#have been on m*bile lately so not always seeing when i get stuff

[luciality]

Bread!

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holy shit thank you

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ pro!hero bakugou katsuki x reader → safe

summary: you broke up with bakugou a month ago but you’re terrified and he’s the only person you can call tags/warnings: stalker and confrontation with said stalker, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending word count: 2,698 a/n: this is different from what i usually write but i like the way it came out.

Bakugou had been miserable for the past month. It was so stupid, he couldn’t even remember what the fight had been about. Maybe he had been too busy at work, wasn’t making enough time for you, or maybe he had said something rude without thinking. Whatever it was it had gotten out of hand so quickly. He said stuff he didn’t mean and before he knew it he was walking out of your shared apartment. He had been crashing at Kirishima’s apartment for the time being, he refused to get any of his stuff from his place. If he did that it felt like putting a nail in the coffin that was your relationship.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, your name popped up on the screen and he sighed. You were probably calling about getting his stuff, you had texted him before about it. He knew that ignoring you wasn’t the best tactic at getting back together but at this point, he didn’t know what to do. He tossed his phone down and went to the other room to finish doing his laundry.

He hated what happened, he hated being away from you. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat and it was starting to catch up to him. He felt sluggish and worn down and it was starting to affect his work. He needed to apologize but every time he wanted to call you he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Bakugou knew he would settle things with you eventually but it would take time. He didn’t want to lose you, you were his everything. You had been with him for so long, always supporting him and comforting him when he needed it but refused it from anyone else. He refused to lose you.

Bakugou would apologize to you, he just didn’t know when.

It had started a few days after Bakugou left, photos on your kitchen counter. At first, you thought Bakugou had been by when you were out and left something. Your heart fluttered in your chest, did he leave some thoughtful apology? You were dying to be back with him again but you couldn’t forgive him until he at least showed he was sorry.

Your heart dropped and froze in fear. They were pictures of you, leaving the house, ordering coffee, at work. There was a note with them. Finally he’s gone, you deserve better. Your hands shook as you held it up looking for any clue who left them but there weren’t any. You had gone to the police but they said there was nothing they could do until there was more evidence.

Maybe it was a sick prank from a friend. No, none of your friends would think that was okay. You prayed it was a one-time thing but a week later there were more. The photos were recent, from the day before. I’ve been watching you for a long time, we haven’t met but we will soon. The note made bile rise in your throat. You thought about calling Bakugou but your pride was still too strong and you couldn’t ask for Kirishima’s help either since you knew he was sheltering Bakugou at the moment. You knew the red-head wouldn't keep the information from him.

Another week and more photos. I love you, I’ll make you so happy. You already could barely sleep without Bakugou but with this fear gripping you, you couldn’t get any now. Every noise in the house, every shadow that moved nearly sent you into a panic attack. The police wouldn’t help, you felt so helpless.

It was dark out as you walked home from work. Your phone rang and you were quick to pick it up hoping it was Bakugou. You would give anything to feel safe in his arms again, to spend the evening watching TV curled up on the couch, to fall asleep on his chest lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart beating.

“It’s time. It’s finally time for us to meet, my love. I can’t wait.” The voice that came through the phone was unfamiliar but you immediately knew it was the man who had been stalking you. Before you could say anything he hung up.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you couldn’t breathe. You were terrified, more than you ever had been in your entire life. You called the only person that ever made you feel safe, stubbornness be damned. You knew he was always there for you, that he would protect you from anything even after everything that happened.

Bakugou’s phone rang and rang but there was no answer. You called him over and over but he didn't pick up. Tears began to stream down your face. Was he still so mad at you that he wouldn't answer your call? Or was he indifferent to you? Had he moved on? The thought of him at dinner with another woman denying your calls as you feared for your life sent a sting of pain through your chest. You kept calling as you reached your apartment, locking the door and putting a chair in front of it. If he had a key maybe that would help block it. You kept calling, praying that he would pick up. Hands shaking around your cell phone.

The doorknob turned and your heart stopped, the door opened but was stopped by the chair you had propped against it.

“What do you want?” Bakugou’s tone was harsh as usual.

“K-Katsuki, please oh my god. Help me please.” You sobbed into the phone. Fear and relief flooding through you. You were in danger now more than before but you had finally gotten ahold of Bakugou. “T-There’s a man trying to get into the h-house, he’s been stalking m-me.” You gasp through sobs.

“Let me in, love.” The man's voice comes through the door as it shakes and the chair begins to wiggle loose.

“Barricade the door then find somewhere to hide.” Bakugou is breathing heavy, you can hear his footsteps through the phone and you already know he’s on his way. Kirishima’s apartment isn’t far away but you wonder if Bakugou will be fast enough.

You slide a dresser from entryway in front of the door before darting off to your bedroom and diving to the ground. You crawl underneath the bed, the phone still clutched in your hand. You can hear Bakugou’s explosions, you know that he’s trying to get there as fast as possible. All he can hear are your sobs.

“Are you hidden?” He asks trying to keep his voice calm for you.

“Y-Yeah.” You answer, in the living room you can hear the furniture in front of the door being thrashed around. “I-I think he’s g-going to get in. Katsuki I’m so scared.” You cry. Tears are pouring down your face and terror has enveloped you fully. You wonder if this is the last time you’ll get to speak with the love of your life.

“I’m almost there okay, you’re going to be okay.” He says but you can still hear a tinge of fear in his voice. "Just take deep breaths okay, I won't let him hurt you."

"O-Okay," Your words are shaky but you try to do as he says.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I should be there at home with you. I should be protecting you. I didn’t mean anything I said. I love you so much.” He sounds so sad, so scared. It’s not a tone you hear from him often.

“I’m sorry, I should have said it sooner. Katsuki-”

A crash echoes through the house and you know that he’s inside.

“He’s inside, oh my god. He’s in our house.” You can’t help but cry, trying to keep your voice down.

“Just stay quiet, I’m almost there,” Bakugou begs.

You’re curled up under the bed, one hand clutching your phone to your ear and the other gripping the carpet for dear life. You try to keep your breaths shallow, hold in your sobs but you let a quite whimper out.

“You don’t have to be scared, my love.” The voice is in the room with you.

“Katsuki, I love y-” You whisper into the phone but it's cut off by your scream as you feel the man pull you by your ankle dragging you out.

“No!” Is the last thing you hear Bakugou scream through the phone as it clatters onto the ground.

Bakugou’s heart is pounding out of his chest. He’s almost there, running up the stairs to your floor faster than he’s ever moved before. This was all his fault, if only he had apologized then he would be home keeping her safe. If something happened to her, if she died- There would be no forgiveness for him. He wouldn’t deserve it. Every step he beats himself up more and more. Why hadn’t he just said sorry and gone home? It wasn’t worth their relationship and it wasn’t worth your safety.

He thinks about the ten missed calls he saw on his phone before picking up, he thinks about how scared you must have been thinking that no one would help you. Did you think he abandoned you? That he was ignoring you while you were terrified?

He finally gets to your floor, the door to your apartment is wide open and there's furniture scattered in the entryway. A piercing scream sends shivers down his spine. If he leaves a mark on you he won’t hesitate to kill him.

“Stop struggling, I’m here to help you. You deserve someone who cherishes you.” He hears a man’s voice from their bedroom. As he enters he sees the man shaking you harshly against the wall.

“You bastard, get your filthy hands off of her.” He growls out and he’s tearing him off of you before he realizes that Bakugou had entered.

All Bakugou can see is red as throws him to the ground. In a flash he's on top of him, punch after punch, blood covering his face. He can’t hold back, he can’t stop thinking about what could have happened if he was too late. Images of you harmed in different ways flash through his mind and it pushes him further.

“Katsuki-” Your quiet, broken voice pulls him from his cloud of violence. His attacks stop as he turns to look at you. You're on the floor against the wall, hands around your knees and your shaking so bad. Tears are running down your face non-stop and it breaks his heart more than anything ever has. He’s never seen you so scared in his whole life.

Katsuki can hear help arriving and he knows it’s safe for him to get up, the stalker is out cold on the ground covered in his own blood. He doesn’t deserve any more time from him. Not when the love of his life needs him.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Bakugou’s voice is soft as he gets on the ground with you, his hands reach out gingerly to brush against your shaking arms trying his best to soothe you. “I’m so sorry this is all my fault.”

You reach out grasping onto him like he’s a raft in the middle of the ocean. He envelops you in his arms and you feel a wave of relief rush over you. You’re safe now. Bakugou’s here and you're in his arms. No one can hurt you anymore. His hand smooths the hair down at the back of your head and your breathing begins to calm.

Bakugou had called for backup, they had taken the attacker away and sat you down to ask some questions before they left.

You sat at your dining room table next to Bakugou and it suddenly was so quite. Furniture still laid across the floor, you couldn’t look at the door without thinking of the fear that flooded you.

“Let’s go to a hotel for tonight,” Bakugou says softly and you remember just how perceptive he is. “I’ll grab you a bag of your stuff.” He says before giving you a glass of water. “Just try and relax, I’ll be quick.”

Bakugou doesn’t take long before he returns with two duffel bags and your favorite pillow in hand.

“C’mon baby.” He says taking your hand in his.

The hotel room is nice, far nicer than it needs to be. At the top of the building, you can peer out of floor-to-ceiling windows at the skyline. There’s a lot of space in the room itself decorated with nice furniture.

The bed is big and looks inviting especially with how tired your feeling right now. Bakugou is behind you, his hand running down your arm softly.

“Do you want to take a bath before bed?” He asks and you nod.

Bakugou leads you into the bathroom and starts the water. The tub is large and fancy, nice soaps and shampoos on the edge. He puts some soap in the water, bubbles forming.

“I’ll grab your bedclothes.” He says leaving the room. You strip down and get into the warm water. You close your eyes, sitting there with your knees drawn to your chest. The day is so unreal, it’s almost easy to pretend that you were just here with Bakugou for an anniversary or a trip. But the events of the day edge there way back into your mind.

“Shh,” You hear Bakugou shush you his hand rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t realize he had returned, and you didn’t realize the tears streaming down your cheeks. He sits on the floor next to the tub, leaning over to press a kiss against your forehead.

He helps you wash your hair and dry off when you’re ready. He’s brought your favorite pair of bedclothes and you change into them. Both of you get ready for bed.

The bed is comfortable as it looks. Getting under the large fluffy covers is comforting. Bakugo slides in beside you. You don’t hesitate to scoot towards him till you’re pressed against his side.

“I can’t go back to our house.” It’s hard to come to terms with and even harder to say. A part of you is scared Bakugou will say that he isn’t coming back to you, that he can take the apartment and you can find someone else to live. You’re tearing up before he can even say anything.

His hand is against your cheek, wiping away the tears there as he draws you to his chest.

“We can look for a new place tomorrow.” He says simply. “That place was starting to feel too small anyway.”

“T-Thank you.” Your words are shaky as you look up at him. He pulls you onto his chest, his hand rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m sorry about what I said to you, I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for not apologizing sooner. I failed you, I promised to protect you no matter what and I let you down.” His voice is hoarse with emotions.

“You saved me Katsuki.” You tell him.

“I should have been there, if I was there he never would have tried anything, and if he did he wouldn’t have gotten past the door.”

“What happened tonight was bad but I feel better knowing that he’s going to be locked away. If this didn’t happen I would have had someone stalking me and I never would have known.” You tell him. The thought of going about your life unknowingly being followed makes you sick.

“I’ll never leave you again. I promise you that. I’ll always be by your side.” He says, pulling you even closer. “I love you so much.” His eyes are pressed closed and you can practically feel the love coming off of him.

“I love you, Katsuki.” You return and your heart flutters at his declarations.

It would take a long time to recover from everything that had happened today but you know that Bakugou will be by your side through it all. That when he holds you in his arms it’s like a shelter from a raging storm.

You know that Bakugou Katsuki will always keep you safe.

[write-orflight]

Like Real People Do. (Spencer x Reader)

Chapter 1

*Gif not mine*

Prologue Chapter 2

Rating: M, eventually will be smut.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: regular CM crime stuff. brief mentions of previous assault. vomit. 

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N Thanks for the love on the Prologue, message to be added to taglist. much love Cia

        Chapter 1: However scary 

You start to follow Hotch outside his office, barely containing the smile on your face. You couldn’t help it, the job you’ve been dreaming about for a decade was yours now. As you left the office, you couldn’t help but notice the short Italian man exiting his. 

“Rossi?” You smiled. The man in question turned and grinned upon seeing you. 

“Bella!” He opened his arms to hug you which you automatically accepted. 

“I thought you retired, old man.” 

Rossi scoffed. “You know me, can’t stay away for long.” Hotch stepped up, joining you guys. “So am I correct in assuming you’ve taken the job?” Rossi asks. 

“You would be correct.” You smile. “And now, since I have a big girl job and can take care of myself. I’m hoping those mysterious money drops into my bank account will stop.” You gave him a knowing look. Though you and Rossi were not as close as you and Hotch, you still revered him as a father figure as much as he did you a daughter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says holding up his hands. 

“Sure you don’t, old man.” You laughed. “How’s… Krystal?” You say trying to remember which wife Rossi was on now. 

“Divorced.” Rossi smirks. 

“Aw, I’m sorry, Dave. I thought 3 would be the lucky number.” 

“So did I.” Rossi smiled. “How’s Persephone?” David smiles widely at the mention of your adoptive mother's name. 

“Still not interested in becoming number 4.” You laughed, inducing a boisterous laugh from Dave and a small chuckle from Hotch. “She’s currently backpacking through India and building eco houses along the way.” 

“Sounds like Persephone.” David smiles. You guys continue to catch up for a couple of more minutes not noticing the team staring up at you from the bullpen.

“Do you guys know who she is?” Emily asks 

“No but Rossi and Hotch know her by the looks of it.” Derek replies. 

“I met her in the elevator.” Spencer speaks up. “Her name’s Y/N.” 

“Wonder what she's doing here.” Derek says as Penelope walks up with a tin of her famous cookies that Spencer is already reaching for. She pulls back so it’s out of reach from his perch on his desk. 

“Well, if she took the job then that is your newest team member.” Penelope smiled. “Hotch asked me to do a background check last week so I assume he’s hiring her. Which means these cookies are for her.” She says pulling even more back as Spencer continues to make grabby hands at the tin. 

“Why does she get cookies her first day? I didn’t get any on my first day.” Spencer points out, not caring how much he sounds like a child. 

“I’m not really allowed to talk about it, but let’s just say I think she could really use the kindness.” 

“What did you find out about her, Baby girl?” Derek asked. 

Penelope frowns slightly, she never liked keeping secrets, especially from the team. “I’m really not allowed to say, but what I can tell you is that she’s smart, like really smart. Maybe not Reid’s level but smart enough to make dean's list at an Ivy League every year.” 

“Which school?” Spencer asks. 

“Stanford.” 

Spencer nods. That would make her pretty smart, that or just good at school. As he’s exiting his thoughts, JJ walks past them, throwing a “We have a case.” Over her shoulder before heading to Rossi, Hotch and the new girl. 

We all begin filing into the conference room, Rossi, Hotch and Y/N walking in last. Hotch clears his throat. “This is Agent Y/L/N.” He says gesturing at you. “She will be joining us this case. I’m sure you guys will get around to formal introductions later.” Hotch says before taking a seat nodding at JJ to start. You hold up your hand in a small wave before taking a seat next to Hotch. Everyone else regards you with a small nod except a brightly dressed blonde woman who excitedly waves back at you. 

“We’re heading to Nashville.” A blonde woman, you assume, is JJ says pulling up images of victims on the screen. You swallowed the lump in your throat, you were used to crime scene photos, you studied several in the FBI academy but kids would always get to you. “3 boys ages 10-13 all have gone missing on their way home from school, all found 5 days later buried arms across chest, heads shaved.” 

“Signs of remorse are obviously there but the hair...is something different.” A dark haired woman pointed out. 

“Could be trichophilia.” You pointed out. Everyone looked at you, you cleared your throat under the scrutiny. “Trichophilia. It’s the fetishzation of hair.” You provide. Everyone nods and JJ continues to provide information on the case before Hotch announces wheels up in 30. You go to grab your files and notebook when the brightly dressed blonde woman ambushes you a tin fully extended to you. 

“Hi, I’m Penelope Garcia, and these are for you!” practically shoving the tin into your hands. 

“Thank you, I’m Y/N.” You smiled, you weren’t really a sweets person but you weren’t going to turn down the kindness. A brown skinned man and the dark haired woman from before walked up to you both. 

“I’m Emily Prentiss, this is Derek Morgan” she says both holding their hands out for you to shake. You shuffle the cookies and files into one arm to shake hands with them.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You say back. 

“So you seemed to already know Hotch?” Derek pointed out. 

You had been prepared for someone to ask about that so you rattled off your prepared speech. “Yes, Hotch is a family friend.” That seemed like the easiest way to explain your relationship. 

“So that’s how you were able to steamroll in here, huh? Friends with the boss?” The man laughs. 

“No, I think it might’ve been one of my several degrees, merits or letters of recommendation, one of which from the director himself.” You point out. “Though I suppose knowing Aaron didn’t necessarily hurt things.” 

Derek holds up his hands in surrender. “That could be true too. I guess we’ll see out on the field.” He says before him and Prentiss walk out. 

You sigh heavily and start heading out the same way before a small voice pipes up behind you. 

“They’ll come around.” 

You turn your eyes onto the man you had met in the elevator before. “Sorry?” 

“Morgan and Prentiss. They’ll come around, they acted like that towards me when I first started too. It’s-uh because you’re young.” 

You nodded. He had a point and so did Morgan in a sense. You were very young, seemingly too young to be starting in a field like this. You knew it’d be hard to believe Hotch didn’t pull some strings for you. 

“I knew my age would probably raise some questions. But I worked really hard, and it sucks I have to prove myself 10x over just because of my age.” 

“I understand.” He says, following you out of the conference room. 

“I felt like you would. You introduced yourself as Dr. Reid before but we look around the same age.” 

“Yes, I hold 3 doctorates.” 

“Three?!” You said incredulously. “What were you like, eleven starting college?” 

“12, actually.” He smiles. He has a nice smile, instantly crosses your brain. You dash that thought immediately. 

“That would have to make you some sort of genius.” 

“I believe there’s not quantifiable way to measure intelligence but I suppose by societal standards, I am. I have an IQ of 187.” 

You let out a deep whistle. “And here I thought I’d be the smart one.” You laugh. 

He fumbles a bit over his words. “I-I mean you still could be. L-Like I said, there’s no way to accurately measure intelligence.” 

You laugh before rounding your new desk grabbing your go bag underneath it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence but we both know that’s not true.” You smile before turning to head towards the jet. 

——————————————————

You and the team had been in Madison county for 4 days now and you were hitting a wall. The day you arrived there had been a 4th body found, same cause of death, same shaved head only this time the word HELP was carved into the boy’s back. You knew this was a part of the job, going to crime scenes and having to see bodies but you couldn’t stop the thoughts. His hands were on your neck again, his knife grazing your sides. You felt the bile rise up. 

“Pull over.” You all but scream to Morgan he nods, zipping the car to the side of the road. You instantly hop out and release your lunch. 

Morgan steps out and pats your back. “It’s alright, kid. First one’s never easy. Especially when it’s children.” 

He thinks you’re sick from the crime scene You think. That’s probably for the best.

“Thanks.” You mumble.  He nods as you guys wordlessly walk back to the SUV. 

Since then you’ve been at the police station working on the geographical profile with Spencer. You know Morgan had probably said something to Hotch about your upchuck and that was why you were stuck here. But still, you couldn’t think to complain. Spencer was incredibly smart and great to work with. 

“There’s something we’re missing.” He says off handedly. You nod agreeing. You take in the circle like pattern the unsub seemed to be going in. It didn’t make sense. You had profiled him as a socially awkward loner with an overbearing parent. He wasn’t good with adults but could somehow get kids to trust him. Enough to get into the car with him late at night. It hit you a second later. 

“Oh my god.” You said scrambling for your phone to call Garcia. Spencer looks over at you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. 

“You’ve reached your high priestess.” You hear Penelope’s voice come through the speaker. 

“Hey Garcia, it’s Y/N.” You say. “Can you tell me what business is near the first dump site? I have an idea.” 

You hear the faint sound of clacking as she finds the information for you. “Looks to be a bus lot.” You fought the urge to pump your fist in the air. You were right. 

“Alright Garcia. I need a background check on all school bus drivers in Madison county, cross check it with anything that would fit the profile so minor stalking charges, assault…” you train off. “How long do you think that’ll take?” You ask. 

“If I get started now, a couple hours.” She says. “Penelope out.” She says, hanging up. 

You look up to see Spencer looking right back at you. “A bus driver.” You say smiling. “Think about it, everyday you ride the bus home from school and play outside with your friends until late. And when you're heading home your bus driver approaches you in his car offering to take you back. You have no reason not to trust him because he’s brought you home safely so many times before.” You explain, a brief frown grazing your lips. These children met an untimely demise all for trusting someone they were supposed to trust. 

Spencer nods, taking in your words. “Good work,” he says. “You figured it out.” 

You flushed under the high praise. “I’m sure you would’ve come to the same conclusion given more time.” You say. 

“But I didn’t.” He says. “You did, and you probably saved another kid's life in the meantime.” He smiled and patted your shoulder before turning back to the board. 

You looked at his back for a while. You knew since you stepped on the elevator that first time you were attracted to Spencer Reid. He was tall with a lean build and a nice set jaw and incredibly smart. You’d be lying to yourself if that wasn’t your exact type. But on top of all that, he was nice. Almost sickeningly so. 

Suddenly you felt a lot more at risk than before. 

 ————————————————

William Davison was arrested September 7th. You were right,  he was a bus driver for Madison county. Police caught him in his car full of things that pointed him directly to the abductions. 

You and the team were now back on the jet heading home. While the rest team was playing cards you opted to sit in the back. Textbooks laid out on the table as you tried to take notes from them. You were so engrossed. You didn’t see Spencer come take the seat in front of you. 

“What’re you studying?” He asked. 

You look up. “Uh, I’m in my doctoral program for psychology right now.” You say. “Right now, I’m working on an essay about nature vs. nurture effects on the killer's mind.” 

“And what is your theory?” He asks.

“That while I do believe nurture plays a role somewhat, if someone has a predisposition to kill, hurt or maim that is something they are born with. Primates and to some effects humans are naturally empathetic creatures so I think people with the desire for violence are defects. Now even though that’s the case it’s still your own conscious decision to kill.” You say pausing. “Some people are born with natural predispositions they don’t follow all the time. Like your hands for instance.”  

“What about my hands?” He inquired. 

You swallow, clearing your throat. “Well you have fairly large hands, with l-long fingers.” You stutter. Nice going, Y/N. You think. Way to tell the guy you’re starting to develop a crush on that you’ve been staring at his hands. “In the primitive stage, that would’ve made you good at hunting and gathering. In a more modern sense, you’d be good at piano. Though I imagine, you don’t do either.” You say, already knowing the answer. You were a profiler now after all. 

“No, I do not.” He smiled widely at you, he always appreciated intelligent conversation when it came by. “I disagree with your theory though.” 

“Really? Why’s that?” You question. He begins to go on a long winded explanation why he thinks Nature vs. Nurture is outdated, taking several detours to talk about some other theories he’s found interesting. You watch him intensely taking in the words. You try to pay attention, you really do. But your eyes keep going back to the mouth the rapid words are coming out of and the hands that are also gesturing widely. You just had tuned back in when he suddenly stopped. You tilted your head at him. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“Nothing.” he says, looking mildly uncomfortable. “It’s just… no one lets me talk for this long.” 

“Really?” You question, he nods. “Well, I was listening, I find it interesting. Actually…” you trail off picking up your pen, flipping to a new page in your notebook. “Do you mind if I write some of this down, might come in handy when I write my paper later.” 

He nods enthusiastically as he continues his thoughts from before. You start writing fast now to keep up, interjecting here and there to ask him to expand on some stuff. Eventually the rest of the team drifts off until it's only the sound of his soft voice and the scratch of your pen filling the plane.     

Taglist: @haylaansmi​ 

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 11

First   Previous   Next   Ao3

“Maybe if we use this as a counter agent, it could keep both preserved.” Marinette pointed out, “It says right here that this can balance the whole process quite well on it’s own.” 

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, leaning over to read what she was indicating more thoroughly. “But that is only for one, Miss Marinette. You are talking about four at the very minimum. I don’t know if-”

Her phone chimed with the notification reserved for messages to her yo-yo, interrupting their conversation. “I’m so sorry M. Alfred, may I be excused for a moment?” She asked, looking over at the older man apologetically. 

“Of course Miss Marinette, take your time. We will keep researching this while you go, and inform you if we find anything.” Alfred indicated the tablet sitting in the table, pages of the Grimoire lighting up its screen. Beside him, the rest of the Kwami murmured agreement, engrossed in their findings as they scrolled through the text.

“Thank you!” She smiled and ducked out of the room, standing in the hallway to view the message for Ladybug.

Greetings, Ladybug, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira. On behalf of the Justice League, I would like to formally invite you and your team to come to the Watchtower for your first day of training on October 20th. A member of our team will be in Paris, and will take you there at precisely 900 hours. We look forward to seeing you then.

Marinette read through the short message several times, brain not fully comprehending the words in front of her. The moment they registered, however, she blue screened. 

Marinette.exe has stopped working. 

Her thoughts were a muddled mess of panicked catastrophizing and half-baked contingency plans jumbling together in her brain as she went over what the implications of that message were. 

They were training. 

At the Watchtower. 

Watchtower.

Training. 

Them. 

Holy fuck. She had to tell the team! 

She immediately started a group call, speed hobbling to her room as she waited for everyone to pick up. 

“Yeah?!”

“What’s up?”

“Hi everybody.”

“Hello?”

“Guys! We have our first meeting with the other heroes!” She whisper-yelled in French, trying to contain her excitement.

Her announcement was met with several exclamations of joy from her team. They celebrated for a few minutes, finally feeling hope for the first time in years. “We need to have a plan for what we’re going to do there,” she cut in, worry bleeding into her voice. “Can we all meet at Luka’s in like, five minutes?”

“Uh, sorry Bug, but I can’t go out unless there’s a valid reason.” Adrien sheepishly informed her. “Otherwise my Father won’t let me.”

“Same here,” Kagami sighed regretfully.

“How about we all meet at Adrien’s?” Luka suggested, “Kagami just tell your mom you and Adrien are going to practice your languages together or something.”

“And if that doesn't work, I can always just pretend-demand that you all need to come over for a sleepover.” Chloe added.

“I think...that may work.” 

“My Mother would agree to that.”

“Alright. Adrien’s house in...ten? Fifteen?” Marinette clarified.

“Let’s do fifteen.” Luka said. There were murmurs of agreement before she ended the call and flopped backward onto her bed, hope and excitement flooding her veins. 

---

Thirteen minutes later, she was stepping through a portal into Adrien’s room. As soon as she had gotten through, she was tackled enthusiastically by Adrien and Chloe. “Mari!!!” Adrien yelled, grabbing her in a tight hug. 

Surprising as it may be, Chloe was secretly a cuddler, and Adrien was severely touch starved, so they were always hanging on to other members of the team. Kagami and Luka were also fans of physical affection, but they stood back a little, not wanting to get caught in the giant Celtic Knot of limbs that had formed where the other three were still hugging. 

Breaking out of the embrace, Marinette reached over to the other two and hugged them gently, clutching on for a few moments as she relished the feeling of being surrounded by her friends one again. 

Finally, Chloe spoke up, reminding them why they were all there.”So...when exactly is the meeting?” 

“Oh, it’s on October twentieth. So like, in a week. ” Marinette replied, “We need to plan for this though.”

“Let's set some basic rules.” Adrien suggested, curling up in a beanbag chair. “First things first, even if they reveal their identities to us, we don’t have to reveal our identities to them. Not until all this is over, maybe not even then.” 

“And make sure to stay on guard, and not reveal anything about our civilian lives, right?” Luka asked.

“Yes.” Kagami nodded, “We should wear comms just in case we split up as well.”

“Nettie are we using Kaalki?” Chloe asked, turning to face her.

“We’re not using them, but I will be bringing them along with us. You never know what might happen.”

There were nods of agreement.

“And most importantly, try not to pick fights with the other people.” Marinette added, casting a meaningful glance around at Chloe. “Even if they challenge our honor, or say something rude about our families.” Another glance at Kagami.

“”Oh fine,” Chloe grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Kagami gave them a little half-smile, one that screamed ‘I make no promises,’ but nodded. “Agreed.” 

“Alright, so nine am, on the twentieth.” Marinette called on Voyage, “I’ll see you then!” 

And she was gone, the portal closing behind her in a flare of blue light. 

---

The morning of their meeting dawned bright and clear in Paris.

Marinette, however, stared out at the dark sky and fog surrounding Gotham, and longed for home. It was nearly always cold here, and she spent every day in a constant battle against her Ladybug instincts. She was going to end up hibernating all winter at this rate, which would not do. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was nearing three, which meant she should probably go to Paris if she didn’t want to be late. 

She waved to Alfred before walking upstairs, having finally downgraded to a simple brace for her leg. The rest of the family seemed very surprised, and a little suspicious of the rate she was healing, considering it normally took three to six months for a fractured tibia to heal. Granted, she had been injured in August and it was now October, which was a solid two months, but still too short of a time period to be completely normal. 

That’s a problem for future Marinette to solve. She decided, choosing to ignore the thought. 

She stepped through the portal onto the Eiffel Tower where her team was already waiting. Wonder Woman’s message hadn’t told them where they would be meeting the hero that would be taking them to the Watchtower, so they had decided to wait on the Eiffel.

Barely five minutes later, Superman himself swooped down from the sky, landing lightly on the support beam they were perching on. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Man of Steel himself.”  Chloe snarked, rolling her eyes at his appearance. “Gonna get me killed again today?” 

Kagami elbowed her in an attempt to shut her up.

“Bee!” Marinette hissed, giving her a warning glare.

“Sorry.” She muttered, not sounding apologetic at all.

Superman’s eyes went comically wide, before he sputtered out a series of half formed apologies, looking flustered and ashamed at her accusation. 

“Save it.” She held up hand. “It wasn't the first time, and it won’t be the last. You’re here to take us to the Watchtower, right?” 

“Um, yes. We’re going to use the Zeta Beams to get there.” He looked even more concerned at her statement, but chose to let it slide. “Follow me.”

---

Stepping out of the beam, Marinette braced a hand against the wall as she struggled to keep her lunch down. Swallowing against the rising bile, she pressed her hand to her mouth until the worst of the nausea had faded. Looking up, she watched Adrien and Chloe stumble out of the beam, looking as green as she felt. Unlike her, however, Chloe did not manage to keep her composure, stumbling to a nearby trashcan and vomiting into it. 

“Oh yuck!” Adrien wrinkled his nose, enhanced senses already picking up the stink beginning to waft through the air. Kagami followed next, looking as composed as ever. She swayed lightly, but regained her balance fairly quickly, walking over to her girlfriend and hugging her gently as she moaned miserably from her spot on the floor. Luka and Superman were the last to join them, both of them booking unruffled from the ride. “Ah, I’m sorry about that.” Superman apologized, “The beams can make you feel a little nauseous the first few times.”

“A little?” Adrien asked incredulously. 

“It’s subjective.” He shrugged. 

“So, what’s the first order of business?” Marinette asked, looking around curiously. They seemed to be in an entrance room of sorts, but that was all she could tell. 

“Well first, we’ll need to have Martian Manhunter do a quick mind search just to make sure you aren’t enemies, or have bad intentions towards the Justice league. He won’t hurt you.” Diana called from where she was standing. Next to her was another person with green skin, an alien most probably.

Luka stepped forward, arms folded across his chest. “How, exactly, will this mind reading stuff work? We don’t want any of our secret identities being compromised.”

“It’s sort of like a google search.” The green-skinned hero in blue and red stepped forward. “I just search for specific terms, and if none of them pop up, you’re clear.”

“And are you going to do this on us one at a time, or as a group?” Kagami asked, gaze steely.

“One at a time. But it might dredge up some painful memories, so be prepared.” He warned.

“In that case, I’ll go first.” Marinette volunteered, stepping over to the hero.

She closed her eyes, and the visions began.

---

She was thirteen again, opening the box and watching Tikki appear before her in a flash of red light. Flying through the air with laughter singing through her soul. Staring out at stone golems, facing everyone’s doubt, ever her own. Floundering desperately, looking for someone to help, fighting the battles on her own as Chat Noir joked and fooled around. Collapsing slowly under the pressure.

Fourteen and struggling, Siren makes an appearance. Those nightmares have never left her. Drowned civilians, water-logged limbs, bloated sacks of flesh floating in the water. Still no help from Chat, the Guardian remaining as elusive and paranoid as ever. She is falling, falling, falling, weighted down by her duties. She still flies, but there is no more laughter.

Fifteen and Lila comes along. Spinning web after web, ensnaring everyone with poisoned words, dripping honey-sweet with lies. She watches as she loses everyone to a girl that only wanted to fit in. Adrien does nothing, and the last of her love for him flickers out. 

Still fifteen, and there is Miracle Queen. Her cure wiped everyone’s memory, but she knows she can’t afford anymore slip-ups. She’s the Guardian now, and she knows she can’t do this on her own. She adds three permanent members to her team, and with the reveal comes remorse. Chat-no, Adrien-realizes his harassment, and Chloe apologizes. Things are looking up.

Then, she is sixteen, and the bullying becomes physical. Heroing, schoolwork, and commissions for ungrateful classmates wear away at her. Designing loses its joy. She sinks into a haze of monochrome grays, mechanically moving through life. Then there is The Incident, and there is nothing but cold, and red, and-

With a gasp her eyes fly open, and she looks around wildly, bright blue eyes shadowed, and far away.  

“Bug!” Chat called out, reaching for her as she gasped, struggling for air. There was wetness on her cheeks; when did that get there? The other heroes looked at her in concern, Martian Manhunter had apologies written all over his face. Before they could say anything, she waved a hand dismissively and tried for a smile. “I’m okay, really. Did I pass the test?”

Martian Manhunter still looked worried, but nodded. “You are good. You can go sit down or wait here until I do the rest.”

“I’ll stay.”

Adrien was next. 

He stepped forward, feeling his apprehension rise. If Marinette’s reaction was that bad, what would his be?

He breathed in, and closed his eyes.

---

@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00, @toodaloo-kangaroo

[ifyoulovemeletmebinge]

We’re All Monsters

destiel au where everything in canon is used at the wrong time and oh also cas is a monster. 

for @beingforcedtolivebadwriting

RATED M 

read it on ao3 here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Dean Winchester knows he hates monsters.

That’s one thing. It’s almost the first thing. In almost every situation.

Dean wakes up and all he can think of is how much he hates monsters.

Some of it comes from the fact that John is a shitty dad and that’s not because of him being a shitty dad. Dean can’t remember much at all from his life before the fire, but from what John tells him, they were The Perfect American Family. He knows that at least.

He also knows that because monsters fucked that dynamic up for his family, he hates them unconditionally.

None of that has been truer than how he feels tonight. Tonight, his hands are still shifty on the wheel of the Impala, tonight his feet are still struggling to reach the brake pedal without stretching, and tonight the sky is pitch black and the air is warm and humid, and tonight he’s gonna kill some monsters.

Well. Maybe not.

John’s instructions were to stop by (by which he means break in) the morgue, take an extra look at the bodies, and identify any marks that stand out for a tell of what kind of son of a bitch they were dealing with.

John usually does this himself, but Dean thought it best to not bring up the fact that his dad needs to drink himself to blissful unconsciousness on the week of the anniversary of his dead wife. The case was bad timing, thus, Dean is the lucky pick to do the dirty work.

Not that he minds. This is something he wants to do. This is something he craves. Dean has been getting taller and bigger and stronger, and his hands have been itching more, and he can’t stop shifting his weight, and lately he feels like doing something that will fully transition him into the man he’s supposed to be. Except all he knows is John, and John is a hunter.

But Dean doesn’t mind. He’s good with a gun, and he’s a quick runner (he would have joined the track team if John had let them stay past Christmas break at his last school), and if that’s all he’s got, he’ll use it to do something. He’ll figure it out.

He’d way prefer to risk himself getting arrested, and going to juvie (again), than Sammy. Sammy, who’s back at the motel. Sammy who’s hopefully, peacefully sleeping. Sammy, who he hopes won’t be awake to see John come back from the bar. Dean intends to make it back before that. It’s only 11pm. He’s got time.

Dean parks the Impala (he only struggles for a few seconds with it, alright) a couple blocks down from the police station. His shoulders crowd up around his ears, cotton of his sweatshirt brushing his jaw, as he walks, as silent as he can, between the shadows of the decorative trees in this stupid suburb, to the back of the station.

He’s already scouted the place earlier in the day, so he knows which window leads to the desired formaldehyde smelling room. The station is only one story high, so he’s easily able to unlatch the outside lock with his pocket knife, and heave himself up. He shimmies himself in (fuck, that window’s tight) and ends up doing a supported handstand on the morgue floor. He throws his legs to the side--only hurting his ankles a little on the edge of the window--and then he’s finally got both his feet on the ground.

Dean stands up from his crouch, slowly. Then he scoffs to himself. Who the fuck is gonna hear him in here?

He moves closer to where the target is. There’s a sleek metal table in front of him, and yes, there’s a dead person on it, covered by a thin white sheet. Dean searches for gloves in the dark, because he’s a teenage boy but he’s not that gross, and he snaps them on, pulling back the sheet and averting his eyes from the corpse’s face. He goes straight to where the money is.

At the junction between the corpse’s shoulder and jaw, right in the middle of the neck, there’s a big bite. It’s not anything his dad has seen before, as he kept complaining so much since they found the case, and Dean has to swallow back bile at how ugly it looks. Black and protruded, half scaly-like, half-raw ripped skin, at least under the moonlight coming from the window. He should have brought a flashlight.

Dean is cataloging the patterns to draw for his dad later, tracing his fingers over the lines carefully, really feeling the texture and the way it’s swollen the skin. He thinks he imagines the sound at first.

Then he stops his hand, and he thinks again.

That’s definitely a sound. Like a real movement that wasn’t him, and it’s coming—it came at least—from the room right next door, the main storage for the other bodies. Dean turns his head to look at the door, and oh, would you look at that, it’s peeking open to more darkness on the other side. Where the sound came from. Except how is there a sound at a morgue in the dead of night?

Dean was not prepared for this. His heartbeat starts announcing itself in his ears, and he’s almost vibrating with fear. He thinks of his dad. What would John do at a time like this? Probably start shooting.

But Dean didn’t have a gun. Even if he did, it could just be the doctor, or a policeman staying after (they always got in his way), and he can’t go around shooting random people. It’s hard to explain to a dead person: “Hey! Sorry! Thought you were a monster! My bad!”

Then he remembers his pocket knife, whips it out, and holds it tight in his right fist. Dean starts walking towards the door, but he wants to knock the whole wall down and skeet the fuck out of there.

He holds his breath as he gently kicks the door with the tip of his boot (he figured out a way to make Sam convince John to get him new ones, and yeah, these loggers are pretty fucking cool), and then he’s in the room.

The first thing he notices when his eyes adjust to how dark it is in there (honestly, would it kill a monster to turn on a light?), is the two figures bent over what he assumes is another poor corpse being taken advantage of. He also hears… ew. Those are chomping and chewing noises. He never gets the clean ones.

Dean doesn’t know what to do! Does he shout? Scare them? Lunge at them? Anything he does next could be the last thing he does. Is he ready to die?

Luckily, Dean doesn’t have to decide his first move because the figures do it for him.

It happens too fast—and maybe he’s reading too many comics because his first thought is I wish I had super speed like Barry so I could gank these fuckers, except he doesn’t, so it’s fast.

He’s on his back in a blink. There’s a bony arm on his neck and another holding one of his wrists in a grip so tight Dean wants to make a eulogy for his circulation. There’s also a normal-ish weight on his hips and his stomach, which suddenly lurches because fuck. Fuck. The monster’s on him, he’s pinned. And for some reason he’s still alive.

Still. Fuck.

After a moment of heaving breathing from the guy on top of him, the figure lurking around, and his own wheezing lungs, Dean grunts out: “You guys gonna eat me or what?”

The guy above him doesn’t let up, but Dean does feel the other one walking around. Like the ground shakes with his every step as he comes closer to Dean’s ears near the floor.

“Personally,” says Figure 2 from way above him, and Dean feels disoriented at how far away his voice sounds, “I’m fairly content. My son here, however… well, he’s just famished.”

Dean’s eyes flick to the guy on him, trying to make out his features but it’s just too dark, and all he can feel is the terribly tight grip on his wrist, the way his forearm is crushing on his neck, and—hey. His pocket knife is still in his hand. His free hand, the one trapped under the small of his back, where he can feel the butt of the handle digging into his skin slightly.

“Go on, son.”

Figure 1, aka The Son, seems to be hesitating, and Dean doesn’t want to wait till he decides if he wants more salt on him or not before the meal, so he wriggles his hand out, and drives it across his body and downwards in a surprisingly strong stroke. He knows he hit something when the arms on top of him lift up entirely, and there’s a pained groan resounding amid the darkness.

He rolls on his side, scrambles up, and flies out of the room, back into the main morgue lab, through the door, down and down the long hallway, past the reception desk, and he’s out the main entrance, not caring one bit about the obnoxious ringing of the alarm behind him.

His calves are burning by the time he throws himself in the Impala, and he clumsily fishes out his dad’s keys, turning the car on. He drives 50 above the speed limit until he gets to the motel.

Dean tells John everything. He draws what he remembers with shaky hands. He neglects to mention how many of them there were.

<15 years later>

“And then, like a fucking Clint Eastwood movie, he comes back home--”

“You mean the motel?” Sam interrupts.

“Yeah, whatever. So he barges in the door--” Dean frames a rectangle with his hands “--silhouetted by the moonlight, and he tucks his gun in and he swings his dirty machete over his shoulder and he tilts his head and then he says: ‘Boy, pack your stuff. Our job here is done.’ I mean… it was fucking awesome,” Dean chuckles.

“I think your memory is unreliable.”

“Sam, you were dead to the world that night. On my bed, might I add, so you didn’t even see any of this. John kicked ass!”

Eileen’s smile is a little forced, and a little awkward, but Dean can’t blame her. His energy is hard to match when he’s a few beers in. Sam keeps eyeing her, like he's checking in on how she’s receiving this story about their dad. Like she would ever judge him for it.

“He sounds like a brave hunter,” she signs and says. Dean feels way too proud.

Sam tries and fails to keep the grimace off his face. “Yeah. Babe, is it late? We should…” he trails off, tilting his head in the direction of their bedrooms. Eileen nods in agreement, seeming relieved. She squeezes Dean’s hands as she leaves. Sam is standing now, and he waits until Eileen is gone to turn his bitchface on.

“Dean, please stop doing that.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “Doing what?”

Sam sighs, exasperated. “Praising dad. I don’t know, sugarcoating him, painting him as the hero. You know damn well he wasn’t.”

Dean’s throat tightens. If that’s what Sam thinks he was doing, he really doesn’t know him at all. He's full of indignation when he answers: “That’s the last thing that I would do. I know firsthand, more than you, how shitty John was. Sam, I know. I was telling the story how I remembered it. ‘Cause back then? Yeah, he was my hero. I’m old enough to know better now, but--what the fuck do you care? You think I’m purposely lying to Eileen? For what?”

Sam can’t meet his eyes. “Dean, no that’s not what I-I just can’t hear that shit. It makes me… uncomfortable. I don’t wanna talk about dad like that anymore. I'd rather not talk about him at all, actually! I just… I can’t hear that shit from you.”

Dean balks, mouth open. He scoffs, “Fine.” He stands up and puts his jacket back on, checking his pockets for his keys and his wallet.

He’s halfway up the stairs when Sam calls from the library, “Dean, come on. Let’s talk about this. Or not! Dude, we just got back from a hunt, don’t leave. Let just-let’s forget about it, alright?”

Dean pauses at the railing. He turns around and shouts down at Sam: “Yeah, sure, Sammy! Let's forget our whole heritage. It never fucking mattered to you anyways.”

He’s slamming the door to the bunker closed behind him, and hopping in the Impala (which he didn’t have time to wash or put in the garage since their hunt), and then he’s off god knows where. He needs a drink.

Dean picks the fourth bar/restaurant place he sees. That seems like far enough away from his brother for now. It’s one he hasn’t gone to yet. Fun, new, and exciting!

He’s working on his third whiskey, maybe half an hour after he arrived, when the bartender puts down another glass in front of him.

Dean glances up. “Hey, um. I’m good for now, really.”

The bartender is tying his long cornrows in a ponytail on the back of his head, and when he meets Dean’s eyes, he gives him a shit-eating grin. He nods off to the side, “Courtesy of your secret admirer.” Then he winks at him and leaves for the kitchen behind him. Dean feels all warm inside at that, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it before a man sits down on the stool next to him, a non-respectable four inch distance away.

Dean is appalled before he takes in this dude, and okay. Not bad. Looks about the same age, dresses like a grandpa from the trenchcoat he sees, has spiky black hair that Dean might want to run his hands through, and shit, fuck, he’s looking at Dean, say something!

“Hello,” the man says and whoa, who died and made you Batman? His lips are plumper than a guy’s lips usually are (look who’s talking, Dean) and chapped and they’ve got a nice shape. Dean likes the cupid’s arch on his upper lip, it looks classy. His nose is pointy, and maybe a bit small, but damn if it doesn’t work well with his sharp cheekbones. By the time Dean can register his eyes, all his brain can think of is wow.

Dean’s never seen bluer eyes. They’re as clear as the sky, but Dean feels like he could drown in them. Or maybe that’s just the way this man is looking at him. Dean’s rarely been stared at with this much intensity, and he feels a blush spread to the tips of his hot ears.

He clears his throat. “Hi.” Dean has to look away now, back to his own glass before he combusts. He’s surprised a dude like him would buy him a drink.

Apparently, the man can’t sense how awkward and unprepared Dean was for this because he starts talking again, keeping his voice low so that only Dean can hear him, so it’s only a rumble in his chest. “I hope I’m not overstepping. You looked like you needed some company. Is that the kind you like to drink?”

Dean is so flustered at the sheer… whatever this dude has, he has to remind himself this is a normal human interaction. Be nice. Make eye contact.

“Yeah, it’s uh--it’s great. Thanks. For buying it. Um, I’m kinda driving tonight, though, so I might want to stop at this--” Dean raises his own drink in his hand “--You can-you want it? I'd be a waste otherwise.” He’s cringing so bad inside that his stomach hurts.

The man levels him a neutral stare. A few seconds later, he nods and reaches over to pick up the extra whiskey. Dean follows his hands and fuck they’re nice. He’s got long fingers, and for some reason the way his metacarpals shift under his skin is incredibly attractive.

The fun doesn’t stop there though, because then the guy is bringing the glass to his mouth, and he’s not taking his eyes off Dean’s own wide ones, and he’s taking a drink and it all looks sinful. The way his trachea shifts as he swallows, the opening and closing of his enticing jaw, and especially the way his pink tongue peeks out from his mouth to lick at the rim of the glass.

Dean swallows what feels like sandpaper.

“My name is Castiel,” he says, putting the glass down, holding it between his hands like he's bracketing it. He shifts his hands and the glass follows, rotating back and forth.

“Dean.”

Castiel nods, his lips quirk up a little, and this might be the first sort-of smile Dean has seen from him.

“Why’d you buy me a drink?” he blurts out.

The grin grows by a millimeter. “You looked like you needed one.”

Dean snorts. “That bad, huh?”

“Maybe that good.” Dean sees a peek of teeth from Castiel and he can’t help but shiver.

Dean recognizes it for what it is, so he turns on his own charm, slipping into familiar flirting territory.

“So what do you do, Castiel?”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s mouth for the quickest moment, and then his mouth is a neutral plane again, smirk vanishing completely. He thinks for a few seconds. “I’m an accountant.”

Dean knows that could mean literally anything, except the guy is wearing a tie and there’s a trenchcoat, so yeah. He’s an accountant for real.

“Cool. Numbers, huh?”

Castiel narrows his eyes, like he’s squinting. Dean finds it both intimidating and endearing. “Yes. How about you, Dean?”

He blushes harder at hearing his name in that gravelly voice, but keeps his cool when he answers, rehearsed: “Odd jobs, here and there.”

Castiel doesn’t miss a beat. “Fascinating.”

Dean blinks. Okay. “Is it?”

“Yes. You must travel a lot.”

“I do, yeah,” he nods, feeling a little vulnerable.

Castiel is back to staring at him intensely, and it makes Dean’s veins sizzle a little with want. They’re upgrading from Flirting/Small Talk Territory to Let’s Go Like Now Territory. Dean’s breathing comes a little deeper.

“Would you like to travel right now?”

“What?”

Castiel is definitely looking at his mouth. “Would you like to go outside?”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. This guy does not waste time. Not that he’s complaining, he’s been feeling hot all over since Castiel sat down, and he’d give himself at most another half an hour before he proposed they move this interaction somewhere else himself. So Dean downs the rest of his whiskey, feels the buzz in his ears and the tips of his fingers, and he stands up. “Let’s go.”

Castiel follows him outside.

The night is more humid than it should be for August, but Dean can feel the chill of Fall coming, and he’s grateful for his jacket. He’s shoved his hands in his jean pockets as he walks to the corner where the sidewall of the bar meets the front wall of it. He stops and leans one shoulder right at the edge of the wall to the side, facing the parking lot. Out of options for what to say, Dean waits until Castiel comes closer (his hands are in his trench coat pockets and it’s weirdly cute), and he points at his Baby, thirty feet away.

“That’s my car. She’s my Baby.”

Castiel stops two feet away from him, but right in front, and he turns his body to the side to follow where Dean’s finger points. He stares at the Impala for a bit, before he turns his head to Dean again. The light coming from inside the restaurant is what brightens Castiel’s face and Dean is a little breathless as he admires his illuminated features.

“She’s very beautiful.”

Dean smiles, proud and sheepish. “Thanks. Um, what about yours?”

Castiel inhales, taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t drive here tonight. I like walking.” he says slowly.

“Oh, okay.” Dean answers stupidly. It’s not that he’s disappointed they can’t talk about cars, it’s just… what else are they supposed to talk about at a moment like this?

“So what brought you here tonight, Cas?” Dean doesn’t catch himself in time, and the nickname is out. Oops. Castiel seems to inflate a little in response though, so he’s fine. For now.

“Rough day.” He says, then like an afterthought he adds, “At work.”

This dude is so fucking weird. Dean is obsessed with him.

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to wait anymore, he just wants to take what Castiel offered. He’s been wanting to taste him since he looked at his lips, so he smirks at Castiel and he asks, “Come here, Cas.”

For a moment Castiel tilts his head, and Dean can’t figure him out, and he kinda loves that, the anticipation of not knowing what this guy is gonna do or who he is. Dean beckons him with a hand. He’s drunk enough on the beers from earlier and the whiskey and the adrenaline drop from the finished hunt that he’s allowing himself this tonight. A little recklessness can’t hurt.

Castiel walks closer than Dean expected him to, and Dean turns to press his back to the side wall, his shoulder barely off the edge where the front and side connect. Castiel follows the twist of his body perfectly because suddenly he’s crowding Dean against the small space with his hands on either side of his head on the wall. Their faces are mere inches apart.

Dean loves the way the air shifts then, like someone pulled a lever down and the current of electricity started running. They’re breathing each other’s air, and Castiel’s eyes are glued to Dean’s mouth, while Dean alternates his staring between Castiel’s darkened eyes and those chapped lips. Dean feels like he's vibrating.

He forces his hands to unfreeze and brush the trench coat flaps aside, coming to rest on top of Castiel’s hips, over his belt. This moves their bodies closer still, Dean subconsciously opening his legs wider to let Castiel slot a knee in between them. Their hips press, Dean shivers, and then he shivers even more when he feels Castiel’s lips pressing against his.

It’s exactly like he imagined, except it’s about a thousand times better. Castiel’s lips are soft and pliant, and he presses brushing kisses and pecks Dean’s lips for a bit, leaving them tingling for more, until he starts to really get into it. Castiel softly clamps his mouth around Dean’s bottom lip and he pulls back, and Dean is so fucked. He tries to keep his knees from wobbling, and then he gets what he wants when Castiel presses forward again, kissing him open mouthed, and there is his tongue, and it tastes really sweet and Dean feels positively intoxicated.

He can’t remember when he closed his eyes, but there are fireworks exploding behind them, and his dick is saying “Hell, yeah!” and he’s tilting his head to kiss Castiel deeper, chasing more of his mouth and his taste and his smell. His hands are gripping Castiel’s hips in a vice.

Dean can’t help the moan he lets out when Castiel’s tongue does a thing, and he also can’t help his surprise when Castiel pulls back abruptly after the sound has registered. His shock is almost overshadowed by the crude things his brain is thinking when he takes in Castiel, whose lips are shiny and wet, and whose pupils are enormous.

Dean holds his breath, furrows his eyebrows, and waits. Castiel is looking at him, pained.

“Dean, I can’t,” he whispers.

There is a moment, and then Dean blinks, understanding everything. He’s a little upset, but mostly embarrassed, except his brain can’t fully express that, so it’s put through a well-oiled machine that converts it into anger. Now, that he can do.

He’s pushing Castiel off him, walking five steps away then pivoting and walking back. He repeats this path, running a hand down his face as Castiel just fucking stands there, looking at him sadly.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean bites out.

“Dean, I can-” Casties tries.

“No, seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whirls around to stare right at Castiel a few feet away. Castiel’s shoulders fall and it enrages Dean even more.

“You know what, Cas? Go fuck yourself. You got some issues to figure out, and it’s not gonna be with me. Go to hell, asshole.” Dean spits out, fixing Castiel with a furious stare, feeling his jaw tick in anger, and then he’s stomping away.

As he gets closer to the Impala, he crosses his arms, feeling indignation constrict his chest. This is not the first time this has happened with Dean and unfortunately, he thinks it probably won’t be the last.

Damn it. A guy like that? Probably has a pretty little wife, probably hides his wedding band right in his front pocket, which Dean completely skipped on his way to grab at Castiel’s ass. He groans internally as he rounds the back of the car till he reaches the driver’s door. He’s going home with the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He hears as he fishes out his keys and puts the right one in the slot to unlock the door, and hey, Castiel’s voice is much closer than he expected, but Dean doesn’t have time to turn around and yell at him some more because suddenly the ground is completely gone from under his feet. Dean’s vision goes blinding white, and then pitch black.

The pain finally registers on the back of his head, and the last thing he sees before he's out, is the key chain dangling from the lock on the Impala’s door.

****

The world slowly slots back together as Dean wakes up. There’s four, then three, then two, and then it all merges into one again. Dean acutely feels the pouding in his head.

He’s… laying down? Yeah, he’s on a bed. The mattress is nice. There's even a thin blanket on top of him, dark grey. He turns his head to the side-nope, that’s a wall-tries the other side and okay good, there’s the rest of the room. He feels a little less claustrophobic now that he’s seen the whole space. It’s dark just because the lights are off. It looks like a normal basement, unfinished ceiling and all, with boxes stacked in the corner covering a whole wall. There’s a couch facing him, parallel to the bed, and there’s a figure sitting there. Dean eyes his phone, wallet, car keys, and pocket knife on a night stand next to the bed. It’s just out of his reach.

He pinches his eyes shut, wiggles his toes in his boots (no brain damage done, yay), and then he groans out: “What can I do for ya, Mr. Monster?”

When he opens his eyes, Castiel has turned one of the overhead light bulbs on. He looks serious.

“Firstly, I want to apologize, Dean. I didn’t want to have to do this, and I didn’t plan for it.”

Dean is more than confused. “What.”

Castiel stands up from his couch, he’s only in his suit now, tie loosened, and damn Dean’s stupid (probably concussed) brain, but he still looks yummy. Monster, Dean. Focus.

Castiel crosses his arms, and plants his feet. He keeps a very respectable distance away from the bed, and Dean’s gut twists at the thought that he was playing him all along.

“I didn’t… want to seduce you. I just wanted to talk. I might have derailed from my plan slightly.”

Dean’s jaw ticks. “And what was that amazing plan of yours, Castiel? If that’s your real name.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean’s tone. He huffs a breath out his nose, frowning.

“You know, Dean, you may not remember me, but I remember you. Fifteen years ago, your father killed my father, and I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breaths out after a few seconds of stunned silence, propping himself up to fully sit up on the bed. He feels his bruised brain click things together. “You’re the second one. You survived.”

Castiel is silent, and that’s all the confirmation Dean needs to know he was pinned down by this guy way before tonight.

Dean laughs. “What kind of fucked up revenge plot is this? You’ve been stalking me for years? Well, then you must know my father died of alcohol poisoning almost a decade ago. It was ugly and painful, and you missed your chance, asshole.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Dean,” he says sternly, “I didn’t want to kill your father. And I don’t want to kill you. That’s not why I ended up kidnapping you tonight. I’m grateful for what your father did for me.”

Dean does a double take, swings his feet off the bed and onto the ground. “You’re what?”

“This may come as a surprise, but not every monster is a monster. Not fully, anyway. I’m half-human. And I need your help to go all the way.”

[salty-star-child]

Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Lies

[so my brain is torturing me for three reasons. Reason 1: I’m obscenely late with the last four Michael Guerin Week fics. Reason 2: I’m have the very last prompt finished, but my brain decided I need to do a complete overhaul of the other three so they’ll be even later if I wait. Reason 3: I’m posting out of order because fuck it. oops.]

read on ao3

             Max was dead.

             Really, truly, can’t-wake-him-up-but-try-it-anyway dead.

             Michael can’t sleep anymore. Not without seeing his mother behind glass in a building about to explode, and Noah and Max facing off in the hallway in front of her. His mom’s words echo in his head, a constant stream of ‘I love you’s, a stark contrast to Michael’s desperate begging to Max that he needs to get the hell out before everything goes kaboom. But Max always ignores him (or maybe he could never hear Michael in the first place). Then Max would defeat Noah and turn to Michael with a smile.

             That’s where everything always goes up in smoke. The detonation has reached zero, the building shakes and Michael’s ears ring, and everything is too warm and numb. Michael always survives the explosion, for no reason other than it’s a nightmare. He’d pick himself up off the ground and the first thing he really sees is Max. Lifeless and prone among the wreckage, next to his mother, like he’d been one of the prisoners the entire time.

             So, yeah, Michael can’t sleep. Sue him.

             Instead, he decided to do what he always does: drink and forget.

             He made sure to come during the usual rush because Maria wants to talk, which is the last thing Michael wanted to do. He just wanted to get drunk, flirt a little some other guy’s girl and have a reason to fight after the guy throws the first punch. It’s Michael’s MO.

             He downed three tequila shots, a couple glasses of whiskey neat, six beers, and a raspberry lemon drop cocktail by the time Sheriff Valenti arrived to escort him and the tourists he’d fought with out of the bar. Michael has a split lip, his nose is bleeding, his knuckles bruised, and he can still taste blood in his mouth no matter how much he spits. He may or may not have bit his tongue at some point. The other guys look about as well off as he is. He knew for a fact he broke one of their noses—he’d made a smartass comment about it when he’d heard the crunch and groan.

             Michael’s the only one thrown in the drunk tank though; another drunk and disorderly on the books. The tourists aren’t nearly as fucked up as he is and instead pay a sizeable fine. The sheriff is clearly disappointed in him. He’d managed to stay out of the tank for long enough that she’d hoped meant he got his act together. The sheriff’s lecture is brief and stiff.

             It reminded him of Max.

             The sheriff largely ignores him after her lecture, tells him to sleep he’ll have to sleep off the alcohol unless he has someone else that she can call, because Max and Isobel aren’t around to take him home. She, like everyone else in town, believe Max is off helping Isobel through the devastating and sudden loss of her husband. Isobel suggested the cover and Michael had rolled with it, because it meant getting Max back…somehow. He needed to believe they could and if the damn cover story helped him do that, so be it.

             He’s half-conscious still when he heard the sheriff talking on the phone, and a tinny, slightly distorted, version of Maria’s voice coming through it. Great. She did not sound too pleased with him. She was definitely leaving him here for the night. He doesn’t really register the meanings of the words that are being spoken until the sheriff glanced over at him, confused and intrigued, and Michael catches the name.

             Alex.

             That got through his drunk addled mind, fog lifting just enough for the pleasant anticipation of seeing Alex to be squashed by the dread of seeing Alex. Michael was at his lowest, surliest, ugliest…he didn’t want the other man to see him like this. He wanted him to see him at his best, or at least better than this.

             The call with Maria ends, but Sheriff Valenti doesn’t put down the phone. Instead she started dialing another number and Michael feels his stomach twist with the need to throw up. He dry heaves, trying desperately not to throw up on the floor of the drunk tank.

             A trash can was thrusted under his nose. He doesn’t think twice about gripping the sides and letting the mix of alcohol and bile burn the back of his throat. His eyes water and nose stings. He retches, and retches, until there’s nothing more to expel. He used the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth.

             “Two calls? I thought criminals only got the one,” Michael said weakly, attempting a smirk. The sheriff raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

             “All I had to do was say you were drunk before Captain Manes said he’d on his way,” she said. Her voice was that careful kind of emotionless that makes Michael suspicious. He can’t tell if her lack of further questioning sets him at ease or pushes him to the edge.

             It seemed she was waiting for him to respond, and he was waiting for her to just ask her goddamn question. The result was sitting in a tense silence. Michael decided to lay back on the bench and covered his eyes with his arm. One of many avoidance tactics he’d learned over the years.

             Then, before Michael could realize time was still passing, Alex was there. Alex was there, with a gentle hand pushing sweaty curls back from his forehead and helping him sit up. His vision was spotted as he reorients himself. He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but upright, and avoided Alex’s worried gaze. Alex’s hand never leaves his shoulder, acting as a guide and reassurance. The hand feels cool to his overheated skin, even through the fabric of his shirt.

             “C’mon, Guerin,” Alex mumbled into his ear. “Let’s get you to the car.”

             Michael insisted on walking on his own two feet, that he’s fine, but Alex and Sheriff Valenti hover anyway. It annoyed him and he told them as much. Alex had snarked back, the words going in one ear and out the other, but the general meaning of suck it up ringing loud and clear. His foot ends up slipping while he pulled himself into the passenger seat, and he fell backwards into Alex. A grunt and sharp intake of breath was enough to even let a drunk Michael know he’d hurt the airman. No doubt the sudden additional weight put too much pressure on the prosthetic.

             But Alex doesn’t say anything about the pain. Neither does Sheriff Valenti as she helps adjust most of Michael’s weight off Alex and into the seat. Alex started to try to buckle him in, but he tugged the belt out of his hands and mumbled that he’d do it himself. The other man sighed but nodded and made sure all limbs were inside the vehicle and away from the door so he could shut it firmly.

             The window was rolled up, which made the conversation the sheriff started muffled and mostly incomprehensible, but she dismissed something which made Alex’s shoulders drop in relief. Michael hadn’t even really noticed how tense the man had been until he’d relaxed.

             Alex got in the car, buckled up, and drove out of the small parking lot without a word. The radio wasn’t even on to fill the heavy air between them. It was a deliberate choice, Michael knew, because Alex loved listening to music and letting it fill the silence. This was stifling, suffocating in a way to induce conversation. He hated that it worked, because he rolled his head to the side to look at the airman’s profile as he pleaded:

             “Tell me that you hate me.”

             Alex glanced at him two, three times, trying to get a good look at Michael’s face and keep his eyes on the road at the same time.

             “What? No, Guerin,” he said incredulously. “Hate is…the exact opposite of how I feel about you. I’m angry and upset with you, but—I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

             “Why? You should,” Michael grumbled, looking down at his should-be-scarred hand. “How many times’ve I lied to you? Pushed you away jus’ as much as you walked ‘n I never—I never thought about tryin’ to follow…”

             “Guerin,” Alex sighed. His voice was sad, defeated.

             Michael hated it.

             “’n I said we’d talk ‘n stuff, made you wait but then I ditched ya. I went and kissed your best friend. You should hate me. Why can’t you just hate me?”

             “Because I love you, Michael,” Alex answered, voice still sad and defeated but with a confidence behind the words that took Michael by surprise. “I would’ve preferred you to be sober when I said it, but I think you really need to hear it right now. I don’t care how you think I should feel about you because I know how I feel about you. I don’t hate you, not for pushing me away. Not for lying. Not for leaving me waiting all damn day, and not even for Maria.

             “We both make mistakes. We’re only people—we aren’t faultless, or perfect. Maria’s my best friend, and she’s wonderful, and I can see why anyone attracted to women would be attracted to her. I don’t hate you for it. Just…angry and hurt.”

             “You really should hate me…because that was the point.”

             That has Alex pulling over to the side of the road and putting the car in park. He doesn’t turn to look at Michael, just stares ahead, but his hands are still on the wheel and his knuckles are turning a bright white. He’s quiet, waiting.

             “I really do like her, ‘m attracted and stuff, but…I also knew it’d hurt you. I was so fucked up and broken and empty that night, everything was just too much, and…and all I could think about was Caulfield ‘n you ‘n some shit Max said when he decided to heal my fucking hand…everything just hurt, and all I could think about was making you hurt too. How fucked up is that, right? I love you so much and all I could think about was what was going to hit you the hardest and make you feel the way I was feelin’.”

             Michael isn’t sure when he started crying, just knew that he was. Alex, however, has his eyes squeezed shut, mouth in a firm, thin line, and jaw clenched. He’s taking deep breaths, and they’re both shaking.

             “Yell at me, hit me. Something, anything,” Michael whispered into the air, voice rough and cracking. “Tell me you hate me, please, just—say that you hate me. Just, just lie ‘n say you do, I don’t care…I don’t care if it’s a lie.”

             Alex doesn’t say anything at all, just turns the car off and unbuckles his seat belt. He opened the door and walked around the front of the car to open Michael’s too. He doesn’t look at Michael as he gestures for him to get out and follow him into the desert. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t. But it’s Alex, so he followed. Only once they’re surrounded by nothing, the car a long way off and barely in view, does the airman turn and look at him.

             “We’re going to scream, same time, at the universe,” he said with such finality. “The world is cruel, and so are people, and life’s not fair. Sometimes, you just gotta scream about it and let it all out on the universe so you don’t let it out on the people who love you.”

             Michael eyed him warily but nodded anyway.

             Three…two…one—

             They scream. They scream until their lungs hurt, scream some more until their voices are hoarse and throats sore. They scream; about Max, about Jesse, about psycho alien serial killers, about faulty Wi-Fi, about misplaced car parts, about forgetting to get another box of his favorite cereal. They scream until they’re a hysterical mess of giggles, serious frustrations dwindling to minor annoyances and trying to see who could think of the silliest reason to scream at the universe.

             By the time they finish screaming, drawing in heavy breaths and holding their sides, Michael is feeling much less intoxicated. Still in no shape to drive or make any thought out decisions, but in enough control of himself again that he’s aware and here and, more importantly, able to stand on his own two feet without the world spinning out from underneath him. Which is good, because Alex is starting to very noticeably favor one leg over the other. But Alex is as stubborn as he is and denies the offered help (though he doesn’t complain when Michael helps him anyway).

             The walk back to the car is slow—he kept his eyes on the stars, using his peripherals to watch for any increased pain in Alex’s micro expressions. While screaming had certainly relaxed him, it made him no less frustrated or confused. The airman’s quiet presence soothed his tumultuous emotions as much as it furthered his frustration.

             Because Alex should hate him. But he doesn’t.

             When Michael finally gets back to the airstream and he’s laid back on the small bed, he tells himself that he doesn’t believe Alex. He tells himself that Alex really does hate him. He lets his lies become a lullaby for hours until eventually his eyes are too tired to stay open.

             He fell asleep and entered the same nightmare he’d been having since Max died. Only, there’s a new addition.

             Alex is there, behind glass the way his mother is, and his voice overlaps hers as the countdown begins.

             I love you.

             But you’re mine!

             I love you.

             You’re a miserable liar, Guerin

             I love you.

             Noah. Max. Kaboom!

             Michael jerked awake, shaking and gasping. He can feel the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest and lungs burned. Alex had been right after all; he really was a miserable liar.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

The (indie) Kids Are(n’t) Alright.

[piece by Nick Southall of Stylus Magazine which has sadly been defunct since 2007; I’m reposting it here because I had to dig through the internet archive to find it]

The following was posted by one of our readers in the comments section of our recent Top 50 Singles of 2005 article. 

Posted 12/09/2005 - 08:07:34 AM by tintin1000: i hate this list. but before i get into a rant, i shall tell you all the "rules" which i relied upon to come to the conclusion that this list is a pile of steaming bullshit. (a) this is a snobby list (b) i understand that this is a list of singles, so it cannot include bands like deerhoof or anything because they don't HAVE singles, but ... (c) this is a lame attempt at justifying why you guys like top 40 chart songs ... a shoddly constructed "logical" justification of listening to top 40 songs, with the "indie mag," stylus, as a sort of buffer ... "oh -- we're really into indie music, so that means we can accept pop music from an "elevated" plane of existence or some bullshit like that. okay -- who the hell thinks that the friggin' backstreet boys write "better" songs than the mountain goats?! than the futureheads!? uh ... and sure -- the concept of r. kelly's trapt in the closet is cool, i think, but how in the hell do you distinguish which gwen stefani single is the "best" on the album? is it the originality of the song? nope? is it in the creativity? nope. is it the craftmanship? nope. is it the songwriting? nope. as far as i can tell, you guys compiled a list that should be dubbed "best singles that will get you crunked in 2005," but since you worded everything so perfectly, it sounds like there is an actual intellectual, logical reason behind the creation of the fucking whisper song. the whisper song is about fucking. since when has fucking merited any artistic credibilty? just plain, raw, primitive sex? if you guys like to dance to this shit, cool ... but don't be dumbasses and pretend that you listen to this shit because you actually think it actually has a true artistic quality to it ... damn. 

I usually try and avoid responding directly to people in the comments boxes, unless they ask a specific question about a piece or raise a factual error, because I think it’s slightly unbecoming for writers to be trawling their own work looking for flame wars, but I couldn’t help but respond to our friend tintin1000, initially with a couple of short notes in the comments box, and now here, in more length and with more thought. 

tintin1000 isn’t alone in his indi(e)gnation (I’m sorry, that’s a terrible forced pun)—you can see dozens, if not hundreds of other people spilling outraged bile into the comments boxes every week in protest at our temerity in choosing to review a country record favourably (and I’m not talking about Lambchop or Uncle Tupelo) or vote Kelly Clarkson as our single of the year ahead of, say, the latest 7” by The Ambivalent Corduroy Medical Students on Squirrel Records which features nine Canadian college graduates banging ukuleles and broken harpsichords and singing about their guinea pig’s gravestone. What’s wrong with us? Why are we pretending to like such manipulative top 40 pop shit? How could we possibly be so short-sighted as to not see the genius inherent in something like Pig On A Stick’s masterful limited edition EP, I’m Ugly, I’m Lonely, All My Friends Are Dead?!Especially when we lavish such shallow, fetishistic praise on hollow, manufactured acts. 

The thing is that Stylus has always loved pop, hip-hop and r’n’b singles, consistently voting them highly in the end-of-year singles lists over the last three years. Just look at the Singles Jukebox articles from the last 9 months—pop music is something we love and something we cover—we’ve never claimed to be an indie website any more than we’ve claimed to be an IDM website (something we used to get accused of every so often when we began). If you’re still not convinced, take a look at the Mission Statement; all we’ve ever been bothered about covering is music, not specific genres. 

So why are indieboys still so vehemently disgusted by our (un)surprising pop-centricity, our schizeclecticism, by the fact that some of us like country records and others like pop records and yet others really do enjoy Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (I’m still not entirely convinced that that particular band isn’t a complex hoax perpetrated by Derek Miller)? I’d wager, for a start, that the majority of our most vocal indieboy naysayers are probably in their late teens rather than their mid-to-late 20s, and that the music they like isn’t just a sonic preference based on what tickles the hairs in their ears in a pleasant way, but that it is a much more deep-seated culture-aesthetic choice. A choice as much about identity as music, perhaps. 

Which is fine, because adolescent cultural choices—hell, adult cultural choices too—are about identity. They’re about peer groups and aspirations and association. The music you like may well help determine the clothes you wear, the friends you keep, how you cut your hair—it’ll certainly determine which clubs or gigs you go to, and who you go with. It’s a chicken / egg conundrum, though, as to which comes first—the music or the identity. Do you like this music because of who you are, or are you making a definite effort to determine who you are and using the music as a tool to do so? Because like it or not, and whether you’re aware of it or not, your cultural choices are a signifier pointing towards who you are. 

Here are a handful of bands and what liking them says about you: 

Interpol - “I am deep, moody, urban and edgy, given to pathos and bad poetry. Please have sex with me, but don’t expect an orgasm.” 

Bright Eyes - “I have read a book about true love and am too scared to treat you badly. Please don’t have sex with me, as I will cry.” 

Embrace - “I really am in it for the music, because the public perception of my favourite band is terrible. Please have sex with me in a slightly dull, monogamous way.” 

Kompakt-style techno - “I transcend the body-mind divide by being intellectually into dancing. Please have sex with me on drugs.” 

Bloc Party - “I am very cool but not as alternative as I’d like to think, and I wish I knew more black people. Please have sex with me, but be careful not to mess-up my hair.” 

Girls Aloud - “I am a shallow pop whore. Let’s fuck! But it will be without true, meaningful emotion.” 

Arcade Fire - “I am into way more cool and obscure stuff than anyone else. Please let me say I had sex with you ages ago, before anyone else.” 

Oasis - “I am a piss-throwing troglodyte misogynist. I am going to date-rape you.”

Each of these assumptions says as much about the inferer as the inferred, if not more so. Each one is a value judgement based on cultural baggage, and everyone’s cultural baggage is different. Most internet-based discussion of music that I’ve come across deals not with what people like, but with what people dislike. What people like is a matter of assumption, some kind of unspoken test to see whether someone is cool enough to be spoken to, to be let into the secret club. You wouldn’t want someone uncool hanging around with the cool kids (on a messageboard, natch) and making them uncool by association because they like, heaven forbid, “The Whisper Song”, would you? 

Ah, “The Whisper Song.” Here’s what tintin1000 said about it: it sounds like there is an actual intellectual, logical reason behind the creation of the fucking whisper song. the whisper song is about fucking. since when has fucking merited any artistic credibilty? just plain, raw, primitive sex? This raises a whole other issue that indieboys can’t stand. Sex. It’s often been stated that indieboys are afraid to dance because they have an intrinsic “fear of the middle of the body,” a post-Victorian-era Catholic / Freudian guilt / paranoia about all things sexual which dates back, perhaps, to Morrissey’s fiercely foppish stance of asexuality and beyond, to Keats or Wordsworth or whoever, and the myth of the sexually-frustrated romantic, the idea that one’s art will be somehow purer if untainted by the dirty touch of lust. But go beyond that, go to Michelangelo sculpting David’s sensuous masculine frame; or all those countless portraits of St. Sebastian, pierced with arrows like an S&M; stunt gone awry, loincloth barely covering his genitals; all those pre-Raphaelite female nudes; every film to ever reveal more flesh than grandmother would like; to Led Zeppelin wailing about plain, raw, primitive sex and John Lennon trying to make the end of “A Day In The Life” sound like a great big musical orgasm. Very few people would question Björk’s artistic credibility, and she’s written countless songs about sex. People are rushing to proclaim Kate Bush’s Aerial a work of genius, and it’s positively dripping with eroticism. Sex is not the be-all-and-end-all of human existence, and to get too caught up in its alluring juices and scents can screw with your head (just ask Michael Douglas or any random Tory politician) but to claim that plain, raw, primitive sex has never inspired any worthwhile art is the folly of the hungry, short-sighted virgin. Pop music in particular (and The Mountain Goats and Deerhoof are as much pop music as Charlotte Church or Sisqo) is about sex. 

And of course sex is key to identity—as if I needed to say that after the assumptions about bands above. Anyone who ever wore skinny jeans or dyed their hair black did so because they wanted some of their idol’s allure by proxy, because they thought that listening to this record and wearing those shoes would get them laid. Everyone. Except me, of course, because I’m above it all. 

The problem with our intrepid hero tintin1000 is that he’s finding his identity, and is thus vulnerable to having the fragile foundations of that identity shaken. And so he sees Mountain Goats, an act he loves for their literate, melodic music made in the cottage-industry style, unadorned by commercial trappings but instead blessed with deep insight into the human condition, at number 50 on our list and is pleased, thinking, hoping and assuming that the rest of the list will continue to reaffirm his identity. Because he trusts Stylus, possibly, as someone he can talk to about these things. And there’s the fucking Ying Yang Twinz, wtf? And Gwen Stefani? And other music that is liked by the people he sees at college or in town and takes an instant dislike to for their shallow natures and unthinking ways, and it jars his assumptions about what it means to like Mountain Goats, about what it says about him when he realises what he thinks liking Kelly Clarkson says about other people. 

The thing is that once you stop worrying about what owning (and more importantly liking) a Girls Aloud record says about you, you can start taking it on its own merits, which are (generally) pretty plentiful. Something like Die Hard is a great film because it knows what it is and what it does and it executes its plan with zero faffing around—there’s no narrative fat in that film (unlike, say, the odious Goodfellas), every single event is a plot device, and there’s joy to be found in such craftsmanship, never mind the actual tangible visceral thrill of the finished article once we get past ontological rumination on the efficiency of the screenplay. Likewise Girls Aloud’s records are faultless exercises in meta-pop constructivism, not so much songs as processions of hooks and choruses with the boring, fatty verses left over for the likes of Okkervil River instead. And, of course, as with Die Hard there is the sheer physical joy of listening to them, of dancing to them, getting caught up in the beats and the insidious melodic hooks, which outweighs even the music-journalistic catnip attraction of playing spot-the-reference. 

And once you’re past the stage of crushing insecurity and aspirational identity positing, the idiocy inherent in statements like how in the hell do you distinguish which gwen stefani single is the "best" on the album? becomes clear. You distinguish your favourite (no such thing as objectivity, kids) Gwen Stefani song on Love Angel Music Baby in exactly the same manner as you would your favourite song on The Sunset Tree—by listening to the record and choosing the song that you like most, for whatever reason(s) it is that you ever like any song. Until your superego stops screaming at you that it’s bad to like Gwen Stefani though, that’s not going to happen. 

It works in stages though, this music / identity nexus. As a child one likes simple things, the multi-coloured hues of pop music perhaps, but once one senses the transition to adulthood one puts away childish things. By writing off whole areas of music for the simple reason that “it’s not the kind of thing someone like me listens to” you are, quite simply, denying yourself a whole lot of pleasures, both frivolous and profound. Malcolm X said in his autobiography that “children have a lesson adults should learn, to not be ashamed of failing, but to get up and try again. Most of us adults are so afraid, so cautious, so 'safe,' and therefore so shrinking and rigid and afraid that it is why so many humans fail. Most middle-aged adults have resigned themselves to failure.” It’s not just failing that we shouldn’t be ashamed of. A major finding in neuroscience in recent years is the extent to which our brains display advanced levels of ‘neural plasticity.’ We are not forever ‘hardwired’ for rigid modes of behaviour; we are not static ‘slaves’ to our DNA. There is a remarkable degree to which we can change ingrained patterns of thought, intention and practice. Our identities are not fixed, are not immutable—admitting that you enjoy a Britney record unironically will not destroy your future character. And that goes for an awful lot of things besides music. 

Of course this is all blatant assumption, and doesn’t mean anything at all. Except, perhaps, that you should give in to your ids, indie kids. 

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (3/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 2549

Links: ao3 // ff.net // chapter 1 // chapter 2

A/N: No Killian in this chapter, my apologies, but there are answers to your questions and there's an OC whom I love a lot and I hope you do too

The Big P ( @ofshipsandswans ) and Notorious Nonnie ( @acourtoftruelove ) are epic as always and weren't afraid to go "uhhh Manon??" whenever I did or wrote stupid stuff.

@shady-swan-jones is also epic and never complained when I stalked her about the art she was making, you can find said art here and here!

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A dense downpour covered the streets, distorting the view, a thin sheet of water blurring her sight. Emma walked, all of her senses heightened—her ears searching for any sound that didn’t belong. She did not trust the dark that enclosed her, nor was she pleased with the curtain of rain. She was at a disadvantage and she knew it, knew that this was exactly why he had waited before informing her where their meeting would take place. Why he chose for it to be this late. He wanted the upper hand and Emma couldn’t do anything but to hand it to him. She was but an employee, a hired informant that could be laid off at any moment.

The rain was just a welcome bonus, she supposed as she trudged on, avoiding puddles that had gathered; he was powerful but controlling the weather required some magic that he, a mere mortal, did not possess.

The cobblestones of the alley shone with a layer of rain, the water enhancing the sound of her high boots echoing against the stone. Emma was already regretting her choice of footwear. It was drawing attention to her, attention that might not be wanted.

She checked her phone for the umpteenth time since she had left to be certain and it gave her the confirmation she sought. This was it, it told her, the brightness of her screen causing her to squint against the artificial light. She had reached her destination.

And she was all alone.

That didn’t seem right.

Her eyes slid across her surroundings, searching for a sign of life, a clue that someone else was present, but found none.

“So, Ms. Swan.”

Emma was startled by the voice surfacing out of the shadows. And the man accompanying it.

“What have you found out?” Mr. Gold asked.

He appeared from whatever hole he was hiding, dressed to the nines in a suit that seemed badly tailored, tatty even, loose at some parts and way too tight at others. A golden cane in his hand, only emphasizing his stature and oddity. Who owned a cane? A golden one at that? His brown hair, streaked with grey, was long and stuck to his cheeks thanks to the rain.

“Okay, first of all, Gold,” Emma responded, not wanting to immediately hand him her information, her only assets. “Why are we meeting in some shady alley? It reeks here.”

And it did. Of pee and other questionable substances. A place Emma would much rather not spend time in.

“We need to be covert,” sounded his answer, but it failed to resonate with Emma.

She tilted her head and frowned as a movement in the background caught her eye.

“And we couldn’t be covert in an office or a place where there aren’t actual rats running around?” she questioned, pointing at the spot the rat had just run across.

Gold seemed less worried about the vermin running around; he could fit right in. Birds of a feather flock together and all that.

“Now is not the time to complain about hygienics, Ms. Swan. What have you found?” he repeated, uttering every word as if it was a sentence with a full stop.

Emma recognized that her efforts of convincing him to pick another meeting point would lead to absolutely nothing and so she simply accepted that she was going to look like she was offering Gold drugs in a dark alley. Though, if she was being entirely honest, it was most likely going to look like she was offering him something else.

Just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of her throat and made her want to end this briefing as soon as possible. She cleared her throat as she refocused on the matter at hand.

“After another week, observing Jones from afar has not proven to be very useful or helpful with me getting new information. I’ve therefore decided to switch tactics and, instead, I’m going to try and gain his trust.” Gold didn’t need to know the real reason why she’d had a sudden change of heart, it would only shrink his already microscopic amount of trust in her even more. “It’s now just a matter of him trusting me to get the information you need,” she told him, making sure he believed the ease with which she could handle the situation, even though she didn’t particularly believe in it herself.

His dark eyes slid over her face, assessing and attempting to read her features and even if what was going on in his brain mostly remained a mystery to her, Emma could see the wheels turning in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts conferring with one another.

At last, he spoke.

“I hope you don’t get carried away, Ms. Swan. We do have a deal and I do not take my deals lightly.”

“Neither do I, Gold,” Emma guaranteed. “I’ll get the job done, don’t worry.”

“You better.”

She should’ve let the meeting end there, let the both of them part ways and not talk to each other until Gold required another briefing. But the hunch that something was off—the thought that she couldn’t in a million years fathom what intel Gold needed on Jones, especially since she spent some time talking to him and getting to know him—couldn’t stop thrumming in her head.

“What is it exactly that you want?” she then asked him outright. “I have already given all of the information I have found so far and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not hiring you to ask questions, Ms. Swan. Leave that part to me. Keep your eyes and ears open, report back when you find more, that is all I require from you.” His accent had become thicker, more guttural, acting as yet another warning.

“Okay.” Emma threw her hands up in the air in concession.

She was not going to debate it or ask any more risky questions. The money Gold was paying made sure that she did not have to struggle to make ends meet; she was able to afford everything she needed with one, single job; she wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

“Until next time, I guess.” She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope you have something more interesting to tell me then, or I’ll have to reconsider this whole arrangement.”

Gold left the way he had come and vanished into the darkness again. She didn’t wait until he was completely gone to properly roll her eyes in response to his irritating flare for the dramatics that was omnipresent.

Turning on the heel of her boot, Emma left as well, in the opposite direction Gold had gone. As she walked, she gathered her wet tresses, quickly combing them through with her fingers to avoid any knots. The heavy rainfall had luckily stopped, only a stray drop here and there falling out of the sky, and so when she was met with the choice of either taking the bus home or just walking to her apartment, the quiet atmosphere and the clean, crisp air outside made her choose the latter. They were a proven successful approach to clear her head.

One thought just wouldn’t allow itself to be deleted, however.

Or one person.

Jones.

She hadn’t thought a lot about the day they’d spent together, not yet. Maybe because she didn’t want her head clouded before the meeting with Gold but now that that was all over and done, it had free rein to infiltrate her mind again, to revisit the events anew.

As they had left the store the day before yesterday, she had been hit by an immense sense of fear. Not fear of being caught or a fear of sharing too much with him.

No, not that. It was the fear of having to spend a considerable amount of time with someone she just met. She wasn’t a good socializer, her lack of friends could attest to that. One could even say she was absolutely terrible at small talk. So why on earth had she agreed to spend the afternoon with him?

The funny thing, however, was that she’d spent those first moments so struck with anxiety, her thoughts so consumed by it, that she hadn’t even realized how fast time had gone by. How she’d been talking and laughing and listening without any awkwardness trailing the conversation, without any uncomfortable silences creeping in. And that was a new experience altogether.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d been so adamant to avoid the topic, because she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it.

Or of the fact that she’d given him her cell phone number when he had asked.

She did tell Gold she was planning on gaining his trust, but whether that was the actual reason she’d so easily added her number to his contacts, Emma hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And again that same question from before resurfaced. Killian seemed like an ordinary guy. Nothing about him particularly stood out. No weird vibes, no strange behavior. Just a polite, somewhat reserved—but then again, flirty—dude. Someone who’d managed to make her feel at ease. What would Gold want with information about him, and, more importantly, what was he going to use it for?

Emma sighed as the question remained unanswered, her breath hot against the chilled air. Her feet continued to tap against the concrete, carrying her closer and closer to home. What had first been a pleasant brisk breeze, was now a freezing wind, chilling her to the core. The remaining raindrops falling from her hair certainly did not help.

She spotted her apartment from across the street and excitement ran through her body as she took those final steps. She needed a scalding shower to warm up again. And a lot of hot chocolate to warm up her insides again.

Just as her hand went to open her door, she suddenly realized she’d not bought new hot chocolate when she drank the last packet. She didn't have any chocolate to make it from scratch, either. Shit. Her hand fell from the handle, as she looked around at her surroundings and considered her options. It was already after ten, so the closest Tesco was already closed, and she didn’t particularly feel like taking the bus to the further one that was open until midnight, especially not in her drenched clothes.

Only one option remained. Well, two actually. The first one being going upstairs without and accepting there would be no hot chocolate, even though Emma didn’t feel like getting over her need for chocolate. It seemed like a pretty vital necessity. Option number two it was: the night shop two blocks away.

But she was still getting out of these freezing clothes first.

Emma reemerged from her building with a new set of warm and comfy clothes and made her way to the shop.

The door opened as she pushed against it, a little bell ringing as she did. The shop wasn’t that big and clearly targeted two types of people: the ones that wanted to get drunk and the ones that had gotten drunk and now craved some sort of greasy or sugary—unhealthy to sum it up—food. Emma was neither and so she knew that she’d have to go to the little corner of the shop meant for everyone, where she would find everything.

“Good evening,” she said and smiled to the shop owner behind the counter.

“Evening, miss.”

After her meeting with Gold, she’d had quite enough of people calling her miss. Plus, she frequented this place enough to switch to a first name basis.

“You can just call me Emma,” she told him over her shoulder as she made her way to the rack she knew contained what she desired. After some scanning, she came across the hot chocolate and removed it from the other items. It only took her a couple of steps to reach the counter again.

The young man—he had to be younger than she was or else she’d have to learn his secret—accepted the box she handed him.

“Evening, Emma,” he repeated. “I’m Samir.” He outstretched his hand and Emma grabbed it and gave it a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. This means I can finally stop calling you Rocky Road in my mind.”

“You gave me a nickname?” She cocked her head in surprise, the smile on her face widening into a grin.

Samir shrugged while scanning the box of hot chocolate.

“I do that with everyone who comes in here often. Especially with those who have a tendency to buy the same thing time and time again.” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

Well, if that didn’t say a lot about her late night snacking habits, Emma didn’t know what did.

The cash register ringed and Samir read the price off of it.

“That’s three quid, please.”

Emma’s hand disappeared into her pocket, in search of some change that hid inside. First, she fished out fifty pence and that was followed by a two-pound coin. One last effort of checking another pocket led to one last pound being recovered. “Keep it,” she said as Samir pushed the fifty pence back to her side of the counter.

“Thanks.” He threw the coin with the rest of them and closed the register.

“Can I ask you something?” Emma stored her box in the small shopping bag she’d brought along.

“Sure,” Samir replied, his brown eyes shining, reflecting the openness she felt radiating from him.

“You seem pretty young to own your own business. Or am I just really misjudging your age?”

It might be weird to just ask him that, but the longer she spent looking at his face, the younger he began to look.

���I’m twenty-three.”

That was more or less what Emma was estimating.

“This isn’t my store, it’s my dad’s,” he explained. “I’m filling in for a while. I just graduated uni, so I don’t have anything better to do for now.”

“Oh, congrats!” Emma said, her congratulations genuine as graduating from university deserved that. She’d never managed to do so. “What did you study?”

“Law.” Samir slightly ducked his head as if he was bashful about his choice or his accomplishments while there was absolutely no reason to be.

“You’re a lawyer? Impressive.”

“Well—” He tilted his head. “not so much a lawyer as waiting for someone to hire me to become one.”

She could then see how he’d rather be doing that than selling things to people in the middle of the night and Emma couldn’t blame him. If he’d studied to become a lawyer, was ready to be one, it must be frustrating to not have anyone give you a shot to do what your heart desired.

“I’m certain it will happen, Samir.” She nodded encouragingly. “If I ever need a lawyer, you’ll be the first I call, alright?” Emma winked.

“Fine by me. If you ever feel like visiting me again and having a chat, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I hope you have a good night, Samir.”

“You too, Emma.”

And it seemed like Emma Swan had yet again participated in small talk and had actually gotten a friend out of it.

A friend and hot chocolate.

Monumental.

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Now I'm in the mood for hot chocolate too... Anyways, I hope you liked it and do not despair, our favorite Brit is making his comeback next Thursday and it’s a good one 😏, see you then!

[anon-luv]

I’ll Never Be Her (JiminXReader) Pt.2

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Angst/ Romance

Summary: You loved him with all your heart, but he could only give you half of his.

Jimin was the love of your life, your night in shining armor when she wasn’t around.

She was his ex girlfriend,  his first love, actually she was his many firsts and she kept coming back.

He had warned you she was his weakness, but you didn’t listen, because to you having him even if it was only partially was better than not having him at all.

At least for now.

Rated M: Sexual Scenes and Languages that might not be appropriate for all ages.

Word Count: 10.8K+

Author’s Note: SORRY I TOOK SO LONG!!! I have been working a lot, and to be honest I did not expect this chapter to come out so long.  I hope you guys enjoy the second part as much as you did the first. I hope it meets expectations. I am so thankful for all your beautiful messages and feedback. Keep sending them my way!! Only one more part to this fic!! Let me know what you think lovelys.

Also to  be honest when you all message me or like the story and stuff it encourages me to write lol. I LOVE ANONS hahaha

Minor Grammar mistakes possible(I am half asleep sorry !!) . I will edit more if needed.

I am so nervous to post this haha. LEAVE SOME LOVE!

PART1

Heartbreak.

You had heard rumors about the unmistakable pain that comes from that forsaken condition. The boundaries between the mental and physical pain blurred as your body weakens from the instability of emotions.

It had been a week. Just seven days, yet your whole being was already giving up on you. Your soul’s withdrawal from Jimin cursing you into a hellhole.

The nausea came in waves as you laid upon the bed you had barely had the energy to come out from. The dizziness that magnified everytime you closed your eyes, creating a similar effect as if you were stuck in the middle of the ocean on a wooden raft as a hurricane blew with category 5 winds.

Drunk you were not, actually, the mere thought of the bitter taste of it sent you right back to the toilet you had been practically glued on for the past four days.

“You need to eat something,” Jin said as he placed a bowl next to your temporary bed, “I brought you some chicken broth and saltine crackers”

“Thank you, but I think I should just go back to sleep” you replied weakly as you attempted to shoo him away with your hand.

“Stop being so bloody stubborn.” he replied ripping away the blankets now sending your body into a shock from the coldness in the room, “You need to eat. Going to work and coming home to head straight to bed is not healthy. I am worried. Please.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Fine”

The warmth of the bowl felt amazing against your skin, you took a spoonful and smiled his way “Thank you Jin”

He smiled sadly at you, “You are welcome. I really do think you need to talk to Jimin though, he is hurting too (y/n). I went to go see him yesterday, he is not doing too well”

“Well neither am I, but I couldn’t stand by and watch any longer,” you said as tears once again spilled over your now hollowed cheeks.

“(y/n), stop stop, I am done talking. I don’t want to see you hurting. You were smiling a second ago, if I didn’t know any better I would assume you were pregnant” he said trying to make a small joke out of the situation.

Your eyes widened. Pregnant. The color drained from your face as a bit of bile rose up again from your throat. You swallowed. Jin’s clueless expression changed to one of equal horror as it clicked that just might be the reason you have been so sick lately as he saw your quick change in demeanor.

You set down the bowl and placed it beside you as you reached out for your cell phone.

38 unread messages and 27 missed calls. All from Jimin. He had been trying to reach you nonstop, but at this moment that did not matter. For the first time since you left you didn’t stop and linger on whether to respond back to his messages or not.

The calendar app was of more importance. You scrolled over through the dates, your last menstrual cycle was 2 months ago….all the commotion in your life leaving you no time to worry about mother nature and her monthly visits.

Jin peaked over your shoulder, “You know google says stress can sometimes mess around with your ...you know….thing”

You smiled weakly at him...stress….”Yes, it might just be stressed. I probably just need more sleep”

The room was silent after that, Jin had excused himself, quite uncomfortably, leaving you behind to your own thoughts to go get groceries. You laid down once again not trying to overthink the situation at hand, maybe you were just a bit late.

  Flashback 2 years and 4 months ago

 “It is on the house,” the broad-shouldered man said winking your way.

 “Oh, Thank you,” you said shyly, you were not used to getting attention from the opposite sex, especially this early. The sun hadn't even peaked out of the horizon and you were already making your way towards class. Morning lectures were not your favorite, but your procrastination had landed you in the only vacant spot in the last subject you needed to graduate, and much to your luck it was at 7:00 am.

 “Call me Jin my name is Seokjin, but don't thank me, pretty girl. That fellow over there with the weird orange hair is the one you should thank” he said as he leveled himself with you and pointed towards a two-seater table where a lone boy had his head completely buried in a book. Said boy didn’t look affected by your presence at all, actually he seemed rather absorbed in the pages he flipped through every couple seconds.

Jin was quite tall and upon closer inspection very handsome making you a stuttering mess, “ Yeah...yeah I’ll say thanks, I guess…” you said not wanting to be rude.

Jin winked at you as you made your way over to the orange hair man, and subconsciously formulating a conversation that would be short and to the point, that would include a good enough side comment sounding grateful for his act of kindness with an attached rejection if he had any ulterior motives. As you approached you noted he looked quite disheveled and in his hand was a neon yellow highlighter.

He looked like he was studying, but upon closer inspection, you realized his book looked more like a coloring book if anything with the amount of bright yellow markings and underlined text.

“You do know the purpose of that thing in your hand is to highlight only the imperative parts right??” You said making the man jump a bit in his seat  Your deep morning voice making it sound more like a rude statement rather than the playful teasing one you were aiming for.

“Excuse me??” He said looking up at you a bit caught off guard by your sudden presence.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so…..ugly and stuff….but like my voice in the morning does this thing where it sounds like an old man going through puberty all over again….and I meant it just in a teasing kinda way. My name is (y/n) by the way... I am sorry I tend to blabber, stutter, and make a complete idiot out of myself when I get nervous" you said as you dried your sweaty hand on your pants and then put it out there for him to shake.

He looked up with an amused glint in his eye, and then a smile made his way to his features completely dazzling you, "Jimin, nice to meet you, and don't worry about it. To be honest, that is quite cute. Why don't you take a seat??"

You looked at the empty seat in front of Jimin, debating whether seating down for a few minutes would be a good idea. You still had an hour to class, and Jimin's eye smile looked more inviting than chocolate cake, "Okay, I guess only for a little. Thank you....for the coffee and stuff"

"The coffee??" he asked looking clearly confused.

"Yeah, your friend over there said to thank you...wait....you didn't …” you said your eyes now wide with embarrassment as your cheeks tinted pink.

Jimin shook his head looking quite flustered himself, “I did not, but I mean…. I wish I could’ve??” he stated more like a question than a statement.

You both turned around to look at Jin who had been cleaning the same table for over 5 minutes now.

“I am sorry. He was probably just trying..He thinks I should you know….He likes to call himself Cupid”, Jimin said as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

You laughed out loud at the shyness of the boy, it was not his fault yet here he was turning redder than a tomato in front of you, “Don’t be shy, I am a gullible person it can happen to the best of us, and look at this we made ourselves a new friend right??”

Jimin nodded sending your way another one of his breathtaking smiles, ‘Are you always this positive??”

You shook your head rapidly, “Nope, especially this early in the morning, but today feels like a good day”

“Yep, it would be even better if I could actually retain any of this,” he said looking a bit frustrated at the notes in front of him.

You eyes his paper once again, and smiled brightly at him taking out your spiral notebook, “I told you it feels like a good day. Here you go, the notes are there, highlighted in different colors by categories”

“You are taking Advanced Literature too??” he asked as he excitedly skimmed through your notes.

“Yes, I am in the 4pm lecture,” you said smiling at the enthusiastic boy in front of you.

“Me too!! I haven’t seen you there, but then again there is like 200 students in the lecture hall at the same time. I feel awful for procrastinating on my studying for the test today” he said now looking completely devastated.

Seeing him slightly pout making your heart tug a bit, “How about I stay with you here and help you study?? I need the review anyway”

“Are you sure?? I don’t want to impose” he replied as he took a sip of the coffee and the cringing a bit making him look a hundred times cuter.

You took a moment to observe the man in front of you and before your mind could speak your heart did, “I am sure, plus whether it was indirectly or not you did hook it up with free coffee”

This had been the first time you ditched a class willingly, and you waited for the guilt to kick in making you overthink all the important notes you could’ve taken, but as you sat with Jimin giggling at his cute jokes, and talking about anything but the course material you realised it had been worth it.

“So, we should probably start heading out,” you said looking at your watch which indicated that it was almost 3:15 and you both had 30 minutes to get to class.

“Yeah, we should. Let me pay first” he replied running to the counter where Jin still eyed the both of you with a glint in his eye.

Jimin paced fast back to start picking up his scattered notes when you noticed Jin looking quite annoyed behind him.

You were about to question if everything was all right, but he beat you to the punch.

“Okay now, Adults you have been together for hours, and I have been patiently waiting for a phone number exchange if anything. So far all I have seen are awkward blushes, and lame ass flirty jokes, so can you all just you know write each other's number down so I can have peace.

Jimin’s face paled at the forwardness of his friend, you, on the contrary, felt quite bad for the position the boy had been put in.

“Just to let you know, we were about to leave together for class, and then I was going to ask him if he wanted to have dinner with me, thank you very much. I do not need a relationship guru for your information” you said sounding more confident than you were.

“Woah Jimin, this girl has balls and bites. I like her….Keep her” Jin said walking away leaving the both of you dumbfounded.

Jimin reacted quicker than you this time to put all the stuff inside his bag. You both walked quietly out of the cafe, but as soon as the door closed Jimin’s cheeky smile bloomed in your direction, “So, Dinner??”

 To say you overslept would be an understatement. The swelling along with the comforter’s red marks across your face was a clear giveaway.

You had tossed and turned for 30 minutes after Jin left, but dreamland was no longer accepting your admission.You rubbed your eyes roughly trying to ease the frustration of having to face the day with the constant thoughts in your brain running at about a thousand miles per hour. Why were you never good enough??

The reflection in the mirror had never been your best friend, you can’t count the hours you had spent from a very young age picking out flaws and finding a way to camouflage them. Most of the time your laziness won over your vanity, and that was one thing Jimin said he loved about you.

At closer inspection, you noted how much thinner your cheeks looked from a while back, along with the dark circles that framed your eyes, that despite your endless amount of sleep were more prominent than ever.

The hair that fell down in an unarranged manner from your head in a less than perfect way had always been your early morning biggest fight. Threading your fingers along the chaos to at least make yourself look more decent had proven to be a complete failure. Maybe, if your hair magically fell upon your shoulders like a yellow waterfall like Stephany things would have been different. Your self-image was poor, and you had never been one to accept a compliment gracefully from Jimin. Your put downs had become a self-defense mechanism, something Jimin always frowned upon, always answering back with a compliment that would blow you to the moon.

Attention seeker, that is what Jin had addressed your condition, but Jimin always knew better. He had seen you at your lowest when the tears fell down your face with frustration when your pants wouldn’t close and you had spent 4 hours non stop at the gym. Jimin had accepted you, and tried holding your hand through every episode of your lack of confidence.

Jimin had made you feel loved and cared for, but you had become selfish. The praise words that he whispered in your ears through the night as you both made love were screamed out loud for the world to hear about Stephany. He was not shy about the admiration for her, whereas with you he was more reserved. She was a goddess in his eyes. You could see it every time she talked and his tunnel vision focused on only her. Everything she did was compared to whatever lame attempt you could. One-upping her was out of the question for at the very moment your eyes landed on her you knew there was no competition. She had won a long time ago hands down.

What hurt the most was the fact that you didn’t have the courage to put up a  fight. Just like with everything else about JImin you had accepted her with arms wide open. She was a part of him whether you liked it or not.

Your hand traveled along your body to your bloated stomach. You had noticed a bit of cramping, but you never really paid much attention to it. You had been only craving crispy tacos with extra cheese this past week and had relentlessly blamed your fat ass for the now protruding muffin top. You caressed the top of it softly wondering if there was a little bean there like Jin had suggested. Just thinking of a mini Jimin running around calling you mom brought a smile to your face. Then reality hits and you are left feeling more alone than ever. Jimin and you were no longer. You had walked away. Had that been the right thing to do?? Yes. It had been. Even if it was the most painful thing you have had to endure in life you knew that you did not deserve being runner-up, you wanted to be someone’s one and only.

A knock on the door snapped you back to the present.

“(Y/N), I brought you something….. Are you okay in there??” Jin said from behind the door sounding concerned.

“I am all right, just give me a sec,” you said pulling down the shirt that had ridden up with the buddha rubbing you had been doing previously.

You cracked the door open for Jin to walk in.

“Did you vomit again??” he asked as he inspected his surroundings.

“Nope, just slight tummy discomfort, but so far the soup has been staying down” you replied as you gave him a thankful smile.

You had not paid close attention when he had come into the restroom, but now the plastic bag in his hand had been put up in the counter along with a jug of orange juice.

Jin’s face had turned crimson as you could see his eyes traveling from the objects to you looking a bit troubled.

“Spit it out Jinjin” you said eyeing his unusual flustered self.

“I saw this in that Juno Movie, and well...yeah,” he said as he started backing away out the door leaving you alone with the unknown items. With peaked interest, you looked inside the bag finding over 12 pregnancy tests from various brands.

“Wonderful” you whispered to yourself, “it isn't going to kill me to at least take one to have a peace of mind”

You chugged half a gallon of orange juice before your bladder had decided to cooperate with the task at hand. You pulled down your pants quickly, the sudden urge to pee becoming overwhelming. You quickly grabbed the two prepped sticks and peed on one and then quickly grabbed the other, and much to your surprise you were able to get both without getting any urine on your hand.

“Score!” You scram a bit louder than anticipated as you placed both sticks on the countertop.

Before you knew it, Jin’s head was popping in through the door looking quite panicked.

“What happened?!!” He said not really grasping the concept of privacy in the bathroom.

“Seokjin OUT!!” you scram causing him to realize his mistake.

He hurriedly closed the door as he repeatedly said “sorry” from the other side.

You giggled at his goofiness and once you were wiped clean and with your pants up, you let him in.

He paced in circles while you sat on the toilet seat tapping your foot anxiously as the minutes ticked by. For once in your two-year long friendship, you were both quiet. The phone timer beeped letting you know it was time. Jin held your hand as support as you nervously picked up one of the tests.

Jin’s arms were around you instantly “You are strong, independent, and full of life. Whether he saw it or not is not what matters, what truly matters is if you can see it. I will be there for you no matter what you choose. He is my best friend, but I know what an idiot he can be.” Tears fell from your eyes and Jin was quick to wipe them away, “It is a blessing and a curse to feel stuff so deeply. Chin up Girl, I got your back.”

 The clinic was way too cold for the short thin robe they had given you. The smell of disinfectant burned your nostrils, making the place feel even more intimidating. Other than the white monotonous walls, there were images plastered all over the walls showing the female reproductive system in different angles making you sick to your stomach. A diagram showing the various stages of birthing in a 3d model making you tremble with utter fear from the upcoming physical pain and changes your body would have to endure, and sadly you would have to go through it all on your own.

The door opened and a tall tan man came in looking quite handsome making you quickly scramble up from the previous open legged position the doctor’s assistant had placed you in. Your face quickly turning a dark shade of red.

The doctor smiled trying to make you feel a bit more comfortable with the current situation, but his rectangular grin only making you more self-aware about the exams that were to come.

“Hello Ms. Y/N, we need to run a few tests this evening to make sure everything is going well. My name is Dr. Kim. Can you please lay down for me and make yourself comfortable, we will be doing a sonogram to figure out how far along you are today”

You only nodded, not really sure how to respond with words.

“Would you like for me to call your partner in for the sono??” he asked innocently. You assumed the nurse had told him you had been accompanied by a man.

“No, it’s okay that’s my friend Jin, the father is not…..in the picture,” you said trying to sound unaffected yet you could still hear the sorrow in your voice as you said those words.

Dr.Kim looked apologetic, “I am sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it, There was no way you could’ve known. I mean I didn’t see it coming and I was with the guy for two years” you said catching the doctor a bit off guard, “Sorry sorry, too much info”

Dr.Kim just threw another of his rectangular smiles your way, “ My turn to say Don’t worry about it, or him from what I have concluded in that one sentence. How about we get on with it. This gel might be a little cold ok?”

  Flashback

 You had been in a few dates with Jimin, and to be quite honest you had not expected yourself to be so drawn to such a character. He was clumsy, a bit disorganized, and he liked to be in control of the situations around him. He swept you off your feet so easily that once you had let him into your world he had conquered every corner with his eyesmile.

“So tell me again, what was your legit very first relationship?? You have this whole player vibe going on” you said drawing your words a little as the consumed wine started overpowering the blood in your veins, making the world around you a bit hazy.

“Me player?? Are you sure you are not talking about Jin?? To be quite honest, the only serious relationship I have had is when I dated my best childhood friend back in high school for like what seemed like forever...we keep in touch and stuff but she has her own family now” he said with eyes half-lidded obviously already affected from the alcohol as well “Her husband can be quite an asshole at times, but I can tell he loves her….I mean who wouldn’t love her”

“Sounds like you might still be whipped,” you said as you pretended to have a whip in your hand.

“Nahh not whipped, but she still gets to me at times you know…..” he said taking a large gulp of his wine glass leaving it empty.

He picked up the almost empty bottle and refilled his glass along with yours.

You stayed quiet inspecting his facial features. Jimin was very handsome with very pronounced cheekbones and chocolate eyes you could melt right into.You wanted to bite his neck and mark him as yours, but the fear of moving too fast and scaring him away kept you at bay.

The bluntness from the liquid courage you had allowed yourself to drown in kept making words spill out of your mouth like projectile vomiting, “Well, how many times have you had the privilege of falling in love??”

Jimin gave you a knowing side smirk. He knew you wanted him whether you were intoxicated or not. Drunk Jimin was a lot more carefree, you could tell just by the way he sat down with his legs wide open while his arm casually folded behind his head emphasizing his muscular arms. He raised a teasing eyebrow, “The smart question to ask would be, have you ever fallen out of love?? Falling out of love is harder than falling in love”

You took a sip of the remaining wine in your glass as you attempted to smirk back, “Ok then, Have you ever fallen out of love??”

He shook his head, “Nope” he said over popping his p.

“A smart girl would take that as a warning and back off immediately,” you said as you stood up slowly, His eyes traveled along with your figure as you made your way towards him. His figure looked relax against your black leather couch, and the temptation that had been building up along with your drunk promiscuity giving you the extra push of bravery to sit upon his well-defined thigh. You saw his eyes widen with surprise as you leaned even more forward pressing your ass directly upon his hardening bulge causing a smile of confidence to erupt on your face. You leaned in slowly toward his ear, close enough to surely graze it with every word that came out of your mouth, your hot breath tickling his skin causing goosebumps to arise, “Much to your luck, I am one of the smart ones that likes taking risks”

His eyes met yours, and before you knew it his lips were smashed against yours as his hands made their way to your waist as he gripped onto it for dear life. His nails digging with need and want as your figure rocked back and forth on his thigh hoping to ease the burning ache in your core.

His mouth left yours trailing open mouth kisses towards your hairline that bordered your ear, his hot breath now fanning the sensitive skin on your neck “Well aren’t I one lucky son of a bitch”

  A repeating static thump snapped you back to reality as your eyes glued themselves to the monitor that currently displayed what appeared to be circles and squiggles. Your eyebrows furrowed confused at the image, completely frightened that something might be wrong. Dr. Kim wiggled the wand he had placed in your stomach a little more and then the image switched into two unequal looking circles along with what looked like a jellybean. The thumping grew faster along with something that sounded like an echo.

A smile appeared automatically upon your face, “Is that my baby??”

Dr. Kim rectangular grin appeared lighting up the whole room with his cheerfulness, “Actually, those are your babies.”

  The dim light of the last rays of sun lit the way back to the place your feet had unconsciously dragged you several times before, but this time it was different. You knew where you were going. You knew you wanted to go back to him. After you had gotten a copy of your twins’ sonograms you had run out of the clinic without thinking about any repercussions. You needed him, now more than ever. A naive and hopeful part of you hoping that the growing miracles in your belly would light up a purpose in his heart to move on from what had been and run forward to embrace you and his future little family. You could already picture babies with his eyes and smile, they were going to be beautiful.  The chill in the air was dropping as the dew from the evening now pricked upon the skin on your face. The big hoodie that had once been his engulfing your frame, his scent still lingering strongly on the fabric warming you up in more ways than one way.

Your brain was still debating with your heart whether this was the right thing to do or not, but as your hand grazed the film paper on the pocket of the baggy hoodie your heart gained points only causing your feet to go on forward faster. The urge to jump into his arms and kiss his soft plump pink lips the reward you were looking forward to at the end of this journey.

Your goal was at arm’s reach. The park you had visited on several occasions during your evening walks and Nataly’s countless of visits was now in plain view. The grass looked greener than last time you had walked along this path.

The sound of a familiar giggle stopped you right on your tracks, the tree that had served as a shadow during the sizzling summer days serving now as a camouflage in order to scratch the itch of curiosity. The hoodie now covering your hair as you positioned your body to fit properly behind the tree so you wouldn’t be spotted.

Your eyes sought the source of the laugh that had triggered the uneasiness that was now clouding your previous judgment.

“You are it JIMIN!” you heard a high-pitched voice scream freezing you in place. Your heart shattering once again as you saw Jimin’s figure run around to the front of the slide as Stephany with Nataly in her lap made her way down the yellow trail only to be tackled by a careful soft hug from the man you had previously been running to. Your brain was now trying to take over your actions imploring you to go back to Jin’s and forget this stupid decision, but your masochistic stubborn heart prohibiting you to walk away. Jimin’s grin was bright, the happiness that radiated off of him as he twirled the little girl in circles as she giggled cutely. He was happy. That is all that should matter right?? He had moved on. You had been resenting him for not letting go of Stephany yet here you were holding on to him with a death grip. Missing him to you came like waves, and most of the days you felt like you were drowning. Some egotistical part of you was hoping to walk into a scene like the one Jin had painted of him suffering as if he was in the deepest level of hell without you.

That was not the case.

He was happy.

He was happy without you.

You were going to have to learn how to be happy without him as well.

You needed to be happy if not for you for the 4 little feet that will follow your footsteps in this life.

It was time to let Jimin go.

Once more you turned your back on the man you loved, but this time you had company. Rubbing your slightly swollen belly you took the first step towards your future without Jimin in it.

  Preggo pops were the best invention created by man, whoever said electricity or the internet had obviously never been pregnant. You had declared yourself an addict after Jin had given up on his so-called “home remedies” and caved in on buying some in the pharmacy on the way home. The days had seemed to fly by as you were consumed between work, finding a new apartment, and reading parenthood books Jin had been bringing home.

Jimin kept calling. Every day you’d wake up you would seek your phone to find missed calls and texts. There was an unknown fear within you that one day you would wake up to nothing. As much as you wanted to walk away from what had been Park Jimin you hated the idea of him moving on. The small part of him that you had claimed as yours was something you were not quite ready to give up. Those mornings you had spent in bed under the blankets kissing his face all over until you were blessed by his brown irises was one of many memories you visited at times where loneliness sneaked up on you. It had been one month, and even though the addiction of having him next to you was way long from over, you had found ways to deviate the cravings from his voice….his kisses….his hugs.

“Yellow’ Jin said as he begged once again for you to accompany him to the baby store, you hadn’t even found out the sex of the babies yet he had already gone to more than one shopping spree for nursery items, “We can get yellow neutral clothes please (y/n)” he said giving you puppy eyes with a lovely pout as an add-on.

“Fine, but as soon as I see you buy something overly glittery I am walking out of the store” you replied as you grabbed your bag. Your already small protruding belly forming a cute small bump. You were 16 weeks today. It was 4 weeks ago that you had been told you were pregnant and Jin had scolded you relentlessly due to your lack of self-awareness for going so far along with the pregnancy and not knowing about it. Prenatal vitamins and birthing books were dumped in your bed the night you had found out, a complimentary gift from your temporary roommate. He had been trying to hold conversations with your belly as well stating that his nephews/nieces need to be accustomed to his voice before birth so it can facilitate the situation if he ever were to babysit on his own.

“Also, your birthing classes start tomorrow at 8am, I know you hate mornings, but they were the cheapest ones I could find” he said practically dragging you into the store that had a giant pacifier as a logo, “We have 30 minutes to shop before we have to take off to your appointment. I am so excited to find out whether you are having dudes or dudettes”

“Jin they might not even be able to tell me the sex yet, it all depends on the positioning of the baby,” you said as you browsed through the ducky onesies on the sales rack.

“I am pretty sure they will not be shy about it and just flash the sonogram camera thing whether they have a peepee or not. I mean their father is Park Jimin, and that man barely freaking puts on a shirt and let me not get started on those tight motherfucking pants…...they leave nothing to the imagination.”

The mention of Jimin’s name forming a sour taste in your mouth, the sudden urge to ball your eyes smacking you like a freight train. Jin’s face distorted as he realized his mistake.

“No no no no no, sorry (y/n) please don’t cry….I will buy you ice cream after the appointment,” he replied trying to bribe you.

The cravings for sweet cheesecake with strawberries ice cream shooing away your urge to cry, “Fine but I get two scoops”

Jin just nodded as he put a comforting arm around your frame urging you towards the next aisle, both of you completely clueless of the set of brown eyes that have followed you both along since you entered the store.

 The fantasy that had been engraved in your head from a very young age of the future was modeled after a Disney movie. The house, job, family, and happy ending with everything and prince charming in real life was a mere figment of what society liked to claim as the norm. You tried to convince yourself over and over again that you could do this on your own, but in the mornings where your stomach decided to act up and take you straight to the toilet, you wished Jimin was right beside you holding your hair back as he would rub your back tenderly to soothe your burning esophagus. The one-sided pep talks you gave yourself had become a daily routine, and as your stomach grew the monotony of it had you desperately clinging onto your pillow screaming out your frustrations hoping Jin wouldn't be a witness of the mess that was you.

Your palms were sweaty with anticipation as you waited for Dr.Kim to come in. Jin had decided to stay outside claiming he was not very fond of medical offices. The door opened and an already smiling doctor came in, his happiness contagious as your own mouth formed into a grin.

“Are you ready for this??!” He said sounding like a cheerleader full of energy.

You picked up your shirt ready to be doused with the cold gel from the previous time.

He put on his circular glasses, scrunched up his sleeves, and right as the cold gel made contact with your skin the door opened wide.

The smiling doctor’s face contorted to one of annoyance, “What have I said about knocking??” His deep voice said sending a bit of chills down your spine. Your eyes snapped up to the figure that stood frozen in place by the door.

Surprise, happiness and hate alternatively, and complete disbelieve surged through your body. Jimin stood before you, his hair disheveled and shirt untucked, a slight smudge of blood on his collar.

He smiled nervously as he wiped his hands on his jeans, “Hi, I’m Jimin….the father?” Jimin said asking more than stating.

Dr.Kim turned to face you, the questioning in his eyes as clear as day, while on the contrary yours were muddled over between desire, fear, and aberration.

You nodded at Dr.Kim not quite sure if to trust your mouth to form coherent words.

Jimin took that as an invitation to walk in and sit on the empty seat beside you. The shift in the room was obvious to the point where Dr.Kim’s smile was not enough to lighten up the mood anymore.

Your heart was tugging you to acknowledge the man sitting next to you, the one you had been longing for weeks on end, but your brain had taken control as a defense mechanism and ignored your erratic heartbeat. Your eyes were solely focused on the monitor where you were once again going to see your two little nuggets. The wand was firmly pressing against your belly, the image on the screen this time was not in different shades of green, but instead had an orange tinge to it.

“This is called a 3d ultrasound, and this should help determine the biological sex of the babies,” Dr.Kim said as he stirred his hand around your belly. You could see a glimpse of Jimin leaning in closer to you and the monitor, but you still hadn't gathered enough emotional strength to look his way, much less make eye contact.

“Babies??” Jimin asked his eyes now staring at your belly openly.

Dr. Kim rolled his eyes at Jimin causing a small giggle to come out of your lips “Yeah as in plural”

The figures of two skinny babies popped up in the screen catching you by surprise, the image from last time was distorted and quite a challenge to decipher, but in this one, the babies looked less like blobs and more like actual tiny babies. The little arms and legs moved around wildly as if they were busting a move inside your stomach.

Tears formed unconsciously in your eyes, a warm hand fitting into yours, and just for a little bit you were going to let your heart take over. You allowed yourself to interlace your fingers around his softly enough to not make it harder for you when you would have to eventually let go.

Dr.Kim eyed your hands and gave you both a small smile, “ You see these lines here” he said pointing at the screen. Jimin and you nodded, “Baby A lady and gentleman is a girl”

Jimin squealed happily beside you as if the present situation of your relationship did not matter as his lips kissed your knuckles.

“Now baby B is being a bit shy, but…..” Dr.Kim said wiggling the wand looking object again, “ There you go….. Baby B…. Is a Boy”

“We are having a boy and a girl!!!” Jimin said no longer walking on eggshells as he captured your lips in a kiss. You froze not reciprocating, but Jimin didn't care he just rested his forehead against yours. You felt the skin tingle where his touch, but you were unsure of whether it was a positive reaction as flashbacks of him running around happily at the park came to mind. You let go of his hand and quickly faced the doctor trying to assimilate as if the rejected contact was just distancing for a question. Your hand dropped Jimin’s as if was made out of lava which he was quick to notice, unlike the oblivious Dr.Kim.

“But are they healthy??” You asked trying to make your tone sound leveled as if you could properly manage your emotions in the presence of Jimin.

“They both are as healthy as can be. Don't forget to eat properly and take your prenatal. I will see you back in 4 weeks. Twin pregnancies tend to be a bit more high risk than single, so make sure to keep in contact if anything feels out of the ordinary. My assistant up front will have a copy of your sonograms for you guys to take home. I hope you have a good day, and congrats on your baby boy and baby girl!”

Dr.Kim walked towards Jimin and shook his hand “Congrats, you have a beautiful family”

Jimin just smiled his eyes turning a slight shade of pink as he sniffled almost inaudibly, “I know. Thank you”

Dr. Kim just waved one last bye and left out the door leaving you both alone.

The realization of Jimin being here settling in and just like a bomb you started your internal countdown. You needed to get out of there before you exploded. You stood up and wiped your belly clean out of the sticky liquid. Not one word had been said since the doctor had stepped out, and even if you had rehearsed a planned script in case of a similar scenario happening you were at a blank. Your emotions tangling up inside, squeezing out any remaining air out of your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Jimin just stood in silence not really sure of how to proceed, he had definitely acted on impulse and the loving reunion he had imagined was blown over as soon as he entered the room and noticed your cold stare on him. He had fucked up, and even if he didn't quite understand what had triggered you to end things he knew he wanted you back.

You walked out of the room as soon as you had collected all your belongings and double checked you hadn't left anything behind. Jimin followed close, but did not say a word as you scheduled your next appointment, received the sonogram copies, and walked out of the building. Even if nothing was being said you could feel yourself growing more and more irritated with everything he did. Why did he make you feel like this? He had done nothing, yet you felt so small and worthless in his presence. The wound he had left had reopened and you had to muster all of your power to hold back your tears. At the same time though you wanted to run into his arms, kiss his mouth and nibble on his bottom lip, you wanted him sleeping next to you and have his hand rub your growing tummy as you welcomed sleep, but that was a fantasy…. That was a dream…

You walked out of the clinic fuming, ready to full on confront the betrayer known as Jin, only to be met by a bruised-up puppy face replacing his usual smug one.

“What happened to you??” You said as you pulled him out of the car to examine his busted nose and cheek closer. Jin closed his eyes with your soothing touch then quickly backed away looking at Jimin behind you.

“I can explain” you heard Jimin speak out finally.

You turned around to face him even more furious than before, “You better have a goddamn good explanation to why you beat your best friend up”

“I misinterpreted the whole situation. When I saw him with you at the store and then here….. I just thought the worse, but he explained, and we are good now” he said trying to reach out towards you.

You looked at him disbelievingly “We are good now??? Is that how it is??? We are anything but good Jimin. Actually, we have been bad from the start, but I have been blinded by my love for you. Making me a fool. I now have two little someones to be strong for. I am done waiting for you. I have always put you first, but to you, I was always on the sidelines.”

Jimin stepped forward trying to grasp your hand that had unconsciously turned into a firm fist. You backed away instantly.

“(Y/N), please just let me know what I can do to fix this…. fix us,” Jimin said taking a step once again towards you.

“Don't you get it Jimin??? I have given you two whole years to fix it. To fix yourself. I tried to give you all my love. My heart was in your fucking hands and you crushed and stomped on it every time Stephany called and you dropped me to go to her” you said wiping the tears in your face angrily, “ Let me go Jimin. I need you to let me go, so I can stop hurting and move on. I need to stop with the illusion that one day you will choose me over her. That you will love me more.”

Jimin was now in tears as he looked at you falling apart all because of him. You could see the internal struggle as he picked up his hand and dropped it several times, “but I love you more. I do….. I am sorry I didn't show it….but I love you (y/n) more than anything in this world please forgive me…. Please give me a chance….. Come back with me. We can paint the guest room as a nursery or even find a bigger apartment for our little family”

“No” you heard yourself say coldly not really wanting to process his words, for once everything that spilled out of his mouth was not of importance, “I am done Jimin. It takes more than just words and compliments to show someone you love them. You are not a five-year-old who can draw me a heart and make everything better.” You replied turning your back to him. You were about to walk towards Jin’s car when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Tears falling against your bare shoulder.

“Please don't leave me again….please don't walk away” Jimin whispered continuously in your ear. Your walls were about to fall apart, you could feel yourself about to crumble. As soon as you felt your knees about to buckle in, from all the emotional stress being thrown at you, another pair of arms straightened you up and lightly pushed Jimin away.

“You are my best friend….you have been for years Jimin, but I need you to back off. You have caused enough damage with your stupid bullshit games. It takes more than a few sweet words to gain forgiveness. You don't have to tell her or scream out you love her, you need to show it. And so far, all you have displayed for her to see is how much of a fucking coward you are letting yourself be dragged along like a fucking puppy. When we first met (y/n) I knew she was special, and I knew she was what you needed to learn what something raw and real felt like…. But I was a fool. You have hurt her, and I am done watching. Jimin be a man, before someone else takes your place” Jin said as he took your small hand in his and walked you to the passenger door of his car helping you in. Jin walked back to where Jimin stood still frozen in place with a trail of tears traveling down his beautiful face. The ache in your heart growing with intensity from the incapability of soothing his pain. You wanted nothing more than to run out of the car and kiss Jimin’s pain away, but it was too late. There was no remedy for the broken heart that was buried within your chest, the antidote was the same poison that had damaged it in the first place, Jimin, and you were not strong enough to go through that again.

You could see Jin telling Jimin something as he patted his shoulder. Jimin's eyes found yours, but you were quick to turn away. Not even a few seconds later Jin came into the car, his bruised nose looking worse than it had been previously, your hands traveled once again to softly caress it, “idiot”

He chuckled, “Be nice or this idiot won't buy you the ice cream he owes you”

“Jin at this point you owe me a whole freaking ice cream shop, so shut up and hurry to the nearest creamery my kiddos are starving,” you said trying to hide the way your words wavered with unshed tears. You could feel Jimin’s gaze still on you, but you refused to give in this time.

  It was 8am, Jin was late and the irritation from the constant invasion of space from your birthing class instructor had you on the verge of yanking your hair out. She had been rubbing your belly so often that you were wondering how a genie had not appeared before you already. The place was crowded with several couples, some whom already had started breathing heavily in a synchronized manner in the mats. You sighed completely flag stabbed at the fact that you were unwillingly taking these cheesy classes only to be stood up by the person who signed you up for them in the first place. You bit your nails nervously as everyone took a seat in their assigned spots. You walked reluctantly to your own hot pink yoga mat and took out your phone angrily.

 Jin, you are so dead-

(y/n) 8:05

 The door of the classroom opened and once again to your surprise Jimin stood there wearing comfy basketball shorts, a white shirt, and a black snapback. To say he looked absolutely stunning when he dressed laid back was an understatement. The muscles from his abdomen could be clearly seen through the translucent white shirt as he made his way towards you.

“Sorry, I am late” he whispered as he sat beside you.

You took out your phone angrily once again.

 SEOKJIN YOU ARE DEAD MEAT X 2

(y/n) 8:07

 You turned to face Jimin now, he could tell you were about to detonate, but before you could cuss him right there and then the instructor started the lesson.

“Welcome Mommies and Daddies to Birthing 101. I hope you all are having a spectacular day. Let’s start from the top like many of you probably did to start this journey” the blond preppy instructor said as she winked an eye suggestively to the class.

Torture. This was going to be absolute torture.

30 minutes in and you already had successfully achieved the art of ignoring Jimin perfectly.

Lie. That was an absolute Lie. You were dying internally, the urge to slap him across the face then ride him till he filled you up with his hot seed was temptation at its best.

You had not gotten laid since Jimin, and from what you have read in several websites and books it is normal to be a horny pregnant woman….something to do with hormones.

Hormones…..it was their fault, not yours. You did not want Jimin. Your hormones did.

“(y/n), How far in between do your contractions have to be, to be classified as active labor?” the instructor asked clearly noticing your lack of attention.

You nervously bit your lip and were about to answer until Jimin took over, “3 minutes apart lasting 1 minute….but that is not what concerns me….what is this about her cervix opening 8-10 centimeters….and tearing down there?? Like is that even…….that is ….. Ow!”

The instructor giggled at Jimin’s reaction the jealous green monster inside of you about to jump out to tell the instructor to get her own fucking jokester, this idiot was yours. The thing though was that Jimin was not yours. Not anymore.

“Yes, that is correct. Fully dilated is 10 cm and sometimes if needed they will cut to allow more space for the baby. Don’t worry too much about it though, she doesn’t look very phased. You have a brave girl Jimin. Now this is the end, for now, see you again same time next week”

You stood up and took off faster than the road runner. Your feet working up a step to get away as fast as possible from Jimin, but much to your already sour luck he caught up with you and grasped your wrist.

“What are you doing??” you asked as you ripped away your wrist from his hand. The spot where his hand had touch craving more than a few seconds of contact.

“(y/n), please listen to me, I really want to make us work okay?? I love you, please give me another chance” he said as he once again dived in for your hand.

“Jimin, it’s not that easy for me. You are incapable of seeing what is wrong, and I am not in the best place right now” you said trying to be civil with the boy. He had just endured the worse lecture in his life, he deserved at least that, “What are you doing here??”

Jimin looked at you confused, “They are my babies too (Y/N), I want to be there for them and you. I keep remembering everything you told me, how I acted, and I am so ashamed of what I made you go through. You did not deserve that, and I am sorry. Please, one more chance. If I can’t make you happy I will personally find a way to kick my own balls. You deserve the world. Let me give it to you” he said as his arms encircled your waist. The heat of his body against yours bringing memories, some that you wanted to treasure and some that you much rather just throw away. He kissed your forehead softly and then the tip of your nose, “Everything is going to be alright, maybe not today, but eventually. Let me try”

Tired. You were tired of fighting with your heart. The tears that spilled over were a mixture of happy and sad ones. You couldn’t start this new chapter in your life if you kept re-reading the last page. Expectations that came in your relationship with Jimin had always been flexible due to Stephany, and you realized too late that by even attempting to have them you were setting yourself and Jimin up for failure.

“If I had treated you the way you had treated me, you would hate me. Just because I let you go, doesn’t mean I wanted to. One more chance Jimin, but please I ask of you……”

“I love you, and I will make damn sure I show you how much,” he said as he finally lowered his head and attempted to kiss your lips.

Your brain decided to function at that very moment, “No Jimin, wait. Not so fast, I will move back in with you and we will see from there okay??”

Jimin backed away a bit and nodded looking a bit disappointed, “Right now I will take anything I can get”

  To say things were awkward would be an understatement. Jimin had given you the master bedroom claiming you would be a lot more comfortable if you had your own private restroom. It had been two weeks and your relationship with Jimin felt strained. He was a complete gentleman making you breakfast and dinner without you asking. The initiative that had not been there before clearly made an appearance as he brought your favorite flowers or donuts, yet the more he did for you the more frightened you were to let him in. Sometimes at night when you tippy-toed your way to the kitchen, you made sure to check if the coast was clear, you didn’t know if your heart could handle seeing Jimin having a moment with Stephany. Your masochistic ears sometimes seeking the silence for the possibility of a secret conversation between the two of them exchanging an ‘I miss you’

Stephany was MIA. You noticed that the third week you had been back at your apartment. No calls, surprise visits, or mentions of her. The daily text messages that had become a routine activity a while back were no more. You needed a break from anything her, and finally, the heavens were listening.

Today the stress from work had gotten the best of you, a flood of tears accompanied you home. When the front door of your apartment opened to the face of a smiling Jin you jumped right into his arms, completely forgetting that it meant Jimin was in as well.

“Ohh no darling what happened to you??” Jin said as he patted your hair like a mother would to their crying child.

You hiccupped, “Would you believe me if I told you I already forgot what I was crying for in the first place??”

Jin shook his head at you while laughing, “You are even a bigger wreck than you were before, how is that even possible??”

You were about to argue back until you realized you had no clue why Jin was visiting, “What are you even doing here??”

“Thank you for the hospitality, actually I am here because Jimin did an oopsie I need to fix”

You pushed Jin away from the entrance and stomped your way into the living room where a distraught Jimin sat surrounded by light pink clothes. You recognized some as your previously white undergarments. Jimin looked frightened as he saw your presence now skimming through the disaster he had made.

“I am sorry. So sorry, please don't cry. Jin said you would probably cry all day long and I really don't want that. I'll fix them. I'll make them white again” He said trying to scoop all the clothes up causing even a bigger mess.

Before you knew it you were in a full-blown fit of giggles. Your sides aching as you saw Jimin’s bewildered face. You had not even smiled his way since you had been back and here you were looking similar to a hyena.

Jin walked towards Jimin assisting him in picking up the clothes that were sprawled out on the floor, “Yah Jimin, I’ll take care of this. How about you take (y/n) out for a date”

You were about to say no until you noticed the way Jin smirked towards Jimin. Jimin looked lost but did not hesitate to walk towards you to grab your hand and pull you through the door.

“We will be back later”, Jimin said as he pulled you away into the outside world.

 This was a setup. You were more than sure this had been an evil scheme on their behalf. Jimin had dragged you to watch a chick flick you had been wanting to see at the movies, and he magically already had tickets for the sold-out showing.

He bought you all of your favorite snacks and carried them all for you.

Pleasant, everything had been easy going to the point of where you let him hold your hand as you walked back to the apartment. The lights flashing from the city illuminating his side profile as if he was a fairy.

You were still completely head over heels in love with him. There was no way of denying the way your heartbeat went all erratic with every smile he threw your way.

You arrived to an empty apartment, the scent of roses and your favorite Chinese dish shocking you. As soon as the door closed you turned towards Jimin only to find him on one knee.

Your heart dropped.

No this couldn’t be happening.

“(y/n), I know I have messed up time and time again, but after having to go some time without you beside me I realized one thing…. I can’t be without you. I need you. I want to be with you forever. Love is a scary thing. It changes every day. It can disappear in the blink of an eye. But I am not scared of love when it comes to you. I am willing to take this risk with you, and I know I haven’t been good at demonstrating how much you mean to me, but I promise ...no I swear I will make that my life mission. Please…..be my wife…..give me the chance of making you happy for the rest of your life. I want to have the rest of my life with memories of us together. I love you. Please be my wife” Jimin said with tears in his eyes and a soft smile on his face as he pulled out the most beautiful rose shaped ring with a red ruby in the middle.

Tears filled your eyes blurring Jimin and the dreams you had of spending an eternity with him, “No” you choked out,

Your heart shattered as you saw him looking around the room helplessly, obviously trying to gather up words to formulate a plan b to get you to say yes.

“(Y/N), I love you… What can I do? please tell me what I can do??” Jimin said borderline falling apart in front of you. Tears had started falling from his gorgeous brown eyes, and his lips were extra swollen and rosy from the endless amount of nervous lip biting.

“Nothing Jimin, You don’t have to do this. Whether we are together or not they are still your babies. I will not keep them away from you. You are their dad as much as I am their mom” you said as you made your way to the couch. You couldn’t be near him right now. You needed space, but he didn’t seem to get it as he stood up and walked towards you.

“That is not it at all, I love you. I want to be married to you because I love YOU!” he said with a tinge of sadness and frustration in his voice. He ran his hand through his hair another nervous habit of his.

You looked into his eyes, the patience that you had been able to keep up from the moment he proposed evaporated. You grasped his face in-between your hands, and then you let it all out, “Jimin, no, you don’t love me. You half love me. You only fully love me when she is not around, and even then I am pretty sure every thought in your head is not about me. I am not the one for you Jimin, I never have been. Can’t you see that?? I am not enough. Maybe one day you will find a girl who will be good enough for you to steal away all the love you have within you and only have it for herself, no one else. Every time I saw you with her I acted like it was not a big deal when in reality it was breaking my heart. That isn’t living, that is suicidal. I felt like a part of me was dying every time I saw you smiling at her. Sometimes I wish you could read my mind so you could have a better understanding of what goes through it. Jimin I am not going to say yes because I know that as much as I want the rest of my life to be spent with you by my side….. I am not willing to do it unless I won’t have to share you with anyone else. I want to marry you Jimin. I have dreamed of marrying you for awhile, but I can’t….. not like this.”

 “(y/n), is just you… I swear ...just you” Jimin said between sobs.

You tore your eyes away from his and looked at the floor, “Ruby….why a ruby?”

“Your birthstone”, Jimin replied completely sure of his answer.

You smiled at him bitterly, “Sapphire…..mine is sapphire….. Stephany’s was a ruby”

Jimin looked down at the black box that he still had in his hands, “ I am sorry I’ll change it, I am not very knowledgeable about this kind of stuff. I am so sorry.  I didn’t mean it like that”

You looked back into his eyes and held his hand in yours, you breathed in deeply, “Jimin I love you”

“I love you too” he replied instantly.

“Jimin, how many times have you fallen out of love??” you said completely serious.  Your face emotionless.

Jimin looked into your eyes with a glint of guilt you could see masked through his brown irises.

His cellphone rang snapping you both out of the minute of silence that had been haunting the apartment.

He looked from his phone to you alternatively, he shifted on the couch uncomfortably as his phone call went to voicemail.

You stood up reluctantly giving him your back as you walked towards the room, your heart aching from the flat out rejection you had given him, and yet you still had strength enough to utter one more sentence, “You should call her back”

[dazaaaai]

(person from ur tumblr): CAN I JUST SAY THIS BLOG IS AWESOME :D I cant believe I found another person who likes bsd! btw Im Kunikida's wife, nice to meet you. Tell ur hus that Kunikida wants an explanation regarding the sudden disappearance of his nb XDD Aaanyways, to get to the point, I was hoping maaaybe for a prompt like: Kunikida sick w/ cold and a sweet Dazai takes care of him...?

HI THERE!! Sorry this is so late omg it’s been almost half a year but BLESS!!! It’s always good to have more people who like the Bungalow Wild Pups :D hello Mrs. Kunikida it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, I’ll be sure to tell Dazai to attend to the case of Kunikida’s missing notebook XD And yes !! You may of course, have your request! I think it’s not as fluffy and one-on-one as you wanted, but I had a lot of fun writing, so thank you for requesting and I do hope you enjoy it as much as I did typing it up!!

This Can’t End Well

⋆pairing: none that are mentioned!⋆ characters: Doppo Kunikida, Osamu Dazai, Akiko Yosano (main); Atsushi Nakajima, Junichirou Tanizaki, Kenji Miyazawa, Edogawa Ranpo, OC (secondary); Fukuzawa Yukichi, Kirako Haruno and the clerks (mentioned)⋆genre: mostly comedy, fluff near the end⋆ rating: K+⋆warnings: mentions of vomiting and other sickness symptoms⋆words: 2051→  summary: Kunikida’s definitely sick, and neither the Agency nor he himself are entirely certain what to do. Dazai, however, has a plan…

   This couldn’t end well.

    He didn’t want to admit it. It was shameful, and he had work to do! He couldn’t just slack off, couldn’t just stay at home… He had a schedule to keep to, an ideal — there was no way he could allow himself to be lazy, no way he could allow himself to act like…

    Dazai pinches his cheek, “Kunikida-kuuuun. You look awfully red.”

    Kunikida growls, “Well. Maybe if someone weren’t standing here trying to annoy me to death, my complexion would be a lot paler.”

    “I don’t think it’s just that,” Dazai hums, moving his hand from his cheek to his forehead, Kunikida doing everything in his power to keep typing and not snap Dazai’s wrist. “Kunikida-kun, I think you have a fever!”

    “Absolutely not,” Kunikida quickly swats his hand away before returning to his ever-important document. Click-clack, click-clack…

    “I think maybe Yosano-sensei should take a look at you.”

    “Absolutely not.”

   And then, to Kunikida’s horror, his body completely betrays him. His nose seizes, his lip quivers, his face scrunches up…

   He does an awful, awful thing.

   He sneezes.

   “Bless you, Kunikida-san!” Comes Atsushi’s voice from across the desk, from where the tiger boy is sitting, on the other chair.

   Kunikida swiftly wipes his nose with a hanky, returning to his typing.

   “You know,” Dazai says, leaning against his chair. “Our little photographer says that where she’s from, a single sneeze means bad luck, or very simply, ‘be patient.’ Maybe your work can wait?”

   “Nonsense! I do not procrastinate,” But his voice sounds stuffy — stuffier than usual, Kunikida’s sure Dazai would remark — and his eyes feel weary. His throat is scratchy, too…

   “Uh-oh,” Dazai coos. “I think somebody’s definitely sick.”

   “No.”

   “You really don’t look so well, Kunikida-kun.”

   “I’m fine, Dazai!”

   “You’re sick,” Dazai’s teasingly insistent, turning to his subordinate, “Atsushi-kun! Doesn’t Kunikida-kun seem sick to you?”

   Atsushi glances nervously between his two superiors — one wears an easy-going smile and the other’s glaring daggers at Atsushi, as if daring him to speak up.

   “W-well,” he begins. “Kunikida-san’s a logical man… Why would he come to work if he wasn’t feeling well?”

   “I don’t know,” Dazai hums. “Why don’t you ask him?”

   Atsushi takes one look at Kunikida, yelps, and buries his face back in his paperwork.

   “I am not sick, Dazai,” Kunikida says, with a sense of finality — he refuses to accept any prolonging of this discussion. He has work to do.

   But then…

   Coughs.

   It’s a small, tickle of sorts, within the back of his throat, at first. Then the tickle turns into scraping in his lungs, and soon enough Kunikida’s hacking up spit and bile into the palm of his hand, desperately trying to keep the contents of his stomach inside his body where they belong.

   “Kunikida-san?” It’s Junichirou this time, he’s walking by with a stack of folders and binders. The boy’s bright red eyes gaze at Kunikida with concern, “Are you alright? You don’t look too good.”

   “Tanizaki-san, I assure you, I’m in perfect health—” Kunikida says, but ends up being unable to continue as another coughing fit wracks his chest.

   Junichirou frowns, “You should go lie down in Yosano-sensei’s infirmary, if only for a bit. It’d help a lot — I can take over what you need to do for today from here, if you need me to.”

   Kunikida dismisses him with a wave of his shaky hand, “No, I insist. I have it under control.”

   He returns to his typing, only to realize upon hitting a certain point in his document, that he needs to refer and source something from a case they’d solved last year — the files to do with that are not on the hard drive belonging to the computer he’s currently working with. In fact, they haven’t been digitized yet, so they’re on a shelf against the walls of the office, a little ways away from where Kunikida’s working.

   All he has to do is get up and get the binder. Simple, right?

   Not right. He gets up and is immediately hit by a wave of dizziness so intense that both Atsushi and Junichirou shout at once, “Kunikida-san!”

   They rush to his side just as his head’s about to hit the ground and catch him, the two younger, weaker boys barely holding the man upwards, dragging him back to his seat, which he collapses in gratefully, and while breathing heavily.

   “You definitely need a break,” Junichirou puts a hand to Kunikida’s forehead, tutting when he feels the high temperature of his skin.

   “No no,” Kunikida insists, but when he sits up he again finds himself dizzy, collapsing back once more in his seat.

   “Everybody needs to rest sometime,” Atsushi says, voice soft.

   “I can rest at night, when I’m asleep…”

   “Kunikida-san,” Junichirou continues. “We’re going to take you to Yosano-sensei and see what she thinks, okay?”

   Kunikida’s face manages to pale, at least, in comparison to how red it is from his fever. “Oh no.”

   Dazai cackles maniacally, “How exciting! Gotta get treated by the scary scary doctor when you have the suds, Kunikida-kuuun…!”

   “Is he alright?” Kenji asks, poking his head out from behind Atsushi and Junichirou, who’ve been waiting outside of Yosano’s office for about half an hour.

   He was asking this question to Yosano, of course, who’d finally unlocked the door and stepped outside, seeming bemused in expression but smiling gently at Kenji, then laughing.

   “Oh he’s fine,” she replies at last. “He’s just sick.”

   “I knew it!” Dazai yells cheerily from across the floor.

   “So he really is sick?” Junichirou bites his lip, “Can you heal him?”

   Yosano shakes her head, “No. My ability only works on injuries, and is mostly intended for the life-threatening kind… It can do nothing for psychological damage, medical problems you were born with, nor, in this particular case… The common cold.”

   “He caught a cold?” Atsushi’s almost in awe. “That seems so strange. He’s always seemed so healthy and hard-working.”

   “Finally took its toll,” Yosano sighs. “It’s a sign that he needs to rest.”

   She then narrows her eyes, looking all around at the Agency members.

   “Whatever you do,” she begins, tone deadly serious and commanding. “Do not let that man leave his bed. I don’t care if he begs or pleads or cries, he will not work today.”

   “B-but,” Atsushi tries to argue. “Yosano-sensei! You know Kunikida-san is so very, u-um—!”

   “Doctor’s orders,” is Yosano’s firm reply, as she exits the Agency with her heels pattering against the marble. “Now, I’m off to get cough syrup for the patient. Do what you will to make him feel comfortable, if you feel like it — though I’m sure he’d rather you all be working in his absence.”

   The door shuts, and a silence falls upon the members of the Agency.

   “What…” Atsushi trails off. “Now?”

   “Isn’t it obvious, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai laughs, coming to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “We take care of Kunikida-kun until Yosano-sensei returns from the pharmacy.”

   “How do we take care of him though?” Junichirou looks at Dazai, curious. “We’re not doctors.”

   “Oh, pish-tosh! It’s just a cold, right? Everybody has home remedies for a cold! Why not throw some suggestions my way, and I’ll see what I can do for my beloved coworker!”

   “Dazai-san,” Atsushi’s surprised. “I didn’t know you cared about Kunikida-san so much.”

   Dazai puts a hand to his chest, as if he’s completely and totally offended. “Why! Atsushi-kun. I’m struck at the very idea that you thought I don’t care about him. Nothing could be further from the truth! He takes such good care of the Agency, why don’t we return the favor for a change?”

   There are slow, then enthusiastic nods amongst the younger Agency members, but Ranpo simply cackles from where he sits, sucking on a lollipop.

   “Oh yeah,” he shakes his head, eyes ever closed in amusement. “This can’t end well.”

   “Now now,” Dazai claps his hands together. “Ranpo-san, don’t be so pessimistic! So, which of you lovelies has an idea for what we could do?”

   “Well,” Kenji taps his chin. “Honey will do the trick, if he has a sore throat.”

   The brown-eyed girl sitting next to Kenji sticks out her tongue, “Honey. Yucky! I hate that stuff. I have a better idea,” she gets up off her seat, and skips off to the front door, “I’m going to go down to the café, ask Lucy if she has any maple syrup. Same effect, tastes much better!”

   Before anyone can stop her, the door is opened and shut once more.

   “Maybe something hot and warm to eat,” Atsushi turns around. “Like soup.”

   “Atsushi-kun, can you cook?”

   “M-more or less, but—”

   “Wonderful! Accompany the little princess down to the cafe and ask if you can use their kitchen and ingredients — be sure to tell them to put charges on your tab, alright?”

   “B-but!”

   “You’re the one who suggested it, not me. Now go, go go go!”

   Atsushi sighs, getting up and doing so.

   “What should we do?” Junichirou and Kenji ask in unison.

   “Hmmm,” Dazai tips his head, thinking. “You two should take care of Kunikida’s work while he’s away from his keyboard. I’m sure he’d appreciate that tons!”

   Junichirou furrows his eyebrows, “His work is really complicated, at least to me. I’m just an errand boy, Dazai-san…”

   Kenji nods in nervous agreement, “Yeah. And I still don’t know what a computer is, let alone how to use one!”

   Dazai laughs, like it’s not a problem at all. “You’re two capable boys! I’m sure you can figure out.”

   They exchange glances, then get up, bowing lightly, saying, “We’ll do our best!”

   Dazai waves them off happily, then turns to the infirmary’s door with what can only be described as a grin akin to that of the Cheshire Cat.

   So begins his fun…

   “Y-Yosano-sensei!” Kunikida splutters as the woman enters her office once more, having returned with the cough medicine she’d promised.

   “Hmm?” Yosano raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow in confusion. “Kunikida-kun, you’re acting so scared as if I might treat you with my ability.”

   “This is worse,” he whispers. “So much worse.”

   “What happened?” Yosano rolls down one of her gloves to check her watch, “I couldn’t have been gone more than forty minutes.”

   “Dazai happened.”

   And Kunikida, with a dying voice, though Yosano insists for him to rest his throat, regales her on all the awful things that have occurred in those devastating forty minutes that Yosano was absent.

   First, Atsushi and his little friend come back up into the Agency, one with a pot of hot soup, and the other with a big urn (that’s the only word that comes to Kunikida’s mind, as it was just so large) of maple syrup, both insisting that he eat it all.

   He, er, had expelled most of it, to his utter humiliation and to Yosano’s complete unsurprise.

   And then, it got worse… Dazai came in and tried to cheer him up, as it were, by driving him “COMPLETELY UP THE WALL” and constantly poking and prodding him, pretending to give him a soothing massage when really he was nearly breaking Kunikida’s foot to go along with his disease.

   Then, to top it all off, Junichirou comes in, maybe five or ten minutes before Yosano’s return, only to tell him that he finished all of Kunikida’s work… When Kunikida asked Junichirou to show him, Kenji waddled in with the laptop, and after seeing the state it was in, Kunikida could do nothing but scream.

   Kunikida’s end up sent home for the week — and the detectives are given a thorough scolding from the President. Ranpo laughs about it nonstop, every day up until Kunikida returns…

   And once he does, nobody goes near him, not even Dazai.

   They know if they do…

   It won’t end well.

   But, when Kunikida arrives, all better now though even angrier than usual, to sit at his desk…

   He finds a little card perched on his laptop.

   He takes the small, thick paper, and unfolds it to reveal the words, surely in one of the members’ neat calligraphy…

We’re sorry!! Get well soon, Kunikida-san!

   And it’s signed by every one of the detectives and clerks, even Dazai and Ranpo.

   So maybe it did end well, after all.

[theshyorator]

Utopia - Part 2

Utopia is a fusion of numerous themes, such as cyberpunk, soulmate marks, and the supernatural. Inspired by Cristobal Tapia De Veer's music, Akira and Studio Ghibli (particularly Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke and Howl's Moving Castle), as well as @vesperlionheart Peridot, and @frostmarris Incantations (I could rave for hours about how good their stories are, and you need to take a look if you haven't already!).

Pairing: Sasori/Sakura

Rated M for strong language and violence

A/N: Now posted on ff.net and ao3! I also made a thing - what do you think? I’m planning on making a cover photo for each part! See the one I made for Part 1 here.

Please do not repost without permission and do not remove credit!

Recap

“Shit!” Sakura gasped as the pain rose to a new level and tore off her dress with shaking hands. She watched in transfixed silence as the irritation on her skin started to take shape. Red welled up through her skin and Sakura trembled as a distinct mark appeared on her solar plexus like a ghostly tattoo.

It was an outlining of a diamond with a scarlet scorpion in the center.

Part Two - Stirring the Sleepless

The pain was gone.

Sakura stood riveted to the spot in front of her mirror. Her breath hitched in her chest, and her throat convulsed on a sob. She couldn’t deny that there was witchcraft at work here now that she had the evidence branded on her flesh.

She threw up into her sink.

The shock barely registered as nausea wracked through her. Sakura leaned over to rest her forehead against the cold mirror. She felt hollowed out like she'd just puked all of her internal organs down the drain. She pressed her forehead into the glass, trying to rid herself of the feeling, and yelped when it fractured. Blood welled from the fresh cut, and she lurched back in bewilderment. There hadn't nearly been enough force behind her touch to break the mirror, but the sting told her that her injury was real.

Sakura brought up a hand to assess the damage, watching the multiple copies of herself in between the cobweb-like cracks in the mirror do the same. A surge of something danced across her fingertips, and a faint green light flickered in and out of existence, so quickly that she would have missed it if she'd blinked. The sting in her forehead vanished immediately, and Sakura wiped away the blood with a trembling hand. The wound was gone, and if it hadn't for the blood and her broken mirror, Sakura would have a hard time believing it had been there in the first place.

"What is happening to me?" she whispered, her voice cracking sharply in her throat.

Her dress slipped off her body and pooled onto the ground around her feet. She kicked it away and turned on the tap after seeing the disgusting state of her sink. Hopefully, the drain hadn't clogged from her vomit.

Her numb mind, she collapsed onto the closed toilet to remove her boots. They landed on top of the dress when she shook them off, but she couldn’t be bothered to rescue the fabric off the floor. She needed a shower. Her skin was starting to crawl, and she quickly stripped out of her underwear. She bit her lips viciously to stop the chattering of her teeth and stepped into the cramped shower stall.

The pipes groaned when she turned it on, and icy water dripped on her where she stood underneath the weak spray. The plumbing inside the building was ancient, and Sakura banged her fist on the wall beside the showerhead for the hot water. There used to be a tile there, but it had broken after Sakura's continued abuse, leaving behind raw cement. The shower sputtered and released an intermittent torrent of scalding and freezing water.

She came back to her senses when she ran out of hot water. Shivering, Sakura noticed that she'd been rubbing the skin on her chest raw. The scorpion glared at her, and she quickly turned off her shower and stepped out, dripping water everywhere. Sakura avoided looking into the mirror as she dried off and went through her bedtime routine on autopilot. She put on her sleepwear, brushed her teeth, and even put out a bowl of tuna onto her fire escape balcony for the stray cat who lived in the alleyway below. It wasn’t until she was sitting in her bed, her back against the wall that her focus returned. Sakura knew that she shouldn’t waste electricity by keeping her lamp on, but the thought of being plunged into darkness was more frightening than she cared to admit. She turned it off.

The sounds of shouting and echoing laughter rang from the streets below, accompanied by the heavy beat of bass playing from passing cars and the distant sounds of traffic and sirens created a cacophony of a city that never slept.

Sakura pressed her forehead to her knees and willed the tension building behind her eyes away. She focused on taking calming breaths, her ears piquing at any unexpected harsh noise.

Plagued by the thoughts of monsters lurking outside her bedroom, sleep was the last thing on Sakura's mind, and sitting alone in the dark did not help her overactive imagination. Did the red-haired man know that she'd witnessed everything, that she was now privy to the stuff of nightmares? Bile rose in her throat when she remembered how his threads had stripped that rich guy of his will. Even the monster that had dragged itself out of the shadow, its essence dripping off its body like it was diseased, couldn't compare to the horror of becoming a slave to one's own body. All it took was a flick of his finger, and another human had essentially become his puppet.

Minutes dragged into hours and hours turned into a new morning, and Sakura had a horrific crick in her neck when daylight forced its way through her blinds. At some point, the hubbub of nightlife had turned into the blaring of car horns as drivers stuck in morning traffic expressed their fury at being late for work.

Seeing the light brought a new sense of determination to Sakura and she chided herself for having given into her paranoia fueled thought so quickly. She slumped to the side with heavy eyes and stretched her aching body as she melted into her mattress. Unsurprisingly, she fell asleep almost instantly and drool smearing against her sheets as she started to snore.

Hours later, the sound of her phone ringing from somewhere inside the apartment jolted her back to reality, and Sakura felt truly rotten when she rolled out of bed to hunt it down. It was in the pocket of her jacket, and she peered at the ID with dry eyes.

Ino.

“Hey, pig,” Sakura said, clearing her throat when her voice came out cracked and worn.

“Morning, sunshine. You sound like shit,” Ino said happily. “How’s it hanging?”

“I’m hanging up if you’re going to be rude,” Sakura sniffed and staggered into her kitchen to drink some water. She drank directly from the faucet, vindictively holding her phone so Ino’s voice was drowned out by the sound of running water. It washed away the sour taste of old vomit and toothpaste from her mouth.  

“Are you done?” Ino asked dryly, unimpressed by Sakura’s pettiness.

“Yes,” Sakura said primly.

“Good. Get your ass to the shop; I’m starting to feel depressed and bored,” Ino said, emphasizing bored like that was the worse crime. Then again, it probably was in her mind. Sensing Sakura’s hesitance, Ino pulled out the big guns. “I have coffee.”

“Fine,” Sakura sighed, cursing her weakness for a good brew. The Yamanaka’s had some of the best coffee in town. It was store-bought, but it never tasted the same when she tried to make it herself; Sakura was starting to suspect witchcraft. “I’ll see ya in twenty.”

“Bye,” Ino sang as she hung up.

“Witch,” Sakura muttered as she put her phone on the table. She needed a shower. The one she’d taken last night had made her feel greasy, and Ino was bound to give her crap if she saw the state of her hair.

Her tiny bathroom looked like a disaster zone; dried blood and broken shards of the mirror covered the sink, and her nice dress lay trampled underneath her boots on the floor. Sakura kicked the clothing out of the bathroom, so she had room to walk around. She suffered through another freezing shower, quickly lathering her hair with shampoo and jumped out the moment the suds were gone. There was no hiding the bags underneath her eyes, and Sakura sniffed at her reflection in the shattered remnants of her mirror. She felt refreshed but didn’t look it; her bloodshot eyes and pallor were not helping her with the case that she was trying to make against herself, she did not appear fine in the least.

She lowered the towel from her chest. The mark was still there. Sakura blew out her cheeks and poked at it. The pain from yesterday was nowhere to be found, and it felt like any other part of her skin. She wondered if she could do the same trick as she did yesterday with her fingers and heal it. Trying to dredge up the force she’d experienced yesterday, Sakura stared at her fingers, willing the green light to flicker into life. Nothing happened. There was no surge of inexplicable power and Sakura was left feeling silly.

Shaking her head at herself, Sakura decided that it was for the best. There was no need to open that can of worms again. She grabbed her boots off the floor on her way out, leaving the mess in her sink to clean later, and pulled on a black thermal shirt and a pair of sweatpants, desiring comfort over looks; Ino could cry in a corner over her fashion choices this time.

A single coin lay on the last step of her stairwell which someone must have dropped or forgotten. Sakura took it as a sign that the odds were in her favor today and bent down to pick it up. She stuck it into her pocket and continued on her way with a new spring in her step.

She’d decided against driving her bike to Ino because the traffic during the afternoon was especially dreadful. There was always traffic, the price of living in such an overpopulated city, but it grew even more chaotic when people were eager to get home from work. As a pedestrian, Sakura was able to walk faster than the sluggish line of moving cars. Their continuous and futile honking was getting on her nerves though, and Sakura huddled deeper into her coat as it started to drizzle. Tendrils of the weak March sun tried to push their way through the smog with little success.

Konoha was an odd district; it stretched well into the wealthier parts of the city, but it also made up the majority of the Fringes. It wasn’t the poorest part of the city by any standards, but it wasn’t as touched by the technological advancement as the other districts, especially near the Founder’s Village, which was deserted for the most parts.

The ruins of the village hugged the outskirts of the Forest of Death, which no sane person stepped into willingly. There was a reason for its gruesome name; tales of souls lost to creeping monsters and creatures were kept alive by the retelling of old wives’ tales and horror stories to young children in an effort keep them in line. Not that those tales had done any good to control rebellious teens, Sakura could attest to that, but people in these parts were superstitious by nature.

Sakura couldn’t help but wonder if there hadn’t been a grain of truth to the stories after all.

From what she’d had seen, nature was well on its way of swallowing the abandoned remains of civilization and Sakura remembered the night she’d visited those parts with her friends. They’d frightened each other with tales of ghosts and demons that were rumored to haunt the Founder’s Village and egged each other on to walk the streets and break into dilapidated houses. Nothing frightening had ever happened during those visits, besides the time they’d run into some squatters, but old her fears of being stolen away and eaten were starting to return.

Sakura shook away her morbid thoughts. There was no way she was going anywhere near that forest after what she’d seen. That ruled out taking the subway to Ino because it still followed the tracks through the old station there despite it having been years since they closed it.

She was waiting for the lights at the intersection when something odd happened.

It felt like a hairy spider was scuttling up her spine, and Sakura shuddered violently at the disgusting sensation. She looked over her shoulder and froze. There was a man with shaggy back hair standing beside a cart carrying mangos. Sakura wouldn’t have given the stranger a second thought if he hadn’t stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t the expensive suit he wore, though the vendor was practically salivating as he shouted prices at him, or his oddly colored eyes that Sakura could have sworn looked yellow in the flashing lights of the vendor’s neon sign. It was the familiar thin white thread that was rooted to the back of his head.

He looked her way.

Sakura ducked behind a vending machine; her heart lodged in her throat. She was in deep shit, Sakura was certain of it now, and she had the feeling that this was only the tipping point of these strange occurrences. If she weren’t careful, she’d be the picking between the teeth of a shadowy beast before she knew it.

Peeking around the corner, Sakura hunched back when she made direct eye contact with yellow eyes. Fuck. She needed to get out of here and fast.

There was a tram station up ahead, and people were trying to cram themselves into the overcrowded wagon. Deciding to take the risk, Sakura dashed to it and jumped onto its rear as the bell rang to alert its departure. She wasn’t the only one hanging onto it, and no one gave her a second glance, but when she looked over at the fruit vendor again, she saw that the man had vanished along with his string.

She didn’t believe for a second that this would be the last she saw of him and she tightened her grip on the rail as the tram lurched forwards. There was a trickle of black sand that had somehow gotten on her sleeve, probably from the filthy wall she’d crept behind, and she brushed it away. It fluttered down like soot, but Sakura paid it no mind. She had bigger problems to worry about than some dirt on her clothes.

She didn’t notice when the soot changed the course of its descent like it had a mind of its own and clung to the back of her boot.

Sakura felt exposed hanging like this. Why had she worn her red coat today? It was bad enough that her hair was naturally an attention-grabbing pink; she might as well hold up a sign that said: ‘Sakura Haruno is here, please chew with your mouth closed if you decide to eat her!’

She jumped off the moment the tram was out of the neighborhood. The other drivers didn’t slow down around her and pressed their horns at her angrily as she darted across the street. Thankfully, she made it out with all of her limbs intact.

Yellow-eyes was nowhere in sight, and Sakura had to double back a block because her unforeseen tram-ride had taken her further than she needed. She walked down the street with a new sense of foreboding, feeling like she was stuck some deranged game of cat and mouse. She fully expected the red-haired man from yesterday to spring out at her, cackling like a witch, and put another curse on her.

Sakura rounded a corner, and the storefront window of Yamanaka Flowers came into view. The street lay along the edge of a suburb but wasn’t very busy today. There were only a couple of street vendors were inhabiting it. A homeless woman dressed in rags sat in front of a laundromat and disturbed passersby with deep guttural screams. An overwhelming number of mad people roamed the streets of Konoha, and this woman wasn’t the first to showcase bizarre behavior in public, but the reaction was always the same. The pedestrians were unanimous in their decision to ignore her; the eyes of the adults passed over her like she wasn’t even, but children had to be pulled away as they stopped to stare at her in open fascination.

She threw her head back again and wailed again, and Sakura was tempted to join her and cry as well, that is until the old crone swiveled around and hissed at Sakura with bloodshot eyes. Sakura took a step back but pulled out the coin she’d found by her building and dropped it into the woman’s ragged paper cup. She may be poor, but at least she had a house over her head.

Besides, the coin hadn’t brought Sakura any luck today despite her dire need of it, but it might brighten this woman’s day.

Her screams instantly died in her throat, and she looked down into her cup with astonishment. She seemed to shrink in size and bowed her head to Sakura once before turning and dragging her bag into the laundromat, presumably to use her new coin to clean her clothes.

Yamanaka Flowers didn’t keep any flowers on display outside the store but instead had a large window to showcase their variety. Sakura could see Ino behind the counter. She was tying together a bouquet of white flowers and looked up when the bell rang as Sakura pushed open the door.

“Finally,” Ino groaned in greeting the moment Sakura stepped into her store. She put down her scissors and pushed the bouquet to the side to plant down her elbows and prop up her chin on her palms as she gave Sakura an assessing look. "You look like shit.”

“I was promised coffee,” Sakura said with a calm she wasn’t feeling. She felt unbelievably stupid for having risked leading a potentially lethal threat to Ino's store. There wasn't much she could do about it now since she was here, but Sakura should get into the habit of thinking ahead for once.

“It’s in the back, you moocher.” Ino pointed her thumb over her shoulder and added. “There should be some chocolate there as well. I know that you haven't even had breakfast today."

"Thanks," Sakura said dryly.

"No, problem," Ino called after her.

The familiar surroundings of the dinky little room at the back of the store eased Sakura's stress. She had fond memories of sitting on the wooden stool that sat in the corner as Ino made them coffee while they gossiped or 'share intel' as Ino liked to call it. Ino had already set the coffee machine up, so Sakura only had to press the red button on the screen to turn it on. It buzzed to life, and a stream of black coffee trickled into the ready mug. The Yamanaka kept a mug for Sakura, a testament to how much time she'd spent here; it even had a cute little sakura blossom on the side. She plucked a piece of chocolate from the small bowl and let it melt on her tongue as the coffee machine signaled that it had finished its job.

Sakura grabbed another piece of chocolate for Ino before she joined her out front. She tossed it to her and took a tentative sip from her mug. Sakura let out a long sigh as the tension melted from her shoulders.

“Who are those for?” she asked Ino, nodding her head at the white bouquet.

“A grieving widow and mother,” Ino sighed, touching a fragile petal with the pad of her thumb. Sakura could see that there were faint shadows underneath Ino’s eyes and realized how taxing this must be for her. It seemed like everyone had someone to grieve nowadays. Ino straightened and cleared her face of any melancholy. “Hey, you still got that weird rash?”

“It’s just a bug bite.” Sakura shook her head. Her involuntary tattoo had already caused her a lot of grief, but Sakura couldn't help but be a little intrigued by it as well. It was better to keep Ino in the dark for now, or at least until Sakura figured out what was going on. Her inquisitive mind was delighted by the mystery it posed, and it was bound to be interesting to get to the bottom of its nature.

“Well, you’ll tell me if it starts spreading, don’t need you to start a new epidemic,” Ino said with a sharp grin, and Sakura rolled her eyes at her.

“I’ll let you know if I start losing my limbs,” Sakura bit back sarcastically.

“You better. That reminds me, I need to return our dresses,” said Ino.

“Where’d you get them?”

"Oh, Tenten's mom intended to put them on display, so I gave her our measurements," Ino said, and Sakura immediately felt guilty for having left her dress on the bathroom floor with shards of glass. Tenten was one of the few classmates Sakura had kept in contact with after graduation. There were only a handful of people who’d graduated in their year, Ino being another one of them. They’d all studied at Konoha’s Academy for Troubled Young Adults, but with a name like that, it didn’t surprise many that the dropout rate was higher than anywhere else in Konoha.

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow.” Sakura placed her mug on the table and played with the end of a ribbon. Ino started to pull together a new arrangement, this time with red roses and calla lilies.

"You haven't been to the Dojo in awhile," Ino remarked after a while. Sakura couldn't meet her eyes. Tenten ran a dojo with her two friends and old sensei which Sakura frequented in the past. She'd even volunteered during the summer to teach young women self-defense. The dojo doubled as a refuge as well, sheltering victims of abuse and getting them back on their feet again. Sakura had no idea where they got the finance to keep the place running for so long but had never had the guts to ask.

"Yeah, I've just been busy," Sakura said and even she thought her excuse sounded weak. The last time she’d seen all her friends in one place was at a funeral with two empty caskets, and Sakura wasn’t excited to relive her emotions by meeting the gang again so soon.

Sakura looked away and thanked the high heavens that she did. Her suited stalked was on the other side of the street. She quickly ducked behind a display of carnations and hoped that she would blend in with the pastel pink blossoms. It was too late, he’d seen her, and Sakura dropped down into a crouch. Ino gave her a weird look, and her gaze darted to the window to see what had her so spooked.

“Alright, what’s going on, forehead?” she asked with her hands on her hips.

“See that guy- the one who’s standing by the laundromat?” Sakura said, and Ino nodded, her eyes narrowed into slits. “I think he’s been following me.”

“The one with the golden eyes?” Ino’s frown turned downright vicious. They’d both had their fair share of men who refused to take a hint.

“Yeah,” Sakura affirmed. How Ino could see his eye color from across the street was beyond her, but Sakura was glad that she believed her without hesitation.

“Well, you better get a move on because he’s heading this way,” Ino scowled, nudging Sakura further out of sight. “Use the back door; I’ll distract him and try to find out who he is.”

“I’m sorry I lead him here,” Sakura whispered, genuinely worried for Ino’s safety, but knew that it would only be worse if they were to confront him inside the store.

“Shut up; you were right to come to me,” Ino said decisively and took her station behind the counter. The white-knuckled grip she had on her scissors belied her anxiety. “Now scram!”

“Thank you,” Sakura said and stayed in her crouched position as she scuttled through the store and into the back. The jingle of the front door warned her that he was inside when she stepped out into the back-alley.

“Hi, can I help you?” Sakura heard Ino ask in a cheerful tone as she closed the door behind her gently. Thinking fast, Sakura jogged further into the alley and jumped onto a closed dumpster before leaping up onto an empty fire escape. She climbed up quickly and swung her legs up onto the roof. It was slick with rainwater, and she almost slipped but rolled back to safety. Water seeped into the back of her jacket and Sakura jumped up with a growl.

“Fucking perfect!” She didn’t notice how the black soot that had been clinging to her since the tram station partially seeped off her as it got drenched, too busy berating herself as she rolled her shoulders to keep the wet fabric from plastering against her neck.

Struck by a sudden thought, Sakura went to the edge of the rood and looked down to determine which way her stalkers thread lead, positive that the redhead was manipulating it on the other side. She would head in the opposite direction. It was pulled taught from underneath the flower shop's front door, and Sakura frowned, already regretting her decision of leaving Ino alone with the puppet-man.

She hovered in a moment of indecision, torn between turning tail and getting as far away from her stalker and his master as she could, and to return to Ino's side. The decision was taken out of her hands when the front door opened and the man stepped out again. He didn’t appear ruffled from a fight, so Ino hadn’t resorted to using her scissors.

Sakura threw herself back with a gasp when his head back unnaturally and stared up at the place she’d been moments ago. How had he known where she was? Not willing to wait and find out, Sakura scrambled back and ran across the apartment block and launched herself up onto the neighboring roof. She skidded on the wet stone but kept her balance as she sprinted as far as the building allowed her. There was a five-meter gap between the one she was on and the next and Sakura through caution to the wind and launched herself across.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she rolled with her rough landing. The scent of cooking wafted towards her and Sakura realized that she was nearing the food district. There weren’t any more buildings for her to jump onto, so she quickly found another fire escape to travel down. She darted across the street and tried to blend into the crowd of people that was emerging from the entrance of a subway station.

The market was packed with people on the hunt for an early dinner, but Sakura knew her way around the place, having come here on the daily just a few months ago.

A loud bark of laughter had Sakura stumbling. The sound was so familiar that she made the unforgivable mistake of letting instinct rule her and a pang rippled through her chest when she recognized the aroma of Ichiraku’s ramen. Momentarily forgetting her pursuer, Sakura came to a halt when she reached the achingly familiar sight of the little ramen stand. The desire to push the flaps out of the way and see Naruto sitting in his chair was overwhelming. He would be eating his third bowl of ramen, laughing at his own jokes as he spoke to Ichiraku, and maybe he’d dragged a sulking Sasuke along.

The false hope fluttering inside Sakura’s chest was doused with frigid water when a stranger pushed the flap to the side. He was the source of laughter, and he and his companion waved to old man Ichiraku as they left.

Sakura backed away, tears prickling in her eyes at having been so stupid and her back knocked against someone’s chest.

It was her stalker.

He didn’t grab her like she’d anticipated or even give any inclination that he’d chased her across half the city. His hands stayed non-threateningly at his sides. Up close he looked like a shoddy imitation of a human; his hair was the only thing about him that seemed real. His skin had a wooden quality, and his jaw had deep gauges that ran down to his mouth like one of those ventriloquist dolls. Sakura expected it to unhinge at any moment and reveal his hollow insides.

His lifeless eyes bore into her. They were unnatural as well, with two horizontal lines stretching from his irises and through the whites of his eyes.

He didn’t blink.

“Excuse me,” Sakura said stiffly. He didn’t move and kept staring at her blankly. Thoroughly freaked out, Sakura shouldered past him and hurried back to the subway entrance. She apparently couldn’t outrun him, but she might be able to lose him there. A stream of people slowed her down as she thundered down the stairs but she broke off into a run when she entered the station. Security was a breeze after they’d installed a new scanning system and Sakura chose the train that was only a minute away. She had to sprint down an escalator, but there were plenty of other people in a hurry, and Sakura tagged on behind them as they created a way through the crowd.

The hot air from the subway and the smell of burnt rubber assaulting her senses as she made it down to the platform. Sakura didn’t think before she jumped into the nearest train and glued herself to the nearest pole. She had quick access to the door and a better vantage post to see down the entire length of the train. Fewer people were taking this train than she’d anticipated and a quick look at the sign inside of it told her why.

It was the Red Line; the only train that passed through the Founder’s terminal.

Yellow-eyes entered on the other side of the cab, and the doors slid shut. Sakura shivered, but he appeared content to stand there and watch her. The train lurched forward and picked up to a speed that made Sakura's ears popped. She spread her feet to keep her balance and stared back with a confidence she wasn’t feeling.

Much too fast in her opinion, the train started to slow as it came onto the rickety tracks of the old station. They didn’t stop, and Sakura could see that weed had taken to grow between cracks in the floors and walls of the platform. The roof was partially caved in, and the dark sky peeked through. In the distance stood tall trees, their thick canopies just visible in the pale moonlight. Fresh rainwater dripped onto the floor and created a small pool of grey water on the moss-covered concrete. The sweet, pungent scents that usually accompanied a thunderstorm tickled Sakura’s nose, and her mind started to fog up as she breathed in the smell.

Time seemed to slow down to a stop, the train barely moving, and Sakura blinked with heavy lids as a thin bolt of yellow lightning struck the pool on the platform. No one else seemed aware of the extraordinary image the light created. It shattered into a thousand pieces and melted into a mirage of colors that then split apart, each growing long spindly legs and morphing into individual shapes. Sakura felt like she was in the midst of a fever dream and her head tilted forwards as her vision swam. She’d never believed in any of the nonsense about ‘auras’ and ‘chakra’ that Ino was so fond of, but she took it back now; this was the trippiest shit she’d ever seen, and last night she’d seen a monster.

The beings raced across the floor, changing colors sporadically, and disappeared through the cracks in the walls. They vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared and Sakura’s head slowly cleared.

Her mind sharpened, and she became fully aware of her surroundings as the train announced its approach to its next destination. Sakura stood up when it started to slow down, a plan forming in her mind. It was time to lose Yellow-eyes once and for all; she was exhausted and beginning to feel the effects of running on an empty stomach for the entire day. Sakura walked over to the nearest door and watched her stalker do the same two doors down. The doors opened, and she pretended to get off.

She stalled, letting the flow of people surround her as they got onto the train. She could see his shaggy head bob among the crowd as he looked for her. Good, Sakura thought vindictively, letting the people getting off behind her elbow their way past her without complaint. The train chimed to signal the closing of its doors and Sakura threw herself back inside.

Yellow-eyes stood rooted to the spot, and she watched him grow smaller and smaller.

To be continued…

[aesjae]

[ Hyung Line ] Reaction to s/o suddenly being needy

A/N: Hello! Thank you for this request :-) I apologise for it being a bit late //-// I also excluded Markhyuck because i feel like this topic doesn’t really suit them,,, I hope you will enjoy it!

[ requested ]

Style/ Genre: Headcanon/ - Word Count: 1,338 Date Posted: 14 Dec 2017

Taeil 

honestly, Taeil is quite shy

hence I would say that if he had already gotten used to his s/o being quite independent 

he would quite be taken aback when his s/o suddenly starts being really needy

like when they hug him from behind all of a sudden

he would probably flinch a bit 

he would have been so confused as to who it was that hugged him

because it did feel like one of his s/o’s hugs

but it probably felt too sudden to be true

so when they start whining about how they needed Taeil to be by their side always, with them still backhugging him,

Taeil would instantly be like “Wait that’s (Y/N). wAIT THAT’S (Y/N). . .”

he would start to be quite flustered

but at the same time would be quite worried about them since he would think that something must have happened to make them like that

Johnny

for Johnny, he would probably take it easier than Taeil

Johnny is more extroverted than Taeil himself, and would probably quite like skinship too

hence when his s/o starts hugging him out of the blue and starts pouting when Johnny prepares for work

he would not be as taken aback, but would definitely start to soften up to them

“Oh, is my baby sick? Are you feeling unwell? Sad? It’s okay then, I guess I’ll be taking the day off. Come hereee”

and then he would tuck them back into bed, going under the covers with them afterwards

he would probably know that if his s/o was acting out of the norm by suddenly being needy, 

they probably desperately needed the physical and emotional support

hence he would definitely make the time and effort to be with them

cuddling up to them in bed and just making time for them overall, in hopes that they would feel better by the end of the day

Taeyong

for Taeyong

i would say 100% he would quite shy and embarrassed about it

especially when he is not used to having his s/o being so needy and so touchy

the act of his s/o suddenly cuddling up to him and hugging his arm tightly as it were their lifeline would almost be like a culture shock

“W-wah (Y/N), what are you doing? I-Is anything wrong?”

yes taeyong everything is wrong because you’re so perfect like omg please look at your face even though i know you said your eyes scared you bUT LOOK AT YOUR GORGEOUSNESS! ! AND YOU CAN COOK THAT’S LIKE AN INFINITE BONUS

like Taeil, he would quite flustered at first

“Nah, I’m fine, I’m just in need of love”

once they say this, Taeyong’s heart would melt like ice cream in summer

he would abandon everything else and just welcome them with open arms

and he would literally crush them in his embrace, stroking their hair with one hand and the other wrapped firmly around them

he would submit to their sudden neediness

before he realised he actually likes the sight of his s/o being needy

because more hugs and skinship why not

Yuta

yuta won’t have much of a reaction i suppose

he would not have much reaction to his s/o suddenly hugging him and continues doing his own stuff

but when his s/o keeps clinging to him and whining incessantly, he might start to feel a bit annoyed

but when he looks at their expression, he would realise that they were not doing it to piss him off, but were in need of some affectionate

he would stop doing whatever he was doing and would put his stuff down

cupping his s/o’s face with both of his warm hands

giving his s/o a long, loving kiss

Yuta would be understanding tbh

he knew that everybody would have random times when they just feel extremely needy

hence, that day he would try to be as affectionate as possible

and makes it obvious to his s/o that he absolutely loves and adores them

Doyoung

i would say that doyoung would be mildly surprised??

when his s/o slams softly onto his back, backhugging him,

he would go like “oof”, thinking that they threw a pillow or bolster at him

he would be about to turn around in protest, his signature “yah” already rising like bile along his throat

until he feels a pair of arms snake around his torso

and as he is turning his head back he meets face to face with his s/o

“yA- (Y/N)? ... What’s wrong?”

a hint of concern lacing his words

and when his s/o just silently shakes their head, once again resting their head on doyoung’s warm back,

doyoung would be able to get some hints from the absence of a worded answer and turn around gently and slowly,

ensuring that his s/o’s arms never get disconnected from his body

doyoung would more or less understand, especially when he would be away for a few weeks before

and he would just quietly pat down his s/o’s head, just rocking them silently to the rhythm of their synchronised heartbeats

Ten

oh- ten will be quite shocked

but we all know how ten is when he is shocked

it’s hell adorable

when ten steps into the shared apartment to be immediately greeted by his s/o 

who without a word just stretches out their arms to engulf him in a big bear hug

and ten would be like “woah woah- what’s up baby darling?”

“mmhm,” as they nuzzle their face into his clothes, “i just, really really miss you. i really missed your presence. i never knew i needed it so much.”

he would realise that that would be very out of the blue since they are seldom like that

but he will soften at those words and hug his s/o bag, rocking them gently

“i really missed you too... we both need each other, yeah? like how you need my presence and fabulous hugs and how i need you to protect me from those horrible six and eight-legged monsters”

Jaehyun

for jaehyun...

i would say that he would be one finding out that his s/o was being needy first

he would be meeting his s/o for a date

probably meeting them somewhere like a park

and he would see his s/o just sitting them on a bench near their meet-up venue, head bent down

he would probably approach them quite cheerfully

until he calls his s/o’s name and they look up at him with an unreadable expression, one that is probably a subtle mix of feeling shitty and breaking down

and somehow he would just know

he would sit on the bench, quietly, about to gently take his s/o’s head into his chest when they suddenly attack him with a ferocious hug

“i need you... :-(”

“i know. shhh, let’s just stay like this for a while, yeah?”

wow jung jaehyun what boyfriend material i hate you ily i hate that i love you

Winwin

okay but tbh i think winwin would initially be kind of confused

right when winwin is going to dance practice with the rest of the members

his s/o would stop him by hugging him tightly, wrapping their arms around his skinny ass torso like barbed wires

“please don’t go,,, i need you,,,”

winwin: ?????????? 

he would probably be confused as to what they meant and what they were doing, hence stopping his movements momentarily to stop and think

not like he could have escaped from those arms anyway

and he’ll keep thinking about those 3 words “i need you” until his face heats up 

“y-you need m-me????”

he would be a flustered chick, esp since his s/o had never really been like this before

he would probably not know how to respond to that

but would know that it would be best if he just skipped his initial plans and stayed by his s/o’s side

not intending to let his s/o’s grip on him go, but shifting his position slightly to make it more comfortable for the both of them

[eurusholmmes]

My Sunshine| Mark Sloan

Obviously song lyrics come from You Are My Sunshine - by Johnny Cash. 

I was rewatching the Season 6 and 8 finale over the past couple of days.. and it just occurred to me again how absolutely phenomenal Marks character development was for the time he was on the show!

Prompt: You and Mark are head over heels in love with each other. but he believes you deserve someone better and you, on the other hand, have never wanted anything more then to call him yours. But time.. you never seem to have enough of it. 

Key: bolded italics are lyrics

Italics are flashbacks

Set during 8x24-9x01

Darkness. All you could see was the darkness, hear the rabid sounds of wild animals that tore into the body of the youngest Grey, taste the blood in the air that seeped through open wounds. It was nearly two in the morning according to your watch, and you were currently standing watch while the rest of the group slept. 

All of them except Mark. 

Your y/e/c eyes fell upon Arizona Robbins and Mark Sloan, who were nestled together in the broken back of the plane. After diagnosing his cardiac tamponade and releasing the excess blood, you’d taken Mark away from Lexie’s body and set to making him as comfortable as you possibly could. 

  ‘’Mark.” You said quietly, leaning against the back of the wing as Cristina heaved his limp body and settled him awkwardly against your chest. His warm breath ghosted your skin as you tenderly wrapped your arms around his torso, careful not to aggravate his injuries any further. He shivered as you inhaled his scent - faint cologne and scotch mixed with the smell of leather. Everything that made him Mark. “I’m sorry.” 

  “She was a good girl, y/n.” He rasped, taking your hand in his own and resting it against his face. “But she was never the one for me.” 

You had spent the next hour and a half trying to understand what he meant. Callie had alluded to Mark having secret feelings for you for years, but he had never made an effort to act on them. Secret glances and late nights, whispered confessions and once in a life time opportunities in the on-call room. 

And everything pointed back to time. No matter how much you wanted to or tried, he was always trying to find his worth in the women he slept with. Altman, Torres, Julia, Lexie.. He had tried so hard to find someone to love him the way he loved, but he never had. And now.. now it had finally hit him that you were the one he wanted. 

But it was too late. 

2007

Mark watched you with Derek from the opposite side of the reception hall. You were dressed in a lavender bridesmaids dress that clung to the curves he’d always admired; not too immodest but also leaving enough to the all seeing eye. He’d always had his eyes on you. You were the most captivating woman he’d ever met.. and he couldn’t find the guts to tell you just how beautiful you were to him. 

  “Dude,” Jackson chided, lightly nudging him in the ribs as he tightened his grip on Marks video camera. “You have got to stop undressing her with your eyes. Just.. you’ve gotta tell her how you feel man.” Jackson watched through the lense as Mark swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. The only Avery child watched intently as Mark then turned himself towards the camera and flipped the power button off.

He clearly didn’t want his speech on record. 

  “You ever get that pounding feeling in your chest that makes your whole body vibrate, Avery? First time I got it was the day I started at the hospital. Derek had brought y/n with him from New York after his move.. and they started running the Neuro Wing together. The Dream Team.. we called them. I couldn’t explain why my heart pounded, or my stomach clenched, or why I lost the ability to speak every time she was near me. Then, it hits me!” Mark snapped his fingers. “It wasn’t like any relationship I’d been in before. Not for the sex.. or for the raw magnetism.. but I was genuinely interested in getting to know this beautiful, captivating woman who was more concerned about the state of my heart then my charmingly good looks.” Jackson was stunned at the earnest expression on Marks face as he continued. “When you can find yourself a woman who wants all of you exactly as you are..” 

Your eyes met Marks in that moment, your y/e/c lighting up as you beckoned him to you from the other side of the room. 

  “You don’t ever let her go.” 

You were pulled from your trance at the sound of Arizonas weak voice. “Y-Y/n-” She murmured, careful not to wake the others as you padded over to her. “He’s saying your name again.” Grimacing, you pushed your hair out of your face and took her spot nestled in the wing, resting Marks head on top of the pillow in your lap. Arizona yawned and settled her head on your shoulder before she fell back into a fitful sleep. 

  “’M sorry y/n-” Mark said quietly. You allowed your gaze to flicker down to the man in your arms as you slowly began to rake your fingers through his hair. “All this time, I treated you like you never mattered-” 

A knot formed in your throat as tears blurred your vision. “Mark-” 

  “And the thing is, you’ve always mattered the most. And I’m sorry I never made that clear.” He was having trouble speaking, so you made no move to further the conversation - due to your silent sobbing and the fact that the three words you’d been waiting to say for years were right there, but you couldn’t find it in you to say it to him. “Can you do one more thing for me?” 

You nodded fervently. “Anything.” 

  “Remember the first time you sang You Are My Sunshine to me?” He said quietly. You remembered the night well; it was one of those rare times he’d allowed himself to open up and somehow the two of you ended up entangled on the sofa in his apartment. You wiped away hot tears from his cheeks and allowed him to fall against your chest, head tucked beneath your chin as you softly broke into song. “Can you sing it again-n?” 

The other night dear

As I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms 

  “Look me in the face,” Derek snapped, drawing you away from guiding your resident through your post-ops to meet the angry blue irises of your best friend. “Look me in the face y/n y/l/n and tell me you are not in love with Mark Sloan!” 

  “Why does it matter?!” You cried angrily, gripping his wrist and pulling him into the nearest on-call room. Derek simply leaned back against the door and prepared himself for one of your very rare angry rants about life and existence and how sometimes things weren’t fair, but that was how it goes. “Mark has slept with Addison, and Julia, and Lexie, and Callie, and Teddy… I’m not just someones prize to be won, Derek. I’m not a toy, and I’m surely not about to give my heart to a man who has-” 

  “No idea where his worth is?” Derek said quietly, to which you found yourself slack jawed. “Mark never had a father to teach him this stuff, y/n. He doesn’t know what love is because he’s never really experienced it. Do you know what I see when he’s around you?” You lightly shook your head and waited for him to continue. “I see a love struck man who would move heaven and earth and everything beyond in order to win favor with the girl he loves. I see a man who looks at you and says, ‘My God, there’s a woman who will love me despite my flaws and imperfections. There is a real woman who will love me for who I am.” 

  “W-What does Mark see when he looks at me?” 

Derek sighed deeply and tilted his head to the right, cerulean irises glowing in the sunlight that was filtering through the blinds on the windows. “Mark looks at you like you’re his ocean.. and he’s begging to drown.”

When I awoke dear

I was mistaken

So I bowed my head and I cried

Four days. 

You stayed awake for nearly four days, eyes vacant and emotionless as you continued repeating the lyrics to You Are My Sunshine. Part of you had believed at one point that it was the only thing currently keeping Mark alive - hearing your voice. You were so dehydrated and so exhausted that it was more of a mantra then a song, but he seemed completely content with it. 

Your only link to the real world was his fingers dancing along the cracked skin of your knuckles. The blues of his eyes when the sun would rise high enough to see them. He was watching you - just as he always was. You counted it an accomplishment that he could even keep his eyes open at all. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey 

The remaining six of you were rescued and transported to Boise. The doctors had diagnosed that the crash had taken the remainder of the hearing you’d lost in your left ear, partially due to the shooting over a year before. You allowed your body to relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity, eyes cast towards the ceiling as the sedation took you into a deep sleep. Your first restful sleep in over a week.

When you woke up, you were inside Seattle Grace and staring into the eyes of Owen Hunt. 

  “Y/n.. before you speak, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” The redhead urged softly. “You’ve been asleep for almost forty eight hours, but you’re still severely dehydrated and still malnourished. You’re getting your fluids through your IV, but I need you not to move too quickly or you could risk passing out. Okay?” You swallowed thickly and glanced around the room. Where was Mark? “They told me you were going to ask about Mark.” 

You immediately assumed the worst as his tone fell, and Owen noticed you reaction the second a weak sob broke past your lips. 

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you 

Please don’t take my sunshine away

  “No, no! Mark is fine.. He’s coming out of his sedation now too. If you want… I can have some room cleared for your beds to be in the same area.” His grin widened as your eyes lit up, nodding quickly enough to convey your confirmation and joy over being able to be near a conscious Mark Sloan for the first time in a week. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” 

You waited in anticipation for Owens arrival, soon finding yourself being wheeled down the hall to Marks room. Fingers loosely clasped together, you allowed one of the interns to redo your braid as Owen and Alex maneuvered you through the main door of Marks room. “There she is-” A familiar voice rasped. “There’s my favorite girl.” 

Your eyes snapped upward and met the striking blues of the man you loved so deeply. 

The next few days were the happiest you’d been in years. Mark didn’t fail to make you feel as if you were the most priceless human being to exist, listening to your stories about your experiences together in med school, listening to him talk about all he’d learned since the day he’d arrived in Seattle. 

But what he really wanted to tell you came the night before he slipped back into the coma. 

I’ve always loved you 

And made you happy

And nothing else could come between

  “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now,” Mark whispered. It was nearly midnight and most of the staff had gone home, albeit the on-call residents and attendings which left you and Mark to the silence in your conjoined room. “It’s been a long time coming for me to say this, but there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I didn’t love you more then I was capable.” 

  ‘But what about-” 

  “All the other women?” He laughed bitterly under his breath and lightly shook his head as his arms tightened around you. “I didn’t know how to begin to tell you how I felt.. because you’re the only woman who’s ever been interested in me that didn’t want me for just sex and y/n.. it’s the first time I’ve ever felt truly worthy to be in a committed relationship, and I was freaking terrified of falling in love with you because of it. You.. you are someone who deserves more then this man whore. Someone who deserves a pure and honest man- Someone who hasn’t been trampled and broken to pieces.” 

You stopped his sentence short by gripping his chin with your thumb and index finger, lips just inches away from your own as you brought yourself to your knees. “No woman can have a perfect man. I didn’t. I still don’t.” You whispered. “For years, I’ve wanted all of you. The man who walks into this hospital every morning- but with battle scars and insecurities revealed underneath that thick coat of armor you call charm. I didn’t want the Mark Sloan that everyone else sees because a part of me has always known that you crave something more then just the physical intimacy. You crave a home for your aching heart, and I’m telling you that right here, in this moment in our own corner of this hospital where people can heal.. that I want to be your home.”  

Mark cut your speech short by capturing your lips in his own.

  “I love you.” 

  “I love you too.”

But now you’ve left me

To love another

You have shattered all of my dreams

Time was never on your side. 

A week passed, followed by a few more, and finally it had been a month. Thirty days. Thirty freaking days since he had slipped into sleep and never woke up. Derek had found you that morning his directive was to be put in place crying into the mattress, a broken side table in shambles beside the door and your knuckles throbbing from where you’d continuously pounded your hands into the wall. 

It shouldn’t have ever been him. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine 

You make me happy when skies are grey

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave his bed. Not when Derek decided to go for his first solo surgery since the crash, not when Meredith had booked it for the airport and left you alone, not when the other fellows and attendings had gathered outside of Marks room. 

It had been an hour since he’d been extubated. Now you were just waiting for the dreaded monotone flatline that would tell you that his heart had stopped beating. That his heart was no longer keeping him alive. 

  “Mark-” You blubbered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand as you cradled his limp hand against your cheek. “I know I didn’t say it sooner, and I’m so sorry for not telling you how much you meant to me. I.. I have loved you and will never stop loving you. Meeting you.. this incredible, compassion driven, man with a golden heart was the greatest gift a girl like myself could receive. I’m sorry I allowed fear to rule how I felt for you.. and I’m sorry we never got to have our forever.” 

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

The only sound in that wing of the hospital was the heart broken screams of Mark Sloans name as you collapsed in Derek Shepherds arms, eyes cast on the steady line now running across the monitor. Here you were.. in this world living the life he would’ve thrived in; and the love of your life was waiting for you patiently on the other side. 

Please don’t take my sunshine away

  “I can’t br-eathe-e,” You rasped, chest constricting as you fumbled for a hold on Dereks lab coat. Your other partner in crime pulled you into a warm embrace against his chest, his own tears barely held at a bay as he gently swayed from side to side. 

  “Remember that even if you’re not with the ocean, your ocean still lives on right here.” Derek whispered as he flashed a weak smile, his large hand poised directly over your heart. “Take pleasure in drowning in the forever you had together.” 

So that night, you sat quietly on your bed and ventured through your favorite book of all; a photo album.

A Story of a Love That Almost Was & A Relationship That Always Will Be

Reaching into the pocket of your coat, you pulled out the most recent picture and note and gently slid it into the plastic sheet on the very last page. The two of you had taken it on the plane just as you’d boarded under Marks insistence that your upcoming surgery be photographed as it was one to remember.

The note was nearly twelve pages long and contained the words of a story; one Mark had taken careful time to formulate when you were being taken for tests on your ears and other injuries from the crash. He wanted you to live on without him knowing that deep down you’d always be his.. and he’d always be yours, but that it was alright to move on from him.

That it was alright to live.

And with a watery smile, you took a black Sharpie and wrote the words The End in large print at the bottom of the page.  

[ikonxmx]

Playing With Fire | Yunhyeong [M]

Warnings:  This is not a sweet smut. It involves semi-public sex. Forced silence will occur as well as spanking, slight dom/sub themes, and a bunch of other stuff, including but not limited to: mentions of alcohol use, cunnilingus, and praise. Yeah... If you haven’t been scared off by the warning then happy reading.

Word count: 3.0k+ (i like sex with a plot fam)

“Hey, easy on the champagne,” Yunhyeong warns as he sits down his own glass and pulls the near empty flute from your lips.

“I’m not a fucking child Yunhyeong.” You spat. A small bit that you hadn't yet swallowed falls from your mouth and takes purchase on your bottom lip.

He scoffs, “I don’t remember saying you fucking were."

Parties like this were a big no for you. A ginormous red flag with white letters on it that read "STAY THE FUCK AWAY." Getting all dressed up in fancy duds to chat with pretentious asswipes as they lazily sip wine and champagne from all too expensive glasses, wasn't your idea of a good time. You always get drunk halfway through and end up making a fool of yourself, the most notable being the time you'd grabbed a foreign CEO by his neck tie and dirty danced with him right in front of his wife. You always had a hard time reading the tell-tale signs, though. Things beside the imaginary flag that would let you know, "hey this isn't a good idea." 

Your first one should've been who invited you. Donghyuk, as well as most of the other ikon members and you, were very close. He said the celebration would be small and having you there would make it fun. That would be all fine and dandy if he didn't know about your disdain for such events. Plus, if he was going, so was the rest of ikon, and that meant you'd end up running into the one member you didn't want to see. Yunhyeong and you had no bad blood at the start. He was kind and his smile made your heart do little flips. It was natural that you'd developed a crush on him. You'd asked him to meet up with you so you could confess, only to be left waiting at a cafe for several hours on end. You found out later he'd been on a date. Heartbroken, all the fondness you once felt for him quickly turned into hate.

Besides the invitation, there was your wardrobe malfunction. You'd lent your go-to dress and heel to your best friend who's boyfriend had taken her to some fancy dinner. She was convinced he would propose and wanted to look exceptional just in case he did. He didn't, but even pissed off her curves were hugged in all the right places. She hadn't returned the dress yet, though. So you were forced to scrummaged through the war-zone you call a closet and pick anything out. But everything you tried on was either too small or far too inappropriate. You couldn’t show up at the fancy ass dinner party dressed like a hooker. You chose a black form-fitting faux velvet dress with a dropped u-neck, and a pair of red heels you got as a birthday gift a while back. You're not even sure who gave them to you.

And the final tell-tale sign or why your presence at the party should not have been was your car. The battery died on you and it refused to start. But of course, when you called and explained the situation to Donghyuk, he and the boys were all too eager to come and pick you up themselves.

So, despite all the signs here you are still at the party. It's quiet and you hate it already. Classical music makes you want to sleep and if one more old geezer or cheeky waiter puts their hand on your thigh or touches your ass, you're gonna lose your fucking marbles.

You sigh as the music changes from one slow classical song to another, not-as-slow classical song. The only way you're getting through this night is alcohol. It's a fact you've come to accept. You snatch a flute of champagne from the nearest waiter and make your way to a wall at the back of the venue.

There you stand with your legs crossed and watch the crowd. An old man who'd tried to cop a feel on you not even 15 minutes ago was now dancing with a woman who appeared to be the same age as him. Probably his wife. Wonder if she knows her husband is a fucking pervert. And then you start looking for familiar faces. Donghyuk is chatting with some women in their 30's about heaven knows what. It probably doesn't even matter to them. They're smiling and gripping his shoulders in an obviously flirtatious manner, but he takes it in stride not looking the least bit uncomfortable by their clear advances.

Jiwon and Hanbin are talking to each other near the bar laughing loudly and slapping each other across the arm every now and then. Chanwoo is sitting alone at the table where you'd be eating dinner a bit later, looking lost as ever. The two of you make eye contact and he excitedly waves. You smile and wave back before looking for the rest of the boys. Jinhwan and Junhoe are talking to girls in the early 20's. It's obvious they're trying to put the moves on the young girls and you laugh a bit to yourself. Curiosity gets the better of you so you continue your search on to the last boy.

"Looking for me?" a voice whispers from directly behind you. You jump in surprise and turn to face the owner. Yunhyeong's standing there with a smirk on his face. As much as it hurt to admit, he looks really good. The navy blue suit fits well against is complexion and the bright red tie he's paired with it, adds just the right pop of color. As soon as you finish your once over, another voice calls for everyone to take their seats as dinner will be served shortly.

"No." You answer his question before walking away and taking a seat beside Chanwoo. "Did you look over te menu?" You ask him.

"Yeah, I know what I'm getting." Chanwoo answers with a smile

"Does anything sound good?" You ask as you take the menu from in front of him.

"Just what I'm getting." He frowns

"Then I'll take the same thing." You say and put the menu back where you grabbed it from before brushing your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

He playfully swats your hand away and you laugh.

"Champagne?" A waiter questions.

"Please." You say as you take another flute and sit your empty one on his tray.

Lobster. Chanwoo ordered the both of you lobster tails with scalloped potatoes and lemon pepper asparagus. Good choice. You went through another three glasses of champagne before your food had even come, and two more as you were eating.

Conversation flowed nicely but in your slightly tipsy state, everything seemed a million times funnier. You giggled a bunch and rested on the shoulders of Jiwon and Chanwoo quite often since they were beside you.

"Hey Ji, would you mind switching seats with me?" Yunhyeong asks.

"Why?" Jiwon asks.

Yunhyeong said nothing but apparently, he and Jiwon can read one another mind's because seconds later Jiwon was standing up to switch seats.

"Noooo... Jiwonie, don't leave me!" You whine.

He laughs, "It's okay, I'll be right across from you."

You pout and fold your arms across your chest. You glare at Yunhyeong as he takes his seat before turning your back to him and facing Chanwoo.

You see another waiter and grab your... whatever number you're on now flute of champagne. You place the glass at your lips and happily take it back.

“Hey, easy on the champagne,” Yunhyeong warns as he sits down his own glass and pulls the near empty flute from your lips.

“I’m not a fucking child Yunhyeong.” You spat. A small bit that you hadn't yet swallowed falls from your mouth and takes purchase on your bottom lip.

He scoffs, “I don’t remember saying you fucking were."

“Fuck you.” You say and get up from the table. As you make your retreat toward the restroom you here the boys calling your name but you pay them no attention.

Whoever said stark white walls in a bathroom was a good idea can go suck a dick. Dealing with Yunhyeong was a headache in that of itself, but white walls and an already pounding head mixed together like water and oil. The several glasses of champagne you’d consumed probably had something to do with your headache as well, but maybe if you refused to admit that you could just blame it all on Yunhyeong. The asshole.

As you feel the bile rise from the back of your throat you know your headache is in fact caused by the drinking. You're quick to rush into a stall and rid your stomach fo all the food you'd just eaten. Your head gets a bit less fuzzy afterward. You can see a bit clearer and think a bit straighter. You weren’t that drunk, to begin with. It was probably intensified because of your empty stomach.

You groan as you make your way out of the stall. Someone's waiting with a travel sized bottle of Listerine and a disappointed look. You scoff as you snatch the mouthwash from his hands.

"I told you to go easy on the drinks." Yunhyeong scolds you.

You ignore his words and gargle what's in your mouth before spitting it into the sink. Repeating three or four times, you work to get the nasty taste from your mouth. You turn and toss the mouthwash back to Yunhyeong before making a move for the door.

"No thank you?" He asks to stop your retreat.

You ignore him and continue walking. A hand wraps around your wrist to physically stop you.

"Hey," Yunhyeong starts, "What's with you treating me like shit lately?"

You give a dry chuckle and try to yank your arm back but his grip tightens, "Let me go."

"Not until you tell me what's going on with us. We use to be close... what happened, huh?" He questions as he steps closer.

"Move." You command.

"I don't want to..." Yunhyeong says. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Yunhyeong watches as shiver roll up your spine as his hand lays purchase on your lower back. "And you don't want me to." He finishes.

Before you can open your mouth in protest, Yunhyeong's lips are on your own, moving languidly. You find yourself kissing him back without much thought. If this had been a few months ago you'd be on cloud nine, but it isn't, and your heart is conflicted.

Yunhyeongs hand travels from your lower back to your butt. The hand that was still gripping your wrist moves to join it. You gasp as he squeezes your ass. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and brush it against your own. A quiet muffled moan leaves you as he kneads your butt in his palms before letting go with one hand and landing a firm slap on the cheek it had left. You moan in surprise.

Yunhyeong pulls back and bites his lower lip, "You like being spanked?"

You say nothing too caught up in the fact that you had just been kissing who had once been the man of your dreams.

"Hey," Yunhyeong calls to gain your attention. You face him, eyes a bit wide. "If you want me to stop just say so." He tells you.

You nod and lock your arms around his neck. He kisses you and leads you toward the sinks. You jump to sit once your back hits the counter. Yunhyeong's lips leave yours and begin to travel down your neck and onto the tops of your breast. He's gentle as he moves the straps of your dress and kisses around your nipple. You hiss, feeling him harshly suck a pebbled peak into his mouth. The suction stops and his tongue swipes over the abused skin quickly. You moan a bit at the feeling. He switches his position and does the same to the other breast before lifting the straps of your dress back to their previous position.

His hands move to your thighs. He rubs them quietly a few times before pushing the material of your dress upward and dropping to his knees. He doesn't bother to remove your underwear, instead opting to push them to the side with one hand and let his other explore. One finger languidly moves through your folds, causing you to shudder from the pleasure and the cool touch.

 "Look at you," Yunhyeong coos. "So wet for me already."

You moan as he adds a second finger and brings them both up to softly rub at your clit.

"Fuck," You moan and buck your hips forward looking for more friction.

"You want more?" Yunhyeong teases. You nod but don't speak. "Tell me what you want babygirl. Beg for it."

"Your mouth please...." You cave easily, "I want your mouth."

Yunhyeong smirks and bends his head forward. He takes his time sweeping his tongue through your folds before licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit and back down.

"Fuck, Yunhyeong." You moan and throw your head back.

He slowly pulls your clit into his mouth gently and sucks on the bundle of nerves. You moan out loud and push your fingers through his hair. You feel him smirk against you as he continues licking your sex at a near torturous pace.

He focuses on one side of your clit since he gets the most reaction out of you from there. You're a panting mess on the counter above and Yunhyeong loves the look. Sweat is starting to form on your upper brow as the pleasure becomes a bit much to handle. Seeing him looking up at you with your clit between his lips helped none.

Although his pace is slow it's enough and you soon find yourself cumming against his tongue. Yunhyeong groans and moves from your clit to your entrance, and drinks at your release. Your moans haven't stopped since he's started.

He disconnects his lips from your heat and stands on his feet again. His lips quickly find yours in a messy kiss.

"Mmmm, you see how your pussy tastes?" He questions. His voice is deeper now that it's filled with lust. You moan at his dirty words and kiss him again. His fingers run through your folds as they had been before, and quickly rub your clit before traveling down to your entrance. Yunhyeong pushes a finger into you slowly.

"Oh..." You moan.

He's a bit faster with is pace now than what he was when he was eating you out. He finds a steady motion and keeps it for awhile before adding a second finger and speeding up.

"Look at you, sopping wet from just my tongue and fingers." Yunhyeong smirks.

"Shit." You say as his fingers push against your g-spot. "Right there..."

His lips settle between the crook of your neck as his fingers work to bring you to another orgasm. It doesn't take long either. Your moaning out your second release within minutes.

Yunhyeong pulls you down from the counter. Your legs are a bit weak and wobbly, and it's hard for you to stand in your heels. Yunhyeong turns you around so you're facing the humongous vanity mirror. This time he actually takes your panties off. They're ruined. Stretched out and drenched in your arousal, but you don't complain.

He tugs at his red tie damn dear ripping it from his body and reaches forward to stuff it in your mouth, "You've been so loud... Can't have anyone hearing this next part." He says as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his throbbing erection from his slacks.

He teases you to start, rubbing the head of dick gainst your folds and up to your clit. You moan and push back trying to get a reaction from him. It's obviously the push he needs because seconds later he's lining up with your entrance and seating himself into your heat.

Your moans are muffled but his loud "Fuck" bounces off the white walls.

"Shit," He curses again as he pulls back and lets out a groan as he pushes forward. You feel and watch through the mirror as he shudders behind you. "You feel so fucking good." He says and bites his lip.

After his initial shock is worn off he picks up the pace quite quickly. He hips slap against your ass with each forward thrust causing a small consistent slapping sound to fill the bathroom. You moan against his tie throwing your hips back to meet his thrust. Pleasure claws at your skin and your eyes roll back and close shut.

Yunhyeong's hand comes down hard on your ass and your eyes shoot open, "Your eyes don't close. You're gonna watch me fuck you."

His words only worked to make you wetter. A small squelching sound was added to the constant slapping and you moan. You have no real control over anything. You look at yourself in the mirror to see small bits of spit rolling down the sides of your mouth. You look a mess. Yunhyeong looks amazing, though. His teeth are clenched, and his muscles flexed as he concentrates on fucking your brains out.

"Fuck, you feel so good." He moans and slows down a bit before picking up his pace again "Be a good girl and cum for me yeah?" He says as his hand moves forward and rubs your clit in small circles.

Muffled moans spew from your lips as you're pushed toward your third orgasm of the night. The pleasure is insurmountable. Your vision blurs and your head spins, as your eyes roll back and your sex clenches against Yunhyeong's length.

"Fuck..." He groans at the feeling and thrusts a few more times before stalling and cumming deep inside you. He falls forward onto your back a sweaty panting mess. "Oh, that was so much better than I ever could've imagined..."

That didn't make sense... Why would he be imagining something like this happening with you when... You quickly remove the tie from your mouth.

"Yunhyeong why did you stand me up?" Your question.

"I stood you up?" He's shocked.

"6 months ago, I sent you a text asking you to meet me Kijed's Cafe... And you never showed. And when I called to ask the boys where you were. They said you were on a date.... I waited for hours to confess to you and you were out with some other girl."

He raised himself up and removed himself from you. You wince a bit, but stand up yourself as well.

"Y/N... I never got that text message. If I had, I would've been on my way to Kijed's fast than the Flash." He sighs, "And I  was out with a girl, but not on a date. She was a friend from school and she needed help picking out a birthday present for her boyfriend. I swear I would never stand you up on purpose."

You look at him believing him to a certain extent. A big part of you still hates him, though, and that part is saying everything coming from his mouth is bullshit.

"Look let's get out of here... We've got a lot to discuss." He smiles. "Because I've liked you for a mighty long time too."

You straighten out your outfit a bit and fix your face as much as you possibly can...

"You can still act drunk right?" Yunhyeong asks.

"Hey, guys..." Yunhyeong says as he approaches the table with you tucked under his arm.

"What took so long?" Jinhwan questions trying to peer through the Yunhyeong's jacket to get a look at you.

"She threw up everywhere in the bathroom so I worked to clean most of it. I'm gonna take her home now, though."

"Oh dang, good idea." Hanbin chimes in.

"Want us to come with?" Jiwon questions.

"It's cool, I'll take care f it. You guys enjoy the rest of the party." He says and drags you toward the exit. They didn't suspect a thing...

So yeah, as always I suck at endings lol. Still, hope you enjoyed.

-AJ

[roraewrites]

two - anticipation

Glass Heart Rating: M And he was in the darkness, so darkness he became.

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The cool cloth against her skin refreshes her body, her soul, resets her mind and rids the negative thoughts.

Her lips are still chapped, sore from scabs that she chews at on her bottom lip, but she's no longer shacked, hanging from the ceiling. Instead, she's put in her own cell behind closed bars. Sakura finds that staying here is getting old, and while she knows she can break out at any given time, she wouldn't make it far with him still wandering the halls.

Especially at night.

She senses him wandering, his soul lost to the darkness, trying to find it but he can't.

It's during the latest hours at night when she senses him nearby, his dark aura sending shivers down her spine, making her fingers tremble. Sakura fears that he'll come to her in the dark again, his ominous blood red eyes staring right through her and to the soul of her very body.

As Sakura runs the cloth down the side of her face, she presses it to her temple, letting her pores soak the soothing liquid within her skin. The air in this chamber is musty, smells of death and rotting flesh. The breeze that brushes across the ground is also cool and when it's late at night, brings shivers to Sakura's sleeping form.

She knew that Kabuto would be coming soon, to deliver the small ration of food that they allowed her to eat. Every time he stopped by, she grew quiet, refused to answer his jabbing insults or interrogative sentences. He was like the spec of dirt that gets caught under a finger nail, or a piece of meat that gets stuck between teeth; annoying and unnecessary.

On queue, she can hear his sandals smack against the stone tiles as he makes his way towards her. Sakura puts the cloth down, hiding it from his view. She had ripped part of her shirt off, forming it into a make shift cloth to clean her wounds and her face from any dirt, blood, bile, or whatever else she had on her face and body.

"Good morning, Sakura."

His greeting is anything but kind, his voice monotone as he tilts his chin down and peers at her over the frames of his glasses. The dark eyes that look at her hold a menacing look, threatening her in every way possible, but Sakura shoulders the look and continues to stare at him with crossed arms.

He places the small plate by the bars, kicking it through the tight space, but only to have it clatter against the iron and topple over.

Her food for the day now spoiled, but she doesn't mind. Sakura has lost her appetite due to the high stress levels in her mind, the anxiety furrowing in her body, the very core of her a nervous wreck.

The next item that Kabuto places against the dirty ground is a small cup of water, enough to last her a day if she uses it responsibly. He doesn't move from his spot though, only stares at Sakura with clouded eyes and a makeshift smile.

Sakura's emerald green eyes fall to the cup on the ground, sitting patiently as it awaits her to approach and pick it up; that's what she does. She tries to rid Kabuto's appearance, his presence, by blanking him out and forgetting him one hundred percent. As she reaches for the tin cup, it's too late. Kabuto's hand reaches through the bars and grasps her shirt, pulling her and smacking her chest and knees roughly against the iron.

"I said good morning."

Sakura can feel her nostrils flaring, her heart thudding against her chest and all she can do is narrow her evergreen eyes at him. The angrier she looks, the closer Kabuto inches to her face, until their noses are only centimeters apart.

She can smell iron wafting off of his skin, probably from the experiments that him and Orochimaru work on while she stays put in her cell, counting the seconds, minutes, days that she's been here.

"Fuck off," she spits out, along with the saliva that catapults from her throat and sails through the air and onto his cheek. He throws her back abruptly and pushes away from the bars, wiping at his face furiously.

Sakura, falling to her rear and rolling into a defensive stance, stares at him like a crazed animal, a tiger being closed bars. Her eyes glowing in the light that entered her cell and narrowing in on Kabuto once more.

"You're so going to regret that!" His yell rips through the cell, echoing off the walls and sounding through the corridor. His dark eyes are even more clouded now, glossed over from the demon inside him, hungry for her blood. But once their staring match is over, he exits the room on his heel, turning to glance at Sakura from over his shoulder.

She smirks, another victory and aimless threat from the white haired medic. To add to her victory, her cup of water still stood its ground in between iron bars. Sakura's lips turned to a smile, cracking the dried skin and scabs and the instant taste of copper entered her mouth.

After one quick sip, Sakura sighed a low, short sigh. She could feel her days growing shorter, her life here on Earth would soon end. She needed to escape, find a way out or to send a message, but down here, she was powerless, useless almost like back in her genin days.

"Naruto... Sasuke..." The words came out a small whisper, barely audible. She then walked back to the corner of her cell, placing the tin cup on the floor and resting her back against the wall as she thought back to her previous days.

Those days filled with warmth, laughter and fun. The bittersweet memories brought Sakura to a sitting stance, her knees curling up to her chest and her arms hugging them tighter, willing herself to curl up into a ball.

She had to escape, somehow, someway.

She would escape.

-

His eyes searched the room, following the thin lines that outlined the stones that formed the walls. He knew every turn, every degree that each line took because this had been his room for three years.

Sleepless nights brought his eyes to wander the textured walls of his room, but even when he grew bored of that, he strolled the halls, hoping his mind would settle.

It never did, though.

Memories of Itachi, his clan members lying face first against the ground, bleeding out. The memory that haunted him the most were the bodies of his parents lying lifelessly in front of his traitor of a brother. The vision always made his throat tight, cutting the air off from his lungs.

But he refused to be weak, let his mind get lost in an important time like this. Anything was better than letting his thoughts think back to Sakura, though.

Sasuke hated that she was here, but he knew exactly why Kabuto brought her here and that fed his desire to kill the bastard even more. He hated that ridiculous guy; cocky smile, disgusting eyes, ridiculous voice.

Fucking hated him.

Especially when Sasuke knew that Kabuto was near Sakura, whispering words of hate and blatantly doing stuff to further her misery. He could tell that Sakura was near death when they first brought her here, even after three days of being here, her chakra was still a small flame; a faint wisp that could barely feed off the air that she was supplied.

Sasuke knew he shouldn't have went to see her the first night they brought her here, but curiosity killed the cat and sure as shit, he was perched in front of her beaten and dying body.

She reeked of sweat and blood, the poor girl couldn't even keep the vomit down in her body as soon she woke up. Sasuke knew that it wasn't fair to bring her here, especially when she wasn't involved with any plans that Orochimaru or Kabuto had, but a hostage is a hostage, and he knew that his mentor was up to something. He couldn't get over how grown up she looked, how matured her face was. Through the dirt and blood, he noticed her cheeks weren't as round, her jawline was stunning; eyes that looked into his shimmered a darker green than when she was younger. Cherry blossom hair framed her face, bringing out her neck, and when he looked to her body, he noticed that she had filled out more.

When he closed his eyes, he felt his Sharingan activate upon opening again, engraving the memory of how she looked now, compared to when she was young.

Sasuke hadn't realized that he was now standing in front of Sakura's cell, looking down on her sleeping form while she was curled around herself, huddled up in the corner. She looked miserable, her bruised arms, cut legs, rose quartz hair matted in dried crimson chunks, yet her face looked peaceful while she slept.

The Uchiha felt his heart lurch forward, the need to protect growing strong but he simply scoffed. A smirk graced his lips as he began to walk away from the sleeping girl; he's done this before, three years ago to be exact.

"She spit in my fucking face."

Sasuke could hear the bitching of Kabuto all the way through the hall, another smirk pulling at his lips. He had heard that Sakura had grown into a fighter, a kunoichi of excellent skill, possessing super human strength. But to spit in Kabuto's face, he found it humerus.

"Orochimaru," Sasuke entered the man's quarters, looking from the snake sannin to Kabuto, the Uchiha's emotionless face showing nothing of sorts now.

"Ah, Sasuke, my dear child."

Sasuke simply ignored Orochimaru's last three words, knowing that he wasn't the snake's 'dear child'.

"Why is she here?" He finally asked the question that he'd been waiting to ask the entire time that Sakura had been here. Her presence only made him eager, knowing all too well that she would get in the way of his plans when it came time.

"Why do you ask?"

"She's useless," the lie fell from his lips. She was anything but useless anymore.

Kabuto spoke up now, his dark eyes narrowing into Sasuke obsidian eyes. "That's what you think."

Sasuke refused to give the medic-nin the time of day, ignoring his statement entirely and continued to wait for Orochimaru's reply. Instead, the snake sannin only hissed, obviously annoyed with Kabuto as well.

"You'll see soon enough. Now go, you've got training to do."

He felt his temper rising, curse mark hot against his skin, but he did as told and exited the room. His walk was short lived as he entered the training room, the dummies looking at him with straight faces and all Sasuke could do was brood. He inhaled deeply before concentrating his chakra.

He was sick of being here, sick of taking orders from a man that would be dead soon.

His hand began to heat up, the chirping of birds filled the room and before another target could give him that blank stare, he slammed his fist to the ground. Each target exploded from his Chidori Stream, tufts of hay and wood flying in every direction, leaving the room in a thick sheet of dust and fog.

Sasuke could only clench his teeth, feel the anger sore through his body and boil in his blood.

The time to kill his mentor and Kabuto was coming soon enough, but with Sakura in the hideout now, he would need to reevaluate his plan and see to it that she leaves with him as well.

"She's so annoying," his low voice fills the empty, dirty room as he collapses to his knees and falls to his side. "So damn annoying."

Emotions burst through the floodgates, filling his mind with whole thoughts of his days in Konoha, driving him to the brink of going insane inside his own mind. He can't shake the thoughts no matter how hard he tries, even the demon within him is quiet, feeding on Sasuke's earlier days.

Darkness is your only salvation, he tells himself repeatedly. As much as he wants to forget, cut the ties and break the bonds, they're still there, haunting his memories.

-

Sakura awakes the next day (or was it the same day as before?), her neck aching from lying against the stones and dirt and her back needing a serious rub down. She feels her body flowing with chakra and the sensation is weird at first, but she feels more alive than she had when she first arrived.

She closes her dirty hand around the tin cup and takes a small sip, letting the water run down her tongue, her throat, feeling the cool liquid enter her stomach and quench part of her thirst. The liquid burns against her chapped lips as she drags her dry tongue across them, lapping up and excess water that perched on her lower lip.

When she pushed her body back into a sitting position, she could hear the sandals of Kabuto entering the room, slow but surely, she knew it was him. Her evergreen eyes already narrowing, lips pulling into a firm line. When their eyes made contact, she felt her throat dry out and tighten. The only sound that could be heard was the blood rushing through her ears and the pounding of her heart against her chest.

His eyes are beautiful, as dark as spilled ink, his face emotionless.

Sakura gulped, her eyebrows raising towards the center, her lips parting. When she felt his wandering eyes slip down her neck, past her chest and rest on her torn shirt, she could've sworn that she saw fire blaze from behind black irises. He didn't move his face an inch, but she could tell that he disapproved of something.

"Sakura."

She jumps at her name, shivers crawling through her skin when he rolls the 'a' of her name off his tongue. Sakura finds herself pushing up from the stone, her mind lost in a jumble of thoughts and her fingers shaking. Once she's standing and facing him from behind bars, he flips his hair from his eyes and inches closer towards her.

His face hadn't changed much from when he was younger, but he was taller now, muscles fine tuning his body. She couldn't help but drop her eyes to his chest, his pectorals hanging out from the slit in his long sleeve shirt, washboard abs visible as ever. He was clothed in far different clothes than before, she noticed. She also noticed his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that was attached to the rope that wound around his waist.

All thoughts aside, she found the will to speak.

"Why am I here?"

He raises a thin brow in reply, the skin on his outer cheek rising with the action. The pain that burdened her long ago, the fight to gather his attention, she felt it all coming back now, gathering in her stomach and working its way up her sternum, gathering in her chest where her heart lies.

He still hadn't answered her question, only slouches a bit and adjusts his hand further down the hilt of the sword. Sasuke's obsidian eyes had grown darker since the last time she looked into them, shadows dancing within the pupil. When he finally turns his face, Sakura jumps closer towards the iron cage before her fingers curl around the cool bars, her face peering through them.

"Wait!" The word echoes, stopping Sasuke in his tracks, yet he doesn't say a word. He doesn't move either, only waits to hear what she has to say next, but she doesn't speak, only grips the cold bars harder, squeezing them in her grasp.

"Be ready."

She frowns, knowing all too well that he wants her to know something, but he won't give her information that easily. Something is going to happen, and soon, but she doesn't know what. Only to be ready.

She nods before releasing her grip and steps back gingerly, looking to her dirty toes and skinned knees, blood dappling the dried skin there. Sakura hears him depart from the room, his steps slow and graceful until she can no longer hear him. She slowly crouches down against the wall until she's in a sitting position and grabs her cloth from the corner of the cell, pouring a small amount of water on it and begins to dab her knees softly.

She could heal them up quickly, but now that Sasuke has given her a warning, she knows better than to use her chakra on something useless. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her forehead against the caps, her emerald eyes closing.

"I need out."

-

Sasuke finishes his training, finishes his rounds, only to end back up in his room and driving himself crazy over knowing Sakura is still here. He can't come up with a plan, knowing that she's here and if he leaves without her, she'll be trapped until someone finds her.

Or kills her.

The thought eats away at him, and instead of staying put, he begins walking towards her signature. She's like a magnet and Sasuke like metal, attracted to her in every way, yet he hides the true emotions under the darkness in his heart. It makes him sick knowing she's like a caged animal, but he doesn't dare release her, not yet. Once his plan begins, he'll free her. Leave this place behind and continue with his mission that he has his dark eyes set on.

To kill Itachi and end this torture once and for all. With his brother gone, he can live each day knowing that the weight has been lifted from his shoulders, but the pain of losing everyone he once loved will still burden his heart.

The darkness blankets him as he walks down the corridor once more that day, his legs taking him to Sakura. He can already sense her and knows she awake and moving around. A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lip when he enters the room, only to find her small face behind bars; body curled up against the wall, her blank face staring with dull green eyes.

He can see the rubber band snap behind her eyes, her lips parted slightly, the shock that overtakes her body. The smirk on his lips had already been erased, and they stare at each other for what seems like days, weeks, years, until she's pushing up from the ground.

She looks miserable from the way she walks, her eyes still staring at him until she's still once more. The way she trembles doesn't go unnoticed and when he slouches slightly, he finally speaks.

"Sakura."

The name brings bittersweet memories of their past back; a whirl of nostalgia crashing against his heart, rattling his brain. The way her eyes light up at her name pains him further. He knows he shouldn't be down here, confronting a prisoner, but she's his former teammate. A girl that holds a special place in his twisted heart. Sasuke bites down on the insides of his cheeks, refusing to speak anymore.

These memories are too much for him; pain, heartache, suffering. He wants it all to end.

Blood rushes to his ears, invading his head and catching him off guard. He sees Sakura move closer to the bars that separate them, her lips moving and panic washing over her features. He can't hear a single word that she says though, only slouches and flips the hair from his eyes.

When the wave of reality washes over him, he brings himself to his calm and collected demeanor, moving his body closer to the cell, to her. Her eyes widen.

"Be ready."

A frown pulls her eyebrows together, her eyes now a deep shade of jade. He can't make out ever seeing that expression on her face, not towards him at least. Sakura doesn't say a word though, just nods her head and backs away slightly.

When he turns his body and begins to leave, the pain in his heart appears once more, throbbing. Sasuke finds his body moving slowly at first, until he reaches the corridor and begins to move his legs faster, willing his body to get away from her and her presence.

She's intoxicating, enlightening, everything that he's ever wanted, craved. Sasuke can't think of her, not at a time like this.

Stop, the demon from within demands, searing his skin, his mind and his soul. Sasuke does as told and stops. Stops thinking, stops moving and it's when his body his still that he picks up on the rather ridiculous cackle. It's Kabuto.

"Seeing your girlfriend, were you?" Kabuto's sneers.

It takes everything to push the instinct to kill him right here and now. His heart says to kill him, his mind, but his body doesn't budge. Sasuke knows better. When he begins to push past him, Kabuto reaches for his shoulder. Sasuke snatches his hand from the air, whirling his face to Kabuto's, their noses nearly touching.

His Sharigan is blazing like a wildfire, electricity coursing through his body and his darkening aura casting through the hall.

"Stay the fuck away from her," his voice is treacherous, the most dangerous he's ever heard himself. Sasuke knows that it's himself talking, but the demon within amplifies it, strengthens his words much like he does his body.

Kabuto can only swallow his pride before ripping his hand from Sasuke's grip. He's no longer laughing or mocking the Uchiha, but his dark eyes show fear as he cowers beneath the Sharigan eyes. He steps back and begins to walk in the opposite direction of Sakura's cell and Sasuke can feel his body tensing up from the stress and pressure.

It's time, he hears the low voice in his mind, the pulsing in his stomach and clawing at his heart.