#his stupid haircuts are the one constant thing in his life

[awawun]

this guy’s in the valley of the shadow of death (an eldest child)

[asliceofzosan]

Sanji is a lightweight.

He can't hold his liquor for shit despite his failed attempts to hide it from everyone else. The signs are obvious — the flushed cheeks, the hooded eyes, and the constant smile on his face that remains even if he's not talking to a lady. He prances around the room, socializing and laughing at every little thing, from the cool summer breeze tickling his cheeks to Usopp's tamest of wild stories.

He's also very physically affectionate. When he'd usually reject a hug from Luffy's impossibly long outstretched arms, intoxicated Sanji would welcome the embrace with glee. Chopper is rained with little kisses on his head every time he does anything remarkably cute (which is all the time). And he's seen playing with Robin's fingers absentmindedly as he listens to her talk about the ancient history of a forgotten world.

But there's also one thing Sanji becomes when he's had one too many drinks in his system...

He gets... honest.

Sanji on a normal day is blunt and calculated. He calls things out as he sees it yet still knows how to use his words to twist something to his advantage. Like how he knows how to appease Luffy when he gets adamant over food. Or how he somehow convinces Usopp to do something he'd normally be too afraid to do.

Drunk Sanji is a different kind of honest. Drunk Sanji is honest about things he never even utters if he was even a lick sober.

And Zoro? Oh, he's always been the one to bare witness to Sanji's honesty.

Zoro likes to think of himself as an honest man. He can omit the truth every now and then for someone's safety or to preserve their blissful ignorance, but most of the time he doesn't see any reason to lie. If he finds you annoying, he'll say it. To hell with your damn feelings about it.

But though he values honesty and trust, he sure can hide the truth. Because his own feelings take the back burner. He can't be emotionally charged when lives are on the line. He can't let his heart win out when his brain tells him it's a bad idea. He can trust a gut feeling but never the tug of his own heartstrings.

So witnessing Sanji's honesty — so rooted in the tresses of his stupidly big emotional heart — always has Zoro freezing in place. He can't handle it. But he can't push him away either.

He can hide his true feelings but by all four seas, he can't ever push them far enough away for him to ignore them.

For the embarrassing truth of it all is that every time Sanji looks at him, smiles at him, laughs with him, or even fights with him — Zoro is irrevocably, unequivocally, and detrimentally smitten with the curly browed cook.

He doesn't remember when (somewhere between Little Garden and Thriller Bark... who knows, really...) but he definitely remembers waking up one day and wanting to see Sanji first thing in the morning. He remembers the rapid beating of his heart when the man prepared his comfort dishes when Zoro was having a rough day. He remembers the sparks of electric fire seeping to his bones from a single touch, a brush of fingertips against his scalp with a whispered 'you need a haircut marimo', the ice cold chill that runs down his spine of watching this stupid blonde man attempt to sacrifice his life over and over again to save his friends. All these feelings he remembers and dreads and looks forward to all at the same time.

All come crashing down upon him until he's stuck beneath a mountain of untapped, unrealized, unacknowledged feelings — all because Sanji decided that for today's party he will hold Zoro's hand, and guide him to the galley so they could be alone.

Alone.

"Marimoooo," Sanji sings, a light giggle cutting off the prolonged syllable, and Zoro has to actively remember not to crumble. He grips the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckle turning white, with the other hand desperately clinging to a cheap bottle of sake.

"Auditioning for a musical, cook?" Zoro teases and Sanji sticks his tongue out at him. Zoro, despite all he's holding back, allows himself to chuckle.

"Shut the fudge up, dumb green haired muscle head doofus." (New note: when drunk enough, Sanji physically cannot swear.) He jabs a finger at Zoro's chest, unaware of the invisible mark he's left on his heart. "I wanted to tell you something, stupid."

"Can't it wait until you're sober and can kick my ass properly?" Zoro's deflecting and he damn well knows it. But Drunk Sanji is so unfairly adorable that if he lets him talk more, he might do something Sober Sanji would hate him for forever.

"I donwanna kick your ass!" Sanji throws his hands up exasperatedly. "No no no no thas' not important..."

"What could possibly–" When Zoro chanced a glance at Sanji, he stopped mid sentence. Hooded blue eyes were gazing at him intensely, an ocean of possibilities, a high tide of emotions washing onto the shore. Zoro can't look away. He wants to. He needs to. But he can't. Like a capsized ship at the edge of a whirlpool, Sanji's gaze sucks Zoro in with no pause for mercy.

Mercy that Zoro refuses to call out for.

"Zoro," He says it with a low tone, a soft voice, and with a breathiness he's never heard his name be uttered through before.

He feels Sanji's hand on top of his own before he could let go of the counter. He looks down and the man is tracing his scars. The ones faded overtime and the ones that are freshly closed over. There's a band-aid on his thumb that he's forgotten to remove from a week ago. Sanji's own delicate but kitchen worn fingers run over his knuckles. Each feather light touch sends electric shocks through his veins, a rushing heat that no shot of alcohol could recreate.

Zoro, despite everything his mind is telling him to do, turns his hand over and lets Sanji slip his fingers through and press their palms together.

They're closer now. He doesn't remember when that happened. But Sanji's face is so close, he could count the eyelashes fluttering gently between wakefulness and dreaming if he wanted to. He desperately did. Instead, his other hand raised up to cup Sanji's ever alcohol flushed cheeks, and feels his heart burst with the gentle smile Sanji gives him in return.

"Did you know?" Sanji whispers, thumb rubbing over a particularly nasty scar on the back of Zoro's hand.

"What?" Zoro indulges him. Just this once. "What don't I know?"

Sanji's smile brightens. He rests a hand on Zoro's chest. He feels Zoro's beating heart beneath his palm. Then he looks up, eyes twinkling with a simple but powerful emotion. Zoro's only seen him look like that once before. Back when it was just the five of them from the East Blue, their borrowed ship from Syrup Village, and their feet on a barrel promising to achieve their dreams.

Pure and utter joy.

"Did you know... that I'm so happy that you're my friend?"

Zoro's breath hitches and Sanji hiccups, sudden tears flowing down his cheeks. He doesn't attempt to hide them or wipe them away. Zoro feels them fall onto his chest as he watches Sanji cry with the biggest smile on his face.

"You're the first friend I had that was my age," He continued, bringing Zoro's hand up and nuzzling against his palm. "I never had friends growing up. Was surrounded by old geezers telling me what to do half the time. Joining the crew... This is the best decision I ever made."

Then a faint kiss was placed on every scar Sanji could see on Zoro's hand. Piece by piece, Zoro's resolve crumbled, and he felt tears prickle at the corner of his eye.

"You're my best friend, Zoro. Did I tell you that?"

"No," Zoro whispered. He takes Sanji's other hand and kisses the rough pads of his fingertips too. Sanji watches him, mouth slightly open in a dazed smile. Zoro wonders if he'll remember this in the morning.

"Why haven't I?" Sanji asks him, or perhaps wonders aloud. Zoro just shrugs and keeps kissing up Sanji's hand. With each kiss, Sanji lets out a sigh, gentle and inviting. Zoro chooses not to answer.

"I love having friends," Sanji says stumbling forward slightly at Zoro's ministrations. Zoro catches him before he falls and Sanji throws his arms around him, clutching tightly and giggling so much that he's almost losing breath. "I love having you in my life."

A tear falls down Zoro's cheek. He tightens his hold around the cook and thinks the exact same thing.

Sanji burrows his face into Zoro's shoulder, hiccuping again. "Can we stay like this for a little while?"

"We can stay like this forever, if you want." Like this as in always by your side. Like this as in holding you every time you ask for it. Like this as in who we can be if alcohol didn't make you forget everything you say to me.

"I have to cook tomorrow though." was Sanji's brilliant response and Zoro couldn't help but laugh. He's waited this long for something like this. He can wait until morning for a conversation a little more serious.

"Yeah, cook." Zoro obliges, leading Sanji to the cushioned bench by the dinner table. "We can stay like this for a little while."

"Yay," Sanji cheers softly, his voice already starting to slur. Zoro lets him rest his head on his chest as he curls up and around Zoro like a koala. "Warm."

Time moves by slowly. Zoro's fingers run through silky blond hair as they talk about silly insignificant things. Sanji's giggles get softer and softer. His breathing evens out. Soon enough, Sanji's eyelids have closed and he's sleeping soundly, clinging as tightly as his unconscious body permits onto the swordsman.

Zoro knows that when morning comes, they'll have to talk. But for now, Zoro allows himself to bask in the warmth of Sanji's honesty. Allows himself to let Sanji's genuine gratitude of meeting and joining the straw hat crew wash over him like the gentlest of cool sea breezes after a long and hot day.

And he can be assured, as he drifts off into his own slumber, that Sanji loves him.

And that Zoro loves him too.

inspired by this tweet

[taesclub]

The Wild Child, Act I ✦ BTS

✦ BTS x Fem! Oc's

━━━━━ ( SYNOPSIS. ) She is suddenly forced to attend the all-girls boarding school, St. Victoria's. Determined to break free, she tries to escape. Her only problem? To do so she must go through the neighboring boarding school and its notorious group, the Bangtan boys. Among them, one member captivates her the most, blurring the line between rebellion and romance.

genre. boarding school au, angst, fluff, smut

word count. 4,586

warnings. only curses for now

-ˋˏ masterlist ✦ next ˎˊ-

ACT I.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire, a tall girl with an eighty's aura and a shag haircut, sits in the passenger seat of her father's car, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The car hums with tension as they drive down the road, the passing scenery reflecting the girl's inner turmoil. She was about to meet her doom.  

She gazes out the window, her expression a mix of anger and frustration. The weight of her resentment hangs heavy in the air. 

“I can't believe you're making me go to some stupid all-girls boarding school, Dad. This is so unfair!” she grimaces. This had been her constant complaint ever since receiving the news, but somehow, like a broken record, she still held onto those words, praying it would be enough to make her dad rethink his decision. It wasn’t.  

Her father, Mr. Deschamps, a middle-aged man with tired eyes due to his rushed businessman life, glances at her with a mixture of concern and regret. “Claire, we've talked about this. It's a better opportunity for you. You'll have a chance to focus on your studies and discover new interests.” he insists softly.  

Claire scoffs, her frustration boiling over. 

Her voice sounds angry as she replies, “Better opportunity?! What about my life here? My friends? You're ripping me away from everything I know!” 

Her father's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his tone laced with remorse. 

“Claire, honey, I didn't make this decision lightly. It's for your future. You'll make new friends, and have new experiences. Please try to understand.” 

Claire's gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery, her umbrage simmering beneath her rebellious exterior. “You simply don't get it, Dad,” she says resentfully as the view keeps changing dramatically into a more rural area. “You don't know what it's like to be uprooted from everything familiar, to start over in some stuffy boarding school.” 

Her father's voice softens, laced with a tinge of sadness. “I know it's hard, honey,” he admits sincerely. “But sometimes, we must make sacrifices for the greater good. Trust me, I only want what's best for you.” 

Claire's anger doesn’t wane, even though she is tempted to soothe at her dad’s words. “Change can be scary, but it also opens doors to new opportunities.” he continues, tenderly. “You're strong, Claire. You'll adapt, and who knows, you might find something incredible out here.” 

Her gaze shifts from the passing greenery outside to her father's warm and understanding eyes. She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing the pent-up frustration. There was no point discussing this with him, he would never back up on his word. And the truth was, ever since he got together with that Malibu Barbie wannabe called Blanche, this was destinate to happen. She had waited for the rug to be pulled from under her feet as her distrust in life itself was a rooted injustice carved deep in her heart, but now that it happened, she tried desperately to hold onto a shimmer of hope.  

And how tricky it was to expect, to wait for someone else to take the reins of one’s life... No one would come and save her, that was clear. So why not save herself? 

“Sure thing, Dad.” Claire mumbles resigned. At least for now.  

A bittersweet silence fills the car as they continue their journey, both aware that this new chapter holds challenges and possibilities that neither can fully anticipate. The beginning of a plan to escape the boarding school, however, started to thread like a lightning bolt in the girl’s mind. 

She would make sure no one would see it coming. And one thing was certain, Claire Deschamps would never settle into a life in the middle of nowhere, nor a life she hadn’t chosen herself.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire steps out of her father's car, her jeans bomber jacket with wide shoulders and lots of sewn trinkets contrasting greatly with the more conservative uniforms of the other students passing by. Their plaid skirts had at least two full hands more fabric compared to the black leather one she used.  

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for what lies ahead. Mr. Deschamps opens the trunk, retrieving her suitcase and opening space for two employees to try and lift the big chest full of stickers that also belonged to Claire.  

“Here you go, honey.” He hands the lush green suitcase to her. “I hope you find… Some great things here.” 

She takes it, grudgingly. “Don’t be so disappointed when I don’t.” 

Her father shows a sympathetic smile on his face as he pauses to take in what she had just said. “I understand, Claire.” He opts to say. “Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

Claire nods, unable to hide her lingering resentment. Her father gives her a last reassuring smile before driving away. 

As she sees the Rolls-Royce disappearing on the dirty road, the Headmistress Winters, a stern and composed woman in her fifties whom she had already seen printed on the flyer advertising the school, approaches Claire with an air of authority. The disapproving expression that she wears only exacerbates Claire’s dislike for her furthermore.  

“You must be Miss Deschamps, our newest student,” the woman says, inspecting her closer. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?” 

To that, Claire rolls her eyes discreetly, her guard already up. “Oh, joy,” she mutters under her breath.  

Putting on a polite facade, the Headmistress takes a step further, “As you know, I am Headmistress Winters. Your father and I talked on the phone. Welcome to St. Victoria’s Academy. Here we expect our students to uphold the highest standards of discipline and academic excellence.” She waves her hand in a high class and fluid motion, introducing the grand structure of the school behind her.  

There is a moment of silence as Claire fights the urge to scoff, her skepticism apparent. 

“Sounds like a real party,” she mutters dryly under her breath.  

Headmistress Winters's eyes narrow not catching what the girl has to say, however, judging by the lack of excitement on Claire’s part and her many years of experience when it came to building character, she maintains her composed demeanor. She knows a troublemaker when she sees one.  

With thinly veiled annoyance she adds firmly, “Respect and compliance are expected from all students, Claire. You'll find that St. Victoria’s Academy offers numerous opportunities for personal development and camaraderie. I suggest you keep an open mind.” 

Claire's expression remains guarded, her disdain for the headmistress palpable the more words fell from her mouth. Her tone is pure cynicism as she answers. “Sure, Mrs. Winters. I'll keep an open mind while I'm here.” 

Begrudgingly, she follows the older woman through the school's grand entrance, the imposing architecture and hushed conversations heightening her unease. 

The Hall of Entrance in the all-girls boarding school exudes an air of elegance and tradition. Polished marble floors stretch out beneath the students' feet, reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers that hang overhead. Tall, arched windows line the walls, allowing sunlight to filter in and cast a warm, inviting glow on the surroundings. 

As Claire steps into the hall after the Headmistress, she is greeted by a flurry of activity. Girls in crisp uniforms pass by more eagerly than the ones she saw outside, their eyes darting to and fro, their hushed whispers carrying snippets of gossip. The hall becomes a stage for both fellowship and rivalry, as cliques form and dissolve with each passing moment. 

The sound of clicking heels and rustling skirts mingles with the gentle murmur of conversation, creating a symphony of feminine energy. Some girls walk with confidence, their heads held high, while others seem more reserved, their eyes darting nervously as they try to find their place within the social hierarchy. 

Portraits of past headmistresses and notable alumnae adorn the walls, their stern gazes reminding the students of the institution's legacy and the high expectations placed upon them. Some peak Claire’s attention. One of the spaces in particular, the one dedicated to the sports league, shows boys’ teams and trophies they earned against them, but she can’t find the right moment to ask what it is about as Mrs. Winters walks like a thunderstorm.  

The aroma of freshly polished wood and the faint hint of perfume linger in the air making her curiosity calmly dissipate, creating an atmosphere that is both refined and pansy. 

A grand staircase, its banisters intricately carved, leads to the upper levels of the school. It serves as a focal point, drawing the eyes of the girls as they ascend and descend, their interactions playing out on the stage of the hall. 

Claire becomes acutely aware of the watchful eyes as she makes her way through the bustling crowd, trailing the steps of Mrs. Winters. Some girls shoot her curious glances, sizing her up and speculating about the newcomer. Whispers trail in her wake, snippets of conversation filled with intrigue and speculation. 

Mrs. Winters then suddenly turns to face her once more, revealing behind her shoulder line a girl who matches Claire’s height, with bangs and a cascade of hazel hair. The girl’s warm and open expression contrasts greatly with Claire’s defensive demeanor.  

Noticing Claire’s disinterest, Mrs. Winters starts, “Let me introduce you to your new roommate, Claire. She’ll help you settle in.”  

Extending her hand politely and rather excitedly, the girl before her greets, “Hi! I'm Ella. It’s really nice to meet you!” 

Claire reluctantly shakes Ella's hand, her guard still up. Frustrated by the already lack of choice on her end she mumbles, “Yeah, hi.” 

Headmistress Winters nods curtly, signaling the end of their interaction. “Miss Dubois, why don’t you show Claire to your dormitory and explain how things work around here? I was in the middle of a rather urgent matter when she arrived...”  

Without missing a beat, Ella promptly nods, understanding the task at hand. “Sure thing, Headmistress. Follow me, roomie!”  

The newfound nickname makes Claire hiss internally like a cornered cat, but she plays the part, thankful to finally get herself rid of the Headmistress's presence.  

Before the two of them can walk further away, Mrs. Winters dismissively points again, “Very well, off you go. Make sure you familiarize yourself with the rules and expectations of this institution, Miss Deschamps.”  

Claire raises an eyebrow, her rebellious spirit flickering to life. “I'll keep that in mind, Headmistress,” she replies defiantly, turning her back to the woman.  

Leaving the bustling hall and the scrutinizing eyes of the older woman, Claire turns to Ella, a sense of complicity forming between them as she notices how much more relaxed her new guide seems to be.  

Smiling, Ella reassures her. “I promise this is not all as daunting as it seems.”  Claire takes a deep breath, her apprehension giving way to a glimmer of hope. She follows Ella, ready to navigate the challenges of this new environment, determined to find her place amidst the rules and expectations she so vehemently resents. Who knows?, she thinks, maybe her new roommate can give her an escape route without even noticing. She could be escaping St. Victoria’s much earlier than she had predicted.

━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 

Claire wasn’t convinced if Ella had what it takes to be her newfound ally. The headmistress seemed to trust her enough which made her either valuable to the plan or a stone in her shoe. Although Claire was pending more to the former since the girl seemed very friendly as they kept a light conversation and she led the way through the bustling hallways. More often than not, the veteran would gush about her own friends as she vibrantly pointed to Claire how their day-to-day was, and for moments, more than to seek intel to architect her plan, the brunette found herself momentarily forgetting about her purpose as she got infected by Ella’s contagious energy.  

Their footsteps echo softly as they step onto the serene patio, where blooming flowers and neatly trimmed hedges create a serene oasis within the school grounds. The sound of laughter and animated conversations drifts through the air as girls gather in small groups, enjoying moments of respite and fellowship. 

Claire’s eyes scan the scenery, and they get caught in the ruckus three girls are making right by the center fountain of the patio. The one standing in the middle, a blonde with a high ballerina bun, dances excitedly as she flashes a knitted scarf to her peers. “You think JK will like it?” Her voice travels through the open space as she points specifically to the initials engraved in it.  

Noticing Claire’s mind is far away from whatever she is saying, Ella leans closer, whispering, “That’s Vivienne for you,” she chuckles as Claire’s glance shifts quickly back, “Everyone calls her Vivi and you’ll soon hate her too, trust me.”  

To that statement, Claire’s eyes return inquiring to Ella’s, her nose scrunching in doubt.  

“You see, she delusionally believes she and some trouble boy are meant to be. We’re all tired to hear about it, or witness moments like this.” Ella points with her head to the blonde once more. “There she goes, making him a scarf he won’t probably use. Tell me about waste of time!”  

Claire mildly snorts entertained, looking at the scene as well. “Poor girl.”  

“Oh, believe me!” Ella exhales, walking away and her roommate follows, “That one is nothing of the sort. Imagine Regina George in real life. That’s her, right there.”  

In a lack of response from the brunette, Ella gestures towards a row of benches shaded by a grand oak tree. ”Anyways, this is our patio, Claire. It's the perfect spot to relax and soak up some sunshine during breaks. And see over there? That's the canteen.” 

The delicious aroma of freshly cooked meals fills the air as soon as they step closer to the precinct. Girls line up at the serving counter, chatting and exchanging stories as they eagerly await their turn. The room is alive with vibrant colors, with posters and artwork adorning the walls, adding a touch of creativity to the space. 

“We refuel here, obviously.” Ella glances excited to see Claire’s reaction. “The food is surprisingly good, and there's always a variety of options to choose from… Well. When the boys don’t join, that is. They can be savages.” she chuckles nonchalantly. 

Suddenly Claire’s eyes perk with curiosity. Every bit of information she had gathered about the school before arriving said this was an all-girls academy, but then again, there were existent photos of boys displayed in the hall. Not to say Vivienne’s parade a second ago. Do they have a day off?, she muses, Could this be an opportunity? “What do you mean boys? Isn’t this an all-girls school?” she voices her thoughts as Ella takes the lead again, taking her on another stroll.   

The energetic roommate greets some girls that pass by them with a sympathetic smile before returning her focus to the newcomer beside her.  

“Well, yeah. The Alarie boarding school for boys is right across the river, and we often have classes together. You know, lack of teachers in the far countryside.” she shrugs. 

Before she can inquire further, Ella is already distracted, smiling at the passersby.  

“With Jimin? Again?! God, what’s her secret!” They hear a girl gasp to a friend as they crossways.  

Oh. I see..., Claire’s thoughts put the pieces together. She quickly looks at the hazel-haired girl making her company.  

By the raise of eyebrows that she gives her and the flicker of frolic that flashes in her eyes, Ella is quick to warn, “It’s strictly forbidden to hang out with them boys, Claire. No smogging. No funny hands.”  

“But she just-” Claire refuted pointing behind her shoulders to the girl that passed by sharing her indignation a bit too loudly.  

Ella gave her a warning yet laid-back glance, “Alright, people go on with it in secret but as you can see, nothing is really a secret around here. And then when you least expect it, bam! You’re in trouble!”  

“Are they at least hot? Or I don’t know... Worth the trouble?”  

Ella thinks for a second and then shrugs with a naivety Claire knows to be fake, “How would I know?”  

“If you say so!” Claire pretends to salute dramatically, a bickering well read by the other as to the current square state the Academy insisted on following rules. And so, Ella pulls her to a quick jog entertained, and a bit tempted to show her new roommate she also knew how to break a few of them. Even if the rules she was breaking weren’t as grand as Claire deemed them to be. The students passing by confirmed the thought as they judged their behavior, and Claire laughed even louder at their tedious conformism. The rule about not running in the hallways was true indeed.  

As they arrive at their shared dormitory, their footsteps grow softer as they enter the hushed ambiance of the living quarters. The dormitory is a cozy space adorned with tasteful decorations, featuring two neatly made beds, desks adorned with books and personal touches, and small corkboards for photos and reminders. 

Ella jumps to sit on her own bed, bouncing on the mattress as she does so. “And here we are,” she gestures. “Our humble abode. It may not be the biggest, but it's home.” 

Claire looks around the room, a hint of curiosity dancing in her eyes as she imagines the memories that will unfold within these walls, even if for brief moments. Ella seems a nice girl, but she won’t be around to discover much more about her. She needs to escape this. Her real friends await in the big city.  

“Yeah, it's not bad…” 

Ella grins with the comment, her warmth shining through. 

“We'll make it cozy, you’ll see,” she says encouragingly. “Plus, you still have to meet my girls! They are rooming right in front of us. It’s great to share stuff and to keep gossip in day!” She laughs at her own behavior.  

As Claire sets her suitcase down and begins to unpack, a bit aloof to her roommate’s words, a newfound sense of optimism fills the room. To Ella is the beginning of a new friendship, even if her roommate was a hard one to crack. But she was patient, everyone had their personal time after all. To Claire, it is a journey through a path she had never charted before, but her father was right about one thing---she is strong. And she will prevail.  

“We’ll meet them in a few!” Ella continues, snapping Claire out of her thoughts, “They went to pick up your uniforms for you.”  

Claire eyes her with gratitude, showing for the first time a smile, even if timid, and her roommate mimicked the action. Only hers was as big as her enthusiasm for finally having a friend to share her bedroom with.  

Still sitting by her bed, Ella watches as Claire takes only her toiletries out of her green suitcase, as well as a portrait of her and what the girl gathered to be her mom. The tall wild child discards the pouch with her cosmetics by the bed, as she walks toward the bedside table, closely placed to the window, adjusting the portrait on top of it. Her clothes, still inside the suitcase, didn’t seem important and were left forgotten still inside it, untouched. Or so Ella thought so.  

“Your mom is beautiful,” she comments gently, looking at how Claire’s eyes seem to hover with longing at the picture.  

The brunette opens a small smile, thanking her roommate almost in a whisper, eyes still glued to the image of her mom. How she missed her.  

And then suddenly a loud pang interrupts the moment, making her jump and Ella scream. Startled by the sudden impact of a ball against her bedroom window, she had fallen back onto her bed, her heart racing. She swiftly rises and storms towards the window again, fueled by annoyance and ready to unleash her frustration on the culprit responsible. 

Seething with anger, Claire flings open the window of her dorm room on the second floor, ready to give the culprit a piece of her mind. Ella knees on her bed to look at the indicted herself. “Shit.” She manages to say.  

Claire’s words, however, catch in her throat as she locks eyes with a boy she has never seen before, and taking by Ella’s reaction beside her, it was clear that wasn’t her case, her roommate knew him.  

His mischievous grin and charismatic presence immediately captivate her, and a flicker of curiosity replaces her initial anger. Still, she stands her ground and through gritted teeth, she lashes, “What's your problem?!” 

Both girls watch as he brings casually one of his hands to shield his eyes from the sun, his smile gleaming with amusement. 

“Oh, I apologize, princess,” he says charmingly. “You weren’t supposed to-” he trails off, “Well, I wasn’t looking to make an impression on you but now…” he considers, his smile doubling the size.  

Claire tries to maintain her composure, but there's an undeniable pull towards the Alarie’s boy that she can't ignore. 

“Impression?” She scoffs slightly flustered, “If it’s at being stupid, you've certainly succeeded. Who are you anyway?” 

The boy takes a step closer toward the shade of the tall building to see her better, a playful glint in his eyes as he keeps looking up chuckling at her response.  

With a smirk, he replies. “You didn’t hear of me? I'm Jungkook,” he says as if it explains a lot, with a smugness that makes Claire crazy to punch out of his face. “I go to the Alarie’s, right next door.” 

“JK!” another boy shouts from a distance, and Claire’s eyes travel to the field to meet the face of Jungkook’s peer. A group of boys is joyfully hanging out there, waiting for him.  

As her eyes turn back to him, standing beneath her window, with a raised eyebrow, Jungkook says with yet another chuckle, “You never told me your name.”  

She sneers, “And I won’t.”  

Despite her refusal, Claire can't help but feel a certain curiosity pull toward Jungkook. His confidence and charm leave her intrigued, even if she tries to deny it or finds it too brazen. 

Jungkook sends another intrigued look her way, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Don't worry, princess. I’ll find it soon enough.” that answer only makes her blood boil further. “Besides, life's too short to be boring, don't you think? I like the mystery.” He shrugs with a smile, picking the rugby ball that was fallen by his feet, and starting to walk back. He turns once again to see her reaction, raising his voice as he adds, “And tell your rat roommate that the next one is meant for her!” He lifts the ball in his hand as if he raised a toast. 

“I'm not fucking interested in your idea of excitement, Jungkook. Save your charm for someone else!” She shouts defiantly but he only laughs in response, now fully turning his back and jogging swiftly toward his friends.  

She can't help but watch his back and carefree stance, even if Ella’s presence is made heard by her side. Under rushed and muted curses, the girl gets up from the bed, initiating an anxious breakdown as she paced back and forth inside their bedroom.  

Claire’s gaze finally moves away from the window to fall upon her roommate’s state. “Not that it’s any of my business, but... You wanna talk about it?” she asks, gaining no response apart from a full stop on the pacing and Ella’s hands coming to a desperate grip on her own locks.  

“Ella!” Claire calls her, closing the distance between them, “Hey, what’s going on?” The change of attitude of the girl was so brusque from her previous joyful self that it got her worried.  

She gently touched her shoulder, and Ella’s eyes finally found her own. “I’m totally, completely, fucked.” She confesses finally.  

“What happened? Is it about this Jungkook guy?”  

The hazel-haired girl gives her a nod and Claire’s eyebrows knit together. She manages to inhale, ready to question further but they are interrupted by the cheerful tinkle of shoes and greetings.  

“We got it!” It’s what she hears as she looks at the door to their room that had been left open. Two girls enter the space, both shorter than Ella and her. They look excited, probably having fun on the way there.  

“Hi! You must be the new girl,” The shortest one says, giving her a cordial smile. She has her long honey-blonde hair held back by a bow. “I’m Lola, this is Avery...”  

“And this is your uniforms!” While Lola has a royal aura to her, somewhat restrained and charismatic, Avery seems more upfront and girly. Her hair is like coal and so glossy that it shines hues of dark blue in the light.  

Taking the folded clothes from her hands with a smile of her own, Claire introduces herself. “Thank you, I’m Claire. And you really didn’t have to do it-” 

“It’s totally fine, we wanted to!” Lola insists bubbly, waving off, and the brunette smiles thankful.  

The blonde walks her way toward Ella’s bed, familiar enough to sit on it as she grabs a pillow to hug as she did so.  

“Girls. He knows.” To Claire’s relief, Ella finally enters the conversation. “I hate myself!” She adds, grunting.  

She notices how the other two react fervently to the comment as she places the pile of uniforms on top of her bed, ceasing to be the focus of their attention. They look at Ella with staring eyes, clearly on topic but still indignant about the rest of the information that still doesn’t come.  

“What do you mean he knows?!” Avery is the first to question. “How would he know? There were no boys in class that day...” 

To which Lola quickly made a comment with a nudge at her waist, “I told you there was! Louis, remember?”  

At the same time, Ella explained. “Now Jungkook sent a stupid ball flying up the window on purpose. After my head of course!”  

While Claire looked from one to another trying to unveil the situation, both Avery and Lola unleashed a series of wroth exclamations, to what Ella took part in instead of actually providing a clearer explanation.  

“I’m sorry.” Claire interrupted. “But can someone situate me here? What does this Jungkook know? And why is it a big deal? I’m lost.” She had a notion she was being brazen as she wasn’t close to the three friends before her, but not a couple minutes before she had witnessed a boy sending a warning in the shape of a rugby ball to her roommate. If this was to continue while she stayed there, she needed to know at least the basics.  

Avery and Lola look from her to Ella apprehensively waiting. So this is mildly important, she thinks. And then the latter sighs.  

“I wasn’t completely honest with you about the boys’ part...”  

To that statement, Claire slowly realizes that there may be more to this school than meets the eye, and consequently, more that she needs to unravel to make her flight seem a mystery. Glancing out of the window, Alerie’s boarding school for boys is starting to feel like a needed pit stop, as it stands tall between St. Victoria’s building and her much-wanted freedom.

✦ TAGLIST.

send an ask in if you want to be part of it or comment down below.

[cinlat]

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Fynta’s conversation, but Keshal’s voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their apartment.

“I hear that you’ve been questioning the Resol’nare.” The woman hefted her daughter, who’d reached the age of nonstop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. “Care to hash it out?”

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. “What makes you think that?” Fynta’s tone sounded guarded. Then she signed. “Verin’s got a big mouth.”

“Only when it comes to those he loves.” Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled. 

“I’m not questioning the Resol’nare,” Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. “Just my place in it.”

“Explain what—shab, let go.” Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal’s many braids. “You’ve got Cinlat’s armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—”

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. “And no colors for that armor. A child that I can’t raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand’alor that I’ll never answer the call of…” She trailed off, footstep falling quiet. “I’m dar’manda now.”

Keshal hissed. “Hold your tongue, girl.” Jodi’s cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother’s shift in temperament. “You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand’alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That’s on him.”

Fynta didn’t answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal’s words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter.”

“When my husband died,” Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. “I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?” 

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. “That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out.”

“What did you do?” Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled. “Assuming there’s a moral to this story.”

“I shaved my head,” Keshal growled. “Something I’m considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root.”

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. “It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived.”

“Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I understand.” Fynta chuckled again. “Thanks.”

“Now, about your brother.” Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning.

Two days later, Aric checked his pack for the second time. Fynta had run late in meetings and had commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could reconnect after a hectic few weeks. The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire to reignite the flames. “Thought you’d forgotten.”

“Never.” Fynta's tone perked Jorgan’s ears, and he turned with dread to see what fresh hell their meetings had heaped onto their little resistance. His response dried up when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn’t remember standing to cross the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. “This is…different.”

“I needed a change.” Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. “I needed to take control of something.”

The defiance in Fynta’s eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one, small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn’t shaved it.

Taking Fynta’s hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn’t fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the black strands. He’d only known her as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between blonde and brown with no direction as to where it would end up. A lot like the woman who wore it. The black contrasted her skin, bringing out the brown hues more, and making her eyes blaze brighter.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta’s ear. “It suits you.”

________________________________________________

shout out to @dingoat for giving me the idea!

[castiellesbian]

Cut Your Hair

Summary: a short fic about dean and john and how sometimes small moments can mean the world to us Rating: Teen+ WC: 1,352 Warnings: child neglect, implied child abuse (nothing overt though, just typical Sam and Dean childhood flashbacks) Read on AO3

It’s late June, they’re in a motel just outside of Waco, and Dean’s hair is finally long enough for a cut.

In all honesty, it’s not even that long–definitely not compared to Sammy’s–but the heavy Texas heat was enough of an argument for John to agree to get the clippers out that afternoon. One lunch out at the nearest diner, an episode of Batman, and a couple beers (for John) later and the two of them are packed into the motel bathroom with the white noise of the clippers’ whir accompanying them.

Dean had dragged one of the chairs from the motel room in here for him to sit, but it’s a little too low so he’s craning his neck as high as possible so his dad doesn’t have to stoop too much. John, a little buoyant from the beer, doesn’t complain, though, and just gets to work, gliding the clippers gently over Dean’s scalp. The buzz feels funny on his head, and the hair falling on his bare shoulders already tickle, but Dean doesn’t mind it at all.

Getting his hair cut is one of Dean’s favorite times–better than Christmas, which is never anything more than some gas station trinkets, if their dad is even there to spend it with them. Nah, this is way better. The gentleness of John’s hands as he turns Dean’s head to get the side or as he pushes the hair around to make sure that the cut is even reminds Dean of his father’s softness hidden under the smell of gunsmoke. It brings him back to when he was four and lying on John’s torso while they watched whatever was on TV, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and smelling the rich scent of oil permanently ingrained in his skin from work.

Those moments of closeness, once a constant in Dean’s life, are far and few between now. So he takes it when he can get it. Like the haircuts in motel bathrooms under fluorescent lights. Like feeling the callouses on his father’s fingers, earned from years of hunting and working as a mechanic, as he brushes fallen hair off of Dean’s neck. It’s mostly why Dean keeps his hair so short, to ensure as many of these moments as he can. Maybe he can’t fall asleep on his father’s chest anymore, but they can do this.

Dean suspects his dad appreciates these moments, too. He doesn’t get them nearly as often with Sammy, who complains the whole time and wriggles around way too much. Sam likes his hair long, though maybe Sam just doesn’t want to be in the same room with him for so long.

Whatever, the kid can do what he wants. Dean, though, relishes these moments. Of course, his dad clipping his hair is practical–they don’t have the money to go to the barber’s, and leaving your hair lying around in places for any witch to grab is just stupid.

But a part of Dean also feels like this is Dad caring for him in a way he still knows how. Ever since Mom… Well, ever since, John hasn’t been able to say things like he used to, and anything more than a pat on the shoulder is rare. Dean gets it, he does, but sometimes when he looks at his dad passed out on one of the beds or hunched over a newspaper scouring for cases, Dean gets an ache in his chest so gnawing he almost can’t breathe. So, when his dad turns off the clippers, ruffles Dean’s hair, and smiles at him through the yellowed mirror saying, “You’re looking like a real man now, Dean,” well. The ache is replaced with something like relief. He can breathe for a little while longer.

***

Dad takes care of the ghost in Waco and gets a couple more ghouls under his belt by the next time Dean sees himself in the mirror and decides he could use another trim.

The morning sun peeks through the curtains and rests on the brown carpet in yet another motel room somewhere in the middle of Iowa. Sammy is still asleep and John went out before Dean got up, presumably to get a coffee and a newspaper from the gas station down the road like he does every morning. Dean is making toast, two pieces for each of them, and is about to wake Sam up when the door unlocks. John comes in, newspaper under his arm and a paper cup of cheap coffee in hand, and he smiles when he sees the food sitting on the counter.

As John takes his first bites, Dean tells him how his hair is getting a little long. Usually when his father eyes him like this, his first instinct is to stand straight and keep his mouth shut and wait for the moment to pass (hopefully without his father finding whatever he’s looking for). But this time Dean just feels excited, waiting for a hum of agreement and a declaration that they’ll do it later today.

John eventually nods. “Clippers are in the trunk. Go get ‘em now before I take off.”

Dean’s heart falls like a dead body. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, boy. I know you heard what I said.” He turns away and rinses off his plate in the sink, water whisking every last crumb away.

Automatically, Dean stands up straight. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that usually you–”

John waves him off before Dean can finish the sentence, grabbing his duffel from under the bed. “I don’t have time to do it today. There are a couple witnesses I have to interview if I’m going to figure out what’s killing folks around here. Besides, don’t you think you’re old enough to cut your own damn hair?”

It’s not a question. “Yes, sir.”

An hour later, Dad is gone and it’s just Dean and Sam on the couch watching some show Dean’s too old for. Sam’s stinky, socked feet are poking him in the kidneys but he doesn’t feel like pushing him away. Eventually, when the show is over, Dean grabs the clippers from the kitchenette counter and heads over to the bathroom. Might as well get it over with.

“Whatcha doing?” Sam pipes from behind him.

“Giving myself a haircut.” Dean rolls his eyes and shakes the clippers in his hand as if to say Obviously.

To Dean’s surprise, Sam completely ignores Dean’s sour mood and instead gives one of those wide smiles that shows off some of his missing baby teeth. “Can you give me one too?”

Frowning, Dean says, “You hate getting your hair cut.”

Sam shrugs. “There’s nothing on TV.”

So, the two of them huddle themselves into the bathroom, taking one of the motel chairs in with them for Sammy to sit on (because of course he’s going first). Dean wraps a white towel around Sam’s front like they’re in a real barber shop, and even steals a dollop of John’s shaving cream and pats it around Sam’s face, which makes him laugh. After he rinses the cream off, Dean gets to work. It’s weird to feel the buzz of the clippers on his hand instead of on his head, but it’s not unpleasant. Of course, no matter how much Dean concentrates or tries to keep his hands steady, he messes up a couple times. Sam doesn’t seem to mind, though. He doesn’t even squirm that much, thankfully, and just blabbers on about some toy that he saw in a commercial.

When they’re done, Dean helps Sam wash off the shaving cream and the few stray hairs that got on his neck, and ruffles his hair before Sam has the chance to swat away his hand. But his brother’s annoyance is surface-level, and a second later Dean finds himself trapped in a hug.

“Thanks, Dean,” is all Sam says before he runs back to the couch to watch whatever cartoon happens to be on now.

As Dean finally starts to cut his own hair, he doesn’t even really feel the aching in his chest anymore.

[rozcdust]

I was gonna comment on the recent chapter of Mockingbird but it got so long I need more space lmao so here.

Okay few things. First of all, I soooo badly wanna keep a counter of how many times Shin gets roasted in a chapter, but out of respect I decided not to 🤣 it's like this fic is dedicated to loving and making fun of him (respectfully) so it's everywhere. Love that. That little bit with Izana and the Haitanis made me smile, because that's like the tame version of what actually happened. "Shin was a dumbass with a haircut she hated with a passion and she beat him, and one of his best friend, the fuck up."

And then Y/N's maternal instincts have been on an all time high since she met Shin's family and Tora's new friends that I hope she realizes she's also a good person that Tora will always need with him. She thinks she's this horrible, horrible person the same way Tora thinks he doesn't deserve to have anyone beside him. It hurts because they both deserve EVERYTHING and I hope being surrounded by these amazing new people in their life would finally make them realize it.

And ngl, I just want Shin to know about everything they went through (which Tora would most likely be the one to tell the story because we know Y/N could be a dumb nugget sometimes as well — I say this with lots of affection) and be absolutely feral if he ever catches the Hanemiya's father. He says "It's ON. SIGHT. 😤"

JAY NGL I LOVE LONGER ANALYSIS SO THIS MADE MY DAY ILY SO MUCHHHHHH-

i love clowning shin he is such a little loser bitch and that is very hot of him pathetic men hit so diff 😌💖

NO BUT FR Y/N JUST SEES A STUPID LITTLE CHILD AND GOES ‘oh god. that one. that one is mine’ JUST YOU WAIT until she adopts hanma bc i decided that boy needs some maternal love too 😌

and yes, thank you for pointing it out! both of them have so many trauma responses and neither sees themselves as worthy of love or support and they only had each other for the longest time (in the sense that kazutora only had y/n as the constant, while she had no one. she always saw herself as his parent, and considered putting her worries and issues on him cruel. this will be shown later but she has deadass been parenting him since she was 9) but i do plan to make them get out of that shell with everyone around them being so kind 🥰🥰

AND how’d you predict that 😭�� tora and/or baji will be the ones to tell shin and yeah he will go absolutely feral and even softer for y/n because he admires her, but not in the sense that he will baby her (tho he will buy her more plushies) and he would def fight the hanemiya father oN SIGHT like the good bf he is 😌

[taeyohonic]

the trophy wife (m)

summary: the proposal doesn’t go as planned (established relationship, idol au, fluff and angst) pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) warnings (containing spoilers): swearing, robbery, pandemic, vomit, description of injuries and blood (very abstract), mentions of depression, insomina and periods, a hella lot ugly crying info: when i tell you that this is a super-duper fluffy piece, i’m not lying! it was 99% sweetness, so i added a little... angst (but like... only 10%) related work: the stalker | baby, what’s wrong? | favoritism (m) | the trophy wife words: 5.7k

“would you still love me if i became your trophy wife?”

yoongi snorts into his iphone, your grimace too adorable to be taken seriously.

“how bad are these papers?”, he asks. jungkook next to him is stealing curious glances at his hyung’s screen. to hear your voice so distressed makes him worry. you’re the best thing that ever happened to his member – your well-being comes right after his need for homemade kimchi.

“how… can they not know which products contain dairy? how yoongs?”, you vent eyeing the ungraded test in front of you.

“i ate… so much yogurt. the whole class did. we tested so much dairy products… like… so much. we drank all of the banana milk… how can they get this wrong?”, you continue. unbeknown to you, the maknae is now furrowing his brows at your words. wait a minute…

“noona, did you steal my banana milk last week?”, jungkook questions and moves closer to yoongi. before you can hide you see his big eyes joining your boyfriend on the screen.

“wow, jungkookie – your undercut looks so good. damn!”, you say. it’s not a total deflection; he does look extremely handsome after his haircut.

“noona, i thought i sleepwalked”, he whines, not caring for your compliment… right now.

“taehyung even made a meme out of it”, he complaints and you have the audacity to coo at him. yoongi tries to hide his smile, but he can see his reflection grinning on the screen.

“it was oppa’s idea!”

and now his smile freezes as jungkook moves his accusing glare to him. you don’t usually call yoongi by this name. and he’d be all too happy to shut you up in your shared bedroom. but now he and the boys are in the outskirts of seoul to film the newest music video, far away from you and your treacherous mouth.

“hyung?”, jungkook asks with the voice of a cheated wife ready to sign the divorce papers.

“it’s for the kids, maknae”, your boyfriend defends himself to which jungkook only huffs in irritation.

“there was a time when i was the kid – what happened? am i not cute enough anymore? noona? am i not the most adorable?”

his deer eyes stare at you – big, brown and full. you can’t help but to take a screenshot of these two – your rapper visibly done with his member and jungkook in the middle of a banana milk breakdown. you’ll have to frame this picture.

“you’re the most adorable thing there is, jungkookie”, you reassure him. yoongi just snorts when he sees the faintest flush on his bandmate’s face.

“that’s enough praise for him, baby. save it for your students.” there is no humor in the smile you send him. after a beat of silence in which you burry all your frustration deep inside the pits of your stomach, you try to change the subject.

“how is nature?” they’ve been in the woods for weeks, completely closed off from all the city drama. you’ve never seen jimin so excited to drive – while namjoon’s sour face reflected how much the latest failed drivers test bothered him.

“jin-hyung nearly died in the water today. it was epic”, your friend instead of your boyfriend answers and you have to shift a giggle at yoongi’s eyeroll.

“be gone, maknae”

rudely blunt – just how you liked your partner. jungkook just winks at you in a silent goodbye and gets up. he’s nearly out of the picture before his upper body shoves against the rapper. his nose is way too close to the screen and you’d be worried about his eyes – if you didn’t know how often the singer spends his nights in front of his computer.

“noona, you’ll replace the milk, right?”

“jungkook”, yoongi growls in responds. the boy is not acknowledging his colleague, so you give in and nod.

“of course, kookie. it’s already waiting in the fridge for you to come back”, you tell him. as soon as these words leave your mouth, the maknae is satisfied and gone.

“you don’t have to baby him that much, ____”, yoongi says while moving the phone closer to his face. you can see the dark circles under his eyes better now.

“what’s keeping you up at night, yoongs?”, you ask instead of answering his complaint. the rapper smiles faintly at the screen.

“you, baby, always you” yu snort and let yourself lie down on the couch – the papers can wait another day, or a lifetime.

“i wish”, you say truthfully. you’d sell one of your kidneys to relax with the boys far away from the pandemic madness. after having yoongi to yourself for two weeks non-stop, you are way too spoiled. even though your legs are deeply grateful for this recovery time, you miss the constant calm radiating off of your boyfriend.

“i’ll be back soon, baby”, he reassures you and draws lines across the screen. your cheeks look colorless and it worries him just as much as his lack of sleep bothers you.

“make it sooner”, you mutter and close your eyes when you hear his chuckle in responds.

“have you had dinner yet?”, yoongi asks but you don’t want to open your eyes, not ready to face his criticism.

“nah, i’ll wait till sungho gets here.” you don’t need your eyesight to feel his disapproval.

“that’s not very socially distance of you, ____.” yeah, no baby anymore. still, you remain shut off.

“he’s just a friend. one friend. one work friend. one work friend that needs help with the new school cloud. the online grading program is a pain in the ass.”

“and why do you have to do that at six on a friday night in our home?”, yoongi notices the tiniest of smiles on your lips as he mentions your shared home. he, too, loves your little flat with a pandora of memories.

“because i am a loner and don’t have anything better planed for the weekend and my boyfriend is camping in the woods and oh – there is a global pandemic”, you snort and open your eyes to watch your boyfriend’s tensed expression.

“if you’re a loner – what am i then? a stone?”, yoongi asks sarcastically.

“maybe a boulder”, you shoot back with a soft smile that melts his jealousy away… nearly.

“just… don’t let him touch my stuff”, yoongi orders. he’d trade his own maknae to be the one at the other side of your door when he hears a distant knocking sound.

“that’ll be him, yoongs”, you say and move off the couch with as much dignity as one can muster after a whole work week and no motivation left in the bones.

“promise to call me back when you’re in bed?”, your boyfriend pleads, reluctant to let you go. with him going on world tours this phone conversation isn’t your first and it won’t be the last. still, his small request fills you with yearning.

“of course”, you promise, eyes still on him as you open the door without a second thought.

a fist connects with your skull while your eyes widen at the sight of two ski-masked men. the pain is instantly blinding your senses and you start to scream with tears clouding your vision. you fall to the floor before they push their way inside your home. one of them, muscle clad with wide shoulders kicks you in the stomach just to move you out of their way. the other, smaller in statue, crushes your phone with his shoe, the cracked screen frozen with your boyfriend starring at you in horror.

**

namjoon will never forget the bone chilling scream waking him this evening from his nap. he’s never heard yoongi’s voice filled to the brim with pain. not even registering his movements, he tumbles into the living room where is friend is still yelling your name, his face a mask of panic.

“hyung, what’s wrong?”, namjoon asks as footsteps behind him signal the arrival of his bandmates.

yoongi’s hands shake as his eyes stay fixed on the screen of his form. the leader moves first, not able to watch his friend losing himself. when joon steps behind yoongi’s figure to calm him down, a cold shower travels through his body. the screen shows you lying on the floor with red dripping from your mouth. your eyes are closed, but namjoon notices the uneven rise and fall of your chest – you’re breathing.

“jin, call the police”, the leader orders without turning around. his hands try to pry the phone out of yoongi’s fingers, but they are white with pressure and unforgiving. his lungs are still screaming and namjoon’s heart breaks at the scene.

“hyung, - just… calm down”, he says, not quite believing in his own words. he wouldn’t calm down either in yoongi’s position.

“what am i reporting?”, seokjin asks, close enough that the question answers itself as soon as he peaks over yoongi’s shoulder.

“i’d like to report a break-in – there is a person, hurt. the address is-“

yoongi can’t hear his oldest colleague, the voice drowned by his worry for you. at first, he doesn’t register namjoon’s chest pressing behind his back, but then his body shudders when the fellow rapper hugs him from behind.

“hyung, we – sh – it’s gonna be okay. it’ll be okay, she’s okay… we… you have to calm down, yoongi”, namjoon sooths his friend of ten years and rocks them both from side to side.

“taehyung, call the building manager – there should be security in the foyer”, seokjin commands the young man who watches the scene in front of him passively. as soon as he hears his name though, the singer moves to grab his iphone with shaky fingers.

“look, hyung, she’s awake”, joon points out and yoongi shakes his head to move these stupid tears out of his vision. indeed, your eyes are open as you try to even your breathing. it looks like you are crying as well and yoongi has never felt this kind of searing pain before. to see the love of his life in tears and burglars destroying your home while he is in the middle of fucking nowhere, makes him sick. when he sees you trying to get up, only to drop back onto the floor, his stomach turns. yoongi vomits onto his lap and namjoon has to hold his friend upright as he loses consciousness.

**

you’ve never been this glad for the heavy painkillers your boyfriend has tugged away in the bathroom due to his immense shoulder problems. the icepack pressed to your forehead cools for body down; still, you are shaking with adrenaline as you watch the security guard pace in front of you.

“yes, sir, yes – no, of course sir, negative sir”, he looks at your shaking form and grimaces before answering. “minor injuries”, the guard holds his phone further away when his caller answers a few decibels too loud.

“the paramedics are on their way”, he responds, not daring to look you directly in the eye. after another game of “yes and no”, the security ends his call.

“how are you, ma’am?”, the man in uniform asks, but remains standing a few feet away. when he first got here after receiving a hectic message from his boss, you were crying on the floor – alone. his colleague is already checking the floors, while another is combing through the surveillance footage. it’s been five minutes and you still look like a ghost.

his instructions were crystal clear – don’t touch the subject. but his heart clenches when he sees your trembling form trying to calm yourself down.

before you can answer him, two paramedics arrive through the door. they zero in on the blood drying across your forehead. their hands press gently against your skin and ask you questions you try to answer. soon, they move you to a standing position, with your head wound dressed and your vitals checked.

“we’ll take you to the hospital, ma’am”, the older woman explains. with a few steps you are at the door – there, right on the threshold where your nightmare began half an hour ago, stands sungho, chinese take-out and laptop in hand. your fellow teacher looks at you with widened eyes.

“_____ - what the hell?”, he curses and nearly drops his food when you smile at him – your teeth unbeknown to you still tinted red.

“are you her partner?”, the paramedic asks.

“just a friend”, he answers, not letting you out of his sight.

“we have to get her to the hospital – will you accompany us?”, the medic questions and sungho nods. your little crowd moves to the elevator and the security guard closes your door with a soft click. the police will be here soon, he thinks as he watches your beaten figure step onto the elevator.

**

“this cannot be the way to do this, ___”, sungho exclaims while you are staring at the iv-drip connected to your arm in distress. you hate needles.

the hospital’s v.i.p room is normally reserved for celebrities, but they made an exception for you, the girlfriend of min yoongi. sejin’s hunched form outside the room might have played a role in that. bangtan’s manager arrived half an hour ago, worried and disheveled. his posture calmed when the doctors reassured him, you’d be okay. now, he’s waiting for seven idols in various stages of panic to arrive.

“it’s the way this works – just… do as i say, okay?”, you huff. there is a part of you not willing to let the last hours crash into you; not without your partner here. so, you’ve spent the last sixty minutes showing him how to use your new school cloud – the easy way, not the right one.

“but the course still doesn’t show in my settings”, he whines, and you roll your eyes while pushing cold pad thai in your mouth. the rich flavor appeases your hungry stomach and you swallow the take-out down in one breathe. songho is a godsend for bringing the ordered food with him to the hospital. it’s a much-needed distraction from the horror of your cracked rib and light concussion.

“you have to set the course to ‘official’ – it’s still private”, you explain with another mouthful of oily noodles slurring your speech.

sungho’s brows furrow in concentration when you hear heavy footsteps in the hall. the boys are there – and they are not slowing down.

before sejin can even try to greet the idols, yoongi pushes through the door – all six of them only a breath behind.

the second you see him, the tears start without your consent. yoongi looks crazy – his eyes gleam with insanity – as he sucks in the hospital air through his mask.

you’re here. you’re alive. you’re safe. you’re here. he’s here. you are both here. his thoughts are running in circles – not ready to slow down, not ready to expand.

your boyfriend resembles a statue; just standing in front of the hospital bed. his face screams for help and it breaks you as the first cry leaves your throat. in a flash yoongi is moving to you, bumping into a shocked sungho. his finger brush against your wet cheeks like you’d break under his touch, while your body collapses.

“baby”, he whispers – the first word his members have heard since he regained consciousness.

“yoongs”, you answer and throw your arms around his neck. the smell of vomit and sweat makes your nose crunch up, but your boyfriend hugs it all away. his forearms rest on each side of your head – supporting his weight – as he lets you hold on to him, the boyfriend who was playing idol life in the woods instead of being at home with his girlfriend. even through his mask he can breathe in your unique smell, clouded by disinfectant.

“noona”, the youngest whimpers from the doorway. jungkook is silently crying, his mask discolored from the tears. every member looks at you with sorrow, the younger ones visibly not as professional at keeping their emotions together. namjoon looks like he’s aged a decade, but there is a small smile pressing his eyes together behind his mask. you try to reciprocate his smile, but yoongi’s head his pressing against your cheeks with vigor.

“why don’t we give them some space?”, sejin says to which your coworker nods instantly. he’s your friend for sure – but this is a level of intimacy he’s not willing to share with you.

the members need more convincing as hoseok tries to gently pull jungkook back. the maknae vehemently shakes his head, not ready to leave you and yoongi alone.

“we’ll wait right outside, kookie”, seokjin coax him out of the room. he’s still reluctant so go, but jimin’s small body pushes against his back. soon, namjoon closes the door, leaving you alone.

your tears won’t stop and you try to move closer to your boyfriend – you want to feel him all around you. without words yoongi understands your need and presses his body down on yours. there is a sharp pain when his stomach meets your fractured rib.

“ah”, you breathe, hurting. yoongi extracts himself from you in a flash; every fiber of his being furious at your injury.

“baby”, he calls out as his fingers ghost across your ribcage.

“it’ll… it’ll heal soon”, you say timidly.

“how could this happen, baby?”, he asks, still more interested in your upper body than your eyes.

“i-i i should-d have che-checked the door before, ah before answering”, you whimper, ready to face the blame.

with yoongi’s lifestyle comes a certain level of danger. you’ve been trained to be more cautious with everyday things like grocery shopping, inviting new friends over, answering the door without checking the cam.

“no, no, no, no – baby – no…”, he hushes you. “they should have never been able to pass the foyer, nor should they have been able to move to the penthouse level.”

“i-i was so scared”, you admit, linking your fingers with his and pressing them close to your still beating heart.

“i know, baby, me too”, yoongi soothes you and flexes his fingertips against your warm skin.

“i’ve never felt this worthless… you got hurt… right in front of me… and i … i couldn’t do anything.” his voice shakes with emotions and slowly his stare moves to your bruised face. the madness has nearly died in his eyes – but there is still so much pain hidden behind his brown iris.

“i- i could have lost you”, he whispers darkly, speaking a truth into reality he is not ready to face. your crying has stopped now that the both of you are calmer and connected.

“nah, never, remember?”, you say with some form of humor behind your words. “i’m your trophy wife. trophy wives don’t die. first, they’d kill their rich husband”, you remind your boyfriend of your conversation half a lifetime ago.

“it’d be an honor getting murdered by you, baby.” his mask is gone in a flash and then you feel the warmth of his lips against your temple. “just let me finish my third mixtape first.”

**

“don’t move, noona”, jungkook pleads as the warm sunlight irritates your skin. the fresh air is caressing your body while the youngest tries to finish his painting. trees surround the both of you, resting on a soft picnic blanket. it’s the first time since your release from the hospital that yoongi has left you out of his sight. granted, you’re still not totally alone with the strongest bangtan member watching over you like a hawk. but it’s definitely a much-needed break from yoongi’s fretting.

after nearly throwing a tantrum in front of his manager und some staff members who wanted to continue the filming of their new “in the soop” show, all the members knew they’d have to handle their rapper with care. leaving you alone wasn’t an option, so taehyung and seokjin packed your suitcase with essentials and after your doctors determined you ready to rest at home, all eight of you moved back to the chill vacation home in the middle of nowhere.

the last few days have been difficult – the filming staff getting more and more irritated because the members flocked around you 24/7. sejin had to come up with a different schedule allowing every bandmate time to reconnect with you as well as time to do their work. only yoongi was allowed to not leave your side most of the day – him working on the new music being the cover for his absence.

but after days of your boyfriend breathing down your neck, you’ve had enough. so, now yoongi is out on the water with seokjin fishing, while you’re spending time with jungkook.

“when did the police say they are coming?”, you ask the painter. his nose is crunched in concentration as he tries to outline your hipbone.

“they should be here before lunch – if your boyfriend even manages to catch some lunch”, he answers. you snort, messing up his grasp of your proportions.

“i do have faith in seokjin’s ability.” jungkook chuckles but keeps his eyes on your drawing. you look so delicate, so soft, he can’t believe they nearly lost you.

“i got robbed – i didn’t die, kookie”, you read his mind as his eyes darken.

“you got hurt”, he responds through clenched teeth.

“and they’ll pay for that”, you vow. the police had called this morning with the news of your robbers being captured during another crime. you’re still not sure how the officers can be so sure they’re the same criminals, but you’re eager to close this chapter with your statement later that day.

your painting session gets interrupted by namjoon. “the detectives are already here, ____.”

jungkook is by your side in a flash and together with the leader the both of them help you up. the rib is healing and harsh movements still hurt. yoongi had a near meltdown when you tried to ride him yesterday morning only to topple over in pain.

“yoongi and jin don’t have a signal out in the water – but they won’t be long”, namjoon explains and guides you indoors to meet the two officers.

“ms. ______, a pleasure to meet you”, the older policeman says in greeting. the younger one only shifts uncomfortable when he sees you flanked by two famous idols.

“thanks for coming all this way”, you respond and bow slowly, not to put extra pressure on your rib.

“is there somewhere we could talk – uhm- privately?”, the old man asks and you show them to one of the office rooms in the back. jungkook reluctantly leaves your side and joon only squeezes your hand in passing.

“just holler when you need us, _____”, he says before ordering the maknae to clean the art supplies.

with both officers sitting across from you, you nervously fiddle in your chair.

“the two intruders were caught this morning while pawning off their haul”, the younger policeman states and shows you a surveillance picture of two familiar men. their figures alone invoke iced fear in your heart, and you push the picture out of your sight. after a moment of silence, you collect yourself enough to absorb the information.

“what did they steal? i – i didn’t report anything missing, sir”, you question. sure, they trashed the painting yoongi brought for you during your last vacation in italy. and some cloths were thrown across the bedroom – but there was nothing stolen. you even signed your statement last week before leaving for the woods.

the officers look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“miss, you reported the item missing days ago. there is even a harsh voicemail left with your fiancé demanding a swift investigation.” you shake your head at their words – no, you didn’t.

“which item?”, you ask the men with narrowed eyes. you’d been off the pain meds for days now. but to call yoongi your fiancé? clearly, they’d switched up cases. the older officer opens his briefcase to retrieve a plastic bag with a… ring in it.

“in my days, my wife would have never forgotten about her engagement ring”, the man snickers as you watch the cold metal in front of you. it’s beautiful – it’s so yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if he himself crafted the asymmetric diamond set on roughened silver.

you’d dreamed of this moment for over a year – to lay eyes on the ring cementing your future in stone – or diamonds.

never would you have imagined it to be this tainted with two officers starring you down and the jewelry wrapped carelessly in plastic – a piece of evidence – while your boyfriend is fishing with kim seokjin.

“uhm”, you hesitate as emotions swirl around your brain. he was going to propose? to you?

“i had half a panic attack carrying it around with me the whole day – that thing could pay off all my debt, as well as my kid’s college fees”, the officer jokes, still not recognizing your surprise as genuine.

“uhm”, you try again to form words.

“we’ve all the papers here for you to sign; after that we’ll be ready to get out of your hair… for now”, the youngest states and moves different documents across the table. they lie next to yoongi’s engagement ring – your engagement ring.

“uhm”

giving up on forming a coherent sentence, you move along and sign your name on the different protocols. the paper from your insurance company makes your heart still – reading all the zeros on the price of your ring.

this… is by far the worst engagement set up you’ve ever heard of. your hands shack and your signature looks just terrible, but it’s enough for the two detectives. they still don’t seem to find your reaction odd as they collect their stuff and bid you fare well. like a zombie you get up and follow them to the front door, your ring clutched between your fingertips.

jungkook and jimin are waiting for you next to the foyer and jump at the sight of your pale face.

“everything alright?”, jimin asks and places a protective hand on your back. your slow nod does not convince them and their eyes sour at the policemen.

while the younger officer takes a step back, the oldest just chuckles at your idol friends.

“all is well, kids”, he sooths them. then both bow to you and you can only muster an awkward smile, the jewelry heavy in your hand.

“happy wedding planning, ms. ____”, he winks at you before they leave. the soft click of the closing door is the only sound in the hallway. you’re not even sure you’re breathing.

after a beat of silence you flinch at the sound of jimin’s high-pitched squeal.

“weeeedding”, he asks, way too loud and way too joyful. the mochi-cheeked idol excitedly jumps up and down, not really caring that you remain silent.

jungkook on the other hand looks … really upset. “you told the police but not me?”, he whispers betrayed.

you could cry as you feel the headache from your concussion clouding your mind. this is… too much.

“uhm”, you’ve decided to stick with your running-gag answer and push both idols out of your way.

your feet carry you out of the house, through the terrace door and before you know it, you’re running across the green gras. the smell of the lake invades your nose while you search for you boyfriend. yoongi’s boat is still on the water and you spot both men resting against each other with their rods, ready to catch your lunch. sunshine shimmers on the lake’s surface as you run onto the dock. your bare feet press against the wood while your hair rushes around you – the wind breezing through the unkempt strands.

**

“is… is that _____, yoongi?”, seokjin asks his fishing buddy who’s more focused watching the water for prey than his surroundings.

“huh?”, he hums, not really listening to his friend.

“i- i think your girlfriend wants to talk to you, yoongi”, the old singer says hesitantly as he sees you jumping up and down on the wooden dock. this can’t be good for your health.

swiftly, the rapper turns to the spot seokjin is pointing at. and there you stand – beautiful and barefoot, dressed in his t-shirt and some old leggings. your hair is a mess and the sun dances across your skin like the tiniest firework.

“MIN YOONGI”, you shout at the top of your lungs. your boyfriend flinches hearing your loud voice across the water.

“she sounds angry”, seokjin whispers.

“YOU FOOL”, you continue to yell and see seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“oh, i hope the crew gets this on tape”, he says with glee while yoongi really, truly tries to find a reason for your anger. he’s left you alone today, at your request. maybe you didn’t really want him to go? was it a test to see how much he wanted to stay with you? did he fail?

“I GOT YOUR RING!”, you shout and flash the evidence bag high in the air.

immediately, the rapper shoots up from his sitting position, rocking the boat dangerously form side to side.

“yah, yoongi, what the hell?”, seokjin swears but your boyfriend’s eyes rest on you, holding your engagement ring in a plastic bag. there is no air in his lungs – he’s been thinking about this moment for the last two years. he dreamed of your joyful tears, how soft your hands would feel while pushing the silver banner on your finger.

and now… he’s an ocean away from you holding on to the jewelry that got you hurt weeks ago.

“DO YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, MIN YOONGI?”, you scream and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when they see the smile on your lips; do you – do you find this funny?

without thinking, he takes a step forward.

You can only watch seokjin’s helpless grimace as yoongi brings the boat out of balance. both idols topple over and splash into the cold sea.

the icy water doesn’t bother the rapper as he pushes to the surface. the sun shines high up while he speeds to the dock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend this determent – his laps forceful and quick, leaving a still shocked seokjin behind.

your fingers shake as you watch him come closer and closer to you. in mere moments he’s close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing.

yoongi heaves himself out of the cold, his shoulder screaming in pain, and then he is dripping in front of you. your boyfriend looks like a wet dog, the black hair plastered to his forehead as he steps forward. you can smell the sea salt across his drenched clothes.

the engagement ring screams from the bag to be acknowledged and yoongi is just… staring at you deeply.

“i had it all planned”, he whispers wringing his sweater. the gush of water drops on the deck, but the idol only looks at you. “weeks ago.” his fingers wrap around your writs, a silent plea to give the ring to its rightful owner – for now.

“i wanted to take you to the restaurant where we had our first date”, he admits and opens the bag. your first date had been a disaster – you’re still vividly remembering the food poisoning.

“then all the restaurants closed down; we were both so stressed… and… life went on”, yoongi continues as the ring dances between his fingertips. it looks like art without the plastic cheapening its presence.

“i... wanted it to be perfect.” his whispered words fall to the floor as he kneels in front of you. warmth is coloring your face, seeing your idol submitting to you.

“baby… you know how much i love you… how much you inspire me every day to become the best version of myself”, yoongi’s voice cracks against his words and you can’t help the softest coo from leaving your lips.

“i promise i’ll make you the best trophy wife of south korea.”

you snort as you hear boyish snicker from behind you at yoongi’s joke.

“will you spend the rest of my life with this ring on your hand?”, he asks and without waiting for an answer, he pushes the silver band on your finger. it fits perfectly.

“am i not supposed to agree first?”, you respond as your eyes stay on your future husband.

“oh baby, you agreed the moment you ate my burned pasta.” yoongi gets up and pushes a lose strand of hair behind your ears.

“you agreed the moment you moved in with me, a struggling insomniac.” his hands cradle your face, framing the expression of love between his palms.

“you agreed the moment you let me change your tampon because you were too drunk to move.” he gives you airy butterfly kisses.

“you agreed the moment you didn’t kill me for stealing your favorite ice cream from the freezer.”

“that actually was a close call”, you chime in, only to hear his soft chuckle.

“you agreed all those nights staying with holly in our shared bed while i traveled across the globe.”

a kiss is planted on the fresh scar across your temple. “you agreed all these moments where my depression was too much, where i was trapped in my own misery.”

a line of kisses travels to your mouth. mere millimeters from your lips he stills. “you do, right?”

under all the layers of love, confidence and familiarity, there is still a shy boy unsure of his worth. your smile is infused with giddiness as you close the gap, pressing your lips together in the softest kiss.

“i do”, you whisper in his mouth, only to meet his tongue with your own in a joyful dance. the boys around you are cheering, while the soft waves of the lake clash against the dock. you’re in pure bliss, kissing your wet fiancé fiercely.

and then you hear a loud thud, a wet slash on the wood. surprised, you both jump away a step – only to see a heaving seokjin lying flat on the deck, chest rising at a fast pace.

“i near- i nearly died for th-this engagement, ____. if – if i’m am not the be-best man, i’ll… will cast a spell on all- all yo-ur children.”

____

ah, this fic is crazy and totally not what i imagined it to become. i hope you enjoyed the read! there is only one chapter left (the stalker) – who’s excited for it? i hope you are doing well! to you, your family and/or loved ones i wish only the most festive time this week! love, dana

[acklesterritory]

That Kind of Love Never Dies_Chapter 1

Hey guys, Now that more voted to split my fictions in 2 parts, I'm back with the first part. I hope you like it. Don't forget to leave me feedbacks. I'll always appreciate them. Love you all.

This is for writing event @tvdspngirl314

My quote is "That kind of love never dies"

Dean x Reader series (just 2 parts)

This chapter words: ~5k

Series warning:

Angst, fluf, smut, angry Dean, hurt Reader, hurt Dean, there's some more but I hate spoilers so I insist on "Angst & Hurt"

It all started with a stupid argument at home. What was it? Three months ago? Sam couldn't remember the exact date but after years, it was the first time this awkward coldness between Dean and Y/n had started to build. He could remember the first time he and his brother came across Y/n like it was yesterday, they were hunting a very nasty creature who used to kidnap young and lonely women at night, then got them wrapped in ropes and ties on a bed in a warehouse to rape, torture and feed on their blood until the victim either died or accepted to turn into one of his kind.

Sam could remember the helplessness in people's eyes too. The pain of the victims' families, the frustration and anger on cops' faces when no one could find the criminal yet, even after the sixth missing girl.

"Sammy, he just kidnapped another girl. And I think I know where he's gonna take her. Let's hunt this son of a bitch."

When Dean was saying that, Sam never expected him to fall in love with the woman they would save that night. Well, unfortunately they weren't fast enough to prevent any harm to the girl. When they arrived and Dean killed the nasty creature, Y/n was almost dead. The monster had already raped her, tortured her … and when he felt the hunters enter the place, he drank almost all of her blood, to gain more energy to fight. So as always, Dean was up to blaming himself. Of course only in his own eyes, not anyone else's.

"Call Cas to come home. Tell him it's an emergency."

Dean told his brother when he finally could get Y/n out of those ropes. And Sam knew he was right. At that point, no one could save Y/n unless God or his angels. Maybe she was not so lucky coming across a nasty supernatural creature like that but she was lucky enough that Cas arrived just on time and healed her. However, angels can only heal physical wounds. But Y/n was hurt much more than that. She couldn't just move on from the things that the bastard had put her through. Even after Cas tricked her brain to forget some certain things, she still had bad nightmares and had this dark shade of hopelessness in her eyes. Soon, she started to eat and talk less and less. And Dean just couldn't let her go. He really wanted to fix all of that for her but she kept shutting him out… until the depression hit her. It was so bad that Cas felt the need to tell them to prepare themselves for her death. Because after all those days and unlike everything else in their lives, The Winchesters were already used to her presence around them; like the way a lonely person can get used to a wounded cat more and faster than anyone else.

"I'm not gonna hunt until I'm sure she can live her normal life." When Dean stated that, Sam really thought he was joking. But after a few days he started to believe it. Dean truly would do anything to keep her alive. From cooking vegetables to laughing at his own dad jokes in front of Y/n to make her smile. That was when Sam started to feel that they can be more than a random hunter/rescued victim relationship! It felt like his brother had finally found his motivation in life: "Saving Y/n."

Gradually Y/n started to respond to this special attention from Dean with trust and smiles. Soon they became a power couple that could motivate each other so easily that sometimes Charlie would call them out. And honestly Sam had no problem with it. In fact Y/n had become his other sister.

"My God, Dean! You're burning up!" It was two day after a werewolf hunt in which Dean had got hurt. At first it was just some scratches on his arms and chest. Yet as the time passed, more symptoms started to appear: headache, pain, fever, cold sweat, even nose bleeding and before they could figure it out, Dean fell unconscious. Apparently the claws of the werewolf were poisonous. However Sam wasn't sure. The only thing he got no doubts about was the fact that it was already too late. Dean couldn't make it to the hospital. So either Sam had to do anything possible to save him or Cas should've picked up his God damn phone.

"No. no, no, no, no. Dean … Dean!!!"

That was when Sam got to hear Y/n's helpless cry and see her true feelings. She was already in love with his brother.

Luckily, unlike typical love stories; no one died that night. Sam's antidote worked. And Dean opened his eyes an hour later.

"Sammy … Y/n?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Y/n grabbed his face and put her thirsty lips on her beloved hunter's, letting the tears stream down on her face… and then his.

"Never do that again." She begged, breaking the kiss, her trembling hands holding Dean's face so she could look into his eyes.

Sam couldn't stop his smile remembering how cute they were. Y/n literally had Dean wrapped around her little finger, to the point he accepted to teach her how to hunt and soon she was part of their team too. Until … a few months ago. After two years of them being constantly close to each other, Sam could tell something was off when Dean started to go out without eating breakfast with Y/n. Of course she got suspicious after the third time and that was when their endless arguments started.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Because nothing is wrong, Y/n."

Actually there was. Something was VERY wrong. Anyone could tell that just by the change in Dean's eyes whenever he wanted to look at Y/n. Day by day he was getting more quiet and cold. Now they didn't even eat pie together or watch movies late at night. And Sam couldn't ignore his brother being grumpy or drunk on hunts, not anymore.

"Ok man, I've had enough. You either tell me what's wrong with you or next time I won't make any excuses so you can leave Y/n out of our hunt plans. I'm serious, Dean, I'll tell her the truth." He finally said, when they were alone in the impala, on their way to do their next hunt.

"She wants more."

"More?"

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like she sees more in me. She thinks we can have a different life. There's no need for any saying, I can see it in her eyes whenever we accidentally come across some family at a diner that try to feed their kids or people's wedding photos whenever we go to talk with some witnesses or whoever during the research! Sometimes she even looks up wedding dresses or kid stuff on the net!" Dean blew his anger out of his nostrils and sighed, shaking his head.

"Wow." Sam couldn't find the proper word to say but he couldn't hide his surprised face either.

"What?" Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"I mean …" Sam chuckled. "… are you telling me you're actually angry with her for imagining the things you always dream about?!"

"Sam …"

"No, really. I'm just curious. What's wrong with you, man?" Sam asked genuinely, waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong with me?! You think something is wrong with me just because I'm the rational one in this relationship; who's actually able to see the difference between a dream and the reality?"

Yeah, anyone could take that earnest speech, but not Sam. He'd seen and knew enough about his brother.

"What's the reality? Aren't you and Y/N living that dream life already?"

"What?! No. No … that's not the same." Dean shook his head.

"Really? How is it not? It's been two years, Dean. You two are constantly with and/or around each other. Always worried when the other one is in trouble and still looking at one another like there is nothing in the world that can make you happy as much as this relationship. So … excuse me if I won't buy your pretty speech; man ." Sam said, Rolling his eyes.

"Ok, let's say you're right but ... is it gonna be like that forever? With all the supernatural crap that we have to take care of … and the constant danger and chaos in this hunter life we have… I …"

"You what?" Sam asked when Dean didn't finish his sentence. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at this unknown point in the depth of the road. Finally he blew out his despair.

"I just can't let her fall for the things I know I can't provide for her. It's not fair, Sammy. It's not fair to lock her up in this dark life with me just because she loves me … especially while I know there is a whole bright future out there waiting for her."

"Here we go, the old Dean's self-doubt" Sam thought to himself as he took a deep breath before finding the best words to wake his brother up from this nightmare

"Yeah, I know but I don't think it's your call. If Y/n wants to go to hell with you instead of living in heaven with someone else, it's her choice. Not your responsibility. Right?"

Dean shook his head while his lips curved up a little to fake a smile but he never answered or said anything about that conversation ever again. He kept his silence for like three weeks … until someone new showed up: "Gary Smith". A tall man with the most stylish haircut and the most perfect teeth and smile.

They saw him for the first time at their hangout bar, as the new bartender who almost jumped in Y/n's way as soon as they entered the bar.

"Oh my God, bunny! Is this really you?" He said, pulling her in his embrace. Like she was the long time missing piece of his beloved puzzle!

"Bonny? You're wrong. Her name is Y/n." Dean said, pretty annoyed by the way Gary tightened his arms around Y/n's little shoulders, making him chuckle.

"No, uh … it's just a nickname." Y/n said as soon as the guy let her go.

"Yeah, actually the most fitting nickname that I could think of. I mean … you have to agree. She got the most cute little ears in the world." The guy explained, chuckling and pulling on her little star earring. Well, if Sam wanted to be honest, he had to agree with him. He never paid any attention to it before but now that Gary mentioned it, he could tell Y/n's ears were truly small.

"I see … So … I guess this means you were close friends?" Dean said, already hating the way Y/n e's blushed with hearing her old nickname.

"Uh … well, no. Actually more than that." The guy grinned, ruffling his own hair while he was awkwardly laughing and looking at Y/n. Just like a proud embarrassed teen!

"We used to date." Y/n said.

*oh* Sam tried his best not to let that stupid grin sit on his lips but Dean's frown and his sudden heavy silence didn't let him do so.

"Yeah. We are kinda each other's first. Like … you know? prom date." The man added, giving Y/n a wink while Dean's gaze was still locked on his large arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah. It's been years, Gary."

"I know. But believe me, bunny. you still look the same." He said, bending to put a kiss on her right cheek.

Dean would kill him. Sam just knew that. Because his brother's eyes were already burning with jealousy.

"By the way, don't you wanna tell me who these gentlemen are ?" The guy asked Y/n, giving her his softest smile.

"Of course. This is Sam and this is Dean. My colleagues who are my friends now. I live in their place."

After they met, everything got even more complicated. Y/n, the girl who was still trying to get old-happy-days Dean back suddenly stopped whatever she used to do. No more complains, no waiting at nights to see Dean before going to bed, no more effort to get involved in hunts, no nothing. And despite what Dean had claimed before, it was making Dean even more frustrated. Day to day he and Y/n were getting colder towards each other and there was nothing he could do to fix it. That was what made him even more furious. Sam already knew all of that and he still had to live with both of those grumpy faces. So last night when they began to fight, he could see this was coming: Y/n left the bunker after Dean let some hurtful things out of his mouth, just because he didn't know how to deal with all the heartache anymore. He now was convinced that Y/n didn't love him anymore. Yet the next day after drinking whatever strong drink they had, he begged Sam to come with him. Apparently Jodie texted Dean about Y/n being in her place for that night. Just to make sure that her crazy step son won't sell his soul over a tracking spell! So Dean almost begged his brother to be there with him, cause Dean believed that as much as Y/n didn't care about him, she still respected Sam and cared about him. Like a little sister and her elder brother.

So here they were, In Jodie's living room, in front of her and Y/n.

"Considering your sleepy eyes, I think we caught you at bed time, huh?" Sam asked, checking Y/n's obvious eye bags.

"Who says that? I'm totally good, Sam."

She said with a small smile, looking much more in control and stronger than before. So Sam knew it was a lie. Y/n Just had made her peace with what had happened last night. The realization۹ kicked Dean in the gut. Y/n always used to be stronger and bolder when she got hurt.

"I'm gonna make some coffee for us. Why don't you guys take a seat till I come back?"

Jodie interrupted, to ease the heavy and sharp silence that suddenly had fallen over all of them.

Y/n gave her a smile.

"Of course."

It was so fake. Her smile didn't even curl her lips completely. She was still badly hurting.

Sam swore in his head when he looked over his brother who sank silently into the nearest seat at the end of the table like a broken shell that he was too . One of Dean's hands was in the pocket of his jacket, the other formed a fist on the table. Sam was sure Dean knew it too. He knew everything was almost past saving. "Almost". Sam tried to stick to their small chance.

"So …" He cleared his voice before he put some (semi fake) hope into his words."You're … you're gonna come back home today or did Alex and Claire made you promise them otherwise?" He laughed and tried to make it funny but the truth was he asked this for Dean's sake, knowing he already was struggling to find the words … to let Y/n know how much he wanted her back … to ask her to come back.

"To be honest … I don't think I can live in the bunker anymore." Y/n said and as Dean's head snapped up to look at her in horror, she raised her hand to stop his (likely) protests.

"I applied for a job 3 weeks ago and to my surprise they called me this morning to tell me I'd actually got it."

*What?*

No one had to ask it. The question was already hung in the air. She snored mockingly in her nose. "Perfect timing, right?"

She moved her gaze from her interlocked fingers on the table to Dean's eyes.

He didn't answer, he didn't move but he got tense. Still staring back at Y/n.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked, once again saving Dean from asking the question he was itching to ask with some other words that for sure couldn't be nice.

"I wanted to but I didn't think I could actually get it and even if I did, I never figured out how to tell you. Besides, I never considered the "move out" option before..." She looked at Sam for a second before she turned her gaze on Dean. "... But I actually appreciate that you bring it up. I think now I can take the advice. I'm gonna move on."

Sam's heart dropped in his stomach when he heard those words. Because he knew what this meant. It felt something like having to watch Dean get stabbed in the heart.

"Is this … because of that Bartender?" Dean asked, staring deadly at Y/n with his bloodshot eyes. He was already chewing on his bottom lip. And Sam knew a heavy storm was on its way to hit them.

"I don't want to answer that question."

*shit*

"Why? Because you can't just simply say no?" Dean scolded and Sam could see how it pushed on Y/n boundaries.

"No. Because it's not your fucking business and it's not Gary's business either. But at least he knows his limits."

*well, fuck*

"By "limits" you mean when he drools on you just because for God knows whatever the reason, you started to wear leather jackets when we go there?"

"WHAT?!"

*Oh, fuck* Sam thought to himself, watching Y/n rise from her seat.

"You think … you really think that I …" she laughed nervously and Sam could tell she would punch Dean in the face if she wasn't a sweet, super nice person.

"How you can even …"

"I can even what, Y/n? Are we now going to pretend like I'm a blind man who can't see how you got attracted to your ex again? Did you really think I couldn't see how your hands were shaking when his filthy face lighted up by seeing you for the first time after all these years?"

Sam wanted to interrupt him or at least leave the room but everything was happening so fast.

"So what? Why and since when you care about my private life?"

"Since you stopped drinking bunker's beers just because you rather drink those crappy poisonous cocktails he makes at the bar!"

Dean was on his feet now as well. And despite his will, Sam couldn't stop his smile. He never saw his brother this jealous before. It was fun.

"Poisonous? … You … of all people, you are the one who says this? cause as much as I know, you're the one who puts dormitives in my guest's food so the poor guy gets tired and can't spend his time with me!"

"Yeah, because your poor guy is not welcomed in MY PLACE!" Dean yelled, punching the table with so much power that made everyone almost jump out of their skins.

"Dean!" Finally Sam interrupted but as soon as he stood up, someone rang the doorbell and Sam could hear Jodie welcoming someone inside.

"Guys … I know it's not my place to interfere but you two really need to sort things out somewhere private … of course that's when both of you can be much calmer than this."

"No, we have nothing to say or to talk about, anymore. Your brother was clear enough when he said he wants me to move out, so I'll move out. And that's it."

Y/n declared, looking at Sam to resist any eye contact with Dean, probably to make him even more crazy.

"And that's it? You wanna ignore that part where you were too eager and ready to accept that suggestion and leave the bunker instantly like your pants were on fire?!"

Dean retorted while Y/n was shaking her head like she couldn't believe him.

"Whose pants are on fire?" Jodie interrupted as soon as she re-entered the room with the coffees she'd made, this time a man was with her. Y/n's guy. The famous bartender.

*Oh, No!*

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a second so the guy couldn't read his face.

"Obviously not mine." Dean hissed through his teeth, looking first at the guy and then at Y/n with such a disappointment and rage that no one could ignore.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The guy asked, choosing the worst spot to stand on: right next to Y/n.

"My typical life I guess. Nothing's new." She mumbled in reply to him but her eyes were still on Dean.

"No, nothing is wrong with your life, Y/n. It's about your choices. That's what's wrong with you. As always." Dean said bitterly. As sharp as a knife, as cold as ice. Sam could see how it drained color from Y/n's face.

"You better watch your mouth, buddy." The Gary guy warned Dean and Sam could tell that if it wasn't for the sudden thud sound that stole everyone's attention, Dean would throw a fight right there. But …

"Y/n!" Jodie almost screamed. Y/n was laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"Oh, God." Sam said as Jodie rushed to her.

"Y/n? … Y/n can you hear me?"

As she sat next to her, Gary's fingers already were on Y/n's carotid pulse point. So Sam couldn't stop himself from looking up at his brother, who was still standing where he was. In shock.

"Oh, shit!" Gary's worried voice made Sam check Y/n's pale face again but Jodie was the one to dare ask the question which was on everyone's minds.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Her pulse ... too faint." He said before turning to Dean: "Is she bleeding?"

"Bleeding?" Dean blinked and mumbled in confusion.

If it was up to Sam, he'd ask *What bleeding?* & *Why are you asking this from my brother?*

"Oh my. You still don't know. Do you?" Gary sneered.

"Know what? What's happening?" Jodie was freaking out now and Sam actually felt the same. He didn't like the way this stranger pretended like he knew her better than them. However what happened next was much more unexpected. And … rude!

To everyone's surprise, the guy reached out to Y/n's jeans and drew his hand between her legs but before anyone could react, he spread her legs open so it could be possible for everyone to see that big red stain there. Then he raised his hand. It was all wet and red in blood!

"She's having a miscarriage." He revealed.

Sam's gaze instantly caught Dean's ... Burning. Dean was burning inside with his heavy silence.

"Don't you worry. It's not mine." Gary added more fuel to that hell with such a mocking tone, staring right back at Dean's eyes.

Now Sam could feel it. The storm was there: rising in his brother's roar!

Before Sam could've moved any muscles, Gary was already pinned to the wall, Dean's hands on his now-ripped-out collar.

"Dean, no!" Sam jumped in, trying to catch his brother's arm before his fist make any contact with the guy's nose but all he could do was changing the direction of the punch which landed on Gary's shoulder, making a painful cracking sound.

"I said no … Dean, stop it." Sam had to literally cage Dean in his arms so the furious man couldn't tear Gary apart.

"Get off me, Sam. This son of a bitch has to learn his place."

"Enough!" As Dean just broke himself free, Jodie's scream stopped everyone in their tracks.

"It's enough!" Jodie warned all three men, pointing at them one by one.

"You want to fight? Not here. Not in my house!"

"But ..."

As soon as Dean opened his mouth to protest, Jodie cut him:

"And you … you should know Y/n is pregnant with your twins. So … you'll be a responsible man who will try his best to save them or you can get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"What?" Sam was too shocked to suppress his reaction while Dean couldn't even find any words to say. His confused look darted between Jodie's face and Y/n's figure while his parted lips kept moving without making any noise, just like a dying fish on the shore!

"I promised her not to tell anyone but it was a promise under normal conditions, not this." Jodie sighed, struggling to keep her emotions under control. Sam saw the worry in her frown. Like a real mother, worried for her children. However it was nothing in comparison to his brother's blank eyes and pale face.

"Dean, It's ok. We just need to take her to hospital. … it's ok, man. I promise."

He had to grab Dean by his jacket, as his brother was struggling to process all of these in his head.

"Come on, man. We got no time. Do I need to do this alone or you'll …"

"Get the car, Sammy."

It was just a simple sentence. Yet it had enough power to make Sam's heart sank. Since Dean had put the car keys in his hand saying that, Sam couldn't stop thinking about that tone. Dean never had called Baby a "car" In years. And Sam had never heard that crack in his voice since their Dad's death.

"You ok?" He finally let himself ask, two hours after they arrived at the hospital.

"I want to be." Dean closed his eyes and put his head against the cold wall, letting the dim light to darken the shadows under his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be good. She's strong, Dean. You know that."

He smiled and Sam looked away not to watch him. He knew that smile. Dean used to give him that, whenever everything was gone so wrong that Dean couldn't promise him anything good. Like when both of them were still kids. Hungry, cold and all alone in a rusty motel room where John had left them on their own for a one day long hunt but then a heavy snow had crashed the roads and kept them apart for half a week. So Dean had to wash the dishes and do the laundry in the motel to rent the room for another day and provide some snacks so they wouldn't starve to death. But after three days, the hotel managers didn't want them to be around. And Sam could vividly remember that smile on his brother's face when he asked: *Where should we go then?*

"You were always such a father material. You know?"

Sam admitted with a broken smile on his face.

"You were always responsible, kind and caring with me as a kid. And I can't imagine anyone who deserves to be a father more than you."

Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes without looking at him: "But I don't want ... I really can't, Sammy."

All, it certainly wasn't the response Sam had expected. He used to believe that Dean would never turn down any chance to start a family with Y/n. Especially after everything in the world was back to normal.

"Are you kidding me? You always wanted this."

"No …" Dean finally turned his gaze to meet his brother's confused eyes. "No, Sammy. Not like this. I don't want to raise another kid without his mom. I'm not that strong anymore."

Dang. Once again Sam's heart dropped in his stomach. Dean was really helpless.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean was on his feet as Sam just realized the doctor's presence.

"It's me."

Sam prayed for any good news as doctor took a glance of Dean and fixed his glasses on his face …

"To be continued …"

READ CHAPTER 2 HERE

tag list:

@jay-and-dean @adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278

The next and also ultimate chapter will post on Sunday, April 25. Thanks for reading.

Feedback are always appreciated.

[adhdeancas]

Hm, mommy issues anybody? Daddy issues anybody? Yeah. Let’s unpack that a little. Not a lot.

Dean runs his hand up the back of his head, feeling the soft spikes of his haircut. It was a stupid tic he’d picked up in his teens, it usually made girls melt. The sensitive guy, the nervous guy, the guy who’s eager to please. It made him look vulnerable. Girls liked that. He started catching himself on it and stopping when he got into his twenties. 

His phone buzzes. He looks at it quickly, ignoring the stupid clench in his heart that comes with the action.

One New System Update Available: Install Now?

He sighs and turns it off.

---

Long hours in the car are usually… uneventful. Full of all kinds of empty time that frankly? Dean likes. It’s a nice break from the constant weird noises of sketchy motel rooms with paper-thin walls, from the creaking pipes in the bunker. Mostly, it’s a break from thinking about whatever batshit depressing problems they have up their ass that week. 

But this time? The open road is endless, like a really shitty, really boring acid trip. A fucking infinity of his ankle cramping up on the side roads. And Sam always gives him the stink eye when he reaches for his phone, so he can’t even do that. He does make pit stops more often than usual, so he doesn’t crawl out of his own skin, and his glares keep Sam from mentioning it. Maybe he just thinks he’s got the shits. He’ll let him keep thinking that.

At least on the pot he can check his phone.

But time and time again, he lays down a loud paper cover that doesn’t do much to cover up the griminess of the seat and sits down, and unlocks his phone. He waits until he’s fully in the stall to do it, even though he could end the suspense the second he puts Baby in park. Maybe he knows what the answer is gonna be.

What the answer always is.

No New Messages. 

He sighs. Story of his life.

---

Sam snatches his phone next time it buzzes in the cup holder before Dean can even reach for it. Dean opens his mouth to gripe, but his stomach ties itself in a knot anyway. He doesn’t know whether he wants it to be… or whether he’s dreading it. 

“Who is it?” he tries to say it casually. It sounds forced to him, but Sam doesn’t notice. 

“Cas,” he’s got this dopey little smile on his face, and Dean feels his face heat up. For no goddamn reason, it’s not like-

“Why’re you- what’s up? Anything wrong?” Dean knows Sam would’ve said right away if something was wrong, but he wants his brother to spit it out already, and Sam looks like the cat that got the cream. That means he’s about to try to be funny. 

“Nah, nah.” Sam grins again, glancing away from the phone finally. 

“Well then put it down, Nosy, what the fuck,” He’s already seen the text, whatever it is, so it’s no use, but Dean bristles anyway. It’s not like Cas would’ve sent him anything actually embarrassing, right? What was the last thing they were talking about… the best roadside pancakes? Yeah, so, it couldn’t be anything weird. Well, it’s Cas, so it could always be something weird. But nothing incriminating. Hell, Sam’s accidentally opened a nude a girl sent him one time so it’s not like it could be worse than that. Not like Cas is sending him nudes. Dean cracks a grin at the thought of what a thirst trap would look like for Cas. Probably him in a, like, half unbuttoned button up laid out in a library chair. Maybe a book in hand. An angel blade. The weapon! Not-

“He just- he just wanted to update you on where he is in Gilligan’s Island.” There’s a laugh in Sam’s voice, and Dean wants to know why. Probably just the way Cas described it, he always finds this certain way of saying things that’s just… kinda endearing and kinda confusing.

“He’s watching without me? Son of a bitch!” 

Sam smirks. “Yeah, he and Jack. Jack finished Pirates of the Carribean and he wanted more island stuff.”

Dean shakes his head. “Motherfuckers…”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You want me to text him back for you?”

Dean rolls his shoulders out. “It’s fine, I’ll just do it at the next stop.”

They pull into the next gas station and Dean doesn’t look at his phone again until he’s hidden. 

---

Because Sam is a nosy bitch, he asks. Well that, and he’s really tired of the car ride taking twice as long with all the stops they’re making. Dean’s usually a ‘pee in a bottle and don’t pitch a fit’ kind of driver, himself included (Sam’s scarred for life at this point), but now? It’s like they’re traveling with a six year old kid, stopping every hour.

The third stop in Oklahoma alone, he stops Dean. “Okay, do we need to go to the hospital?”

Dean quirks his eyebrows and frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He’s got a clue what they’re talking about.

Sam bitches with his whole face. “We’ve been stopping every four fucking feet for days now, so you’re either dying and we need to go to the ER and get an endoscopy, or-

“An endoscope who?”

Sam doesn’t take the bait. Shocker. “Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tries to bypass him. Sam is smarter than he looks. They grab his phone. “Sammy!” This time the word’s annoyed, a warning. Like he used to say right before he really viciously wrestled Sam to the ground and pried the last cookie out of his delicate little hands when they were kids.

Unfortunately, Sam has a height and reach advantage. He holds the phone up and Dean doesn’t have a chance unless- Dean punches him in the stomach. Sam makes a winded noise but manages to keep his arm raised. He glares harder. “You’re gonna talk to me, or you’re not getting this back.”

God, they’re a bitch. “Fine, fuck you. I’ll shit the old fashioned way.” Dean saunters off to the horrifically artificial lights of the gas station, a middle finger waving back just for his little bro. 

 When he gets back, Sam’s looking much more compassionate. It’s worse. “Dean, why are you so obsessed with your phone? What’re you waiting on?”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets in his car, leaving Sam to follow him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, dude, I’m just making sure I don’t miss any texts from Mom,” He jams the key into the ignition and steps on the gas. Sam’s door snaps the rest of the way shut with the sudden force and they yelp. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen.”

“You’re the dramatic one right now, Dean.” Sam raises his eyebrows, condescension dripping off his expression. “Did she say she’d text soon?”

“Nope.” Dean shrugs. “Just making sure. It’s kinda my fault she died and then came back to life in a world she didn’t understand; least I can do is pick up the damn phone.”

Sam sighs. “Dean, she’s not gonna freak out if you don’t answer right away. Unclench, man.”

“Unclench?” Dean’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Fuck off, Sam, I’m fine!”

There’s a tense silence. Dean finally starts to think he’s given up this stupid argument, but then Sam shifts in his seat. “She’s not Dad, Dean. She’s gonna come back.”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. “Never said she was. And Dad always came back.”

“Dean-”

“Sam, just drop it, please-”

“I know how hard it is-” 

Dean’s harsh laugh cuts the car into silence again. Sam’s got that kicked puppy look on his face, Dean knows it, and he forces his shoulder to relax before talking. “Look, Sammy, I appreciate it and all but- you have no fucking clue what it’s like for your parent to just fucking… ignore you.”

“I grew up with Dad too, Dean. Hell, he lied to me until I was like 6, he ran out on both of us all the time; I never knew where he was, he never told me where he was going-”

“Yeah, well, he always picked up the phone for you, didn’t he?” Dean lets out a harsh breath and changes lanes just for something to do with his hands. 

“He’d stay out for weeks no matter how much I called-”

“Yeah, but he answered. He answered when you called, when you texted, to tell you when he’d be home or to tell you to fuck off and stop calling, but he’d answer.” Dean wipes at his eyebrow. He doesn’t care about this shit. He doesn’t fucking care. “Dad called me when he wanted to talk to me,” then Dean corrects himself “-when he wanted to tell me something. So excuse me… if I get a little antsy. But you- you don’t get it at all.” Dad and Mom, they both left him. Both ditched him as soon as they could and never looked back. Not until they needed him to hunt something. And he got it, he did. But just because he understood didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed. And just because he was pissed didn’t mean he didn’t want them to call. Expect them or hope them to text, just to check in. Something more than coordinates and a link to a news article. 

He wants someone to care about him. And fuck if that isn’t the saddest thing anybody’s ever heard. 

“Dean…” 

It’s been a full five minutes, and Dean’s been waiting for Sam to bring it back up again, to not let this stupid thing go. “What?” he says sullenly.

Sam holds the phone up so Dean can see the screen without taking his eyes totally off the road. It’s a video, and he sees Cas awkwardly holding the camera away from him, two heads of blonde hair behind him. Sam taps the play arrow. 

“Hello, Dean.” Jack waves behind him with his usual energy, and Cas looks incredibly fond. “I’m here with Jack and your mother-”

“Mary,” Mary corrects. She crosses her arms uncomfortably, but her expression is soft. 

“Mary.” Cas repeats. “I decided to invite her to come by before you and Sam got back- that is, if you’re still coming back today. Sam has been telling me that you’re not going as fast as usual, and while I do appreciate you finally gaining some self-preservation-”

Dean rolls his eyes at the smiling jab. 

“- I do hope you’ll get back tonight. Mary has requested we order pizza and chicken wings, and I got the kind you like- the Mango Habenero, but-”

“No promises they’ll be here tomorrow!” Mary calls out jokingly. Sam’s grinning behind the phone now. 

“Hurry home! I miss you!” Jack adds sincerely.

The camera turns back toward Cas fully for a moment, and he holds it way too close to his face. “Yes. I- We- just stay safe. And stop worrying. And iHop is superior to Waffle House.”

There’s a rustling noise and then the video cuts off. Sam is grinning smugly from the passenger seat. Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’ve been updating Cas about me?”

Sam shrugs. “We snapchat.”

“You what?”

“I send him pictures of you when you’re looking really constipated.” Sam clarifies unhelpfully. “Cas and I like to think up reasons for why you’re mad this time- avocado toast, streaks on the windshield when you try to wipe it at the gas station, that one piece of hair that does the weird-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Dean snaps. “Wait, what about my hair?”

Sam laughs. “Just drive, Dean. For the wings.”

Dean frowns and pushes Baby faster. Well… now he doesn’t have to stop so much.

He makes Sam pee in a bottle next time he has to go.

[mariamermaid]

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Young Sirius Black x fem Potter!Reader

Summary:  When puberty suddenly hits you and your brother´s best friend realizes his interest in you

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: drinking underaged, mentions of smoking, swearing

A/N: Inspired by Anne-Marie´s song, but not really following the lyrics

 It happened from your summer break to your fifth year in Hogwarts, for your brother James it was his sixth year.

It was, what you would call the perfect summer; You had spent it with your friend Sarah in Spain, her family owned a stunning little cottage near Barcelona. The golden beach and the hot sun brought you back with a stunning tan and even a few freckles decorated your face now. Due to many trips to the mountains and the regular exercise of swimming, playing beachball and evenings dancing on the streets beneath moonlight, you had toned up and lost some body fat. A late, maybe even a drunk decision to get a new haircut and the obsessive amount of the new clothes, that completely reinvented your sense of fashion.

The time abroad away from your family felt like a gasp of freedom to you. You loved your parents and even your brother James, if he wasn´t annoying you, dearly, but that summer you felt grown-up and independent. You found new assets, hobbies, interests and confidence to further follow them. You hadn´t planned it, but your glow up transformation was born.

You came back just a few days before school was starting and somehow, you even looked forward to it. A new found motivation to become the best version of yourself pushed you to new limits. Not even the fact that Sirius Black had moved in with your family, could shatter your positive attitude.

 “Mom, where did Dad put my luggage, I brought a few souvenirs I wanted to give you!”, you asked while looking through your backpack for a hair tie. Your mother, who had already settled back in the kitchen, her natural habitat, to get some iced tea, shrugged.

“I don´t know, darling, didn´t he put them in your room already?”

Nevertheless, it felt good to be home again.

Your father entered the dining and kitchen area from outside, a suitcase of yours in each of his hands. Just as he was about to call your brother for help, James jumped down the staircase and patted your father on the shoulder. “In a second, dad?”

James, who always had been taller than you, eyed your astonished. “Who is that girl in our home? Is that even my sister anymore?” You chuckled as he gave you a quick hug.

“Shut up James, you´re just jealous that you´re still pale like a snow owl!”

While the two of you started your casual process of sibling bickering, Sirius carefully stepped down the stairs as well. From the back, he observed your figure.

All those years, you had been James´s sister or the younger Potter, but for the first time, you didn´t perish next to James. Actually, you overshone him. James, who was athletic due to the Quidditch practice, still had a crooked and flabby posture. It didn´t help that he was used to swagger through the halls of Hogwarts. But you? You remained with your head held high, your shoulders relaxed and your tanned skin freshly glowing.

“Y/n.”

You turned to find Sirius starring at you; you couldn´t point his look, but you gave him a polite, regardless smile. “Sirius”, you greeted him. Your voice wasn´t rude or cold, still it didn´t match the voice you´d use to talk to James. “Or should I call you brother number two?”

A painfully small grin was brought to his lips. Over the course of years, the two of you barely exchanged words. But yet, you were a constant part of his life. Yes, he had spent many Christmas holidays with your family. He most definitely spent more time with James than you. You were his best friend’s sister, right?

But why did it suddenly bother him, that you called him brother?

“Y/n, Sirius is staying in the guest room from now on. We didn´t use the room anyway, did we?”

The Potter residency had an altogether combined number of four floors; the basement with storage and washing area. The main floor with kitchen, dining and living room, leading to the outdoor terrace and garden and your parent´s bedroom. The second floor with James´s bedroom, your father´s study room and of course, the guest bedroom, which now belonged to Sirius. Last but not least the attic, which was renovated to your room. A point which had caused James and you to argue for several years; the attic was an amazing room and much larger than other bedrooms in the house. James lost the argument due to very weak points. To quote your mother, James spent more time outside doing mischief than actually staying in his room.

You were more relieved than ever to have not only your own room, but basically your own floor. You didn´t mind Sirius, but you needed your space and you didn´t wanted to be involved with their pranks.

“James, help me with my suitcase, will you?” You exclaimed, but your brother already made his way to the kitchen. By his moving pattern, you knew he was up to no good.

“Mom, don´t you and Dad usually spent the weekend at Cindy´s?” You couldn´t help but rolling your eyes at his comment. The last weekend before school begins; James´s house party.

Your parents knew he´d like to bring friends over at that weekend, they didn´t know about half of the school coming and the amount of beer and fire whisky.

“James?” You sighed, but your brother was pursuing his own goals.

“I´ll help you”, Sirius suddenly spoke up and hurried next to you. He took the suitcases without much effort and immediately started carrying them upstairs. On the stairs, you passed the Black boy to open the door to your room for him. Sirius noticed your swift movement and was reminded of James playing Quidditch. Clearly you both inherited that gene. Sirius put down the luggage and couldn´t help but eye your room with growing eyes. The high wooden ceiling, which was decorated with fairy lights and pictures and painting on the walls. You had a secret talent to be good at drawing and detailed sketches of plants, you had learned about in school, hung over your desk. Pictures of you and James at the age of toddlers and family portraits from Christmas. In one of them was even Sirius. You realized how he didn´t leave your room and eyed him warry as he starred at the pictures.

“I´ve never been to your room.”

“Don´t get used to it.” You heaved your suitcase up on your bed to start the sorting out process and Sirius turned away from the pictures, raising his eyebrow. “It´s my room.”

His eyes glided over the silk sheets of your bed and he couldn´t help but wonder, how you looked when waking up in the morning by rays of sunshine falling through the windows. Have you watched him playing Quidditch with James from those windows? Ever so slightly he shook his head to get rid of that thought. You´re James´s sister, he reminded himself.

There weren´t really rumors about you in school, unlike James´s reputation. But there was one thing Sirius knew all too well; you were not to mess with. What your brother inherited in talent, was put together with an almost deadly preciseness. He saw you battling a student in his year once, you won without even breaking a sweat.

“The new hair suits you”, he suddenly added before leaving your room and closing the door behind him. Your mother had pin pointed every single detail that had changed about you, but you´d never guessed that heartbreaker Sirius Black would comment on it…

 James Potter was awfully good at talking people into doing what he desired. And James Potter desired a more memorable house party each year, thanks his ego. Previously, you had spent the weekend at Sarah´s, but after an entire summer, you were left home as well. Against your own anticipation, you didn´t mind. Was it the fact, that you had partied and danced more the entire summer than anyone could imagine? Maybe.

“Y/n, you look out for James, don´t let him do stupid things!” Like a house party? Lingered on your tongue, but you smiled bitter sweet. “It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James.”

Your mother wrinkled her eyebrows, but your dad let out a laughing grunt. “They´ll be fine”, he reassured your mother, before kissing you on top of your head and heading out.

“It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James”, James voice filled the air while he imitated you. He and Sirius came down to the living room, a box of somewhat decorations in their hands.

James was everything but stupid, even though there were times, where you questioned his IQ. He took out old wine bottles with candles in them and packed away your mom´s favorite cutlery and vase. One thing less to worry.

“Tell me, Y/n, do the Spain kiss good?” He continued to mock you.

“Better than the British”, you answered sweetly. A sour taste spread in Sirius mouth, but James pressed his jaw together. He hadn´t expected the answer from you, his sweet innocent little sister.

“Should I worry about you tonight?” He asked a little more serious now, but you ruffled through his precious locks. “Why? Afraid I´ll crash your party?”

“Who are you and what have you done to my baby sister?” He yelled after you, while you left the room to go upstairs, chuckling.

The marauders were first to arrive; Moony, Wormtail and obviously Padfoot and Prongs himself. Remus also brought Lily Evans, your brother´s secret, not so secretly girlfriend. You watched as they arrived one by one from the window at your desk. The golden boy and his gang, all complete.

The past few days, you had taken your time to do whatever you pleased. Your mother didn´t force any of you to have breakfast or lunch together, due to the fact that you all had different sleeping patterns. You had spent it at your desk, getting ready for school, journaling about your holidays, sorting out pictures and old clothes. In the garden helping your mother put together bouquets of flowers or riding your bike around your favorite trails and sceneries. Really you hadn´t seen much of your brother or Sirius.

You took your time getting ready, the Marauder´s already starting off with drinking. You had invited Sarah and when you saw her and her older sister, who was in James´s year, arriving, you finally made your way downstairs. James, Sirius and Remus were grouped around the kitchen aisle, debating sport games with three more guys from Gryffindor. Matt Atkins, Hogwarts second bad boy after Sirius, eyes suddenly grew big as he ran dry. His remarkably sharp jaw fell down and his mouth open. “Who is she?”

You casually strolled down the stairs, even wearing some strapped heels together with a new dress from Spain. A rather hard punch let Matt yelp, James annoyed eyes bringing him to his knees. “That´s my sister”, he muttered with his teeth grinding.

The golden boy was about to be pushed from his throne by his own sister.

You gave the group of boys a knowing smirk before welcoming Sarah, who was glowing with the same tan as you. “Seems like Spain has been muy beneficioso per nos.”

Your laughter filled the air, as not only the marauder but also several other male creatures watched the two of you chat. “How´s Gabriel?” You asked her instead and Sarah blushed. Her apparent summer fling had made it clear, that his feelings were a little stronger than just a fling.

“He wrote me a letter with a poem”, she blushed. Before continuing the topic, a boy joined the two of you. “Ladies, can I get you something to drink?”

James was quick to appear next to you, a sudden wave of protectiveness had overcome him. “She´s my sister and she doesn´t drink.”

“Yes, yes she does.”

Lily, who had joined her boyfriend, snickered at your response. James watched you wide eyed, as did the boy, walking to the kitchen with Sarah after dropping the comment; “Not from you though.”

Sirius, who´s blood alcohol level was already high enough, started smirking as you approached. The feelings he had pushed back and buried, arose in him.

“Y/n, care for a drink?” “Yes, Black, I do.”

As he fished two cups for you and Sarah, the group starred at you. Matt Atkins was first to speak up again. His initial shock about Sirius approaching you, was put back after he remembered that he lived with you and James now. Remus and Peter watched the scene, secretly exchanging a bet of how quickly you would decline Atkins.

“So, Y/n, tell me how was Spain?”

You leaned on the counter top, a trick that had earned you free drinks in bars before, and smiled.

“Hot.”

Sirius passed you the cups and you nodded thanking. His senses tingled, an explosion rushing through his veins. He wasn´t to construe it the past few days, but drunk words are sober thoughts and Sirius´s attraction towards you, grew with each second. Peter slid the money to Remus, Matt Atkins had no chance.

The party continued into the evening and quickly into the night. You were sure that at least 50 people were there, with a few outside maybe more. James, who didn´t enjoy himself as much as he´d like to, was also too stubborn to admit it. You didn´t like how he watched, almost babysitted you, lingering ready to scare away any potential boy flirting. It was until Lily finally swept in and took his mind off you.

Outside remained a small bonfire, which was coming to an end, but you still decided to catch some fresh air. You had more cups than your brother knew about, but he was kissing Lily in the corner and didn´t realize your slight staggering.

James wasn´t stupid, but stupid enough to completely miss the fact that his own best friend was falling in love with you. And he was following you outside.

“Y/n Potter, you surprise me.” Sirius voice was low and a little rough, which was explained as he pulled out a cigarette. You took another sip of who knew what mixture and smiled innocently at him. “Why´s that, Black?”

You never called him Black before, until this summer. An unconscious defense mechanism.

It had taken Sirius five days after your initial arrival to realize that he´d liked you way more than he should and now there was no turning back. He was acting on pure instinct now and so did you. But your instinct told you, that Sirius Black was a heartbreaker.

“What do want, Black?” You asked whispering as he slowly came closer, his hand reaching up to tuck back strands of your hair. This was dangerous, but you liked playing with fire. “You.”

Your laugh was bitter.

“We're nothing more than friends. You're not my lover, more like a brother. I´ve known you since we were like ten.”

You left him behind in the approaching cold from the night and the dying fire. Sirius cursed at himself and ruffled through his hand. “Fuck!”

How could he have been so stupid? You were his best friend´s sister! You were James´s sister! Of course, you didn´t see him in any romantic way and now he not only embarrassed himself to the bone, but probably ruined any kind of friendship with you. He threw the leftover cigarette into the fire, there was only one solution left; alcohol.

 Don't mess it up, talking that shit

Only gonna push me away, that's it!

When you say you love me, that make me crazy

Here we go again

 Sirius Black was astonishing good in hiding feelings and even better at drowning them. At least for the next hour or so. That was until the music box suddenly played a Spanish song with a typical reggae beat and laughing, you pulled Sarah onto the dancefloor in the middle of the living room. Oh, how you had learned to swing your hips at the rhythm.

James was burning in fury and he wanted to punch every single pair of eyes laying on your figure. Luckily, he couldn´t and much too quick for your dismay, the song ended. The room echoed in applause and howlers, and giggling you left the stage with Sarah. The two of you were used to being drunk together and lazily you found your seat on the bathroom floor.

“James isss going to kill youuuu”, Sarah laughed as she not so gracefully, kneeled onto the floor. It didn´t help that after you sat down at the brim of the bathtub, fell over crackling.

“Oh my god!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed startled. You leaned forward surprised, legs still hanging over the brim. “What?”

“We don´t have anything to drink anymoreeee! I´ll be back in a second, just stay here!”

You leaned back, head against the wall, softly humming in response. “I don´t even think I´m able to leave, I´ll wait!” For a few seconds, you closed your eyes; enjoying the buzz of the liquor and the music in the background. You heard the door open and close again.

“Merlin Sarah, you´re flying when it comes to-.“ It wasn´t Sarah, it was Sirius. You eyed him with furrowed brows. “Did you at least get me something to drink?”

He had a cup in his hands and eyed it, pondering to give it to you, or drink it himself. But you leaned forward, grabbing his arm and then snatching the drink from his fingers. He found himself starring into your big eyes, not wanting to look away.

“Don´t you have enough boys outside to bring you drinks?” He asked and you shrugged while taking a big sip. “But you´re here, aren´t you?” The sentence made his heart beat quicker.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye”, you then added and avoided his glance again.

“Why not?”

“You know why, but apparently you really ain't going away without a fight.”

He suddenly turned to you, pushing one of his hands against the wall, the other one trailing down to your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin and you felt goosebumps crawling down your spin. He was leaning, yes hovering above you and his eyes wandered back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Stubbornly, you looked up to him.

“You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite. Haven't I made it obvious?” You pushed yourself a little up from the bathtub, your face only inches away. But the look on your face was stern and certain. “Haven't I made it clear? Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S”

Sarah pushed open the door and rolled her eyes, she had obviously noticed the boy´s attention towards you. “Back off, Black.”

Sirius was caught off guard by her, which gave you space and time to pull yourself out of the tub, leaving him sitting there.

 The night only slowly continued after your clashing in the bathroom. Remus watched his friend with plaintive eyes. He had realized the silence and even more oblivious, his sad stares into your direction. It wasn´t hard to guess really, but he understood his reticent mood. You were his best friends’ little sister and he knew, James would kill for you. If anyone were to break your heart and if that anyone was Sirius, the friendship could be over.

On the other hand, there was one thing Remus knew, Sirius had never acted like this around a girl.

“You shouldn’t give up yet.” Sirius glanced back at him and rolled his eyes.

“She´s sees me as a friend, I´m like a brother to her.”

“You don´t dance like this in front of your friend. Y/n and James both know how to get the things they want. It´s probably a family disorder”, Remus chuckled. But he became stern again, laying a hand on his friend´s back. “She´s playing with you, you know it. And I have to admit, she plays better than you, Padfoot. You liked this girl way before, before the summer, before she started flirting with you today.”

“I didn´t-“

“Yes, you did. Or why did you stress out about getting her a Christmas and birthday gift every year since knowing James? Why did it bother both you and James, about Kevin making that remark last year? You broke his nose, in case you forgot.”

Remus was right, he was way too often for Sirius taste. He liked you more than a friend from the second he laid eyes on you. He swore himself to protect you, but now he was the endangerment of hurting you and it scared him.

People left the party; it was past 3.a.m. and Lily started putting away empty cups. He knew Sarah would sleep at the Potter house tonight and just in second, he caught sight of you carrying a blanket upstairs. “You´re the best, Moony and I hate you for it.”

He hurried up the stairs and caught you just in front of your room.

“Y/n, wait!”

You sighed heavily. “Sirius, I´m tired and Sarah´s laying on my bathroom floor throwing up.”

He tried to remember every formal etiquette ever taught to him while establishing and taking together his bravery. Hundreds, yes thousands of pranks and yet, he never had been this nervous. You eyed him wary. “Have you got no shame? You looking insane. Here we go again.”

“I´m sorry for acting like a dick.”

The apology took you a step back, surprised.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye.”

His tongue brushed against his lip. “Why not, Y/n? Afraid to admit it?”

“For Merlin´s Sake, get that shit inside your head, Sirius! We´re just friends.”

His hand lingered on the wall to your back. It was the second time he had encircled you, but this time around, you didn´t see an outlet. Maybe you didn´t want one either. You felt his breath tingling against your skin and against your anticipation, the scene felt intimate and fragile to you.

“I like you, Y/n. I´ve liked you for a while now and I suppressed it. You´re right, I´m heartbreaker, and I knew, if I was to break yours, I wouldn´t be able to live with myself.”

You felt your shaky breathing, the dim light coming from downstairs barely gave enough away.

“You made it obvious. You made it very clear. But I wanted- needed you to know this; you were and never will be just a friend to me.” He gulped, lowering his glance.

“And I´m sorry, if that´s going to push you away.”

You dropped the blanket to the ground, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him down. The kiss was passionate, but dripping like honey; sweet and slowly. His hands grabbed your waist and you inhaled his deep musky scent.

You leaned away from him with caution, sighing. “Sarah´s vomiting and I´m making out, I´m a terrible friend.” Sirius chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours again.

“I´m glad we´re more than friends then.”

[dontcallmecarrie]

stress + commute + relentless plot bunny = tada, continuation to this!

.

"Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.” Director Fury said as he settled down into his chair, eyeing him with a wariness one would normally give a live bomb, while at his side, Agent Romanov remained eerily impassive as she surveyed them both. “We’ve got some questions I get the feeling only you can answer.”

For his part, Justin Hammer merely leaned back into his own chair and steepled his fingers with an easy smile— which wasn’t as easy as he made it look, with the way he’d been cuffed. “Like I told the guards the first time, and the fifth, and the twelfth— if I knew what’s going on, I’d tell you.”

Though he could make a very reasonable guess, between Ivan’s latest experiment literally blowing up in all their faces and the whispers he’d been able to catch from the guards. 

“Sure you would.” Director Fury said, no small amount of disbelief in his voice, and he shrugged. 

“Take it from me, I’m about as happy as you are. You think I asked to get dropped smack-dab in the middle of some supermax? When I had a shareholder’s meeting coming up?”

“You appeared the same time an energy fluctuation was registered in several locations around the world.” Agent Romanov said, and Justin blinked. 

“Oh?”

“Your existence is being kept classified, on pain of risking an international incident. Several countries’ systems and power grids were apparently caught up in whatever it is you’re a part of, and they’re not nearly as nice about getting their answers as we are.” She continued, the picture of reason, and Justin couldn’t keep the fondness from his smile because some things never changed, did they?

Of course SHIELD’s shadiness was a fundamental constant. And these guys probably thought they were being so subtle, too; Agent Romanov in particular seemed to think she knew him, which would undoubtedly come in handy in the future but was merely a nuisance at the moment. Not that it hurt to play along for now, but still. 

Come on, give him some credit here.

“Which is all well and good, but the fact of the matter still stands: I. Don’t. Know. All I know is, one minute I’m caught up in the middle of some accident, thinking I’m going to be seeing pearly gates a whole lot earlier than I’d expected, and the next, these gentlemen—” Justin indicated, giving a slight nod to the security guards standing just out of earshot, “are giving me a...interesting welcome to Seagate, let’s just leave it at that.”

He’d be feeling it for a while, at the very least. Thank goodness for brief stint with the rugby club had taught him how to roll with the hit, otherwise some of the bruises he had would’ve been even uglier than they already were. As it was, getting changed into the stupid jumpsuit they’d forced him to wear had been a trial in and of itself, when simply bending over stole his breath away with the way his ribs twinged. 

“That doesn’t answer our question.” Director Fury said, even as Agent Romanov leaned forward slightly.

“We can only help you as much as you help us, Justin.”

He couldn’t help the snort, at that. “What do you want me to say? I’m not some expert in what, dimension-crashing or whatever? Look, I’m not stupid, I saw my twin— or whatever you call him, anyway, I’m not sure how any of this works. Hey, how’d he mess up, anyway? I know I’ve made some poor life choices over the years, but those were mostly terrible haircuts and all-nighters during grad school, not...nothing on this scale.”

Nobody was stupid enough to alienate the CEO of the Hammer Industries, not when they were number one in the defense industry. Not when Justin had enough connections and favors piled up over the years to render him essentially untouchable to anyone but the heaviest of heavy hitters— and even then, they’d have to think twice before going after him.

...in his universe, anyway. 

Which begged the question: just how badly had the Justin of this universe fucked up, for him to be in supermax? He needed to know the playing field before he could make any moves, especially if he wanted to secure anyone’s cooperation in getting home. 

“You saw him?” Agent Romanov’s brow furrowed for a moment, before leaning back into her chair. “They hadn’t mentioned that.”

Justin let the corner of his mouth twitch up, as he also leaned back and shrugged. “These guys? Yeah, I’ve noticed they’re not exactly the chattiest.”

Director Fury’s frown deepened for a moment, before he gave him a searching look followed by a sharp nod as he stood up. “We’re transferring you into our custody. This matter has gone beyond their pay grade.”

With that, he turned and strode towards the interrogation cell’s entrance, Agent Romanov at his side and Justin rubbed his temples for a second at the impending headache because if this was what he thought it was, he was either going to be dealing with the Avengers, or be disappeared to whatever shady hole in the wall SHIELD had that’d make this place look like the Ritz. 

...which also meant the rudimentary plans he’d been working on would be useless. Damn. 

He took a deep breath, and let it out, and pretended it didn’t bother him, even as he watched Director Fury get into what appeared to be a very heated conversation with the prison warden. He couldn’t hear anything, not with the inch-thick bulletproof glass that separated the interrogation cell from the rest of the building. 

As it was, the warden gestured for the guards to escort him back to his cell with his usual scowl, and Justin was good enough to know a power play when he saw one and oh, it was going to be that kind of mess, wasn’t it. 

In the five minutes he’d had the dubious pleasure of meeting him, Seagate Penitentiary’s warden had come across as a jackass who liked to boast about running a tight ship but didn’t actually do anything for it— the epitome of a big fish in a small pond. Which was typically something he could get away with, but if this Director Fury was anything like the one Justin dealt with, then this particular encounter would be the only thing the guards’d be talking about for months.

And then.

The lights flickered for a second, and Justin froze. 

So did the guards who’d been about to escort him back to his cell, some of whom were already reaching for their taser guns and he could already feel one of the guards starting to shove him forward when an unholy screech tore through the air and Justin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what was happening as he caught a glimpse of familiar silver moments before the entire area plummeted into darkness.

Cabal was here.

.

Victor von Doom was a practical man.

So when his part of the plan had him working with a Winter Soldier who was still in the early stages of recovery from the mindfuck HYDRA was responsible for, he didn’t so much as bat an eye, just made sure he had a few extra backups for if things got hairy.

Which they did, but not for the reasons he or Soldat had expected. 

For one, the interference of SHIELD— which had been something they’d picked up some chatter on, but not enough for concrete dates and he was not happy to find that if they hadn’t broken in when they had, Justin would’ve been snatched up and disappeared off to somewhere even harder to reach. 

...if not for the fact that their plan required surgical precision, Victor would’ve given into the temptation to shoot something. Or someone, he wasn’t picky. 

But needs must, so he gritted his teeth, coldly noted who said what during their eavesdropping, and stuck with the plan he’d formulated because Justin and the others were counting on him. 

For his part, Soldat was a great partner for this aspect of their mission; even though he’d never done fieldwork like this before, and was not used to working with a magic user, he rolled with the punches and the guards never saw him coming. 

Sometimes literally, because one of the few things Victor had mastered was a basic illusion— the magical equivalent of a flash-bang, sure, but it worked. Sure, it took a lot of focus for both of them to pull it off, but the important part is that it worked and their exit was as clear-cut as they could make it.

So when he and Soldat approached, he gave the signal and Soldat tapped his comm with a muttered, “objective secured,” and Victor didn’t question the odd echo because they had far more pressing matters at hand.

Such as the sight of his oldest friend in a prison jumpsuit, face slightly gaunt and glasses cracked and just like that, Victor found himself regretting telling Soldat about Cabal’s usual ‘no-kill, minimal collateral damage’ MO.

But. 

They were on a time crunch, shift change was coming up and it took everything Victor had to stick to The Plan. 

One flash-bang later, and Soldat did his part beautifully, a whirlwind of chaos and Justin’d helped him and Winter plan out theoretical combination attacks well enough to know to duck to the side and with that, the most vital part of this entire operation was secured.

.

“Victor? I’m assuming it’s you.” Justin blinked the stars out of his eyes even as a familiar hand reached over to help him up, and he took it gratefully. “Good to see you too, Winter—”

“It’s Soldat,” the man corrected gruffly even as he ushered him along, and Justin blinked. 

“Oh, my apologies. Thank you, Soldat.”

“Introductions later, we’re on a time crunch,” Victor cut in, voice unusually flat and the last time Justin had seen him this angry had been during that HYDRA mess— what was going on? 

Seeing his concern, Victor’s expression lightened for a moment and he gave him a quick smile. “Catch you up later, but we really need to go.”

.

Victor stared.

He couldn’t help it— just. 

At his side, his Justin looked at the rest of their allies with concern, even as his counterpart started to pale and hyperventilate and how was this his life?

[whump-town]

Envy For The Solid Ground

This is a fic about drowning but only for @genevievedarcygranger. So if you're not them don't read this. It's a waste of your time. It's not very good.

Childabuse and drowning oh my

--

To an untrained eye, Aaron Hotchner is the sort of man you look at and assume he’s just been big and powerful his entire life. There’s too much edge to him, effortless control. As most adult things go it’s impossible to imagine it in reverse. To dwindle suit and tie to dirty bare-feet playing in the yard and toy cars. But beneath the illusion he’s spent forty-years perfecting, there’s an eight-year-old boy hiccuping on his bed with welts from his father’s belt bleeding through his t-shirt. There's a twelve-year-old who had his father’s daily routine memorized down to the second who grew into the fourteen-year-old who gave himself a buzz cut in the bathroom mirror.

That stupid haircut saved his life. His father had nothing to hold onto, nothing to hold him still with. No one could grab him from behind, use the impossible bend of his neck to manipulate him backwards. His mother hated it, got this soft sadness from running her fingers over it and saying “it makes you look sick, like you’re dying”. Sean said he was just missing overalls, he’d be a perfect extra on the TV adaptation of “One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest”. But it hadn’t mattered to him that it made his mother dream of him at war, wading through bullets and being blown to bits. If the kids at school took one look at him and chose to ignore him then fantastic. That’s two things going his way but it only matters that he lives.

He stopped cutting it that short at twenty - even after not having lived with his father for four years. After knowing the solace of Haley’s family for two. He just couldn’t do it. There was a constant fear around him, always looking over his shoulder expecting someone to reach out and pull him back. Expecting the pain to come pouring down without hesitation, as if it never stopped.

His hair is the longest it’s ever been. A thought that nearly seems silly, nothing about his hair is long. Even after all this time he’s hardly strayed from a hairstyle not ���okayed” by the military. Still hardly any length at all.

But not too short to hold. Not too short to manipulate.

“Hotch!”

The sun shines down into his eyes, blood trailing down his chin. It stings, the place at the curve of his throat where the knife rests. The first time he ever saw someone like this he thought, foolishly, that it wouldn’t hurt. Adrenaline and fear and surely everything else would prevent that knife biting edge from really hurting. But he can feel each bump. The way the Unsub’s hand jerks when he speaks, digging the knife into his flesh that much deeper. The way his own flinches and breaths pull the cut longer.

“Let him go!”

He can see the water from here, dangling halfway off… Actually, he’s not too sure where he is right now.

A foot chase. He remembers Reid yelling after him, thought he saw a trail up ahead. Thought he could get to the Unsub another way. He can hear Reid now, the snapping of the branches and leaves under his feet as he shifts. He’s afraid.

“Matthew.”

The good old emotional appeal.

It’s Emily standing there with her arms at her sides and her voice soft.

Which means Morgan isn’t too far off, gun pointed at the Unsub’s head.

“Matthew, please, you don’t have to do this.”

The knife jerks, more blood running down his chest. It’s soaking through his clothes.

“You’re hurting my friend, Matthew.”

The knife slips, digs in too much and he tries to move. Instincts pull him, urge him to move out of the way. He can’t get away, though, and ends up gurgling. Ends up choking and sputtering up blood.

Derek shoots, a judgment call he has to make. One he can’t stand as the bullet leaves his chamber.

“No!”

They fall. The Unsubs’ weight pulling Hotch down with him. His back hits the water first. Blacks out.

Derek rushes to the edge, pulling Emily back. They don’t come back up to the surface. Only blood. Hotch’s blood tangling with the mud they kick up. They hold their breath. Waiting. For something. For nothing.

It’s immediate, white shirt bubbling back up and Hotch’s head breaking the surface. His eyes wide and his face pale. He stutters out something, confused and shivering. “D-D-” his head goes under again. His fingers reach up until they’re gone too.

He’s panicking. Going to get himself killed.

He spits the water from his face, trying to shake it away but he’s slipping. His feet no longer sitting in the mud, his body being dragged alongside the Unsubs down into the current. He feels himself being drawn back and he panics, eyes widening as he realizes he has to get away. He’s nearly there, free from the grasp of the dead weight of the Unsub when he slips. “Dere--”

As he’s pulled under the current of the river he thinks about Jack. The winter that he got the croup and Haley couldn’t stop blaming herself, no matter how many times Hotch reasoned it was no more her fault than his. Even if it was no one’s fault. He’d spent so many hours rocking Jack in the bathroom. Him in his boxers and Jack in his diaper, the steam from the shower leaving their skin slick. For three days the house splintered with the sound of Jack’s crying, only ever falling silent when he grew too hoarse. Even then he was so congested each of his little breaths were still audible. Hotch would still wake in the middle of the night, heart hammering in his chest, and find himself standing over Jack. Placing his hand over the baby’s chest to convince himself his ears weren’t betraying, Jack was still breathing.

The rocks underneath his feet shift uncertainty as he pushes off them, trying to force his way back to the surface. Kicking madly and hands cutting through the water as quickly as he can. His head breaks through and he sucks greedily for air, knows what happens when he’s pulled back down. The water falls down his face into his mouth, the nearly salty taste of the river water turning his stomach. As he reaches up, attempting to grab onto one of the dried, gnarled branches reaching down towards him from the bank. The river pushes him too quickly and he can’t reach, his fingertips brushing against the wood teasingly. His hip hits a rock and he’s spun outwards. Pulled once again by the current.

The sun streaks through the water, brightening the murky water as his eyes open and he sees his own hand reaching up for the air.

It reminds him of Emily reaching for the blinds high above her head, cursing under her breath each time the broken string evaded her grasp. She’d never admit it but she’d been terrified of losing him after Foyet, of what might happen if he was left alone in his apartment. So she and Reid just didn’t leave. He woke from drugged slumber to them playing poker on his bed beside him. To a pillow half over his face where Emily mindlessly dropped it - conjuring a slight smirk at the thought of her smothering him while trying to keep him alive. The caught look on Reid’s face every time Hotch woke up and saw him, youthfully guilty of something. Wedged between Reid’s propped up knee, his voice steady as he read aloud from his book, and Emily’s face smushed into his shoulder he didn’t have a single nightmare.

His back hits the bottom of the river and he thrashes, panicking to pull himself up. He’s thrown against a rock by the current. Grunting as his temple cracks against a rock and going listlessly with the current. A ragdoll.

“You can’t go in!”

One time there was these double-booked out of town meetings. Hotch was supposed to go for the brass, the pure intent of just following orders. At the same time, headed in the same direction, Emily and Derek went off for interviews. The day before Hotch left he was informed that they’d all be taking one car, together. Four days. One car. Two grueling meetings. It was the worst four days of his life, honestly. Worse than being stabbed. Being shot has nothing on listening to Derek and Emily fight in the car for three days over everything and anything.

He never did that again.

Now Reid takes those trips with them.

It’s only fitting, it’s that awful trio that drags him out of the water.

Derek spitting river water out of his mouth as frequently as curses. “Just tell me where you see him goddammit!” He’s swimming against the current, fighting how quickly it pulls him away from where he needs to be. Tries to deny the fear in his stomach. For fear of what’s in this water. He saw the blood. Can still sees wisps of it now drifting around him.

Emily stands on the shore, out in the water to her shins trying to see. Above her Reid calls out but it’s just another branch, not Hotch. She knows it’s going to have to be her. It makes her chest ache, more than it does to see tendrils of dark blood marking Hotch’s path. But it’s her. She’s the one that’s going to have to call Derek out of the water. To tell him it’s pointless. That… That this time they’re not all coming home.

“I see him!” Reid has binoculars up to his face but he’s pointing out. “Morgan turn around!”

She searches where he points, eyes scanning up and down the bank. Looking for a head of black hair or his bright white t-shirt.

“I see him!”

She doesn’t. She doesn’t see him.

Morgan tears off through the water. He’s lost the ease in which he worked through the water upon first getting in. When Reid first pointed to where he thought he saw Hotch. His muscle scream, agony flicking through each movement but he has to move. He has to get there.

Emily’s heart drops when she sees Derek’s head go under the water. One. Two. Three-- How long does it take to find a grown man in a river? She puts her hand over her eyes, looking up to Reid. “Where are they!” she shouts .

Reid keeps scanning, keeps looking up and down the water. “I don’t--” Derek comes up, gasping but with a second head. Hotch. Bleeding, limp, but there. Found. “I see them! He’s up!” He points out into the water, stepping closer to the edge.

Emily runs through the water, ignores the chill until she’s in to her hips and wading through to get to Morgan. Hotch is passed between them, his cold skin pressed against her. His head rocks when Morgan lays him against her shoulder, moves him until his cold wet temple rests against face. What startles her the most as the river’s current tries to rip him from her arms is when she realizes she can’t feel him breathing.

She trips, falls hard on her ass. The rocks just slipping out from underneath her until she’s trying to grab at one to keep herself rooted here at the bank. He nearly slips away.

“Emily!” Derek has him. She looks up, blinking river water from her eyes, and Morgan’s got him. One arm around his hips, just barely keeping him there.

“He’s not breathing,” she manages. “I couldn’t-- He’s not. He’s not breathing.”

Reid meets them at the bank, hands going everywhere but not managing a thing. “Set him down gently--” he grimaces at how hard Hotch lands out on his back. Derek only guarantees that he doesn’t smack his head on any rock, just a wet hard fall into the mud. Reid leans over Hotch, ear to his chest as waits for something. All he hears is a bird in the trees mocking sounds and the rush of the river behind them.

“Is he--” Derek falls down beside him squeezing Hotch’s fingers. “Is he dead?”

Reid leans closer, presses down harder. “No, he’s--” Reid sits up, “Hotch?” He rubs his fist up and down Hotch’s sternum, patting Hotch's face with the other. “Hotch! Hotch get up!”

Faintly, Hotch’s lip part, slowly pulling down into a grimace until he can push at Reid’s hand. He gags, choking on water as he struggles to breathe. He’s hauled upright, Derek grabbing him by fistfuls of his shirt until he’s laying on his side. Sputtering and coughing water-- it burns his nose, nearly comes back in around each inhale he’s forced to take.

“Son of a bitch.”

Hotch falls back, kept up by Derek’s hand pulling him in and the knees Emily places at his back.

His blood has spread out onto the mud, and he hisses, groans in pain when Reid places his fingers against the bleeding wound on his neck. Watered down it slips between Reid’s fingers, hardly crimson at all. “Wa-- Waters freezing,” he rasps.

Derek chuckles, shaking his head. With a sigh he falls back into the mud, laying there as he struggles to catch his breath. “It was.” He looks over at the others, at Reid's worry-pinched face and Emily’s smile and relaxes. The sun will have them warmed up in no time. They’ll be fine.

[callmecallmecrazy]

Preppy 1

*****

Warning!  This is not my usual fare.  Back in college I got very into preppy clothing and wrote a few short stories that I never shared anywhere.  Figure I might as well post them for posterity.  Enjoy this 2007/8 flashback!

*****

Two athletic men hauled Shawn into a dark room with a gurney table, and strapped his arms and legs down.

 "What the fuck?" Shawn shouted, his shaggy hair covering his eyes.  His muscular body struggled uselessly against the leather restraints holding down his body.  "Who the hell are you fuckers?"

This caused the two men to stop suddenly.

"My goodness, how rude of me," one spoke.  He was a tall man.  He was wearing Sahara Sperry topsiders, pleated khakis, and a hunter green sweater. Peaking out from under the sweater was a blue and yellow striped oxford shirt.  The collar was buttoned tightly around his neck, which was adorned with a simple yellow tie.  His hair was cut in a short buzzcut.

 He offered his hand out in the gesture of greeting and smiled at the man he had strapped down. "My name is Cody Bellford, please call me Skip.  And this," he said as he pulled the other man towards him in a sort of man hug, "is Ace."  The shorter man smiled.  He too was dressed in pleated khakis, but was wearing a light blue polo with a popped collar. His hair was longer than Skip's, cut into a crisp flattop.  Both men had athletic, strong bodies that were highlighted by their attire, but still looking very dressy.

 "What the hell is going on?" Shawn screamed.

"Ugh, so barbaric," Ace sighed.

"Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up."

"Cleaned up?" Shawn asked.

"Yes," Skip began to explain.  "Cleaned up.  Groomed. Presentable.  Your appearance and mouth reflect poorly on yourself and the school.  Wouldn't you be happier if you were groomed and proper?"

"Fuck you!" Shawn retorted.  The two preppy men just smiled to each other and began their work.

 Ace walked up to Shawn's chest and proceeded to rip the oversized t-shirt off his chest, exposing Shawn's voluptuous pecs covered in fur.  At the same time, Skip had proceeded to cut the sweat pants off of Shawn's legs.  In few more simple motions, Shawn was lying nearly naked on the table, only his privates covered by a pair of striped boxers.  His strong legs were lurching against the confines of the straps, and the veins in his arms and neck were bulging from his constant resistance. Shawn finally glanced upwards to realize that a full size mirror hung over him.

 "You have a good physique, Shawn.  You should take better care of yourself," Skip said.

"What?"

"This hair is disgusting.  You would look so much better if you were more streamlined."

"Shit, shaving body hair is for fags!"  Shawn was still struggling against the restraints but it was useless.  He was exhausted, and the reflections of the two groomed, calm men standing over him confused him.  Here he was, stressing and fighting, and they were calm and collected. In charge.

"Lots of men shave their body hair," Ace explained.  "It works for some, but you would look better trimmed." Skip handed Ace an electric trimmer, which he turned on and waved delicately in front of Shawn's face. Shawn looked in terror as Ace took the blade over his chest and began to strike down the forest of hair growing across. He could only look forward and watch as his reflection was slowly denuded across the chest and abs.  Skip made eye contact in the mirror and smiled brightly at the terrified man.

 Next, Ace continued his swarthy path on the legs, reducing the long hairs to fine fibers, highlighting the deep cuts along his quads and calves.  Beyond his range of vision, Skip had been stirring a pot of hot wax, and now sat down next to Shawn.  He took one of Shawn's hands and applied the wax on the hair covering his fingers. With a quick rip, and a tired yelp from Shawn, one finger was clean of unsightly hair.  Skip continued the process across all five digits and the back of the hand, then proceeded to do the other hand.  Ace had moved on to the arm that Skip had finished and removed all the hair from Shawn's wrist to his shoulder.  Skip went down to Shawn's feet and quickly ripped the hair off of his feet and toes.

 "Goodness, Shawn," Ace smiled at Shawn in the mirror.  "You look so much better now."

"Yes, I think so too. You should keep this look." Shawn stared at the two smiling men in the mirror, finding himself drawn into their bright smiles and amber eyes. He wanted to look away, but his face was held in place.  He tried to close his eyes, but he was constantly drawn back into the soothing haze of their white teeth and tan skin.  His skin did look good.  His skin had a natural tan and without the hair it seemed that his muscles were bigger, more cut, more defined. Maybe it wasn't, no, he hated it.  Shaving body hair was stupid.  But kind of sexy...

 "Now, about these," Skip said as he cut the boxer shorts from Shawn's body.  Shawn was shocked into silence as Ace roughly gripped his package.

"Don't worry," Ace said, again smiling.  "I'm not a pervert.  I just want you to be the best you can be."  And with those words, he once again turned on the electric trimmer and carefully reduced his pubic hair to a short stubble.  A few more quick strokes near the inner thigh, and both preppy boys stepped back and addressed Shawn in the mirror.

 "You look swell, Shawn," Ace said.  "This clean look really suits you."

"Yes, I agree," Skip said.  "I think everything we're doing you should maintain.  Weekly should be enough for you to look presentable everywhere. It's important to be groomed and presentable at all times.  You don't want to meet the wrong person looking poorly."

"Wrong... person?" Shawn stammered, he was nearly overwhelmed by the whole situation and found himself increasingly groggy and incoherent.

"Yes, there are the right people and the wrong people," Ace explained.  "If you meet a bank president, you don't want to look like a grunge band member.  You want to look like you know a Brooks Brothers inside and out.  That's how you get ahead."

"Oh, but... I ... umm.... shit," Shawn said, exerting a tiny bit of resistance in an attempt to move his head to the side.

"And don't swear, Shawn," Skip said.  "You sound unprofessional and uneducated.  Looking your best means acting your best."

"Umm, okay."

"Don't stutter or stammer.  Speak clearly and decisively.  A man."

"Okay."  Ace and Skip smiled to each other, and for just a single moment, Shawn smiled himself.

 "You are coming along very well, Shawn.  Just a tad more and I think you'll be a new man."

"Yes, I agree. Shawn just needs a few touch-ups and he will be an ideal gentleman."  Skip stepped out of view for just a second and then reappeared. Into the mirror, he held up a pair of classic y-front briefs.  He pulled on them slightly to emphasize the item.

 "These, are the ideal underwear for a conservative, preppy man.  That's what we want you to become.  That's what you want to be Shawn.  All of this is just so you can be a gentleman."  Shawn's eyes bulged as he saw the old-fashioned underwear. Ace undid the straps on his legs, but Shawn found himself too exhausted to move.  The boys gently lifted up his legs and slip down the tight, white briefs. They traced up his thighs and gently began to engulf his crotch and butt.  With a sharp elastic snap, he felt the band settle against his waist.  He had resisted looking, but curiously he peered at his image.  He looked amazing.  The briefs looked so presentable and manly.  He felt powerful and in control.  Once again, Shawn found himself smiling pleasantly.

 "Feeling a tad preppy?" Ace teased.  "Don't worry, only one thing left."

"Your hair," Skip said.  "It's so rough and wild.  Not the image one wants to send."  Shawn had nothing left inside himself to resist.  He merely nodded as well as the straps would let him.  The table holding up his head receded, and Shawn saw Ace holding his neck up while Skip brought over a pair of clippers.  They sprang to life with a low growl.  Skip wasted no time in reducing the sides of his head to nothing.  The shaggy haircut was being quickly reduced.  He ran the clippers over the sides of his head, leaving a white wall of flesh behind in its wake.  That finished, he proceeded to comb the hair back and began hacking it off.  Large chunks of brown hair fell to the floor as Shawn was shorn.  Finally, with about an inch left, Skip wet the hair and brushed it all up.  Using a small trimmer, he proceeded to flatten out his hair, until the top was a level plain identical to Ace's square hair.

 "You need something drastically different," Ace explained.  "Such a dramatic change proves how intent you are on improving yourself."  Skip just nodded as he continued to even out the top of the hair.  Shawn was nearing his breaking point, as he watched his long, mangled hair replaced with a corporate hairstyle of precision and execution. Skip applied some strange wax to the hair forcing it to stand up straight.

 "After some practice," Skip began, "your hair will hold itself up.  But the wax is still good measure."  Shawn found himself nodding as the knowledge of how to maintain his new hairstyle sunk into his freshly exposed head.  Skip pulled the head piece out from the table, and Ace let Shawn's head rest on the table.  The two prepsters stood back and admired their work.

 "You look like a decent guy now.  No more grunge or nasty college boy."

"No, you look like the prefect preppy."

"You are going places. Meeting the right people."

"I'm sure you'll get a great job and make lots of money."

"You've already met us. And there is a bunch of men back at the house excited to meet you."

"Of course, you should join the fraternity.  Men like us need to stick together."

"Don't you like this Shawn.  Being preppy. You look so much better."

"You're a born-again preppy.  We prefer you like this.  And all the brothers want you like this.  You want to be like this, don't you?"

 Staring at himself in the overhead mirror, Shawn was shocked at how much he liked his reflection. Formerly shaggy hair now stood straight up over his head, looking stiff as a board.  Whitewalls on the sides, his ears seemed to stick out a little - something else he found surprisingly appealing.  His tan, muscular body was shown to all its glory, his former resistance giving his body a sheen from sweat and muscle tension.  Without his body hair, he looked bigger, stronger, and cleaner.  He had always thought that shaving body hair was nelly and silly, but he looked much better now.  And then the briefs.  Tight, white briefs with a full cut covered his nether regions.  He had always worn boxers.  But there was something alluring about the underwear, with its clean-cut lines. Almost unconsciously, Shawn found his face slowly being filled with a charming, pleasant smile.  His dazzling white teeth began to cover more of his face as the empty grin consumed him.  Brown eyes lit up with a sort of cordial ambiance.  

 He liked it.  He really did.  Shawn was suddenly overwhelmed with a dire urgency. Something he had never felt before welling up inside of him.  He wanted to be like the preppy boys.  To be like this.  Attractive and fit and well liked and happy.  To be successful and entitled and self-assured.  And surrounded by men his equal.  Men as fit and clean and productive.  To be engulfed in their manly etiquette and mannerisms.  Better yet, be a part of group of such men.  To be part of a fraternity.

 All at once, Shawn's sudden pleasant nature began to override the rest of his personality.  So what if he wanted to dress, act, be one of the preppy boys?  If anything, being a preppy boy would be good for him.  He would get in with the right people, wear the right clothes, be the right kind of man. The kind of man Shawn would never have been on his own.  And he'd be happy.  It sounded pretty great to Shawn, who continued to sink into a cheerful bliss.

 At this point, Skip and Ace proceeded to undo the straps holding Shawn down.  He allowed the two well-dressed boys to help him off the table and he thanked them politely.  Manners were always important after all, but too much thanks sounded sarcastic or desperate - neither of which were admirable qualities in a man.  Ace gave Shawn a gentle pat on the back and a bright smile.

 "Feeling better?"

"Yessir, thank you both very much," Shawn replied.

"Of course," Skip replied eloquently.  "Here, you might want to get dressed."  

 The boys handed Shawn a pair of khaki Dockers’.  He slipped the pants up his muscular legs and pulled them high over his briefs.  The khakis sat a little higher than his normal baggy pants had, and Shawn liked it.  It was a much classier fit.  As he zipped up the fly and buttoned the top, he noticed the pants were pleated.  Actually, it was a double pleat, he was pleased to note. For some reason, he had always hated pleated pants.  He didn't know why.  Clearly, they were a much smarter look on a man.  More formal.  Next, the two fraternity boys gave Shawn a light blue oxford shirt, complete with a little polo player on the left breast.  They helped him tuck the shirt gently into his pants as he began to button the shirt up. He stopped before the very top, but Ace flipped up Shawn's collar and proceeded to button it to the very top. His neck was a little too thick for the buttoned collar, but he realized it would force him to carry his chin high, with pride and confidence.  Yes, a high collar was definitely better for his posture.

 "A proper man doesn't wear a button-down shirt without a tie of some sort," Skip said coyly as he approached Shawn, a line of fabric resting in his hands.  Shawn couldn't see what was happening as Skip proceeded to tie a tie on his neck.  At the same time, he felt Ace fumbling with the cuffs of his shirt.

 Skip stepped back and admired his handiwork and once again presented that gorgeous white smile to Shawn, who was pleased to return the cordial charm of the other man.  Ace was working away at his hips, looping a brown leather belt through the hoops of his Dockers.  Skip held up a pair of blue dress socks with a purple and yellow argyle pattern on them.  Shawn smiled and lifted up one leg, and then the other, feeling the stretch of the fabric engulf his feet.  When he set each foot down, a pair of penny loafers had been set in the way, forcing his foot to slide elegantly into the leather classics.

 "Just a tad preppier," Ace said as he pulled up the final item.  A sweater vest, with a black, grey, and white argyle pattern on it. Shawn could see thin yellow and blue lines running between the diamonds.  He lost his vision as the sweater was pulled over his hair and rested on his broad shoulders.  Rough hands began adjusting the sweater across his body.  It was a bit of tight fit given the size of his pecs and shoulders. The belt was adjusted, the tie straighten, the hair fluffed.  Meanwhile, Skip had pulled over a full-size mirror.  When Ace stepped away from Shawn, taking his place next to Skip, Shawn could finally see his new visage.

 He was a preppy boy. Pleated khakis over an oxford shirt and sweater vest.  It hadn't been a traditional tie that was put around his neck, but rather a purple and yellow bowtie.  Classic cufflinks had been used on the cuffs of his shirt.  Combined with the brown loafers and belt, he was the spitting image of a preppy boy.

 Spitting image?  Shawn thought to himself.  How inappropriate.  More like the classic construct of a prepster.

 "I think Tad is preppy now," Ace said as he looked over the new prep's outfit.

"Think you are a Tad now?" Skip said as he slipped his hand on the recently madeover man's shoulder.

"Skip, Ace, thank you both very much.  I would be pleased if you called me Tad.  Shawn is so uncouth."

"We understand, Tad," Ace said. "Neither of our names befit our preppiness.  Hence, we have preppy nicknames."

"Well, Tad, I think that it's time you went upstairs and met the rest of the men.  You are in the fraternity now, correct?"

"I would be honored to be a brother. Rush begins today?"

"Oh, you're not going to need to rush.  In fact, we would like you to greet the rushees."

"Absolutely!" Tad exclaimed.  "I am honored to represent our brothers and our fraternity."

"Great, let's get you settled in."  The three brothers walk upstairs into the house, to introduce Tad to his new life.

 Later that day, as the rushees came into the house, the brother meeted and greeted all the potential men.  Among them, was a preppy man with a flattop and a purple and yellow bowtie.  He was wearing pleated khakis and a sweater vest. And his nametag had 'TAD' written in bold letters.  It crossed his chest in the same place the little polo player did.  Aside from the nametag, he was nearly indistinguishable form the other brothers.  And in the next week, a few more good men would find themselves proud brothers of the fraternity and brothers in preppiness.

[geekgirles]

Your Heart

Chapter 4 -- Stalemate Word Count: 8284

READ ON AO3

Waking up to the sound of her parents’ latest invention going awry was something she was sure she was never going to get used to. Never mind that she’d have an entire life to get accustomed to it or her newfound respect for what her family did for a living. 

As disciplined as Jasmine Fenton was, being awakened by an explosion was never going to be anything but annoying. 

Sighing resignedly, Jazz yanked her covers aside and got up, ready to start a new day. After showering and getting dressed with a long-sleeved, white dress shirt, a black ribbon tied tightly around its collar; a matching black, a-line skirt over thin grey tights; a teal blazer over her shirt, and brown ankle boots (which went well with her brown leather shoulder bag); she first made her way down the stairs to her parents’ lab. 

Absent-mindedly combing her pixie cut with her fingersーa decision she made after 18 years of rushed haircuts due to having been covered in some sort of unknown ectoplasmic goo after an invention explodedー, Jazz cut straight to the chase. “Let me guess, your latest invention just ‘malfunctioned’”, she air-quoted. 

As she expected, Jack and Maddie were hunched over a metallic device that had definitely seen better days, if the smoke coming off of it was any indication...What she wasn’t expecting though, although she should have, was her dad’s answer. “Actually, that was just the Fenton Toaster. We were about to start the day with a healthy, ghost-kicking breakfast, when she failed on us.” Had she been sixteen again or literally any other person in the world, Jazz might’ve actually been taken aback by the fact that her dad was tearing up over a toaster. Then again, she was Jazz Fenton and this sort of thing from her dad was as common as him yelling obscenities about ghosts. “Oh, dear friend. We hardly knew ye!” 

Rolling her eyes at his dad’s antics while her mum patted his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, Jazz muttered, “Dad, that toaster’s almost as old as Danny…” Who, by the way, was going to be ecstatic to learn the dreaded toast-drying machine from Hell had finally been vanquished. 

Speaking of her little brother, “Where’s Danny, anyway?”

Again, to any other family in the USA but the Fentons, that question would have seemed stupid. Danny was a college student who lived at his university’s dorms with his best friend, so the chances of him being around his childhood home during the school year were pretty slim. And, again, they were the Fentons, and her little brother had been going back and forth from his dorm, to Fenton Works, to the Ghost Zone (not like their parents knew, or even needed to know, about that one…) since he first got into APU. 

Maddie left her weeping husband’s side to pick a wrench up and start working on the toaster again ーpoor Danny; it seemed the evil, toast-drying machine from Hell was harder to get rid of than Vlad. “Sorry, sweetie. You missed him while you were doing your research. Your brother was here yesterday; he said he came Sunday night because he couldn’t find his dorms’ keys. But he’s back at college now.”

She suddenly stopped tinkering with the busted toaster’s inner workings, taking off her goggles from her face, a pensive expression plastered on her face. “Hm...I know Danny’s always been a little distracted, but he keeps losing his keys. At this rate he’s going to end up sleeping on the street just because he can’t get inside his own home!”

Recovering from his temporary loss of composure over the Fenton Toaster ー“I love you, guys, but it’s a miracle this family hasn’t been studied by professional psychiatrics already. Not like I didn’t give it my best shot…”, Jazz thought to herselfー, Jack was soon standing right beside his wife, towering over the pile of scrap metal with a matching pensive expression of his own. 

That couldn’t be good.

“Now that you mention it, sweetcakes,” he said, “you’re right. Danny’s always losing stuff!”

“Right?” Maddie insisted. “Don’t you remember, back in his first year of high school, when his English teacher, Mr. Lancer, called you over because Danny’s pants kept falling several times just that week?”

“Uh...the memory’s a bit blurry, Hon, but I know what you mean.” In truth, Jack didn’t remember any of that. All he knew was that he suddenly found himself chaperoning a homecoming dance. If only there was a way to get your memories back like those keychains that you attached to your clothes… And then it hit him. “I know, Maddie! Why don’t we make one of those keychains that you attach to your clothes so you won’t lose them for Danny?”

His wife beamed at that. For all his scatterbrained-ness, Jack truly was a talented inventor with a creative mind. Just a fuzzy head. “Oh, that sounds marvelous, honey! I’m sure Danny will love that!” She exclaimed before quickly pecking him on the lips.

Unbeknownst to her parents, Jazz grimaced in worry at the idea. Back when she was sixteen, or any other day, really; she’d have been overjoyed at the idea of her ghost-hunting parents creating something that was absolutely non-ghost-related, but since said idea would make it more difficult for Danny to keep his secret from them...She was just glad she was in town to look over him. Trying to appear supportive rather than dismayed, Jazz chirped, “Yeah, great idea, Dad...What are you going to call it? The Fenton Keychain?”

“‘The Fenton Keychain?’” Jack parroted before scoffing. “Of course not, Jazzy-pants! I was thinking something more along the lines of, ‘The Fenton Fermoir’!” He announced, striking a dramatic pose. 

The blue-eyed young woman started at that, taken aback. “Wait, ‘fermoir’? Isn’t that French?”

“Yes, it’s an adjective that means ‘that which closes.’” 

Gaping at her dad, Jazz blinked. And blinked again. And blinked a third time for good luck. “...you know French?”

This time, it was her mother who answered her, laughing her question off. “Oh, yes. There’s more to us than just ghost-hunting, you know?” Then she and her husband laughed together at her own joke. 

“Could’ve fooled me…” Jazz mumbled. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Um...oh, right. So Danny’s not here today, huh?” Her parents shook their heads. “That’s a shame, I wanted to ask him how things were going with...um...with, you know, school and all that. Oh, well! I’m sure he’ll tell me some other time.”

Jack and Maddie exchanged a glance. Ever since Danny started going to high school, their kids often acted weird. At first, they blamed it on adolescence, making them want to make an identity for themselves outside of their parents’ influence but not knowing exactly who they truly were, either. But the fact that their eldest child was 23, their youngest 21, and they still acted like that sometimes was a bit concerning. 

The wrench in her hand long forgotten, Maddie made her way to her daughter’s side. She draped an arm around her shoulders, not noticing that said arm was the one holding the aforementioned wrench and that she was unconsciously pointing at Jazz’s face with it. “Honey, is there something about Danny we should know about?”

Jazz panicked.

Yes.

Yes, there were so many things about Danny they should know about.

They should know their kid had gone through a terrible accident that changed his life forever at the tender age of fourteen. They should know he got ghost powers he spent agonising months trying to get control over. They should know he only ever wanted to protect innocents from ghosts and yet, he was labeled as a menace by the very same people he was trying to look after. They should know he’d not only been carrying the burden of being Amity Park’s unofficial protector since he was fourteen, but also became the king of an entire dimension and could count the people he could rely on with his hands. They should know he went through his very first serious heartbreak because the girl he liked hated his ghost half more than she liked him. They should know their college best friend was a fruitloop who wanted to kill Dad, take Mum from him, and either kill or adopt Danny; because, really, it all depended on the side of the bed Vlad woke up on.

They should know their only son was risking his life even more now because he’d made a deal with the Queen of the Witches of Amity Park who, judging by what Danny had told her, was the embodiment of a death sentence.

And he’d been carrying all those burdens and responsibilities, facing constant danger, making decisions not even full-fledged adults would find easy to make, and had been aimed at with ecto-blasters by his own parents since he was fourteen. Being Danny Phantom had stolen some of the best years of his life away from  Danny Fenton. 

And they had no idea of any of that. 

But how could they, when Danny refused to tell them the truth?

Every time Danny faced a bigger threat than dealing with ghosts of the same caliber as the Box Ghost, Jazz tried convincing him to come clean to their parents. Because, what if they never saw him again after that battle? What would she tell them, then? 

But Danny would not budge. And, Jazz remembered, she couldn’t blame him. With the entire town, barring a dedicated fan club, and a good chunk of the Ghost Zone against him, how could he risk losing one of the very few places he could call home? Just like she told him when he asked her why she never said anything about his secret, it was his secret. Only he could talk about it with Mum and Dad. 

“Jazz, honey? Is everything alright?”

Her mother’s voice broke her out of her stupor. She must’ve spaced out for a while, for her parents were looking at her worriedly. Flushing sheepishly, she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. And don’t worry about Danny either. He just…” What was that excuse he told her he’d use if anyone started asking questions again? Oh, right. “He’s just busy working on a paper to help me with my own thesis, that’s all.”

Okay. So not only was it a lie, but it wasn’t exactly what Danny told her to say, either. Her little brother decided to respond saying he was suddenly very interested in the occult because he was writing a paper on a seminar he’d signed himself up for, but since she went back to Amity Park to study the witches there, it was still a good excuse. 

Said excuse seemed to calm her parents down, before they fully registered her words and they seemed worried again. But, she knew, this time they were worried for her.

“Uh, Princess? Are you sure you want to focus that thesis of yours on...witches?” Jack asked warily, looking up from the remainers of the Fenton Toaster.

The redhead rolled her eyes in annoyance; there they went again. “Your father’s right, sweetie. While not necessarily a bad topic...erm...it’s not exactly the easiest one to research.” Her mother tried to discourage her gently. “For starters, most of the  records we have are nothing but speculations and hearsay… I mean, the Salem witch trials were mostly based on unfounded accusations!”

How two of the world leading experts in ectology, who defended the existence of ghosts long before their theories were proven correct, could be so convinced there was no such thing as witches was beyond her. Arbitrary scepticism, much?

Jazz had to admit, she understood her family’s surprise when she opted to focus her thesis for her Cryptology class on the legendary women. A psychology undergraduate, a woman convinced of the infallible nature of the scientific method since birth, and an aspiring psychologist since she was sixteen, it was understandable that her decision to minor in Cryptology would come as a surprise to...well, everyone. 

But protecting your half-ghost little brother from the shadows for the last seven years had a way of making you question everything you once thought you knew. 

After all, if such a thing as ghosts weren’t only real but had an entire dimension for themselves, then who was to say such a thing as magic-wielding women couldn’t exist?

The moment Danny told her and Tucker he planned on asking them for help at the beginning of Fall only cemented her decision. It was a real pity Danny refused to disclose the supposed location of the Amity Park clan for her safety. 

“Mum, Dad, I’ve told you already. It’s precisely because of all those myths that I want to study them. For all we know, all those potions that are always mentioned in folklore could just be really advanced medicine. Are we really going to turn our backs on the scientific community like that?”

“And that’s a great idea sweetie! But…” Maddie tried reasoning with her, but nothing came to mind. Awkwardly, she turned to her husband and whispered harshly, “Help me out here, will you?”

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. “What your mother’s trying to say, Jazz, is that, if there was evidence on the existence of witches, we’d already know. Don’t forget, your ancestor, John Fentonightingale, was a celebrated witch hunter during the time of the Salem trials. He was an admired and respected member of his village, but the only thing he ever did was send innocent people to be burned alive.

“When he eventually realised what he’d done, he spent the rest of his life lamenting his shortsightedness; rejecting the fame and glory his witch-hunting days had brought him. And even if he ultimately turned to ghost-huntingー”

“Goodbye, fame and respect.” Jazz mumbled.

“ーthe hole in his heart caused by his actions would never be filled again.” Jack finished his tale with a morose expression, hoping Jazz would understand what he was trying to say. 

She didn’t. “Okay, that was a very moving story with a valuable lesson on the dangers of letting fear and paranoia overtake us. But what does it have to do with me?”

Still standing by her daughter’s side, Maddie tried comfortingly rubbing her arms with the hand that wasn’t holding the wrench. “We’re just trying to warn you not to jump to conclusions, because you might regret it.”

Okay, that was it. Her parents were in no position to warn her against jumping to conclusions; they lost that right the day she finally understood they’d been unknowingly talking about ripping their own son apart ‘molecule by molecule’ ーright in front of him. Jerking away from her mother’s touch, she put her hands on her hips as she sent them her most meaningful look.

“For the last time! I’m not going to try and, I don’t know, rally up the entire town against the witches! I just want to study them. You know, learn about their culture, about the origins of their abilities, about the differences between fact and fiction...” she shot them a pointed look as she stressed that last part. “I just want to understand them!”

“But you don’t even know if they exist!” Jack protested as she made it to the stairs.

Hearing her dad’s comment, she turned to face them once more. Oh, she knew they existed alright, that much Danny had been able to clue her in. What she didn’t know was where to find them. But she couldn’t tell them that. “Well, that certainly didn’t stop you from building a ghost portal to another dimension you weren’t even sure existed! And it sure as Heck won’t stop me!” 

That last comment should be enough to get her parents off her back for at least a couple of days. But the conversation had put her in a bad mood, something that didn’t happen since she learned to appreciate her parents’ ghost-hunting abilities, or, when it was Danny who was being pursued by them, their lack thereof. Stomping out of the house and slamming the door closed behind her, Jazz angrily made her way to the usual starting point of her quest. 

The Amity Park Public Library. 

The large granite building was supposed to be completely white, but the decades since it was built had washed out the stones, making them look grey-ish instead. The several steps leading up to the entrance were flanked by two lead lion statues resting atop a block of stone each. The front of the building, on the other hand, was both decorated and supported by numerous columns, with two of them at either side of the wooden door. 

Despite the impressive sight, what truly mattered lay behind its doors. Walking inside, Jazz let herself be washed over by the smell of ink and paper so characteristic of the library. Wherever she looked, hundreds of books stood proudly on their shelves, some of them so high up that the only way to reach them was with the help of stairs. 

Scattered around the library were several tables and plastic chairs where the visitors could sit to read their latest acquisition or work on the projects that brought them to the library in the first place. 

Breathing the scent in, Jazz walked over to the little counter located right at the entrance of the library, where the librarian would usually be working on her computer. Whenever she wasn’t out and about organising books, that is. 

Jazz waved at her with a smile. After coming to the library to study for years, she was basically a regular by now. “Good morning, Wilhelmina!” Wincing at her unintentional high-pitched tone, she lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “How’s everything around here?”

Looking up from her computer, the pudgy woman smiled knowingly at Jazz before willing her chair to get closer to her. “Good morning, Jasmine. It’s been so long since I last saw you; when was it again, two days ago?” Wilhelmina joked as she leaned in closer to the redhead, intertwining her fingers as her elbows rested on her desk.

Jazz flushed slightly at the harmless jab. “What can I say? You won’t get rid of me so easily!”

“Don’t I know it…” There was something odd about the way the librarian said those words, but the redhead decided to let it go. It was probably nothing, either way. 

“I wanted to ask you if you could recommend a book onー?”

“On witches?” The auburn-haired lady finished for her. Seeing the young woman’s embarrassed hint of red on her cheeks, she chuckled. “Oh, don’t be so surprised, my dear. You’ve been asking for the same thing for almost a month now! It’s just nice seeing someone retain some sort of interest for this old place and its books. Nowadays, most people just come here to surf the net for free.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about me for a while, then! So, the books?”

Leaning back on her chair, Wilhelmina pointed to a faraway aisle. “Try the History section. I’m sure there’ll be a journal or something to help you with your paper.”

Jazz flashed her a charming grin, “Thanks, Wilhelmina. You’re the best!” As she turned her back on the librarian, Jazz failed to notice the dark grin that made its way to her face. 

Once Jazz was out of earshot, Wilhelmina said, “Oh, you have no idea,” the twisted expression never leaving her face.

As she walked around the library’s endless halls, Jazz couldn’t help but be grateful for having Wilhelmina as the librarian. Any other person would have looked at her like she was crazy or a Satanist murderer in the making for researching the occult so much, but never Wilhelmina. The woman just smiled at her and tried helping her to the best of her abilities. If Jazz had been looking for information entirely on her own, she’d have stuck to a particular section of the library, but Wilhelmina was always recommending a broader search. And, Jazz couldn’t help but think, it was a smart choice. One never knew what they could find or learn if they listened to different experiences other than their own. 

Standing in front of the shelf where the history books were, the aqua-eyed woman began scanning for something that might help her clear up the fog surrounding the group of witches Danny might be facing from now on. If she could just find out where their hideout was supposed to be… Not only would she be able to study them, but she might even convince them to ally themselves with her brother for good!

Ever since she was a teenager and found out about her brother’s secret, Jazz was determined to focus her thesis on the effects such circumstances could have on him. But as time went by, she came to understand that would be impossible. Writing a thesis on Danny’s very unique circumstances would be akin to exposing him, and she couldn’t do that to him. 

Because he trusted her. 

Danny’s number of enemies increased tenfold by the day, while his allies followed a much more stagnant rhythm. Goodness, he couldn’t even get his girlfriend to give up ghost hunting for him! She and Tucker were the only two people in all of Amity Park he could rely on. 

And there was no way she’d ever betray that trust. 

Which, sure, was a very meaningful proof of the love and bond between them, but still left Jazz without a topic for her thesis. So when Danny revealed his discoveries on the existence of witches, of all things, she was ecstatic. 

The possibility of a magical species living in Amity Park was perfect on many levels. On the one hand, it would expand their knowledge of the paranormal, with the added bonus of finding potential alternatives for everyday problems. And on the other, it gave her the perfect excuse to stay close to Danny and make sure he was safe. With her in town, he wouldn’t have to make up excuses as to why he slept in Fenton Works when he already had a perfectly nice place to stay at APU. All he had to do was phase through her room to get to his. 

And, most importantly, that way he had somebody else he could talk to about his double life. He was going to need it if he’d indeed managed to establish a truce between the spellbinding women and ghosts. From what he’d told them, those sorceresses were vile. 

As she walked over a nearby table carrying a pile of books with both hands, Jazz couldn’t help but wonder how her little brother would handle the situation. 

.............

Danny was not handling the situation well.

Although, it wasn’t necessarily his fault. Lady Arcana’s own unwillingness to cooperate was a key factor in their stalemate. 

Even if they addressed each other formally and obvious jabs directed at their respective species were, thankfully, non-existent, the coldness between them that reigned during their first face-to-face interaction was now stronger than ever. 

Just like the last time, he’d sent Skulker to escort the queen and her entourageーwhich still consisted of the same two witches; talk about confidence…ー through the Ghost Zone up until they arrived at his lair’s throne room. They still pretended they were both honoured to be in each other’s presence even though Danny was sure the Witch Queen wished she could just spit at him as much as he did. 

And knowing Desiree, if she were near to grant her wish, a cascade of spit would rain down on him.

This time, however, Danny had ventured deeper inside his lair, with the witches close behind him. Figuring discussing over inter-dimensional safety in the middle of his throne room would be unwise, since one never knew who could be watching, he led his guests to the Council Room; where the Observants, Clockwork, and heーand occasionally Frostbite or any other ghost with a modicum of authorityーgathered to discuss political affairs regarding the Infinite Realms. 

Admittedly, he wanted to slap himself for not thinking about it sooner. 

Another thing that was different and he had failed to point out earlier was that, technically, the witches weren’t alone. No, there was nobody else besides the queen and her two...guards? ーcould he even call them guards?ー but they weren’t alone per se, either. 

The bespectacled, strawberry blonde one had a pet owl perched on her shoulder. The bird, Danny had to admit, was beautiful. Its plumage was predominantly white and cream. The white feathers were more noticeable in its belly and heart-shaped face, with most of its body and the top of its head looking rather creamy. The owl’s black orbs seemed not only capable of seeing in the dark, but also deep inside your soul. 

In other words, the girl’s pet was pretty, but creepy. And he had a feeling that would be a stable of these women. 

The Asian teenager seemed to prefer reptiles, and, yes, he based his hypothesis entirely on the fact that the girl had a bearded dragon around her neck as if she was wearing a scarf. Danny couldn’t tell what was creepier; the lizard’s naturally spiky, scale-covered body and its little tongue licking its eyeball, or the way the witch scratched her pet’s chin and cooed at it when she thought nobody was paying attention to her. 

“Well, it could be worse. She could buy herself a cat and name it after a married woman who will never love her back.” Danny had to physically restrain himself from shuddering at the thought. 

But the weirdest thing, of course, had to be Lady Arcana’s own companion. Which, again, he was sure was going to be a stable between them. At first he didn't even see her carrying anything, her form obscured by her cloak, but the moment they entered the Council Room ーalone; Lady Arcana had stationed her witches to guard the doors, just as he did the same with two of Walker’s goonsーand she made herself comfortable (or as comfortable as she’d ever be in enemy territory), he spotted it.

Had she really brought a potted plant with her all the way from the portal to his lair? And, now that he took a closer look, was that a carnivorous plant?

Scratch whatever he said about the teenager and her lizard. The way the plant nuzzled her face or wrapped itself around her forearm as she gently stroked its stem was ten times creepier. Although, a part of him couldn’t help but think she and Undergrowth would get along swimmingly. 

Two plant-loving psychos bonding with each other. Talk about a meet cute. 

But never mind their questionable taste for pets. They’d been discussing for over an hour and they were still at the starting point. Time was money and this woman was going to make him go bankrupt if they kept going like this. 

“Your Majesty, I understand the situation is quite...extraordinary, but I’m afraid we are still in need of a solution.” He tried for the umpteenth time that hour. 

The woman before him just sniffed in displeasure. It was a good thing they were separated by a rather large, rectangular table, otherwise, he might have leaned forward and wrung her little neck out of sheer exasperation. “I am perfectly aware of the situation, King Phantom. But, as I have informed you already, there is not much I can do if I do not know the cause of the portals opening.”

But that was precisely why he needed her help! Getting frustrated, Danny let out through gritted teeth, “Which I believe is precisely the reason why I need you here in the first place, my Lady. You are supposed to be able to discover the reason behind it.”

“Well, supposedly, these portals are a natural occurrence of the Ghost Zone. How is it possible that you do not know how to take care of the problem on your own?” She countered, matter-of-factly, and Danny would have given about anything to get her to shut up and do something useful instead. 

“Supposedly,” he echoed, “your people have the natural ability to surpass the laws that separate the Infinite Realms and Earth from each other, and hence, youーshouldーknowーhowーtoーcounterーit!” His voice raising in volume as he spoke, he made sure to punctuate that last part for emphasis. 

Narrowing her violet eyes at him in disdainーhow could he have ever thought they were beautiful?!ー, Lady Arcana spat. “Supposedly, that bond was tattered after your kind’s betrayal.”

If it weren’t for the audacity of her statement, he would’ve recoiled at the gravity and resentment etched into her words. Narrowing his own eyes at her, he leaned forward. “Trust me, your Majesty, you would be wise to keep your mouth shut; you are in no position to talk about betrayals.”

As her scowl deepened, teeth borne at him in anger, a low growl could be heard emanating from her throat. But Danny was not going to be intimidated that easily. Returning the intensity of her gaze, the two kept eye contact, initiating a staring contest born from frustration and distrust. 

Eventually, the Witch Queen averted her eyes, crossing her eyes in a huff as she leaned back on her chair. Her little plant reacted to her turmoil, for it hopped over to her ーwait, it hopped?!ーto get her attention. Noticing her weird-ass pet near her, the witch began to absent-mindedly caress its little, purple...head?

He was never eating a salad again in his life; he ought to let Tucker know he’d decided to join him in his carnivorous ways.

Leaning back against his own chair, Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. They’d been at it for more than an hour and, rather than discuss a possible solution, all they’d done was argue. Sighing through his nose, he called out to her, an idea forming in his mind, “Hey.”

Taken aback by his sudden drop of formality, Sam looked over at him with a guarded expression. What was he up to? Rather than answering, she raised an interested eyebrow as a sign to go on. 

Danny took that raised eyebrow and her silence as permission to continue. “How about we drop the honorifics and formality for a while, huh? I don’t know about you, but I’m a rather laid-back person and having to address someone as if I was meeting the Queen of England tends to stress me out. And that by extension makes me much more prone to get defensive.”

Sam bit back her reply that she was, in fact, as much of a queen as the Queen of England, and that he should treat her as such.

“And let’s be real; getting defensive with each other is going to get us nowhere, don’t you agree? Besides, I’m already stressed out as it is due to a matter regarding a black hole forming, so I bet I’m not the most agreeable guy to be around right now.”

“No, you aren’t”, Sam was actually surprised Phantom shared her beliefs about formality and social distance. But that didn’t mean she was going to lower her guard around him. And his last words took her completely by surprise. “...did you just say ‘black hole’?”

“That’s not something you should concern yourself with.” He dismissed the question immediately.

Squinting her lavender eyes at him, her suspicions of any ulterior motives never quite going away, Sam gave in. “What are you getting at?”

At least she was listening to him. He was willing to count that as progress. Danny raised his palms up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, we don’t know for how long we’re gonna have to work together. So how about we’re at least casual with each other? Because, I don’t know about you, but all this higher register of speech is giving me a headache.”

As if to prove his point, Danny rose up in the air until he was comfortably floating about three feet high. As he leaned back, his arms crossed behind his head and one leg over the other, nothing would’ve wiped the smug look on his face as he looked down on the Queen of the Witches of Amity Park, her own jaw hanging low in awe. 

Noticing the smugness radiating off of him in waves, the raven-haired girl forced her jaw shut. No way in Hell was she going to give him the satisfaction of amazing her. Even if she wasn’t going to say it aloud, Sam concurred with his point. Straightening her back, head held up high, she made sure to bruise his ego the same way he almost bruised hers. “Fine. Let’s drop the honorifics, I was tired of pretending I have any respect for you, anyway.”

Danny frowned at that. “Hey!”

“What? Do you seriously expect me to believe I’m not in immediate danger of being attacked by a ghost just for the mere fact of invading their turf? That you and your people actually respect mine?” Her voice was laced with cynicism as she scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

As much as Danny would’ve loved to contradict her, he knew he couldn’t. After all, he hadn’t just sent Skulker to escort them in fear they might get lost, the possibility of them being ambushed by vengeful ghosts was very real.

The raven-haired girl smiled triumphantly, knowing she had him right where she wanted him. “If it’s any consolation, if any of you so much as tried stepping foot, or ghostly tail, or whatever, into our territory, not a single one of us would hesitate to exorcise the Hell outta you.” Motioning to the door with her head, she added. “Susan in particular would have a blast.”

“Susan?”

“The teenager with the bearded dragon; Count Scalynton”

“‘Count Scalynton’?” Danny echoed in disbelief, before having to stifle a laugh with his gloved hand. Seeing the Witch Queen’s unamused stare, however, he sobered up. “And...uh...what about...the owl?”

“That’s Spooky.” Lady Arcana replied with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“And your little friend?” He asked hesitantly, pointing at the potted plant comfortably perched on its owner’s lap, but making sure his finger didn’t get too close; in fear of getting it bitten off. 

“Oh, this little guy?” Sam looked down at DeMilo with a fond smile. “His name’s DeMilo.”

“...are you serious?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“No! No, no. Of course not! DeMilo is...uh, a great name.” He quickly assured her, sheepishly. The last thing he needed was to invoke her wrath, again. Clearing his throat, Danny decided it’d be best to change topics. “So...No honorifics?”

“No honorifics.” Lady  Arcana nodded from her chair. 

“Right. So, instead of ‘your Majesty’, ‘my Lord’, or ‘King Phantom’, you can just call me ‘Phantom’ and Iー”

“You can just call me ‘Lady Arcana.’” The Witch Queen cut him off with a tone that left no room for discussion. 

The white-haired young man slouched slightly at that. Just when he thought they were making progress, she closed herself off completely all over again. But he couldn’t afford displeasing her further, so he’d have to play by her rules...For now. “Right. Got it. So...about those portals?”

As he asked that, Phantom leaned forward to her, changing his position mid-air so his torso was facing now upside down but his head remained straight. As the Ghost King lowered his body so his forearms were atop the wooden table, an intrigued gaze directed at her, Sam deposited DeMilo on the table, her own hands resting on it. Locking eyes, they had each other’s undivided attention. 

Understanding they were back to business, Sam sighed tiredly. “I wasn’t lying when I said I need to know the cause behind the portals’ strange behaviour. If this is something that can be solved through magic, then it is imperative that we know what’s causing it to figure out the best course of action to take. The wrong spell could lead to disastrous consequences.”

“Like?” Phantom raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Like sending the world to another dimension instead of closing a portal between dimensions.”

“I guess that makes sense. So how do we figure out the cause?”

“I can start by looking through this.” Sam offered as she, seemingly, got a book out of nowhere, Phantom’s eyes widening at the sight. The reddish-brown leathered book was the same one she used to open the portals to the Ghost Zone, which made it their safest bet for finding a solution. After all, if the book guarded almost forgotten knowledge on how to open inter-dimensional drifts, then it should have the answers to more mysteries, right?

...............

Outside the Council Room, on each side of the door, Stephanie and Susan were patiently waiting for their queen. Well, “patiently waiting” might have been an exaggeration. Stephanie was stiff as a board, while Susan looked like a furious guard dog, the murder in her eyes only cemented the picture. 

Both witches’ emotional state could only be attributed to one thing.

Ghosts. 

Or, to be more precise, the two police-dressed, green spirits they were forced to stand guard alongside because the Ghost King wasn’t about to be caught dead (pun not-intended) with three witches and no back-up.

As much as she hated it, Susan had to give the spook credit: he wasn’t nearly as stupid as she thought. 

The teenager kept stroking the length of Count Scalynton’s body, currently sprawled alongside her arm, as she pondered different ways to escape the Ghost King’s lair and his ectoplasmic, door-floating, bloodcurdling realm in case things went awry. 

Beside her, Stephanie was lovingly scratching Spooky’s beak in an attempt to calm  herself down. Looking over at the ghost-guard assigned to her, she squeaked and promptly looked away when the spectre, having felt her gaze on him, landed his blood-red, pupiless eyes on her. Gulping loudly, she whispered to Susan. “Do you think her Majesty will be frequently meeting Phantom from now on?”

Susan whispered back with a sneer. “I hope not! Miss Wilhelmina was right when she warned me against these putrid, soulless drones. We can’t lower our guards, especially not now that the queen needs us.”

Discreetly pointing with her head, the Asian girl guided her partner’s gaze to her hips. Lifting her red hoodie almost unnoticeably, the strawberry blonde’s eyes widened at the sight; two crossed, leather bandoliers were filled to the brims with an assemblage of jars containing colourful liquids. Stephanie’s jaw almost fell open in shock; the 17-year-old girl was armed to the teeth with potions!

Realising they weren’t alone and the dangers in their secret stash being found out, Stephanie tried to appear nonchalant. Pretending to be talking in general, she added. “I just hope her Majesty is safe.”

Susan gave her a wry smile. “Oh, trust me. Her Majesty will be fine even without our help.”

...............

As she skimmed the pages of the spellbook in search of more information on the portals, Sam kept looking over at Phantom, praying he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. 

As satisfying as it’d been seeing his bewildered face when she suddenly pulled the book off seemingly out of nowhere, the truth was she’d been carrying it with her under her skirt. But what she worried about was not him finding out about the book, but the other items her dress hid from plain sight. 

Strapped around her thigh was a black holster filled with potions. Unlike the arsenal Sam knew Susan had brought with her, which consisted of several offensive and highly corrosive concoctions, the queen’s own collection consisted mostly of Blinding Bombs. As the name indicated, it was a type of potion whose main purpose was to distract the opponent long enough to retreat or come up with a plan. If things went south, all Sam had to do was smash the jar against the ground and cover her eyes, for a small explosion of light would ensue and temporarily blind the spirits, giving her and her girls enough time to escape. 

As she leafed through the spellbook’s pages, she suddenly shivered, noticing a cold presence by her side sending shivers down her spine. What was even odder was the sudden smell of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Dumbfounded, she turned her face to the side and growled at the sight. Snapping the book closed and bringing it close to her chest, she snarled at Phantom. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Taken aback by her sudden movements, Danny blinked. “Um, trying to help you?”

He had to be kidding her. “Come again?”

“I...uh...I just thought I could help you look for answers.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “So I was trying to see if I could find anything useful in that book of yours.”

Oh, he definitely had to be kidding her. “No, thank you.” She turned him down, only thanking him out of politeness. She turned back to the book. “You’ll only drag us down, anyway.”

Danny was starting to get really frustrated with that all-knowing, condescending attitude of hers. Even his sister wasn’t as annoying despite her know-it-all tendencies. Hell, Skulker was easier to work with! Standing up in mid-air, using his leverage to stare her downーliterallyーhe folded his arms in front of his chest. “And how, pray tell, am I going to drag us down?”

He was surprised by the witch’s next action. Huffing loudly, she got up from her chair and shoved the book in his face quicker than he could blink. At first he had trouble registering what just happened (mostly because he was levitating a good three feet above her and she was still safely on the ground) until he took notice of the sparkly, purple mist surrounding theーfloatingーspellbook. He blinked in awe; so that’s how her magic looked like. Once the initial surprise had worn off, however, Danny had to admit, he was a little disappointed; he’d expected more than a floating book. 

Looking over the tome, he saw Lady Arcana staring intently at him. Instead of anger as he expected, however, an amused, knowing expression adorned her features. He might’ve thought she looked pretty hadn’t it been for the wickedness of her smile. 

“Read.” She instructed him. 

Danny did as he was told...only to furrow his brow in confusion. What the…? Reading over the pages he couldn’t make sense of anything written on them. The inked markings splattered all over couldn’t even be considered hieroglyphics! Squinting at the offending piece of paper, he tried reading aloud. “Spiral...lightning bolt...spork?...What kind of sick mind came up with this?!” 

Sam let out a hollow laugh. “You really think that if you were really able to read this book in the first place all by yourself, you’d even need to call for me?” She rolled her eyes at him, not knowing what to think; either this guy was messing with her head or he was an idiot. She motioned with her hand for the book to return to her “Limit yourself to keeping your subjects in line and let me handle this. Although, on second thought, I might actually be asking way too much of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The green-eyed ghost didn’t like where this was going. 

Still reading, Lady Arcana raised her palms up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, for a ghost that’s supposed to be the undisputable ruler of an entire race after having defeated a tyrant, you sure have a lot of detractors defying your authority.”

“Oh, please! Like you know anything about my subjects or any possible detractors.” Was it true he was often fending off ghosts who didn’t care for his laws to stay clear of Amity Park? Saying he didn’t occasionally get his ass handed to him would be like saying his parents took kindly to people who disrespect their jumpsuits, but he didn’t have to tell her that.

“I know more than enough.” Sam countered.

“Oh, yeah? Name one ghost who doesn’t respect my rule and still causes trouble.” The halfa challenged. What was he trying to get out of this? At least ¾ of his enemies screamed their names and evil plots whenever they were freed from the Ghost Zone! In Ember’s case, she literally depended on people knowing and chanting her name. 

“That poacher ghost of yours...what’s his name?”

A poacher ghost? Who the fuck was she talking aboー? “You mean Skulker?”

Sam perked up at that. “Yes, that one! He so obviously doesn’t respect your authority. I mean, he literally hunts you, the Ghost King, for sport almost every two weeks!”

An undignified sound escaped the halfa’s throat, but that was the last of his concerns at the moment. “Okay, first of all,” he started, raising one gloved finger, “he so totally respects my authority. Whenever I need help, he’s always willing to put the whole hunting-the-most-unique-specimen-ever aside for the greater good. And second,” he sent her a pointed look, floating closer to her. He revelled in the way she uncomfortably shrunk away from him; served her right, “Skulker’s not a poacher, he’s a hunter!”

“Does he have a permit or a hunting license?” Lady Arcana asked, not missing a beat.

That actually gave him pause. “Well...no, butー!”

“If a hunter hunts with no permit, then he’s a poacher!” Seriously, how dense could this dude be?

“You seem to be forgetting that Skulker is a resident of the Ghost Zone; my domain. Whatever laws are followed on Earth or among your kind, do not necessarily apply to us.”

“That outta shut her up,” he thought triumphantly.

“So you’re saying you’re okay with innocent creatures dying solely for the purpose of flattering one ghost’s ego?”

Well, apparently not. Danny spluttered at that. Who was this woman anyway, Jane Goodall?! “Whaー? No, of course not!” He vehemently denied before changing topics. This woman was about to get a taste of her own medicine. “But what’s with all these pointing fingers anyway?! I bet some of your ‘loyal’ witches also commit their own atrocities right under your nose.”

Oh, she was going to blast him into next Thursday for that! Standing up from her chair, Sam slammed her hands against the table (careful not to hurt or startle DeMilo, though). “For your information,” she snarled at the ghost before her, “the only huntress in my clan is Diana. And not only is she formidable, sheーalsoーhasーaーpermit!”

Fed up with the ridiculous conversation and the even more ridiculous woman, Danny slammed his own hands down on the table, even if he was floating. “Again with the permit! What’s with you and permits?! What are you, a cop?!”

“I’m a queen!” Sam all but roared. “So, yes, it is my job to ensure certain jobs are only trusted to people with permits!”

Danny was about to continue ranting, but he stopped himself. All this pointless fighting was only making them waste time, and they couldn’t afford that. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t already exhausted from all the arguing. Rubbing his face with his hands, he let himself fall back on his chair. “Let’s...let’s just keep on investigating. Forget I said anything.”

Sam was about to retort when she took notice of the white-haired ghost’s tired eyes, her own fatigue finally kicking in. Slumping her shoulders as she, too, fell back on her chair once again, she continued reading. “Yeah, sure. That’ll be for the best.”

They stayed in silence for a while after that. Lady Arcana reading intently, and Danny praying to all things above him that he’d be able to survive the day. Eventually, the Witch Queen broke the silence, slamming her book shut. His head snapping up at the sound, Danny dared to hope. “Any luck?”

The queen sighed. “I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”

His heart sank. “The bad news,” he moaned pitifully. 

“Bad news is, there’s nothing in this book about what could possibly be causing the Ghost Zone to create more portals than usual. The most it has is the spell I use to get here, but that’s about it.”

Danny was convinced his heart was now lost somewhere along his knees. “And the good news?”

“This isn’t the only book that might have information on the Ghost Zone. When our people parted ways for good after you-know-what,” the look of resentment was back on her face and Danny didn’t know what to do; he should be the one feeling offended! “most of our knowledge was forgotten, but not lost.”

“Meaning?” He prompted her to finish her statement. 

“Meaning, there’s still probably many more books on the topic.” She finished. 

“Which means…” Danny began, only for the two of them to groan in dismay. As nice as it was that not everything was lost just because that particular book didn’t have the answers, having to look for another spellbook or grimoire meant they would have to keep meeting with each other. For Lady Arcana would never leave a precious heirloom belonging to her people out of her sight and in the Ghost Zone, and Danny couldn’t afford to take his eyes off of her in case she and her kind double-crossed them.

In other words, they were stuck with each other until further notice...He was starting to regret not being fully killed by the accident the day he got his powers.

[controversial-ships-anyone]

So, what and why do you like Jerry so much anyways??

You know, no one’s ever asked me that before, so this might take a bit of time for me to answer, just because I do have a lot of thoughts and feelings about why and what made him my favorite character.

I’ll try to keep this brief, but if I end up going a bit more in depth, I apologize in advance.

So, I guess the best place to begin is all the way back in season one. From his first appearance, I really liked him. Even when everyone else in the fandom hated him, he was always my favorite character. I think what originally drew me to him was that I could relate to him and saw some of myself in him.

Plus, I just really liked his whole personality in general, like his little quips (just to name a few of my favorites):

"Oh, look, honey, It's our son with Albert Ein-douche."

"You think you can control me with a haircut?"

"Have you ever tried to relax? It is a paradox!"

"No one is killing me until after I catch my wife with another man."

And I think, because he was my favorite, I tended to pay extra attention to his actions and dialogue, which caused me to notice a lot more about him than I think other fans might have picked up on.

I saw him for who he was: a father that was, and still is, trying his best.

As the show went on, watching him try to argue his case with Beth, trying to get her to understand that Rick is dangerous and he is the reason their family is in constant danger, only for him to be brushed off, verbally abused and hated for the simple goal of wanting his family to be safe, it really only cemented his position in my mind as someone who deserves to be happy and allowed to enjoy things without being ridiculed for them.

I will acknowledge, though, Jerry has made mistakes, he isn’t a perfect person, but out of everyone in the family (at least in the first two or three seasons), he’s the one who apologizes, who tries to make up for whatever he’s done wrong.

One of the best example I can think of off the top of my head is in “Something Ricked This Way Comes," (though that's definitely not the only time he's admitted he was wrong).

In said episode, Jerry realizes his mistake and feels awful for the way he treated Morty, to the point where he starts to cry. Instead of wallowing in self pity, instead of denying that he was at fault, he does what's right.

"Pluto is not a planet."

And even as he gets booed off stage, even as he gets things thrown at him and gets to a point where he is forcibly dragged away from the podium, he says he's wrong.

“I’m an idiot, and I love my son!”

Then, shortly after he gets tossed back home, he goes to Morty and apologizes, tells him that he shouldn't have made his own insecurities Morty's problem.

“Some people just can't handle the truth. Especially dummies like me. Morty, I'm not as smart as your grandpa Rick, but I promise never to make that your problem again."

Again, he's not perfect. He's made some bad mistakes, but like he's said so himself:

"I--I'm not an evil person. I'm lazy, I'm cowardly, and I do not know what I'm doing."

He's trying and that is something I admire most about him, because that's the best thing anyone in his position can do.

They might break something, make a bigger mess than they intended, but as long as they keep trying to fix it, no matter how long it takes, eventually, they'll get it back to how it's supposed to be.

Another reason I like him is because of how much he puts up with. All the constant blame for Beth's pregnancy as if he didn't stay with her and help her through it, as if he didn't also lose his own youth just as she had. All the verbal abuse he's dealt with:

"I don't give a fuck what you think, Jerry."

"Don't insult my father. He's the reason our kids are only half stupid."

"I started today, disgusted and embarrassed to be your son, and later I thought we were gonna die because you're a loser."

"Because if you move the bar so low, you might actually seem like your worth a fuck."

All the times his trauma was brushed off or played as a joke, never being acknowledged or appreciated no matter how much he tries, how much he does for the family.

So, yeah... that's why Jerry's my favorite character and why I like him so much!

That, and, honestly, he's the only character I would want to hang out with in real life, because I honestly feel like the other family members would be assholes.

[imagine-that-haikyuu]

Reaction to Cutting Your Hair Short

These are the first Haikyuu!! fics I ever wrote (barring one Asahi fic) that I used to practice characterization and I figured it would be time to share them! They’ve been waiting almost four long years for the world to see them.

Inspired by the fact that I need a haircut.

Suga’s is inspired by something that actually happened to me when I was 17. That was embarrassing.

- Admin Rachel Lauren

Ko-fi

~*~

Kageyama

Kageyama never once considered you an impulsive person. He could tell from the first day he met you that everything in your life was pretty much planned to the minute: the fact that you were constantly scribbling reminders into your weekly planner was his first hint at this. It wasn’t until he had actually mustered up the courage to confess to you and that you insisted that he take you to the movies at exactly noon—heavy emphasis on “exactly”—the following Sunday that he realized just how meticulous you actually are.

“And I won’t forgive you if you’re even the slightest bit late!” you chimed with a sweet smile at the time. If he hadn’t been so over the moon about you accepting his confession, he would have been concerned. So your dates became a regular weekly thing—Sundays at exactly noon—that he couldn’t afford to be late to. 

Today, he’s sure to arrive early to the café, fifteen minutes ahead of time just in case. It’s bothersome, but there’s something about beating you there that felt reminiscent of his constant competition with Hinata over who could get to morning practice earlier. The fact that he won this time was enough for him to get over it.

“Ah, there you are.” 

Kageyama raises his gaze up from the menu he’d been staring at for the past few minutes. Blues eyes widening at the sight before him, he drops the plastic-covered pages onto the table.

Your once-long hair is gone. Completely chopped off into a bob stopping at your chin. He had just seen you yesterday and at that time, your hair was much longer. As you take your seat across from him, he stutters nonsense syllables. 

“Mmm, I’ll take it as a good sign,” you say while picking up the menu before you and glancing it over.

Finally, he’s able to form a coherent sentence. Leaning a little closer to you, he asks, “W-when did this happen?” 

You pick at a hair on your cardigan, a leftover clipping from the salon that the hairdresser was unable to wipe off of you. “Just before I came here.”

Normally, you would let him know of these kinds of things, but you hadn’t said a word about it. Or maybe you had and he hadn’t been paying attention. He knew that if you had, you would definitely scold him for not listening to you, but he couldn’t help but ask about it.

“W-were you always going to get it cut this short?” 

You shook your head, your hair shaking along with it, and gave a casual shrug. “I just decided to do it when I woke up this morning.” You stare off into the distance in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just tired of how long it would take to style it.”

This is definitely an unusual sight for Kageyama, seeing you so unsure of yourself. Something in the pit of his stomach feels heavy. This uneasiness makes it hard to look at you, and his eyes keep glancing down at the table, then at the floor, and back.

“Kageyama-kun, do you not like it?” 

He raises his head again to finally meet you eye-to-eye. The slightly dejected look on your face only makes him feel worse about the whole thing. Now that he was finally getting a good look at you, it was easy to see that the length actually suited you and framed your face nicely. There was an air of maturity about you as well. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed you were one of his senpai.

“No, it looks…” He struggles to find the right word, pouting slightly at his own inhibition. “Nice” was too simple. “Fine” didn’t feel right either.  “…cute. It looks…cute.”

There’s a shaky sigh of relief from you. That dejected look on your face relaxes, and your lips curve upwards into a wide grin. Whatever uncertainty he had about you before seems to fade instantly away.

~*~

Suga

Tears brim at the corner of your eyes, as they had been on occasion for the past few days. It was so stupid and childish: getting lice of all things! When your head started itching after coming home from vacation and your mother checked through your hair and found the pests, you groaned. The thought of whatever child had been in your seat on the flight before yours could make your blood boil if you were a meaner person. What’s worse is that this wouldn’t be your first time having to take care of this matter. 

You had first dealt with lice as a child. Your hair had been long then too, so your mother did every remedy in the book for a solid three days on end until your head was free of the suckers. She spent hours with you bent over the bathtub using lice shampoo on your scalp, your knees and neck sore from the harsh tiling and awkward positioning. The memory of seeing the little, dead bugs wash out of your hair gave you nightmares for a week after that. You smelled of vinegar for longer than you would have liked in your attempts to suffocate them by soaking your locks in it while a towel held them in place. And of course, there was the dreaded nit comb. There were too many tears from you as your mother pulled that comb through your hair for an entire afternoon, your scalp raw from all the tugging and washing.

So now, at seventeen-years-old, you knew better than to go through that living hell another time. You would have to use the shampoo and the nit comb again no matter what, but at least not with hair that long. You could easily remedy the problem within a day by chopping it all off.

Except it had taken you so long to grow it out from the last time you cut it short, and it looked so pretty to boot. And perhaps, more importantly to you, your boyfriend loved your hair. He would constantly compliment it, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about how he would like the possibility of a new ‘do for you.

“Koushi, I’m so embarrassed,” you say with a sniffle over the phone. Your room reeks thanks to the vinegar-soaked towel around your head. “I could honestly drop dead.”

“These things happen. It’s okay.” Suga’s voice was as sweet as it ever was, but it was anything but reassuring at the moment. “Would you like me to come over now and help you shampoo? I know your mom’s the expert at this point, but I have a distinct feeling that you need to see another familiar face.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You’re dying to spend time with Suga after having not seen him since you’d been home, but the idea of him seeing your now-short hair was doing nothing to ease your woes. “Don’t. I’d feel awful if I gave them to you.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You say that as if my hair isn’t short and easy to manage. You can’t hide from me forever! I’ll be over in a little while.”

Suga lives a few streets over, so it doesn’t take him long to arrive. Your mother answers the door, and you groan at the sound of his footsteps from the stairwell. You don’t move from your spot on the floor of your room when he walks in. Your eyes are downcast. Not even his presence can stir your attention away from the carpet. He’s about to say something, but the timer on your phone starts blaring: it’s time to wash out the vinegar. Without a word, you unwrap the towel and let your soaked hair flop down into place.

Lips trembling, the tears finally start coming out in giant droplets. You place your hands over your face without hesitation. “It looks so bad. I know,” you sob. “I had no choice.”

He huffs. “It’s not fair, ____. You can’t cry like that when I can’t pull you into a hug to make it better, especially when you look so pretty.”

You pull your hands away from your face, tears still falling, streaking your cheeks. Suga’s seated cross-legged in front of you, chin placed in his hands. His smile is as wide and refreshing as ever. You let out a squeaky, “Really?” in between your shallow breaths.

“You know I always think you look pretty, but shorter hair really suits you. You look like a new person.” He sits up straight, and pinches his nose with a wink, his lovely voice now nasal. “But you smell awful, and that I can’t forgive. Let’s go wash it out.”

Still sniffling but tears stopping, your lips curve into a smile. Suga holds out a hand for you, and you take it, giving it an affirmative squeeze. He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a gentle peck, eliciting a sigh of relief from you.

“Thank you, Koushi.”

~*~

Oikawa

A few days have passed since you’d last seen your boyfriend. A volleyball tournament over the long weekend for him and a visit to the grandparent’s house for you had kept the two of you apart. It’s hardly unusual that you don’t see him on the weekends anyway, given that it’s the height of volleyball season and he more than often overworks himself practicing. However, something about this weekend feels...off. 

Perhaps, it’s the shortage of texts and calls on his end that bothered you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried even before this particular weekend: something in the way he talked to you at school and the general air about him when he walked you home felt distant. Hesitantly, you had asked Iwaizumi if something had happened, but he couldn’t tell you what was bothering Oikawa, just that he had noticed the tension between the two of you as well.

When you had passed the hair salon while out shopping for your grandmother when you arrived in her town on Friday evening, an idea popped into your head. It was pretty impulsive, but you had been debating about cutting your hair short for a few weeks now. If it was going to happen, now was the time. Except that it had only taken you two days to get used to it, so you forgot rather quickly that it was a thing you had done without his knowing.

So when you open the door for Oikawa on Monday morning when he comes to pick you up for your walk to school, and see his signature smile swiftly fade into a look of confusion, you panic.

“What is it?” you ask, slightly wide-eyed. You pat your face to feel for any food crumbs that you might have forgotten to wipe off after breakfast.

“Your hair.”

You blink. “Right.” You bring your hands up in a slight shrug and chime, “Surprise.”

He takes a step towards you, face a little less confused and a little more shocked now. His eyes take in your styled tresses, fingers reaching out to touch them and barely brushing your chin in the process, but pulling back before he actually does. It was almost as if he needed the reassurance that this was all very real. Your heart beat furiously in your chest as he did this; you honestly had no idea how to gauge this reaction from him and it was making you uneasy. Oikawa was generally very quick to compliment on your appearance, so this distinct lack of commentary is worrying.

Your eyes downcast as he stands before you, you exhale deeply. There’s no turning back now; it’s not like you can just glue your locks back together.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this,” you apologize, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “You’ve been kind of distant lately, so I thought that maybe I was boring you. I know I did it on sort of a whim, but I thought that maybe a little change in appearance would help.”

His long arms quickly wrap around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Your own arms twitch at the sudden gesture, but you relax in his embrace and place your hands on his back, nuzzling your head into his chest.

“I thought you were the one who was bored with me!” he says with a bit of a whine. You pull away from the hug, and give him a look of concern.

“What do you mean?”

He flashes you one of his celebrity-status smiles, but there’s something pained behind it. “Well, it’s no secret that I’ve been dumped before because of volleyball. In fact, I was really surprised that you hadn’t done so already...” His smile fades into pout and he looks over at the wall. “It certainly didn’t help that Iwa-chan kept saying you’d dump me for someone who’d pay more attention to you.”

You blink, mouth in the shape of a small “o.” It subsided into a grin as you giggled, “Oh, we’re both pretty silly, aren’t we?” 

He hums and let out a “Yep!” before giving you a peck on the cheek and taking your hand. “We should hurry or we’ll be late. Besides, I can’t wait to see how jealous Iwa-chan will look when he sees that my girlfriend’s gotten even cuter.”

~*~

Kenma

Game Over.

Kenma’s face contorts as he stares at the dark screen of his handheld console, white lettering taunting him. He read online that this particular level was notoriously tough, and he’d been stuck on it for the past few days. 

Unlike last time he was bested in one of his video games, and Kuroo was there to point out how to beat the enemy, there was no giveaway about how to approach this boss battle. It was just this particular video game’s unusually high enemy curve that made it difficult.

He looks up from the bench before deciding whether or not to take a break from the game. He turns around and looks inside the salon’s storefront windows. You had just been seated in one of the chairs, the stylist wrapping the cape around your neck while your lips move. You place your hands against your hair, palms down, to indicate how much you wanted her to cut. It would still be a while before you were done. Kenma returned his attention to the console and hit “Try Again”.

The only reason he’s outside is because the salon is swamped today. There was only one seat in the waiting area, and it made sense for you to take it while you waited for your appointment. Even if there had been another seat available for him, he wasn’t sure he would have felt comfortable in the midst of all those people. The brash whirring of the hairdryers and the loud chit chat between stylists and customers would have distracted him from his game anyway. 

He also still wasn’t entirely sure why you had asked him to tag along. This was the kind of thing you would do on your own, and then do something together with him after you were done. It wasn’t that much of a bother because, either way, he would have played his game the whole time while he waited for you whether he was at home or anywhere else.

Kenma’s approach to the boss battle is definitely more careful the next few times he attempts it. The enemy’s health bar comes dangerously close to total depletion; his heart races faster because, finally, he would be able to move on in the game. Just as he goes to use a finishing combo, the enemy strikes his character with its most powerful blow, wiping out the little HP he had left. 

The screen fades to the black “Game Over” screen again. Kenma throws his head back with an exasperated sigh while the bell on the salon door jingles.

“All done.”

He directs his attention towards you. If he hadn’t recognized your voice, he wouldn’t have recognized you. The sight of you with short hair, almost similar in length to his, is a vision he would have to get used to. He had only known you with long hair. He blinks once and slowly, until he notices the large plastic baggie in your hand. Sensing his uncertainty about what you were holding, you hold it out for him to see. 

It’s a braid. Your braid.

He looked around, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He muttered a quiet, “You’re keeping it?” He knows that parents sometimes keep a lock of their children’s hair after their first haircut as a memento, but he knows nothing about someone keeping their own hair when they’re older, and all of it for that matter.

Joining him on the bench, you zip your bag open to place the baggie inside of it. “Well, this salon won’t send it to the company for me, so I have to mail it in myself.”

His concerned look doesn’t waver at your words. What do you mean by having to mail it somewhere yourself? Don’t salons usually just cut off people’s hair and then sweep it away? You giggle at his scared face.

“Kenma, I’m donating it.”

His whole body relaxes and he lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it isn’t for something weird. 

You peer over at the console in his hands, lips dipping into a slight frown at the unfortunately familiar “Game Over” screen. “Still stuck on that boss battle, huh?” 

His eyes glance between you and the screen. “Yeah.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back into the bench in thought with a slight hum.

“Maybe your character needs to get a haircut so he can see better,” you tease. “Get that wild mop out of his eyes.”

Kenma shrugs and hits the “Try Again” option once more. As the battle music starts to play and he taps at the buttons, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Even so, he probably wouldn’t look as nice as you.”