm sorry!"

"Do you really think Angel would willingly love a monster?"

They were silent, Poppy was about to speak up before you came out of the room with your new finds in hand. 

"Guys, look!"

You hold up an axe and a toolbox

"I can repair my grab pack now! Oh! And here you might find this useful, it's so heavy!"

You hand DogDay the axe. It seems to have been made for someone of his size. It struck you as odd, but you learned not to question it if it wasn't important.

"Hey, did something happen?"

You look between the three, hoping there isn't any bad blood brewing behind your back.

"No we just... Do you know how to fix your grabpack?"

Poppy tried to change the subject, but you caught on. 

"I'm a mechanical engineer, I can fix almost anything with the right tools. So what really happened? Was there a fight?"

"No Angel, we're ok I promise! Wait, is that how you've been getting around without issues?"

You giggle at DogDays curiosity. 

"Bingo! Now let's go you three!"

You were about to take the lead but DogDay decided to beat you to it. 

"Angel, stay close to me and don't leave my sight, ok?"

You hum in response.

"Yeah Angel, stay close to your protector~"

Poppy laughs out, and DogDay stays quiet through her teasing. You could've sworn you heard him growling, you wrapped your arm around his.

"No worries sunshine, I don't mind you being my protector."

You smile at him, even if it's just for a little while longer. He hopes this will last even after you escape. 

[citrinesparkles]

welcome home.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 2,086 words. notes: requested by an incredibly flattering anon as part of my hundred followers celebration! thank you again for the feedback, and for enabling me :) also was subconsciously influenced by this piece. warnings: arguing, discussion of danger, reader gets accidentally threatened, patching up wounds, lots more swearing than my usual (but it's all mild language). angst and comfort, i think. super dialogue heavy. this is so long and a little (lot) messy just. prepare yourself

"man," a robotic voice echoed dangerously through the dark living room, sending chills through you. "did you pick the wrong apartment."

luckily, the voice was familiar. "um, the one i live in?"

he choked out your name, startled, and you flicked on the light switch to find him frozen in place with a gun in his hand.

"right." you said tensely, glancing at it- which made him jerk his hand down, shoving the gun into its holster as though it burned him- and looking back up at the eyes of his helmet. "so, uh, i'll turn a light on next time."

"you shouldn't be home yet," he said stiffly.

"i texted you like, three hours ago to let you know i'd be home a day early."

he swore quietly. "my phone's in the river."

"how did it- you know what, at least that explains the radio silence. you didn't think to have someone else- anyone else- let me know?"

"uh." he paused, tensing almost imperceptibly for a moment. "no. i was, uh, i was busy. i'm sorry."

"busy, huh?" something felt very wrong, and not just the fact that he had nearly shot you. "okay, i'll bite, busy with what?"

"nothing important."

the sinking feeling in your stomach intensified and your eyes narrowed dangerously. "important enough that you forgot to tell me you weren't dead in an alley somewhere, when you knew i'd be texting to check in anyway. leaving me worrying in a hotel room in another city."

"nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about." you were really getting sick of the sound of his modulator, but he continued before you could say anything. "go back to what you were doing, babe."

"yeah... uh, no." you stepped forwards and he flinched back defensively, making you freeze. "seriously, what is up with you tonight?"

"noth-"

"jason, i promise if you say nothing one more time, i'm going to lose my mind."

he shifted his foot back slightly, and you took a deep breath.

"okay," you conceded, raising your hands up in surrender and moving backwards yourself. "respecting your space now. that wasn't my best decis-"

your voice cut out when something under his jacket caught your eye.

something red.

"holy crap, jason, what the hell?"

he winced quietly. "you weren't supposed to be home yet, okay?"

"take that stupid helmet off already, would you?" you snapped, already moving to get the first aid kit.

"i would've gone somewhere else if i'd known, okay?" his voice, now clear and crisp without the filter, followed you down the hall.

"that does not make this better!"

"can you please not yell at me right now?"

you dashed back into the room, shooting a vicious glare at him. "jacket."

he slid it off gingerly, dropping it on the couch next to his helmet.

"can you get the armor, or do i need to help?"

even despite the domino mask he was wearing, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. "if i couldn't do it on my own, why would i have come here if i didn't think you'd be home?"

"hm," you took the piece he handed you and carefully set it on the couch, "maybe because you're a stubborn jackass?"

he grunted, sliding his undershirt off and passing it to you. "i don't wanna stain the couch with that."

"your priorities suck."

"it's the nicest piece of furniture we own!"

"it's still a couch!"

"it was expensive!"

"oh for crying out loud-" you threw your hands up again, this time in frustration. "fine! fine. i'll go put this in the tub and get a soak going. you-" you shoved the kit towards him pointedly- "start washing that off."

"how come you're calling the shots?" he snapped back petulantly.

"because my torso's in one piece."

"i have way more experience with this, i should be making the decisions here."

"oh, of course, my apologies!" your voice was absolutely dripping in sarcasm. "what, pray tell, would you have us do?"

he scowled at you for a moment before reaching for the first aid kit and flicking the lid open. "whatever."

you turned on your heel, stomping into the bathroom.

the shirt got thrown into the tub and the tap got tossed all the way on, and as the water crashed into the gray fabric, you took the opportunity to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply.

you opened your eyes a minute later, finding the water dyed a rusty almost-red from blood.

his blood.

you turned off the tap- gently pushed the handle, this time, the fire in your chest now largely extinguished- and made your way back to the living room to find him running a rag over the space below his ribs.

"may i?" you asked softly, stopping a few feet away and holding a hand out to him.

his jaw clenched and relaxed three times in quick succession, but he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders before holding the rag out. "yeah, c'mere."

you worked in silence, being as gentle as possible. jerking your hand back and mumbling apologies when he hissed.

"s'okay, comes with the territory."

you pressed the alcohol-soaked towel back against him, and he sighed.

"that was stupid, huh."

a small laugh escaped you. "it so was."

"can we..."

"try that again?"

"yeah."

you pulled back, standing up straight to meet his eyes. "only if i can take the dumb mask off of you."

"i thought you liked the mask," he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"jason."

he chuckled, wincing again when it jostled his wounds. "ouch. uh, yeah, mask. g'head."

you gently pulled it from his face, setting it neatly on his other gear before running your thumbs across the line of adhesive it left on his cheekbones. "hi there."

"hey." he leaned into your touch, vibrant eyes fluttering halfway shut. "so uh, welcome home."

"thanks. could've done without the gun, though."

a choking sound tore from his throat, his eyes flying back open. "holy shit, baby, i almost-" he jerked back from you, no regard for his side. "you almost- shit, shit, are you- i'm so sorry, i didn't-"

"okay, woah, hey-"

"i could have killed you."

it was a whisper, horrified and harsh, and while it was technically true, his tone teetered on the edge of a dark space you had seen before and really didn't want him falling back into.

"yeah."

you desperately searched for the right thing to say, rejecting variations of "but hey, you didn't actually", "maybe you should be more careful about waving a gun at people", and one particularly unhelpful "no shit, sherlock".

finally, you settled on a quiet, calm "but i'm still right here, okay?"

his hand flew up to cover his mouth, doing absolutely nothing to hide the near panic written on his features. "i could have killed you."

"okay, so, in the future, we'll... we'll uh, we'll come up with some kind of system for letting you know when i'm home, or something."

"oh, like a phone?" he asked harshly. "the one i was stupid and sloppy enough to dunk in the harbor?"

"that wasn't- i'm guessing that you had a lot on your plate." you waved the cold, bloody towel in your hand at his wounds. it made him curl in on himself slightly, stepping backwards again until his back hit the arm of the couch.

"no excuses. i could have killed you."

"i-"

"no, i almost shot without saying anything!" he exclaimed, brow furrowed and eyes stormy. "i thought someone had broken in, and i got so- i don't even know, damn territorial or some stupid shit- that i almost put a bullet between your eyes. i could have-"

"jason!"

he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair. "i almost-"

"but you didn't. okay?" every fiber of your being wanted to hold him, to tug him into you and put his hand against your ribs and show him you were okay and breathing, heart still pumping, but he looked enough like a cornered animal that you half expected him to bite you if you tried. "c'mon, jaybird. a life like yours, can you really afford almosts?"

"life like mine, i can't afford to let anyone close to me. apparently, if the goons and thugs don't kill you, i will."

"that's not-"

"what if i hadn't said something?" he snapped venomously. "what if i'd lost more blood and was loopy from it? what if i'd come home with a concussion- again- and didn't think past 'point and shoot'?"

"jason," you finally interjected. "you think i haven't thought about that?"

his eyes, grim and vicious and so full of emotion that you thought you could drown in them, dropped to the floor.

"because it's not a secret that your life is risky. you're risky. i know that. but you're worth every ounce of danger, okay? i'm choosing this, choosing you, knowing full well what i'm getting into, because you're worth all of it."

"i'm not worth any of it."

"that's not your call to make."

"it-"

"you think i need you to make my choices for me?"

"no, of course not."

"you think im stuck here?"

"do you feel like you are?"

"absolutely not." you inched forward again. "i'm here because i want to be."

"...i just... i don't..."

"don't want me to get hurt?"

he finally looked back up at you, eyes watery and jaw tense. "or worse."

"i know, baby. i know," you sighed. "but that's part of life, right? and if the hurt's inevitable, i want the rest of my time to be as nice as possible, and you make my life better. make me better."

"by putting you in danger?"

"it's gotham, handsome, i'm gonna be in danger either way. at least with you, i know i have someone looking out for me. right?"

"always," he said immediately.

"okay then." you took the last step between the two of you slowly, watching for any resistance. meeting none, you brushed your knuckles against his. "i can't think of anywhere i'd feel safer."

"you know that's crazy, right?"

you hummed quietly. "nah."

"i'm being serious."

"me too."

he studied your face silently. you smiled softly at him.

finally, a sigh escaped him and he scooted his hand forward, wrapping his index finger around your own and squeezing gently. "you're sure you want this? i can set you up with a place downtown for a bit. you'd never have to see me again, never have to worry about... all of this."

"i've never been more sure of anything." you said it firmly, confidently, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before popping one eyebrow up playfully. "why, need to make room for a side piece?"

a startled choking sound escaped him. "excuse me?"

"i mean, when you were talking about being busy, it felt kinda suspicious."

"what is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperation and laughter coating his voice.

"listen, you were being evasive!" his head fell forwards, resting on your shoulder as he laughed.

"i didn't want you to know i was bleeding all over the place!"

"why, didn't want me to worry?"

"exactly!"

you reached your free hand up, gently resting it on the back of his head and playing with his hair. "then maybe, just maybe, you should have gotten someone to tell me your phone went for a swim."

"fair enough."

you stood quietly for a long time, running your fingers through his hair and enjoying the feeling of his breath against your collar.

"i..." he muttered, pulling back to look in your eyes. "i don't think- um. i don't think i'm..." he groaned, gaze darting to the ceiling. "i love you. but the minute you have enough of- of all of this-"

"i won't."

"but if you do, i'll... i'll understand, okay?"

you squeezed his finger gently. "okay." you inhaled deeply, dropping the bloody towel you were still clutching and slid your hand forward to hold his completely. "can we get a bandage on that and go to bed, now?"

"....yes please."

---

"wait!" you yelled, throwing the first aid kit haphazardly onto the bathroom counter and racing after him into the bedroom, where he whirled around with wide eyes. "i love you too! i never said it back- i love you too."

"don't yell like that- i thought something was wrong!"

"me not saying it back is urgently wrong, jason!"

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Hey! I’m in love w your fics and I was wondering if you could write one where Bucky gets hurt protecting Sam. Sorry it’s so vague, feel free to run with it :)

(((( ahhhhh! This message made me so happy! You're so sweet!!!! Thank you so much!!!! I hope you like it!!!! And thank you again for sending this i appreciatei it so much!!! ))))

Ao3

Five Bullets And Nineteen Hours

The last thing Sam sees before Bucky slams into him is a wall of muzzel flashes. His eyes burn with the lights as he tumbles through the air, Bucky clinging to him as they fall through the dark. Sam can hear the ground coming, he doesn't know how, but he can hear it. Or feel it maybe. He doesn't know. His head is spinning. If his wings hadn't been busted he could save them, he could fix this.

He feels Bucky's fingers dig into his shoulder, grabbing at his vest, and then he's spinning again. They slam into the ground hard. He hears Bucky shout as he hits first, and then grunt when Sam lands on top of him. Sam lies there, his heart pounding in his ears, his labored breathing matching Bucky's beneath him.

Once he catches his breath he pushed himself up, hands pressed flat on the ground bracketing Bucky's head. He opens his mouth to make a joke, and then sees how dazed Bucky looks.

"You okay Buck?" He asks, still not rolling off him. He should get off him. But the longer he looks at Bucky the less okay he looks. Bucky smiles through a grimace, and shakes his head. Sam's brow furrows and then he feels it. Wetness on his stomach. He does roll off then, tossing himself to the side and looking down. He reaches out, sits his hand gently agaisnt Bucky's shirt, when he pulls it back his skin is red and wet. Bucky's covered in blood.

Sam looks down at himself, his heart pounding as he pats at his chest, feeling for pain, and wounds. Bucky's hand reaches out, startling Sam. He taps his fingertips against Sam's knee. Sam looks at him, his eyes and throat burning.

"It's all me Sam." He huffs, trying to laugh, and then he's coughing and there's blood on his lips and Sam can't see anymore. He swallows hard and reaches for his coms.

"Torres i need a med evac NOW!" He's yelling, knows he doesn't need to, can't help it.

"We're on the way Sam just hang on!" Torres sounds frantic too, he must have seen them fall, and not seen Sam's wings.

"It's not for me. I'm fine. It's... just hurry man!" His voice is rough.

"ETA a mintue thirty Sam! We're almost there!" His voice is shaky in Sam's ear, and as soon as he stops talking Sam hears the quinn jet, sees the lights, and looks down to see Bucky looking at him. He's blinking slow, a small, bloody, smile on his face.

"Hey. Hey Bucky. Stay with me okay you're gonna be okay." He says this quickly and slowly at once. His hand moving to the side of Bucky's face. There's a dark puddle spreading underneath him now and Sam can't do anything. There's too many holes, and too much blood. Way too much blood.

"Sam." Bucky breathes, coughs, more blood on his lips.

"It's okay Buck don't talk. Don't talk okay. Just-"

"Sam." His voice is firm now. Sam refuses to think of it as urgent.

"What? What is it?" Sam's voice is quiet,  he's leaning down, close to Bucky so he doesn't have to talk so loud, so he can save his energy. Bucky smiles at him again, and then grimaces, blood covering his teeth and dripping down his cheek, Sam whipes it away with his thumb.

"Thank you." Bucky says, his voice tight, eyes squeezing shut as his body shudders once.

"Don't do that. Don't you fucking do that. You don't get to say goodbye." Sam wipes at the blood that keeps dripping from his mouth. Bucky grimaces again and grabs Sam's hand, holds it.

"It's okay Sam. It's-" he takes a wet rattling breath, squeezes Sam's hand.

"It's. Okay." He says, his eyes fluttering closed.

"No no no. Buck. Bucky! Hey! Open your eyes!" Sam pats at his face but his eyes stay closed. 

"No no no! TORRES GET DOWN HERE NOW!" He yells it as the quinn jet lands. The rest is a blur. He remembers helping them get Bucky on the stretcher. Remembers the pool of blood shining black in the dirt. Remembers Torres patting him down, looking for wounds. And he remembers the stars. So many stars. He remembers the stars, and how beautiful they were. And he remembers hating them. Remembers thinking they had no right to be so beautiful while Bucky was dying. And then he'd shaken his head. Because Bucky wasn't dying. He couldn't be dying. Sam wouldn't let him.

Nineteen hours.

Bucky is in surgery for nineteen hours. And Sam waits. He calls Sarah a few times. Her and the boys bring him food and sit with him for awhile, before going back home. They offered to stay but Sam wouldn't let them. The boys had school, and Sarah had work. She scolded him, but relented and took the boys home.

The doctor came to Sam looking tired. Told him Bucky was okay. That he'd be out of commission for while, but probably not as long as he'd expected, being a super soldier and all. Sam had thanked him and asked if he could see him. The doctor looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. He showed him to Bucky's room and told him to stay as long he liked.

He woke up two hours later.

Sam had been reading something on his phone, he doesn't know what, can't remember, doesn't matter, when he'd heard Bucky move. Sam looked up to see him looking at him, his eyes only half open.

"Hey man. How ya feel?" He moved his chair a bit closer. Bucky grimaced, his hand moving from his side to his stomach gently.

"Like i got shot. And then fell out of a plane." He sighed, his head falling back onto his pillow.

"Makes sense. I mean it was five bullets. And a three hundred foot drop." Sam said.

"Oh, no big deal then." Bucky shrugged, his brow furrowing with the pain again.

"Yeah. No big deal." Sam said, his voice somber. Bucky looked at him.

"I'm fine Sam." He said, not looking away.

"Always with the staring." Sam muttered. The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched, but he didn't look away. Sam shook his head.

"I am fine though Sam." He nodded, still not looking away.

"You almost weren't." Sam said, his chest tightening, the black pool of blood Bucky had left behind flashing behind his eyes.

"Yeah. Well," he shrugged again.

"Saved you."

Sam's eyes jumped from Bucky's hand to his face. He watched Bucky lick his lips and finally look away.

"That why you did it?" Sam asked.

"Why else would i have done it?" Bucky asked, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"Don't know. You said goodbye pretty easy." He said, pressing his fingertips into his thigh.

"I didn't say goodbye." Bucky mumbled, looking everywhere but at Sam now.

"You kinda did though." Sam said, not backing down. Bucky groaned and dropped his head back again.

"What do you want me to say Sam? Just tell me so i can say it and we can stop talking." Bucky sighed.

"Just admit you were saying goodbye man, and we can be done with it!" He teased, smiling now that Bucky was his grouchy self again.

"I didn't say goodbye, i said thank you!" He raised his voice as he turned to Sam, grimacing at the pain in his chest. Sam felt his own chest tighten.

"For what?"

Bucky groaned, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Come on Buck." Sam encouraged, bumping his knuckles into Bucky's arm, his skin was warm. Bucky rolled his head to the side, his eyes falling on Sam.

"For letting me help." His voice was quiet. Sam's heart fluttered, he looked, sad. His eyes widered than his usual frown and glare.

"If i remember correctly you didn't give me much choice." Sam teases. Bucky shrugged and half smiled.

"Yeah, but didn't have to let me keep helping. And you didn't have to watch my back. Or keep an eye on me. Or-" he paused, took a deep breath.

"Or invite me to meet your family." He stared at Sam, his tonge moving over his lip before he pulled it between his teeth.

"You didn't have to do any of that. But you did. You gave me a second chance Sam. And i- i can never thank you enough for that. And i just- i needed you to know that. That i appreciate it. I appreciate you. So... thank you." He shrugged again, his shoulders moving up and down once, he was frowning again, but it was an uncertain frown, not the annoyed one that usually painted his features.

"Buck-"

"You don't have to say anything." Bucky cut him off, his eyes had moved to his lap.

"Buck." Sam said, tentatively. Bucky's eyes stayed down.

"Bucky look at me." He bumped his arm again, his fingers lingering against Bucky's skin this time. Bucky slowly moved his eyes to him.

"You deserved this second chance. And i know you struggle with that. You don't think you deserve it. But Buck," he took a deep breath and sighed.

"Buck you're a good guy. You're the most honest person i know, to like, a fault, sometimes." Sam smiled when Bucky snorted.

"But seriously, you're a good man. With a hard past. But you're doing the best with what you've been given. And after all the shit you've been through, man I'd say you're doing great. And Buck," he paused again, moving his hand on top of Bucky's arm, Bucky's eyes fell to it, and Sam could have sworn his breath had caught in his throat. He moved his eyes back up to Sam's face, they were wide and shining.

"Buck if you hadn't been there for me last night, I'd be dead." He said, simple. Matter of fact.

"You saved my life. And you know i hate to admit it but, it's not the first time you've done it, it probably be won't the last. Listen man, I'm just... glad you were there. And that you're still here. So you're welcome. But thank you too. I wouldn't be here without you." He squeezed Bucky's arm and moved his hand back, his fingers trailing slowly over his skin before resting on the bed next to him. Bucky was still staring. But his eyes were now glued to Sam's hand, he seemed transfixed.

"Buck?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, not really paying attention. Sam waited. Bucky was thinking, Sam could see it, could see his gears turning, he bit his lip to hold back a joke. He waited. And he watched. And he smiled softly when Bucky's eyes cleared and he came back to himself, back to Sam. Bucky's eyes stayed on Sam's hand as he moved his own hand slowly across the few inches between them.

Sam's heart fluttered as Bucky pressed his hand under Sam's. Sam moved a little, accommodating him, Bucky's fingertips moving along his palm had Sam biting his lip. Sam moved to match Bucky, locking their fingers together. Bucky stared at their hands, pressed together, smiling a little when Sam moved his thumb in gentle circles over Bucky's skin.

When he finally looked up at Sam, his eyes shining, he looked happy. He wasn't smiling. Or trying to smile. He wasn't always great at it. But he looked, lighter. Like he'd let something go. Something that had been keeping him from this. From reaching out to touch Sam. To touch him when they weren't under attack. Not pulling him away from gunfire, and shielding him from bombs and fists. Just, reaching out to touch. Because he wanted to.

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitched as they looked at each other.

"You saved me too Sam." Bucky said, finally breaking the silence. Sam smiled, the heart monitor next to the bed beeped faster. Bucky's eyes moved to it and then back to Sam, his cheeks flushing. Sam smiled wider, flashing Bucky a toothy grin, the monitor sped up again. Bucky groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow, grimacing a little at the pain in his chest. Sam laughed.

Bucky shook his head and let his eyes fall closed with a sigh. Sam watched him as he slowly fell asleep, only looking away to smile down at their linked fingers. He watched Bucky sleep, held his hand, and told himself that he'd never let go.

[believeitseeitdoit]

Back To School Night

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: cursing, fluffy as hell, overload of cuteness? Don’t read if you don’t like happy endings

Summary: you’re setting up your school classroom when your boyfriend Bucky comes to support you and save the day

This is an un-beta’d Drabble, solely to be read for a smile and maybe some happiness, be kind or go away

You’re sweating like a whore in church as you set up the last of the chairs for your classroom. Every desk had a team logo and every chair had 4 tennis balls on the bottoms to prevent that horrid scraping noise. Your class theme this year was secret agents, and you used the old SHIELD symbol as your continuing logo. Each group was given a team mascot, a different avenger, and your desk was set up as the director’s office. You were insanely proud of how much work you had accomplished and put into this new adventure, finally getting your own classroom and students to teach, you hadn't stopped smiling for a week after you and Bucky had found out you got the job.

Climbing off the floor and dusting your knees off, you shoot a text to Bucky showing him your handiwork and get a thumbs up in response alongside an update on the meeting he’s in with Fury and Sam.

Bucky: I swear if Nick compliments the bird man again on his plans, ima slap a hoe.

You burst out a giggle at your boyfriend’s text lingo, and fire back a simple memo.

Y/N: Darling, murder is illegal, even for dead not dead ex assassin current hero super soldiers 😘.

Setting the phone back on your desk, you take stock of what else you need to be ready for the open house tonight. The interactive board is queued and your presentation bio for the families is ready, you have deodorant and your freshen up bag in your purse so you don’t actually look like a pig, and your work clothes are…. SHIT! You internally screech, you had left the other bag full of your nice clothes in the garage when you left this morning. Fuck fuck fuck, you continue to scold yourself while formulating a plan of how to get the rest of your room ready and get yourself taken care of in the next… hour?! Shit fuck shit damn it aghrrrrr FUCKKKKK ME!

You slap a palm to your forehead and decide to just roll with it. Quite honestly, leggings and a t-shirt in late July is not unheard of, and the parents might even appreciate your casual demeanor…. your boss is kosher, but you still worry about the impression you could make shine you have only been a substitute for her before now.

Instead of dwelling, you decide to speed through the finishing touches on your room; door decorations first, then the string lights in the reading corner, little airplanes and origami hanging from the ceiling tiles last. A few taps to the smart board bring up your classroom friendly Spotify and you get to work as The Lion King original soundtrack chimes through surprisingly decent speakers. The SHIELD logo and your handmade heli-carrier ramp lookalike instantly reinvigorate your spirit of setting up, and you sing along to the Disney tunes while you tack up the lights for a soft fairy glow.

Due to your rather pitchy and obnoxious rendition of “gonna make a man out of you”, you didn’t hear the knock at the door. So when Bucky slid up behind you and wrapped you in his arms for a hug, you screamed bloody murder and elbowed him in the gut.

“Ahh! Fuck what the- Bucky god damnit what are you doing?! You scared the hell out of me!” You run to pause the music and chastise your soldier for his sneaking.

“Doll, I did knock, but you were a little preoccupied getting ready for your Idol audition” he chuckled as he looked around the room.

“This looks great Y/N, your kids are gonna love this. I am so proud of you for finally getting your dream.” He wraps an arm around your waist and his vibranium hand in your hair to angle you up to meet his gaze.

Those eyes are more electrifying than a lightning strike, and a thousand times prettier, you can’t help but be sucked in by them. You smile and push up onto your toes, going in for a chaste kiss.

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you baby, you have been there for me every step of the way. Now I have one question, can you reach up and fix that banner?” You look above him and notice a team symbol is out of sorts, conveniently the Falcon team.

Bucky chuckles and shifts the cardboard back into its frame, “Sam’s doesn’t deserve to be level, he needs the shift. Oh I came here for a reason, here you are my lady.” He picks up the bag you hadn’t noticed during your curse-scapade.

“Thank fucking god, omygod Bucky I fricking love you so much baby, I can’t believe I forgot it this morning I just had so much junk in the truck already and it slipped my mind.” You profusely thank your boyfriend and go to kiss him again when the intercom buzzes.

“15 minutes until open class night begins faculty, please be ready at your doors in 15 minutes!” The secretary calls out in her cheery voice, reminding you of your current debacle.

“Shit, ok, um I’m gonna change, can you just shut the door please? Stand guard or something so my principal doesn’t get an eye full of my sports bra or my boyfriend?” You run with the bag of clothing to behind your desk and quickly strip down the sweaty items and spritz a bit of smell good on between changes.

Bucky can help but smile at you and laugh as you fall sideways onto your ass trying to shimmy your work jeans on. The tight merlot dyed denim hugs you in all the right places, but in July your sweat does not help anything. Sparing you some bruised pride, he scoops you up and sets you onto the desk so he can help finish getting you ready.

“Doll, arms in the sleeves. I’ll button while you fluff your hair out of that ponytail and I grabbed your dry shampoo so use it. No greased pigs in the heli-carrier please.”

Bucky jokes with you while buttoning your sleeveless blouse.

A handful of minutes later, you are toeing on your ‘Jesus sandals,’ a knock off pair of Birkenstock’s that you love to wear for school. Bucky smiles from your desk chair and gives you a wolf whistle.

“Ya know what’s missing in this room?” He asks as he stands to hug you and walk to the front of the room by the doorway.

“What did I forget?!” You reply frantically, looking around for something else missing.

“Nothing love, I just think you need a sign that says Mrs. Barnes instead of Miss Y/L/N.” Bucky states casually as he pulls two items from his pockets.

You look into his hands and find a custom SHIELD office tag labeled “Mrs. Barnes” and a velvet box.

“Are you fucking serious, James Barnes? I just put on mascara!” You start to whimper and try to hold back the tears of joy.

“Soooo, is that a yes? You gonna be my wife? Make me the happiest man on the planet?” He asks impatiently.

“You bet your super soldier fine ass I am Bucky. But I’ll warn you, you’re gonna be coming to every school event from now on.” You wink at him before reaching up for a passionate kiss to seal the deal.

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[parlideldiavolo]

have mercy, pt. 03

(CW: Violence and injury.)

lll.

The building was empty. Vic wondered if it had any significance—the Saints tended to be premeditated in what they did and loved their symbolism, as evidenced by the sound of a heavy whip hitting the ground.

Killian--Mercy, he corrected himself--wouldn’t do this just anywhere. Vic wanted to pick the thought apart further and see where it led but his attention was drawn instead to the heavy coils that pooled around the Saint’s feet.

He wanted to laugh. Love, huh?

(It made sense. If the stories were true, his race had been cursed because of love--the love of one being turned into punishment, because devils had love for an imperfect world free of its chains. Something like that.)

Mercy watched him from across the warehouse floor with same unchanging sorrow that had haunted his face since they’d first seen each other. The older man closed his eyes and took a deep breath (and that was an opportunity.) 

(Vic didn’t take it.)

The following exhale was deep and shuddering. When Mercy next looked up his face, from line-worn eyes to graying beard, was tear-stained. Vic wasn’t sure what he felt, seeing that. More anger? Jealousy?

The brightness in his eyes sharpened as Mercy slid his palms across the heft of the whip. What looked to be two or three gold trammel-like items, or spikes, had been seated in his belt. The older man’s shoulders rose and his body swelled to fill the room. With his next breath a serpentine cross was revealed to be seated at his collar. The dress he wore was dark and ashen.

It was about time he looked less like a kind older man, Vic thought. A monster hunter stood in front of him instead and it matched far better with the man Vic had last seen many years ago. The devil’s attention drifted up to the old burn scar on Mercy’s face. He thought of the burnt-out phone lying crumpled in the car and hoped seeing that had opened up an old, old wound.

“When they took you into the Sanctum,” the older man began, and there was the faintest tremor in his voice as he spoke, ”I didn’t know what would happen.”

Vic’s fists tightened. “Didn’t expect me to burn your face, I’ll wager.”

The burn scar that crossed Mercy’s skin tugged as he spoke. “That moment, when you were on the pyre, I was reaching for you. I meant to pull you free.”

That wasn’t how Vic remembered it.

Mercy blinked the tears away. “You can’t help your nature. And I... have learned.”

It didn’t change anything. Not if they were still standing here.

“Nothing left to say?” Vic asked while hooking fingers into his gloves and ripping them off.

“Yes,” Mercy replied. “But I know you won’t listen.”

“Then give me something worthwhile to hear besides ‘I love you.’”

Mercy’s smile faded. “It is like a devil to not understand love.”

Vic sensed the shift before it happened. The floor where he’d been standing shattered as the heavy throng of the whip broke the concrete into slabs. It whipped back with an audible groan but Vic was already blazing across the floor.

<“Try again!”> he snarled.

The rage was easier to direct. It slammed him into the Saint with a flurry of fire and smoke that roared over the heartbeat in his ears or the worries that swept like currents. He struck fast, landing blows across shoulders and bearing the weighted buffet of Mercy slamming the hilt of the whip across his side. It felt like acid.

Vic spun away, dodged the next crackling roar of the whip as it flew and lunged through the spiraling loop it made before the coils could snap shut and crack his spine in half.

A concrete column exploded when Mercy whipped it back. The dust cloud erupted like a sudden storm of ash; Vic sank low, flipped over the next swinging link like a dancer and swooped close to catch Mercy’s forearm and wrench away the punch that might have shattered his jaw. Mercy gasped in pain and spat blood. A quick shp sound was all the warning Vic received before a blade shot out of the Saint’s wrist and glanced off the devil’s rib. Blood steamed as it sprayed and the hallowed blade ripped clean through Vic’s shirt.

Vic had experience with Saints’ weapons. He knew what they were like—how they burned and debilitated, paralyzed, or inflicted unusual agony to the monsters they were unleashed on. He knew what to expect and could feel the sanctified thrum of energy that buzzed off the whip every time it swung.

Being prepared helped to withstand the effects themselves, but the simple reality of their pain remained. Vic felt his next blow land with a sharp crack that had Mercy doubling. The next attempted gutting swung wide.

<“Show your face,”> Mercy roared as they spun and tangled like a flurry.

Vic wanted to roar back this is my face but settled for grabbing Mercy’s head as his eyes went black and then erupted with the same flaming scarlet that poured from his mouth when Vic breathed fire straight at the Saint’s eyes.

Mercy twisted out of the pillar of flame and caught most of it on the side of his head, ear and beard. He swung Vic aside and ripped a hand through the grey-streaked strands to rip the flames out.

Another column exploded. Vic caught the edge of a link on his next series of snarling vaults through the whip’s labyrinth of chains and felt his forearm snap.

None of the hits he received were rewarded with even a murmur of pain. Vic’s tongue stayed behind his teeth as he stumbled to clap a hand over his bloodied arm. His tattoos roared to life as the wound was healed.

Mercy was breathing heavily, bruised and flushed by fire. Vic met his eyes and could feel the light smoke curling from between his sharpening teeth. The storm of grey in his eyes flared ruby when the storm receded to black out the whites of his eyes.

Is this the face that you want?

Vic’s tapered tail whipped out and cracked across Mercy’s wrist when the blade came up and dark wings buffeted them across the room to crash them against iron shelving and send Mercy reeling. The next hilt jab caught Vic across the hip. His hands ripped at the Saint’s neck and the disabling cross that hung there--one made in the likeness of a gilded, crucified serpent. 

Fights rarely last long. Most happen in heartbeats before they’re finished and the dazed dance of fire, smoke, gold and blood comes to a close. Mercy’s chest heaved ragged and he smelled burnt and torn as blood streamed from his nose and brow to smear across the dress he wore. Blood stained Vic’s teeth. The desire filling his mouth tasted like death and ash.

Mercy went to grab his hand, or so it seemed, but Vic felt something pierce it instead.

Ah, the calculating part of Vic thought through the veil of anger. This is new.

In that split second Vic could have killed him. It would have been easy—either with claws, teeth, fire. The tattoos that spanned his body erupted with light.

He hesitated.

(He’s fourteen years old, perched on the arm of a chair holding a box with a wounded kitten in his lap. His uncle is smiling; Killian says, ‘you should be a healer.’ He lights up.)

Vic’s hand went numb. The split second his fingers relaxed a crack of the whip caught the side of his head, snagged a horn and yanked.

He was able to catch himself and rip free but the numbness in his hand remained. When Vic glanced down he could see one of the small, spear-head shaped trammels he’d taken note of earlier embedded in his hand. The arcane light that flared from the tattoos on that hand dimmed and wavered.

Vic could hear his heartbeat again. It pounded in his pinned-back ears when Mercy wrested himself off the floor; the blood that erupted around the sanctified gold steamed.

He had to end it.

The Saint must have had the same thought—he didn’t have the body or endurance that Vic did. 

Vic’s hand still wasn’t responding when the next assault came. By the time he felt the next piercing sensation the whole room was lit with smoke.

This wouldn’t be the end. It couldn’t be--an end for Vic would be much more grand than this.

So, he kept fighting even when feeling drained from his fingertips. He fought because there were people who couldn’t be hurt, not by the Saints, not by this Saint, and not by some fucking god. He fought until Mercy, hedged against a wall, ripped a serpentine cross from his belt.

It was bladed at the end. Vic discovered that when it sank into his chest with the hand of a Saint at its hilt. This was something he could shake off and recover from.

Usually.

Vic stumbled back. The room spun. Mercy released the bladed cross and stepped back with a catch of breath and clutch of his own chest as he doubled over.

Vic stumbled again. That’s when the devil, who had so far been silent except for his anger, heard himself scream.

It was a raw, seething sound. Agony exploded inside his chest. It had pierced something, something vital, more vital than a simple organ and Vic was hemorrhaging power uncontrollably as the room spun.

He couldn’t pull it out—his hands wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t heal—the blazing of his tattoos danced wildly like a candle caught in wind as his power surged inward, deep, deep within to try and heal what the cross had punctured.

Strands of fire and smoke dripped from his mouth like blood. If he’d been aware he would have noticed his body uncontrollably shifting from one form to another as he convulsed. Whatever threads had woven his endemic memory together were snapping at the seams, because Vic was suddenly Falling.

Mercy watched, stricken, through a veil of broken skin and burnt hair.

It occurred to some small, lucid part of Vic that he was afraid--not of Mercy, not of anything, except... dying.

Vic’s vision blurred. He’d spent all this time coming to terms with it—with a horrible end and thinking he could meet it with a grin—but now all he could think about was Ireland. They were supposed to go there.

(Mercy had also stumbled back. Now the older man painfully lifted himself from the wall.)

So many unfulfilled debts and promises. Friendships. Vic couldn’t fail them.

(The Saint braced a hand against it and pushed himself upright.)

He didn’t want to lose them. Or his dad. Meph. His family.

(“I… mercy,” the Saint murmured as he began to walk forward. His voice shook. The first blade shone in his hand. “I'll have mercy.”)

He didn’t want to leave him.

Vic’s unfeeling fingers slid from burning gold, and his legs finally buckled as the world fell away.

[qianinterprises]

Lies {Ten x Reader}

Author's Note: I wrote this in a few days and it has not been beta read so I'm more than a little sure it will have grammatical and spelling errors. I still hope you enjoy though!

Synopsis: You are hiding a big secret. A secret that, to keep hidden, you continuously lie to your boyfriend about.

Pairing: Ten x Reader

Word Count: 3600 words

Brisk, polluted air washed over the city, bringing the soft, fresh scent of morning to the land. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but the city was awake, shop owners unlocking their doors, cars stuck at traffic lights, half dressed and hung over men and women doing the walk of shame. It was the same every morning. Except, this morning, there was a slight difference.

You tugged your boyfriend's jacket tighter as a soft breeze breathed across your body. You weren’t usually awake at this hour, preferring to sleep well into the morning, but today, there was too much to think about. Too much on your mind. You’d slept as long as you could, but, for once, your boyfriend's embrace was unable to lull your racing thoughts.

Life could be complicated. Just when you were starting to enjoy it, it threw you a curveball. Typically, those curveballs somehow made everything fall into place, somehow kickstarted your life in some new, better direction. This time, life had done more than throw you a curveball. It kicked you in the crotch and spit in your cereal.

Your fingers wrapped around the cool rail of the balcony and sighed. Worries and fears rushed through your mind. How were you going to tell Ten? How were you going to tell your family and his? How did you even feel about all of this?

A hand dropped down to your stomach, still aching and cramping from the early morning sickness. Your eyes shut. This was the last thing you needed. Yet here you were.

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

“Are you sure? You could just be late this time,” your best friend had asked.

You weren’t. All you were certain of was it had been two weeks since you were supposed to get your period and it still hadn’t shown up. Now, you didn’t like bleeding from your lady bits, but it was always a sure sign that your uterus was perfectly unhappy without a fertilized egg nestled inside its warm walls. Without a bloody hissy fit producing a murder scene in your pants and with some sort of stomach virus churning up your guts, you were beginning to get worried.

“Have you been to the doctor?” she asked.

“Yeah right, they’d call here and Ten would somehow end up answering and find out the truth from some middle-aged balding guy instead of me!”

She raised her hands in surrender.

“Then… a drugstore test?” she asked.

“How? I’d end up using my credit card and when he pays the bill, he’d see a weird charge and ask me about it, then I’d have to tell him after he’d backed me into a corner!”

She sighed, clearly getting annoyed.

“Do you want me to get it for you?”

You paused a moment to think, a smile blossoming across your face.

“That’d be great!”

She let out a groan and slid up off the couch, grabbing her purse.

“If you are, I get to name it,” she declared before marching out of your apartment.

As her car started and back out of the driveway, you grabbed your favorite blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around you, burrowing yourself deeper into the fuzzy softness as your stomach twisted in knots. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath, praying for a good answer, but the issue was, you had no idea what answer you truly wanted.

On one hand, you loved Ten with all your heart and would jump at the chance of having a family with him. On the other, he was an idol. He was an idol in NCT no less that was constantly traveling back and forth between South Korea and China for promotions. He was busy. His career was just getting good. Something like this could, not only change your life, but alter his forever.

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

It hadn’t taken long for your best friend to get back from the pharmacy. It was only right down the road after all. Still, as soon as she stepped in the door, holding up a bag filled with packages of sticks that could show your future and alter your life, you tightened the blanket around you. Did you even want to know?

She sat down on the edge of the couch seeming to read your mind as she brought a hand up to softly stroke over your shoulder. Her gaze softened. You knew she understood. It wasn’t long ago that she’d also had a pregnancy scare which had resulted in simply being food poisoning.

You doubted that was the case this time.

“It’ll be better once you know. Then, there’s no longer the lingering curiosity and fear,” she encouraged softly.

She was right. You knew that, but nothing could stop the anxiety from pooling in your stomach as you cast your eyes at the shopping bag.

“How many did you get?” you asked.

“Five. Just to be certain,” she said softly.

With a nod and a deep breath, you reached for the bag still resting in her hand. You carried it to the bathroom, locking the door. You knew she wouldn’t barge in on you, but as shuddered breaths fell from your lips, you knew you needed to do this next part completely alone.

You unpackaged each of the tests and lined them up in an easily accessible row.

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

Eight minutes later, you sat on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the door as your eyes sharply watched the timer on your phone count down. Your chest clenched at the last few seconds before it dinged in your hand, signaling time was up. The tests were ready and, once you looked at the results, you would finally have answers, answers you possibly didn’t want.

“Deep breaths, (y/n),” you whispered to yourself.

You shut your timer off and eased yourself off the floor, hands trembling as you reached for the closest plastic stick. What were you even hoping for?

Your fingers closed around the plastic and your eyes closed, breath becoming shallow. Just a few more seconds. Few more seconds of ignorant bliss before you would be forced to learn the truth.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and opened your eyes, two pink lines on the stick greeting you.

The test fell from your hands as your body crumpled to the ground, tears spilling from your eyes and cascading down your face.

“(y/n)?” your best friend asked.

You didn’t respond. Your body shuddered as silent sobs racked through your body. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy or that you’d never dreamed of having a family, you just never expected it to happen like this, especially when you could not only ruin your life, but the life of a child and your boyfriends.

It was a few extra minutes before you were finally able to pull yourself off the floor and unlock the door. Your best friend gaped at your teary eyes, face etched with worry, but she opened her arms and you dropped into them, wrapping your arms around her tightly and clinging to her.

“It… It was… p-positive,” you stammered.

She squeezed you tightly, hands rubbing up and down your back.

“I’m pregnant…”

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

By sheer luck, Ten hadn’t come home that night, choosing to stay at the WayV dorm with Hendery and Xiaojun who, according to Ten, were distraught and upset that they didn’t get to see Ten every day anymore.

His absence had allowed you time to dispose of the tests, all of which read positive, burying them in the trash and making a mental note to take the trash out the next day. You’d also had time to calm yourself down enough to make a decision.

Getting rid of the baby wasn’t an option. You loved children. You’d always loved the prospects of having a child. Even if Ten wanted nothing to do with you or the child, you were not going to simply get rid of it. If he left and you decided you couldn’t do it on your own, you would check yourself into a facility that would help you and give the baby up for adoption. If you thought you could handle it, you would raise your own child. Because no matter what Ten said, you still had your own choices to make.

That night, you had settled down with a sappy romance movie and a bowl of ice cream, curled up in one of Ten’s shirts in bed, preparing to tell him the next day.

However, that day would never come.

As the next day rolled around, you had put off telling him and, as the days ticked by, you kept making excuses not to. Pretty soon, you’d hit the three month mark with a healthy baby and your flat stomach was starting to expand. You’d always worn baggier shirts so, covering up wasn’t a big deal, but the constant sickness and cravings were getting harder to hide.

Arms wrapped around your waist, causing you to jump, thoughts evaporating into the chilly air.

“What are you doing up so early?” he whispered sleepily against your ear, a chill running down your spine.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you calmly responded.

He hummed against your ear and squeezed you a little closer. You winced as his arms tightened around your stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head.

“I’m still getting over this virus, I guess,” you lied.

Ten was an attentive man, so when he noticed how often you were getting sick, in the mornings specifically, he had immediately asked you about it. Being on the spot and not quite ready to tell him the truth, you’d lied that you’d been hanging around a friend with the stomach virus and they must have given it to you. He had bought it, insisting that you go to the doctor if it got worse, but you had declined. Now, weeks after you’d first lied, as your sickness continued, Ten was becoming more freaked out, begging you to go to the hospital, convinced that you were dying.

Not wanting to admit that you’d been lying, and slightly concerned that, even three months into your pregnancy, you were still getting sick, you had waited until Ten was doing promotions before going to your doctor.

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

“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. (y/l/n), how have you been feeling?” your doctor, Dr. Byun asked, taking a seat on the plush stool by the laptop.

“I’ve been alright. Just concerned. I know I’m around three months, but I would have thought the morning sickness would have ceased by now…”

He let out a hum and pulled your chart up on your laptop.

“Your last check-up was two weeks ago. Did they do an ultrasound? I’m not seeing it in here.”

You shook your head.

“Alright, so that’s the first step. I will tell you that morning sickness at three months usually goes away, but it is completely common and natural for some women to experience sickness well after that,” he responded.

You let out a sigh. Ten would never buy it if you told him your throwing up was completely normal. But you nodded and he stepped from the room to get a nurse to set up an ultrasound.

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

After the ultrasound, Dr. Byun came back, holding his notes.

“It looks like everything is normal. It’s possible that the baby is simply rejecting some of the nutrients given. I know oftentimes during pregnancy, the baby craves sweets, junk-food, or other things, but I would recommend trying to eat as many fruits and vegetables as possible. This will help give the baby nutrients and hopefully quell the sickness. However, I am going to send your blood-work to the labs and see if there is anything else going on.”

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

That had been a week ago and still, even with extra vegetables and well-balanced meals, the sickness persisted, and with it, grew Ten’s worry.

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital if it keeps getting worse,” he suggested, mumbling against your ear.

You shook your head.

“I trust Dr. Byun. He says it can be normal when the ba- I mean, when the immune system needs a little extra nutrients,” you answered.

He didn’t respond for a long moment, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Did Dr. Byun ever call you back with your bloodwork results?” he asked.

You shook your head. It was the truth. Sort of.

You really did feel bad for lying to him. It never was your intention, but the longer you kept your secret, the harder it got to tell him. Part of you wished you’d just come clean the day he’d gotten home so, you’d at least know how he felt and whether or not you’d be doing it alone. The other part of you was terrified the moment you told him that you’d be giving him up.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lips touching your skin in a soft kiss that made you shudder in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered against your skin.

Your heart melted. If he truly loved you, would he stay? Would he understand why you lied? Would he accept you and the baby as his?

Suddenly, you felt brave enough to come clean. No matter what, you were confident that love would prevail.

“Ten I-”

You were cut off as his phone began to ring.

He sighed, letting his head drop onto your shoulder before reaching into his pajamas pants to retrieve his phone.

“Hello?”

You couldn’t hear who was on the other end, but it was definitely Kun or their manager.

“Now?” he asked.

His nose crinkled in annoyance.

“But (y/n)’s still sick!”

A huff fell from his lips.

“Fine,” he growled into the receiver, hanging up the phone and shoving it back into his pocket, eyes fixing hard on the railing.

“I have to go. Some stupid radio show decided last minute they want us there and we can’t get out of it now,” he grumbled.

You turned around, your courage disappearing as you placed a soft hand on his cheek.

“It’s alright baby. Go, I’ll be here when you get back,” you spoke softly.

He leaned his cheek against your hand, leaning his face closer to press a gentle kiss to your wrist. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“I’ll be home after lunch,” he promised.

With that, he hurried back inside.

You watched him disappear into your shared bedroom before facing the city again. The sun was now almost all the way over the horizon.

Would Ten still kiss you like that if he knew?

Your heart clinched heavily in your chest.

Would you be able to live without him if he left?

Ten’s POV

Something wasn’t right. Ten knew that. What he didn’t know was what. (Y/n) had been sick for several weeks and, despite her reassurance that everything was “normal” and “fine,” he couldn’t shake the notion that you were lying about something.

As his car pulled up to the WayV dorm where their manager would be picking them up, he glanced down at his phone. He had been expecting to see you in his background, smiling blissfully, looking as radiant and beautiful as ever by the lake they’d visited over the summer, right before you’d gotten sick. What he saw instead was himself, grinning and holding a small cupcake with purple icing, a single lit candle waiting to be blown out. The picture you’d taken on his birthday.

Confused, he turned the phone over in his hand and shook his head in minor annoyance at the cute little stickers of Ten and the other members of WayV stuck on the clear phone case. Your phone case.

He must have accidentally taken your phone rather than his own in his rush to get dressed and get to the dorm.

A small laugh bubbled to his throat. He knew getting matching phones and phone cases would end up being a bad idea, but you had insisted.

The phone vibrated in his hand and he laughed as his own name popped onto the screen.

From Ten<3: Babe, you took my phone instead :D

Ten shook his head.

To Ten<3: guess you’ll have to forward me updates from everyone today!

From Ten<3: Or I could keep them all to myself and “forget” to tell you

He sent back a laughing emoji and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. He stepped out of his car as the large van meant to take them to the radio show pulled up. He waved to the manager driving and laughed to himself as YangYang led the way sprinting from the building, Lucas and Hendery hot on his heels.

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

It was in the middle of the show that Ten felt the phone buzzing in his pocket. As Lucas energetically retold the story of how he’d managed to pull off a prank on Kun and WinWin, Ten discreetly pulled the phone from his pocket. Dr. Byun flashed across the screen and Ten’s heart quickened. On one hand, he wanted to respect your privacy and not answer the call. On the other, he desperately wanted some answers.

“We’re going to take a quick break! We’ll be right back!” the host said over the speaker.

That was all the answer Ten needed to hear.

He clicked the green answer button and pressed his phone to his ear, quickly making his way out of the room before anyone could question him.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Byun, is Ms. (y/l/n) nearby?” he asked.

“She isn’t but I’m her boyfriend. I can take a message.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ten knew he shouldn’t have said them, but part of him couldn’t help being curious, his gut too filled with worry to think rationally.

“I’m calling to let her know we got her results back. Her sickness is being caused by an anemia that sometimes has the effect on women carrying children. The fetus isn’t getting enough protein nutrients. We’d recommend she eat more red meat and add anemia vitamins to her prenatal vitamins. If the sickness doesn’t stop in two weeks, she should come back in for another visit,” he said.

The phone dropped from Ten’s hand, hitting the floor hard. His eyes were wide, hands shaking. His left knee gave out first, buckling beneath his weight. He clutched the wall for support.

“Ten!”

Kun’s voice barely reached his ears as his heart pounded.

The leaders arms wrapped around Ten’s middle, leading him to lean against him as Kun held him up.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok? Are you feeling faint?”

Ten didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the wall.

Pregnant. That’s why you kept throwing up…

Your POV

The moment you’d noticed you were left with Ten’s phone, anxiety pooled in your stomach. You had no idea when Dr. Byun was going to call or whether Ten would answer. Dr. Byun telling Ten the truth was not exactly the best way for him to find out. Especially since you’d been lying to him.

The minute the door to your shared apartment flew open, slamming hard against the wall, your hands began to shake.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?!” he snapped as soon as he rounded the corner.

His face was red with anger, a sight you weren’t used to seeing. Ten didn’t get angry a lot. And when he did, he often had good outlets, like dance, to vent his anger.

He yanked your phone out of his pocket and threw it on the couch, making you flinch.

“You lied to me! For months! Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he seethed.

Yours eyes glazed as they met his, tears gathering, but you blinked, refusing to let them fall when his anger was your fault to begin with.

“I-I… I was afraid… I didn’t want to lose you…”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to take them back. His face fell. His arms tumbled precariously to his side. Tears gathered in his own eyes, escaping and cascading slowly down his face.

Ten didn’t cry often. His pride prevented it. Watching his shoulders begin to tremble and shake had guilt gripping at your heart tightly.

“Did I not prove my love to you enough?” he asked, voice stammering.

You stared at him for a moment before sliding yourself off the couch and wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders.

“I know you love me baby. But… your career… I was afraid you’d leave me… leave us… because I was holding you back from this…”

It was a long moment before he responded.

His hands cupped your face gently, brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were beginning to fall.

“My career is important. I love being in WayV, but you always come first. And now, you and the baby come first,” he spoke softly.

He trailed his hand down to softly rest it on your stomach. A water smile spread across your face.

“You’re going to have to do a lot of the parenting alone. So I’ll understand if you want to leave me to find the baby a father that will be there to help you. Otherwise, I’m with you all the way.”

You brought your gaze to his, searching his eyes for jokes or laughter. Finding none, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you.

“Our baby could have no better father than you,” you whispered softly.

He pressed his lips delicately to yours, drawing you in closer and holding you against him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

[junosartsthetic]

Patching Things Up   

Wordcount: 3846

Character(s): Dabi, (Y/N)

Warning(s): Innuendos. Swearing. Mentions of sex. Angst. 

Note: This is an updated version of a one-shot I originally posted on my Quotev account.

__

 You snuggled deeper into the blankets surrounding you, your feet tucked under you as you leaned against the armrest. Your eyes fixated themselves onto the T.V. as you flipped through the channels with one hand, the other holding a mug of hot chocolate.

       A sudden knocking at the door caused you to pause your channel surfing and look towards the door a little ways away from the living room. You could see the rain pouring outside the window but spotted nobody.

       You raised an eyebrow and set your mug down on the side table before standing up, the remote being placed on the arm rest. Your socks slid against the wooden floor as you made your way to the door, covering your robe against your body to keep warm.

       You peered out the window and saw a figure, though it was too dark to make out the specifics. You flicked on the porch light.

       A young man with jarring purple blotches of skin all over his body held together by staples slouched forward, his hands gripping his side. Blood dripped from it.

       You let out a gasp. You recognized him as one of the members of the League of Villains— Dabi.

       Your hand went into your robe pocket and you pulled out your phone, getting ready to dial the cops before a harsh knock stopped you. Your eyes met a bright teal as you stared at his face through the window. His gaze was soft, softer than you’d seen from his pictures on the news. It looked strangely familiar.

       You slid your phone back and put a hand against the window, tilting your head. What was he doing here? Why your house?

       His mouth began to move, and you made out the words, ‘open the door.’

       You shook your head.

       He frowned. ‘Please.’

       You bit your lip before reaching for the handle and opening it. Now, only a glass door remained between the two of you.

       You reached out to grab the handle to the glass door, and pulled it open slightly. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ you thought, now holding it open wide enough for him to step inside. ‘He’s a murderer. A Villain. And I’m letting him inside because of some weird nostalgic feeling. God, I’m an idiot.’

       He grabbed the edge of the door and used it as a brace as he limped inside. He was soaked to the bone and blood began to drip onto your door mat.

       “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, closing the doors behind him. “I don’t even know you.”

       Dabi let out a breathy laugh which quickly devolved into coughing. His eyes held a certain spark to them, and you squinted at him. He shrugged his leather coat off and hung it on the coat rack before kicking his shoes off. “Yes you do,” he replied, now beginning to limp towards your kitchen.

       “Hey!” you said, stomping after him. “I don’t know what came over me to let you inside, but you don’t get to prance around my house like you own the place.” You caught up to him and pulled on his arm to get his attention as he was now digging through your medicine cabinet. “And I have never met you before in my life.”

       He turned his head to glance at you, flashing you a cocky smile. “C’mon, you really don’t remember me, princess?”

       “Princess— ” you shot him a glare—  “For, the last time, I’m a knight, not a princess— ” you stopped, flashing back to a vivid memory.

       “Okay,” he said, his six year old self pointing at your five year old self with a wooden sword. “Now, you go and be the princess, and I’ll slay the dragon for you!”

       You shook your head, crossing your chubby arms. “No! I wanna be the knight in shining armor!”

       “But then who will be the princess?”

       You smiled. “You!”

       He shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”

       “Okay, then you can be the dragon, and I can be the knight, and there can be a pretend princess!” You tilted your head, wondering if that would be alright. “How about that…”

       “Touya,” you suddenly said, your body freezing up as you backed away from the male who was now taking his bloodstained shirt off in the middle of your kitchen.

       He paused, his arms partially behind his head and his shirt halfway off, and let out a soft chuckle. “It’s been a while.”

       Your heart began to race as your eyes fogged up with tears. “I- I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing with your life! A villain, really?” You shook your head, wetness now rolling down your cheeks. “Why, Touya?”

       He finished pulling his shirt off, revealing the true extent of his scars, and began to dab a cotton ball doused in rubbing alcohol on what looked to be a bullet wound on the side of his stomach, his other hand holding a pair of your tweezers. “The name’s Dabi now.”

       “I don’t care.” You wiped your tears away and grabbed the cotton ball and the tweezers before gesturing for him to sit on one of your bar stool chairs. “I need answers. You can’t just— ” you let out a tense breath—  “just show up here after all this time!”

       He sat down on the bar stool and turned his wound towards you. “Fine, but I’m currently bleeding out, so maybe we should focus on that first, aye, princess?”

       “Shut up,” you muttered, nose scrunching up as you examined the wound. You assumed the bullet was still lodged in there somewhere, which meant you had to use the tweezers to get it out. “You’re lucky I care about you, or else I’d throw you back out on the street.”

       “Even after all this time, huh?” he said, looking at you as you slowly moved the tweezers towards the hole. “I thought you’d be pissed as hell and punch me in the dick or something when I showed up here.”

       “Oh trust me,” you replied, shoving the tweezers in the wound rather harshly before gripping the bullet and yanking it out, making him flinch and curse in pain, “I am definitely pissed and will not hesitate to punch you in the dick.”

       You placed the bloody bullet in the sink and quickly grabbed some gauze and cotton balls, wrapping the wound and creating pressure on it. You had to wrap your arms around his torso to properly secure the gauze, and fought the urge to blush. ‘I shouldn’t be this close to a cocky shirtless villain.’

       He laughed, but said nothing else as you finished tending to his wound and proceeded to back away, putting your hands on your hips. “Alright, I doubt you’ll die, so now tell me what the hell is going on.”

       He stood up from the chair and began heading back towards your bedroom. “Let me take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

       You let out a groan. “Fine, don’t get blood on my white towels, moron.”

       He turned back to flash you a stupid grin before opening your bedroom door and shutting it behind him.

       You sat on the loveseat to wait, and eventually heard the water kick on from the master bathroom shower. It took another fifteen minutes for it to kick off.

       You turned towards your room door, ready to scold him again for showing up out of the blue, but the words got caught in your throat.

       He opened the door, a towel in his hands as he rubbed the water out of his hair, his lower half sporting a towel skirt and nothing else.

       You tried your best not to pay attention to the way droplets of water rolled down his chest, and made their way between each and every muscle before disappearing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

       You attempted not to notice how attractive his hair still was, despite being dyed black now, or how hot you still found him despite his new scars. They simply added more character to an already completely one of a kind person, and you bit your cheek. ‘God, why did I have to fall in love with him, and why am I still in love with him?’

       His voice broke you from your thoughts. “Are you done staring? I’m fuckin’ freezing. You got any clothes that would fit me?”

       You cleared your throat and patted your cheeks in an attempt to quench the redness. “In the bottom drawer of my dresser should be something. Just put your old clothes in the washer in the bathroom.”

       He gave a mock salute before walking back inside, a water puddle now on your floor from where he once stood.

       Standing up, you moved to your kitchen to grab a rag before wiping up the water, going to clean the blood off your entryway, as well. ‘God damn it, Touya.’

       After another five minutes, he walked out in a familiar pair of sweatpants and a band tee, a smirk on his face. “You kept my clothes? D’aww.”

       “Shut up and sit down,” you muttered, face flushed as you gestured to the couch across from the loveseat you sat in.

       “Okay, fine,” he replied before heading to the loveseat and picking you up bridal-style, sitting down and proceeding to set you on his lap. “There.”

       You let out a vaguely offended noise, flustered. “Hey! Just because we dated way back when we were teens doesn’t mean you can come in here and pretend like you didn’t disappear for years!”

       “Why not?” he replied, leaning back in the chair and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. He was warmer than you, despite just taking a shower, and you assumed his quirk kept him rather hot.

       You shook your head and attempted to lean forward, only to get pulled back once more. “Because, how do I know you’re the same person you were back then? What happened, Touya? Last I remember, you were nineteen and living with me, and then you suddenly vanish and never come back! You can’t do things like that!” The tears you shed in the kitchen returned full force, choking you up.

       “I told you, the name is Dabi now,” he mumbled, placing his chin atop your head and letting out a sigh. “And I have no excuses for what I’ve done. There’s nothing I can say to change what happened. I— ” he took in a breath, his normally cocky exterior shattering to reveal the true pain underneath—  “I’m sorry, princess— no, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

       You heard his voice crack, and felt drops hit the top of your head. Neither of you spoke, just letting out all the bottled up emotions of the past few years.

       Eventually, you managed to stop crying long enough to pull your head away from his chest and look him in the eyes. He was already looking at you. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek, rubbing the purple skin which covered the lower half softly. “Does it hurt?”

       He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

       You began to tear up again. “Is this my fault? Did I push you over the edge?”

       He immediately placed a hand atop yours, his other one hugging your waist tightly. “No!” he yelled, before clearing his throat. “No… You had nothing to do with this. I just— I snapped. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take him. He constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t— ” he heaved out a breath—  “I didn’t deserve anything, much less someone like you.”  You knew exactly who he was.

       “Touya…”

       “I told you— ” you used your other hand to hold a finger to his mouth.

       “Hush. You’ll always be my Touya.”

       He gave you a half-hearted smile which turned into a playful smirk. “Your Touya?”

       You flushed. “Yes. You never broke up with me so technically we’re still dating, and you’re still my Touya.”

       He let out a soft snort. “God, I missed you,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against your hand before leaning forward.

       You moved the finger against his lips to cup his other cheek, and copied his movements.

       Despite the roughness of his lips, the kiss was soft, and you could feel the old spark between you re-ignite.

       When you pulled away, his eyes were closed and he had a smile on his face. “I missed that, too.”

       You laughed.

       The beeping of a cell phone brought you both out of the moment, and he looked towards his jacket still hanging on the coat rack. “I need to get that, it’s probably that dick Shigaraki.”

       Your expression dulled. ‘Right, he’s a villain now.’

       He gathered you up in his arms before standing up and placing you back on the loveseat. He trudged to his coat, pulled out a phone and read the lit up screen. He glanced at you.

       You looked at him. He turned away, typing out a response before heading back towards you. “Are you leaving?” you asked, voice strangely monotone.

       “Not yet,” he replied, picking you up again to return to his original spot. “I told him to shove it for now.”

       “Won’t you get in trouble for that? I don’t want you getting punished because of me,” you said, voice now conveying your sadness.

       He shrugged and cuddled you closer, one of his hands reaching for the cup of hot chocolate on the side table to take a sip. “I don’t care. I’d go through the worst of whatever the world has to offer to stay like this,” he said, voice honest and content and sounding much like your Touya.

       The person before you now wasn’t quite like the Touya you knew, nor the Dabi, he was an odd combination, but you didn’t care. Your long lost lover was now back, and that was good enough for you. Sure, it might be wrong to still be in love with him, despite all the awful shit he's done since he's been gone, but you can't help it. When you love someone, you never really get rid of that feeling.

       You closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, but not before feeling a goodnight kiss against your forehead. You smiled. ‘Yeah, definitely good enough for me.’ You awoke to the smell of something burning, and your eyes quickly shot open as you tumbled out of bed. Your back hit the ground as you let out a groan, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.

       Flashbacks of last night flashed in your mind and you shot up from the floor and ran to the kitchen.

       Smoke filled the kitchen, and you slid open the window above the sink for some fresh air.

       You spotted Touya amongst the fog, a pan filled with bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

       You nudged his shoulder and gestured to the smoke-filled room, coughing. “What the fuck are you making over there, fire?”

       “It’s been a while since I’ve made you breakfast, alright? Give me a break,” he said, turning off the burner and sliding the bacon and eggs onto two different plates.

       You closed your eyes for a moment. “You didn’t have to—  I didn’t ask you to. Honestly, I thought you’d have left while I was asleep.”

       He grabbed both plates and set them down on the bar counter before sliding into a seat. “Do you want me gone that bad?” he asked, smirking.

       “No! I— ” you cleared your throat—  “I mean, I just assumed you had villain things to attend to and such.”

       He let out a laugh. “Villain things? What does that even mean?”

       “I don’t know,” you replied, puffing your cheeks out in anger. “I just meant I didn’t expect you to stay. It still doesn’t feel real. I— I thought you were dead!” Despite you trying not to, you started to sniffle, making him frown. “It feels like you’re back from the dead! I attended a funeral for you! I said my goodbyes and yet here you are!” At this point, tears streamed down your face as you held your arms against your chest. “I can tell you want things to go back to the way they were, but that can’t happen! Things have changed too much…”

       He stood up from the stool and walked over, wrapping his arms around you. He smelt like burnt food, and you let out a small laugh. He was trying his hardest to win your affections back, but you couldn’t help but hesitate. “Nothing I can say will ever make what I’ve done okay—  I know that. I just—  I can’t just walk away now, either. You’re the only person I have left who knows I’m still alive, and I’m still in love with you, (Y/N).”

       You buried your face into the old band tee he was wearing, moving your arms to wrap around his waist tightly. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while, but what if you leave today and never come back?”

       He moved a hand to softly grip your chin, and brought your head up to make eye contact. “Look at me, princess, I won’t abandon you, not again. Not ever again.”

       Your lips formed a hesitant smile. “How can you say that? You could die and I wouldn’t know. I hate the fact that you’re a villain, Touya. I hate it so so much and I— I wish you could stay with me forever instead of going back there.” You shook your head, pulling away from his grasp and taking a seat on a stool. “But I know that this is a choice you made for valid reasons, and I couldn’t ask you to drop everything. Let’s just— I guess, enjoy the time we have now, and figure everything out later.”

       He took a seat beside you, and you two ate in silence. Everything tasted vaguely like smoke, and you let out a sigh. He still sucked at cooking.

       “I moved you to your bed, by the way,” he spoke up in between bites. “I slept on the couch.”

       You glanced at him, rolling your eyes. “My bed is more than big enough for two, moron.”

       “I see your caring nicknames haven’t changed,” he said, grabbing both now-empty plates to bring them to the sink. “Would it hurt to call me something nice for a change?”

       “Oh sorry,” you said sarcastically. “What names should I be calling you?”

       He looked over his shoulder, hands still scrubbing the dishes. “Oh, I don’t know, your knight in shining armor, babe, sweetie, the best sex you’ve ever-”

       You interrupted his monologue by throwing an apple from the fruit bowl at him, face red. “Shut up… moron.”

       He frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

       “It wasn’t supposed to be, now stop cleaning the dishes like you live here. I can do it.” When you got up and attempted to push him aside, he didn’t budge. “Would you just sit down, moron? I got it!”

       “No.”

       You let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing him by his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Would you just sit down, babe? I got it.”

       “Better, but no.”

       You smacked his chest before crossing your arms. “I’m not saying the last one, now move.”

       He opened the dishwasher before placing the dirty dishes inside. “Too late, I’m already done.”

       You simply threw your arms up in surrender before trudging to the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

       Within moments, a body was next to you. You glanced beside you to see Touya sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring boredly at the black television. “What now?”

       “I’m assuming you now have to leave, being that you told your superior to shove it last night and they’re probably a bit pissed.”

       “You just can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” he said, annoyance lacing his tone.

       “Okay, fine, get in trouble, see if I care.” You pouted, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them.

       You felt him wrap his arms around you. He kissed your ear. “Let’s do something. I’ll leave soon, just not yet.”

       You pushed him away. “Like what? By the time we figure out where to go you’ll have to leave.”

       “Who says we can’t do something here?”

       You rose a brow, which prompted him to pull you into his lap, his lips quickly meeting your neck. You flushed red, a shiver going down your spine at the coldness of the staples against your skin. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and your first idea of something to do is fuck?”

       He pulled away. “Uhh, yeah?”

       “Wow. Classy.” You stood up, despite his grip on your waist telling you not to, and turned to face him. “We should go on a walk.”

       His face fell. He blinked at you. “Seriously?”

       “Yes!” you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. “Like we used to do! I miss walks.”

       He sighed, but nodded nonetheless. “You sound like a dog, but alright. Only for you.”

       You smiled and went to put on warm clothes.

       Eventually, you two made it outside dressed in fall clothes. After last night’s rain, puddles formed on the sidewalk and you stepped in them as you walked, observing the falling leaves.

       Your arms were wrapped around one of his, one of your hands holding his. A sense of Deja Vu washed over you, and a light blush permanently dusted your cheeks. Having him back, even for a day, made you happier than you’d ever been before, and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

       After walking only three blocks, a ping sounded from his pocket, and he looked at the screen of his phone before scowling. “Damn it.”

       “Hmm?”

       “I gotta go.”

       You stopped walking, giving him a sad smile. “Oh. Do you know when you’ll be back? I’ll sorta miss you.”

       He laughed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before smiling. “I’ll sorta miss you too, princess. I’ll be back as soon as I can, just don’t assume I’m dead, alright?”

       You smacked his arm. “That was one time! And being you were gone for years, I had a right to!”

       He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in for a hug. “I know. Just— wait for me. I promise you I’ll be back.”

       You slipped out of his grasp and stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You better be, moron.”

       After a last kiss goodbye, he shot you a wink before beginning to trek forward, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with a soft smile and tears in your eyes.

       ‘God damn it. I just had to go catch feelings again. Stupid Touya. Stupid me.’

       You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “If he doesn’t come back alive, I’ll kill him.”

       With those words, you turned to walk back to your house, leaves crunching underneath you.

[songsformonkeys]

Bullet wounds & Bandages (dave york x reader)

Pairing: Dave York x reader

Summary: Dave shows up outside your door one evening, hurt and bleeding. You help patch him up.

Rating: Pretty safe. Some mentions of injuries but nothing worse.

Warnings: None

Notes: Written for @yespolkadotkitty​ who made the request below. She offered to beta too but it seems I have zero patience tonight so I’m posting anyway (sorry, bby, I love you <3). So the inevitable mistakes are all my own. You have been warned.

Bullet wounds and Bandages

It's just after eleven on a Sunday night when there's a knock on your door. You're already in your pajamas, curled up in front of the TV with a mug of tea and you eye the door suspiciously, wondering who would be coming for a visit at this hour.

Setting the mug down on the coffee table, you pad over to the door on bare feet. The floor feels cold in comparison to where they had just been wrapped up in a soft blanket.

When you look through the peep-hole in the door, your first instinct is to scream. Outside of your door, in the half-dark of the corridor, stands a man whose face is mostly covered in blood. Your heart feels like it's stopped mid-beat and your mind flashes back to The Shining, that you had stupidly watched on TV last night. Was this man gonna break in? And where was your phone?!

You're pulled from your thoughts when the man outside speaks. He says your name, closely followed by ”Please” and you know that voice. He shifts and as the light from the overhead lightbulb hits his face in a different way, you recognize his face too. It's Molly's dad. You've been Molly's tutor for little over a year now and while you've talked to her dad quite a lot and have even been asked to stay for dinner a few times, there's nothing in your relationship that warrants showing up at the others doorstep, looking like you'd been run over by a car. Yet here he is.

It takes you a moment to get your body working to pull the door open.

”Mr. York!” you exclaim as he almost topples over the threshold. You catch him and as your hand lands on his upper arm, it's wet with something warm and sticky. You don't need to be a genius to figure out what. The coppery smell in the air is strong enough that you can almost taste it.

You kick the door shut and lock it before hurriedly guiding Dave into the kitchen. He drags his feet and looks like he's one nudge away from falling over. You manage to get him seated on one of your kitchen chairs and in the brighter light of your kitchen, you can more clearly assess the damage. Dave has a split eyebrow, which seems to be the cause of the red mask on his face, and blood is dripping down his left arm and onto your floor. His shirt is horizontally split open and there's a long, slightly curved wound across his chest, like a fleshy grin.

”Mr. York, stay here! I'm gonna call an ambulance!” you tell him but before you have a chance to move, his right hand captures yours, pulling your attention back to his face.

”No ambulance,” he croaks and you give him a disbelieving look. Is he currently aware of the horrific picture he's currently making? ”I just need you.”

For the briefest of moments, your body has a wildly inappropriate reaction to those words and something flutters to life low in your gut, but then you have to laugh.

”Dave,” you say, switching to the more informal way of addressing him in hopes of establishing some sort of authority here. ”You're hurt. You need medical attention.”

”And you're a nurse,” Dave reasons.

”I'm a nursing student!” you protest, the pitch of your voice rising just a little.

”You graduate in three months. You'll do fine. Just follow my instructions and I'll tell you what to do. I promise I'm not dying. I just need you to be my hands.”

”I...” You glance back towards the living room, where you're pretty sure your phone is somewhere on the couch. Dave sees you looking.

”No ambulance,” he grounds out and there's a clear tone of annoyance in his voice now. It leaves no room for further argument and there's something about the way he says the words that makes you think he would physically stop you if you attempted to get to the phone now. You sigh and Dave's shoulders relax as he recognizes your defeat.

”I have a medkit in my jacket,” he tells you and jerks his head towards his left side pocket. You fish it out and inspect its contents. It's quite an impressive kit and you wonder what a man like Dave needs a kit like this for? You thought he had an office job - something with the police but an office job nonetheless. Or maybe it was just the tailored suits he always wore that had tricked you.

Dave guides you through what needs to be done. You help him out of his jacket but are forced to cut him out of his t-shirt. It's already torn and he assures you that it's no greater loss. His torso is smeared red with blood and you grab a clean kitchen towel, wetting it under the kitchen tap, before carefully cleaning away the worst of the blood to be able to better assess the damage. The slash across his chest isn't very deep and you think you'll be able to get away with taping it shut. The arm worries you more. There's a small, circular wound that's still bleeding sluggishly. Your eyes widen with realization and you look up at Dave's face.

”You have been shot,” you tell him. It's not a question. Dave nods and places his big hand over yours, where it's resting on his left forearm. It's only then that you realize that your own hand is shaking.

”I have. But don't worry about that now.” Don't worry about that now?! You have half a mind to slap some sense into him with the bloody towel. Gunshots were definitely something to worry about, in your professional opinion.

”What happened?” you can't help but ask, because curiosity gets the better of you and you can't imagine a scenario where Dave York would get shot.

”Work stuff,” he tells you, ”I'm sorry, Sweetheart, but I can't go into more details than that, right now.”

The affectionate nickname is just enough to distract you from further inquiries and Dave takes that opportunity to continue.

”I'm gonna need you to fish the bullet out and sew the wound shut. There's a pair of surgical pliers in the kit as well as needle and thread.” He speaks way more calmly than anyone with a bullet inside them has any right to. Like you're the patient that needs soothing here. It feels a little embarrassing and so you steel yourself and try to distract yourself from the circumstances of this medical exercise and just focus on getting the bullet out. It works.

Dave sits patiently through your ministrations but the strained breathing gives away that he's not as unaffected as he looks. You apologize for the pain, even though it's not your fault. There's nothing you have at home that could lessen it right now. Not unless he drinks himself unconscious and if he did, that might come with additional problematic side effects.

”Are the girls at home?” you ask, trying to distract him, as you sew the bullet wound shut, ”Because if they are, we need to call someone. Even if you don't want anyone else involved, you have to do that. I'll sew you to the chair if I have too! But you can't leave them alone, Dave.”

Dave looks up, something curious in his eyes. Then he shakes his head.

”They're at Carol's place this week.”

”Good.” You place the last stitch on his arm and move to tape the wounds on his chest and eyebrow shut. Dave closes his eyes as you gently wipe a clean corner of the towel over his face, cleaning the blood from the crow's feet around his eyes, the beautiful curve of his nose, his smooth cheek and the corner of his lips. He opens his eyes when your thumb lingers just a little too long on his soft bottom lip – the fabric of the towel, the only thing preventing a kiss. You pull away and turn to rinse the towel off in the sink before he can see more in your gaze than you would like. Have you had a crush on Dave for the better part of the year that you had been working there? Yes, but that is besides the point and more importantly, hardly the reason Dave has come over tonight.

”You can use the bathroom to clean off the rest of the blood, if you like. I'm gonna clean up here.”

You don't turn but you hear Dave get up from the chair with a pained groan before slowly shuffling off towards the bathroom.

You clean up the kitchen and hallway as best you can but the smell of blood still lingers and you know you'll have to go over it again and do it even more properly tomorrow. But right now, you're a little too jittery for mopping the floors.

Looking down, you realize that you've got some of Dave's blood on your pajamas and also that you've stepped in it and are leaving footprints where you walk. You clean off your feet and quickly disappear into your bedroom to change into a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before Dave is done in the bathroom.

When he emerges from the bathroom, still half-dressed and shirtless but a lot cleaner than before, the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite sides of the living room for a few seconds before Dave breaks the silence.

”Do you think...maybe I could stay for the night?”

”Oh thank heavens! I was worried I was gonna have to argue with you about that too,” you say with a relieved sigh. That makes Dave smile faintly.

”Thank you.”

Dave does argue a bit, however, when you tell him to sleep in the bed while you take the couch. But you make a convincing case explaining to him how the wound on his chest is going to have a much harder time to seal up properly if he sleeps cramped up on the couch, and Dave eventually gives in. He wishes you a good night, casual in a way that you might be with someone you'd just had a drink with, not someone who'd just been inside your arm with pliers, fishing out a bullet. Then he disappears into the bedroom.

You go to your hallway closet to fetch an extra set of bed sheets. You're not sure if Dave minds sleeping in your sheets but you at least want to be a good host and offer an alternative.

When you get back to your bedroom, you hear Dave cursing under his breath and find him struggling to open the buttons of his pants with one hand. The other hand hangs limp and bandaged at his side.

”Oh, you need help?” The words are out before you have fully processed just what it is you're offering and Dave replies before you have time to take the offer back.

”Please,” he says and hangs his head in defeat. Too late to take anything back now.

You set the sheets down on the edge of the bed before walking over to him, feeling your chest restricting your breathing as you get closer.

You stand in front of him and Dave meets your gaze before you look down.

”Buttons,” you say stupidly, ”Trickier.”

Dave huffs out a laugh and you feel the soft gush of air against your face. His breath smells faintly of mint, like he's been chewing gum earlier. Before you can completely chicken out, you reach for the hem of his pants, picking at the fabric to help him unbutton his pants. You go slow, trying to touch as little as possible of him, but the fabric of his jeans is stiff, making it more difficult to get the buttons free. You can see why he couldn't manage on his own. On the second button, your fingers slip and your knuckles accidentally brush over the bulge of Dave's cock. He jumps slightly and his breath stutters. You apologize instinctively, as if you've hurt him. Dave doesn't respond and as you quickly move onto the next button, you no longer feel the huffs of warm air on your face so you're not sure Dave's even breathing anymore.

When the last of the button has been popped free, you take a step back. Dave's working hand twitches as if he's about to reach for you but then stops himself.

”There. You think you can manage the rest on your own?” There's a pleading note to your voice. If Dave asks for any further help undressing, you don't think you'll be able to survive with your dignity intact. Dave hears the plea too and he nods.

”Yes. Thank you. Again.”

You smile and give him an awkward little wave before fleeing out of the bedroom.

As you stretch out on the couch a few minutes later, you try very hard not to think about Dave's reaction to the brush of knuckles and the fact that he's currently almost naked in your bed.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you wake up before Dave does. Your couch is comfortable enough but it's not ideal for lie-ins. So you get up and start the coffee-maker. Then you wait for Dave to emerge from the den. But he doesn't.

In his defense, you hadn't told him to set an alarm but, for you, the daylight had also come with the realization that you have a lecture today that you can't miss. A lecture that would start in about an hour. If you wanted to make it on time, you would have to leave soon.

You walk over to the bedroom and knock softly on the doorframe. There's no response and suddenly you worry that Dave might have gotten worse during the night. Maybe there had been an injury that you had missed?

Carefully, you push the door open and look inside. Dave is stretched out on his back on your bed, his injured left arm laying along his side while the right one is resting on the pillow above his head. You follow the line of his right arm, along his bicep and the dark patch of hair in his armpit, down to his chest. Most of it is covered by the sheets and you can only just see the white bandage peeking out. There's a foot sticking out at the bottom of the blankets and you don't know why the sight looks so endearing to you.

Dave looks relaxed but he doesn't stir as you move into the room and you want to make sure he's really okay and that he hasn't bled through his bandages.

The one on his arm looks okay when you lean in to inspect it. The one on his chest, you can't properly see, so you reach out to lift the blanket just a fraction, without disturbing him. However, when you do, Dave's right hand shoots out like a cobra and grips your hand like a vice. It hurts and you gasp out an ”I'm sorry!”

Dave immediately loosens his grip when he realizes it's you, but he doesn't quite let go.

”Is everything okay?” he asks, voice a little rough with sleep.

”Yes. I'm sorry. I was just gonna check you hadn't bled through. I didn't want to wake you,” you explain. Dave only nods and pulls the blanket down for you to check.

”Help yourself,” he says with a soft smile and you wonder, is he even hearing himself?!

The wound on the chest seems to be in okay order as well. You tell Dave as much and also inform him about your lecture. You tell him that he can stay until you get back, if he still doesn't want to go to the doctor. Dave accepts the offer of staying and you're part annoyed and part hopeful by that response.

When you move to back away, he captures your hand again, and holds it flat against his diaphragm. You can feel him breathing under your palm and your fingers twitch with the urge to touch more of him.

”Thank you,” he says solemnly, holding your gaze with his.

”You're welcome,” you say, forcing yourself to pull your hand free from his loose hold. ”I'll see you when I get back.”

”I'll be here.” It feels both like a promise and a threat.

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

Taglist:  @yespolkadotkitty​ @agirllovespancakes​ @beccaplaying​ @pedropascalito​ @ohpedromypedro​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @knittingqueen13​ @pedropascallion​@scarlettvonsass @heatherbel​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @larakasser​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​ @seawhisperer​ @mourningbirds1​ @alwaysbethewest​ @thegreenkid​ @keeper0fthestars​ @pajamasecrets @phoenixhalliwell​ @mrschiltoncat​ @ilikechocolatemilkh @dornish-queen​ @phoenixhalliwell​

[obsidiancreates]

Freezer Duty (Part One)

(This was going to be a one-shot but then it reached 4,000 words so now it’s split up)

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

Amy parks her car and lays her head on the steering wheel. "You can do this. Christmas shopping is already slowing down, you can do this."

She grabs her coffee thermos, a special blend Emma came up with just for the holiday rush days (it had made Amy almost cry with thankful joy, and had made Emma shrink into her sweater and mutter "Whatever," five times straight), and gets out of her car.

The parking lot is mostly empty. Either most of her coworkers took the bus, or Amy is one of the only people on time... again. Not that she blames anyone. The weather is so cold that getting out of bed feels like a death sentence.

As she walks to the doors, she glances at the other cars. Glenn, obviously. As long as she's been working there, he's always been early. Carol, too. Probably planning to mess with Sandra somehow, this kind of stuff is why corporate shouldn't have shut down the in-store HR department. And then...

Jonah's car? He's usually at least a couple of minutes later than her... weird.

She walks past, and pauses. Why are the inside lights on? That means it's unlocked, and she knows Jonah locks his car obsessively. She once saw him lock it five times through the doors of the store. 

Curiosity claims her, and she peeks inside. 

And drops her thermos.

“Oh my go- JONAH!”

The scream is loud enough to summon Glenn. “Amy, what is- AHHHH!” he holds his hands up to his head as he shrieks.

Jonah is laying inside his car, bleeding from the neck.

Amy yanks open the car door and shakes Jonah’s shoulders. “Jonah, Jonah wake up!” As she shakes and calls out, Glenn stands behind her with his hands clasped, frantically praying to both Jesus and the Jewish God in a highly confusing yet heartfelt prayer.

“Jonah!” Amy slaps him in the face in a moment of complete desperation.

Jonah startles awake and puts his hand up to his cheek. “O-ow! What was that for! And...” he looks behind Amy. “... Why is Glenn turning purple.”

“Wh- oh, my god, Glenn, take a breath. Okay, um, Jonah, are you alright?”

“I-I think so... why?”

“Well, because you’re sitting in your turned-off unlocked car, in the middle of winter, passed out with blood on your neck.”

“WHAT?!” Jonah feels his neck. “OH- oh, god this is- this is not good, how did-”

“Our insurance is so bad,” Glenn sobs, “You’re not gonna make it!”

“Glenn, don’t- okay, let’s get you inside and- you’re not still bleeding, right?”

“I don’t think so, but what does critical blood loss feel like? Like would I be able to tell? I need to Google this, just-”

“Yeah, you’re going to be okay. Okay, into the store, Glenn help us out.”

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“Ow.” Jonah winces and flinches away as Amy dabs his neck with a wipe. 

“Pretty dramatic start to the work day, gosh. I hope nothing else happens.” Glenn shakes his hands by his sides and looks around nervously. He leans in and whispers, “Do you think they’ll find another foot? Jonah, what sneakers do you wear?”

“Again, still have both off my feet.” Jonah winces again, and Amy sets down the towel. 

“Okay, it’s all clean, so now we can-”

“Hey guys! Whoa...” Cheyenne stops in her tracks as she enters the breakroom, spreading her arms and stopping everyone else from entering too. There’s an annoyed clamoring for a minute before Garrett just rolls in under her arm. Everyone stoops down to follow, except Marcus, who tries (and fails) to turn it into a game of Limbo.

Garrett looks at the bloody wipes on the table Jonah and Amy are at. “Whoa, dude, what the hell happened?”

Amy sighs. “Jonah was-”

“We found Jonah dying in his car!” Glenn exclaims.

“Not dying!” Jonah and Amy say quickly. 

“He was passed out and bleeding a little,” Amy says to cut any rumors off preemptively, moving the collar of his shirt to get a better look at the wounds.

“In your car? In the middle of winter?”

Glenn nods, his face screwed up with worry. “And no scarf!”

“Oh, you’re for sure gonna die,” Cheyenne says, Mateo nodding in agreement. “It’s like, super cold outside.”

“Honestly I didn’t even feel that cold,” Jonah says, putting his hands up. “I guess my car stayed warm. ... Some-somehow.”

“What were you even doing in there? Are you homeless again? You could always crash at my place. Unless the birds don’t like you, then you’re gone. Nothing personal.” Dina sips her coffee.

“Thank you, for that... generous offer, um, I don’t actually remember.”

Amy pauses her checking. “You don’t?”

“No, I um, I just remember realizing I forgot something and going back into the store to get it, and then coming out and everyone was gone. And then there’s just sort of, nothing. ... That-that actually is more worrying, now that I say it aloud, am-am I dying?”

“Your brain probably froze up and is just taking time to de-thaw,” Marcus says with a flippant gesture. “Happened to my cousin once when we ate too many beer-pops.”

“... Okay, then, what’s a- no, nevermind, I can just guess. I don’t actually think that’s how brain freezes work, but thanks, I think.” 

Marcus smiles and raises his hands in an attempt at a gracious gesture.

“So you don’t remember anything?” Amy asks, bringing the subject back to the alarming and somewhat urgent situation.

“Maybe someone came up behind him and hit him over the head. Blunt force trauma, put him back in his car to make it look like he froze to death, do you know of anyone who wants to kill you? Maybe a disgruntled ex-classmate, customer you bored out of their skull with a pointless story, maybe-”

“That- no. No, I don’t think anyone wants to kill me for telling an invigorating story. And I’d rather not think about that, actually.”

Dina shrugs. “You don’t want to solve the mystery, fine. But don’t blame me when someone you screwed over in a group project cuts off your junk.”

Jonah and Amy stare at Dina for a second, and then Amy shakes her head. “Anyway... I checked, and I don’t think he has anything wrong with his head. Just his neck.”

Mateo glances over, unperturbed but curious. His expression becomes horrified. “Oh, my god! There’s two giant holes in your neck!”

Jonah slaps his hand over the wounds. “WHAT?!”

“They are not giant holes!” Amy shouts as everyone starts chattering. “They’re tiny ones! And-and they’re more like cuts, anyway!”

“Maybe someone injected him with drugs.”

“Why would they do that, Dina?”

“Yeah, who wastes drugs like that?” Cheyenne looks around at everyone else, who have gone silent. “What?”

“And, wait, with two needles?” Garrett points to Jonah’s neck. 

“Maybe they missed a vein the first time.” Dina snorts like it’s an obvious conclusion.

Marcus snaps his fingers. “Maybe it’s some kind of new fancy needle.”

Dina shakes her head. “I keep up to date on drug needle trends. We find too many in the customer bathrooms for me to be out of the loop.”

Glenn startles slightly. “We do?”

“Guys!” Amy gestures at Jonah.

Everyone murmurs some form of “Right!” or “Sorry Jonah.”

“Really, I’m-I’m fine.” Jonah keeps a hand over the holes. “It’s just a little sore, and um, I don’t know, I guess I’m a little chilly and tired, but I’m generally okay.”

“Okay, great!” Dina claps her hands. “You can have an easy assignment today because of the whole ‘attacked for revenge’ thing-”

“That’s not what-”

“Well, no-one knows what happened, so for now my theory is valid. Anyway, I’ll assign you to grocery. Slow over there today, bakery is having a big sale and uh, huh, we had an overstock of powered donuts so it might get wild.”

“Well... thank you, Dina. A slow day sounds good, actually, because I’m starting to get a headache.” Jonah rubs his eyes. “Really bright in here.”

“It’s the standard fluorescents.” Glenn looks up. “Unless corporate had it changed overnight, but I don’t think so...”

Cheyenne tilts her head with a small frown, and looks at Jonah’s neck throughout the rest of the meeting.

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

“No way,” Mateo scoffs. “That’s far-fetched gossip, even for us.”

“No, but it would make sense, right?” Cheyenne looks around, and then whispers. “Didn’t notice the cold, lights too bright, two holes in his neck. Jonah totally got bitten by a vampire.” She leans back and nods, eyes wide at her own revelation.

“Vampires aren’t even real though! As much as we might wish they were.”

They glance over at Grocery. Jonah is yawning, leaning against the freezer section. 

“He looks pale, right?” Cheyenne whispers.

“He always looks pale. He could wear non-tinted sunscreen as foundation,” Mateo says with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Yeah, I guess. ... Should we try to get a look at his eyes?”

“Chy, I love you, but we’ve got a ton of restocking to do and I don’t want to be all panicked before lunch.”

“Right. Right. Yeah. Probably just like, letting my imagination get the best of me, right? Yeah...”

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

“Excuse me?” 

Jonah startles, jumping away from the freezer door. “Hi! Yes, sorry! Um, what-what can I... help you with?”

“Could you please show me where the frozen pizzas are?”

“Sure, ma’am, right this way.” Jonah rubs his eyes, leading her to a different section of the freezer area. 

“Oh, thank you! Could you grab it for me?”

“Wh-why?”

“I don’t like the cold.”

Well, neither does he, and he’s already chilly. But this is his job. Somehow. How did he get here again? His head feel a little foggy, he can’t quite gather his thoughts. 

He reaches in and grabs the pizza. “Okay, here you-”

“No, the ones from the very back.”

“... I-I’m sorry?”

“The back ones are always better.”

“... Alright, I will... reach all the way into the back of the freezer.”

Jonah leans into the freezer, bracing himself for chills and shivers. And...

... Nothing.

It’s cold, but it’s... not bothering him that much. he leans in, grabs the pizza, and leans back out without feeling any more cold than he did prior to the task.

“Thank you, young man. You should grab yourself one too, it’ll put some color into those cheeks.”

The old woman walks away, and Jonah pulls out his phone to look up symptoms of frostbite and hypothermia.

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

Justine shakes her head. “I’ve read Twilight a million times, if he was a vampire I would be able to tell.”

“What if we give him some garlic bread, and tell him it’s normal bread?” Sandra suggests.

“Because if he’s just allergic to garlic, we won’t know the difference. Doy.” Marcus scoff-laughs at Sandra and points at her mockingly with his thumb.

“What are you guys talking about?” Garrett asks, rolling up to the group. “Marcus, aren’t you supposed to be unloading a truck right now?”

“Eh, didn’t feel like it. Anyway, we’re trying to figure out if Jonah is a vampire now.”

“Are you serious?”

They all nod. Garrett grins. He folds his hands in his lap. “So what have you tried so far?”

“Nothing yet,” Justine admits.

“We might give him garlic bread,” Sandra says with a shrug. “Is he allergic to garlic?”

“No.”

Sandra lights up. “So it would work!” Her smiles fades. “Oh. But then it might kill him.”

“We can’t do that! The Horsemen stick together, I could never hurt my best friend.” Marcus shakes his head. “What if we just drop something really heavy on him and see if he catches it?”

“That won’t hurt him?” Garrett checks.

“Not if he’s a vampire.”

“Right, right. How about instead of splattering him across the Wheaties boxes, you just ask Glenn to go pester him with Bible stuff?” Garrett would love to see that, Jonah gets to flustered over trying not to offend while trying to get away. It’s hilarious.

Marcus points at Garrett with a smile. “That- yes! Perfect! Thanks man!”

The small group runs off, and Garrett laughs a little to himself as he heads on back to customer service.

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

“Oh, this one is one of my favorite verses, so here we go, ahem-”

“Hey, Glenn? Isn’t there a-a rule, against doing this kind of thing at work?”

“Well... technically... but Marcus told me you wanted to know my favorite parts of the Bible, so I just sort of thought why wait.”

“He- really? Because I’m not... known, for being very curious about... the Bible...”

“But you are known for being curious about your friends,” Glenn says with a point and a smile.

Jonah plasters on a smile himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I do tend to-”

“Get a little nosy.”

“... I was going to say get involved, but... I-I guess nosy works too. But um, I’m restocking the ice cream right now, so kind of have to act fast,” Jonah motions at the freezeer.

“Oh, then I’ll make this quick! Okay, this verse says-”

Jonah sighs, rubbing his head. His headache is just getting worse and worse. He’s pretty sure it’s the lights, or maybe the dry-cold freezer air, but Glenn’s babbling is not helping. 

And his voice is really grating right now. It’s not exactly soothing at even the best of times, but Jonah is pretty sure he’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than another round of ‘Top Bible Verses’ from Glenn.

“Okay!” he snaps. “That’s good, that is- that is very much enough! Thank you for sharing something you enjoy with me, now please let me do my job!”

Glenn startles, and then hugs his Bible to his chest. “Fine. Then I guess you don’t get to hear me sing the top five best Psalms. Which is too bad for you, because Jerusha says I do them well enough to be on radio.”

Glenn walks away, and Jonah sighs. He hadn’t meant to snap, it was just really getting on his nerves. ... At least his headache is a little better already without the extra noise.

He watches Glenn walk away, and then catches sight of Justine and Sandra quickly ducking behind another isle. He looks on in confusion for a moment more, and then gets back to work.

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

“Okay, we need a real plan,” Justine sighs. 

“For what?” Dina pauses on her way to the coffee pot. “More raccoons? Did they find a snake in the bananas again?”

“We think Jonah night be a vampire,” Sandra says.

Cheyenne stops eating her lunch. “Oh my god, you told them?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say!” Mateo defends. “It’s been a boring day! Other than, you know, Jonah almost dying.”

“Wait, you guys think Jonah is a vampire? No way, have you seen him? That’d be too cliche.” Dina scoffs at the idea. And then looks at the ground, a thoughtful frown appearing on her face. “Although the cliche would also mean it makes sense...”

Garrett eats a chip. “Come on, he’d be a terrible vampire. Vampires are supposed to be confidant and suave. Jonah can’t even explain his cookie choices without a five-minute tirade.”

“And he’d cut himself off at least six times in those five minute,” Dina says with a slight wince. “Yeah, he’d be a terrible vampire.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes he’s really confident, and he does that smirk thing?” Sandra says, gesturing to her own mouth for emphasis. “Plus, he always stands like a politician.”

“And he puts way too much product in his hair! That’s a total vampire thing,” Cheyenne says with a definitive shrug.

“He does already have that black-hair-pale-skin thing going for him...” Mateo admits. “If he could be a villain on CW he could be a vampire.”

“And how would he drink blood?” Garrett asks. “Just talk until the person passes out? Ask overly politely in a way that really sounds like he’s trying to ask for sex?”

Everyone murmurs in agreement.

“He would starve,” Cheyenne declares. “Because he’d be picky, too, right?”

“Picky like, about the person’s health?” Mateo asks with a doubtful frown. “He’d probably freak out about not wanting to discriminate though.”

“That would be the starvation,” Dina says with a nod. “He’d be too worried about the socio-political crap of whoever he picks so he’d just debate himself until it was too late.”

“... That’d be kind of funny,” Mateo says quietly.

Everyone thinks for a moment, and then agrees.

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

“Hey, Jonah.” Dina snaps her fingers in front of Jonah’s face, jarring him out of his standing sleep. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry, Dina.” Jonah rubs his face. “I feel exhausted.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I know. Um, what did you need?”

“I need you to go help Brett move some of the exercise equipment, the dolly broke.”

“Wh- so-so we have to move it by hand?”

“You’ve got a little muscle on your noodle arms, you can handle it.” Dina slaps him on the back and walks away. Jonah huffs, hands on his hips. After a moment he shakes his head and moves over to exercise.

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

“Okay, now we find out for sure,” Dina says smugly. “No way a Human Jonah could handle the weight of that stuff.”

Everyone is crammed into the surveillance office, watching Jonah on the monitors.

“Should one of us tell Amy about this?” Cheyenne asks. “I feel like we’re leaving her out.”

“It is weird that I’m in on this and not her,” Marcus agrees. “But she’d probably tell us this is ‘dangerous’ or something.”

“She wouldn’t like it at all,” Dina confirms. “Best to just tell her about it later, or let her find out on her own. Later.”

They watch Jonah and Brett work together surprisingly smoothly, moving the heavy equipment with a perfectly human amount of struggling. Dina leans back in her chair with a disappointed sigh. “Dammit. I almost let myself believe in magic...”

“Wait, look!” Cheyenne points to the monitor. 

Everyone looks, excited and hopeful. And they collectively sigh and grumble.

“He’s just talking to a customer,” Mateo says.

“A super rude one! I’ve dealt with him before, he’s a total asshole. Let’s turn on the audio and listen to Jonah freak out.”

“I do love a good Jonah freakout.” Dina turns on the audio.

“Yeah, I-I’m sorry, sir, we just don’t carry that here anymore.”

“This store has carried it for over ten years.”

“Yeah, it’s a bummer! I know I hate when store stop carrying stuff I like. But maybe! Maybe we can view this as a-a chance for personal growth, for you! A chance at... at evolution, at moving forward-”

“Are you mocking me, little bitch boy?”

Everyone gasps. “Oh no he didn’t,” Cheyenne whispers. On the camera, Jonah is clearly taken aback, leaning away from the customer and staring with wide eyes.

“Some... very strong language, sir. Um, no, I just meant that maybe, you know, instead of-of viewing this in the negative-”

“So I’m a negative person?”

“No! No, I can’t- I don’t know you! I can’t make judgements about people that fast! Just- I hope this doesn’t ruin your day, right? And-and I want to see if we can find you a-a replacement, so that you can still have what you want!”

“How important do you think this is to me? You think I’m pathetic? Can’t be happy without my specific little brand?”

“No, I just-”

“I’m gonna need to speak with your bitch of a floor manager or whatever she’s called.”

“... I’m sorry?”

“Your bitch of a floor manager. The loud Latina lady.”

Dina stands up, ready to go beat the man with a bat for talking about her best friend that way. Cheyenne pushes her back down, jaw dropped. “I think Jonah is about to stand up to him,” she says.

Jonah is indeed, looking quite pissed off. He steps closer, and looks the much taller man right in the eyes. Jonah’s a good head shorter, his hair barely coming up to the other man’s chin, yet for some reason unknown the black-and-white monitor shows the customer being the one who leans back.

“You, sir, are a very unpleasant person,” Jonah says in a calm, measured voice. “And I think you need to do some self-reflection. I think you should leave the store, and learn how to talk about people without using the word ‘bitch’, alright?”

It’s so overly polite it’s almost comical. Yet somehow... it works.

The customer stands there for a second, then just... walks away. Jonah watches after him, the calm and collection expression on his face quickly giving way to confusion. He looks around as though wondering if someone else had done something to scare the customer off.

“Confidence boost,” Sandra says softly.

Cheyenne pulls out a notebook and ticks something off. “That counts as evidence.”

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

Jonah has no clue what just happened.

One moment he was speaking with a rude customer, the next the customer was walking away and Jonah has no clue why. What he does know was that his headache was slightly better, and that he really wishes his lunch break was sooner because he is famished.

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns around to see Amy looking at him with slight concern. “You okay? You’re just sort of... staring off into space.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Uh... yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

“... I don’t believe you.”

“Well, then you... have trust issues, because I am. I’m fine.”

“... Sure... can I see your neck again, real quick?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re acting weird and I want to make sure you’re not developing an infection that’s getting to your brain?”

“... Yeah, check away.”

Amy checks, and winces. “Youch. Yeah, let’s get some more antibiotics on those.” She starts leading him towards the breakroom. ��So, what happened with that customer? I came over right at the tail end, missed the whole thing.”

“Oh. Um... I guess I just, really got through to him.”

“You?”

“Yes, me, why- what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! It’s just, usually when you try to calm down a customer you don’t get very far.”

“Well, you know, sometimes people just listen if you hit the right cords-”

“Mmm-hmm, yeah.”

“-I guess I just found the right words to resonate with him, is all I’m saying.” If only he knew what those words were...

Creak

Jonah pauses. “Did-did you just hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Creaaak

Jonah looks up. “I think the ceiling is about to collapse.”

“Why?”

CREAAAAK!

A mass of merch falls from the ceiling! Amy and Jonah both scream, brace themselves, Amy still holding onto Jonah and Jonah still holding onto Amy-!

...

And... they’re a safe distance from it all as it crashes down.

A multitude of raccoons scamper out and scatter, their Nest Of Stolen Goods now revealed. Jonah and Amy watch from the sidelines.

The sidelines!

“How did we get over here?” Amy is staring at the pile.

“... I don’t know,” Jonah replies, staring as well. Oh, what an adrenaline rush, his heart is racing- ... it... should... be racing...

Amy’s hand is still around Jonah’s wrist. She looks at him for a moment, and then shakes off the shock. “Okay, um, let’s get a team to clean this up, and get some antibiotic on your neck.”

“Will that part take a whole team, too?”

“Ha-ha, Jonah. ... I’m just glad neither of us got hurt.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!” Cheyenne grabs Mateo and starts shaking him. “DID YOU SEE WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!”

“WE ALL SAW!” Mateo shouts, pushing Cheyenne away. He huffs and brushes off his sweater. “All three of us left, anyway.”

Dina taps the monitor. “That’s why you never leave the surveillance room after something mildly interesting happens! Something big always follows!”

“He’s actually a vampire,” Mateo says in disbelief. “He vampire-ran away from that junk, he’s actually a vampire!”

Dina scoff-laughs. “The little guy pulled off one hell of a ruse, huh? Pretty clever, faking amnesia.”

Cheyenne stops her mini victory celebration. “Whoa, why do you think he’s faking?” 

“Because why wouldn’t I? He’s a vampire now, even if he actually doesn’t remember what happened it’s got to be pretty obvious to him that he’s undead. ... Right?”

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

“What’re you googling?” Amy dabs at the neck wounds gently with a damp cloth as she prepares to put on the antibiotic cream.

“Symptoms of frostbite and hypothermia. I guess everyone got into my head this morning, and I’ve had some weird stuff happen to me...”

“Well... anything about last night coming back? Could help you figure out whatever symptoms you’ve got.”

“Still nothing.” Jonah rubs his neck when Amy is done dabbing it with the cloth. “I still feel like the day just started, honestly.”

“Oh yeah,” Amy agrees. “Today’s going to be a long day.”

[thatsamericano]

True Colors Shining Through

Pairing/Characters: America/Romano. Smaller appearances from Germany, Veneziano, Canada, England, France, and Japan.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, for mild cursing. Brief moment of possible homophobia from an unnamed nation, but it’s up to interpretation.

Word Count: 1647

Summary: America surprises everyone when he shows up to the world meeting in a rainbow colored business suit, including his boyfriend Romano.

A/N: Written for @hetalia-writers-monthly, for the June concrete prompt “rainbow.” Inspired by this post from @bitchapalooza. Title taken from the Cyndi Lauper song “True Colors.”

Germany was grumbling to himself as he arranged a stack of papers in preparation for the world meeting. “It would be nice if people could respect everyone else’s busy schedule and actually show up to the meeting on time.”

“Ve, don’t stress out so much, Ludo,” Feliciano said. “Almost everyone is here, except for America and whoever is supposed to be sitting next to him.”

Romano paused in the middle of his boredom-induced doodling long enough to roll his eyes at his little brother. “It’s Canada. America’s brother.”

“Right, Canada! I wonder why they haven’t showed up yet.”

Savino shrugged as if he didn’t care. “Beats me.” But he was wondering why Alfred hadn’t shown up yet. When they spoke on the phone last night, Alfred had been quite enthusiastic about some “surprise” he had planned for the meeting. He was also thrilled that he’d get to spend some time with Savino after the meeting, because the distance between them usually limited how much time they could spend together in person. Of course, Alfred being Alfred, he had expressed his excitement in the sappiest way possible and left Romano a blushing mess by the time the phone call ended.

America and Romano had only been together a few weeks, and they hadn’t gone public with their relationship yet because it was so new. They were still figuring things out about themselves and each other. Fredo knew he’d probably have to “come out” at some point, but unlike Savino, he didn’t have a label for his sexuality that made sense to him. All he knew was that he was happy with Romano and that anyone who gave him or his boyfriend crap for it would deserve some creative insults (if they were human) or a punch in the face (if they were a nation and therefore able to withstand Alfred’s punches without dying). Savino agreed strongly with Alfred on the latter point, and he didn’t mind waiting a bit until Alfred felt more comfortable telling people about them. For now, it was nice to have their relationship be just between them, without having to face the scrutiny or opinions of any other nations.

Romano idly continued doodling until the door to the conference room opened. He glanced up as Canada ducked his head into the doorway. “Sorry we’re late, eh?”

“It’s alright. Please take your seat,” Germany replied.

Canada turned his head to whisper to someone behind him, and then he walked into the room, followed closely by his brother. Romano’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped when he saw what Alfred had worn to the meeting.

It was only a business suit in the most technical sense of the term. The jacket, the trousers, and the tie were all striped with the colors of the rainbow. Or more specifically, the colors of the rainbow pride flag. Alfred’s ridiculously loud outfit contrasted with the darker and more muted suits everyone else was wearing. The only part of America’s outfit that was normal was his white shirt, his normal briefcase, his glasses, and his black patent leather shoes.

A stunned silence fell over the room, and it was only broken by a few hushed, baffled whispers. Alfred glanced over at Savino to flash him a quick smile before he sat down, but he didn’t explain himself to anyone. Apparently, he didn’t feel the need to, just like Savino didn’t feel the need to respond to his little brother poking him in the arm and asking him what was going on. Not that he would’ve been able to tell Feli what the fuck was going on, because he was just as confused as everyone else.

England, who was sitting on America’s right, was the first person to speak. “Alfred, what the bloody hell are you wearing?!”

America laughed and pulled some papers out of his briefcase. “It’s a business suit, dude. I’m pretty sure they have those in England.”

“I think what Angleterre was trying to say is that your outfit today is a bit more… how you say, flamboyant than your usual attire,” France pointed out as diplomatically as he could. “Especially for a world meeting.”

“It’s Pride Month. Being flamboyant is kind of the point, isn’t it?”

France blinked in disbelief, and the whispering from before increased into a steady, background hum. Romano heard someone from across the room scoffing and asking why America had to “show off” instead of wearing a pin like anyone else would have, and Romano turned to glare spitefully in their general direction. Sure, wearing a rainbow business suit to a world meeting was over the top in a way only Alfred would be, but America had every right to “show off.” Savino wouldn’t let anyone talk about his boyfriend like that.

Japan cleared his throat. “Alfred-san, forgive me if this is an intrusive question, but are you trying to tell us that you’re gay?”

“Don’t worry bro, it’s fine. And to answer your question, yeah. I’m not sure of my exact label, but I am into guys, or at least one guy in particular.” A broad grin stole over his face, and then Alfred looked directly at Savino and winked at him.

Savino’s face instantly turned scarlet, because Alfred’s wink and his grin made him flustered beyond all reason, damn it. America’s blatant statement, along with Romano’s reaction, naturally prompted even more gossip. The loud cry of “ha, I knew it!” from Lithuania was not particularly surprising, and neither were Spain’s or Feli’s comments on how much Savino was blushing, but they were embarrassing. Of course, true to form, Fredo verbally declared that Savino’s blushing was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, which was flattering, but the kind of compliment he was much more accustomed to hearing in private, not in front of literally the entire world. Romano’s face was so warm that he probably could have fried an egg on it.

Savino glared weakly at his boyfriend. “You’re only making it worse, asshole.”

“I’m only being honest, babe,” Alfred said plainly, like it was no big deal. “Everyone here can see how cute and handsome you are.”

Savino couldn’t help it. With Alfred saying sappy things like that and looking at him like he hung the moon, he cracked a smile. Alfred grinned back at him. They continued staring into each other’s eyes as Germany stood up from his chair and attempted to get the meeting back under control.

“Unless anyone has any further surprise announcements, I’m going to begin my presentation.”

America quit staring at him for about half a second to acknowledge what Germany had said. “I think we’re good, dude.”

Once Germany started talking, Romano did his best to pay attention. He took a few notes, idly sketched in his notebook, and glanced up to roll his eyes fondly whenever he felt America gazing at him like the obvious dork he was.

Eventually, it was time for the scheduled lunch break. As Romano was packing up his things, he overheard Poland telling Hungary that he was totally going to wear a pink sequined dress to the next world meeting, because America shouldn’t be the only one getting to wear whatever they wanted. Hungary laughed and said he had a point.

Alfred started to come around the other side of the table, and Feli nudged his shoulder and smirked. “I’ll have lunch with Germany today. That way you and your ragazzo can have some alone time.”

Savino could only stammer out a couple syllables before his little brother was rushing off to catch up with Germany. As Feli was latching onto the macho potato’s arm, Alfred slipped into the space beside him. “Hey, Vinny.”

“Hey, caro.” He glanced up and down Alfred’s body, then smirked as he looked up into his eyes. “Interesting outfit.”

Alfred blushed and smiled, shyer than he would have in front of anyone else. “You like it? I stumbled across it online when I was looking for something else, and it called out to me, like the stuff Billy Mays used to sell in infomercials. I had to buy it.”

Savino snorted. “It is very… you. I wouldn’t have expected to see it at a world meeting, though.”

Alfred fidgeted with the hem of his jacket sleeve and glanced away with a worried look on his face. “It was okay that I told everyone about us today, right? Before we went in, Mattie said I probably should’ve consulted with you beforehand, but I’ve just been so happy and proud to be with you, and I didn’t want to have to hide it anymore. I didn’t even think to—”

Savino gently took hold of his hand, which stopped his boyfriend’s nervous babbling. “It’s okay. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to come out today. And knowing you, I figured that loud, public declarations would be part of the deal sooner or later.”

Alfred chuckled and laced their fingers together. His smile was equal parts relieved and adoring. “Okay, cool. Glad I didn’t mess that up too badly. Are you free for lunch?”

Savino huffed out a laugh. “Feli just ditched me for the potato bastard so I could have ‘alone time’ with you.”

Alfred giggled. “That’s really nice of him. I feel like I owe your brother a million dollars.”

They continued chatting back and forth, and Romano wasn’t sure if it was Alfred’s gleeful, lovestruck tone, his sweet words, or the fact that they were holding hands, but he felt warm and content as they went into the elevator and as they left the building and walked down the sidewalk together. He held Alfred’s hand until they took a table at the restaurant, because he was just as proud to be in this relationship as Alfred was, even if he was more inclined to show it with body language than rainbow colored business suits.

[bluenet13]

Hay Amor en Todas Partes (Part 2/2)

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Firehouse 126 Crew (basically everyone is here)

Prompt: Losing Their Temper

Summary: After a night out, Carlos and TK encounter two men with nothing good to say. When tempers flare, punches fly, chaos ensues, and two become six, leaving Carlos and TK at their mercy.

Chapter 1

Links: ff.net - AO3

Judd and Grace were tangled together on the couch watching a movie when Judd's phone rang. Frowning, he grabbed it and looked at Grace in confusion, showing her the name on the screen. Confusion on both their faces, because sure, both Judd and Grace were friends with the officer but he rarely called them.

"Reyes?" Judd said, instantly putting the call on speaker. "Carlos, you there? TK?"

A grunt could be heard from the other end and the couple shared a puzzled look. "Is this some kind of joke?" Judd asked, managing to sound only mildly exasperated.

"Should we call TK?" Grace inquired, moving to her phone already.

Hearing another groan, and shuffling on the other side, Judd's features twisted to mild disgust. "Do you think they… are they-?" Judd cut himself short, shaking his head, not even wanting to think about what he could be hearing, and moved to end the call.

"Judson, wait," Grace directed, her hand coming to rest over his. "Turn the volume all the way up. I don't think this is an accidental call." And never one to question his wife, Judd did as directed.

While Judd spent his days saving lives in the physical world, Grace spent hers helping people through a phone, and nobody was better at her job than her. So now, she closed her eyes and listened. Opening them again and looking at her husband with horror in her eyes as soon as they both recognized the distinct sound of fists and feet connecting with a body, and various accompanying pained gasps and grunts.

"Carlos what the hell is going on? Where are you? We're coming to help," Judd screamed into the phone, but no response came. Then a gruff voice softly spoke, but it sounded far away so they could only make out the word 'alley'.

"Grace, call 9-1-1. Then call the crew, I want to stay on the line with Carlos," Judd directed, turning to his wife, even as he ran to their room to get a jacket and some shoes. "And don't bother calling TK, I'm sure whatever is happening they're together."

When Judd came back to the living room, Grace was already standing by the door, dressed and ready to go, keys already in her hand and phone pressed to her ear.

"Where do you think you're going?" Judd breathed out.

"To help. TK might be your teammate, but he and Carlos are my friends too. Let's go," Grace left no room for argument, and opened the door, not waiting for Judd to follow, just knowing that he would.

And so he did.

-x-x-x-

Carlos Reyes has always known he would die alone. It was a fact he had accepted the very day he enrolled in the police academy. And he had made peace with that notion, even if he wasn't fond of the idea. But right now, he cursed inwardly, because he had much rather die alone than face the possibility of TK dying alongside him, or even worse, instead of him.

TK Strand had almost died more than a few times, and long ago he had already questioned and accepted his own mortality, but he had never made peace with the idea of losing people close to him. And there was no one he wanted to lose less than Carlos Reyes, so right now, he stilled his nerves and told himself he would welcome death like an old friend, hoping destiny would see it as an invitation and chose to take him instead.

When the shot ran out, TK and Carlos both flinched. Hands unclasping as they both waited for the pain. Eyes going simultaneously wide as they reached the same conclusion when none came. Both, cop and paramedic, were too scared to turn around to their boyfriend and what they would find there, so instead they just closed their eyes and waited. Until the sounds of sirens gave them the little push they needed to continue being brave and turn to each other.

Simultaneous smiles reached their lips as they saw the other one was okay, and Carlos and TK collapsed in an embrace. Holding each other up, both hanging on for dear life.

Footsteps coming close broke the hug, and Carlos and TK fumbled and stumbled as they both tried to push the other behind. Neither sure of the upcoming threat, just focused on protecting their boyfriend. But the attempt was unnecessary because they were finally safe.

Aaron laid on the ground in front of them, blood pouring out from a sniper round to his head, and the other five men had disappeared, but most likely were currently being rounded by APD, if the blinking red and blue lights in every direction were any indication.

"Are you guys okay?" Marjan asked first.

"What the hell happened?" Judd added not a second later.

"Paramedics are on route," Grace directed, phone still pressed to her ear.

"Come on let us help you," Paul offered, holding out his hand.

"You both look like hell," Mateo said, because he just couldn't help himself.

TK and Carlos looked up and away from Aaron's body, to see their friends, their family, surrounding them. Everyone was there, Judd, Grace, Paul, Marjan, Mateo, even Nancy. All looking nervous and sounding more than a little bit breathless.

"What? Uh? How?" TK fumbled with the words, staring at the group with wide and still slightly frantic green eyes. "How did you find us?" He finally managed to whisper.

"You have to thank your boy over there," Judd drawled, his hands closed into fists at his sides.

Turning to Carlos, TK raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"When, when they were focused on you, I took out my phone and tried to contact Judd. I couldn't send a message so I just left the call open. I thought of calling 9-1-1 but you never know who's going to get that call and if they're going to take something like this seriously. Besides, I already knew where the best operator in town was," Carlos explained, smiling shyly at Grace. "But I wasn't sure it had even worked. Sean was standing over me and I couldn't see the screen well," Carlos finished with a breathy laugh, one of pure relief.

"It worked, alright," Judd said proudly, "but what the hell happened?"

Both Carlos and TK deflated at that, neither wanting to relive the experience. But their friends deserved to know, especially because they had all paused their lives to be here, so they took turns telling the story. From the moment they left the bar until just now when the 126 rescued them from almost certain death.

"Bastards," Paul hissed, eyes darkened.

"I would kill him myself if he wasn't already dead," Judd mumbled, staring at Aaron's lifeless body, and only managed to look slightly regretful when Grace whispered a stern 'Judson'.

"I hope the other five rot in prison," Nancy said under her breath, and everyone else nodded.

"Damn, that sucks, dude. That's why you shouldn't go out without adult supervision," Mateo teased lightly.

"Not that you are that much of an adult, probie. But you're right. No more bars or nightclubs unless the crew is there," Marjan added with finality.

Still shaken and in pain, Carlos and TK couldn't help but laugh because their friends were truly something. But they wouldn't have it any other way.

"Can we go home, baby?" TK asked after a moment of silence, turning to his boyfriend.

"Yeah, we can," Carlos whispered, pushing TK's hair back and kissing him on the forehead, where a bruise was already forming.

"Uh no, you're both going to the hospital," Judd interjected.

"But -" Both TK and Carlos tried to say.

"No buts, if it was only one of you that was hurt, we all know the other one wouldn't have it any other way. So no arguing now, and just do as we say," Paul said, leaving no room for argument.

TK just pouted and tried to give the team his best puppy eyes but they were seemingly immune to his charm by now because they all shook their heads and turned around.

"Come on, Ty. We can make a date out of it," Carlos offered, groaning as he lifted himself from the ground and extended his hand to TK.

Taking it, TK kissed Carlos' bruised knuckles and mouthed a silent 'thank you'. Then let himself be pulled off the ground as they walked to the waiting ambulance, their weight supported in between Judd and Paul, the rest of the crew instinctively moving to surround them from all sides, enclosing the couple in a protective circle.

-x-x-x-

The next few hours were spent in the ER, both TK and Carlos going for countless x-rays, and scans. But in the end, their injuries were deemed to be painful and bothersome, but not life threatening. So when it was nearing 5 in the morning, they were finally discharged with clear instructions to take it easy, rest for the next few days, and come back if any of their symptoms or injuries worsened.

"Ready to go home?" Carlos asked TK as he helped him close the bottoms on his shirt. Thankful the team had brought them clean clothes so they didn't have to wear the bloody and dirty ones.

"I have never been more ready," TK said sincerely, pushing Carlos' hand away. "But, I'm not the one with three cracked ribs, I can dress myself."

"Yeah, but you're the one with two broken fingers, and a sprained wrist," Carlos said matter-of-factly.

"Can we stop comparing scars and get the hell out of here?" Paul deadpanned from the door, then turned around to shout something towards the waiting room. "They're decent guys, you're good to come in."

Carlos blushed and TK rolled his eyes, parting his lips to say something, but his attempt was interrupted as the rest of the 126 came into the room. Conversation flowing easily as if they had all been together in the room for the past few hours.

"Besides, I think we can all agree you both look like hell," Marjan added helpfully, the rest of the team nodding their agreement. Their words teasing, but their eyes betraying the concern and anger they were all feeling.

"What are you guys still doing here?" TK asked, ignoring their jokes, because he had already looked at himself in the mirror, and knew exactly how he looked.

"It's been hours, you should have gone home," Carlos agreed.

"Did you guys really think we would leave you alone after what happened?" Paul asked incredulously.

"Yes?" TK shrugged, but smiled at them anyways. "There's these helpful apps called Uber or Lyft if you guys didn't know, we would have called one."

"Dude, what's the point of having friends if you have to rideshare home from the hospital?" Mateo said softly, then looked uncomfortable when all eyes turned to him.

"Probie is right," Marjan said with a smile, clapping Mateo on the shoulder, "you guys are family and family don't let each other take an Uber from the hospital."

"Much less after getting the crap beat out of you by racist and homophobic assholes," Paul added under his breath, looking ready to murder someone if he could get his hands on any of the six men who attacked his friends.

"What's taking so long?" Judd popped his head inside the room, cutting all conversation short. "Come on, let's go. Tommy and Owen will meet us at your house."

Hearing his dad's name TK groaned and silently wondered if it was too late to ask his doctor to admit him for the night. Carlos picked up on his anxiety, and took his hand and squeezed softly.

"Did you really have to call him?" TK couldn't help but ask, "tonight, I mean. Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?" He amended after everyone glared at him.

"Of course we had, we didn't all want to lose our jobs," Marjan said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. Everyone was rattled, and no one was doing a good job of hiding it.

"At least this time it really wasn't your fault that you got hurt, so maybe Cap will take it better," Mateo offered, but even he sounded like he didn't believe his words.

"Or he might just finally decide to bubble wrap TK so he stops getting hurt," Nancy proposed, "I know Tommy and I were talking about it after the whole kidnapping incident."

"That actually sounds like a great idea," Carlos perked up at that.

"Shut up, Reyes, you're in the hospital too," TK mumbled.

"Behave boys," Grace said softly, in her best 9-1-1 dispatcher tone, calm and collected but firm in her opinion. "You know Captain Strand worries about you, TK. We waited to call him and Tommy after we knew more of what was happening, but we did after the doctor spoke to us. If it was the other way around and Owen was hurt, you would have wanted us to call you too."

"Thanks, Grace," Carlos breathed out, while TK only nodded, "actually, thank you all. We don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up with half the cops in the city." He did know, but he didn't want to voice those words. Instead choosing to end with his attempt at a joke.

"No need to thank us," Nancy said, stepping from the back of the room for the first time, "took me long enough to break Strand in after the last fiasco and parade of potential paramedics. I just can't deal with a new partner. And I'm sure your partner feels the same, Reyes."

Everyone laughed at that, but it never reached their eyes. T.K. and Carlos were okay now, but the events of the night would remain with them for some time. For now, the crew would just be there for their friends in whatever way they needed, and hope their love was enough to chase away any memories of what Aaron and his men had said and done.

-x-x-x-

Reaching their house a half hour later, Carlos and TK stepped out of Marjan's car with a groan, awkwardly leaning against the door and each other as they tried to steady themselves. Quickly getting out of his truck and the Camaro, respectively, Judd, and Paul ran to their friends, each setting one of their arms over their shoulders as they helped them to the front door.

Reaching the porch, Carlos smiled and TK groaned as Tommy, Owen, Gabriel and Andrea came into view, all of them instantly crowding the boys, fussing over them, asking questions, and offering to help. But thankfully, Paul took pity on them and respectfully pushed everyone away, sharing the doctor's words and reminding all their friends and family that Carlos and TK needed to rest.

As soon as they made it inside their home, they collapsed on the couch, both in pain but content to be in each other's arms and surrounded by their families and best friends. Once they were all settled around the living room, Owen handed them their prescriptions with two bottles of water, staying in front of them for an extra second as he looked them up and down. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, Owen nodded, squeezed both Carlos and TK's shoulders and stepped away. But visual confirmation wasn't enough for Tommy and Nancy as they insisted on checking the boys over, for their own benefit and mental peace. Gabriel and Andrea, for their part, went straight to the kitchen, setting bags on the counter and containers on the fridge. When they came back into the room, Carlos thanked his parents and hugged them both, silently wondering when his mother even had time to cook all that or if maybe she just had a stack of comfort food lying around on the fridge ready to go next time disaster struck.

Everyone then shared some small talk before they all left the house an hour later. The crew promising to be back on their next day off so they could play some video games or board games, while Owen and Andrea offered to return the next morning to make sure they were alright and help them around the house, and Gabriel vowed to get the Rangers on the case so these men could never attack or harass anyone ever again.

-x-x-x-

"Are you okay?" Carlos asked eventually, once they were finally alone in their bedroom, both just wearing boxers and a towel over their shoulders as they continued to air dry their damp bodies.

"Not really," TK said honestly, head tilting sideways as he looked at Carlos thoughtfully. The shower had helped, but it hadn't been enough to erase all the fears and worries after the night they just had. "But I will be. What about you?"

"Pretty much the same, but mostly just worried about you," Carlos admitted softly, fingers carding through TK's hair as Carlos stepped in between his legs, while TK sat on the bed.

"Why? I didn't go through this alone. It didn't just happen to me," TK explained, moving his hands to Carlos' hips and pulling him closer.

"Yeah, but I feel like it's my job to protect you. And I failed at it," Carlos said simply, eyes darkening as he felt the plastic splint on TK's wrist brush against his skin.

"Why, because you're a cop?" TK wondered.

"Because I'm your boyfriend."

"And I'm yours," TK said easily, "so that means we protect each other."

Carlos nodded, but still looked unconvinced.

"I'm a big boy, Carlos. I can handle some homophobic and racist assholes," TK tried next.

"But you shouldn't have to," Carlos whispered. His fingers now softly running over the bruise on TK's temple.

"And you shouldn't either. No one deserves something like this. But, sadly, these things happen," TK said with a shrug. "And I know that doesn't make it better, but it's just the way it is."

"It sucks." Carlos sighed, because it did and there was nothing else to say.

"It sure does. But we will be okay. We just need to go about this like we do everything else, we handle it together and move forward as a team. No need for you to take the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. Not when you have someone to bear it with you." TK moved his hands from Carlos' hips to his back, softly running his fingers over the tense spots and knots around his boyfriend's shoulder blades. It was a bit awkward with broken fingers and a splint, but like everything, they made it work.

Carlos hummed his agreement and closed his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the comfort his boyfriend was so graciously gifting him, even when he was hurt too. After a few minutes, Carlos opened his eyes again, instantly getting lost in the green of TK's gaze, and his body naturally leaned forward. TK easily met him in the middle, their lips connecting in a sweet kiss.

TK's hands left Carlos' back to wrap around his body, pulling him closer as they slowly deepened the kiss. Lips parting in simultaneous invitations, but the moment was short lived as TK hugged a little too hard and Carlos groaned against his lips. His injured ribs protesting the movement even when his heart leaped in his chest.

"You're hurt," TK breathed out, stepping out of his boyfriend's space and limping to the bathroom, a smile gracing his face after hearing Carlos' little whimper at the loss of contact. "Lie down," he directed when he returned a minute later, supplies in hand.

Carlos raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "I would love nothing more but I think we're in no physical condition for that."

"Ha, ha." TK waved the bottle of 'Arnicare' in his hand, before pointing to the bed.

Carlos nodded and carefully sat on the bed. Then took a few steadying breaths before he fell back on the mattress. Barely suppressed grunts and a wince escaping as the movement pulled at his tired and sore muscles.

Moving forward TK put some of the cream on Carlos' abdomen and began rubbing softly, mindful of the broken ribs and bruises that were already visible on his skin. "Just relax," TK said softly, feeling Carlos tense under his touch. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," Carlos said honestly. TK could never, would never. But the memories of what happened at the bar were still fresh on his mind. So, he moved his hand to TK and set his palm over his thigh. And only then could he really relax. His heart needing the physical connection as much as the sight of his boyfriend standing in front of him.

When TK finished with the cream, he wiped his hands on the towel and left the room. Returning soon after with two ice packs, one which he set over the worst of the purple coloring his boyfriend's skin, and the other one over his own temple. He then turned off the lights and climbed into his side of the bed.

Wordlessly, Carlos shuffled closer and set his hand over his boyfriend's chest, letting the steady beat of TK's heart ground him and calm his own. "Thank you," he whispered eventually, hoping the simple message conveyed more than just gratitude. He wanted it to mean 'I love you', 'if I had to go through this I'm glad it is with you', 'I'm sorry you had to hear those things and get hurt', and so much more. But his words were failing him tonight, so he settled for the two words that would always be true.

"Anytime," TK mumbled, voice laced with sleep. "But Carlos, promise me one thing?"

"Anything," Carlos offered easily.

"Next time this happens, because we both know it likely will," he began, but quickly backtracked, "I hope not the beating part, but the insults. Promise me that when, if, it happens again, you won't try to defend my honor." His words were serious, but Carlos sensed the smile that was on his lips. "You looked damn hot when you punched the bastard on the face, but -"

Carlos chuckled at that, knowing that losing his temper had only made things worse, even when he had done his best to keep TK under control. But still, he promised nothing. Because as certain as he was that something like that could happen again, he was also confident that he would always defend TK. From homophobic and racist men, or anything else that threatened his boyfriend. And TK seemed to know and understand because he didn't press the issue any further. Mostly because he would do the same thing. Anytime and any day.

"But thank you," TK did say, his hand seeking Carlos' and intertwining their fingers together, before he moved it to his lips and pressed a kiss over his knuckles.

"Anytime, and always," Carlos echoed his boyfriend, before ending on a promise of his own. Then he inhaled a deep breath, taking it all in. "I love you, Ty." The words flowing more easily this time.

"Love you, too."

The previous night might not have gone like they expected, but they had made it through. And now Carlos and TK simply continued to bask in their love. Because love could take many shapes and forms, and it sometimes happened in bed after a night of dancing at the bar, but other times it just entailed taking care of one another, and shared bruise cream and ice packs.

Snuggled against each other, and content, TK and Carlos eventually fell asleep. Because even when the world was at its darkest, the actions of their friends, families and each other had shown them that there was still love everywhere around them. Most people just had to look hard enough to find it, but for Carlos and TK finding it would always be the easy part. Since their love was a simple fact, a constant, and a reality that was as true as breathing.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 4

A/N Oops early post. I couldn’t contain myself

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

The muffle of heavy footsteps outside the front door had Jonah and I halting our breaths in our chests in anticipation. We were expectedly on edge. Thankfully, it was just the mail delivery and the security sensor at the front step set off a little notification noise from the main monitor that was set up on the kitchen counter. When the metal mailbox closed and the footsteps faded back towards the street, I moved over to the main monitor and typed in the code and scrolled through the notification menu. The film footage from the studio was still gone but it was listed as having been deleted around 8pm the night before.

“Anything of interest?” Jonah asked.

“Not really.” I mumbled and turned back to face him. “I’m going to look around a little more.”

“Alright. I’ll look around here.” he looked me up and down, “Maybe change your clothes while you’re at it.”

I glanced down at my white hoodie and white jeans, both pieces of clothing stained dark red all up the back from where I had been laying all night and my bloody handprint was smeared over the chest of my hoodie. Good idea.

I returned to the master bedroom and set my laptop bag on the bed and let my computer turn on while I headed into the walk-in closet to find clean clothes. The two garment bags hanging on the far wall in front of the mirror had me stopping in place with my hand on the light switch. I hesitated as if not having expected them to be there; even if I had known they would be returned home by Jonah and my brother along with the wedding gifts two weeks ago. I shuffled over to unzip the first black garment bag, dragging my hand down the smooth white dress that had been hidden underneath. A few smudges of red were left behind from my touch and I pulled my hand back quickly and wiped my blood-stained fingers on my pants.

I forced myself to swallow back any feelings as I zipped the bag back up and focused my attention on pulling black jeans from the shelf and a black t-shirt from a hanger. I took them into the ensuite bathroom and closed the door behind me as if I were trying to shut out something or suddenly needed some privacy. Funny that the only invasive things in the damn house was the weird feeling of guilt and realization and utter confusion that was eating me alive.

My hands were holding myself up on the edge of the counter and I was breathing hard, staring myself in the eye through the spotless mirror. Avalon always liked things clean.

Although I had been passed out on my studio floor for God knows how long that night, I still looked like I hadn’t slept in weeks. I seemed to have a layer of drying blood all over me and it matted my dyed blonde hair down in unattractive dark clumps and stained my white clothes evilly. The dark circles under my eyes didn’t seem like they were just from the flight home and the pale complexion that stared back at me didn’t even feel like my own. I ran my hand over my face, staring at how my slightly sticky fingers tugged at my skin, drawing more attention to my eyes and dry lips…honestly, who was I? My wife was dead – her throat slit and she was left to bleed out – and I was more worried about my face in the mirror.

I could see her eyes in my mind. Those lifeless brown eyes staring at me with all the unrevealable answers to the world. And yet, only days before, she was looking up at me with those same honey brown eyes, full of love and lust, on a king size bed in Costa Rica and whispering how much she loved me.

You have to understand, dear reader, that I had no clue what I was doing or what I was feeling. So you cannot truly blame me when the only reaction to my current situation was my body sending me to my knees in front of the toilet to throw up the limited plane food in my stomach as the metallic smell of blood flooded my senses. It was all too much.

I didn’t know what we had to do next, but I knew that whatever the plan was going to be, we had to move quickly. So I stripped out of my blood-stained clothes and into the clean ones, only stopping long enough to wipe any blood from my skin with a damp cloth until I looked reasonably tame in my reflection. I wet my hair under the tap to get the worst of the blood out of it and ruffled it with a towel before saying ‘good enough’ and headed back to the bedroom.

If I was in fact a murderer, no amount of water was going to cleanse this conscious.

I sat on the edge of the bed and typed in my password to my laptop. The screen loaded and brought up the last tab that was open; the flight information home. The site had updated and stated that the plane had landed on time at LAX yesterday evening and my credit card receipt showed the taxi payment for thirty minutes later. We were home around 7:00. Other than confirming the times at which we returned home, the laptop didn’t offer much assistance.

What did I expect? The screen to read out exactly how my wife was murdered?

Jonah came into the room, “Hey. Find anything?”

I glanced up at him before looking back down at the screen, biting anxiously at my fingernail, “No. Don’t remember anything more either.”

Jonah didn’t answer, letting me have a moment to collect my thoughts. I didn’t blame him; what do you say to your best friend who possibly just murdered their wife and doesn’t remember it. I swiped my finger over the trackpad on my laptop to bring up the other window that was open; iMessage. The last conversation thread that was up was between Avalon and me. I remembered it well.

I was down at the resort bar the night before we left. Jonah had sent me a recording that he wanted my opinions on and I had a few changes I wanted to make so I took myself downstairs with my headphones and my laptop and got some work in. Cocktail in one hand and mouse in the other, I worked until the notification popped up on the bottom menu of my screen.

It would be nice if you spent our last night up here with me.

I had ignored it, huffing and rolling my eyes at her constant pestering and minimized the window again.

God…stupid me. That would have been our last night together. And she didn’t even face towards me when I finally came to bed.

“You weren’t around me!” she yelled, tapping her hand against the cup in her hand so the sound of her ring against the glass punctuated each of her words. “What person wants to spend their honeymoon alone? Of course, I wanted to go home! I was basically there by myself and I was miserable!”

“I had to get some shit done! Jonah needed me to double check a few things while we were away. It’s not the end of the world and I’m sorry if you feel that way!”

I could see her visibly tense and she turned her head so she didn’t have to look at me, jabbing under her breath, “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it? ‘Always gotta get some shit done’. Well, I’m sick and tired of coming second to your work all the time.”

I made her miserable.

“Jonah.” I breathed, turning to look at him over the top of my laptop, “What if she killed herself?”

“She didn’t seem suicidal.” Jonah said.

“Yeah.” I sighed, turning back to the screen. I let out a heavy breath and closed my laptop and tucked it back in the case. “We have to decide what to do.”

“Alright. What are you thinking?” Jonah asked.

I thought for a moment as I set my laptop bag back on top of the untouched suitcase by the wall, “I don’t know. I need time to figure out what the hell happened.”

“Do you want to head to the lodge in Utah? It will buy you a few days and maybe we can figure out what happened by then.”

I nodded, letting out a deep breath, “Yeah, okay. That probably makes the most sense.”

I walked past Jonah and out of the master bedroom, stopping shuffle through the mail that had been collected by Jonah and Christian throughout the last three weeks and placed in a decorative bowl on the front console table. I ruffled through a few bills and random mailer coupons, just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything that I might want to take with me out of state. My search stopped dry at one crisp white envelope, addressed to our house and labelled with simply Avalon with no surname. I frowned and slid my finger under the sealed flap to tear it open.

“Bro, opening other people’s mail is a federal offence.” Jonah stated as he joined me by the table.

“She’s dead, Jonah. I don’t think it really matters anymore.” I answered flatly and pulled out the folded piece of lined stationary from the envelope.

Avalon,

Things are hard right now and I get that but shutting me out isn’t going to help anyone. You can’t give up on me. I really want to see you when you get home. Please let me know when you get this. I need to make things right.

-J

My heart felt like someone was pushing it through a juicer and I frowned down at the paper as I read it a second time. The second time didn’t make it hurt any less. I rubbed my hand over my chest and then ruffled it through my damp hair.

“What the fuck is this?” I breathed. I looked at Jonah, “Who’s J? Is it you?”

“Me? Why would I write her suspicious letters when I can just text her?” Jonah replied.

“Yeah.” I sighed and looked back down at the letter. I clenched my jaw and swallowed back the hurt and strange glimmer of jealousy that was bubbling up inside my empty stomach. “Maybe there’s something on her phone.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

[ymirgf]

a silly night

Jean Kirstein X Reader

summary: you asked jean to dye your hair and ofc like a nice boyfriend he does!!

warnings: screaming,cursing,fluff!

meanings!!

F/C : fav color

H/T : hair type

H/L : hair length

Y/N: your name

also this is unedited only edited in some parts so sorry if there r any grammar mistakes !

—

flashback to earlier that week, you and your boyfriend had a discussion.

“hey jean...? would you be willing to dye my hair for me” you say ending with a smile.

of course jean’s happy to oblige. “of course Y/N! what are you thinking of doing?” he tilts his head in your direction.

“oh nothing much, i was just thinking of maybe F/C? i don't know i think it'd be pretty.” you say looking at him for an opinion.

his eyes lit up looking back into your eyes. “hey woah really! we’d have to bleach it though i hope you’re okay with that.” he laughs.

“yes i’m okay with it!” you say with a smile.

“good, not to brag but i’m kind of an expert at everything so this won’t be a problem.” he says raising a brow acting like the cocky man he is.

timeskip to now..

your head. was on literal fire. jean said you had to wait until you could wash out the bleach but, waiting felt like it was taking ages. “FUCK MY GOD.” you scream, jumping up and down from how much the bleach is burning. jean sat in his chair with his gloves on, pointing and laughing at you in your face.

“JEAN!! STOP LAUGHING THIS FUCKING HURTS SO BAD” you yell making him start to hold his stomach from laughing so hard.

“just five more minutes, chill out babe, okay?” he said calmly trying not to let out another laugh.

you scoff and rolled your eyes, now shaking your head side to side screaming bloody murder as you jump waiting for the five minutes to end.

“okay, times up. go shower..” he says as he throws away his gloves and walks into the bathroom with you.

you enter the bathroom, immediately throwing your clothes on the floor and jumping in, with the water already on since jean turned it on when he got to the bathroom before you.

“okay babe this is important, make sure you shut your eyes as tight as possible, getting bleach in your eyes will hurt really bad so keep them closed, kay?” he says tilting his head making sure you understood.

you nod and close your eyes immediately. he was in there so he could hand you the products that you needed to brighten your bleached H/T hair.

as he handed you the products and you washed throughout your hair you finished shortly.

then you were back in the chair asap, jean was wearing his gloves, going through your H/L hair with the hair dye brush. he made sure to de-tangle your hair prior to dyeing it. as he dyed your hair F/C you couldn’t help but just whip out your phone camera just to look at how pretty he looked, he looked so calm and precious as he dyed your hair with a small smile on his face, he was gorgeous. everything you could ask for. you didn’t know how you ended up so lucky and he felt the same.

“HEY! Y/N I BOUGHT EXPENSIVE FOIL FOR YOUR HAIR!! SO. APPRECIATE ME!!” he yells, putting his hands on his hips then realizing he got dye on his shirt and sighs as he going back to putting pieces of your hair into foil.

after he finished putting all the foil, you guys played mario kart to pass the time you had to let your dye sit.

after the time passed, you started to scream.

“I WON MOTHERFUCKER!!” you jumped up sticking both your middle fingers in jean’s face. he laughed at you, high fiving you and he pushed you slightly towards the shower.

you removed the foil, and then stepped into the shower. jean already set the products you needed to the side of the shower prior to you getting in and you smiled at the thought.

you washed throughout your hair, watching some of the color mixing with the water. jean waited eager to see how you looked as you finished washing your hair throughly.

you wrapped your body in your towel as you looked in the mirror before stepping out.

“TADAAA!!!!” you said loudly while doing jazz hands, trying to make sure your towel didn’t fall.

“STOP OH MY GOD YOU LOOK SO PRETTY” jean says while walking towards you with his jaw practically on the floor.

he grips your shoulders and leans back to look at you fully and then smiles brightly.

“hey so do you like it? i tried my best” he says with a nervous smile showing that he isn’t as cocky when it comes to you.

“jean,” you say tilting your head down and looking at him. “jean, i love it so much.” you say as you pulled him into a hug.

he lets out a sigh of relief and laughs as he hugs you tightly back. he pulls out the hug and asks if he can touch your hair as you nod and he goes in to touch it.

“ahh Y/N it feels so healthy!” he says as he quickly takes his hand off smiling so brightly as you smile back.

“thank you jean, you did an amazing job, i love you.” you say shutting your eyes from your smile.

“i love you too.” he says smiling.

—

AUTHORS NOTE:

hi tysm for reading i hope this is as gender neutral as possible i tried my best i also tried to make sure i respected peoples hair types , etc cause i see a lot of ppl saying “he runs his hand through her nice straight hair” abt other fics when not all people have that typa hair so i tried my best making it neutral w the whole touching the hair,washing,detangling,etc!! and sorry if the word pretty seems like more fem or smth i see it as gn to me i love that word and use it for an gender so sorry if u don’t feel that way!! also i try and make my fics as most for everyone as possible such as body types,height,hair,skin and more so i will continue to try my best at that! sorry for the long note i hope u all enjoyed !!!!!!

[twilightofthejedi]

chapter 2 of "sorry to my unknown lover" is up!

read on ao3 here

read chapter 1 on ao3 here and on tumblr here

chapter summary:

He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.

It all starts now.

read under the cut below

chapter 2: prometheus

Jang Han-seok slips his phone into his pocket. It had been almost child’s play getting his personal effects back after his brief stint in jail, and he has no intention of returning.

Not when he has who he wants right in front of him.

He looks down at the great Vincenzo Cassano, unconscious and tied to a chair. His hair is matted with his own blood, and there is glass embedded in his knees. Han-seok bends to take out the glass, and wraps the wounds with cloth. It wouldn’t do to have Vincenzo’s wounds get infected too early. He does, after all, want him to be conscious for the next part of his plan.

At first, as he had watched Vincenzo and Cha-young banter easily on the sidewalk outside the plaza, bitter green jealousy twisting his stomach like acid, he had considered taking Cha-young instead. Wouldn’t it be nice to toy with Vincenzo from afar, dangling things like Cha-young’s glittery earrings in front of him, forcing him to come to her and scream in fear for her life?

It would, but he had realized that he didn’t need Cha-young to toy with Vincenzo. He could do that from two feet away from him, in a warehouse with nobody around them for miles.

Funny, really, how many abandoned warehouses there are, with nobody to care about them or even think twice about the screams coming from them.

The screams that he has every intention of pulling from Vincenzo.

He picks up one of the glass shards that he had pulled from Vincenzo, and runs his finger along the jagged edge of it. It pricks his finger, and the blood catches the industrial lighting overhead. He watches idly as the blood beads up and falls to the ground. It sits there, staining the gray concrete a dull brown.

He is still watching his own blood settle on the ground when Vincenzo groans, stirring. Han-seok looks down at one of the shards of glass, how it turns reflective in the light. He sees his own smirk, and looks up.

It all starts now.

-

“Noona , I can help.”

Both Cha-young and Mr. Nam look up with a start, and see Jang Han-seo standing there, shirt rumpled and tie askew. He is holding a computer and some sort of device, and his eyes are bloodshot.

She can only stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the text from hyungnim, too. That is what’s going on, right?” He looks in between them, eyes darting like he is nervous. Cha-young remembers a flippant line in Han-seo’s folder in the guillotine file: He was abused and tortured by his older brother for years, and resultant drug addiction , takes in Han-seo’s slightly shaking fingers, and decides to take a chance.

“What did he say in his message to you?” Mr. Nam says, seemingly reading her mind. He beckons Han-seo closer, and pulls out a chair for him to sink into. Han-seo unlocks his phone and sets it on the table, along with the computer and mysterious gadget. The message is nearly identical to the one that she had received but in context, significantly more terrifying: Hi Han-seo. Did you miss me? You can’t get rid of me that easily, little brother.

The picture and its caption are different, too. The picture is of a man’s hand, presumably Han-seok’s, holding a bloody watch, Vincenzo’s bare, pale wrist in the blurry background. Mr. Nam inhales sharply at the sight, and Cha-young impatiently clicks to the caption.

One more.

Cha-young has read her former hoobae ’s folder in the File; she knows what the watch signifies. For a second, she is standing outside a makgeolli shop on a rainy night, a clear plastic umbrella falling from her fingers that have suddenly gone numb, and pushing past bystanders who have gathered to watch; dispassionate, uncaring, apathetic bystanders watching one man die and another struggle to live, and sees the hundreds of sticky notes that had been stuck to the wall for months until she finally allowed herself to take them down. She stands up abruptly, and the other two men stumble to their feet after her.

“Byeonhosa-nim ?” Mr. Nam asks tentatively.

“Han-seo, what’s the laptop for?”

“Do you know where hyung is right now?” he asks abruptly. They both shake their heads. In the past few hours, Cha-young and Mr. Nam have come up with a plan for what to do when they find Han-seok, but they have been stumped on how to find him. It wasn’t like he had conveniently called them that they could track his phone, and surveillance footage courtesy of Mi-ri and Agent Ahn hadn’t turned up anything useful.

“I didn’t think so,” Han-seo continues. “You both know about his practice of collecting watches, right?” Cha-young exchanges a glance with Mr. Nam, who turns a delicate shade of green. She nods.

“ Hyungnim likes to wear the watches that he collects. He switches them around, wears a different one everyday. Never even matches them to his outfit. It’s ridiculous.” Han-seo trails off, rambling about sports watch and black suit, and Cha-young realizes she needs to steer the conversation back to relevancy.

“Han-seok has no fashion sense. So?” she asks, feeling her patience fray with every passing second. With every passing second Vincenzo could be getting tortured, or dying, or both at the same time.

Cha-young owns exactly one black hanbok . She has worn it three times in her life. First to her mother’s funeral, standing silently in the funeral parlor, fuming when her father stepped out to take a call from a client. The next time was nearly ten years later, for her father’s funeral. Then she had felt nothing, just a cold sea of emptiness, right until she saw the picture of them both at her law school graduation, at which point she had been punctured like a balloon, or a plant cell with too much water intake. The last and most recent time was at Vincenzo’s mother’s funeral. Then she had felt a bone deep sorrow, and a dizzying feeling of inevitability, like this was going to be the rest of her life. Going to funerals of people taken from her much too soon.

She refuses, however, to take out that hanbok again. Let it collect dust on its hanger in her closet. Let it fade with time. She refuses to lose anyone else, and she refuses to lose Vincenzo.

She’ll be damned if she lets Jang Han-seok change that.

“So,” Han-seo says, typing on the laptop. “I installed trackers in all of the watches. I’m finding his current location right now.” He looks up at them. “He will try to control the action from now on. His plan is probably to keep baiting you, noona , with pieces of information about Vin- hyung to keep you dependent on him. But now that we know where he is, we can confront him on our own terms. I mean, your terms. Because it’s your plan.” he finishes slightly awkwardly.

He turns the laptop to face them, and she and Mr. Nam crouch down to see. The blip on the screen is pointing to a warehouse over twenty miles outside of Seoul, which makes sense.

Cha-young looks both of her companions in the eye. “Let’s get to work.”

-

“Had a nice rest?”

Vincenzo leans back in the hard wooden chair he is strapped to. “It’s not first class, but it’ll do, I suppose.”

In front of him, Jang Han-seok sneers. Vincenzo just stares at him patiently. His initial few seconds when he woke up had remained unknown to his captor. He had lain there, still and silent, breathing evenly, to try and get a feel for his situation. Once he had deduced that there was only one person with him, and that they weren’t in the city, he had allowed himself to groan and let Han-seok know that he was awake. Now that his eyes are open and he has swept the area and can visualize it in his mind’s eye, he has nothing else to do other than let Han-seok show his hand.

After all, Jang Han-seok is nothing if not dependably predictable.

True to form, Han-seok stands abruptly. “Shall we take a picture? I’m sure sunbae would love to see how you’re doing right now.”

“I’m sure you’ve already sent her a picture, but go ahead.”

His captor narrows his eyes at him, and then strides away, out of sight. Vincenzo takes the opportunity to close his eyes and collect his thoughts. It’s been far too long since he was kidnapped. The last time was two years ago, when he woke up and found himself in a vineyard in Sicily, bound hand and foot.

He had burned the entire place down, as well as everyone in it.

Now, however, he cannot recklessly escape, or else he will lead Cha-young right into a trap. He has no doubt that she will find him and bring the right people and use the right resources to rescue him.

He knows this. He knows the competency of everyone that he has worked with for the past few months.

Over the past fifteen years, he has carried out more illegal acts than he can remember. He has burned, stolen, framed, defamed, and killed and killed and killed. He has not regretted much of it, save for one thing. Collateral.

Vincenzo knows that his actions after coming to Korea are in somewhat of a gray area. Yes, they are illegal, and very much dangerous, but they are justified . They are a means to a very much honorable end, and he doesn’t regret them. No, what he regrets is the collateral. Before, the word collateral had served as nothing more than a clinical way to refer to the people that got hurt in the crossfire. Collateral was a number, a number of people, an amount of money needed to fix it, statistics on a page in il capo’s ledger that got crossed off with a fountain pen, the book shut before the ink finished drying.

However, he still remembers straightening to his feet, his pointer finger still stained with fresh blood after tracing the letter C into the rapidly spreading bloodstain on the floor. He had scanned the area, because there was nothing that the capo hated more than loose ends on a job. When he had looked into the car, he had inhaled sharply, because there was a child cowering in the backseat, curled around a worn stuffed animal.

But now, collateral is the faces of people that he does not want to see gone. Against his will, he has become fond of every person living in Geumga Plaza, who has told him, with shining eyes, that he had given them something to fight for. They have all been living from day to day, not expecting much of the days to come, and now they veritably shine in their daily lives.

It’s like someone lit a fire underneath them, and once that fire was lit, no one could dare to extinguish it.

He shifts in his chair, and prepares to wait for Jang Han-seok to come back. Cha-young will come for him, and they will rain hell upon the world after that.

Until then, Vincenzo has no problem in being the one who dared to light up the world. The one who stepped down to earth, a fistful of flames in his palm. The one who bestowed heat and light and warmth and life to the world.

He does not regret his past actions, for he has kindled flames from smothered embers, and no one can put them out. For this, he will gladly be their fallen Titan, their Prometheus.