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babeyvenus · 3 years ago

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The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 7: Confrontations

Witching Well Chamber

Bigby, Sonya, and Snow walk up to the large stone pedestal with the body. Sonya was hesitant to get closer but sighed and did anyway.

Bufkin was standing on the end of the pedestal waiting for the three to look over the body. “Jesus… I haven’t seen her face until now.”, Sonya said, letting out a breath.

“Are you gonna be okay?”, Bigby asked, looking at her in concern. “You don’t have to stay.” Snow said. Sonya shook her head. “I want to stay. I’ll be fine, it’s just….a little strange. I didn’t think I’d be looking at my own dead face.”, she weakly jokes.

Bigby frowned at her sadly and shook his head. Snow looks over the body. “The glamour is so effective, it’s invasive. But…just do what you need to do.”, Snow told Bigby.

He looked over the body and noticed a strange brooch on the jacket collar. He pulls it off and looks at it. “I’ve never worn anything like that.”, Sonya said as Bigby handed it to her. “Maybe it really belonged to her….not part of the glamour.”, Bigby said, examining the body.

“Looks like something from the homelands. Bufkin, do you recognize these symbols?”, Snow asked Bufkin, pointing at the brooch. “No, nothing I’ve seen before.”, Bufkin says, shaking his head. Sonya places it in her pocket as Bigby looks at the severed neck of the body. “It looks just like Faith’s did.”, he said, looking back at Snow. “Did Doctor Swineheart ever get back to you about Faith, Snow?”

“No. He said he wanted to run more tests.”, she shook her head. Bigby turns back to the body and sniffs the air around it. “She got your perfume right.”, he says in surprise. “We’ve never met. How the f- how do you know what perfume I wear?”, Sonya looked at him in shock. He smiled. “You can’t fool this nose.”

‘Damn his wolf senses.’, she thought. “If her neck wound was the same, there might be a ribbon in her mouth too.”, she suggested. Bigby opens the head’s mouth and looks inside but doesn’t see anything.

“Anything?”, Snow asked. He shook his head. "Nothing.“ He sets the head back down. "So it’s not exactly the same.” Sonya fidgets, looking at the head. “Could you…close her mouth? Please.” Bigby looks at her worriedly before he closes the head’s mouth. “Thanks.”, she mumbled, crossing her arms.

Bigby moves to the legs of the body. He saw the cuffs of the pant legs rolled up, a hole cut into the thigh of her jeans and noticed the rope marks around her ankles.

He also noticed some marks on the left thigh, right above the knee. “Track marks.”, he says, looking closely at the needle holes. “She used mundy drugs?”, Snow asked him. “Looks that way. Pretty heavily too. I hear they only go for the legs if they’ve used up all the veins in their arms….or if they’re trying to hide the marks.”, Bigby informed. “I always thought that it was just the arms.

That's usually how doctors do blood tests…”, Sonya says. Bigby turned to her. “Anyway, it just means it’s not a perfect match to your leg. Unless….” She narrowed her eyes at him, “Don’t even.” He shrugged, “I’m just saying, maybe she was trying to compensate with that perfume.”, he said, giving her a smile. She shook her head with a small smile.

“Wait. If the glamour is supposed to look like her, shouldn’t it be concealing things like track marks? That brooch too.”, Snow asked. “It’s possible it’s designed not to.”, Bigby says. “Designed not to hide track marks?”, Sonya asked, confused.

“Eh, good point.”, he said. “The witches upstairs know what they’re doing, that’s why they cost so much.”, Snow said. “Unless someone’s making glamours illegally.”, Sonya suggested with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not technically illegal, miss. It’s not encouraged, for sure, but there aren’t any laws specifically forbidding it.”, Bufkin informed.

“So…. there’s some sort of black market for glamours?”, Bigby asked. “One would assume so.”, Bufkin nodded. “I imagine anyone with access to the proper books and training could theoretically produce a glamour.”

“Yet another thing to worry about.”, Snow grumbles. “Black market or not, it’s a pretty good match.”, Sonya said. “Scary, but pretty good.” Bigby examines the rope marks. “These rope marks...”, he mutters. “She was tied up?”, Bufkin asked, with wide eyes. “They tied cinderblocks to her ankles….so she would sink.”, Bigby said.

Suddenly, Crane walks in behind them, scaring Sonya. “Sorry, that, uh, took longer than expected. What have you found out?” Bigby stood up straight, “She was using mundy drugs. Pretty heavily too, judging by the track marks on her legs.”

“Track marks?”, Crane asked, confused. “Isn’t there….there are diseases… ”

“I think that’s the least of her worries now.”, Sonya says, crossing her arms. “Yes...yes, of course.”, Crane said.

All three of them stared at him in confusion before Bigby turned back to the body and saw that the body’s fist was clenched. “Her hand’s in a fist.”, he said. “So she fought back?”, Snow asked. “No. Her knuckles aren’t bruised or anything.”, Sonya said, picking up the body’s hand.

“Maybe she was grabbing something.”, Bufkin suggested. “Maybe….”, Sonya mumbles and starts to pry it open until finally the hand opens. There was a large metal ring in the hand. “What the hell…” Bigby picks it up and examines it. He sets it down and digs into the jacket pockets.

In one of them, he found a bottle of perfume with a small note attached to it that said. “Use this.”

“What is that?”, Crane asked him. “She had the perfume with her. Looks like someone picked it out for her.”, Bigby replied. “So someone gave her instructions?”, Sonya asked. “I wasn’t aware my perfume was that recognizable.” Bigby shrugs and puts the bottle down and digs in the other pocket.

In the other pocket, he found a wooden tube with weird markings around it. “I’ve seen things like this before…”, Snow said as she saw the tube. “It’s definitely magic, though the witches don’t usually craft objects these days.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to fool around with that. It’s some kind of black market magic, who knows what it could do?”, Crane said, nervously.

“Will you keep quiet?”, Bigby growls and Crane glares at him. Sonya narrows her eyes a bit at Crane, “How do you know its black market stuff?” He didn’t say anything.

Bigby brings the tube to his ear and shakes it. It sounded like something was inside of it. “Hmm.”, he hums. “What?”, Crane asked him. “There’s something in here.”, Bigby said, shaking it again in Sonya’s ear. “How do we open it?”, she asked him.

Bigby scanned over the tube again, frowning as he tried figuring it out. Bigby glanced over at Crane. “Might want to stand back if you’re worried, Crane.”, he says, smug. “I’m gonna try to open it. Something to do with these rings here.”

Crane folds his arms as Bigby looks over the tube and saw that it was like a puzzle. He twisted the rings, until he heard a click and the image of a deer on the tube. “A deer? What does that mean?”, Sonya asked.

He pours out the contents on the pedestal, revealing a small bundle of dark auburn hair, almost like a ball of hair coming from a brush, and rolled up paper. He picks up the roll of paper and unravels it to reveal that it was a torn picture of Sonya looking somewhere.

“What the literal hell…!”, she yelled, grabbing her head. “Is that my hair??” Bigby hesitantly handed the picture to her. “Someone was stalking me…”, she says, looking at the picture. Bigby picks up the bundle of hair.

Bigby sniffs it and says, “Yeah, definitely your hair.” Sonya sighed a shaky breath stepping away from the pedestal, covering her face before dragging her hands down her face.

Bigby followed and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, shaken up. “Who did this, Bigby?”, she whimpered.

Before he could reply, they turned their heads to hear a crackling noise and saw a green light brightening the room. The body changed from Sonya to a female troll. She gasped, covering her mouth. “She’s a troll?!” Bufkin exclaimed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”, Crane whispered, stepping away a bit.

“Holy shit.”, Bigby said, his eyes widened. “Well, that helps explain the glamour. Kind of.”, Snow said.

“W-Who is she?”, Sonya asked. “She kinda looks like Holly.”, Bigby said.

“The owner from the Trip Trap?”, Snow asked him. He nodded and Snow gasped. “It’s her sister, Lily. She was reported missing, but I….I guess it just slipped through the cracks.” Sonya’s neck snapped toward Snow. “How the hell could it have “slipped through the cracks”!? Was this not an important thing or what!?”

“We have to go tell Holly.”, Bigby said, urgently. Sonya frowned at him.

“Right. Who knows, she might know something about this. Who Lily was seeing…”, Snow said until Crane speaks up. “Certainly another troll.”

Sonya narrows her eyes, “How do you know that? She’s dead, we don’t know that for sure.”

“We should go.”, Bigby said, looking at Sonya. “You can’t go out there!”, Crane exclaimed.

“Why the hell not?”, Sonya asked, growling at him. “It’s too dangerous. Someone tried to kill you.” Crane replied quickly, stepping in the way. He looked at Bigby. “Bigby, you can’t let her go out there with you. You’d be putting her life at risk."

"Bigby is not my babysitter! Two fables are dead and we’re gonna get this done with or without you, Deputy Mayor.”, Sonya sneered at Crane. “Bigby is your boss. He’s allowed to set up any investigations for you.”, Crane argued.

“Sonya’s her own woman. If she wants to go, I don’t see why not.”, Bigby says, crossing his arms.

“But–”

“We should leave now. You ready?”, Bigby said as he looked over at Sonya, smiling. “Let’s go.”, she nodded. “I’ll come with you two.”, Snow said, following behind.

TRIP TRAP

“You’re a bar. You’re supposed to have darts.”, a blonde man fussed, pacing around.

“And I normally do, but who knows where the fuck they went to after–” Holly’s voice stopped once she sees Bigby, Snow and Sonya walk in. The bar still a mess from Bigby’s and Gren’s previous fight.

He was still fussing, not aware of the three that walked in. “C'mon, Holly, I need entertainment.” Then he turns and sees the three fables looking at him. “This’ll do.”, he said, smirking, while Gren and Holly looked at each other in fear. Sonya looked around. “What the hell happened?” Bigby grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He shook his head. “Holly. You got a minute?”, Bigby asked the bar owner. She crossed her arms. “Why?” Bigby frowned. “Please, Holly. It’s important.”

“Holy shit. You’re the new fable. No one said you were a cutie, though, Miss Sonya.”, Jack said, winking at her. He got close to Sonya, giving her a grin. “Uh, hi?”, Sonya waved, awkwardly. “Heard you had a strange morning.”, he said, smirking.

“It’s been kind of a strange morning for everyone, I think.” , Sonya said, shaking her head. Bigby stepped in front of Sonya, making the guy place his left arm around him.

“Every time I see this guy, he seems to lose weight. It’s amazing, it really is. He loses weight and yet somehow keeps all the muscle.”, he said.

“Jack…” Bigby growled.

“Wolfie, my dear, how are you?”, Jack asked him with a big grin. Bigby shrugs his arm off and walks up the bar but Jack cuts in front of him again. “Because, you know, we were just talking about you. All of us. At the bar, here.”

Bigby huffed, “I just need to talk to Holly. Privately.” Jack raised his hands, “Alright, just give us a second first.” Jack said. “I’m just dying to hear about the dead body that came out of the East River this morning. It was a Fable, right?”

All three of them look at him in surprise but he gives them a smug look. “Oh, everyone knows.”

“Tweedledee was just here.”, Gren mumbled.

“He described it fairly well. Said it looked like you.” Jack said, pointing at Sonya.

“What the hell!”, Bigby shouts, then came to a realization and growls. “Crane.”

“Sorry.”, Snow said as Sonya rolled her eyes at the mention of the man.

“Tweedledee said you arrested him for no earthly reason, kept him locked in the cellar “all fuckin’ night.” He said you tortured him. Which….I dunno, that seems like a breach of your legislative duties.”, Jack shrugs then walks up to Bigby and said. “Bigby, c'mon, you can’t be so dumb as to–”

“Jack. Find the off button! Now!”, Holly shouts.

Jack turned to her and said. “What is it with you two? You and Gren are all, Let’s get a posse together, when there’s no one around, but as soon as the Big Bad Wolf walks in your tails go between your legs. Cat got your nerve? What happened?”

“What happened? I’m tired is what happened.”, Holly says, frowning. “Tired of what?”, Jack asked. “You talk too much. Has anyone told you that personally or does it just go in one ear and out the other?”, Sonya asks, making Jack gape at her.

“Holly.”, Bigby said, trying to get her attention.

“What?”, Holly huffed.

“Bigby….look…two Fables are dead. And shit, Gren’s sister–”

“Holly’s sister.”, Gren corrected Jack, now irritated.

“Holly’s sister has been missing for, what, a few days now? And we haven’t heard word one about it from anyone.”, Jack said. That caught Holly’s attention. “Actually….have there been any updates?”, Holly asked.

“I….don’t know how to say this to you, Holly. The woman we found in the river….”, Bigby says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Who was it?”, Holly asked. “You know who it was.”, Bigby said, sadly.

Holly turns away sadly. “Boy, I sure walked into that one.”, Jack said.

“If you say one more fucking thing, just one more thing….”, Gren growled at him. Jack stares at him, putting his hands up in surrender then walks out of the bar.

“Fucking damn it!”, Gren shouts then he turns to you three and said. “Of course the dear Princess Sonya is all fuckin’ safe and sound!” Sonya flinches at his words, looking down at her feet.

Snow looks at her sadly, as Gren stands up and shouts. “Where were you when we reported this weeks ago, huh? Where are you when we ever fucking need you?!"

In the back, Holly pulls out a glass and a bottle of whiskey and tried to pour herself a glass. "If you’d given one ounce of a shit about her, about any of us, she might’ve been saved! She might’ve been cared for! She might’ve been—” but he stops when the sound of a glass breaks catches everyone’s attention.

Holly had broken both the glass and the bottle with her bare hands. She took heavy breaths, trying to calm herself down. “I’m sorry, Holly. I’m sorry we found your sister this way and I….I wish this had ended up better.” Bigby said, sadly.

Holly looks up at all of them, glaring at Sonya as she goes to sit down at a table. Sonya walked up to her and spoke softly. “Holly?”

“Get the fuck out of my bar.”, Holly growled at her. “I-I just wanted to–”

“It should’ve been you. It should have been you and it wasn’t.”, Holly sneers, making Sonya’s eyes widen. Sonya’s eyes fluttered as she felt oncoming tears. She shook her head, walking over to a table and pulled out a brooch from before and placed it on the table. She steps back, giving her a sad smile, “It was on her. Thought you’d like to have it.”

Holly looks at the brooch, taking it in her hands and looked up as Sonya started walking away.

Bigby grabbed Sonya's shoulder. “Hey, its okay.” Sonya looked up at him with glassy eyes. “I can’t. She was killed because of me…” Bigby started to say something but was cut off by Holly. “I…I didn’t know she still had this. The copper was from a dwarf mine…..it’s very rare….and very old.”

Sonya looked at her. “It’s pretty. I bet it was even prettier on her.”

Bigby smiles, looking down at Sonya. “That was very decent of you.” Holly called, “Gren.”

“Yeah?"

"Take off for a bit, would ya."

"Are you sure?”

Holly looks at Sonya as they make eye contact. Holly turns to Gren and nods at him. Gren makes sure before walking out with Jack. Holly walks back over to the bar and begins to pour herself something to drink.

“I don’t know that much about her life….honestly, we didn’t talk often.”, she said and she took a sip. “She was lost here, in the city. She just got swept away by it.”

“Do you have any idea why she’d be glamoured as Sonya?”, Bigby asked her. “What?!”, Holly said, shocked, looking at her. “Oh God. I’m sorry. That was probably about….she was hooking. To pay down debt. It ate me up to see her that way. Eventually, the only people she owned were at her work, you know, that shithole club. The Pudding ‘n Pie. The owner, Georgie, with all his fuckin’ fees, it’s a crock of shit. It’s how they kept her under their thumb, really.”

“Georgie? What do you know about him?”, Bigby asked her but she shrugs and shakes her head. “We can always just go talk to him.”, Snow said. “We’ve got a lead. Maybe we can take it from here?” You said.

“Thanks for everything, Holly. Is there, um, is there anything we can do to….?”, Bigby asks but Holly shook her head. “No, no, I’m better off dealin’ with things alone. I don’t need sympathy and I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity, it’s looking out for our own.”, Snow said, catching Holly’s attention.

“Is she…where is she?”, Holly asked, solemnly. “She’s at the Business Office. She’s taken care of.”, Sonya says. Holly sighs. “I’m gonna have to go down there and get her. Fuck.”

“Please, we can handle the funeral arrangements.”, Snow offered. “No, no it’s– it’s a kind of— it’s a formality with trolls. We burn our dead by sunrise or….I dunno.”, Holly shook her head. “Of course.”, Bigby said.

“Okay. Good.”, Holly said, smiling.

“Let’s go down to the Business Office and start making the necessary preparations, alright?”, Snow said, leading Holly out. “The Puddin’ n’ Pie, huh…”, Sonya says. “I’ll go down there now, see what I can find out from the owner. Do you want to come?”, Bigby asked. Sonya nodded.

She turned to Holly, “Is it okay if I come to the funeral after we get what we need? I feel responsible for this.”

Holly nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” Sonya smiled softly and nodded. She turned to Bigby, “Let’s go.”

Bigby nods, giving her a smile and walks with her to catch a cab.

#my art #poc oc #my oc #sonya blaze #twau bigby #bigby x reader #bigby imagine #bigby wolf #bigby wolf fanfic #bigby wolf imagine #bigby wolf x chubby reader #bigby wolf x reader #sheriff bigby

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ikeromantic · 4 years ago

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A Very Strange New Year’s Eve

An Ikemen Vampire fanfic. Approx 6K words. This was supposed to go up for Jan 1, but I didn’t finish in time. I considered just not posting, but went ahead and finished it. So . . . 3 months past the holiday, but hey!

The mansion was bustling with activity on New Year’s Eve. It was tradition in this time for men to go from estate to estate, drinking and dancing, singing and carousing. Few ever made it out as far as le Comte’s country home, but Sebastian wasn’t about to let that excuse him from preparations. And you got recruited to help.

First there was the front courtyard, now a wonderland of ice sculptures and colored lanterns. Red ribbons graced the bare branches of trees, and winter flowering plants dotted the path to the door. The entry way was a ballroom, cleared of furniture and hung with garlands of ivy and mistletoe. Then there were the refreshment tables with carefully crafted centerpieces . . .

“Sebas. Comte says no one comes out this far. Can’t we just call this good enough,” you whine. “I’d really like to just enjoy the rest of the holiday.”

Sebastian moves faster than you’d expect, given he’s like you - just human. But there’s no way you could dodge the thump he lands in the center of your forehead.

“Ouch! Wh-what was that for?”

“You should start the new year as you plan to continue. Do you really want to spend it lazing around instead of getting things done?” Sebastian’s mild frown is almost worse than the sting on your forehead.

You sigh. “Fine. Yes. So what else do I need to do?”

Sebastian gestures with his chin toward the stairs. “Comte needs someone to bring him the case from the study. Why don’t you do that and see what else he needs, since you’ve no head for decorating.”

“Alright.” You hurry up the stairs.

Comte is already in the study, case in hand. He notices you come in and his lips curl up in a wistful smile. “Did Sebas chase you away from his masterpiece?”

“Yeah. I’m not . . . enthusiastic enough. Anyway, he said you needed some help up here?”

Comte nods, gesturing to some books. “You can carry those for me. Come along.”

The books are obviously old, the bindings a thick leather. Symbols are burned into them that you don’t recognize. “What are these for?”

“The turn of the new year provides a brief window for certain experiments. Those are notes and guides from other studies,” Comte explains.

“Like magic?” You eye the books suspiciously. “Is it something like the door?”

Comte chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you could say it’s something like the door. Manipulating time is a narrowly explored side of alchemy. Science, more than magic, ma cherie.” He stops at a door you hadn’t noticed before and unlocks it.

Inside there are a variety of strange looking devices. Twisted metal constructs, oddly shaped glass containers, shelves of bizarre looking ingredients and other things your eye can’t quite focus on. You step inside but Comte holds out a hand to stop you.

“That’s far enough. This room is not . . . safe . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d set the books down at the door.”

Your skin breaks out in little goosebumps as you step back out of the doorway. “Alright. Well, was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

Comte turns. “There is. Would you make sure everyone is out of the mansion before 9 this evening? Help them hurry along. I need peace and quiet if I’m to make progress. And I’d hate for any of you to be caught up in unexpected side effects of my experiments.”

“Side effects?” You stand a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but yes. Sometimes these tests produce unintended effects that spread beyond my laboratory.” He smiles as if this is unimportant. “So, can you make sure everyone is out by sunset?”

You nod. “Sure. Vincent is going out with Will to see some musical at the Moulin Rouge. Arthur, Dazai, and Theo are going to the Parade of Fools . . . I think Isaac and Napoleon are visiting an orphanage? And Jean is going to Notre Dame to pray. But I don’t think Leo or Sebas planned to go out anywhere.” And neither did I, you mentally add.

“Well, you must convince them. I am sure you’ll think of something.” He takes the books from you and closes the door. As soon as it shuts, you almost don’t notice it’s there again. Weird. But there’s no time to stand around and stare at a locked door. You’ve got a mission.

First you stop in to check on Arthur. Dazai and Theo are in the room with him, dressed in ridiculous colors and patterns. “Looks like a little bird stopped in to see what we’re up to,” Arthur grins at you from where he sits at the edge of his bed.

“Just making sure you’re on time. Can’t be late for the uh, the parade.” You realize you aren’t entirely sure what that is but parades usually start at a certain time so - it makes sense, right?

Dazai grabs your elbow, guiding you inside. “Yes, thank you Toshiko-san. Are you hoping to come with us?”

Theo scoffs, “No puppies allowed.”

Arthur stands and you realize his shirt is unbuttoned. His chest is more muscled than any writer ought to be. Your eyes can’t help but run from his sternum down to the buckle of his belt. “I don’t know, Theo. Could be fun to bring our skirt along.” He runs a finger along your jaw line, earning a frown from Dazai.

Theo shakes his head. “No. Look at her. Just touching her cheek turns the girl into a tomato. Can you imagine her face at the feast of fools? No.”

Dazai nudges Arthur back with his shoulder as he turns you to face the door. “Well, that is that Toshiko-san. It seems this is a boys only trip.”

“But - but I didn’t ask to go. I just, I need to make sure you leave before it gets dark.” You protest.

“Yeah, yeah. We got it hondje.” The door closes on Theo’s dismissal. You hear Arthur’s laughter as you head down the hall. Well.You delivered your message at least.

Next you decide to check on Vincent. He is painting with a look of intent focus. The canvas shows a field of flowers, their edges blending together in ways that make your head swim. You feel like you could drown in that picture but not tonight. Tonight, you have a job. “Vincent!”

He turns, his blue eyes wide with surprise. When he sees you, he smiles. “Oh! Did Will send you to get me? Is it already time to go?”

“No, er, yes,” you stumble over your answer. It’s hard to think straight with those big baby blues trained on you. “I mean, yes, you should get ready to go and no - I haven’t seen Will.”

Vincent looks a little confused, but turns to put down his paint and brush. “I guess you’re right. It will take me a bit to put the paints away and clean my brushes. I should start now. Would it be ok if I asked you to help?”

You are just about to say yes. After all, spending time around Vincent is always pleasant and it’s still basically what Comte asked you to do - but before your mouth opens, a pair of cool, smooth hands come around your waist and pull you tight against a narrow, wiry chest.

“And hast thy tongue given voice to words untrue? Or did thine eyes pass me over me as I stood on the stair awaiting your pleasant greetings?”

“Will!” You try to politely pull away from him, but he holds fast.

“Shall I take my revenge on you for such rude welcome? Or perchance, I only need keep you close to sooth the ache your averted gaze has given my heart.” Will set his head on your shoulder so that his lips brush your cheek.

“Will! Since you’re here, you can help me with the brushes,” Vincent exclaims. He takes hold of one of Shakespear’s hands, tugging the bard away from you.

Reluctantly, Will releases you. “Ah, friend Vincent. I could not deny you this. Besides, if I refuse, we would be late!”

Vincent chuckles. “Sorry. I got carried away with this painting. I appreciate the help. I’m sure we’ll be finished in plenty of time.”

You nod, backing toward the door. “Well, you two better hurry. Comte needs the mansion to himself tonight, so you need to get going.”

This seems to get Will’s interest, but he doesn’t get a chance to pry as Vincent hauls him off to clean brushes.

You escape the room to go check on your toughest target. Leonardo. The narcoleptic genius. The tobacco scented DILF. The most infuriating member of the mansion . . . da Vinci. You knock on his door, certain he’s there thanks to the present smell of fresh tobacco smoke and the warm light coming from under the door.

No response.

You knock again and call out. “Leo? Comte sent me!”

Nothing.

“I know you’re in there!” You try the knob and find the door unlocked. The room beyond is a disaster area. Bits of wire, gears, pretty rocks, books, and only Lumiere knows what else cover every surface except the bed.

Leonardo is lounging against a mound of pillows, his cat perched above his head, a book open on his chest. His bare chest. His wide, muscled, gorgeous . . .

You clear your throat.

He finally opens his eyes. “Ah, cara! Why are you in my room? Did you need something?” He doesn’t sit up or shift position. Or cover his distractingly visible self.

You clear your throat again and will the heat in your face away. “Uhm, ah, Comte wanted me to tell you - ah - he needs you to go someplace tonight.” You manage to get the message out by fixing your eyes on the mess and not the man.

“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” Leo shrugs. He turns the page in his book. Lumiere cracks one golden eye open to watch you.

“Yeah, well. Comte needs you to go out. He’s doing an experiment.”

At this, Leonardo sits up a bit, disturbing the cat. Lumiere hops down in a huff and begins to pick his way through the unholy pile of crap on the floor. “An experiment? Well. Then I should go along, I suppose.” He grins at you and it’s one of those dangerous smiles of his. “Could you put this book up for me while I find my shirt?”

“Sure?” You carefully walk over and around the mess, wobbling with each uneasy step.

When you’re in arms’ reach, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you onto the bed. Onto his chest. His bare skin against the backs of your thighs. “Wh-what the hell, Leonardo?!” You sort of struggle to stand, instinct fighting pride.

“Oh, sorry cara mia. You looked like you might fall.” His dangerous grin was still firmly in place, his golden eyes laughing.

“If I was going to fall, it’s your fault. You need to clean this place up!”

“I would. I’m just so busy.” He tries to help you up, his hands touching you on your legs, your hip, your everywhere - completely unnecessarily - until you get back on your feet. “Maybe you can come help me, hm?”

You try to frown at him but your heart is racing and your cheeks are pink. The look has no impact except to make him smile wider. “Maybe. You can ask me tomorrow, but right now, can you find someplace else to be?”

“I think I’ll go watch the fireworks,” he sighs. “It would be even more beautiful with company . . .”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to watch it with,” you snap back. Then you hurry out before he can reply. But you’re not fast enough. You never are.

“I already found you, cara . . .” His voice, like warm honey, follows you down the hall. It takes you a moment to shake it off. This is not the time to go all doe-eyed. Not when you’ve got Jean to deal with.

He isn’t in his room. Or the library. You find him in the studio, doing, of all things, aerobics. Of course, Jean d’Arc invented aerobics for soldiers so it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. Or maybe it’s just seeing him covered in sweat, his linen undershirt stuck to his skin. Thin silk leggings clinging indecently to . . .

“Mademoiselle?” His empty one-eyed gaze brings you back to the moment and your purpose here.

“Sorry to interrupt Jean. I was coming to check on you because -” you pause. Jean and Comte don’t get along well. If you tell him le Comte needs him gone, it might have the opposite effect. So instead, you say, “I was thinking of visiting Notre Dame with you. I wasn’t sure when you were leaving.”

He looks disturbed. “Right now. You won’t be able to accompany me.” He moves toward the door, all leonine grace.

“Don’t you need to clean up first?” He pauses, looks down at himself and frowns. “Yes . . .”

“Then we have plenty of time. I’ll meet you up front.”

“Mademoiselle -”

Unlike the golden-eyed flirt upstairs, it’s easy to escape Jean before he’s had his say. You feel bad for doing it, but you haven’t been to see the cathedral yet and this is as good an excuse as any.

The hour is growing late, and you know you don’t have much time. You head to Isaac’s room where thankfully, he and Napoleon are gathering the last of their supplies for this little mission. Food and warm coats for the children, nothing fancy but special enough to give the orphans a happy new year.

“Hello you two!” You stand in the doorway, grinning at the way Isaac hops up at your voice. And Napoleon’s warm, slow smile.

“If it isn’t my nunuche. Come to help us pack?”

Isaac shook his head. “We’re pretty much done. No help needed. You can go.”

“Oh? Well . . . I wasn’t really here to help out anyway. Sorry ‘Leon. I just wanted to see how soon you’d be leaving.”

“Do we need to rush?” Napoleon set a hand on one of the packages as if he might pick it up and go now.

“No, I don’t think so. But soon? Comte is doing some sort of experiment tonight. Wants the mansion to himself.”

“An experiment?” Isaac’s eyes light up with interest.

You can’t help but smile at how adorable he looks. “I don’t think it’s the kind of experiment you’d want to be involved in. Less physics, more hocus-pocus.”

“Hocus what?” Napoleon looks confused.

“Nevermind,” you shush him. “Are you about done?”

“Just a few more items to pack,” Isaac reassures you. “We’ll be out within the hour.”

“Perfect.” You smile at them. Isaac looks away, fiddling with his shirt. Napoleon grins back at you.

That smile reminds you of all the surprise kisses you’ve got, waking him up for breakfast. Incorrigible man. You turn to go, with one last target in mind. The hardest target, in fact.

“Oh Sebas?”

Sebastian turns from the table he’s decorating. You see a measuring tape in his hand which he quickly tucks into his pocket.

“Were you . . . checking the distance between that candle stick and the crystal dessert tray?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows go up or the rise in pitch.

Sebas coughs. “Of course not. I was . . . merely . . .” He stops. His eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs assisting le Comte?”

“I am! I was, I mean. He sent me down to tell you we need to get out of the mansion for the evening. He’s doing an experiment.” You aren’t going to let Sebastian intimidate you with his perfect butleriness. Not tonight!

“An experiment you say? Did he mention what?” He lowers his voice as if to add just to himself, “I haven’t seen him perform an experiment first hand yet. What a fascinating entry that would be . . .”

You clear your throat. “You know I can hear you, right? Besides. I don’t think le Comte wants any observers.”

Sebastian turns to look at the beautifully decorated parlor and entryway. It is breathtaking. The colors, the placement, the food . . . it’s a shame to waste it. “Surely we can stay long enough to see if some guests arrive,” he ventures.

“You could ask.”

“Or you could run along and ask for me. I have a few more things to finish here.” Sebas gestures to the absolutely perfect decor.

You frown. “It looks done to me. And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

The two of you argue good-naturedly back and forth until Arthur, Dazai, and Theo come traipsing down the stairs.

“Would you quit yapping, hondje? I can hear you all the way in my room. With the door shut!”

Arthur elbows him. “Come on chap, that’s an exaggeration. It was only with the door open.”

Dazai gives you a wink. “I think you are both teasing Toshiko-san. Her voice is too beautiful to complain of hearing. Like birdsong in the morning.”

“I’m not a fan of that myself,” Napoleon chimes in on his way down the stairs. He has a box almost as big as he is in his arms. Isaac is right behind him, carrying another man-sized container.

You aren’t sure if you should be insulted or flattered at this point, and in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because just as you’re about to speak up, Leonardo comes up behind Isaac a little too quickly, startling the physicist.

Isaac drops his box, which tumbles down to take out Napoleon. Napoleon’s box goes flying and in seconds, the whole entryway is covered in children’s clothes and shoes, and little baggies of candy.

Sebastian looks as if he might cry.

Napoleon starts to laugh, one of his hard, belly-shaking, can’t-stop fits.

Which of course, is when Jean arrives. He looks down from the top of the stair like a visitor in a madhouse, watching the patients with a look of chagrin.

“I suppose we need to help pick all this up before we go,” Theo grumbles.

Arthur gives a reluctant nod as Dazai bends to lift a tiny little dress that looks as if it was made to fit a toddler. “This is almost Toshiko’s size, isn’t it?”

You punch him lightly in the arm. “It might fit my foot . . . thanks.”

Vincent and Will are the next on scene, and while angelic Vincent immediately rushes to help, Shakespeare just looks sad that he missed the mayhem.

“Would that we were just a moment quicker. I could have caught the look of surprise on Isaac’s face and watched this riotous madness unfold.”

“Will,” you frown. “Can you just help pick stuff up? This is taking forever and le Comte said-”

The hall clock rings the hour. Nine. Precisely the time you were all supposed to be out of the mansion.

Surely, you think, surely le Comte would make certain he was alone before doing anything dangerous. Right?

A wave of heat rushes through the house as if something burst in its stone center. The air ripples and the walls bend and flex as if they were made of soft pudding. Colors flow and blend in bizarre combinations that end in black. Darkness and silence.

You realize you’re lying on the tile floor of the entryway. Your eyelids feel heavy and your head is pounding. You open them carefully, hoping the world is ok and you are ok, and all the residents of the mansion are fine too. Above you, the ribbons and lights Sebas strung up are still hanging. You turn your head. There’s the table, and the remains of the mess.

And sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes is a . . . a little boy. With blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looks at you and smiles like an angel.

“Umm, hi,” you say and give him a wave.

“Hi.” He imitates your gesture.

Where did the kid come from? And where are the vampires? You sit up and look around. And there’s another kid! This one looks a little older. Dark black hair, eyes like big round jade beads. He’s naked, sleeping with his little butt in the air, legs curled under him, head on another pile of clothes.

You scramble to your feet, beginning to panic. There are other children in the room. A little boy with strawberry brown hair and cherry-blossom eyes is constructing a tower from silverware, assisted by another boy with dark grey hair and amber eyes.

A little boy on the steps is trying desperately to tie Jean’s eye patch to his head and hold a bit of shirt to his chest, only he can’t because two hands isn’t enough.

You slap yourself to wake up.

A tiny little hand tugs at your skirt. “No. No owies.”

You look down to see another blue-eyed tot, this one with chestnut hair. He is staring up at you in disapproval and the expression looks damn familiar. “Theo?”

He grunts, which is probably a yes. “Pancakes. Want pancakes.” He tugs your skirt in the direction of the kitchen.

Definitely Theodorus. You crouch to look him in the eye. “Huh. Pancakes? Alright. If I’m stuck in a dream about kiddie vampires, I might as well make them pancakes.”

Your words draw the attention of most of the boys. They crowd around you, herding you toward the kitchen. All except Mozart who is on the table, tapping champagne glasses with a spoon. He glances at you in annoyance before resuming his table-symphony.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you tell them. “I’ll make pancakes, but first you’ve got to get dressed.” You point at the clothes on the floor. You notice one messy-haired boy picking his nose. “And wash your hands.”

“Are they . . . are they all children,” asks a confused voice from behind you. Sebastian stands up from where he fell, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“No. I’m just having a very weird dream,” you inform him.

Sebastian pinches you. It hurts. “No. If this was a dream, that should have ended it,” he says after a moment.

“You could have pinched yourself,” you mutter.

“Not if it’s your dream.” He glances around, counting the little boys that are scrambling into their clothes. “Seems all of them are accounted for except le Comte. Have you seen him since you got up?”

“I just woke up a few minutes ago. I’ve only seen these,” you gesture to the group, then reach out to snag Dazai before he empties a pitcher of champagne over the sleeping Napoleon.

The little dark haired trickster wriggles out of your grip and runs off laughing. You’re pretty sure you need to keep a close eye on that one.

“Then I will go upstairs and check on him. You take this lot to the dining room. I think some food will settle them down.” He watches as Jean, dressed now in an adorable red and white frock, chases after Will with a fork. “It seems they have no memory of themselves.”

“I don’t know about that. Theo has his usual frown. And he asked for pancakes.”

Sebastian nods. “Probably elements of his personality that existed when he was a child. Just a guess. Hopefully le Comte will know more.”

“Hopefully he can reverse this,” you reply. The idea of spending your life with immortal children is terrifying. At least, you think, they are out of diapers.

As Sebas bounds up the stairs, you herd the (now dressed) munchkins into the dining room. They tumble forward, all little knees, elbows and fists, knocking over vases and coat hangers and a chair on the way.

Little Arthur stumbles onto the carpet and his eyes begin to tear up. Vincent kneels down beside him to check the ouchie while Theo pats him gently on the head as you would to calm a dog.

You bend down to see if the tyke is ok. His leg is a little red where he bumped it, but probably fine. “Do you want some ice?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No. Pick me up. Pwease?” His eyes get big as he pleads with you.

Unable to say no, you lift him into your arms. He’s a little heavy, but not more than a sack of flour anyway. “Is that better?”

“Mhmm.” Arthur gives you an endearing smile. He lays his head on your chest and sighs happily.

“Ok, but I’m going to have to put you down to make pancakes. Alright?”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t complain when you settle him in a chair. You realize then that this is not going to work. These seats are for grown adults, not little kids.

Before you can think of how to solve it, little Leonardo does it for you. “I have a big books,” he announces. And grabs Jean and Napoleon by the hand. “Get a books.”

The three of them tromp merrily away, with you not sure if you ought to go with them or keep track of the rest of the kids.

“Hondje,” Theo giggled from behind you. “Hooooondje! Pancakes!”

You glare down at the little tyke. “I am not a puppy!”

Your fierce tone puts tears in his eyes and in a heartbeat, Vincent is there, hugging his brother. They are so adorable that you forget to be annoyed. “Alright, sorry for yelling at you, cutie,” you tell Theo. You ruffle his hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.”

You snag Dazai off the windowsill before he can pull it open. “You too, you little prankster.” He giggles adorably and seems perfectly happy to watch the world from your hip.

Mozart follows along behind you, still looking annoyed that he had to leave his ‘instrument’ behind.

Isaac and Arthur stay at the table, where you can just see the tops of their little heads. You’d worry about leaving normal kids alone, even for the time it takes to cook some pancakes, but these are vampires-turned-kids. They’ll probably be fine. The dining room might not be, but that’s le Comte’s problem.

But . . . where was Will? You realize you haven’t seen him since you picked Arthur up. And if any one of these little devils is a danger on his own . . .

You carefully set Dazai down and pull the pancake batter ingredients out. You put them in one big bowl and hand Dazai, Mozart, Theo, and Vincent their own spoons. “Alright my big-littles, if we’re going to eat pancakes tonight, you have to stir.”

Vincent’s happy little face takes on a serious look as he plunges his spoon into the mix and begins to stir. Theo watches him for a moment before trying out his own batter-making skills.

Mozart looks at the spoon and then at the batter. “No. Dirty.” He throws the spoon across the kitchen and crosses his arms.

“Wolfie, come on. It’s not dirty. You don’t need to touch it with your hands.”

He turns his head and refuses to look at you.

“Oh come on,” you sigh. “Fine. You can . . . supervise.” Which is a fantastic idea right up until Dazai tosses a handful of flour at Mozart.

Mozart flings himself at Dazai and they begin to chase each other around the kitchen, Dazai laughing and Mozart snarling like an angry cat.

“Good enough. You guys keep up the good work. I’ll be right back.” And off you go in search of Shakespeare. He isn’t in the dining room. Or in the entryway. But you notice a slight hazy smoke coming from the parlor.

You poke your head into the room and damned if that’s not exactly where he is, trying to catch one of the heavy curtains on fire with a candle. “WILL!” You dash across the room and pull him, and the candle, away from the smoking curtain.

“William Shakespeare, what do you think you’re doing?!” Your tone is scarily reminiscent of your own mother and it makes you wince a little. But that doesn’t seem to have any effect on the tiny bard.

He grins up at you, his eyes sparkling. “Twagedy.”

You can’t help but notice he’s missing both his front teeth. Kinda like a reverse bunny. “Tragedy, huh? If I catch you trying to burn down the mansion again, I’ll show you a real tragedy mister.”

Rather than looking threatened, he seems excited by this. He nods his head. “Ok. Ok!”

“Ah. No. I mean, I’ll show you a real tragedy only if you’re a good boy and you don’t try to burn down the mansion. Alright?”

Will scrunches his face up, as if thinking hard about this. Then he nods again. “Weal twagedy! Ok!”

You sigh and carry him to the dining room. Where Isaac is pulling apart a house plant and making little noises to himself. Arthur is nowhere to be seen, but judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, you’re pretty sure where he went.

You set Will down and throw open the door. Just in time to see Dazai and Arthur toss a canister of flour over Mozart. At least Theo and Vincent are being good, you think.

Mozart, dusted white from head to toe, looks about two seconds from going full cage-fighter on the other two boys. You scoop him up and set him in the big sink. “Nope, no fighting Wolfie. We’ll just clean you up.”

You turn to look at Dazai and Arthur. “That was really mean, you two. Now he’s got to change clothes. You go get him something to wear. Now. Something clean!” You aren’t completely sure they understand, but they both walk in the direction you point. Hopefully they grab Mozart some clean clothes from the pile. Or at least, don’t find more trouble while you give him a mini-bath.

Just as you turn on the water, you hear Theo behind you. “Pancakes.” You turn and he’s staring at you, arms crossed.

Vincent looks at you with huge, blue eyes. You swear they get bigger as they fix on you. “Pancakes?” He looks like he might cry.

“Yes, yes. I know. Pancakes.” You sigh. Mozart has stripped off his clothes and is trying to wash himself under the faucet. You put the plug in and add some soap for bubbles. Then step over to the stove to heat a griddle. Talk about multitasking!

Will is watching all of this with keen interest. Hopefully it’s enough ‘twagedy’ to keep him occupied.

Mozart manages not to drown himself in the sink while you cook, and wonder of wonders, Arthur and Dazai bring back clean clothes. The bright, chaotic colors and the tulle tutu are nothing Wolfie would normally wear, but hell, at least it’s clothing.

You set a dripping Mozart on the floor with a towel and finish cooking. With the last pancake on the griddle, you decide to check the dining room - there’s a lot of noise coming from in there. When you poke your head out, you see Leonardo directing Jean and Napoleon in book placement.

“A books!” He tells you proudly.

Mozart in his plaid yellow jacket and pink tutu comes toddling out to see what’s going on.

Leonardo covers his mouth at the sight and Jean just stares blankly. But Napoleon collapses in a fit of giggles.

Mozart huffs and crosses his arms.

You pat his fluffy white hair. You mean to comfort him, but it’s so soft you can’t help petting him more. Wolfie glares up at you but he doesn’t try to get away, so you figure he probably doesn’t hate it.

“Thank you Leo. And ‘Leon. You too Jean. You are very good boys.”

Leonardo gives you a wide, lazy smile that you swear is just like the one he wears when you catch him napping in weird places.

Napoleon gets ahold of himself enough to give you a little bow. On his pudgy toddler self, it looks ridiculous but also endearing.

You get the boys into their chairs, where thanks to the books, they can reach the table. Then you serve up the pancakes. This is about the point Sebas comes back, carrying a little blonde kid. One with astoundingly perceptive golden eyes.

“I see you found le Comte,” you sigh. If he’s a child too, what are the odds he can reverse this side effect of his little experiment?

Sebastian looks over the table of seated munching munchkins. “Good work with the boys. And yes, he was wandering the hall outside his laboratory.”

Le Comte turns to look up at him. “I was not wandering. I was walking to my study to fetch another set of research notes.” His voice is high and sweet, even though the words are quite adult.

“Does he remember everything then? He doesn’t sound like the others,” you ask Sebas.

“He seems to,” Sebastian confirms.

“He is right here,” le Comte interrupts. “And perfectly capable of answering questions himself. Myself. So yes - I remember everything. I know who and where I am, and what happened.”

It is so weird to hear those words from that cherubic little face. You reach over to pinch his little cheek.

“Ma cherie . . . please . . .”

“Sorry. You’re just so cute like this.” You grin at him. How often do you get to see le Comte out of sorts after all?

Sebastian clears his throat to get your attention. “He says there isn’t a way to reverse this, but that it should wear off.”

“When?”

“Based on my calculations, the effect is bound within the rule of threes. So if I extrapolate from the formula what the far edge of the continuum disturbance might be, I’m left with three options. It could evaporate within 9 hours, 9 days, or 9 months.”

While you aren’t sure what most of that means, you get the time frames. “So, wait. This could be over by morning or I could be stuck babysitting for NINE MONTHS?”

Sebastian grins at you and you swear he is enjoying this. But then, he’s not the one that spent the last two hours wrangling the little monsters. He looks over the table where the tiny-tot-vamps are fist to facing pancakes, well except for Mozart who is using his fork. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. You seem to have a talent for this.”

“Fine,” you grin. “I fed ‘em dinner, you get them ready for bed.” See how he likes chasing down the terror-tots for bath time, teeth-brushing, and pajamas!

Sebastian nods. You can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows exactly what you’re trying to do. But he’s the world’s best butler and if he can handle this herd as adults, he’s sure he can handle them as children.

He claps his hands together to get their attention. Eleven little faces turn to look at him in unison. “It’s time to get ready for bed.” A chorus of whining little voices insist that in fact, they don’t need to sleep anytime soon, but Sebas is having none of it.

With another clap, he rounds the little vamps up and herds them out of the dining room, trailed by le Comte who looks like he wouldn’t mind going to bed right now at all.

You spend the next hour cleaning the kitchen and dining area. How such little people can make such big messes is beyond you, but this job is still easier than rounding them up for bathtime. You tiredly make your way out into the hall, only to see Sebas dragging himself out of the baths.

His hair is mussed. His clothes are soaked. He has bubbles coming out of his ears.

You try to hide a grin but can’t.

“Help me,” he mouths silently as a mob of partially dressed boys appears behind him.

Though it’s tempting to just walk on up to your room, you can’t leave a soul in need like that. Besides, Sebastian would definitely get revenge later. So you stop and smile at him sweetly, reaching out to snag Will as he tries to dart past you.

“If you boys will put on your pajamas properly, I’ll read you a bedtime story,” you offer.

“Twagedy?” Asks Will, tugging his arm out of your grip.

“Sure, hon. I’ll make it the saddest story ever read for toddlers.”

He beams up at you with genuine pleasure in his mismatched eyes.

Sebastian nearly cries with relief. He helps the boys finish tugging on their nightshirts and helps you gather them in the study.

The little vampires pile onto the couch like puppies, except for Leonardo. He slumps onto the floor and begins to nod off while the others are still getting comfy.

You look over the book selection. There’s not much here for kids. Sure, a treatise on combustion engines would probably put them to sleep - well, maybe not Isaac - but everyone else, yes. But it’s not very . . . kid friendly. Or, uh, tragic. Then your eyes light on an illustrated copy of The Ugly Duckling. Perfect.

You sit down on the couch in the midst of the boys. Theo snuggles to your left, and Arthur snuggles to your right. Dazai and Vincent sit on your lap, and you’ve got Mozart lounging on the back of the couch, peering over one shoulder, while Will does the same on your other side. Le Comte curls up on a pillow at the far end, next to Jean. Isaac claims his own spot on the opposite end. Napoleon sits across from you on Sebastian’s lap.

With all the boys accounted for, you begin to read them the tale of the ugly duckling. It doesn’t seem like the kind of story to put a crowd of little boys to sleep, but before you reach the last page, every single one of them is out like a light. Soft, even breathing and little snores fill the room.

You look across to see if you can get Sebastian to help you carry the tykes to their room, but he’s fallen asleep too. As you look down at their sweet, sleeping faces, you think, it’d be a shame to wake them. So you get as comfortable as you can on the couch and in no time, you’re dozing off.

Dreams of baby vampires run through your mind. In one, you try to explain to your mother that none of these babies are actually yours, but she won’t believe you. In another, you push a giant stroller through Paris and lecture the tots on the architecture. It’s almost a relief when a surprised shout stirs you awake.

An adult Napoleon is mid-kiss with poor Sebas, who certainly didn’t mean to wake him. Leonardo laughs from his spot on the floor. A grown up, full bellied laugh. That’s about the point you realize Arthur and Theo are also back to their adult selves, their heads still pillowed on your lap. Dazai and Vincent are snuggled to your chest, looking quite pleased. You jump to your feet, nearly knocking them to the floor.

Mozart loses his balance and falls off the back of the couch, and Jean leaps away from le Comte as if burned. Dazai is chuckling and muttering something about one hell of a good joke, while Isaac looks deeply disturbed.

“What happened,” Will asks, sounding dazed.

“It’s better not to ask,” you reply and head to your room to sleep off this weirdest of new year’s eves.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #new years 2021 #better late than never #fanfic #fanfiction #otome #otome boys #fluff #silliness

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ginazmemeoir · 3 years ago

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so i was inspired by @h00man-bean and here you go with a fic about Kaz and Inej as the Devil and the Reaper.

tagging @h00man-bean @mango-pickle @carmen-riddle @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @momo-all-the-way @gopikanyari @aadyeah @reddish-green-personality @weird-u @holding-infinity-and-a-book @dragonfairy1231 @totallyforgotyouwerehere @a-dragon-under-the-stars @taareginn

I crash into consciousness. The sound of gurgling water and rustling leaves greets me as I stand up. Strange. The last time I was alive, I had arthritis and was confined to a wheelchair. All Nina could do was slow mine and Inej’s death. I remember the last breath I drew, the last thought I had, the last time I saw Inej smile. And then nothing. Just an empty void, just – not being anymore.

I look at myself, flex my toes. It appears as if death has returned my old skin back to me, but it still doesn’t look like mine. This one is clear as if it was tended to by a Grisha tailor daily, as if the man who bore it had never worked a day. I am wearing the suit I stole from Pekka Rollins, decorated with a genuine gold pin showing a crow with a lion’s head in its claws. My cane lies beside me along with my hat. Either I am in a coma and am dying a slow, painful death as many of my enemies wished, or I have woken from a dream and nothing that I know happened, never really happened. I would rather prefer the first. Then, I see Inej.

She stands there in her captain’s uniform, the teal coat Sturmhond gave her, coupled with breeches and boots. I bet her knives are still tucked there. Her skin, still the same gleaming bronze, is now wrinkle free. Her eyes are kohl rimmed, and her ink black hair spill onto her shoulders. She looks at me with confusion, her eyes searching. “Kaz?” she asks. I move toward her, and then run. Funny how a good leg is almost as useful as a grisha crafted cane.

I clasp her hands in mine, her breath caressing me. “Inej,” I whisper “What are we doing here?”

“You’re both dead actually.” says a voice behind me. I turn around to see a Fjerdan merchant approaching us. He wears a blood red coat with gold lapels. His blonde hair is slicked back, and he walks with the cool confidence of someone who just cracked a deal. The only thing differentiating him from a Kerch businessman that I once looted is that he’s surrounded by floating rocks. Inej immediately kneels beside me, and nudges me. “Sorry but I have a bad leg. Also I don’t bow to animated turkeys.” I say as I go and retrieve my cane and hat. The Fjerdan chuckles and replies in heavily accented Kerch, “I suspect that bad leg excuse is of any use to now, Kaz Brekker. Also, please get up Inej, you look extremely out of place bowing to me in a teal coat.” Inej gets up reluctantly, and when she does, she has… tears in her eyes?

“Sankt Demyan of the Rime, thank you for protecting me.” She says, and hands him one of her knives. “Ah. How poetic.” He says, and pockets the knife. That is when I realize that we, in fact are dead. And Inej’s saints, are in fact, real. Great. There goes my ten thousand kruge. Thankfully the rest of the Crows aren’t here or I would have ended up as quite literally, a bankrupt soul.

“How many times have I told you Demyan to let me welcome the visitors? You’re hardly a gracious host, let alone a good gambler,” says a Shu woman, as she walks in behind Demyan, along with a Suli girl. The Suli girl was surrounded by floating rocks as well. She looked at Inej, and smiled at her. “And now, I would like those gold buttons of yours.” Says the Shu woman.

Inej hastened to remove her own lapel, a dragon and a fox, when the woman stops her. “I’m not talking to you Wraith, I’m talking to Demyan. We had bet that Kaz Brekker would kick him in the balls when he first arrived. I however had gone for a scathing insult. So seems like I won.” She says, and takes the gold buttons that Demyan removed (albeit while grumbling) in her slender hands. “Sankta Yeryin of the Mill, and Sankta Marya of the Rock, I- it’s an honour to meet you.” says Inej, and proceeds to bow more times than she has apologized when she was alive. I am shocked to see the way these so called “saints” milk Inej’s “devotion”. She was the closest thing to a saint that people actually had down in the mortal realm, and I would rather have kicked Demyan in the balls than let Inej bow again. But I restrain myself for the sake of my jaan.

Inej gives two more knives to the women, and stands beside me. She looks like a ridiculous schoolgirl, all giddy as if she had met her favourite aunts, and I catch myself falling in love with her all over again as a dead soul. Demyan soon interrupts my thoughts with that sinuous high-pitched voice, and asks, “I see you’re unusually quite today Dirtyhands. What’s the matter?” “I’m sorry, it’s just I’m wrapping my head around the concept of not existing physically anymore. Also I’ve heard you carry your belongings with you to the afterlife, so where’s all my gold?” I reply. Yeryin chuckles, her slit eyes crinkling while Marya looks at me in disbelief. Her voice, booming like a mountain echo, repeats what she, and countless others back in the mortal world, including my wife, thought each day, “Have you no honour Kaz Brekker?” I just shrug and adjust my hat.

“Anyways, ah, back to the topic at hand.” says Demyan, as he walks towards a tree. No wait, the tree. It could easily be as tall as a mountain. Five springs gush forth from its roots, and a heart is suspended from thorns right in front of a tear in it. The heart with the thorns I remember from the most epic heist of my career, involving legends and the Ravkan monarchy. The tree I do not. Inej asks, “Mind me, O great Saint of the Dead, but could you please acquaint us with our surroundings?” Wow. That’s a lot of vocabulary from a woman whose last sentence, in my memories, is complaining how the medicine she gave me smelled like rat fart. “Oh yup that’s Djel. Or rather his ash tree. Quite popular with my countryfolk.” he says cheerfully. “And we’re here in a mountain in the Sikurzoi, in a different plane of existence. For you, are dead.” he continues, with that ridiculous smile of his. Marya then steps forward, her voice slightly less enthusiastic, giving me the feel that this is all probably quite rehearsed for a while now. “You are a long way from home my loves. Kaz Brekker, you died a natural death. Inej Ghafa, you also died a natural death. Both of you were a hundred and thirteen years old, with Inej dying within a year of your death. The form you have now, is the form you chose to be remembered as.” she says. Yeryin huffs past us, her robes billowing, and hands the buttons over to Demyan, raising up her hand to his face and showing a symbol that quite contradicts with the Saint of Hospitality. “I should have expected such from you, you merchant scum.” she says. She then turns to directly address us and says, “Enough introductions though. The real reason you’ve been brought here is for another reason entirely. You see, the souls of the dead…”

I roll my eyes as the Sankta prepares for another lecture about how our “feeble human brains can’t comprehend the world.” I regret having married Inej in this moment in the afterlife though. Dirtyhands would’ve conned them by now and found a way back to the mortal realm. Kaz Brekker on the other hand, sits on the grass like a five-year old listening a story. Inej sits beside me, her coat now lying beside her in a heap and her hair fluttering open. How I wish I could’ve seen her in the open sea like that.

“…are usually brought to the other sides of the tree.” Yeryin says, waving her hands in an elegant motion to summon up a throne made out of the river pebbles and rocks, confirming that the trio were all, in fact, Fabrikators. “There, they are all assessed in context with their deeds on earth. Everything that they’ve gone through, and everything they’ve done is all taken into account by the Saint of The Book.” She then points to a woman, invisible until this point, sitting near the tree. She bends over a desk, poring over a giant ledger and surrounded by thick books. Her thick blonde hair covered her face, her glasses perched on her wide nose, and her fair, plump skin flushed. “The three of us then decide their fate in the afterlife. Those, who we decide are ‘good’, enjoy the fruits of paradise for a while and then return to the making at the heart of this world. Those, who we deem ‘bad’, are impaled on the thorn wood until they are purged of their sins. They then bathe in one of Djel’s springs, and return back to merzost.”

“Yeah but why are you telling us all of this? We get it, we’re dead, so which way are we going?” I ask the Saints. Inej elbows me once again, scolding me with her eyes. I shrug, and stand up with my cane. “Unless you have something else to tell us, I would like to take your leave. Saints.” I start to walk, when I find myself tripping over. I right myself with my cane just in time, and see that my hands and feet are bound by vines, Demyan’s hands raised up. These saints want a taste of Dirtyhands? Fine. I will show them Dirtyhands.

I see Kaz’s demeanour change. He slips into the familiar garb of Dirtyhands, his eyes cold as flint, lips slightly pursed, standing like the King of the Barrel. I get into a fighting stance, my heavy coat no longer obstructing me. I feel the presence of my remaining knives, regretting handing over the rest. I respect my Saints, but nobody, and I repeat nobody, touches my husband and escapes alive.

Marya stands immovable, her eyes gazing at something in the distance. Yeryin clasps her hands, and states, “You came here at our wish Kaz Brekker. You leave with our wish as well. No need to reach for your knives Wraith they won’t serve you here.” I feel a tug inside me, as if someone is yanking on my leash. Before I know, I am pulled back, my breath knocked out of me, and I crash into a wooden chair. Kaz suffers a similar fate beside me, and I can see his anger barely in check. “Why are you doing this to us?” I ask Marya. She glances at me, her eyes tearful, and replies, “Because we’re tired Inej Ghafa. Because you’re now, the new gods of death.”

Great. We’re the subject of a cruel joke by the Saints and are being tortured for our sins. “We don’t want anything to do with you or your jobs. Just release us and march us over to the thorn wood, I’m ready to answer for my crimes.” “Oh you silly girl, we won’t kill our scapegoats, will we? Isn’t that right my fellow sisters?” Demyan says in his ridiculously cheerful manner. That smile takes me back to the West Stave, Heleen bartering over me with the slavers, her sinuous smile each time I resisted her. I eventually did track my slavers, although only Kaz knows of their fate, for he was the one who insisted on having them. Demyan then comes over to us, and the Saint of Death’s face becomes morose. He kneels in front of us, as if pleading with us, and says, “You see, we’re linked directly with humans and grisha. Death. Hospitality. Pathfinder. Our roles were fundamental to the balance of the world, to the smooth passage of souls and justice in the afterlife. However, seeing the Starless One return back to merzost, seeing Juris merge with the Dragonqueen, has made us realize that we thought impossible, was actually just – improbable. You would certainly know about that, wouldn’t you Dirtyhands?” Demyan glances at Kaz, his eyes moist, while Kaz looks at him unflinchingly. Weren’t the Saints destined to perform their duties? Then why are they looking for scapegoats? Demyan comes back to me, his tone rushed as he blurted out his plan. “We long to be free Inej Ghafa. We too long to return back from where we came. We too long to feel.” Yeryin and Marya then float over to us. “A Saint that dispenses justice, must have suffered injustice to be accurate in his judgements. He should be immovable, yet sensitive to the souls he receives. Kaz Brekker, you have shown us the resilience and fury of a Saint.” Yeryin says. Marya then glances at me, and begins, “Jaan, you’re one of my own people, and so I hold a special place for you. The Saint that is the Reaper, who brings over the souls of the dead, must kill without remorse. Must feel for each soul with all of her heart. She must be indiscriminate in her search.” “And you Inej Ghafa have shown us that heart.” Demyan finishes, clasping my hand. “The part is yours, should you keep it. However, remember, you must take it up with free will, for handling the deceased is a far more tedious and draining task than it sounds.”

I look back at Kaz. His eyes are focussed on the ground, his brain coming up with another wild scheme. I look at the Saints with disbelief. All this time, as I, as millions, prayed to them, honouring their martyrdoms with festivals and prayers, the Saints just longed to be human. Kaz finally speaks after what feels like an eternity. “I have a question. Are the Saints willing to answer that?” “But of course. That is the least we can do for you.” says Yeryin.

“You might’ve come across two souls in your eternal career. Jordie, and Pekka Rollins. What fate awaited them?” I ask hesitantly. I am both excited and afraid of the answer the saints hold for me. Marya looks at the Saint of the Book. She rises, and comes towards us, a small register in her hands. She hands it to Marya, and returns back, giving me a not-so subtle side look. Marya searches for the names I asked, clears her throat, and begins. “Pekka Rollins, the leader of the Dimes, a gang in the streets of Ketterdam, was impaled on the thorn wood. He was purged of all his sins, and then chose to return back to merzost. As for Jordie, your brother, he did not choose to stay for long.” I look back at Marya. “His soul… was tormented. Even though he was healed with the waters of Djel, even though we helped his soul discover his unknown gift as a Grisha Tidemaker, he kept searching this garden for you. In the end, he chose to take a single bite of Djel’s fruit, and returned back to merzost, finally at peace.”

Jordie’s fate stuns me into silence. Pekka Rollins snatched our life on Earth, but even in the gardens of paradise my brother kept searching for me. My vision blurs, my brother’s destiny opening a well of sadness in me, his peaceful return to merzost the only respite offered to him. This was the place where Jordie’s soul searched for me. Where he waited and waited for me, until he dissolved back into the heart of the world. And this is where I would choose to stay for eternity, the only place that holds my brother’s peace. I look at Marya, and nod.

Beside me, Inej grasps my hand, and smiles. She then looks down at Demyan, and says, “We will take up the mantel of your duties, O Revered Saints.” I roll my eyes. It’s as if Sturmhond’s vocabulary worms it’s way into Inej’s brain each time she talks to her saints.

The saints all look at each other, then smile and open their arms. “Our powers, are then yours, Wraith and Dirtyhands.” Golden rays, the colour of sundried wheat and barley emit from Yeryin. Ink black waves surge from Demyan while a shower of dirt erupts from Marya. The three slowly disappear, probably to a much better place. The knives Inej gave to them clatter on the ground.

Inej picks up her coat, dusts it off, and shrugs it on. She picks up her knives, touching them to her forehead, and wipes them on her sleeve. “So what do we now?” she asks me. “Well we’re here for eternity, alone, at least till you go off to bring our souls. Let’s have some fun.” I say and suggestively smirk. The Saint of the Book widens her eyes in horror as she looks at us. “Oh keep it in your pants, you perv.” I say, as I give a big shout and run towards the gentle slope along the riverbank, Inej’s soft padded boots following me, as we both tumble into each other and hurtle to the earth.

#soc #six of crows #kaz #inej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #the wraith #wraith #leigh bardugo #kanej fic #story time #vasu #sankt demyan of the rime #sankta yeryin of the mill #sankta marya of the rock #grishaverse

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

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Booyah!

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,725

Summary: You and Bucky use Tony’s time machine to take a trip back to NYC 1995 and visit Fao Schwarz and have a fun night out.

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club 24 hour surprise drabble challenge and Traveling Through Time (which was my idea haha) I decided to do something really sort of ridiculous and silly. Tony built a time machine bc we know he can and the team gets to just have fun with it. It was hard to decide when to go back to but I picked the 90s because it’s part of my childhood. Although, I was way too young to be clubbing then- but I definitely went to Fao Schwarz! haha Anyway, hope you enjoy this. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Silly and fun fluff! Kisses! Some implied sexy fun! It’s just you and Bucky checking out 1995 for a few days, a few fun 90s slang phrases that I hopefully used right HAHA ;)

“Doll, are you sure this is a good idea?” Bucky looks at you before his eyes scan the time machine in Tony’s lab, the lights blinking sporadically and a low hum echoing off the walls. “I mean, what if we get stuck in 1995?” You give him a good once-over, letting your eyes linger at how nicely his white tee fits across his chest, “listen, you’re gonna love it and you’ll fit right in.” You let your gaze drop to his ass in the tight high waisted jeans before giving your belt a tug and pulling your jean jacket over your shoulders, “let’s go!”

He takes your hand and follows you inside, still unsure about the idea, “I wish this thing looked more like the DeLorean. At least we’d arrive in style. Well, here goes nothing.” Bucky closes the door and takes you in his arms, pulling down the lever and squeezing his eyes shut. For a second it feels like you’re free falling and you shriek, clinging to Bucky in a death grip. When the feeling subsides, you open your eyes and give Bucky a nervous glance. “You ok?” he asks quietly, smoothing some hair from your face. “Yes, you?”

Bucky nods, grasping your hand and pushing open the door of the time machine. “Woah.” You look outside and you’re greeted by the bright billboards of 1995’s times square. The Sony and Panasonic brand names stream across the skyline. “Hey, look at the Coca Cola symbol! That’s so cool!” You start pointing out all the fun things you recognize as Bucky just spins around in a circle, admiring the flashing lights and noises of the city streets.

After turning on the cloaking device for the machine he finally speaks, “ok, this is da bomb! I mean Times Square our time is cool, but this just feels different, lots of energy.” You narrow your eyes at his use of the 90s slang phrase, “are you making fun?” It’s hard to hide your smile when he takes your hand and holds it tightly in his own, exclaiming, “as if! It’s hella good!” You let your laughter loose and clutch your belly, trying to calm your breathing before saying, “let’s start with some toys!” Bucky’s eyebrows raise at the mention of toys and you smack his arm, “not those kinds of toys Buck. Although, we can definitely find some fun shops around here later if you want.”

He winks and lets you lead him away from the crowd to hail a cab. “Are you gonna tell me where we’re going baby girl?” You shake your head and slide into the car, giving the man an address with no name. The driver smiles and takes off, Bucky’s arm sliding around your shoulders so he can pull you close. “Ok, so this is totally fun. Who knew time travel would ever be a real thing?” You giggle and snuggle closer, “only for Tony and a lucky select few.”

When you pull up in front of FAO Schwarz, Bucky nearly jumps out of the cab, “no way! What a perfect idea! I haven’t been here in forever.” He takes your hand and rushes toward the door, stopping so abruptly you smash into his solid back. “Shit doll. I’m so sorry, I just wanted to ask if you had an extra hair tie?” Forgetting all about your dizziness you give him a mischievous smirk, “do I have a hair tie?” Your eyebrows wiggle so fast he starts to fidget nervously, “oh no. I’m definitely sorry I asked.”

You reach into your backpack and pull out a bright blue velvet scrunchie, “here you go Buck.” He first glares at the scrunchie before gracing you with the same look, “fine. Just. Don’t tell anyone.” He gathers his hair between his long fingers and pulls it to the base of his neck, securing it in messy bun with the bright blue velvet. “You. Look. Amazing.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but starts jogging toward the door, holding it open before dashing in behind you. The moment you enter the store you’re hit with a buzz of electricity from all the energy. It’s mobbed and there’s so much to look at you can barely focus your eyes. You hold tight to Bucky’s hand as you two start to wander around, acting like two kids every time you discover something new.

Bucky spots these giant bouncy Earth balls and grabs one, throwing it straight at your head. “Good catch,” he shouts, laughing when you launch it back at him as hard as you can. “And nice throw.” He picks up a basketball next and throws it at the hoop standing nearby, getting a clean shot in. “Now you’re just showing off.” He slides up next to you and pulls you in for a kiss. “Is it working?” he teases against your lips, deepening the kiss.

You nibble his bottom lip and reluctantly drag yourself away, “definitely.” With a giggle you head off toward the stuffed animal section, nearly screeching when you find the biggest stuffed teddy bear you’ve ever seen. “OH MY GOD BUCKY! I neeeeeed him!” When he doesn’t answer you turn around and can barely see his large frame hidden behind the biggest stuffed dog ever. “EEEEEE nevermind! I want him.”

Bucky somehow manages to get you into his arms while still holding the dog, “I think he needs to come home with us. You can hug him when I’m away on missions and you miss me.” You cuddle them both and nod into his chest, “yes please.” Bucky puts him back on the shelf so you can get him on the way out and heads up the escalator. You both smile big when you pass the iconic clock with the train and Bucky leans in close, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I love you.”

When you reach the second floor his eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sight of the Lego section. “Holy shit, this is insane!” You watch as he runs from set to set, gawking over how amazing each one is, “doll, you have to see this!” Following him around you can’t help but feel like a giddy kid, helping him pick out some sets to take home, “get whatever you want Buck. It will be fun to do these together.”

By the time you reach the checkout you’ve got the giant dog, several Lego sets and a few other trinkets you couldn’t resist. You stow everything away in the hidden time machine and laugh when your stomach growls, “I need to eat!” Bucky enthusiastically agrees, “let’s bounce!” You laugh while hailing another cab, at this point almost getting used to his usage of the fun 90s phrases, “aiiiiiight, Buck.”

Bucky’s stomach grumbles again and you pat it, dancing your fingers up to his jaw, “we’re almost there.” The food at Nobu does not disappoint and by the time you guys leave you’re full of delicious Japanese inspired cuisine. Bucky rubs his stomach, “I want to eat there every day!” You laugh, “me too! Ok, so let’s head to the hotel and nap and then get changed for our night out.”

You walk along the streets, your pace slow and easy as you enjoy the sights and sounds of everything around you. Once you reach the Plaza hotel you check in and head upstairs to your room, immediately toeing off your shoes and running a bath in the jacuzzi tub. Bucky watches as you remove your clothes and step into the hot water, sighing as it covers your body.

He quickly strips and gets in, situating himself behind you and pulling you between his legs. “If this is what every day in 1995 is like I’m not sure we should go back.” You rest your head back against his chest and moan when he lathers the soap into his hands and starts massaging your head. “I know right. But what about your home skillet, Steve? He’ll miss you so much!”

Bucky quietly repeats the term home skillet, clearly questioning its meaning while you keep going on about the time machine and why you have to go back. It isn’t until Bucky’s metal fingers dip between your legs that you’re ripped from your rambling thoughts. “Fuck,” you gasp, instantly on fire for him. The next hour goes by in a haze of soft touches, mingled breaths and tangled limbs. By the time you leave the bath your body feels like jelly and you’re more than ready for some rest.

After a nice nap you get up to get ready, changing into a look more suited for the club scene. Bucky eyes you appreciatively when you step out of the bathroom in your crop top and short skirt, “wow you look fly.” You take in his tight jeans and crisp tee shirt, the whole look completed with his leather jacket, “so do you. Ready to party?”

When the cab pulls up to Limelight you can already hear the loud thump of the bass and the line is down the street. “Woah, this place is hoppin’!” You laugh at his choice of words and get on the line, moving your hips and shimming against Bucky while you wait. “If you don’t cut it out I’m gonna have to drag you into a dark corner the second we get in there.” You don’t stop and the closer you get to the door the more you grind yourself over him. “Doll, you’re asking for it.” You turn around and throw him a million-dollar smile, “whatever.”

The instant you step into the club you can feel the air around you shift, the music vibrating through your body as strongly as the energy that radiates off the crowd. Bucky keeps you close as you make your way across the sea of writhing bodies and find yourselves a spot on the dance floor. The dancers on the platforms leave little to the imagination and the rhythm of the music just sets the mood for play. Bucky’s hands roam over every inch of your skin as you lose yourselves in the rowdy debauchery, finding it almost impossible to resist. Bucky’s lips meet your ear in a husky promise, “if you keep moving like this we’re gonna get jiggy with it right here on the dance floor.”

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @buckstaybucky @bisousbucky @breezy1415 @buckys-henley @book-dragon-13 @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @harrysthiccthighss @ikaris-whore @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @lookiamtrying @littleredstarfish @lokilvrr @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @this-kitten-is-smitten @yansi1923

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malereader-inserts · 4 years ago

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broken crown | x.

“As sad and dreadful as death may be, it forces to cherish every moment,” You had hummed out, turning your head to kiss the top of Harry’s head, “Everyone continues to defy the bad, because they see you, Harry. Hope.”

Word Count: 1,692

< Previous | Next >

Harry looked over to you. Lying still, Harry knew you were fine, you were breathing normal and you weren’t abnormally discoloured. The snake wound was closed, just fresh scars that was nasty to look at. But, Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty, he pulled up a chair to your bed before brushing parts of your hair out of your face.

He gets up to join Hermione outside, missing that you were starting to wake up. You groaned as you felt your neck, there was pain there but nothing much after - no blood painting your fingers as you swung your legs around. Stretching your legs as you could hear Harry’s and Hermione voices outside. You grabbed your coat as you exit the tent.

“Why is Harry’s wand broken?”

“I cast a curse and it rebounded,” Hermione says in a sadden tone, “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly well,” You responded, shrugging your shoulders, “Here, it’s my turn to wear the locket anyway, let me stand on guard.”

“(Y/n)-”

“Harry,” You responded, “It’ll only be a few hours, and you wore it when we visited Godric’s Hallow, it’s only fair. I need the air anyway and I am the other one with a functional wand.”

Hermione strode to you, taking the locket off as she place it around you. Examining the wound and handing you the blanket, before making her way into the tent. You looked at Harry who sighs, you grabbed his hand before he leaves you alone. You kissed his knuckles, he gives you a strained smile before going back inside.

You sat down, allowing the blanket to cover you as you take out your book form inside your coat. Some times you would take your compass out, watching the arrow spin around, there were times it would point to Harry, other time it would point in a different direction with the only explanation it was pointing to your dad.

You sighed as you snap it close. Looking up to the clearing, seeing nothing as you hold your hand out. Making shapes and figures out of golden dust you had produced. After some time, Harry comes out to check on you.

“I see you’re in your element,” Harry says, pointing to the gold dust ballerina dancing, “Out of curiosity, do you think you could defeat... him?”

You sat up straight as he sits next to you, “Possibly,” You looked at him, “Dumbledore could as well, and yet he didn’t. Perhaps there’s a reason, or it’s because it’s not our prophecy to fulfil.”

“Right...” Harry nodded as you looked at the golden figurine, blinking as it switches to a young man, praised by people, “You have something on your mind? You’ve be awfully weird.”

“We’re good people, Harry, but what if I get too caught up in the power? Hungry like...you know who? Merlin doesn’t know any of his descendants, he doesn’t know me personally, how does he know I won’t change like that-”

You snapped your fingers and the golden dust boy being praised by others had changed into a black dust, with the figurine shooting spells at the bystanders. Harry watched as you looked at the scene you had produced before allowing the wind to erase it.

“-What if this was a mistake?”

Harry looks at you, “I know you, (Y/n), you’re my best friend, you’re my boyfriend, the one I can trust with my whole life, I know you won’t turn bad. I’m sure you’ve heard from professors that the fates won’t allow it.”

You scoffed, “I don’t think I’d ever hear Harry James Potter talk about the fates,” as Harry shakes his head as you chuckled lightly as he bumps shoulders with you, “But, you’re right, that the thing with fate, you see, I guided my fate... And I'll decide who I am...I fashioned the course of my life and my death. Me. Not you. Not the gods. Not Merlin. Me."

“Well, you’re Merlin!” Harry says as you looked at him, “It’s our nickname for you, remember?”

“How can I forget?” There was no bitterness in your voice, after all, it wasn’t like your friends were expecting too much of you, it was the twins that started with the name, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Harry just picked up on it.

The two of you sat in silence as Harry leans his head against your shoulder.

“I was scared, you know?” Harry mumbled, coming closer to you and your warmth, “I know you weren’t injured badly but still, people have made sacrifices for me and-”

"Sometimes doing the right thing requires sacrifices and without sacrifices, there can be no victory,” You had spoken, as Harry keeps quiet, “Death is a funny thing, we’ve looked at Death’s eyes more than we should have. You and your journey to end You-Know-Who and me to unlock the cursed vaults of Merlin.”

“Death is an old friend of ours,” Harry whispered, watching the mist exit his mouth.

Harry and you share a bond, often unexplained to others. But, whilst Harry has experience death more than you everyone, in the end, experience loss. You two have been burden with a purpose you did not want, sharing bitterness. You were always there for him, patient with his outbursts and always there to listen to him just like he was to you. Sometimes, you two don’t need to say anything and you would understand.

There was mutual love, care and affection needed within two broken boys. Hiding the truth from the world, and facing the truth together. Many don’t believe that Potter and Lupin were dating after all, you weren’t often hands on with each other. But, Hermione and Ron see different types of affection, a different type of love.

“What if I don’t see that? The hope that I can make a better country.”

“While there is life, there is hope,” You say as Harry looks at you, you smiled at him softly, pushing hair from his eyes, “Don’t ever let Hermione give you a haircut.”

He chuckles, he looks down at the locket, slowly taking it from your neck and puts it on him. He shows that Hermione has given him her wand for the night as you give him the blanket.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smiles up at you as you stretched your legs, a glimmer in his eyes, “No promises.”

“I see Ron is back.”

The three of them looked at you as Ron looked at you sheepishly, waving at you. Sword at hand and the locket - broken. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hi, mate,” Ron greeted, before craning his neck, “What happened to your neck?”

You crossed your arms, “Snake attack.”

“Right.” Ron nods as Hermione sighs, looking at Harry.

You were sat on the stairs half-listening to Ron and Harry as you concentrate on your book. Blinking a few time as you struggle to read English. You only escaped the book as Hermione marched into the tent, causing all three of the boys to stand up.

“We need to talk,” She said, mostly towards Harry.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry nods as Hermione looked at him.

“I want to go see Xenophilius Lovegood,” Hermione stated as you and Harry share a look of confusion.

“Sorry?” Harry questioned, confused.

Hermione sighs and gives Harry the book she had stolen from Baghilda’s home, “See this? It's a letter Dumbledore wrote to Grindelwald. Look at the signature. It's the mark again,” She closes the book sitting on the stop you had once occupied, “It keeps cropping up. In Beedle the Bard, in the graveyard in Godric's Hollow.” “It was there too,” Harry mumbled as you looked at him.

“Where?” You questioned.

“Outside Gregorovitch's Wand Shop,” Harry answered, “But what does it mean?” “Look, you've got no idea where the next Horcrux is, and neither do I, but this, this means something.”

“How do you make Hermione stop being mad at you?” Ron asked, walking next to you as you walk towards the rook house that resides the Lovegoods.

You give your best friend a side eye, “Well, she never really stops being mad, Ron.”

“Helpful mate,” Ron scoffs as you smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder, he seems to be alright with you slight dig as he flashes you a smile.

“She’ll come around, she always does.”

As Xenophilius Lovegood allows you to come inside, he offers you all to go upstairs. You looked at Harry, who shrugs his shoulders as you give him a long to why Lovegood was taking his time.

“So how can I help you, Mr. Potter?” He asked after an awkward silence had subsided and everyone took a sip of the horrendous tea.

“Well, actually... It was about something you were wearing around your neck at the wedding. A symbol,” Harry asked, not knowing how to approach the situation. “You mean this?” He holds the necklace up as Harry nods.

“Yes, that exactly,” Harry looked at him, touching the symbol before making eye contact with the man, “What we've wondered is, what is it?”

“What is it?” Lovegood questions, repeating Harry, you shifted uncomfortable, “Well, it's the sign of the Deathly Hallows, of course.”

“The what?” The four of you chimed in, as Hermione had leaned in for a better look whilst you had seen Ron just being confused with the whole situation - you could feel how awkward Ron felt being there.

“The Deathly Hallows. I assume you're all familiar with "The Tale of the Three Brothers."?”

“Yes,” You, Hermione and Ron spoke at the same time.

“No.” Harry spoke over the other three as he looked lost, it wasn’t the first time Harry lacked knowledge.”

“I have it in here,” Hermione rummaged through her bag, before pulling her book out.

Opening it up the page, she took a deep breath, looking at everyone, especially Harry as she started to read the book.

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir @lanlanlan020202 @hanniejji @dumbssbtch @lea-the-foxe @stan-joonies @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x male reader #Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #x male reader #broken crown

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deaddominionsofdolor · 3 years ago

Text

Lecture 2

We’re back with the next IC lecture in the series! This time our GMPCs cover the basic powers that Sin-Eaters have. We’ll put it below the cut!

Hisaya: Alright. Well. Damien, explain.

Damien: What, again? Jeez. Okay, so...I guess let’s start with the, uh, somewhat obvious. You can’t die now, so….congrats!

Keiichi: Don’t get tooooo excited though, you can still get hurt. I mean, getting stabbed won’t be fun, you can bleed and all that, but if you bleed out, you just come back after a while.

Ori: But it is not very pleasant, I do not recommend dying... Oh. Dying again, sorry. But you can undergo a lot more than it seems. Limbs being ripped off, being peppered with bullet fire until your body is a bloody pulp, gaping holes in your abdominal-

Hisoka: We get the point. Aaaanyways, the plasm running through you makes up for a lot. You’re resistant to disease, for one. You can bring back missing body parts or patch up wounds that would kill anyone not-a-Bound before you know it.

Damien: You can run out of it though and then you’re just back to being...well, sort of human, not really since you’re still attached to your Geist, so be careful.

Keiichi: Soo-o. It doesn’t really replenish itself naturally since you aren’t a ghost, but there’s a few ways to do it. One, find something cast off into the Underworld and drain away its Plasm. It’ll disappear, but you’ll be full up.

Hisoka: Two, there’s a sort of, “break in case of emergency” thing. You know that when you die, there’s a sort of barrier you cross, an opening of the doors of death. Fancy way of sayin' that you’re assigned a key based on your very own manner of kicking the bucket.

Ori: Be more dignified!

Hisoka: How you croaked, your mode of transportation to Whitey Bulger’s Final Airbn-

Ori: What they’re trying to say is that you’re all granted powers- and we’ll get to that, abilities that take on the tinge of the Key. And unlocking the key, tapping into that energy, can also restore Plasm. This comes with a caveat! You’ll take on the Doom associated with it.

Damien: Ever seen the movie Final Destination? It’s like that. Basically, if we consider the Key as being what binds you to death, using it makes Death realize you’re supposed to be dead so it tries to kill you again. Not that it’ll work, but that doesn’t make it fun, you know.

Hisaya: And it’s always appropriate for that element. You died in a fire, you get hyperthermia for no reason. You got stabbed to death, and the next time violence can break out, it will. And so on. Point is, it’s not a literal, physical Key. The Underworld operates by Laws, just like the real one. And what goes up will come down.

Keiichi: Anyway! That stuff is all great, but you can use ghost powers too. Don’t worry about the how, you just know-- or maybe your Geist does. Or both of you! The details aren’t important, it’s like an instinct thing.

Damien: It’s...y’know, most of it is typical horror movie ghost stuff? Turning intangible, poltergeist-ing things…

Hisoka: Ya get cool abilities, to cut it short. Just think of what ghosts can do in urban legends and you’ve got it. Even the name for ‘em’s kinda cliche. Haunts, exactly what it implies.

Keiichi: Orrrrrr that’s what we’ve been calling them at least. Heh. I think it’s a cool name.

Hisaya: That’s only most of it, though. Or what your Geist gives you. But being connected to death gives you other powers.

Damien: Right! The Old Laws. Well, we can kind of manipulate them. Or...at least something like them. It’s the same principle, you’re messing around with the metaphysics of death and drawing power from a...something else. It’s pretty interesting, because the powers they give imply that a lot of religious and ritual practice might have actually been able to accomplish some small-level miracles depending on who did it…

Hisaya: Miracle’s a strong word. Don’t get too excited.

Damien: It’s close enough. Banishing supernatural affliction, cursing people, summoning food a ghost can eat, things like that. We’ve all been able to pick up a thing or two that we can teach you, but there’s a catch.

Hisoka: Once you’re with your Krewe? You’re basically able to master a set of practices, but you’re kinda limited to those. It’s kinda like… fuck, Ori, explain. You’re the one into this metaphysical bullshit. Just keep it short.

Ori: Well, if you’re giving me the opportunity, thank you! So... Think of how we explained the Old Laws, where they are like laws of gravity. These rituals are similar. There are forces you are able to tap into when your own goals resonate with them, which means that our personal philosophies cause us to have affinities for specific rites.

Damien: Symbolism is important when it comes to the Underworld in general. So like, say you want to banish a curse. Well, crows are considered tricksters, they’re ill omens, they’re often considered witch familiars or magical in some way...so, you can take a feather, invoke a trickster story, and the crow-- uh, not a literal one, I guess the metaphysical power of the crow, steals the magic and puts it in the feather.

Hisaya: Yeah, look, I’ll be honest. I don’t get it, but we found some books in the library before it got raided that had instructions on this stuff. And it works. Somehow.

Ori: Well, if you’d ever need suggestions or assistance with symbolic elements, I would be glad to help! ...Any one of us, really, I suppose, but I do enjoy researching these sorts of things. But there is another caveat. The physical materials remain, but they lose their metaphysical resonance. Think of a battery losing all of its charge. The figurative crow has flown away and needs some new story to catch their interest. You cannot simply re-use the same components and do the ceremony again an unlimited amount of times. The materials used are consumable, and can be quite hard to come by.

Keiichi: Yeah, we have to go and scavenge for them on the Rivers, since stuff washes up there from the surface world. Which gets complicated, and that’s kind of why we haven’t had a chance to do this very often...buuuut with you guys this should be a lot easier!

Damien: So, back to that symbolism thing...it does matter what your intentions and philosophy are when it comes to doing these things, and that...should...theoretically, at least, bind us together and let us actually do this stuff. Working alone is a lot harder. So, let’s talk a little bit about ourselves, yeah?

Hisaya: Right. Well, your idea. You go first.

Damien: ...Fine. So, haven’t you ever wondered what was lost to death? Scientific advancements cut short by someone dying before their time, philosophy and religion lost because the person who spoke it was born in the wrong time and killed for it...that’s what we’re trying to recover. Think of how much further we could’ve advanced as a species if death weren’t an obstacle to discovery. There’s truth out there that’s been lost and we have the power to find it again. I’m not letting that power go to waste.

Hisaya: ...I don’t really have a fancy speech or whatever prepared. I just started out wanting to understand what the hell is going on with this place. The way I see it, the Underworld is as much a natural part of the world as...trees or the air or any other ecosystem. What is will always be. You can’t change it. It’s like trying to fight the desert or the mountains. We can’t make it go away so we have to figure out how to work within it. I’m still trying to figure out where to even start, so, I guess research is the first step if anyone wants to help or something.

Keiichi: Alright, well, my turn! In my line of work you kind of find out people don’t really care about the victims in these sorts of situations. Most people on the periphery of true crime remember the names of the killers but nobody they killed. It’s easy to talk about dealing out justice and revenge or changing the world-- uh, no offense to everyone-- but it’s hard to get down and do the dirty work of dealing with actual people one-on-one. Ghosts lead pretty miserable lives and we should do what we can to make it better until we can help them pass on again.

Hisoka: Hmph. Being afraid of death is a part of human nature, but why? Is it innately taboo? Painful? Hard to consider? Whatever it is, talkin’ about death is easy to avoid and all until you have to face it yourself head-on. It’s that kinda thinking, that it’s all pretty or poetic or something you’ll never face until you’re old, that keeps people from realizing it’s just another part of the cycle of life. And then, after you die? You have to contend with your new existence. Wouldn’t preparing others for that eventuality make more sense?

Ori: Ah… I suppose I’m last? And mm, no offense taken! Anyways... Death is a topic that’s hard to fathom for so many. When it is focused on, it is fraught with sensationalism and people prettying up the fact that it was a human being who died, not a statistical figure or memory, nor a euphemism. Lives are often cut short due to unjust or unsavoury circumstances, while others are content to stand by and do nothing if it means keeping the status quo. Some people are of the opinion it is better that skeletons are kept in the closet, but that is an insult to the victims. Coming to the Underworld is difficult enough as it is, and an existence as a former shadow of yourself who can only relive the motions of the injustices committed upon you in life is unfathomably painful. Countless wrongs go unanswered every day, brutal systems crush others underfoot, and it may feel easier to remain complacent and bury your head in the sand. But we cannot be complacent. Someone has to step in to ensure that the perpetrators of wrongs must answer for and learn from what they’ve done. Above all, justice for the victims remains our priority, not violence or vengeance.

Damien: Well, I guess we found out that letting us talk about philosophy is a bad idea because the tape’s almost--

[END OF RECORDING]

TL;DR

Motley Krewe

Each Krewe represents a philosophical outlook on the best way to help the dead rather than helping oneself move on.

Furies help the undead to take vengeance on those who wronged them and help settle scores through typically aggressive means.

Mourners bring back the knowledge and works of the undead to the living, so in the future no-one will have unfinished business.

Necropolitans try to create a comfortable existence for the undead to keep them from falling to the predatory structures of the Underworld.

Pilgrims explore the Underworld and try to help everyone to accept sometimes harsh realities of the worlds around them, letting go of what can’t be controlled or changed.

Undertakers seek to change the nature of perceptions of death to create a more peaceful passage from life to death. Most believe that removing the trauma from death will create a more peaceful Underworld.

Pomp and Ceremony

Ceremonies are ritualized practices that tap into the Old Laws of the Underworld to bestow minor benefits on the practitioners. Each Krewe specializes in different Ceremonies. Because they take time, effort, and concentration, it’s best to do them in a safe location like Dolor.

Haunt-ing Presences

Haunts are the innate powers granted by the synthesis of life and death only Sin-Eaters have. Sin-Eaters and Geists have an instinctive understanding of how to use them. They are divided up into general categories, with each giving a different type of problem. They can be used very quickly. Use your Haunts to solve problems on the go!

#mod post #lecture

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too-many-baes · 5 years ago

Text

To Hell and Back

Pairing: fem!reader x Dean Winchester

Warning(s): Injury, death, going to hell, angsssst (but some fluff to make up for it), slight AU, S03-S06

Word Count: 5.2K

Request: Hi! Love your writing! Could you do a dean x fem!reader where she’s Bobby’s daughter, they’ve been dating forever and she went to hell to save the boys. It was a surprise to the boys but she saw it coming so she wrote a note to Dean that he should not try to get her back and go have a normal life with Lisa. Eventually she gets back (somehow - maybe Bobby or Sam or Cas figure something out) and Dean really is with Lisa. You can choose the end - I’d love some fluff. I hope it’s not too specific. - by Anon

A/N: So I played with the timelines here a bit so it may not be exactly what you had envisioned but I hope you enjoy it none-the-less! Thank you for sending in a request!! Masterlist in my bio and requests are open

gif is not mine, credit to [@ jamiedornaniseverything ]

*********

You sit at the tired old table in your house of Singer’s Auto, you and the Winchesters. None of you make a sound, your collective focus makes speaking unnecessary.

Words begin to bleed into an incoherent mess so you rub your tired eyes in an attempt to revive your vision. Bobby has long since retired for the night, you and the boys persisting.

This has been your position for several weeks. Day in and day out, you can feel your blood cells slowly turning into caffeine in your attempts to keep yourself alert, the rest of the household living in the same coffee induced delirium. None of you felt you could rest until you found the solution you were so desperately searching for, an answer to your prayers.

One single week is all that's left between Dean and hell hounds claiming his soul. You've seen it happen before, the tearing of flesh and anguished cries are not something you'd wish upon anyone, making you all the more desperate to save your boyfriend from that wretched fate. Here you are and here you'll stay until you figure out how to save him. You know if you don't fix this soon it will lead to Sam doing something drastic, and that's not something you can stand for either.

You've known the boys since you were young. Being Bobby Singer's daughter meant if someone was a hunter then your paths had definitely crossed, with the Winchesters your house had always been a revolving door. You were indifferent to the boys when you were young, it wasn't until you were a teenager that you took notice of Dean, much to your father’s initial disappointment. He loved the Winchesters as if they were his own sons but that didn't change the fact he didn't think anyone was good enough for you. Not even the charming, well-meaning Dean Winchester.

The shock of finding out you were dating the eldest of the boys passed eventually and after strict words from your dad you’ve been inseparable since. You've been through thick and thin together, you know everything there is to know about him. This means you know how much the brothers mean to each other and just how far they'll go to ensure the others safety.

You can't see them die for each other, you don't care how many sleepless nights it'll take.

You have successfully claimed Sam's usual role, being the first one to rise and the last to bed. You hadn't even noticed they'd gone to bed when a tapping on your shoulder pulled you out of your trance.

“It’s 2am babe, it'll still be there in the morning.” You look up at Dean's face. His usually bright eyes have lost their signature shine, the lines underneath mountainous, his hair mussed from the few hours of sleep he'd already managed to get.

“I'll be there in a minute.” You answer him with a quick dismissive smile. Dean has other ideas, reaching over and forcibly closing the book cover you couldn’t remove yourself from.

“You need your sleep.” You could have argued, but what would be the point? In a few minutes you would’ve ended up asleep on the pages anyway. You allow Dean to lead you by the hand down the hallway to your room, where you clumsily change before crawling in beside his almost already sleeping form. In his half there state he instinctually reaches out to circle his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Typically you and Dean weren't really cuddler's, but after finding out your days together could be numbered that changed. Now every night you sleep something like this, as close as possible, not wanting to waste your precious moments alone. He mumbles a barely audible ‘I love you’ before his faint snores rumble on your neck.

“I love you too.” You say it to yourself, knowing he was past hearing. You love him more than you thought you'd ever love a man, it was because of that the seed of an idea you'd read weeks ago had been sprouting ever since. You know what has to be done to save him and his brother, despite how much they won’t like it.

***

“They’re coming!” Sam’s frantic yells sound from the front door where he makes his best attempt at holding it closed from the ferocious hounds that claw and leap at its weakening wood.

“Everyone get in the living room!” The three of you run into the salt barricaded room, swiftly followed by Sam. No sooner had he left his post than the doors were flown off their hinges and angry growls could be heard by everyone in the room.

“Can you see ‘em?” Bobby's unusually tentative voice questions, a curt nod from Dean swiftly answers his question.

“There's two of them. There.” He raises his arm to point at the seemingly empty space before them, fear causing his arm to shake and his voice to lose volume.

You take in a grounding breath, assured within yourself you were making the right decision. You spin around to face your father, doing your best to not succumb to the overwhelming emotions pounding in your chest. “I love you dad.” It was rare for you and your father to exchange verbal ‘I love you's’, your love for one another going unspoken usually.

“What are you doing?” His question is gruff and urgent, immediately knowing something was wrong.

“Dean”, you ignore your father and grab the aforementioned by the shoulders, forcing his frantic eyes onto your face, “I love you. Never forget that.”

“Y/N what-" He had no time to finish his sentence, the salt guarding the door blowing away as the sound of growling creeps closer. You push your sleeve up revealing a series of symbols drawn on your skin.

Before the men in the room can process your actions you've unsheathed a knife and cut a long slash along your palm, pressing it against your forearm. The growling ceases momentarily, a false sense of hope for your companions.

“They're gone. I can't see them any more.” The hope that had crept into Dean's eyes vanished when once again snarling growls filled the room.

“What's happening, I thought you said you couldn't see them Dean?” Sam yells in dismay.

“I can”, you manage to croak out as you stare at two creatures more gnarled than anything your nightmares could conjure. If you weren't positive that you'd already earnt yourself a way one ticket downstairs then the black magic you'd found to redirect the hell hounds had solidified your fate.

The men were now frenzied, yelling and screaming for you to run as they scrambled for weapons they knew would do no good. For once you did as instructed. You turned away from the hounds and bolted out of the front door. As you'd planned the beasts were on your heels, they'd have you in their clutches within minutes. As the adrenaline courses through your veins you push yourself to go faster, to get far enough down the road that your demise would be away from the eyes of a room full of people you love.

A series of claws slash across you calf sending you crashing unceremoniously onto the dirt road beneath you. You turn to face your death head on, all teeth, drool, and crimson eyes.

“Y/N!” No. No, you don't want them to see this.

“Leave, please!” Your sentence ends with an agonising howl as claws and teeth set upon you. The pain is unbelievable, hot and searing, making the deafening chorus of cries and pleads from the witnesses to your chosen fate obsolete. Death didn't last as long as you had thought and the life in your eyes had faded as the three voices continue to call out for you.

Bobby is the first one to reach your now lifeless body. He shakes your shoulders, lightly at first, then harder with every time his saying your name goes unanswered. Dean falls to his knees on your unoccupied side, grabbing your limp hand and desperately clinging it in his own as tears fall down his face. Sam stays standing, but barely. None of the men speak, the cruel turn of fate that took you from them stealing away their words.

Dean opens his bedroom door, the emptiness without you there consuming his thoughts. As the usually terse man fights back yet more tears an envelope on his otherwise empty nightstand caught his eye. He hurriedly tears it open when he recognises his name in your handwriting.

Dean,

This is going to be short and sweet, just ‘cause I'm gone doesn't mean I'm about to get sappy.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my plan, you would've stopped me if I had. This was the only option, in time you'll come to see that.

I know you had no time to prepare yourself but I have to ask something of you, my dying wish if you will.

Be happy. That girl Lisa, from Indiana? Go to her. She needs someone, so do you. I reckon that makes you perfect for each other.

Don’t waste your second chance pining over me, I'm gone and I intend to stay that way. Don’t try to bring me back.

I died happy so you could live happy.

Don't let me down Cherry Pie.

Forever yours,

Y/N Singer

As soon as he saw his name on that first line the tears begun to stream down his face. By the end of the letter he was inconsolable, his hands shaking and drops from his eyes blurring some of the words on the page. He quickly dabs away the dots from the page, not wanting to permanently lose any letter from the last token you’d left behind for him.

You had written you’d wanted him to move on, he would do his best. Not tonight, hell not any of the coming nights. They would be reserved for you and only you. Dean was going to drink so much he cried whiskey. He was going to spend every waking hour thinking of you and nothing but. Then, when his eyes finally dried and he could muster the courage to step foot out of the house, that’s when he’d follow your wishes.

***

Flesh burning. Skin cutting. Teeth being removed and hair being torn from your scalp. It’s all you knew, all you thought you’d be resigned to know. Then all of a sudden it was gone, you were there one minute and it was black the next.

You lurch forward, clutching your chest and furiously sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle. You look around, seeing that you have no idea where you are other than in the middle of a wheat field. You know well enough to know that this isn’t some trick of the devil. No, something, somehow has put you back on earth. The thought crosses your mind Dean could have been the culprit, but you dread what something like this would have costed.

As you stand you feel something burning your side, lifting your shirt to find a raised hand print just below your ribs.

“Y/N.” The unfamiliar, gruff voice behind you causes you to jerk your body around, seeing a man in a trench coat with a blue tie.

“Who are you? What am I doing here?”

“My name is Castiel, I’m a friend of the Winchesters.” He needn’t bother answering your second question, hearing he knew Dean and Sam caused your wild thoughts to snap to his attention.

“Are they okay?” It was the only thing you could think to ask, your frazzled head still processing being above ground.

“They’re okay, here” he holds out his hand to you, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “I’ll take you to them.” You can’t see a car anywhere near you and you’re completely unsure how he intends to get you to the men as you, for some inexplicable reason, reach out and grab his hand.

For the second time in your very short time on solid ground you’re left dizzy and breathless as you find you are once again not where you were before. This time though your surroundings are familiar, causing a happy gasp to leave your mouth and your hands to shoot up and cover it.

You’re back at the only place you’ve ever called home, Singer’s Auto.

“Y/N?” Sam’s all too familiar voice sounds from the kitchen, a smile stretching infinitely across your face as the taller Winchester rushes to wrap his arms around you while desperately calling for Bobby to join you in the living room. You exchange happy, disbelieving words as Bobby makes his entrance.

“What are you yelling about idjit, I was busy-Y/N.” His sentence falls short when he sees his presumed dead daughter. Sam has only ever seen Bobby cry once before, that awful night they’d lost you, but now as he races to hold his daughter he thought he’d never see again his tears glisten under the yellow light of the cheap bulb.

“Hey dad.” You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, overjoyed and overwhelmed by this strange turn of events.

“Castiel”, Sam questions as you finally release your father from your grip, “what did you do?”

“Actually just while we’re asking questions, what exactly are you?” No human man could have pulled you from hell and taken you to the auto shop and since you were fairly certain this man was no demon you were stumped.

“I’m an angel of the lord and I got you out of hell.” You look around the room trying to pick whether it was Sam or your father who had made some kind of deal but the lack of guilt and knowing on their faces tells that neither one had plotted to raise you from the fiery pits.

“Neither of you did this?” The shaking of their heads confirms your deductions. “Goddamn it, Dean”, you mutter.

“He played no part, it was just me.” Castiel’s statement shocks you.

“Why? I don’t know you, why would you do that?”

“Dean hasn’t been hunting for years and somethings come up we need his help with. We need Dean’s help and they refused to do anything about it. I knew my presence wouldn’t be enough to get him back and I recalled him speaking of you fondly and thought you would be able to help.”

“How could you Cas?” Sam speaks in irritation with the angel. “Dean got out, he deserves to stay out.”

“He did?” The bickering stops when you speak your hopeful question. “Dean got out?” Sam nods, an almost nostalgic look on his face.

“Yea Y/N, Dean got out.” You smile along with him, your chest lightening at the knowledge that the stubborn man had paid attention to the letter you left. As you think your smile wavers when you register something is Cas’ prior sentence. “Hang on Castiel, did you say he hasn’t hunted in years?” You let out a small humourless laugh, “How long have I been in hell?” The men previously in your life struggle to find words to say, so the angel who you’re learning is rather bad with social cues speaks.

“Three and a half years I believe.” Three and a half years. Time feels endless down in the pit, never-ending but entirely still at the same time. Five minutes or fifty years could have passed and you’d have been none the wiser, but being back now after three years? Dean was out and happy, you didn’t want to jeopardise that.

“How selfish can you be?” You bite at your angel acquaintance.

“Y/N, he was only trying to help.”

“No dad, I don’t care what he was trying to do!” You yell at your well-meaning father, “He doesn’t even know me and he brought me back to get Dean back into the hunting life? You may as well put me back in the ground ‘cause I’m not doing it.”

“That’s enough!” Bobby’s raised voice makes every pair of eyes land on him, his looking directly at you. “He may not have done it for the right reasons but you’re back, and that can only be a good thing, do not argue with me”, he adds as you open your mouth to object, letting it fall back shut at his request. “I never thought I’d see you again, so quit whining.” You can’t help but laugh seeing that the years have done nothing to change your dad’s temperament.

“It’s good to see you too”, you tease, lightening the mood of the room.

***

It’s been a fortnight, a whole two weeks above ground and you’re still getting used to it. You made everyone swear that they would not mention to Dean you were back and instructed Castiel he’d have to find another ploy to get him to help.

You were happy Dean was happy, yet despite the fact you’d made everyone swear to keep your existence a secret you couldn’t help putting that all at risk. You had to see him, to see for yourself the Dean that wasn’t a hunter. You wanted to see that cheeky grin and those entrancing green eyes that used to make your heart skip a beat. You wanted to see him out and happy.

So here you are, inconspicuously parked outside his house for the third morning in a row in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. So far you had seen Lisa and her son Ben previous mornings, but no sign of Dean.

The front door opens and your mouth dries up with what walks out. It’s Dean in the flesh, still flannel clad and handsome as ever. He walks hand in hand with Lisa as Ben trudges behind them. He pecks her lightly on the lips before she and the kid get in the car, Dean giving them a small wave. No amount of happiness for him could have stopped the pang of jealousy you felt at seeing Dean in his apple pie life that you weren’t fortunate enough to be in.

Yes, he’s living the exact life you’d told him to live, but when you’d written that letter you planned on not being around to see it. You shake your head at your stupidity and selfishness in coming here and you turn the key in the ignition ready to drive off. You’ve indulged yourself more than enough, watching any longer would just cause you unnecessary pain.

You allow yourself one last lingering look at what used to be your man before you pull away to find his eyes surveying your parked car from across the street, your heart leaping into your throat at the danger of getting caught. You tug your baseball cap further down your face before pulling out and speeding away, all notion of stealth lost.

“Shit, shit, shit”, you curse to yourself for your idiocy. Any longer and he may have recognised you, then what? You’d cry, you’d hug, and you’d get back together? You’d ask him to leave the family you asked him to start in the first place? No. You couldn’t put him through that.

Back at the motel you pack your bags, resolute to go back home. You had no idea what you’d do once you were there, you figured you’d start hunting again, help Sammy. After today though you’d leave Dean behind you, once and for all.

A rapping on the door halts your footsteps, freezing your hands from closing your bag.

“Hello?” Shit. That’s Dean, what is he doing outside your room? He repeats himself once more before you hear the distinct sound of him trying to pick your lock. You move fast, thankful for the fact that you’d kept the room’s curtain shut as you desperately search for a way out on the other side. He’s quicker than you though, the door flying open and a gun cocking sounding behind you.

“Hands up, don’t move.” You follow his orders, hands raising above your head. “Turn around.” You don’t want him to see your face, opting to shake your head instead of reveal yourself to him. “I’m the one with a gun pointing at you so if you wanna stay alive I’d turn around.” You know he’s not lying, having seen people call his bluff too many times before. You comply but as slowly as possible, shuffling your feet until you finally face him, keeping your head down in the vain attempt the small action would keep his recollection at bay.

“Y/N?” His question sounds unsure but you know the inevitable has happened, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“Surprise?” You say, turning your hands upwards to gesture shrugging your shoulders. He holsters his gun immediately, never taking his eyes off of your form. You don’t know what to do next as marked by your silence, and his next move you cannot fathom.

“How did you get here?”

“You have your winged pal to thank for that.”

“Castiel?” The stunned tone of his voice shows you he’s as confused as you were by the whole thing.

“How’d you find me here Dean?” You question after a long pause.

“You weren’t exactly subtle at my house this morning.” The normalcy of the conversation you’re having sets you on edge, not wanting to sink into familiar habits of jokes and jabs, afraid of what that could lead to.

“I better go, it was good to see you.” You state abruptly as you awkwardly grab your bag and make to walk past him and out the front door. His strong hand around your forearm prevents you from leaving.

“What just like that you’re going to walk out the door?” You answer his incredulous question with a nod of your head and a perplexed look in your eyes. He shakes his head reaching and grabbing your other forearm so you are locked in front of his frame. “So what, I don’t get to say goodbye and now you won’t let me again?” There’s no malice to be heard, his voice soft and fragile. This does nothing to stop the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

“Dean it wasn’t like that-”

“No Y/N it’s exactly like that.” He lets the silence speak for itself before continuing. “I lost you with no notice, now you’re back with no notice. You can’t just up and leave again.” You were trying to be fair to him and stay unnoticed, now that you’ve been caught you know he’s right, you can’t just simply leave him again with no warning. He suggests you get a bite to eat, to which you instead offer going to a bar which he gladly accepts.

He insists you drive together, you suspect he was afraid if you went separately you may have driven off. You get a table at the closest bar which happens to be nearly completely empty, as to be expected midday in the middle of the week. Dean gets you a beer each, placing yours in front of you as he sits on the other side of the table.

What you thought would be a brief awkward catch up was anything but. Beer after beer is consumed as he regales stories of being a father figure, making your sides split when he recounts a particular story of trying to get in the good books of the PTA. You gave a very brief explanation of your time downstairs, leaving out pretty much every significant detail to save Dean from the guilt you know he’d project on himself. The whole time it feels like you never left. Every time your eyes catch it gets harder to look away and the light brushes of his fingers as he passes you another bottle sends shivers running up your spine.

After a particularly boisterous fit of laughter dies down you offer to get another round. Just as you go to stand Dean’s phone ringing on the table with the name ‘Lisa’ on the screen stops you.

“Hey. No sorry ran into an old friend, I won’t be too much longer. Mhmm, you too.” He speaks with large pauses in between and although you couldn’t hear the whole conversation you heard enough to bring reality back into your view.

“I should let you get back Dean.”

“What? C’mon you were just about to get another round”, he light-heartedly argues to which you shake your head.

“I should hit the road now anyway, otherwise it’ll be too dark.” Your numerous late nights on the road together makes your excuse a weak one. He complies with a dejected nod regardless, pulling out his keys. The drive is quiet, the low hum of classic rock filling the car. He reaches your motel and you thank him for the day as you unbuckle your safety belt, your other hand already reaching for the door. He reaches out and grabs your closest hand, bringing your eyes down to the small gesture.

“Don’t go.” He voice is small, weak. Words you would usually never associate with your Dean. You let out a breathy scoff at his request.

“Why not Dean, what would I do? You’re happy here with your family-”

“Hey you told me to do that.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly with the raising of his voice in defence of himself.

“I know”, you say gently to acknowledge his rebuttal, “I know I did and I meant. I’m not going to take that away from you now.” You meet his juniper eyes but do not linger in worry of them weakening your resolve. You click the handle open, lightly pushing the door and letting the now cool breeze drift past your face.

“If you hadn’t been taken from me I wouldn’t have chosen this life.” His tone is imploring, almost pleading with you.

“So enjoy it now you have it.” You release the handle so you can lean in enough to cup his cheek and look into those magnificent eyes. “You’re out. Stay out.” His hand moves to rest upon the one on his cheek, his eyes glassy as they look at you. As one last little goodbye you lean in and delicately place a lingering kiss on his free cheek. “Goodbye Cherry Pie.” With your whispered words you pull away, exiting the car and shutting the door without looking back, for one more glance and you’d have never left.

***

A quiet week has gone by at Singer’s, you’ve spent as much time with your father and Sam as possible, still in dubiety at the fact you get to be around them again rather than meat hooks and flames. You’ve convinced Sam to take you on at Scrabble, telling him not to take it easy on you just because you’re out of practise.

“Quaky? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh and what’s that, is it on a double word tile, I think it is.” You say in mock doubt as you laugh along with your incredulous opponent.

“Three years and you can still kick my ass.” He says in jest as he reluctantly adds to your tally. As the two of you jokingly bicker the sound of an unfamiliar car pulling into the gravel driveway makes your giggles cease and your eyes to peer sceptically out the kitchen window. A door opens and closes followed by rapid footsteps to the door and then Dean is before you once more.

“Dean?” Sam questions, as confused as you at his brothers sudden appearance.

“Heya Sammy.” He greets briefly before his eyes snap to you, “Y/N we need to talk.” His urgency leaves no room for debate. You shoot Sam a look before you rise and follow Dean as he leads the way to what used to be your shared room, now occupied solely by you.

“Is everything okay?” You tentatively ask as he shuts the door behind him.

“I left Lisa”, he blurts out.

“You- what? No, why would you do that?” You can hardly keep the disappointment from your voice despite how much your heart is now bouncing excitedly in your ribcage.

“I couldn’t stay there, not after seeing you.” Your excited heart quells, replaced by the overpowering guilt that your selfishness has caused Dean to leave everything you wished for him behind. You shake your head, not allowing yourself to believe you could be the cause of Dean abandoning all you ever wanted for him.

“You’ve got to back. Beg her to take you back, say you hit your head and you had a concussion, anything.” You walk to him as you speak to show your intent.

“Do you know why I can’t go back?” He answers his own question by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, from whence he pulls a folded up, dirty looking piece of paper that he places in your hand. Your suspicions at the content are confirmed when you unfold it to see your own handwriting staring back at you.

“I kept that on me every day. Every time I doubted myself I would pull it out and read it, you wanna know why? Your words were the reason I stayed. I care for Lisa, but you’re back. I don’t want that life if you’re here.” Tears spring into your eyes, some falling down and blurring some words you noticed are already muddied. He abruptly pulls the piece of paper from your grasp, crumpling it up and throwing it aside without a care where it lands.

He removes the insignificant space between you, encircling his steadfast arms around your waist and pulling you into the embrace he could tell you desperately needed. Out of instinct your arms join behind his neck, gripping like if you let go he’d disappear.

“What about Lisa? It’s not fair for her.” You chide regretfully in his ear.

“What about what’s fair for you?” He asserts. “You spent three years in hell so I didn’t have to, you don’t have to think about what’s fair for anyone but yourself right now.”

You pull your face out of the crook of his neck and collide your lips on his, melting into the long lost but not forgotten feeling of his tender lips gliding against yours. You pull away, breathless at obtaining the sensation you’d been craving since setting eyes upon him again. You smile up at him, a smile eager and happy like a child in a candy shop.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You respond to his poking question by latching your lips to his once more as you jump and encircle your legs around his waist.

You head down and help Dean unpack his car, every time you pass him his hand would pinch at your side or cheekily tap your ass. You could barely contain your excitement at putting his belongings back into their respective places, completely eradicating the empty feeling that was in the room before. The blame you feel about Lisa still niggled at the back of your mind but Dean’s words from earlier assure your guilty conscience.

You’ve paid your dues, and the Winchester with the jade eyes and wicked grin was your reward.

*************

Taglist:

@hobby27 @musiclovinchic93

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester fanfic #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #angst #fluff #writing #mine #too many baes

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newsies-geek · 5 years ago

Text

Newsies in Quarantine (Javid): Part 3

Idea from @dragonsrrad

***

Five days into Quarantine, and Davey was more than starting to miss going outside.

Don’t get things wrong, he loved the News Boys in a certain way- some more than others- but fresh air was nice too. There were some windows in the lobby of the theatre, but they were sealed shut to the walls by design. The curly-haired brunette found himself sitting by the windows more often than he should. The time he didn’t spend by the window was spent instead with helping out in the theatre when Medda asked. They had to pay for their place to stay and food to eat, after all- not that Medda would refuse to give them essentials if they didn’t work, but no News Boy was rude enough to turn down Medda when she asked for small favors like putting up backdrops and readjusting lights.

Currently, the boys found themselves re-painting the glaze on some of the old furniture pieces that they’d dragged onto stage, where their beds weren’t placed.

Les was helping Davey on an overturned chair while Race and Spot worked on a couch and Specs and Romeo- well, were currently getting lost in each other’s eyes, leaned against the table they should have been glossing.

“How much longer did theys says until wes can go outside?” Race huffed as he wiped sweat from his forehead, the stage lights producing the only light they could get directly on stage, but practically burning the boys up.

“Another week and a half.” David piped up with a sigh, dipping his paintbrush into his and Les’s bucket of gloss before going for the second layer on the chair leg he was working on.

“I can’t wait to see my girl again.” Les sighed as he slapped his paintbrush happily onto the chair’s other leg.

Davey paused a moment and lifted his eyebrows, looking at Les with shock and confusion, much as the other news boys were doing.

“Mouth Jr.’s got a gal?” Spot snorted in genuine surprise.

“Of course I do.” Les furrowed his brow with a frown as he turned to the other newsies, “Her name is Sallie- but she let’s me call her Miss.” He assumed a childish grin.

“And...how long has this been going on?” Davey cocked an eyebrow with a suspicious look.

Les look at him, shifting his his knees as he sat on his legs, “Feels like fifteen years, really.”

“You’re ten.” Dave deadpanned.

“Maybe fifteen months then.” Les shrugged and began to gloss the chair leg again.

“You’ve only been in your grade for five months.” Davey frowned before also returning to work.

“Hey, is the kid says fifteen years, then happy fifteenth anniversary to yous two.” Spot chuckled.

“I’m fifteen, I think I’d remember if-“ Davey paused as a choking noise came from Race.

“You’re fifteen?” Race gasped.

��Um...yes.” David frowned in confusion, smearing some more gloss onto the chair leg as he looked at Race.

“You ain’t Seventeen like Jack?” The blonde scoffed, Spot looking equally surprised.

David blinked a few times before snorting in amusement, “Jack isn’t seventeen.”

“Is too, I’s seen him older than I’s was- I didn’t suspect you bein’ my age though, mouth.” Spot sniffed.

“You’re- Jack isn’t- he doesn’t act like he’s older than me..” Davey began having an existential crisis in the matter of one conversation.

“What’s that mean?” Specs piped up.

“I-I don’t know- he’s just- he’s a dreamer...and once you get near Sixteen-“

“Thought you said yous was fifteen?” Race narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Everyone but Les, who seemed unpaused by all this, had stopped glossing.

“I am but I’ll- I’ll be sixteen in a month or so.”

“See, sos you and Jack ain’t more than a year apart.” Race shrugged.

“Which I expected, just- the other way around.” Davey looked at the ground in confusion. Jack was older than him? That made him wiser as far as knowledge of life went...that just didn’t seem right.

“You think that makes him any more or less smarter?” Romeo leaned back into an upright position.

“We have different educations.” Davey shook his head dismissively as he took his paint brush again.

“He’s still ahead of ya’ though.” Race smirked cockily.

“By a few months.” Davey rolled his eyes, “That’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” Spot cooed.

“Oh, leave the kid alone.” Race chuckled as he reached over to gently punch Spot on the shoulder, but ended up smacking his arm with gloss.

“Why you- you spoiled me shirt!” Spot snapped, staggering to his feet and glaring at Race.

Racetrack looked genuinely guilty at first, “I’m sorry, I-“ He seemed to then remember he has a reputation and cleared his throat, getting to his feet, “Yeah, so?”

Spot balled his fists up before dunking one into his can on gloss and wiping a hand over Race’s face.

Race gasped and reached for his bucket, dunking both his hands in and lunging for Spot, missing and bouncing off the chair to run into Romeo, getting them both covered in gloss.

“Hey! Let him alone!” Specs hollered before taking his brush and throwing it at Race.

“Yous leave him alone! Only I get to throw gloss at Race!” Spot ran at Specs with gloss covered hands.

Les cheered and ran at them.

“Les! You- oh god-“ Davey groaned as his little brother had been covered from head to toe in gloss before he could say another word.

“Come on, David!” Les ran towards Davey.

Davey’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, booking it for the stage door as cackling could he heard behind him, the other Newsies catching on and chasing after him.

Before Davey could reach the stage door he felt two firm hands grasp his arms and pull him up until his feet left the ground.

Davey let out a gasp and as about to scream before the hands released his shoulders and cupped over his mouth as he landed on a thin, wooden plank.

Davey struggled and looked up to see who his kidnapper was before his heart lurched at the sight of Jack, making Davey all at once aware of the fact that the boy had him held tight against his body with a smug look on his face as he looked down at the other boys, barging into the stage door. That’s when he released his grip on Davey’s mouth and moved his hands to the boy’s hips, “Steady, we’s on a beam. Don’t want nobody falling.”

Davey felt his heart pound in his chest at the physical contact and he hated it.

He hated how having been stuck with Jack for several days now, his feelings for the boy had surfaced more and more.

Before the shelter-in-place rule had been set, Davey had been sure he could eventually get over the little flutters his heart gave when Jack touched his shoulder or stood up for him, he was sure that only seeing him a few hours a day would give his heart the rest of the day to convince himself that these instances of free-falling feelings around Jack were foolish and- and god it felt so nice to have such a secure grip around him right now like Jack was genuinely concerned that Davey might fall. It was so difficult for Davey to turn off his emotions- but with his heart rate increasing, and hope that would most likely lead nowhere, he knew, began to rise, he had to gently push Jack’s hands off of his waist.

Things like this didn’t happen. Boys didn’t...Jack certainly didn’t like boys the way that Davey had found himself thinking about them lately- and Jack defiantly didn’t seem to look at Davey the way Davey looked at Jack.

He was spending too much time thinking about this as it was. Jack was his friend and- had just pulled him up and held him because that’s what a good buddy does, keeps you from falling.

Totally normal and...

And Jack’s hands now wrapped around Davey’s waist entirely.

“Sh, your breathing is rattling the beam, they’s’ll hear you- and I don’t want the boys findin’ out about my special area.” Jack chuckled, his breath tickling the back of Davey’s neck and making the boy shutter.

When had these feelings started? Not the feelings that Jack had made him feel immediately- not the fact that Davey could recognize that yes, Jack was attractive and, yes, he enjoyed being around him- but these distinct feelings of...of longing. Of needing the other boy in a way that was most definitely not heterosexual.

These feelings that he wanted Jack’s arms around his waist to hold him tighter. These feelings that made Davey decide to lean back, so his head fit nicely under Jack’s chin.

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially having just convinced himself of that- but...well, if he was going to he stuck in this position anyway..

It was the feeling of Jack fully resting his head on top of Davey’s head that made the lengthy teen conceal a squeal of excitement-

What-

What was he, a teenag-

Oh, wait, yes, he was. And Jack-

“So...you’re seventeen?” Davey whispered.

“You says that like you is surprised.” Jack chuckled, and Davey could feel the vibrations of it on his shoulders, a feeling of contentment.

“I am.” Davey smiled slightly.

“Just by some months or so.” Jack shrugged, “No biggie.”

“It is when it comes to...to knowledge- few months or not, you’d be a year above me in school.” Davey mused quietly.

“That a problem?” Jack snorted, hiding the insecurity that suddenly gripped him.

“Not at all.” Davey would shake his head if it hadn’t for so perfectly against Jack’s chin, “Well- okay- it’s just-“

“You’re not used to not being the smartest one in the room, Dave?” Jack laughed quietly.

“Maybe..” Davey whispered quietly.

Jack seemed to shift in surprise, “Dave, I don’t got the same edjeecation as you.”

“But you’re street smart. You’ve been here for-“

“Like maybe eight months more than you. As an infant, Dave.”

“It’s just...I don’t know, I feel...smaller..which is different around you guys.”

“You feel bigger around the newsies?” Jack almost sounded surprised, “What? Because we’re smaller..?” Jack’s grip around Davey’s waist faltered and Davey instinctually gripped both of Jack’s hands to steady himself.

“N-No- it’s just- you guys actually listen to me- and what’s going to keep you listening if you don’t have my respect? Age isn’t just a symbol of education, Jack, it’s a symbol of respect, and even just a few months-“

“So yous sayin that you didn’t respect me when you thought I was your age?” Jack scoffed, hands tightened.

“No, Jack, I- no, it’s just-“

“No, Dave, I get it- people likes you know the way of- of higheearchies more than we’s do.” Jack began to stand up, pulling Davey up with him before letting go of the boy and allowing him to cling to the handlebars that were attached by loose chains up above, making them both wobble, except Jack was used to it.

“Th-That’s not what I meant-“

“Your status is higher than mine and you ain’t used to being lower than me.” Jack rolled his eyes.

Davey wished desperately to have the courage to move his feet and turn to face Jack, “Don’t twist my words-“

“I don’t have to! You said them!” Jack threw his hands up in the air.

“Calm down, or-“

“I am Calm.” Jack scowled.

“You’re really not, and Jack I respect you plenty-“

“Oh do you?” The long-haired blonde rolled his eyes in disbelief, “You know, Dave-“

“No, I don’t know, Jack, because you’re not giving me a second to wrap my head around what you’re saying.” Dave clutched the railings tighter as he became acutely aware of the drop below.

“You-“

“I respect you more than any other person I know, Jack Kelly, because you’re a genuinely good person who would turn down an offer to have a life far beyond what he currently has just because he loves and cares for these boys like they’re your family. That’s a more respectful thing than I or anyone I know has ever done so don’t accuse me of not respecting you- I-I’m just- not sure how I feel about feeling belittled- which isn’t- Christ- I realize it isn’t fair to you but this feeling is new, Jack, and little things are bothering me because I need air, I’m done with being inside, I just-“ there were hands around Davey’s waist and next thing he knew he was being pulled backwards.

“Work with me, Dave, I cant drag you across a plank being held up by chains.” Jack murmured.

Davey swallowed dryly and gently began to step back, stepping almost on Jack’s toes a few times before he felt warmth on his face as Jack reached up and pulled back a piece of fabric from a skylight. Davey’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly in awe, “Wow..”

“That’s not it.” Jack moved his hands to Davey’s shoulders and then pushed up on the window of the skylight. It opened with a pop as Jack pushed it all the way back. He moved to where Davey was and jumped up, his elbows landing on the roof as he pulled himself up, meanwhile Davey clung to the railings as the whole plank shook with Jack’s jump.

“J-Jack, I’m going to fall-“ Davey couldn’t get his eyes off the ground.

“Look up.” Jack called softly.

Davey shook his head, “I can’t-“

“Geez, Dave, making this hard on me, just, don’t focus on the ground-“

“Easier said than done.” Dave squeaked, estimating how far the drop was and if he’d survive or not. He kept his eyes trained on the ground for several second before he felt something soft touch his cheek. He looked up for a brief second to see Jack’s hand, palm towards his face, his hand, gently brush against Dave’a cheek.

“Take my hand.” Jack offered, “I’ll pull you up.”

Davey tightened his grip on the railings for a moment.

“Christ, Dave, don’t make me pull you up by your shirt collar.” Jack rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Davey couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind that.

Jack reached down far enough to grab Davey’s forearm before pulled at it.

Davey began to resist but Jack was stronger than him, and was soon able to pry his hand look and take the brunette’s hand, “Now the other one.”

Davey began to stagger, no longer balanced. A look of horror passed over Dave’s features and then Jack as the brunette lost his footing, and the weight of Davey’s arm suddenly became his whole body.

“JACK-“ Davey practically yelled.

Jack’s whole upper body slid through the skylight as he quickly wrapped his other arm around Davey’s waist and began to pull up, “Grab- the roof- quickly-“ He ordered as he pulled Davey up.

The brunette was quick to get his hands onto the roof, smooth as concrete, as he pushed himself through it, quickly moving to grab the back of Jack’s vest and pulling the boy towards him.

“Oh shit-“ Davey cursed as he held Jack close to his chest, trembling.

“I-I respect ya’ a lot for that, Dave. Thanks.” Jack wheezed.

“N-No problem.” Davey whispered out, not willing to admit that his heart was still pounding at the thought of Jack falling through the sky light.

Unaware that Jack’s heart was going through the same trauma after seeing Davey dangle from the plank of wood.

The boys simply sat in a tangle of arms and legs for several minute to recover before Jack sat back, “I-I mean it though, I respect ya’, Dave- I may have come around in the end but...you...you never lost yourself in the first place.”

“Lost myself? How’d you think I felt when you left us?” Davey smiled bittersweetly.

Jack pushed Davey’s head away gently, “You sap.”

“I’m sorry I got all insecure back there, um, won’t happen again.” Davey chuckled awkwardly as he stood up shakily.

“Don’t apologize for feelings, Dave, they’re the best thing that we’ve got.”

“You’re right though, you’re only- eight months ahead- I just..like believing I’m a mature person, but-“

“You thought I was more mature than you by my age?” Jack wheezed, “Dave I spend my time painting places I’ve never seen! A-And the other half starting strikes that I can’t handle alone and you think I’m mature?”

“Of course you are.” Davey responded honestly, “You just proved it- you acknowledged the way I felt and- and didn’t shut it down, that’s pretty mature.”

“Yeah, right after I threw a tantrum about yous not respectin’ me.” Jack snorted.

“Which was after me freaking out in the first place because I finally understand why you’ve got so much muscle, it suits you for having eight more months to work out than me.” Davey joked.

Jack blushed, “Yous...think I got muscle?”

Davey seemed to hear what he’d said moments too late and belatedly slapped a hand over his mouth, “uM-“

“Don’t he so down on yourself, you’ve got some meat on your bones.” Jack chuckled, changing the subject, much to Davey’s relief, “Now enjoy that air you wanted.”

It seemed to click in Davey’s mind finally that they were outside. He began to look around as though the New York skyline was now new.

And seeing Jack as a part of its beauty...perhaps it was.

***

Part 1: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615195930647511040/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-1

Part 2: https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/615272010026827776/newsies-in-quarantine-javid-part-2

#javid #javey #jack #david jacobs #jack kelly #newsies #racetrack higgins #higgins #gay #quarantine #1992newsies #1992 #newsies 1992 #1992 newsies #broadway #musical #musicals

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jksangelic · 6 years ago

Text

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type��. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

“You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

“1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

“u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

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elleonmybeloved · 4 years ago

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So, I don’t really have any finished fics to link for the thing Raven tagged me in a while ago... but how about a snippet from one of my original works that’s in progress? It’s from one of my upcoming books, Shipwrecked on Apophyia.

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“What were you really thinking about, staring so intensely into nothing?” The friendly easy-going tone he had made him popular on the cruise, several people flocking to him easily. Junia assumed he was the type who made a lot of friends wherever he went.

Well, he’d asked, so don’t blame her for being honest.

“I was thinking about the ruins we saw today on our dive. I just find it odd that despite their depth, they show signs of the damage occurring in the water. In fact, almost all of the ruins we’ve visited have been like that. How would people or the elements have had access to it to destroy it while under the water? They didn’t have the kind of modern technology we have today. Did something collide with it underwater?...”

“...And yet the impact pattern suggests a number of close range blows rather than a single large one.” She mused, pinching a strand of hair between her fingers in thought. “Not to mention we can’t figure what made those marks. Granted these ruins are ancient, so the evidence left on the surface of the impacts must have eroded into the water by now, but if it was a hard material like stone or some kind of metal, it would have left traces somewhere nearby. A large enough chunk to analyze.”

“But there’s nothing. As if an invisible force was the one to collide with it. But how could that be possible. I also noticed the central impact indentations were about the size of an average human hand…”

Junia trailed off as she noticed Dr. Danforth staring at her. Irritation sparked in her chest. And this was exactly why people should just leave her alone if they didn’t want to listen.

“Yeah, I know it’s a long shot, all crazy theories and no evidence. Not really fair to blame me when you asked though.” She grumbled.

Dr. Danforth raised an eyebrow. “I never told you to stop, did I?”

“Your face was dropping hints.”

The doctor laughed. “No, no, you misunderstand me. I was just thinking that I wish I had more students that questioned like you do. Science is asking questions. Not taking things at face value like we are all so tempted to do. Even I struggle with that. I think you have a knack for it, Miss Klein.”

“Oh.” Junia dropped her gaze, unhappy at her inability to gauge a situation correctly, once again. “Sorry.”

“Hmm… I actually noticed the peculiar way in which the damage was inflicted as well. I’d love to hear more of your theories, but all that swimming gets a man hungry, and I know from experience I’m more than capable of talking all through dinner.” Stepping back from the railing, Dr. Danforth made a beckoning gesture.

“Hopefully you’ll join me in the dining room then, so we can continue our discussion?”

Junia bit her lip. She was hungry, but she preferred to wait until almost everyone had already ate and left to go get hers. Hence why she was out here in the first place. What’s more, she was willing to bet that any table with Dr. Danforth at it would soon be way too over-populated for her liking.

“We can sit at one of the booths.” He said encouragingly, reading her expression. “More comfortable anyways.”

Junia couldn’t think of any other reason to refuse.

“...Alright.” She said finally, breaking away from the railing and trailing after him.

—-

Play with fire and you will get burned.

Such a simple concept and she was born with such a capable brain. Yet, here Junia was, in a situation she knew was a risk and she’d took it anyway. Junia and Dr. Danforth had been able to exchange theories in their red-cushioned booth seats for exactly five minutes before dinner was ruined.

Miserably shoveling a bite of vegetable stir fry into her mouth, Junia glared down at the reflection of the intruders on the rim of her bowl. Across from her sat Dr. Danforth, and beside him, the big trendy glasses and dark red lipstick wearing, probably not old enough to be drinking that bright yellow pina colada “assistant” the Doctor had brought along, Erica Lockheart.

The other unwelcome addition sat next to her, caging her into this prison of her own terrible judgement, Dr. Juliano Manuel, renowned across the field for his published ground-breaking research papers on pre-columbian civilization, and one of Dr. Danforth’s old friends apparently. They were happily drinking Corona and swapping stories as if she wasn’t there.

Dr. Manuel was also much younger than Dr. Danforth, in his early twenties, and acted as such, insisting on buying her a drink and asking her all sorts of questions she didn’t want to answer.

Between Ms. Lockheart’s shameless attempts to catch Dr. Danforth’s attention with the cleavage displayed by her low-necked cocktail dress and Dr. Manuel’s incessant flirting and attempt to put the moves on her, Junia was going to jump overboard of her own volition and swim her own way back hundreds of miles to the nearest shore rather than spend another minute enduring this torture.

Brushing her perfectly manicured hand over Dr. Danforth’s shirt, Ms. Lockheart teasingly rubbed the crisp white lapel and whispered something Junia couldn’t hear, but could definitely guess.

With an exasperated exhale, Junia abruptly stood, snatching her things off the booth.

“Excuse me.” She demanded, looking pointedly at Dr. Manuel.

“Where are you going, you’ve barely touched your drink.” He protested with a placating pat on her arm as he gestured to the light green mojito he’d forced on her.

Junia was nearing the end of her patience.

“Move, before I make you move.”

With a surprised expression of shock, Dr. Manuel scooted off the seat.

Junia did not waste any time, stalking off as fast as her feet could take her. She didn’t even glance back at Dr. Danforth.

“Jeez, rude much?” She heard Ms. Lockheart say, but just clenched her teeth and weaved around the tables of socializing scientists in the dining room, barging through the swinging doors with more force than necessary and letting them bat together loudly behind her.

It was surprisingly windy out on the deck. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she raised a curious glance to the night sky. Just an hour previous there had been not a cloud in sight, but now a wall of thick dark clouds loomed from the west. The strong breeze was cool, a stark contrast to the warm night air it moved into.

It was probably going to rain. She’d better get back to her room before her short wavy locks frizzed up. She hadn’t thought to bring many hair products with her on this cruise, but she hadn’t been planning for anything other than blazing sun. The many bottles of SPF 50 on her bedside table spoke to that.

Once safely back in the private warmth of her room, with a locked door between her and the world, Junia’s temper began to settle.

‘Well great, more people to avoid. Can’t a girl do her research in peace without people having to stir up drama?’ She thought to herself, eyeing the diving gear she’d dumped on the floor earlier. She should probably clean it. Though mostly dry by now, there were bits of seaweed, sand, and salt residue.

Grabbing some sanitary wipes and the small trash can, she got to work cleaning the suit. Zoning out at the repetitive motions, her mind returned to contemplate the ruins she’d seen today.

Junia thought it was odd how all the ruins of Apophysis that were most intact were deep underwater. If the city had fallen by war, which seemed more likely than disease given the deliberate destruction of several of the buildings and other structures they’d discovered, why would the few ruins they discovered on land be in worse condition than those in the ocean? Shouldn’t erosion and the disturbance of sea life have deteriorated those faster?

It all left her with so many questions. Which, to her, was exciting. If she could figure something out here she’d not only be a step closer to unraveling the mysteries of this ancient civilization, but any groundbreaking discovery would be enough to launch her into the kind of fame and renown that would greatly expedite her research.

Yes, she was being paid by the University’s graduate program to go on this cruise and conduct research on the ruins, but that sum just barely covered her living costs. Food, housing, and everyday expenses… but not much else. So getting her hands on quality equipment and materials was proving difficult. Even her diving equipment was a rental.

Something fell out of the swim fin she had been scrubbing. Scooting back, she reached between her legs to get it. Holding it up to the light, it was a round rock-like shape covered in grime.

Wiping off the surface, Junia peered at it closer. What was this? Beneath the dirt, it was a dark but beautiful blue, near-black color that was somewhat transparent, like a crystal, although the surface was more rough. It reminded her of sea glass, but less fragile.

Clearing away more of the grime until it was clean, Junia curiously inspected the circular rock. This was too well shaped to be natural, it had been cut by human hands. A smooth circular ridge framed the outer part of the circle. Was this decorative in nature? Flipping it over to inspect the back, Junia gasped. There were Apophyian symbols engraved in a circle on the back, and one large symbol in the middle.

There was no official translation for Apophyian, having only been recently discovered within the past 20 years, but there was some loose suggestions for translations for the most popular recurring symbols put together by leading researchers in the field. Junia herself had her own theories of what each symbol meant based on their context, but due to the lack of undamaged ruins, it was difficult to find more than 5-6 symbols side to side intact. So there was no way to prove any guesses she’d developed, but she had discovered a few years ago that the symbols seemed to resemble ancient pictorial languages like Egyptian hieroglyphs and early traditional mandarin Chinese, and found enough similar patterns to make some connections and possible translations.

Most of the symbols on this odd rock however, which she assumed was perhaps a votive amulet of some kind, were unlike the ones she’d observed on the other ruins. That made sense, considering those ruins had been architectural remains and she wouldn’t expect the words engraved on a bridge or a tower to be the same as ones carved into an amulet. There were a few she did recognize though.

The word she had speculated meant “ocean,” which she was definitely not surprised to see, was one. The other she recognized though, was the symbol for “power” or “force” which, if this object truly did have a votive purpose, also made sense. An amulet for protection. It was rather fancy to be a personal item, though. Perhaps this had belonged to an important person or rulerm, or even symbolically, to a deity.

Regardless of its original purpose and value, this object was definitely priceless to her and her fellow Apophyian researchers. Putting it in a plastic baggie to help preserve it, she carefully zipped it into her jacket pocket. Junia didn’t intend to take even the slightest chance to damage or lose such an important item. She supposed she should notify the others of what she found right away, but considering her awkward exchange with Dr. Danforth and the others at dinner, she would rather not face them again soon if she could help it. Best to keep it with her for now and tell them tomorrow.

A loud knock on her door made her startle guiltily. Junia felt like laughing at herself - it’s not like she was hiding it from them on purpose, so what reason did she have to feel guilty? Shaking her head at herself, she glared at the door.

~~~

#original works #wip #ocean adventures

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nozomijoestar · 5 years ago

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Wrote NaraTrish having fun, confessing, and comforting each other bc they’re so great as either friends or a couple

*This isn’t for nasty pedo thotties or prudish infantilizing thotties, both sides of the discourse shut up 1-2 year gap max is fine and no one should ever sexualize minors with or without adults, this is for well adjusted people who recognize teens can explore sexuality and romance without showing sex or being disgusting fetish ty

Anyway I made like 3 Aerosmith song references if you can find them cool keep on rockin (extra bonus if you know what the allusion is at the final paragraph and line) also bisexual hc for both

"Your hands are a lot bigger than mine. That's friggin unfair. I'm a guy!" Trish giggled yet the only irritation he felt aimed at himself. He knew why that was. How he once scrounged a year eating trash; no home or bed and the eyes of wolves reflected in anyone else. When he would tell her however remained uncertain. It brought only shame. "Narancia there's nothing wrong with that. Look, you're covered with callouses. I'd never get one in a million years." She smiled and separated their hands to trace along his. Her finger ran along his lifeline; a patch of skin on his left palm mangled by scars. He didn't know what quick thing he should say. His boyish eyes were too dazzled by how smooth she was by comparison. How nice she smelled. The way he carried himself just didn't cut it. But now wasn't the time to think, Trish was speaking. "If you're worried about looking manly I think you're already there. Halfway at least." Narancia groaned and hung his head. The bravado he clung to deflated. She touched their foreheads. Their hands returned to their laps. No hesitation bothered Trish when she stroked his cheek. He moved to rest his head against her shoulder. "You really think I'm doing a good job Trish? This whole thing, this fuckin mess...Your life in danger...Your asshole dad-" "I said before to all of you. Even if I have to die by the end; I won't meet it without knowing who I came from. I'll see this through never running away." She felt him sigh and lean against her. She'd flooded confidence into what she said. It was conviction. Not just because she believed it, or because facing one's problems defined responsibility. Courage propelled Narancia forward; eased past his turbulent indecisiveness whenever he wasn't under threat. Buccellati breathed such a thing as if it were life energy. Without her full awareness that will had a hand in shaping her, when exactly she couldn't say. To think the same man she might regard as a true father often disregarded Narancia being wounded short of death- that gnawed at her. To Trish, risking his life being part of the job didn't justify some callousness. Whether she loved Narancia as a man or a comrade he mattered beyond being ordered. When she realized he'd gone awfully quiet she embraced him. He was so small despite being an inch taller. A minute passed before anything came from him. "I was so scared. Following everyone- I was so so scared. Buccellati's never been wrong; but when I had to make up my own mind I froze. That's awful...I owe him everything but I froze. Why couldn't I just be ready to die for him and come along to begin with?" She pet his hair and leaned against him closing her eyes. He felt coarse, even a bit sweaty. No one could remember the last time they'd taken consistent showers. Yet the longer she felt his heart in silence the more she didn't care. Only he could do that. Of the talkative bunch Mista was a friend; but his fault lay in the ways he bore himself down. Asserted himself a bit too intensely. Narancia had been different from the start. Thus by her book he got away with less. Most importantly he was the easiest to talk to. He could be loud and quick tempered at insults- then soft spoken the moment he grew unsure in himself, or unsure at saying the right thing on his mind. Even if he didn't always understand, he knew how to consider what others suffered. Not once could Trish remember him speaking to her knowingly with ill intent. So she held him thinking, grasping in her mind for any smart sounding solutions. Anything Buccellati might say as much as it annoyed her to admit it. Ultimately that proved fruitless. No one else but Buccellati could be him after all. Instead she said, "No one is glad to die Narancia." He tensed up. Trish pulled back and looked him in the eyes; spoke directly to his heart. "No one's glad to die even if they say they are. They'll hate it right to the moment it happens. I think you were right to hesitate. That's not an easy choice." "Hmm...if you say so. Giorno gave me hope what I chose was right y'know; he's that kinda guy. I gotta figure out how to do that for me. And I guess also...the stuff you said about not giving up on finding things out..." Narancia fiddled with his hands. Mussed his hair. Buying this much time to think in conversation set off Trish's suspicions. She raised an eyebrow; that was her tell. "I thought you were a lot like me. But you don't just do things on whims, so I guess not. Sorry." The room inside the turtle grew quiet only for a pause. Trish broke it with a laugh light as air. Immediately Narancia's grim mood was wiped away by a panic. He spoke as she kept laughing. "Did I say something dumb?" Trish wiped a tear from her eye and fell calm. She had such control of her emotions sometimes he could always tell where one had stopped and the other began. Emotion through his mind took on the unguided frenzy of a storm. The idea of control, like obeying authority he didn't choose, slid off him no better than oil on water. "No no Narancia just silly. You can empathize with someone without being them." "Empathize? What's that mean?" "Means you can understand what someone feels. You understand it and share it. Usually if you've gone through similar things." "My mom died when I was younger and my dad could care less about me too. That's why I emp...empi-" "Em-pa-thigh-ze." "Yeah that. Empathize." "That's alright Narancia I get it." She wouldn't press him for more. That would come in his own time on his own terms. Not knowing everything didn't make the pang in her heart less real. "Dads suck huh?" They laughed. They didn't know if it was to mask hurt or dry humor or both. Though it felt sudden but certainly wasn't, now Trish wanted anything to change the mood. She stood up and Narancia's eyes followed in constant interest. No one needed to say anything for him to mimic her. "I never showed you my Stand did I? You were injured." In an instant every feature of Narancia's face glowed excitement. He made exaggerated gestures and talked almost twice as fast. The others could find it annoying or immature but she saw endearing. "You didn't you have to show me! What's its name? Lemme see lemme see!" "Settle down Narancia I'm not going anywhere." Trish stood still and shut her eyes. She breathed a deep breath. Her concentration would've faltered if it weren't his eyes watching. A trick she's formed was to focus on an idea of her father. How she'd hit him back. The rest came easy. "Spice Girl." A feeling on her skin like a buzz when you come close to an electric current swept over her. Behind her, from her a shimmering humanoid figure emerged. Despite all the attention it took to summon Spice Girl appeared in an instant. It matched her height and build; that was where the similarities ended. It's skin was pinks and reds and rare whites. The eyes were catty and yellow; all emotion reserved to observe the world. Symbols marked its head, kneecaps, and shoulders. Though he never finished elementary school Narancia thanked Fugo for learning to recognize them. They were equation markers. Addition and division. Something akin to a tunic with narrow rectangular gaps covered its chest. A tiny skirt resembling a Centurion's at the end of that hid the groin. It said nothing yet stared at him; peered into him as if seeing not his body but Aerosmith. Trish opened her eyes; shifted from looking lovingly up at her Stand to enthralled Narancia. His naturally big eyes gave him the wonder of a child. That she always found cute. What hitched her breath came seeing the gentle fascination, the pride for someone else, the way he stared as though it were the only thing he'd find tender. She moved to walk closer toward him and found him doing the same. He remained entranced until they gently collided. Finally his eyes fell on her again; their sweet emotion unchanged. In one of those rare contemplative moments he spoke soft but genuine. Forever genuine. He didn't know any other way to be. "It's really nice Trish. Way cooler than Aerosmith. It looks like it always knows what to do; that's you all the way. Looks strong." Suddenly her face grew red hot; her first blush not from embarrassment. If Narancia noticed he didn't say it, but he probably had. "What can it do?" "It makes anything softer. Like rubber. And that-" She rose her hand and clenched it the way Spice Girl had done at its awakening. "Makes them stronger than diamonds." Spice Girl punched the floor in a blink. The rug beneath them stretched like gum. Narancia stares down trembling ever so slightly. The fabric had appeared to melt into a reflective puddle. Shifting his feet produced a rubbery squish. It consumed him faster than quicksand. Before they could sink knee deep as the ground gave way, it was undone. He sighed and caught his breath. Little by little his composure returned. Though he would never be endangered at her hand such strength made anyone nervous. Spice Girl returned within Trish. They were within arms length. "Pretty crazy huh? I'd never have believed it till it appeared." Narancia nodded dumbly. When she took his hands again he swallowed hard; looked her head on. He had a knack for reading into anything if he applied himself. Right now it washed away under the racing of his heart. There was an energy to her expression he'd never seen on anyone. A look he once imagined Fugo might wear. His body tingled. Trish spoke uncharacteristically sheepish. Paused in places where he thought she'd be firm. Her thumbs brushed along his and it gave him a chill. He didn't want to pull back. The last bits of his rationale struggled to give answers. Was she sick? Did she need to lie down? More importantly how much longer did they have alone? What would he tell the guys? Buccellati? "Narancia I...uh well...this might be weird but- have you ever kissed someone?" A pause. His memory skipped in disbelief. "W-What?" "Kissed someone. Anyone. On the mouth." "Like how my parents used to?" Trish laughed into a sigh. "Yeah like that." Narancia scrambled to undo the burned out engine his thoughts became. He was growing way too hot. Hot the way he sometimes did dreaming of Fugo, or some magazine model, or...Trish. Those nights he'd wake up covered in sweat and dazed. The feeling crashed its way into the present faster than a plane. He couldn't meet her eyes. "No. You'll probably say it's weird but I used to...imagine that with Fugo. N-Not all the time! It would just happen and I couldn't do anything about it." "Oh? Really?" "Yeah. It's stupid cuz guys are supposed to think about girls. And that kind of stuff with them..." If he were looking he'd see some of Trish's fire dampen. She didn't let it reach her voice. "Do you still think of him that way?" "No! N-No...not since he left. I mean I can get why but, he abandoned us when we needed him." His eyes flit to her again. "When you needed him. It's made me real confused; angry too I guess." "Well it's not weird. Not to me. Don't tell anyone but sometimes I've thought of girls too and-" Trish grew fully red in the face again. Even she couldn't finish that sentence. Narancia gasped; his expression lit up with something not painful. "So you get it then! I thought I was the only one. Boys and girls...I don't think I care which." "Right? I don't think I could choose either. But my real question is-" She leaned closer letting him hear her heart through her pulse. He didn't need Aerosmith to tell her breathing went fluttery. It made him want to lean in. "Have you ever wanted to kiss me?" Wordlessly he held her. The spinning indecisiveness that had him tail diving righted itself. He stared at her with his mind made. The tiny gasp she gave at the move solidified his resolve. This wasn't a dream. "You should've just asked me that in the first place." "Eh? So you-" "To be honest I thought you'd never ask or do anything. I'm not the brightest guy at this stuff." "Sorry..." "It's alright." "Really?" "Yeah." Their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. "Ah-" Their eyes shut at the brush of their lips. Neither needed direction or would've taken any from anyone but themselves. He felt Trish wrap her arms around his neck; pressed all of herself against him the way he did her. Slowly she pulled him down with her fingers in his hair. Kissed him stronger when they knelt in sync. The feel of his touch along her jaw electrified them both. Affectionately he brushed her hair behind her ear. No longer than seconds passed each time they separated into another kiss; shallow or meaningful. One after another. The thought of being caught with one look into the turtle from above meant nothing to their roaring hearts. How long it'd been before they separated they didn't know. They sighed against each other. Trish was the first to smile; to giggle in that mystical way Narancia couldn't explain but felt. He kissed her forehead; hated to let go. "Trish I lov-" She put a finger to his lips. "You've already said it for now. Just hold me. I wanna know you're really here." "Ok...ok." They laid on the rug embracing all the while. When she leaned against his chest and tickled his neck at each breath- that was a home. A place only they had. She tilted his chin and he gave it gladly; blushed at the kiss on his nose. At this distance he felt her heart through his. He rested his cheek atop Trish's hair. "Are people always this warm so close?" She asked. "I dunno. Never checked." "I guess we found out anyway." He heard the sleepiness in her voice. She grew heavier against him; relaxed into his shape. He looked down to find her eyes closed. Trish wrapped her arm tighter around his waist. He returned the favor as she slept. Narancia felt himself tire. Trish was the warmest heat he'd ever known. It could rage for him like a furnace one moment, then be gentler than sunlight. He blinked hard and fast. Never took his gaze off Trish. To hell if he was tired. He didn't want to miss a moment. Never one to deny his impulses he kissed her eyes. She made a soft noise against him. Like dusk to dawn the present became the past. The need to rest his body weighed upon him began to win. Before he could drift away his mind showed him a fleeting image. He was alone again. Damp and dirty and his bandaged eye burning. Two years ago that kind of night blended into the next without end. He'd clutch his only blanket tight; his only comfort against death or cold or despair. Narancia glanced at Trish a final time. The helpless boy of then rested into the arms of his blanket, his safety. He'd never slept so soundly.

#naratrish #hoes dont interact those who like it leave a like or rb i appreciate it #narancia ghirga #trish una #jojo's bizarre adventure #my writing

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jobean12-blog · 5 years ago

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Top Shelf: Chapter 1- Enchantment

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Book shop AU with a surprise twist ;)

Word Count: 1,311

Summary: A rainy day takes you on an unexpected adventure

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So this is the first chapter of my first series. I hope you all enjoy it! I’m going to do my best to update at least once a week. Thank you all for showing interest in this and I really hope you enjoy! LOVE to all❤❤❤

Warnings: warm and fuzzy fluff, the delight of books, shy and sweet Bucky :)

The rain was coming down in a steady rhythm, the pitter patter melodic against your umbrella. With your polka dot rainboots splashing through the puddles you made your way down the block, looking for a warm spot to hide and wait out the storm.

All the coffee shops were packed, groups of friends huddling together clutching their steaming cups, gently sipping and clearly soothed by the hot liquid. As you rounded the corner your eyes caught the warm glow of a small shop, the word “Books” simply stated above the door.

You jogged across the street with renewed hope, the charm of the shop hard to hide even under the veil of heavy rain. Upon opening the door, you were met with a sense of elegant chaos. Tall stacks of books sat precariously against each other while the small aisles housed shelves tall enough to reach the ceiling.

The first inhale of air was divine, the faint smell of vanilla mixed with something woodsy that could only be defined as the aromatic scent of ‘old books.’ It left you smiling and warm inside. Looking around you didn’t see another living soul, just the possibility of the thousands of adventures that would be found under the dusty book covers.

Resting your umbrella against the doorframe you slowly walked down the first aisle, your movements cautious as to not upset the balance of books around you. Looking up you examine the bindings, searching for one to catch your eye. It doesn’t take long, the familiar symbol of the Auryn making your heart soar as you quickly look for a way to reach it.

Finally, you find a small stool and roll it over, stepping up with both feet and stretching your arm up. Just as you lean in to grasp the book you feel the stool start to roll backward, your piercing scream ringing out through the small shop as you being to feel the effects of gravity.

But before your body hits the hard-wooden floor you’re caught by strong arms, gently holding your waist as you slide down the very broad chest of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “Woah,” you breathe out, “thank you.”

“Seems luck is on your side today,” he says with a wink. “Maybe not in the form of a giant white luck dragon, but…” he continues and trails off, almost seeming embarrassed. “You’re a fan of the book too, I take it?” you ask with a bright smile, hoping to ease his worry of awkwardness. “Oh, thank god, I was nervous I just totally blew my chance there! And yes, one of my childhood favorites and still is today.”

It isn’t until you catch a hint of vanilla mixed with something slightly spicy that you realize you’re still wrapped in his arms, the warmth of his body radiating through you, “oh, I’m so sorry,” you whisper and move back. Rubbing the back of his neck he says, “it’s ok, I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt.”

The light pink blush that coats his cheeks has you swooning all over again. With a deep breath you reach out your hand, “I’m y/n.” His face lights up in a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes as his warm hand envelopes yours, “Bucky, Bucky Barnes, I’m the shop owner.”

You stand there for a moment, your hand in his as the feeling of comfort washes over you, ‘well, Bucky, the shop owner, would you mind helping me get that book down, please?” He quickly releases your hand, stumbling over his words as he hops up onto the stool and easily grabs the book, “oh yea, right, here you go, I almost forgot.”

Handing you the book he watches as your hand smooths over the worn cover in admiration, “I can tell you’re a book lover.” Looking back up, the softness in his eyes catches you off guard and you find yourself just as enchanted by Bucky as you are by the book. “I am. I was so happy to stumble across your shop. Once the rain started coming down the coffee shops got packed and I’d much rather be here anyway.”

“That makes two of us,” he replies, placing his hands in his jean pockets and shuffling on his feet. “Um, well, if you still want something warm to drink, I can make us some tea. If you’re not looking to head out yet.” Your head swings toward the front of the store, staring as the drops of rain hit the window, “no, I’m definitely not ready to head out yet and tea sounds perfect.”

Bucky grabs your hand and heads toward the back of the store, leading you toward a small nook nestled by the side window and softly light by lanterns on the wall. “You have a reading nook!” you practically squeal out in happiness, running toward it and plopping yourself down on the plush cushion.

Bucky’s laugh echoes through the quiet space, “I do and I’m so glad you’re happy about it, most people don’t appreciate it as much.” You lift your legs and bring your knees up, curling against the back cushion and smiling at him like a kid on Christmas, “Bucky, this is magical, I’ve always wanted one of these! Come sit.” You pat the spot next to your feet, the space just big enough for you both.

“Let me just grab our tea first! What kind do you like? I have the usual.” Hugging the book to your chest you think for a moment, “hmmm any kind of green tea would be great, thank you.” Giving you a sweet smile, he turns and jogs away, the sound of clinking glass drifting down the aisle shortly after.

Placing your hand on the Auryn you whisper the title, “The Neverending Story,” before carefully opening to the first page. The sound of Bucky clearing his throat is the only thing that pulls you from your trance, his blue eyes focused on your face as you look up at him in surprise.

“Hey,” you whisper almost timidly, unsure how long he had been watching you. “Tea is ready,” he says, placing down a tray with two cups of steaming liquid, some honey, sugar and two cookies. Bucky notices your eyes brighten at the sight of the cookies, “they are really good, one of my regulars makes them all the time and always brings me some. She’s a real nice old lady who always feeds me,” he laughs, sitting down across from you.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from your work,” you say, frowning for the first time since walking in the shop. Bucky sits up, his hand landing on your knee, “no, no, not at all. There won’t be much foot traffic today with the rain and all and anyway, most people who come in here are regular customers and know me by name. They’ll yell if they need anything.”

When he removes his hand you feel the loss, thoughts of crawling into his lap racing through your mind. Reaching over he gently takes the book from your hands, his voice low as he asks, “do you mind, I like to read aloud?” Grabbing your cup of tea and a cookie you snuggle in, giving him an enthusiastic nod, “I’d love that, Bucky.”

Just as the first word falls from his lips you find it hard to concentrate, his mouth drawing you in much quicker than the story. It’s a first. You’ve always fallen in love with books so easily. You fall in love with every book you touch. You have secret favorites but when asked you could never choose. Today, just as this book caught your eye you knew, but even now as you try to look away, it’s too late. Bucky has your full attention, more so than any book ever has.

@aesthetical-bucky @book-dragon-13 @throwmyheartawayagain @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @fire-flv @flyawaybay @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @itsunclebucky @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewelofwinter @jewels2876 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @loricameback @littledarlinwrites @littledarlinhavefaithinme @godofplumsandthunder @marvelgirl7 @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @softpeachbarnes @sallycanwait68 @when-the-hell-is-bucky

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes bookshop au #bookshop au #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #top shelf #sebastian stan

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holographic-chogi · 6 years ago

Text

Protector pt.3/23

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: fem!reader x stray kids

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: swearing, animal death, blood

A/N: Regular upload schedule? Don’t know her. Anyway, there’s some cool stuff coming up I’m hyped y’all. Also, I was thinking of making this into a universe that a bunch of different series could stem from, from other groups and such. Lemme know what you think, open to seeing action from other groups in this world?

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist

You were currently sat at the long couch beside Chan, the others had been shooed out earlier. He had just told you the major details of their group. Basically, from what you gathered, they were one of many groups affiliated with JYP. They didn’t wear the symbols anywhere because they often were sent on raids by the higher-ups that required anonymity. A few people from the group would head out everyday for minor errands while everyone else stayed back to maintain the farm. It was funny, they weren’t actually the combative group you had originally thought. According to Chan, the raid from last night at the prison was Felix’s first in months.

Chan shifted forward, interrupting your thoughts. “You’re a guest, so you really don’t have to do any work around here.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, I insist. It’s already so much for you to let me stay here, let me repay you a bit.”

He bit his lip, seemingly in thought, “We’ll see. I appreciate it though”. He stood up and brushed his pants before continuing. “In the meantime, I have to leave for a errand with a few of the others. If you’re bored at all, maybe go introduce yourself to everyone. Changbin and Woojin should be alternating day-guarding about now—” He paused to count the others on his fingers, “Felix will either be tending the crops or the animals. Seungmin and Minho will be asleep for awhile since they’re on 2nd watch, but they should pop up in a few hours. Hyunjin should be out in the woods hunting pretty much all day today but you might see him cleaning a catch out back. Jisung and Jeongin will be with me but you can meet them later—”

You lock eyes. Chan blushes a bit, realizing that he had been rambling. You smile up at him, hopefully making him feel less embarrassed before answering, “Today, I’ll stick with meeting everyone but tomorrow I expect to be put to work.”

He chuckles. “Again, we’ll see.”

You like this, having a calm and happy conversation with Chan. All he’s seen you do before this is cry and panic, and frankly, it was embarrassing. You look down before murmuring, “Sorry I’ve been crying so much. I promise I’m not usually like this.”

His gaze softened and kneeled down to eye level, “Don’t apologize, you’ve been through a lot lately”. From the corner of your eye you saw him hover a hand over your own, which were currently clasped in your lap. Suddenly, he looked flustered and began to pull it away, but you quickly grabbed it and held it in yours, looking him in the eyes in hopes of fully showing your sincerity.

“Thank you so much Chan, really.”

His face went red. He cleared his throat and quickly pulled his hand away. “Yeah n-no problem”. You smiled, his shyness was pretty adorable everytime it popped up. He was the serious, responsible leader one moment, and a stuttering, blushy mess the next.

Chan had been gone for about an hour before you finally went outside. You were determined to meet everyone, since it was the only task you were given for the day. It wasn’t much, but honestly, you’d take what you could get. You stood on the porch, shielding your eyes from the sun as you scanned the area. In front of the farmhouse stood an expanse of grass, stretching about two hundred feet until it hit the fence. There was the water pump you saw earlier, and a bit farther to the right there was a fenced in chicken coop. It must’ve been too far to see from the window. Little hens of different colors were all hurrying to the front of the coop, seemingly excited by something. Out of curiosity, you made your way closer. Looking around the corner, you saw Felix crouched down; offering a large handful of feed to the excited chickens. You watched them eat for a moment before clearing your throat.

His gaze popped up to you and a large smile stretched across his face. “Y/N!” He tossed the chicken feed to the ground and jumped to his feet, taking several steps closer. “Did everything go alright with Chan?”

A small smile spread to your face before you nodded. Funny, his smile was so contagious. “I wanted to help work, to start paying you guys back, but it didn’t fly.”

Felix crossed his arms with a fake look of sternness. “Good thing too. You aren’t doing any work around here if I have anything to do with it.”

You mimicked his crossed arms, “Well I hate being a mooch. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Something flashed in Felix’s eyes and he stepped forward, placing a hand on your forearm. “You aren’t a burden”. He paused, and looked at the hand on your forearm before quickly withdrawing it. He looked ashamed. “I-I’m sorry.”

You looked at him, confused. “For what?”

He wrapped his arms back around himself, this time not as a joke. “Changbin said I should keep my hands to myself. I’m sorry if I’ve been overstepping, it’s just been awhile since I’ve really interacted with a girl and uh…” he paused, “I forgot that I shouldn’t really do that.”

You reach out, taking his hands in yours. Second time you’ve been in this situation today, but this time you were doing the comforting. “Don’t listen to Changbin, he clearly doesn’t know how to treat me either. You been nothing but sweet since I’ve been here and I don’t think you’ve overstepped at all.” You chuckle, “Besides, I’m touchy too, so I get it.”

Felix’s sunny smile reappeared and before you had time to think, you were engulfed in a hug. You froze, certainly not expecting this. You felt his grip on you falter, and you quickly reciprocated, hugging him too. He moved his chin, almost nuzzling into your neck. “Good, because I didn’t want to stop touching you.”

It was your turn to blush now. You could feel the heat growing in your cheeks at his words and quite frankly, it wasn’t something you’ve experienced in a long while. You slipped from his hold, holding him at arm’s length, smiling. You really hope that the blush on your face wasn’t too visible. “Let’s hang out more later, I should go do my introductions.”

He nodded giddily, “Later then!”

You made your way over to the lookout perches, opting to move past Changbin’s perch and head over to Woojin’s. It wasn’t too rude to skip Changbin. After all, you did already meet. You stood beside the ladder, observing the structure. Woojin’s perch was a little higher than the fence with short walls on the side. Probably good for if he needed to take cover. There was a slim connector between the two perches in case they needed to get from one to the other. Woojin was currently sat in a chair with his feet propped up on the front wall, book in hand. Changbin was laser-focused on the surrounding area, rifle ready in hand. He must be on shift. You looked up towards Woojin and called out, “Good morning!”

Woojin turned around in his chair, setting his book down and looking over the edge. “Hey! Come on up!”

He wore a teddy bear-like grin on his face, quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve met at this place. You scrambled up the ladder and climbed into the perch. It was pretty wide: with a chair, a stack of books, a few folded blankets, some random bags of chips (and wrappers), a rifle leaning against the wall, a pistol by the chair and machete carelessly tossed in the corner. You wondered if Changbin’s perch was this messy.

“Pretty cluttered, I know.”

You looked up at Woojin, who was currently leaned back in the chair eating a bag of chips. “It’s really not bad,” you lied. “Thanks for inviting me up here, I just wanted to introduce myself. You’re Woojin, right? Chan said you’d be up here about now.”

“Yep, I’m Woojin. It’s nice to meet you.” He reached a hand out, “Y/N, right?”

You smiled politely, “Yup, Y/N.” You shook his hand, before glancing over at Changbin.

You heard Woojin chuckle behind you, “Don’t expect a warm welcome from him. He’s kinda been a dick lately.” He moved next to you to face Changbin, resting his arms on the perch wall. “Did you do something to piss him off?”

You shook your head, “Literally nothing. I haven’t really even talked to him.”

“That doesn’t seem too out of character for him. Usually it takes him a minute to warm up to people.” He paused, “But he seems especially hostile with you. It’s weird.”

“Maybe because I’m a girl?”

“Don’t think so. I’ve seen him around girls before at other groups, he’s never this bad. He’s usually just uninterested. This time he seems adamantly against you.”

Changbin let out his signature annoyed huff before setting his gun down and turning towards the two of you. “Will the two of you please shut up? Save the analysis for when I don’t have to sit and listen to it.”

Your face went red and Woojin laughed before turning back around.

Changbin moved his gaze from Woojin to you, narrowing his eyes. “What are you still staring at?”

You whirled around, and you heard Changin readjust his gun, going back to keeping watch. What the hell was his problem? He is such an asshole. And why didn’t you turn around when Woojin did? Despite his pissy behavior, you couldn’t help but stare. Ugh. Gotta change that.

Woojin patted you on the back, “Give him time, Y/N. He’ll come around.

You smiled up at him. You sure hope so.

After chatting with Woojin for awhile, you ended up crawling back down the ladder, ready to meet the next person. You figured maybe you’d check the back first before heading inside, maybe Hyunjin would be there, cleaning a catch.

On your way to the back, you passed what you assumed were stables, and you definitely heard movement from within. You made a mental note to check it out later and kept going. Once you got to the back, you saw a large workstation connected to the back of the house. It was probably for something like carpentry or crafts before, but now it was covered in blood stains with several animal pelts draped across the surface. This was probably where Hyunjin cut and cleaned his kills. Speaking of which, no Hyunjin in site.

Just as you began to leave, you heard the sound of a trash can tumbling over, and you quickly snapped your head back to see what caused the racket. A large metal trash can filled with bones and inedible bits of meat had been knocked over, it’s contents spilled onto the grass. The culprit was large, wiry dog, who was currently gorging himself on the mess. Must be their dog. You slowly stepped forward and kneeled down, offering your palm to the beast. You probably shouldn’t let him eat any of that. “Hey buddy, over here.”

The dog whipped his head towards you, a murderous snarl on his blood-soaked lips.

Shit! This was not their dog.

You stumbled backwards, and the dog lunged. You caught him by his shoulders, holding his snapping teeth at arms length. “Shit shit shit!” You squeezed your eyes shut, and you could feel the saliva from the snarling creature spray your face. You tried crying out, but his paws pressed so hard into your chest that you felt you couldn’t breath, and your arms were beginning to give out. You let out a choked cry, “S-s-someone, help m-me…”

Suddenly, you heard it let out a sharp squeal, and you felt a warm liquid spray onto your cheek. All of the pressure from the creature went away, and you tossed it to your side. You heard hurried footsteps bounding towards you, and you just stayed there, eyes squeezed shut and trembling. After a few moments, you felt two hands on your forearms, and you’re pulled to your feet. You finally open your eyes, and you’re greeted by the face of another young man, this one almost ethereal in appearance.

He scans you up and down intensely, “Are you okay?”

You blink once, eyes wide with fear. “I-I’m alright.”

His eyes widen when they reach your clavicle, “No, you aren’t. You need that stitched up.”

You hesitantly move your eyes from his, looking down. There was a pretty serious gash just below your collarbone, from which blood was currently pooling out and soaking your sweatshirt. You only just began to recognize the searing sting that pulsed from it, and reflexibly moved your hand to cover it.

The young man quickly grabbed your hand before you reached the wound. “Don’t touch it. It could already get infected from the dog, we can’t risk anymore.” He kept his grip on you, and began to pull you towards the house, but you simply fell to the ground. The encounter had taken all of the strength from your (already weak from disuse) limbs, and you certainly couldn’t walk.

He wordlessly walked behind you and scooped you up, holding you in his arms as he carried you towards the house. “Let’s get you inside.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #protector #stray kids apocalypse au

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