#i don’t want free breakfast buffet that bad

[ierogenvy]

so it turns out my hotel is a timeshare

[redflagshipwriter]

Reassembly 8

masterpost

“Are we done for the night?” Something cracked when Kon stretched with his fingers interlocked over his head. Peter glanced over and deliberately decided not to comment on the flexible arch of the other guy’s back. 

“Uh…” Peter wiped gunk out of his eye and checked the study plan he’d written out. “Yeah, I think we got through enough. I need to finish this book tonight, though.” He brandished the classic novel about a giant squid that was a metaphor for the inevitability of death. 

“Blegh.” Kon stuck his tongue out. Like, weirdly out. People here sure were flexible and strong and big and handsome, Peter thought, happy for Kon but kinda bemused about it. Maybe he didn’t need to feel any kind of guilt about not being Spiderman here. Home needed him. Clearly, people in this world were like, built better.

‘...Does it bother me that I might not be special here?’ Peter wondered a little uneasily. ‘Kon can fly. I can’t fly. I don’t think everyone here is as fit as he is, but still.’

Oof. No. He didn’t think that was part of what made him want to leave, but the thought made him feel kinda guilty anyway. He started cleaning up his notebooks and ground the rest of the crystals out of his eyelashes with the side of his fist. 

“You staying for dinner?” Kon asked, too casual. He rolled his neck and stood up.

Peter hesitated. Did Kon want him to stay but was too shy to ask, or had he overstayed his welcome?

“I got the stuff for chili and cornbread. Do you know how to make that?” Kon’s already formidable blue eyes threatened a full transformation into a puppy pout.

Ah. That was the face of a man who wanted chili.

“Yeah, we can follow that recipe,” Peter assured him. He shoved all his stuff into his bag, taking care to keep the angle so that Kon shouldn’t be able to see inside and notice that he carried all the clothes he owned with him. “Are we talking like, Tex-Mex?”

Kon kinda bobbed up into the air for a moment. “...Sure,” he obviously lied.

Peter nodded serenely. Aight. Kon didn’t know what Tex-Mex was. “Show me the recipe you want?” he said instead. “Did you find one for cornbread too?”

“Nah, I got a box.” Kon zipped to the kitchen at inhuman speed and tossed a little blue box back and forth between his hands.

Peter managed a smile. “Hell yeah.” He shoved his bag under the table, out of the way. Then he followed his friend into the kitchen and took a moment to be grateful at how much things had improved.

He had a friend. He had a plan. He now had oatmeal and like, wasn’t fully subsisting off of stolen hotel breakfasts and whatever meals Kon hosted him for. He had spent another ten dollars on portable food and it was like night and day for how hard things felt. Peter felt smarter again. His mood was more manageable and stable. He’d found another small website job too, so he was in the process of making a little more money. Things just seemed better even though his material circumstances weren’t really improved yet. He was still homeless and had made no progress towards getting home but it uh, felt more like his problems were solvable, if that made sense?

‘Almost like starvation is bad for you, buddy. Shouldn’t need Dr. Stark’s degrees to figure that out.’

He choked down inappropriate laughter and washed his hands before investigating the vegetables that Kon had sourced for this meal.

They were about halfway through the chance to study for the university placement test. Things were going alright. Honestly, Peter thought that he and Kon were going to smash past the benchmarks they needed to get free rides to Gotham University. He would stop putting hours towards studies if it wasn't the most normal he ever felt in this place. It was a lot better than sneaking into hotel buffets or gym showers or walking the streets for hours until he could go to sleep unnoticed. 

‘Besides, it’s being a good friend to Kon. He wants to do well on this test so badly and he doesn’t trust himself.’

Peter tossed an onion overhand at Kon and started washing peppers. A split second later the pungent smell burst through the room. Peter’s lip curled up but he didn’t let it slow him down as he cut open and deseeded peppers. 

It was great that he was going to have a substantial dinner tonight, actually. It was a big night for him. Peter drifted off mentally as he cut vegetables, lost in his plans.

It was the big heist night. Well. If this counted as a heist? He was going to go do some paperwork and then print copies.

Hmm. No, okay, that was the wrong category of crime. Peter felt his lips twist into a frown. It was a B and E, but that wasn’t as fun to say as heist.

Whatever. The important part was that he was going to break into the social security office and make himself a social security number. He felt pretty nervous about it. He had the vague sense that there were probably better ways to get a social security number. Like, he knew that identity theft was a genre of crime that existed, and also that sometimes people used dead people’s social security numbers. 

But he had no idea how to do it. When your toolkit is climbing up walls and doing data entry, then… that’s how you should solve your problems, right? Right?

Probably. 

That’s what he was going with!

They finished their meal prep and left the soup to bubble while the bread baked. They killed time with an episode of a bizarrely terrible teen drama that Kon felt undying loyalty for. Peter kept his mouth shut and said only polite things  about the production quality of Wendy the Werewolf slayer or whatever it was.

“I liked the bisexual lighting,” Peter offered.

Kon stopped and blinked at him. “The what?”

“The pink, blue, purple lighting?” He furrowed his brow. “When they were running through the woods at twilight.”

“...I mostly noticed the guitar then.” Kon made a pffft sound and resettled further into the sofa cushions somehow. “I want popcorn,” he said thoughtfully.

Peter snorted and got up. “I think dinner is probably ready. I’ll check on it.”

It was, so he served it up. They both had monster appetites so Peter didn’t even feel self-conscious about going back for seconds and thirds. They cleared the pan of cornbread and scraped the pot clean while a second episode ran. Peter honestly put more attention on his food than the plot of a group fight prompted by Wendy seeing her boyfriend at the wrong moment when he got a surprise kiss from her rival on the cheerleading team. Personally, Peter thought Wendy should be more concerned about her narrative foil Wanda, who was obviously a fake friend.

The screen paused. Peter paused in his quest to get the last dregs of chili and watched with curiosity as Kon dug out ice cream and offered Peter a chocolate bar. 

“Oh heck yes,” Peter said reverentially. He tore the package open with his teeth. “Thanks, man.” He abandoned the last droplets of real food and sank his teeth into the dessert.

“Thank Lex,” Kon said, in that weirdly slightly tense voice he got whenever he said things like that.

Peter waited a moment, internally debating. It wasn’t his business. Except it was, because Kon was his friend. He ventured, “You don’t have to credit Lex if it makes you feel bad, you know?”

“Huh?” Kon blinked at him, eyes suddenly so intense that it felt like Peter was being X-rayed.

Peter shrugged and broke eye contact. “Lex is your parent, right?” he checked, not totally certain he had a handle on Kon’s personal life. The guy dodged questions left and right. “And has conditions on it?” He remembered that bit. Indignation made his voice get a little louder and strident. “You don’t actually owe your parents anything. It’s their responsibility to take care of you. If they don’t treat you right, you can just get out as soon as possible and you don’t have to feel bad that they fed you. You’re not an adult.” 

Kon ran his tongue along his teeth and then took a big suck on his ice cream to avoid answering.

Ah, shit. He didn’t want things to be awkward. He needed a joke to break the tension fast. Peter remembered Kon’s earlier joke and threw out, “You’re like two years old, Kon, no one should expect you to be independent.”

Kon snorted ice cream out his nose and then keened in unhappy surprise. Chocolate splattered onto Peter’s face.

Peter snorted too, too surprised to be disgusted. “Ew!” He choked out. 

Kon shot him a look that said ‘don’t you dare’ but Peter started laughing anyway. “Choco nose,” he managed between cackles.

“I’m divorcing you,” Kon said sulkily, and floated off the sofa. He resettled down on the lone chair and pouted at maximum power. “You can’t laugh at me when I hurt myself with ice cream.”

Peter had been winding down but that set him off again. “Div-divorce,” he gasped. He bent over to put his face on his hands and tried to cover his mouth with his hands to maybe muffle the laughter. “Did we have a pre-nup?” 

“No, because I used to trust you!” Kon wailed, and then he was laughing too.

Peter felt pretty good about his life when he slung his bag over his shoulder and waved goodnight to Kon. He jogged down the 18 flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator out of Kon’s building, humming to himself. He immediately turned to his one-time location instead of towards the library.

Weirdly, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up like he was being watched. He tensed. He extended his senses out to pinpoint the feeling. Someone on the streets? Someone watching from a window?

‘I don't hear anyone. I just feel paranoid because I'm on my way to commit a paperwork crime.’

Peter hunched his shoulders up towards his ears and tried to ignore it. There was no one here.

It seemed risky to bring all his personal belongings along to the scene of a crime. So the first thing that Peter did after arriving was scope out a nearby building where he could ditch his bag. Once he had stashed it out of sight he set out figuring out how to get inside without setting off their security system. 

This building was clearly a little better-funded than the office of vital statistics had been. Peter spidered around identifying the cameras and what they covered. There was just no way to approach any of the doors without getting caught on film. Good for them. He climbed up the adjoining building and leapt across to cling to the right building. Then he hunted down a good window and forced it open with a guilty grimace. He hurt his fingers a little, grinding them into the crevice to get enough grip to force the frame to bust right through the mechanism of the poor lock. The sad thing fell off and landed inside with a quiet thump.

Peter waited a bit to see if anyone had heard that or if any super high-tech alarm would start to wail. 

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

“It is a government building,” Peter muttered to himself, and sheepishly slunk inside to start his errand. He waited to let his eyes adjust to the near total darkness inside. It was a good thing that he was spidery, honestly, because turning on a light would have been a really bad idea. 

He had to boot up a computer and then search around for whatever program they used. It took forever to find it by running everything he didn't recognize and then clicking around inside. The dull light of the computer screen sent a faint flutter of anxiety through his body but come on, it wasn't that bright. He hunched over it to block the light with his body.

Luckily it wasn't actually that hard to figure out the form when he found it. It was just, uh. 

“Forgery,” Peter said under his breath, aghast when he realized that there was a name for someone doing this. Yikes. He was doing another crime that he'd forgotten about. Doing his paperwork was a separate crime from the B&E, huh.

Well. Gotta do what ya gotta do. He was a person and he deserved the benefits of personhood to navigate society. 

‘Still feels like I'm being watched. No way do they have cameras good enough for that, though. I need to just do this and get out of here.’

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering unease. Jeeze. He really wasn't cut out for crime. 

He wrote his actual parents’ names on the form, his real birthday on the adjusted year, and went with the hospital he'd picked out earlier for his place of birth. “I hope this is all I need to do to actually register…” Peter fidgeted and hit print. He got himself two copies and carefully tucked them away in two different pockets, struck by a weird paranoia.

He double-checked his work. He looked up himself in their database and confirmed that the record for Peter Parker was there, with the newly issued number. He swallowed down nerves and shut down the computer. He left out the same window as before. He skittered over to where he'd left his bag and he made direct eye contact with a friggin ninja.

‘Heck.’

[allfryam]

Spider-fat part 1

Peter was your average college student. He liked sports, did well in most of his classes, and had plenty of friends. But he had one big secret. He was Spider-Man. He had never told anyone. Many people were beginning to become suspicious however. This was mainly because of his amazing body. Peter had rock hard abs and bulging biceps. His toned muscles were all formed because of being Spider-Man. His friends would ask him how he was able to look so good without ever going to the gym. Peter just brushed it off as good genes.

After months of peters friends questioning him, peter decided to come up with a plan to stop them. While being Spider-Man had lots of perks, it also had some drawbacks. Peter had an enormous appetite. He could clear a buffet without breaking a sweat. Of course, he had to control himself or he would gain weight. And who ever heard of a fat Spider-Man. But this gave peter an idea. If he put on a few pounds, people would stop suspecting him as Spider-Man.

the next day, peter went crazy. For breakfast, he ate 10 pancakes drenched with butter and syrup, as well as a dozen scrambled eggs. And he washed it all down with a pint of orange juice. Peter liked the feeling of being full. His tight stomach made him feel confident. On his lunch break, Peter was still a little full from breakfast but he knew he couldn’t stop eating. There was a McDonald’s across the street from his office that he decided to go to. Peter ordered a Big Mac, 3 large fries, and a large coke. “14.85” said the cashier. “I’m not done” said Peter. The cashier looked shocked, but a little intrigued as Peter ordered 20 nuggets, a double quarter pounder, and a large chocolate shake for dessert.

Peter picked up a pizza on the way home and ate the entire thing by himself. He went to bed rubbing his tight stomach.

as the weeks passed, peter had gained about 20 pounds. His six pack had turned into a sizable gut, and his ass was a little thicker too. Peter decided it was a good stopping point to get people off his trail. He tried to eat a small breakfast but he was too hungry. He decided that one more day wouldn’t hurt so he ate his usual massive breakfast. Peter had began to develop a relationship with the cashier at McDonald’s because he would go everyday on his lunch break. Kevin, the cashier, had invited peter over for dinner that night, and Peter couldn’t turn up free food. Peter showed up with an empty stomach, and a button up shirt that was beginning to feel a little tight. Kevin welcomed him and Peter saw the massive spread that he had prepared. There was an entire chicken, baked potatoes, turkey, loads of vegetables, and burgers. Peter was almost drooling at the sight of all of the food. He took a seat and loaded his plate with a mountain of delicious food. Peter was in a hungry daze as he shoved handfuls of fettening food into his expanding gut. Peter was stuffed. He leaned back in his chair and let out a massive burp. “I can’t eat another bite” he said. “But look at all these leftovers. I would hate to have to throw them away.” Kevin said. Not wanting to make a bad impression, Peter reluctantly continued to eat. With every bite he could feel the buttons on his shirt getting tighter. He finished the rest of the food and he felt like he could pass out. Peter sat in his chair groaning as Kevin walked into the kitchen. What else could he possibly be getting? A few minutes later, he came back with a platter of desserts. It contained pies, cakes, muffins, pastries, cookies, and more. It was the most appetizing dessert peter had ever seen. “I don’t think I can…” Peter said. “Come on… sugar expands your stomach. It won’t even make you feel full.” Before peter could protest, Kevin had scooped two pieces of pie, a scoop of ice cream, and a thick slice of cake onto peters plate. Peter slugged his way through the desserts, giving up on silverware. He decided to just use his hands to shove his dessert filled hands into his mouth. As Peter shoveled the last bite of cake into his mouth, he felt a pop. He looked down to see a button had popped off his shirt, revealing his tight, fuzzy belly. Kevin decided it would be best for Peter to stay at his house for the night.

to be continued…

[theoddcatlady]

A Bachelor to Die For, Week Two

Week One

Hi, I’m still here. Not dead. Thank god.

I didn’t want to get out of bed the day after Justice’s death. I slept like hell the night before because, yeah, my room’s closest to the heart eating monster. I imagine you’d probably sleep badly too if you were alone.

But this week was our ‘first dates’ with Donovan. We drew straws for it, Jade threw a tantrum when she realized she was going last. I didn’t know why she was excited to date Donovan, but maybe that was her way of finding a way out. If she wins, she won’t die.

Tara and Taylor, ‘Team T’ as Diana has called them, spent their time trying to find a way out. The day after the elimination Taylor pretended to be filling her plate with me at the breakfast buffet while murmuring to me what they’d found out so far.

“There’s armed guards around the edge of the property. It took forty five minutes to drive out here, right?” Taylor murmured as she added another spoonful of scrambled eggs to her plate.

“Give or take. That’s quite a hike back to town,” I said while pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “Is there a reason we’re being sneaky about this conversation?”

“Because there’s literally cameras everywhere. Tara and I were exchanging facts when Bruce burst into the room to ‘chat’ with us. I read between the lines. I wish we could ask the crew if there are any blind spots, but…” Taylor trailed off and glanced behind her to see a camera man slowly rolling up on us. She laughed loudly and headed to the table. “So, Shannon’s first up today?”

I tried not to look at the camera as I sat beside Taylor. “She should be. My date’s tomorrow. What should we talk about?”

“… What do they call the kind of diet he’s on?”

I nearly snorted my orange juice. It’s always a bad idea to eat around Taylor, she always cracks jokes right when you’re about to swallow but that was more than a little dark. Guess it was called for though, considering the situation. “Jesus Christ, Taylor, I’d like to keep my heart in my chest for as long as possible thank you.”

“I would too,” Taylor took a bite of scrambled eggs before grumbling, “Hope if he does take it he bloody chokes on it.”

I spent the rest of the morning in the Queen’s Room and intended to spend every free moment I had in there if Diana didn’t come in shortly after noon.

She knocked twice before letting herself in. “We have a problem,” She announced as a cameraman followed her in.

“Yeah, we’re trapped on the dating show from hell,” I got up, “What’s up?”

“Shannon’s date starts in a little under two hours and she’s barred herself in her room. She won’t come out no matter what I say,” Diana sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “Can you come help?”

“If she doesn’t want to go on the date, she shouldn’t have to,” I said with a shrug.

“If she doesn’t, that’s an automatic fail and…” Diana shuddered as she drew a finger across her throat, “She’s done for. She needs to try, at least!”

That was true. I got up and made sure to shove Camera Guy off balance as I hurried to Shannon’s room.

I did try opening the door, but it was locked tight. Judging by the shadows, she’d pushed something up against it as well. “Shannon? I think it’s time to get ready for your date.”

“I’m not. Going.”

Shannon’s voice sounded so, so tired. I sighed as I rested my head against the door. “Shannon, if you don’t-”

“I said no!”

Jade picked the most lovely time to pass by, but I think the woman has a camera radar a mile in radius. “You’re still trying to help her? Are you stupid?”

“Are you actually heartless?” I cringed at the phrasing I used but there was no taking that back.

Jade rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I’m just saying, if she wants to get her heart ripped out, it’s better for all of us,” She said.

“Just go away if you’re not going to be helpful!” Diana shooed her away as I tried to think of another way.

The only one that came to me was going to suck. A lot. But I didn’t have a choice.

“Hey Shannon, if you need another night to yourself, I think we can switch spots. I’ll go first, tell you how it goes, so you know what to expect?”

Shannon was quiet for a few moments.

“I’d… I’d really appreciate that, Paige. Thank you.”

I turned to Camera Guy, who was still watching us. “Hey, where can I go to get ready?” I asked.

I got whisked back to make up. Thank god they had a professional crew for all of that, I can barely apply lipstick. By the time I was all done over, I looked pretty damn good.

I was escorted out to the back balcony, and there he was, sitting at the small table set for two. Donovan. He looked so perfectly normal. No tail, no blood. He looked, well, like Mr. Right. I smiled and cleared my throat. He glanced up, clearly surprised it was me. “… Didn’t quite to expect to see you. Wasn’t it Shannon’s turn? That’s her name, correct?” He asked.

“She, um…” I swallowed, my mouth was dry as a desert, “She wasn’t feeling well. Might be a twenty four hour bug… thing. So we switched spots. She should be here tomorrow though?”

“Well, I suppose that’s all right,” He smiled before he stood, pulling out the other chair for me, “Come, sit. I’d like to get to know you. Paige, right?”

I nodded as I took a seat, repressing a shudder as his palm brushed up against my shoulder. “That’s my name. And you’re… Donovan.” I hoped he’d read me just as socially awkward rather than actually terrified.

Donovan chuckled as he took his seat again. “Yes, that is my name. You don’t have to be so tense around me. I don’t bite.”

My expression must have been hilarious and quite telling, judging by his laugh. “Well, I certainly won’t tonight. Dinner should be out here soon, how do you take your steak?”

“Medium well.” I folded my hands in my lap, doing all I could not to dig my fingernails into my skin too deeply. “Can we just talk? Like, honestly?”

Donovan nodded. “Of course. Say whatever you like,” He said.

“What the actual fuck are you?”

I expected dinner to end right there. Camera Guy’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. But Donovan actually seemed amused, even if he was taken off guard. “Well then, you don’t censor yourself at all. And as for that, I don’t have an answer. Not even my mother knows, I suppose it all comes from my father’s side of the family. And she has no idea how to locate him, it’s not like they exchanged phone numbers. All I know is that I must regularly eat hearts. Human hearts, we’ve tried beef and the result just makes me ill.”

“How often?” I cocked my head to the side.

“Preferably once a week, but I can go a little over a month before I start to become weak. The longest was…” Donovan twisted his mouth as he thought, “I think about three months? It nearly cost me my life though.”

Still stunned that he wasn’t pissed at me, I continued on my line of questioning. “Must suck, knowing that other people have to die in order for you to live,” I said.

“It’s something I’ve come to terms with. You have to if you have to live like this. Thankfully Cecil has connections at the hospital, so more often than not I’ve gotten hearts from those recently passed from natural causes.”

“Cecil?”

“My apologies, the man my mother married. I suppose he’s my stepfather?” Donovan shrugged. “But enough about me. How about you, are you close to your parents?”

“Let’s see…” Now I had to be charming… or since he didn’t mind, I’d just be myself. “They divorced when I was six, but I’m on good terms with both of them. I think I’m closer to my mom though, we’re more alike.”

“I see. Any siblings?”

“Stepbrother, on my dad’s side. He’s a pain in the neck but he’s a good kid.” I tried not to think too hard about the fact I was probably never going to see him again. “You an only child?”

“I am. Oh, looks like it’s time to eat.”

Our plates were set in front of us and I was so damn relieved to see that Donovan also had a steak, and not another heart. He clearly saw my relief and he laughed again. “What? Did you seriously think I was going to eat another heart? I think having you faint during dinner would be in poor taste.”

“You’re just going to remember me as the fainter, aren’t you?” I said as I cut myself a piece. I had no appetite because of nerves, but I needed to eat something.

“Probably.”

The rest of the dinner I think I nailed. We talked about our interests, he was absolutely fascinated by my desire to write a book and I managed to work up some enthusiasm about his collection of various first editions. Turns out the first edition of The Hobbit is his, he got it when he was thirteen as a birthday present. He recited the first page from memory and for a moment I forgot he was a monster.

It would’ve been probably one of my better dates if I could’ve actually forgotten.

As you can clearly tell, I didn’t do the worst of all the girls as I still have a heart in my chest. Each of the dates were livestreamed to the rest of the contestants in the living room. I was surprised to see Shannon among the group of girls, but seeing her give me a small smile and a nod made going first worth it.

Shannon actually did end up going to her date the next day, although she barely talked and didn’t even have a bite of her food. Diana was so perfectly charming, she faked it better than I ever could when it came to wooing Mr. Right. Tara was passive aggressive for a good portion of the date, but she actually gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, more than the rest of us. Taylor absolutely killed the mood with her bad jokes, but I’m pretty sure that came from how nervous she was.

…. Well, there’s a reason I’m saving Jade for last. Jade more than bombed her date. During all of the dates until Jade’s, Donovan had been the perfect gentleman. Even when Taylor made a ‘that’s what she said’ joke, all she got out of him was a twitch and an irritated sigh. But Jade pushed the wrong buttons. She talked only about herself and barely let Donovan get a word in. She criticized everything about the meal. She was quite sexually aggressive, even when Donovan would politely change the subject or remove her hand from his thigh.

It was the third time she it that I saw he was getting pissed, his typically calm expression turning darker. Taylor was shaking her head and Diana pulled Shannon’s attention away from the TV by asking her about some cartoon she really liked. We all knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Donovan abruptly got up about halfway through dinner. “I think it’s time you retire for the night, Miss Hutchison,” He said.

Jade got up and snaked her arm in with Donovan’s. “How about instead I go to bed with you? Forget those other girls, I can be what you need,” She said.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The growl that came from Donovan didn’t sound at all human before I blinked and Donovan had Jade pinned up against the wall, hand on her throat. She struggled as hard as she could but it didn’t even shake him.

“You know, I let the producers choose one contestant, and they asked that I let her stay on for as long as possible to make it a good show. But I think it’ll be a much better show, now that you’ll be gone.”

That scorpion like tail flicked out from behind him and her eyes went wide. We heard the bloodcurdling scream outside just a second before it blasted from the TV speakers. Donovan’s tail stabbed her in the chest, cutting her off as it twisted around inside of her before yanking out her heart. Her body went limp and Donovan tossed it away like it was trash.

“Turn off the fucking camera,” He snarled before storming off. I saw Monica running after him before the feed went dark.

There was no official elimination the next day since, well, it had taken place the night before. Apparently Monica had given Donovan quite the tongue lashing about it, so no more eliminations will take place again before Friday. I am no longer in the Queen’s Room, that now belongs to Diana.

I feel sick that I’m actually glad it was Jade that was eliminated.

Because that means I’m still here.

Week Three

[scottishstoner]

I work at a fancy fancy Hotel restaurant and Ukrainian refugees are staying (about 20-30) as the government has placed them there and I see them every shift, they go to the buffet which is ofc free and they can order from a special menu also which they have an allowance for (usually they opt not to do this though, and keep their allowance for other things) and these people are nicer than 99% of the guests or walk in customers we have. It’s not surprising, they’re grateful and thankful for us, this one woman with her few kids I see and speak with often,. Svetlana - it’s interesting and I’d kinda miss them not being there if I’m quite honest, they’re lovely people and are just trying to get by and then there’s assholes who will say shit like “oh look they put the immigrants in a fancy hotel how nice for them!” Or like today a fellow waitress who I get along with and I thought was a decent person until she said “we should make sure they stick to this side during dinner away from the normal guests” like fucking hell, (context: the buffet is set up for everyone at dinner but all guests except them usually order from the dinner menu and the other side of the restaurant for the buffet is more fancy for other guests to usually sit and order from menu) I get the others are well paying guests but can’t we just treat everyone the damn same? I didn’t want to start shit but I did say something, at breakfast it doesn’t matter if they sit on the other side as it’s all set the same (tbh I don’t care if they did sit on the “fancy” side anyway at dinner) but because she had told them not to sit on that side - this woman Svetlana and her children this morning asked me if they could sit at the bigger table on the right side of the restaurant (they usually always sat there, breakfast, lunch or dinner until she said don’t sit on that side) and it made me sad, I said of course sit there at your usual table! When I told the other waitress this she actually looked sad about it and felt bad, yet she still said those things before, I’m glad it made her feel bad. Maybe it made her think. I Got very disappointed in her attitude and tone. How would she feel if she was in their shoes huh? Just some thoughts (for more context the buffet part of the restaurant is at one specific part with about 22 tables but the entire restaurant has 52 tables all together scattered across from the reception right up to the buffet)

[umichenginabroad]

Stockholm Week 14: Best Attractions in Iceland  

Our core spent nearly an entire week exploring Iceland in diverse ways!

We arrived in Iceland on Sunday and started the first full day on Monday. 

4/15 Mon: I ate FERMENTED shark (as if eating a shark was not eccentric enough)

It was a relatively late morning, schedule starting at 10 am. We went down to eat breakfast at the hotel around 9 am. All the food was high quality, which was something unexpected. I exploited the buffet and ended up with 5 plates to return. 

It was time for our first academic visit, The Iceland Ocean Cluster. It was a collaboration center for start-up companies using byproducts of fish. A lot of products are made from parts such as fish skin and liver, previously thrown away without use. Some examples were Omega 3, hand cream, fish-skin wallet, and energy drinks. 

Group picture taken by DIS!

Our second academic visit of the day was an informational lecture at the City of Reykjavik - we got to listen to how the city of Reykjavik is working with environmental protection, urban planning, waste management, and climate action.

The paper bag drama

Right after the presentation, we spontaneously entered a thrift store across the street, and wow. Everything they had was in good condition and high quality. There were so many good shoes in particular - my friend found Dr Martin for $40 like what??? I also got Nike sneakers and Vagabond sandals for less than $60, which is a deal. They were as good as new! 

For dinner, DIS scheduled a Reykjavik Food Walking Tour. A fun local guide told us Icelandic myths, history, and backgrounds of the foods that we ate that day! Some things that we ate were: lamb and salmon tartar, lamb hotdog, lamb stew, Icelandic sauces and jams, fermented shark, and blueberry yogurt cheesecake dessert. 

Celebrities from all over the world comes to that specific hotdog stand to try!

We got to feed the birds and swans on the lake with leftover bread that was given along with the stew. We were surrounded by all of them, unable to escape.

The seagulls were lowkey mean to the other birds, snatching the food away

The guide mentally and physically prepared us for the shark, teaching us when and how to breathe before eating the shark. It didn’t taste too bad (a little fishy?) to my surprise but maybe because they let us drink a shot afterward. 

Face with mixed feelings of fear, excitement, and curiosity

The tour took around 4 hours but it was a cool experience! I mean, where else would I be able to casually eat a fermented shark?

This is going off on a tangent but I wanted to share this: they have 10-11 instead of 7-11  ( ˙◞˙ )

4/16 Tue: Glacier Hiking !0!

The grand activity of the study tour, the South Coast and Glacier Hiking!!! 

It was around two-hours of bus ride, but the scenery on the way there was magnificent. Windows background photos were moving in front of my eyes!

Spectacular views

Everyone was so excited to hike on Iceland’s fourth-largest glacier. The local guide who led the way was super friendly and attentive  :)  

Class photo!

I could not believe that I was hiking on the glaciers, and sometimes I think that it was a daydream. What a surreal experience (for free too)!

Credit of last two pictures to DIS!

On the way back, we stopped at two waterfalls. I can vividly picture the first waterfall, Skógafoss, in my mind. It was just stunning. My friend and I ran towards it and ended up getting soaked up ヽ(´▽`)ﾉ 

Everything was fun at the moment 

Even better, a double rainbow popped up as soon as the sun came out. I haven’t seen such a vibrant rainbow in a while - pure happiness rushed to me. 

I don’t exactly know why but I love this place with all my heart 

I should live close to some kind of waterfall when I get older. The joy nature brings me is beyond belief. 

We had another group dinner near our hotel. The hotel we stayed at was in the city center; all the stores and restaurants were nearby! From the prices on the menu, we concluded that Iceland is very pricey. 

4/17 Wed: Geothermal Greenhouse 

Wednesday's main visit in my opinion was going to Friðheimar Geothermal Greenhouse. We learned about their ways of growing tomatoes in their greenhouse. They also had hives of bumblebees! It was good to see a lot of bees since we don’t see them as often anymore. 

All I wanted to do was to pick the tomatoes... But as a grown-up, I restricted myself

For lunch, they served a whole cuisine: grilled tomatoes and meat/vegetable skewers, tomato soup with huge loaves of cheese/olive bread, and cheesecake with tomato jam (better than it sounds)! If I hadn’t eaten so much for breakfast, I would’ve devoured more bread and soup :( 

The cheesecake was served in a pot! Isn't that so cute

With our full tummies, we headed to the Geothermal Exhibition. Iceland produces 100% of its electricity from renewable energy from hydro and geothermal power from the volcanoes. We got to closely look around the power plant and get descriptions from one of the employees. 

Sci-fi movies could film here

The rest of the afternoon and evening were on our own, so we went on a souvenir-shop tour around our neighborhood. I bought a cute Viking shot glass as a present for my younger brother. I tried one of the 70% dark chocolate too and it was AMAZING. It was so rich in flavor ( ˶ˆ⤙ˆ˵ )   

For dinner, my friend and I went to the first ramen place in Iceland and oh my gosh it was the best ramen I’ve ever had in Europe. 

I took a bite before taking the picture

4/18 Thu: Golden Circle Tour: Secret Lagoon, Geysir, Gullfoss, Thingvellir National Park

In the Iceland itinerary, a highlighted note read “Please bring your swimming clothes!” We got to swim in the Secret Lagoon, the oldest swimming pool in Iceland! It was filled with warm water from the hot (100+ degrees Celsius) springs nearby. 

Certain parts of the pool were full of algae, offering an oddly pleasant texture. It reminded me of the polar plunging + sauna experience in Umeå. Basking in the warmth of the pool was a relaxing experience. 

I want to jump in right now

After the rejuvenating swim, we headed to Geysir. There were multiple active geysers, one of which shot water 30 meters up into the air. 

This is a small geyser - doesn’t it look like a tiny water fountain? 

The next stop was Gullfoss, which was the most famous waterfall in Iceland. It is known as the “golden waterfall,” featuring a cascade of waterfalls one after another.  

The picture didn't do a good job capturing the magnitude of the waterfalls

The last official stop of the study tour was the Thingvellir National Park, which is one of the UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

Typical bathroom views

The park had multiple attractions such as the site of Iceland’s first parliament. A group of us headed towards the valley separating North America and Eurasia. The water we encountered was exceptionally clear like a reflection from a mirror. 

Iceland = nature.

To celebrate the successful end of the study tour and a friend’s 21st birthday, DIS arranged an hour of karaoke for our class. We had so much fun that we ended up extending by an hour  ᖗ( ᐛ )ᖘ  The Mickey sparkly special glitter something shot (apparently their signature shot) was truly delightful. 

4/19-22 Fri-Mon: Facing My Consequences 

We met at the hotel lobby at 4:15 am to catch our 7 am flight… Let me just say that I passed out on the plane (sleepwise). However, it was nice to arrive in Stockholm in the early afternoon; I had an unbelievable amount of work to do. 

All I did on the weekend was sleep, eat, and study for the exam for my online Reactions course. When my brain got fried, I did other work for DIS courses and blogs. Assignments and group projects and presentations and essays and exams are flooding in until the end of the semester! 

In the next few weeks, you will see me balancing between traveling and school work. I will try my best not to get too overwhelmed with school! 

Thank you for reading ♡

Vertu blessaður, 

Jiwoo Kim

Chemical Engineering

DIS Study Abroad in Stockholm, Sweden

[after-witch]

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you. 

Word Count: 7,592

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, humiliation, degradation, mentions of eating disorder behavior, improper use of household cleaning products, Overhaul is a mean man 90% of this fic is just Overhaul being an asshole to you

There are going to be bruises on your shoulders. Fingerprint shaped bruises from the men holding you steady, afraid that you'll try to sprint off--maybe afraid that you'll try to spring at their boss, disobedient, unruly possession that you are.

You know that Overhaul won't like it when he eventually sees those black-and-blue fingerprints marring your skin--he might kill them for it, or worse. They're digging in too hard, but you don't warn them to ease up lest they find themselves on the wrong end of Overhaul's hands; they brought you back to this place, after all, and they deserve nothing but your hot, raw contempt.

You could run. You could slip out of their grip, if you put your mind to it. Your clothes are wet and the medical table that you're sitting on is slippery from the rainwater that's dripped out from your soaked clothes. But Chisaki Kai--no, Overhaul, you remind yourself, for the energy he’s exuding now is very much that of a foreboding boss--is standing in front of you, and you'd never make it to the doorway.

"Leave us," Overhaul says, not bothering to move as the men gripping your shoulders release their painful hold and swiftly leave the room. He tears off a sanitizing wipe from the ever-present canister on his desk and wipes down the doorknobs that they touched, before locking the door. An unnecessary precaution, given your nerves, given your state, given your realization that your escape attempt was a massive fluke that would never be allowed to happen again.

You numbly watch as he gathers up supplies from around the makeshift clinic he'd created in the small suite of rooms he allowed you to exist in. The canister of disinfectant. Medical-grade soaps. Sponges. A bucket. Needles, needles, needles... you remember the feel of the syringe you'd stolen in your hand and distract yourself from the fear of what he's going to do to you by retracing the steps of the past day.

**

You got farther than you thought you would--really, you did. At every stage of your plan, you expected Chisaki to suddenly reveal that he knew every step you'd taken so far. That he'd catalogued every act of false obedience to lure him into relaxing the rules, that he saw you swipe the syringe of tranquilizer from the clinic when he'd left for a moment to grab a fresh pair of clothes for you, that he knew you asked to sit with him at his desk only to sneak a glance at his calendar, so you could sweetly plead for an afternoon in the garden when he would be busy, when he would surely ask a highly trusted subordinate to watch over you.

A highly trusted subordinate who knew all about your weeks of good, sweet behavior and who was none the wiser when you'd jabbed him with the syringe, plunging the medicine, the same kind your captor once used to 'calm you down' when you were having fits, right into the man’s thigh. 

You didn't hesitate: you'd dipped your hands into the man's pockets, pulled out his wallet and ran. You barely remember anything until you were in the forest--you vaguely remember using the key card to open the gates surrounding the base, you remember the fear that at any moment you would hear an alarm sound; but from there, everything was a blur as you sped into the forest wearing only the soft day shoes you'd been given to go outside.

You made it through the forest, though not without bumps and cuts and sore feet and a dimly throbbing ankle that was thankfully only turned. You ran until you reached a small town, one you'd never been in before. You buried your first instinct deep, deep, deep: do not contact the authorities. Who knows what connections Overhaul had, especially in a town so close to where he operated? So instead you waltzed into a little corner shop and made a beeline for the bathroom--where you promptly vomited out your breakfast as all of the anxiety and fear and adrenaline caught up with you in an instant.

You remember staring into the bathroom mirror afterwards, your face cold with splashed water. It was then, staring into your pale and anxious face, a face you hadn’t been allowed to see in a mirror for ages, that you felt freedom slamming back into you. You could do what you wanted, now. You were going to get your life back. You could make your own schedule and have your own hobbies back and eat what you wanted and--your stomach had gurgled, as if on cue. You had to get something to eat. But how would you pay?

The wallet you'd pilfered felt heavy in your pocket, and you opened it without a second thought. No cash. But a credit card. It would do, until you were able to get some cash of your own. You wandered back into the shop and even now, you can still feel how struck you were by how cozy, how nice, how different it felt. Just a small general store with big open windows and soft music in the background, and an old woman behind the register who immediately asked you if you needed any help finding this or that.

You smiled--a real smile, how nice that felt--and shook your head and loaded up a basket. A first-aid kit, a large water bottle, a toothbrush and toothpaste... then came the snacks. Candy. Chips. Soda. Things you hadn't tasted in so long. You even grabbed a pointless fashion magazine. The old woman had glanced at the name on the card and you offered a sheepish smile, a fake one that made you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her: "My boyfriend sent me to do the shopping. He's no good at this stuff." She'd smiled and nodded, oh I understand dear, before packing up your order.

You stepped out into the sunshine--you can't pretend like you remember how it feels, right now, shivering from the damp rain on this table--and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled crisp and sweet and clean. Not the sterile cleanliness of your captor's clinic, but truly pure--real. There was a slight tinge to the air, and you spotted grey clouds on the horizon. Not an omen, no: just another sign that you were outside, you were in nature, you were free. The smell was the promise of thunder, of electricity, of cool rain.

It also smelled like... well, lunch. Or more precisely, you smelled the vague scents of the little pizza shop a few shops down.

And here is where you made, looking back, your biggest mistake. You should have headed to a bus station. Or called for a taxi. You should have gotten the hell out of there right that second. But your mind flashed back to Overhaul's little calendar, the words printed neatly in the little square for today: he would be away until the evening, which meant you (surely, surely) had a few more hours before he came back and discovered your escape.

He’d ordered no one to bother you and your now-unconscious guard in the garden, so if no one saw you run out, then an alarm certainly wouldn’t raised for a while. You had time, didn't you? Time to grab a meal? You could always get it to go, and you could even ask an employee inside about buses or taxes. Yes, it was fine--you would get a few slices to go and hop on a bus and leave forever. More than that, it was practical. You needed energy, and the junk in your bag--while undoubtedly delicious--wasn't going to be enough to sustain you for long.

The door to the pizza place dinged when you entered, and you almost teared up at the normality of it. It was a buffet style place, with rows of pizzas under yellow-cast lights and rows of red booths and people lifting slices onto their plates with shared tongs. Unusual for a small town, but maybe it was a remnant from a more bustling time, when American-style pizza places were all the rage. For a moment, your thoughts had turned back to your captivity: Overhaul would have never set foot into a place like this--nor would he have let you. Germs, germs, everywhere. And you loved it.

You paid with the card, but there was no need for excuses this time--the young man behind the register didn't even check for a name or signature, much less ask for identification. You asked about a to-go box and he'd shrugged, mumbled out an apology--they didn't do that here. You have to eat inside.

For a moment, the rational part of your mind screamed: get the hell out of here, then! But your stomach growled, and hunger beckoned, and damn if that row of glistening pizza slices didn't make you want to eat. And eat.  And… eat. You shoved repressed thoughts deep down, your heart hammering all the while, and took a tentative step towards the buffet. Thunder rumbled as you debated. You could be out of here in... 30 minutes? Enough time to eat--to binge, your mind whispered, you can now--and maybe get it out after? Yes, it would be fine. (It would not. Future you, the one sitting on the table and watching in increasing anxiety as Overhaul finishes up his tasks, wishes she could tell you.)

You should have seen the start of the rain, sudden and relentless, as a bad sign. Instead you ignored it and filled up a large cup with diet soda that spilled a little when you forgot to let go of the button. You ate without thinking, not even really enjoying the taste of the first greasy pizza slices you’d had in ages.

You were on your fifth slice when the restaurant doors dinged, but the sense of small town charm was overrun by the immediate realization that you were caught. You were fucked. The air thickened--were you the only one to notice?--as two men in slim suits entered the restaurant with an air of immediacy. You were spotted in a second, if that. You thought about running.

But then you thought about the bored teenager behind the register and the old man cutting up his wife's pizza slices because she had trouble chewing and the little girl stacking up pepperonis while her mom chatted on the phone and you resigned yourself. You didn’t want anyone else to get hurt…even if it meant giving in. You didn't struggle, couldn't struggle, and let them lead you swiftly outside where the torrent of rain soaked you immediately  as they pushed you down the block, where an unmarked car waited. You glanced up helplessly as the cloudy sky and rain streamed down your face before you were unceremoniously pushed into the backseat.

Overhaul was sitting inside, staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before.

**

Your backpack drops with a thump next to you and you flinch out of your memories.

"Let's see what you bought with that stolen card during your little adventure."  His voice is deceptively calm. He must be furious with you, you think. And you can't believe you didn't think about credit fraud alerts before you used the damn card.

The noise of the zipper is thunderous and you scoot yourself back on the exam table, pressing against the wall to put a little more room--even if it's only inches--between you and your captor. He begins to pull everything out of the bag, one by one, and seeing it all lined up makes it clear what type of lecture is coming.

A few bags of chips, a bottle of soda, bars of chocolate, all junk, junk, junk. All food he would never permit you to eat, and certainly not in such quantities.

"Disgusting," he murmurs, before tossing each item into a trash bin kept against the wall, one by one. You cringe at the sound of each bag, each bottle, hitting the bottom of the trash. You didn't even get to taste them. He stares at the trash, eyes narrowed, as if the food itself was worthy of his venom. "Full of unnecessary sugars and fats and oils. Eating so much of this will make you sick. We've talked about this."

You say nothing. You press your lips together. You won't give him the satisfaction of argument. You won't let him pretend like he has any right to lecture you on what you eat, and certainly not what you eat after you've escaped (however briefly) from his clutches.

"At least you didn't have time to ingest them during your ill-planned escape, hm?" He replaces his previous gloves--tainted with the thought of germs on the junk food bags, no doubt--and your stomach flips at the sound of the medical gloves he's snapped on in their place. "Which is more than I can say for the pizza." You never knew someone could say pizza with such a ridiculously nasty tone, but you've learned a lot of things during your captivity.

"You weren't content with this junk hoard," he says, gesturing towards the trash while keeping his eyes firmly on you. "You had to gorge yourself on greasy pizza from a dirty buffet, too? We are going to clean your mouth out, by the way.”

You hate the way he says gorge--you hate the way he says greasy--you hate the anxiety that comes with wondering what he’ll do to ‘clean’ your mouth. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. The hate makes you answer defensively, despite your earlier resolution to stay quiet. You can't help yourself, in a lot of ways.

"I was hungry," you say, still feeling defiant.

"No one working on their fifth slice of pizza is hungry," he answers, simply. You feel diminished, but not enough to shut you up.

"So? It's not your business what I eat anyway.” A familiar tightness is springing to your throat. You don't want to cry in front of him ever again, so you clip the words out, fighting to retain control.

He presses a fist to his forehead in a sudden, rather surprising show of frustration. "Not my business? Not my business? It's my business to take care of you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there?"

The fullness in your stomach, the cold rain soaking you, the remembrance of the wind and branches lashing at you as you ran hours before, all these freedoms have made you feel bold. Or maybe you're succumbing to the effects of an adrenaline crash and you just can't control your mouth.

"I could have been free. You can’t--you can't just keep me here. You can't just kidnap someone and decide you know what's best for them."

There's a long, steady pause as he stares at you. His expression--what you can see from his eyes--is blank, and you almost wonder if perhaps you've stumped him.

"I can," he says, lightly. Easily.

Fucker.

He sighs, and you get the distinct impression that you’re a nuisance, something to deal with, something he’s having to deal with instead of doing far more important things. "You’re showing a severe lack of appreciation for all the work I do to take care of you."

You don't know how to respond to that. "You kidnapped me.” It’s all you can think of--the bare truth.

He doesn't speak at first. Then he lifts something from the supply tray he's set up--a blue hospital gown, thin and short, and tosses it towards you. You catch it instinctively, feeling the thin, feather-light material in your fingers. He tosses a towel, next, and you hold it against your damp chest. He turns around.

"Change."

You don't want to. You don't want to. But you've never pressed your luck on what would happen if you refused to get dressed before, afraid that he might do it himself, and that fear overrides any thoughts of outright rebellion. For now. You slide off your wet clothes and push them towards the end of the table, then use the towel to dry off your skin. There are scratches and bruises, including a nasty looking one that's already turning green on your ankle. Your feet are swollen from running on the hard forest floor with your thin day shoes.

When you're finished, you clear your throat, and he turns back around. He tosses your wet clothes right into the trash--damn, you liked that shirt--and wipes off the table with a separate towel. You sit, legs dangling off the table, and wish he'd just get the punishment or examination or whatever it is he has planned over with. You can feel the coldness of the table through the medical gown, and its thinness makes you feel even more helpless. Weak. You want to retain that feeling of freedom that you had earlier in the day. Even choosing to return without a fight, choosing to avoid hurting the innocent people in that town, made you feel bold.

He stands in front of you until you force yourself to look up, to get it over with. He's swapped out his mask for a medical one.

"Have I ever hurt you?"

You hate this.

"No," you admit, voice tight. "Not physically," you add spitefully, because fuck him for trying to make himself sound like a decent person because he kidnapped you but didn't happen to hit you.

"Do I take care of you?" His tone is firm, commanding. It leaves no room for silences. Instead, it makes your stomach feel light, makes your heart feel like it wants to race.

"I can do that on my own," you counter.

"Can you?" He says, voice dripping in condescension.

"Yes," you spite, bile rising into your throat. "I can take care of myself."

He reaches back and grabs the little stool he keeps in this room, rolling it up to rest in front of the table and in front of you. He sits down and cups his hands together, resting them on his thigh. He leans forward. An easy gesture. Like he wants to have a conversation. But something about his movements sends out warning signals. Big, glaring, flashing warning lights that scream DANGER.

“You can take care of yourself.” It’s a statement, yet the way he says it is brutally mocking.

“I can,” you insist, your voice cracking just the slightest bit under his gaze.

"So, where would you live?" He watches you intently and it takes a moment for you to realize what he just asked you. He isn't offering you freedom, no. But maybe you can win an argument, just this once, and forcibly stop his delusions that he's "taking care of you."

"Anywhere," you say, but he looks unimpressed. "An apartment," you correct. "Like my old one. Doesn't have to be big." Your heart pangs with nostalgia for your old place, for your independence, for your life.

"Ah." Overhaul brings a gloved finger up to his chin and rests is there, nodding, as if he's seriously considering your words. "And how will you pay for rent at this apartment?"

You can't resist the snarky tone. "A job."

He rests both hands on his thighs. "Tell me, how much did you make at your last job, again? No--tell me, how long did you hold your last job?" You cross your arms defensively around your waist as he continues. "If I recall correctly, you were fired rather quickly from that one... and the one before."

You squeeze your waist, hoping for the tiniest bit of comfort from the gesture. "I... it wasn’t my fault.” You feel like you’re under a magnifying glass. “The first time. And the second, well, I was looking for something better, anyway."

He raises his eyebrows, curious. "Looking where? At the bottom of a bottle?"

Your entire body tenses.

"After all," he continues, voice almost taking on a syrupy sweet tone. "Your fridge was so well-stocked with them. Hmm. Do you think it's responsible to spend so much money on alcohol when you're behind on rent payments?"

"No," you say, voice tighter, "But--"

He doesn't give you a chance to finish. He stands, and you immediately squeeze your arms again. "And how much were you spending on other luxuries? Those clothes you kept carelessly shoved in your closet... they were a name brand, weren't they?"

Your throat is dry and your mouth is dry and you lick your lips. "There were sales," you insist.

"Ohh," he says, his voice lifting in mockery. "And I bet there were sales on the jewelry, the trinkets, the--" his eyes drift upwards, an implication of his disdain, "--figurines."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I'm allowed to buy things that I like."

He begins to pace. Not aimlessly, no, nothing with him is ever aimless. He paces until he stops in front of you, turning to face you for effect.

"What happens if you're late on three rent payments? Remind me of the policy that decrepit building you called an apartment complex had."

You squirm on the table. "I was only behind on two--"

"What happens?" His voice is firm. You can't avoid it.

There's a pause before you murmur, unwillingly. "You get evicted."

"So." He takes another step, and turns back towards you. "Do you think it's responsible to spend money you don't have on luxuries, when you're behind on rent?"

You want to run. Maybe you should have run at him earlier. Getting tossed into a solitary room after attacking him might be better than this interrogation.

"No," you admit. You swallow, dry and thick and a bit painful. "Okay. I'm not great with money. I bought things to make me happy because I was stressed out about---life. It's not that big a deal. I--I didn't get kicked out, anyway."

He sits again, but keeps himself upright, the air of faux casualness replaced with an air of command. "How did you catch up on your rent? Tell me."

You hate him. You stare at him, hoping he'll end this, but he simply stares at you until you blurt out the words. "You paid my landlord. Anonymously." You stare down at the floor, at the drops of water still there from earlier. "I didn't ask you to. I would have figured something out."

"I'm sure."

He stands, and you stare at the wall until you hear him roll the tray of supplies towards the table. Your body trembles of its own accord when he grabs your arm firmly and wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top. You sit in silence as the cuff gets tighter then mercifully deflates.

He tsks at the number, and jots it down on the pad resting on the table. For once, you're not tempted to peek.

"I need to take some blood," he says, and you stick out your arm in automatic, habitual compliance before your brain even realizes it. He grips your wrist firmly while he swipes your arm with an anti-bacterial agent.

"How much do you weigh?" He asks suddenly, voice nonchalant.

You stare at him, incredulous. He's never brought up weight before. He’s always been careful to avoid details about weight, nutrition--calories. The most he would do is point out that you need a well-rounded diet with the right vitamins and nutrients, and ignore your questions about sauces and cooking oils and grams, all attempts to find out something that could give you an ounce of control over what’s going into your body.

"I--I don't know.  You don't let me look at the scale when I step on it." He knows this. He knows that he's forbidden you from seeing the number, because he knows about your past, knows your tendency to get obsessive and strict and focus on food and weight and worth.

"Why don't I let you look at the scale?"

Your stomach feels like it's twisting.

"I don't know." The lie is bitter on your tongue.

The casual tone in his voice when he replies is far more biting than any cruel insult. "Yes, you do." 

His words are punctuated by the harsh medicinal smell of the next wipe. But you're in no mood to appreciate that he's still choosing to numb your skin despite your earlier transgressions.

The tears you felt building earlier begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. You don't want to cry, you don't want to cry, you don't want to cry.

“Why don’t I let you look at the scale?” He repeats, firmer, more insisting. He winds a band around your arm and taps at your veins.

Your arm looks fatter, like this. You swear it does. You look away to avoid your arm and the needle and his gaze.

“Because, um, I sometimes have problems with food. Or weight. Or whatever.”

“You have an eating disorder,” he tells you, all business as he plunges the needle into your skin; there’s only the ghost of a sting as he begins to slowly draw your blood. But you barely feel it, you can only feel the impact of his words, blunt and hateful.

"You were going to throw up in that germ-infested hovel. Eat until your stomach was distended, then head into a bathroom--which I'm sure the staff hadn't cleaned in ages--and stick your unwashed, greasy fingers down your throat until it all came back up. Am I correct?"

You can't tell if you feel woozy because of the needle or the way that your heart is racing at his words. Throw up. Greasy. Disgusting. You're disgusting.

"Stop it," you say, voice muddled with humiliation and anger.

He pulls the needle out, and quickly presses a bandage to your skin. He keeps a finger there, firm and pressing. He looks up at you, now, as he continues his onslaught.

"And then what? Let me make an educated guess. You were going to get on some filthy bus and open up all the junk you bought earlier? Perhaps," he muses, as he rips off a piece of tape to keep the gauze in place, "you could have asked the bus driver to stop at a public bathroom for a vomit break. And you'd probably make sure that whatever flea-ridden hotel you found along the way had a scale in the bathroom so you could keep track. And another one of your delightful," he practically spits the word out, "cycles would have started, hm?"

"Stop it," you repeat, voice breaking. "I wasn't--I wouldn't have--"

"You were going to," he says simply, interrupting. "Thankfully, we got there in time. Although I'm sure now you will endure a stomach ache after your reckless indulgence. A lesson, perhaps, though not the exact one I would inflict myself."

As if on cue, your stomach rolls and clenches. You’re keenly aware that you’re going to have digestive problems tonight, and the thought of being at his mercy while you’re dealing with them threatens to send you over the edge.  Could you get even more disgusting? The thought of how you look right now, stomach no doubt bulging, hair disheveled and damp, covered in ugly bruises and cuts--combined with the fear of spending the night on a toilet sends you over the edge.

You press your knuckles against your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut and try to force the sobs down. Your body begins to tremble, even more so as he lifts your leg. Without warning, he begins to unceremoniously scrub it down with a sponge dipped in disinfectant.

It stings and your eyes feel like they might pop at the sudden pain. You hiss at the feeling of the liquid on your cuts and try to pull away, to no avail. Your legs feel like jelly in his grip.

“That hurts,” you whine. 

“It can’t be helped,” he tells you, holding your leg firmly as he scrubs the sore bottom of your feet. Any sensitivity you had there is overruled by the soreness and pain from running, from the stinging aches that remain in your cuts. “I have to clean every cut or you may get an infection.”

He sets your leg down and lifts up the other, and you cringe before he even begins to move. You can’t help but whimper as he scrubs your leg, and the helpless stings of pain only increase when he moves on to your arms.

“Please,” you say, feeling low, nearly flattened. “I can’t… I can’t take this.”

He pauses, and the seemingly genuine concern in his eyes (it’s not, you remind yourself, it’s not--you think of the shop and the pizza place and the old man cutting his wife’s food, that was concern, that was care) has you feeling sorry for yourself.

“The stinging will go away in a few minutes. You chose to run away, you can certainly deal with this minor consequence.” He retains his grip on your upper arm and he swipes the sponge across your shoulders, briefly pushing the fabric aside as he does so. He pauses when he sees the blooming fingerprints on your shoulders, but says nothing.  You wonder if those men will survive the night.

There’s a a cut, thin and long, dragging from your collarbone down across your chest. He dips unceremoniously below the gown, touching you in a spot he normally avoids. The feeling of him so close, touching you--not quite on your chest, but close enough--only intensifies your humiliation. You whimper again and try to pull away, but his grip offers no room to move.

“I can’t--” You don’t finish. Your throat is so tight and you hate it, you hate that you can never talk about anything with him, never argue with him without clamming up with tears and a thick throat.

You bring your hands up to your hair, tugging on it until it prickles. Your breath starts to come in short bursts, your chest having as you pull on your hair and will yourself to be anywhere but here. For a flashing moment, you wish you’d never tried to escape. If you didn’t, you’d be getting ready for bed right now. Things would be--not okay. Never okay. But you wouldn’t be here, on this table, cold and stinging and in pain and utterly despondent from having your failures shoved in your face. But then you remember that if he’d never kidnapped you, you wouldn’t have had to try to escape in the first place, and the wish fades.

He remains silent, and instead simply keeps a steady, firm grip on your upper arm until your breath slows, until you can control yourself. Your skin feels at once numb and prickling in anxiety and adrenaline and emotions coursing through you.

Overhaul gives your arm a squeeze that is, perhaps, meant to be reassuring. “Are you suitably recovered?

You nod. Your stomach feels sour. You want to ask if you’re done, if you can just go sleep or get sent (you dread the idea) to solitary confinement or whatever it is he has planned in the wake of your escape. Anything would be better than this room and this soft, thin gown and his bright blue surgical gloves and your failure hanging in the air.

He extends his arm out and you pause for a moment before you grasp it, holding tight as you get off the table and stand on wobbly legs. You’re loathe to touch him, but you’re even more loathe to fall flat on your face on the hard floor.

He speaks before you get a chance to ask if you can change out of the medical gown.

“Now, we’ll go to the bathroom.”

Your knees suddenly feel like they might drop out from under you. “The bathroom?”

He nods, and pulls himself away from your weak grip as he begins walking towards the door. You follow without thinking, pausing when he stops to slide his medical gloves into the trash before slipping on another pair.

“We’re not finished here,” he tells you, and you swear his voice is almost giddy as he turns his head to meet your questioning face. “I told you earlier, we’re going to clean your mouth out.”

He can’t mean--

You take a step back, and your knee buckles. He’s quick--he catches you before you fall, but doesn’t let go. His pulls you upright and pulls you along. Your legs have no choice to walk--walk or be dragged--and you struggle for words as he leads you out of the clinic. Before you know it, you’re back in your room (familiar, warm, the same as it ways this morning) and led swiftly into the attached bathroom.

He pulls you in far enough that he’s able to shut the door behind him, trapping you inside. As if you wouldn’t be trapped by his mere presence. For a moment you wonder if he was bluffing, trying to scare you into submission, but by the time you take another breath he’s running the sink water and tearing into a new box of bar soap.

Your voice catches as you finally speak up. “You--you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” He doesn’t even face you as he speaks. Instead, he turns on the tap and fills a paper cup with water before setting it on the sink’s edge. Next comes the bar of white soap, which grows slick underneath the water. He turns off the tap and lets the excess water drip off, before turning to you, soap bar in hand.

“Open your mouth.”

Your lips press together automatically, and you shake your head. No, no, and no. This isn’t happening.

He sighs, and again the feeling that you’re annoying him creeps under your skin. Why does it bother you that you’re annoying him? It shouldn’t bother you at all, but somehow you feel a pang of regret at how much has changed in less than 24 hours. 

“If you don’t open your mouth willingly, I will open it for you.” He takes a step closer, but your legs feel heavy now, rooted to the spot. It isn’t like there’s anywhere you could run, anyway. “I don’t want to do that,” he continues, voice slightly softened. “Cooperate and open your mouth.”

What choice do you have? You could protest, you could argue, you could leap into the bathtub and make him fight for what he wants. You could keep your mouth shut tight and force him to find a solution. But he is stronger than you, in more ways than one, and he would get his way in the end.

So you make the only choice available to you. Your entire mouth shakes and seems to fight against you as you slowly open your lips in compliance. You feel stupid, standing here with your mouth hanging open.

You can’t reflect on the feeling for long, as he wastes no time in shoving the bar inside your open lips. You can’t help but whimper at the intrusion, but he doesn’t let up and begins methodically scrubbing at your tongue. At first, there’s no taste--then the built-up slick of clinical soap makes itself known, and you take advantage of the soap slipping out of your lips to press them together again, denying him entry.

“Open,” he orders, soft and firm.

And you do, heaving your shoulders in an unreleased whimper. What else can you do but listen? He continues to scrub, this time moving the bar into the side of your mouth to scrub at your teeth. The clammy, greasy feeling of soap coating your teeth makes you curl your wide open lips downward. You must look ridiculous, in all respects, lips gaping in an unpleasant frown as your captor mercilessly soaps the inside of your mouth.

“Do you not like the taste?” His eyes glance over at your frown, and the mockery in his tone is more than blatant. 

“Uhh-uhh,” you mumble, open-mouthed, shaking your head. The position you’re in--Overhaul scrubbing into your mouth, your shaking body, the dim feeling of your bruises and cuts from earlier--makes you feel so painfully exposed. So painfully helpless.

He hums and rests the soap against your tongue. Before you can attempt to move your tongue, lessen the feeling of the taste of the soap against it, he gives you a command.

“Bite down.”

Your teeth sink into the soft bar, keeping it in place, and your whimpers grow stronger at the humiliating order you’ve just obeyed. Could you sink any lower?

You watch him through tear-brimmed eyes as he moves to stand in front of you. You know what’s coming before he even speaks and when he does, it’s no surprise.

“Have I ever hurt you?”

Back to this, again.

You shake your head, mumble around the soap: “No.”

“Are you capable of being on your own?”

You hesitate, and he merely jumps to another question, one far more pointed.

“Have you held a single job for longer than a year?”

You want to protest, but any attempt at complicated speech is marred by the soap--the weight of it, the taste, and your need to keep it steady in your mouth.

“No,” you admit, hating the feel of the bar as your lips press against it with the effort of speech.

“Would you have been evicted if I didn’t pay off your debts?”

“Yes.” Tears sting at your eyes. You want to wipe them away but you’re afraid you’ll get soap in them, somehow.

“Are you responsible enough with money to hold a job, maintain an apartment, and buy yourself the necessities for life without someone else stepping in?”

The soap somehow tastes even more bitter. “No, I can’t.” Your tongue pushes up against the soap at this, and you resolve to keep it to one-word answers only.

“If we didn’t intercept your little outing, would you have attempted to throw up at that restaurant today?”

You shake your head, but it’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie--and he knows it’s a lie. So you nod, weakly. “Mm-hmm.”

“Have I been feeding you healthy meals? Have I been ensuring that you don’t engage in disgusting self-destructive behaviors?”

He has, but that’s not--your mind wants to argue, but you’re so tired and sick and your stomach hurts and the taste of the soap is too much. So you nod, instead.

He nods in response, and you pray that he’ll take the soap out and end this. Instead, he lifts your chin with a single finger, making you keep eye contact as he speaks.

“Do I take care of you?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your words garbled around the wet soap bar. He releases your chin and it’s these words, this final question, that make you break entirely. Your shoulders ache from bruises as you cry, hunching over slightly and watching as some drool-laden soap droplets fall on the floor. “Yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, mechanically, crying around the bitter soap that’s digging into your front teeth.

Satisfied, he takes hold of the bar and waits for you to release it, then tosses it with ease into the trash. You blubber and spit, only succeeding in releasing a trail of soapy drool down your chin. Your tears are hot and stinging as they roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth, you try to say something, but all that comes out is soft cries punctuated by your attempts to spit out the soapy film.  

“Look at you,” he murmurs, bringing a gloved hand up to your cheek and wiping at the tears. “My poor thing. You can’t even speak. You can’t even articulate yourself. How could you ever hope to make it on your own?” His words are soft and cruel and you merely cry harder, humiliated and helpless.

Your throat is sore. Your stomach hurts. You want your warm nightgown on. You want to be in bed. You wish your stomach didn’t hurt so much from eating junk. You wish you weren’t covered in cuts and bruises. You wish you’d just enjoyed the garden and went back inside. You wish you’d never done this at all. You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid.

And you finally say so, all of it, blubbering, bits of soapy drool dribbling out of your mouth as you cry and admit your faults out loud.

After your wrought-out apology dissolves into meaningless whimpers, Overhaul finally grabs the glass of water he set on the edge of the sink, and you gratefully swish the lukewarm liquid with earnest. You lean over the sink and spit, body trembling, then fill the cup again and repeat the gesture again and again to get rid of every bit of white soap stuck in your mouth. Even as you spit, you realize that the taste isn’t going to be completely gone anytime soon--it’s stuck in your mouth like a bad memory.

You jerk when his hands are suddenly on your back, rubber gloves sliding up and down the thin medical gown covering your cold, helpless body. But he merely keeps rubbing, gentle and soothing, while you swish and spit, and cry and cry.

His hands leave your back only to grab a washcloth from the built-in shelves across from the toilet. You watch as he wets the cloth and you stand silently, allowing him to wipe up the drool and soap from your chin, your neck, even a bit on your chest where it dribble-dropped downward.

When you’re all cleaned up, he fills up a cup with mouth wash and silently hands it to you. You gratefully swish it for as long as possible before spitting it into the sink. The soap taste is still there, but lessened somewhat by the overpowering mint of the mouthwash. He gestures to your toothbrush and you pick it up, and begin mechanically brushing your teeth, stopping when the 2-minute timer flashes on the bottom. You instinctively grab your floss without having to be told and make quick work of that, too.

He opens the door to the bathroom, but gestures for you to wait. You do, standing numbly, wishing that he let you have a mirror so you could see your own state. But he doesn’t, and you can’t, and so you wait until he returns with a bundle in his arms.

It’s your pajamas. A soft, pink nightgown--he didn’t pick the soft blue one, tonight, and you’re grateful to avoid any reminders of the medical gown you have on--with matching socks and underwear. You nod and accept the bundle meekly. He turns around and you make quick work of the medical gown, tossing it in the trash yourself before you get dressed for bed.

“M’done,” you mumble, though you quickly realize speaking makes the lingering soap taste stronger. You follow him silently out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, which is just as you left it that morning. The only thing different is you. Subdued, humiliated, helpless.

Overhaul pulls the cover on your bed and you sit down, numb and chastened. You pull your legs up and tuck them under the soft comforter. You’re forcing yourself into the routine you’ve been following for the past few weeks, but the secret thrill you once had of obeying with ulterior movies is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a heavy stillness, the knowledge that you failed in more ways than one. The occasional roll of your stomach reminds you that the night may not be over, bedtime routine be damned.

But you ignore it for now, and you lean your head back on your pillow as he pulls the comforter towards your shoulders, tucking you in. Rather than leave immediately, he sits next to you on the bed, looking down at you with an obsessive, possessive expression in his eyes.

You force down an instinctive flinch when he suddenly begins to stroke the top of your forehead, moving up to pet your hair softly. His gloves are gone. While not completely new, it’s rare--rare enough that the feeling of his bare fingers is still an unusual sensation.

You close your eyes. It usually makes him leave faster. Your heart begins to pound as you hear him stand, as you sense him leaning in, as you feel the ghost of his breath against your face.

“Sweet dreams. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

What a silly thing to say, you think. Your dreams are never sweet anymore.

[bbrandy2002]

Fearless

Chapter 4: See the Lights, See the Party, the Ball Gowns

Book: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing: Prince/King Liam x MC (Riley Brooks), Drake Walker x OC (Alyssa Devereaux)

Series Premise: Riley Brooks and Alyssa Devereaux became best friends as freshmen at Syracuse University, a borderline-sisterhood that lasts forever after. When Riley meets a handsome prince and is asked to compete for his hand in a mysterious faraway kingdom, she invites Alyssa along for moral support.

What the girls think will be a crazy temporary adventure becomes two sets of happily ever afters … with twice the shenanigans to show for it.

A/N: This series is written in loving collaboration between @bbrandy2002 and @burnsoslow​.

Series Warnings: Smut 🍋🍋, language, canon violence (gun violence, bombing, terrorism), drug use, probably more stuff as we think of it. By reading this series, you agree that you are at least 18 years old and are prepared to deal with adult themes.

The girls spent their first morning in Cordonia with their respective sponsors, getting the first glimpses of courtly life and preparing for the Masquerade Ball taking place that evening. As much as they wanted to get out and experience all that this little Mediterranean country had to offer, there was just so much to do and little time to do it. 

That morning, while Alyssa worked diligently on learning the steps of the Cordonian Waltz and etiquette with Rashad, Maxwell finally got Riley out of bed in time for a late breakfast. This included meeting his brother, Bertrand, who was none too thrilled with the former waitress from New York. Riley discovered rather quickly that the duke was nothing like the free-spirited Maxwell; if ever there was a picture display of a killjoy, she was sure his scowling face would be plastered dead in the center.  

The day kind of went by in a dizzying blur, especially for Riley, who spent most of it either being lectured by Bertrand, or raiding the kitchen for stress snacks with Maxwell. And as far as anyone knew, Liam was still unaware that the quirky, raven-haired beauty he’d met two nights ago and never expected to see again was in his country, in his palace, and was about to come face-to-face with him.

If she didn’t die of anxiety first. 

Neither of the girls saw each other until much later that afternoon when they linked up in Riley’s room before heading to the palace's salon for last-minute hair and nail appointments. 

Later on in the boutique, Riley sucked in a deep breath and held in her stomach while Alyssa stood behind her, fighting to zip the back of the angel-themed costume she chose for the Masquerade Ball. 

Actually, "chose" was a loose description in this case. The ensemble was one of the last two dresses in the palace's boutique, and Maxwell insisted Riley wear it instead of the more provocative red devil attire to make herself more appealing to the King and Queen. The Beaumont sponsee didn’t give two shits at that moment about impressing the monarchs; her major concern was how she would fit that size-four dress over her size-six body. 

“What the hell did you eat, Ri? This zipper is not budging an inch," an out-of-breath Alyssa groaned as she attempted to pull the tight fabric closer together.  

Steadying her feet firmly to the ground, a jostled-around Riley answered quietly, in a still manner, so as not to undo what little progress her friend had already made, "You know I'm a stress eater. I've experienced many emotions since we left yesterday, and food therapy helps. And your judgment is making me hungry again, so thank you for making it worse."

"I'm not judging you; I'm simply stating a fact: Your ass won’t fit in this dress."

Riley straightened up a little higher, hoping to thin her lean frame out more. "Well, it's gonna have to," she scoffed. "I can't be the only suitor at this ball without the proper attire."

Alyssa tugged harder in frustration. "You know, it might help if I could remove the price tag from the zipper."

"Perhaps." Riley sideways glanced at the two inattentive boutique cashiers before turning her head slightly over her shoulder to acknowledge her best friend in a hushed tone. "But then I wouldn't be able to return it in the morning. $700 for a damn dress is highway robbery, and I won't be a victim to this place's jacked-up prices." She glared back at the fashionably dressed women running the register and hollered out, "You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Shhhh!" Alyssa's face burned with embarrassment while she smiled sheepishly at the bewildered ladies. "Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You mean aside from the usual things that are wrong with me? I'm a nervous wreck, Lyss. Liam still doesn't know that I'm here. I'm about to go wine-and-dine with snobby rich people, while my socially awkward-o-meter is on red alert. And Maxwell's brother didn't like me. How am I supposed to impress Liam, the press, this council, and his parents when my own sponsor hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Alyssa replied. "Suck in your stomach a little more ... Rashad told me Duke Beaumont is high-strung and takes all this court business very seriously. If you ask me, give ‘The Brows’ some time. I know he'll love you. And Liam already does!" Alyssa stepped back in delight after tirelessly sliding the last bit of the zipper to the neckline. "Voila! I got it."

Riley stiffly turned toward the full-length mirror -- her insides feeling like they would pop right out of her -- and surveyed the finished product. "Not bad, not bad. A slight muffin top on the sides, and my ass cheeks are packed in tighter than my family around the dessert station at a buffet, but ... I think I can get by with it." Turning to face Alyssa, she lit up with anticipation. "Okay, now it's your turn."

Alyssa plucked the bright red dress off the rack and headed inside one of the many dressing rooms. A moment later, she emerged with a beaming smile on her face and held her arms out to the side to do a show-offish twirl. "So, how do I look?"

"Oh my god, Lyss!" Riley clapped excitedly. "You look so hot in that! That color of red really suits you too. Although, you might want to cover up the girls a little more; I've never seen your boobs look so huge."

"Wha --" Alyssa glanced down at her fully rounded chest, a substantial portion of which was spilling out over the top. She crossed her arms over her breasts in horror. "OH MY GOD! You're right: They're enormous in this thing. I can't go out there like this! They'll be stuffing dollar bills into my cleavage and begging for a lap dance!"

"Well, just ... try to tuck them in," Riley suggested, demonstrating her advice on herself. “You know, the way guys tuck in their junk.”

Alyssa shook her head adamantly, attempting to slide the top of the dress up higher. "I don't think that'll work. It's already extremely tight."

“That’s what he said,” Riley quipped with a snicker, much to the chagrin of her longtime friend, who simply blinked back. “Wow, not even a smile. Come on, Lyss, it’s not that hard.”

Alyssa grinned despite herself, “That’s what she said.”

Riley stepped closer, reaching out to grab a portion of the garment covering Alyssa's bosom, and declared, "Alright, If I can squeeze my fat ass into this dress, you can cram those giant melons into yours. So, get to pushin’, girl.”

-----------

After 10 minutes of stuffing uncooperative breasts into a gown, Alyssa and Riley stepped out of the boutique and made their way to the bottom of the main staircase outside of the ballroom, where Rashad and Maxwell were waiting eagerly for them. 

A grim-faced Rashad approached the pair as they neared. “We were beginning to worry about you two. I hope you didn’t have any trouble.” He reached out and greeted Alyssa with a friendly kiss to the cheek as Riley made her way up to Maxwell, who did the same.

“No troubles,” Alyssa assured him, before staring down at her chest to make sure certain parts were still contained inside her dress. “Just some slight wardrobe issues that I think we’ve taken care of.”

Riley frowned, rubbing a soothing hand over her squeezed-in stomach. “Let’s just say we both feel like canned biscuits.”

“And I’m petrified of canned biscuits!” Alyssa shrieked, then spoke in a lower, punier voice in Rashad’s direction. “They make that popping sound that scares the hell out of me.” He nodded sympathetically at her admission, having no clue what canned biscuits were.

Maxwell let out a chuckle. “Either way, you both look awesome! Like two totally righteous peas in a pod and all that jazz.” He peeked over at Riley, who wasn’t appearing too sure of herself, or of anything for that matter, knowing she’d spent most of the day in a subtle panic. While she steadied her breath, he looped his arm through hers and leaned over. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to go in there like the boss you are and knock them all dead. I just know it.”

Riley swallowed thickly, “But Liam --”

“Will be over the moon with excitement to see you again. Do you think I’d go through all the trouble of trying to convince you, and then Alyssa, to come all the way here -- not to mention, facing my brother’s wrath -- if I didn’t believe Liam would want to see you again?” Riley half-shrugged, but Maxwell could tell by the little glimmer of hope he caught in her eyes and the slight curl at the corner of her plush pink lips that she knew it was true. “If he’s not happy about seeing you, I’ll book you on the first flight back to New York, and you can punch me in the gut or something. But I can tell you with certainty: No man goes out with a woman and keeps his friends up most of the night talking about how amazing she was if he doesn’t want to see her again.”

Riley could feel a tinge of pink color her cheeks and looked away for a brief moment, knowing he was right. She was about to see her prince again. Simply knowing how happy Liam was when they parted ways that night made her heart flutter. The blushing suitor peered back at the towering man on her arm and smiled appreciatively. “Thanks, Max.” 

As they both stared straight ahead at the set of double doors where Alyssa was making her grand entrance into the ballroom with Rashad, Riley pointed out, “You realize if you had said all that stuff to me this morning and five bloated pounds ago, I wouldn’t have cried to you all day over pints of ice cream, half a sheet cake, and a bag of Mini Snickers?”

Lord Beaumont grinned without looking at her as the orchestral music inside erupted through the newly opened threshold that awaited their crossing. A gleam of anticipation glistened the cobalt hue of his eyes.”That’s our cue. Time to look alive, Twinkle Toes, it’s showtime.”

__________

It felt like a million pairs of eyes bore through Riley when the announcer spoke her name out to the guest in the ballroom. In reality, few paid much attention to the young woman dressed in pure white, from the feathery halo perched above her fancy swept-up hairdo to the tiny heels that sparkled like glittery specks of fairy dust on her feet.  

As Maxwell ushered her proudly through the spectacular crowd adorned in the finest silks and chiffons, faces concealed behind extravagant masks similar to hers, and opulent table spreads of gold and crimson, Riley searched the four corners of the room for one particular set of the bluest eyes she’d ever encountered -- she had Liam’s memorized by heart. However, the only ones she recognized came from her smiling best friend, standing casually beside the Lord of Domvallier at the bar, keeping her word to watch out for her. With a subtle grin from Alyssa to convey she had her back, the whirlwind of fear and chaotic thoughts that overwhelmed Riley quickly dissipated into thin air. 

Baby steps.

While Maxwell and Riley headed to the center of the ballroom to meet up with Bertrand, across the way, Alyssa ordered a cranberry vodka from the bar. She was wearing red and needed a drink that matched perfectly with the fabric in case of accidental spillage. As the bartender poured her glass, she tore her vigilant gaze from Riley when Rashad’s cell rang. Seconds later, he covered his phone lightly with a palm and lowered it away from his ear to speak with her. 

“This is my client in California. Will you be okay for a little bit while I take this out on the balcony?”

Alyssa nodded. “Of course. Take your time. Is there anything I should be doing while you’re gone?”

“Try mingling with the crowd. Get to know the other suitors. The best way to help Riley tonight is to get a feel for the competition. Figure out who you can potentially get on her side and who is going to cause her trouble.”

“With all due respect, this isn’t Survivor.”

Rashad grinned before excusing himself. “We'll see if you still feel that way by the end of the social season.”

What is it with all the Debbie Downers here? He sounds just like -- Before she could finish that thought, a stroke of irony occurred when she caught the denim-clad Drake, standing out like a sore thumb, making his way up to the bar. She quickly spun around on the barstool and hovered over her freshly poured beverage. 

Tapping the bar's woodgrain top, Drake called for, “The usual,” before plopping down on the stool next to her. His woodsy scent filled the air and wafted in her direction; she wondered if he’d even recognize her.

Pressing the rim of the glass to her lips to take the first nervous sip of her drink, she wondered why she even cared if he did.

Alyssa set the vodka cranberry down on a cocktail napkin at the same time Drake reached for his tumbler of whiskey. A brush of their hands caused them both to retreat away before he bowed his head respectfully to her. 

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Drake was quick to apologize. He never knew which stuck up nobles would have an issue with a commoner’s simple touch.

Alyssa lifted a brow and smirked in response. “So you do have manners?”

He’d recognize that wily voice anywhere. Grumbling, Drake responded. “Aww, hell! Pipsqueak? Is that you?”

“Hello, Sunshine.” She dimpled.

Drake shook his head. “I should have known. Of all the damn people in this room, I still managed to find you.”

“I would call that a very lucky day for you then.” Alyssa lifted her drink and tipped back a gulp. “So what’re you doing here? Don’t you have some royal cows or chickens to herd around or something? Who wears denim and jeans to a fancy ball?” 

She would if she could get away with it.

His tight shoulder muscles bounced slightly with disingenuous laughter as his chestnut eyes took in her sultry devilish costume. “I could ask you the same about your own clothes. Suitors are supposed to dress up for these things. Not come as themselves.”

Offended, Alyssa arched back contemptuously. “Are you calling me a devil?”

“If the horns and pitchfork fit.” Drake retorted. He motioned with his glass across the room. “By the way, you see that blazing redhead who just stole your little friend away from Maxwell?” When Alyssa snapped her gaze protectively in that direction, he continued, “That’s Olivia. You might want to check in on … what’s her name again?”

“Riley ...” Her tone was resentful. He knows damn well what her name is. 

“Whatever. Just trust me on this, if the two of you know what’s good for ya -- and I’m betting you don’t -- you’ll stay as far away from Olivia and the rest of these social-climbing fuckers as possible.” His mood suddenly shifted as he drained his drink, then slammed it on the bar top, motioning with his hand to the bartender for another.

Alyssa was quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the immense throb of protruding veins in his forearm as he nursed his drink. “What climbed up your ass and died? Why are you even here if you hate everyone so much? 

He quickly snapped. “I’m here for Liam!”

“Well, I’m here for Riley!” The two of them glared at each other in a tense showdown that neither was willing to back down from. After a beat, Alyssa’s determination weakened somewhat; confrontations made her jittery. 

And with him in particular.

Letting her shoulders slump, Alyssa let out a soft breath as she relaxed. “I’m trying to give her some space … but do I need to go check on Riley?” The question was asked sincerely. 

Drake turned his head back, his vision crossing the vast expanse of the room and landing on a perturbed Riley in conversation with Olivia. He scowled, recognizing the expression impressed on her face all too well. “We’re outsiders, Alyssa. You. Me. Riley. That’s the only thing they’ll ever see. It’s the only way they’ll ever treat us.” He shifted to face Alyssa again. “Take that for what you will. If she were my friend … I would.”

_______

Riley shook her head emphatically. “There’s no way I’m supposed to kiss the king’s shoe. That’s weird, creepy, and-and- unsanitary!” She nodded toward a masked couple standing before the seated king who bowed, curtsied, and then exited to the left. “They didn’t kiss his shoe. I think you’re full of shit.” 

“Riley, Riley, Riley.” The duchess shook her head with an exasperated tone. “Those people are well-established and highly-regarded members of the court … you’re not. And while I admit it’s a rather unorthodox Cordonian royal custom, it’s part of our tradition that the newest members humble themselves before the king in an act of deep respect and reverence. I’m actually astounded Maxwell never bothered to tell you.” She flipped back a thick curly-q strand of hair that hung over her shoulders. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

Riley hesitated. “I guess I’ll keep it in mind …?”

“Great!” Olivia wrapped a firm hand around Riley’s wrist and pulled her toward the throne where the king sat. “You’re so lucky that I was here to warn you! Otherwise, you’d have looked utterly ridiculous.”

“Wait! Where are we going? Riley demanded, her feet barely able to keep up with the brisk pace. 

“To present you to King Constantine.”

“But I need to wait for my sponsor!” Riley protested. She struggled to break free, but the redhead’s clawlike grip was surprisingly strong. 

“Every second counts, Riley. These women have all known Liam for years. The early bird gets the Crown.”

“But I --” Panicked, Riley scoured the room for the Beaumonts and found them standing near the hors d'oeuvres table embroiled in what appeared to be a heated discussion.

“What the fuck?” On the opposite side of the ballroom, Alyssa spotted Olivia hauling Riley across the floor. Before Drake had the chance to warn her this wasn’t good, an enraged Alyssa was already sliding down off the barstool, stampeding off in hot pursuit of finding out what this redheaded troll was doing with her best friend. 

And for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, feeling frustrated beyond comprehension, Drake followed right on her heels.

Coming to a screeching halt before the raised dais, Olivia thrust Riley forward, who nearly tripped from the momentum into the bottom step at the sudden stop.

It took every ounce of restraint Riley had not to turn toward the woman who had forcibly dragged her across the room and to stick a pair of size-seven heels straight up her ass. She, however, liked the pretty, sparkly shoes she had on too much to ruin them … and wanted to end the evening outside of a hospital bed. “Asshole,” she muttered almost soundlessly.

“Your Majesty,” Olivia smirked. “I would like to present to you the suitor House Beaumont has chosen. Lady Riley.”

Riley gave her a cursory glare. It was the moment of truth. She plastered on her best smile for the King, who regarded her with a nod. 

Just … just do it. “Your Majesty.” Riley dipped into a low curtsy and held it in place for several seconds before contemplating the validity of Olivia’s outlandish claim and swallowing hard. “Here goes nothing.”

Placing both palms on the plush red carpeting that laid at the feet of the King, she lowered herself slowly until her knees rested on the top step.

“What the hell is she doing?” Alyssa questioned as she desperately weaved around a sea of faces, dodging server trays and tables along the way. “And where the hell is Maxwell?”

“I don’t know ...” Drake answered, practically pushing her even more quickly through the crowd, “ … but you better move faster. There’s no damn telling what Olivia told her to do.”

Riley paused briefly, staring at the simple black shoes that almost resembled a shiny boot. She wanted to be kissing Liam right now, not his father’s old fricking foot. Worst vacation ever.

Lowering her head gradually toward Constantine’s shoes, she scrunched up her face and reluctantly puckered up. 

Out of nowhere, a body with the vigor of a wild stallion in full sprint barrelled into her side, sending Riley hurling across the dais and causing her to land face-down on the marbled floor below.

"What is the meaning of this?" An enraged Constantine bolted up, his ire focused on Alyssa, hunkered down on all fours at his feet, striving to catch her breath.

Maxwell and Bertrand heard the commotion and came rushing to Riley’s side when they realized it was her sprawled out and jerking on the floor.  

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," an apologetic Alyssa said as she reached up for the hand Drake was offering. The King's glare at her was nerve-wracking as he waited for an explanation -- until Drake stepped up in front of her, blocking her view of the incensed monarch. "I can explain."

"I hope you can, young lady." Constantine glowered, baffled as to why Drake Walker was still standing between them … and mirroring every movement she made. When she shifted, he shifted. When she moved her arm, he did the same. Was this some type of game?

“Uh … um.” Alyssa's mind raced with excuses. She couldn't very well tell him the truth and make Riley or herself look bad -- she was still a representative of Duchy Domvallier. There was only one thing she could think of to say as she whipped around Drake and pointed at him. "This man pushed me!"

Drake's body stiffened at her accusation. "The hell you talking about?" 

She covered her eyes with a hand, pretending to sob. "I was on my way up here to pay my respects to you, sir, when this man ..." she paused to take in a fake stuttering breath, "... came out of nowhere and pushed me from behind. I tried to stop myself from running into anyone, but I couldn't. Too much momentum." Alyssa lowered her hand and stared at a wide-eyed Drake. "I’m just a small person, mister. Why would you do that? Why? What did I ever do to hurt you?"

"I never --"

"Drake?" The King eyed him sternly. "Is this true? Did you push this young woman?"

Drake’s defensive stance was no match for Alyssa’s pleading eyes, begging him to save her from this. “Please,” she mouthed.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I … I’m sorry, Sir. Lady Alyssa’s extremely long dress was dragging the floor and I stepped on it. When I lifted my foot off, she ... I don’t know … flung forward. I tried to grab her before she went flying, but she got away, and that must be why she thought I pushed her.” Drake lowered his gaze to Alyssa. “You really shouldn’t shop in the adult section, miss.”

“Is it possible you were mistaken, Lady ... Alyssa?”

She nodded. “Yes, that is surely possible,” she agreed in a rehearsed-sounding tone. “It’s all coming back to me now.”

“Well, then.” Constantine's contented glance drifted to Drake. “It’s good to know you didn’t push an innocent suitor on purpose, Drake. But just know this … I’ll be watching you.” 

“Looking forward to it, sir. Thank you, sir.” Drake quickly bowed his head as Constantine returned to his seat to greet the next guest. He grabbed Alyssa’s elbow and rushed her off to the side of the dais.

-----------

Maxwell knelt beside a disheveled Riley, helping her rise to her feet and dusting her off. 

“Lady Riley,” a scowling Bertrand glared, “what on earth is the meaning of this? The glory of House Beaumont is on the line tonight, and you’ve already made your first blunder. I told you, Maxwell, this was a mistake.”

Slightly dazed, Riley stumbled while massaging a sore wrist. Inclining her head so she could see him under the halo that drooped over her eyes, she retorted, “I was shoved, Berturd. It’s not like I did this on purpose. And thank you for your concern; I’m fine, by the way.”

“Shoved? By whom?” The three of them turned to see Alyssa and Drake scampering off to a corner. “It was Domvallier’s suitor?” Bertrand asked incredulously. “This is preposterous! It’s beneath Lord Rashad’s character to have his suitor and Drake Walker sabotage ours. I will have to go over there and put an end to this travesty at once.” 

“NO!” Riley and Maxwell barked.

"Bertrand. Why don't you let Riley and I handle them while you play damage control with the King? Unless ..." he smirked. " You want me to smooth things over with His Majesty? I have a lot to say about how Twinkle Toes just SAILED through the air at warp speed --"

"Dear God, no, Maxwell! There will be no need for your … input. But, you two, get results from Drake and that suitor. No funny business," he warned.

The two of them nodded in understanding. As soon as Bertrand turned his back and marched away, they both gave a knowing glance to the other before rushing over to Drake and Alyssa, who had just made it to a far corner of the ballroom, 

Alyssa yanked her elbow away from his vice-like grasp. “I believe we’re out of the clear; you can let go of me now.”

“Listen. I have to tell you something, ‘cause you need to know it ... “ Drake swallowed thickly, his rounded eyes focused squarely on the woman who’d just thrown him under the bus to King Constantine. He spoke as if he had something caught in his throat, “You--your-- uh -- ”

“And who made these damn shoes, anyway?” Alyssa complained as she hiked up the lower part of her dress and stepped out of her heels. Her already short stature lowered several inches. “They clearly hate short women and feet. Seriously, who thought walking around like a newborn calf was sexy?”

“Alyssa,” Drake tried again to speak through a strained voice, “You need to listen --”

“Hey!” Riley interrupted as she and Maxwell stepped up to them. “Why’d you push me off that stage thingy? And OH MY GOD, ALYSSA! YOUR --” Maxwell slapped a hand over Riley’s mouth, knowing exactly what her big mouth was getting ready to loudly announce.

Her frantic muffled words continued to blabber through his tightly clasped hand.

Alyssa gave him a confused look. “Maxwell, what are you doing?”

“Just stopping her before she told everyone within earshot ...” he paused fleetingly, lowering his gaze from the muddled expression on her face to her chest. “Your bosoms … well, they have emerged.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before,” a flustered Drake said as Alyssa let out a gasp and looked down. “You’ve been ... exposed … since --” He was quickly cut off again by her tiny wail as she fixed herself and dashed out of the ballroom, mortified, her arms crossed over her chest.

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

Riley tapped lightly on the women’s restroom door. “Lyss? You okay in there?”

“No!” Her pouty voice rang back. “I’m the laughingstock of this entire court.”

Maxwell chuckled, hollering back. “You don’t have to worry about that, Lady Alyssa. I’ve already got that title covered in spades.”

“You two need to get back to the ball,” Drake said gruffly, referring to the girls. “Liam will be arriving any minute.”

“You’re right. There are probably five people in there who still haven’t gotten an up close shot of my breasts.” Alyssa swung the door open, bitterly hitching up the front of her dress as she stepped out, and glared up at Drake as she walked by. “And you let me walk around like that!”

“I did not!” He flushed a deep, dark red. “I told you, that’s why I was standing in front of you, so no one would see … ugh, fuck it. Just -- let’s go, okay?” 

A remorseful Riley hugged Alyssa. “I’m so sorry my dumb ass was what caused this to happen to you. Thank you for making sure I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

Alyssa squeezed tighter. “It was way better that it happened to me than you. We can definitely have a good laugh over this by the time I’m, like, 150.” When they let go of one another, she smiled at her friend. “Come on, we have a ball to get back to. And you have a prince to dazzle.”

“Oh, you guys go on ahead. I need a minute to straighten up.”

Drake, Alyssa, and Maxwell headed back inside while Riley spent a few minutes in the bathroom wiping away the dust off her dress and getting her hair back in order as best as she could. Plus, she just needed a moment to herself; it was the first time since she woke up that morning that someone wasn’t hovering over her shoulder or trying to impress someone. There also were some major jitters happening knowing the Prince was arriving at any second.

Stepping out a few minutes later, Riley headed back down the hallway, hopeful she still appeared as presentable as when she arrived earlier. 

Dotted along the walls that trailed back to the ballroom were portraits and artwork of kings and queens. Judging by the large periwigs, justaucorps, and stockings over breeches depicted, obviously they were quite old. One particular painting caught her attention enough to halt her steps before she plastered on a naughty grin.

“Ohhhh, what do we have here?” Riley snickered, leaning in closer to get a better glimpse. “I see London, I see France, I see a very hung King without his pants.” She fanned a hand in front of her face and spoke as if she were Scarlett O’Hara herself. “My, my, my, Fabian, I haven’t seen a lot of those, but I do declare, you put all the Yanks I’ve been with to shame. I’d be remiss to not ask if you were generous enough to pass on certain sizable traits, say to … Oh, I don’t know, the current Crown Prince?”

“Frankly, my dear … I don’t think he gave a damn,” a deep voice quipped over her shoulder.

Riley spun around, her body crashing into the portrait and causing it to rattle against the wall and lean heavily. Her face burned red-hot as soon as she heard his voice, even though every ounce of blood in her body seemed to rush to her wobbly feet. Liam reached out, grasping hold of her arms to brace her as she stared back, slack-jawed and weak-kneed, at his half-masked face, smiling warmly. “L-L-Li --”

“My sincerest apologies if I startled you, my lady. Are you okay?”

Her throat was dry, and surely no one in all history had ever been as embarrassed as she was at that moment, but she managed to answer feebly, “I think … I pissed my pants.” They both looked down at the floor simultaneously, relief washing over them that there were no puddles. Riley closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath. “Oh, thank God.”

Liam chuckled, his twinkling blue eyes glued to her flustered face. “You’re just as beautiful as you were that night in New York, Riley Brooks.”

“Wait … you know that it’s me? Are you surprised? Are you upset? Do you think I’m some creepy stalker now? I swear I’ve never even touched a weapon.”

“Really? What happened to your bag of Chinese throwing stars?” Liam teased lightheartedly. Riley tilted her head in confusion. “You remember, the ones you were going to throw at me in the alley outside of your bar --”

“Oh. Yes. Right,” she laughed awkwardly as the memory came to her. “Yeah, I may have embellished the truth there a bit. Twenty-pound hams seem to be more my weapon of choice.” Riley hung her head. Why the hell did I just tell him that? When Bastien cleared his throat and gave Liam a pointed look, Riley knew their time was short. “I know you have to go, but I just need to know something: How did you know I was here? Maxwell tried to get in touch with you and never heard back. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me showing up here.”

“I’ve been quite busy since leaving New York with preparations for the social season and the Masquerade kicking off this evening. But it was Drake who came pounding on my door this morning to fill me in. You can imagine my surprise when he told me that you were here, and, I quote, ‘brought her small aggressive friend with her as guard dog.’”

Riley smirked with a shrug. “Can ya blame a girl? I came to win. Besides, I really like you, Liam.”

He smiled. “I really like you too, Riley. But this isn’t New York. As much as I wish we could just pick up where we left off two nights ago, this entire series of events is set up not just to give me time with my potential matches, but also to give my parents, the Council, and the people of Cordonia time to get to know the future queen. From now on, everyone will be watching you and ... Lady Alyssa.” Liam paused to chuckle and shake his head in amusement. “You actually got your friend to pose as a fake suitor and somehow convinced an honorable and highly dignified member of the court to sponsor her?”

“Yeaaaah, I still don’t know how the hell I did that. I should get extra points for my manipulation skills”

Liam laughed. "I believe you mean, negotiation skills."

Riley nodded. "Yeah, those too."

Already well past the time to make his grand entrance, Bastien approached Liam to give the final warning. Liam acknowledged him and turned back to Riley. “I hope I’ll see you again later tonight, if you’ll save a dance for me. But until then …” He pressed her willing body against the wall, tracing the back of his forefinger along her velvety cheek. “ … just know how very, very, happy I am to have you here, Riley.” His lips were fire and ice when he leaned down to meet her equally fevered ones in a lingering kiss. And she melted right into him.

With that, Liam was whisked away by the head guard and made his way into the ballroom. As a panting Riley brushed her fingertips over the tingling in her bottom lip, she felt so many things all at once: relief that he was happy she was there and already knew everything regarding Alyssa, and that same exhilarating bliss that swept her off her feet two days ago when they shared their time together. But he was abundantly clear, this wasn’t New York anymore, and he still had a duty and obligation to Cordonia regardless of his apparent feelings for her. 

Riley let a puff of air and pushed her backside off the wall to return inside. Just as she did this, the crooked frame bearing the likeness of the late King Fabian she admired earlier fell from its hook and crashed to the floor, causing the ancient glass to shatter beside her. With her head shrunken into her shoulders, Riley slowly peeked out one eye and saw the damage. Glancing down one end of the hall to the other to see if anyone saw her, she glanced down at the shards and still fully intact artwork. Normally she would have hightailed it out of there, but she couldn’t help herself from giving her destruction parting words. 

“I guess you’re not … hung anymore.”

Then she bolted the hell out of there.

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

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[chocolate-teapots]

Soy Sauce Pancakes: Kim Seokjin

                                ●╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮╭╮●

                                           Every family bickers. 

                     But not every family puts soy sauce in the pancakes. 

                                 ●╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯╰╯●

Warnings: this one is quite positive actually, potty mouth y/n, lots of headache inducing arguing, sexual tension, sweaty Jin, Idk just kissing I guess. 

Being the Bangtan's neighbour for months had its perks such as the fact that they spent more time at my place than they ever did at theirs and I'm pretty sure they had some pretty bomb air conditioning and a mini-fridge too.

"Tae it's my turn to pick a movie give me the remote!"

But with every incline, there was bound to be another side heading straight down and the problem of having great times with a large bunch of guys like them were the tensions in such a tiny space shared by up to 8 people at one time.

"Hobi stop pulling it, it's gonna break. It was your turn yesterday!"

These tensions especially skyrocketed if someone was just in 'one of those moods' which Yoongi had retired permanently to and myself just once a month.

"Stop fucking around in Y/N's place or I'm gonna shove that remote so far up your as-"

With 8 different personalities, some of them were definitely easier to digest than others and that often resulted in a couple of arguments that always ended in a hug or a slap on the butt.

"Jimin stop cuddling me! I'm trying to cook with hyung."

It was very high maintenance, more like a full-time babysitting job than a friendship but I wouldn't have it any other way. They filled a dusty and empty space that I thought could never be filled when I moved out to Seoul by myself. I thought I couldn't make dinner never mind a friend.

Turns out I made 7.

Unfortunately, I clashed with one of them too often because we were just so similar. When needed we were the best to give advice and confide in but if someone was trying to tell us something at any other time we would refuse to listen.

"Jin!"

It wouldn't usually get that bad between Jin and me, usually finding it easier to live in peace rather than going at it all the time but one morning things got a little heated in the kitchen and I'm not talking about the stove either.

"Yes?" He yelled from the kitchen to the younger boys spread out on the sofas.

"How long will breakfast be?" Jimin continues to yell, whining through his hunger which I understood since I was pretty hungry too as we decided to have a big brunch instead of a normal early breakfast.

"However long I want it to be!" Jin yells back to them, flicking a little bit of flour on himself out of frustration which made a little giggle escape both Jungkook and I's lips.

"Smartass," Jimin rolls his eyes with a huff and we have to hold him and his spatula back from inflicting some serious damage on the blonde.

It was only us three in the kitchen on a Saturday and the boys had the early afternoon free from any sweating or rehearsing so they burst through my door for an early breakfast buffet. Jungkook wanted nothing other than to help Jin make some pancakes and I wanted nothing other than to watch Jin's frustration as he would most probably get it right the first time.

"Beginners luck?" Jungkook chuckled to Jin as he perfectly flipped his first pancake.

Jin sucked his bottom lip, a harmless situation hiding in his eyebrows as they knotted like my stomach did whenever he did that with his lips. I couldn't explain why but it made me nervous.

"Y/N," Jin clicked his fingers practically on my eyelashes as he untied his apron and throwing it to me "I'm going to the bathroom, please keep an eye on him."

"Yes sir."

I accepted the challenge, nodding as he sighed away to the door across the hall. Suddenly all the tension flooded out the room and I watched as Jungkook's big eyes studied the remaining pancake batter with curiosity.

I laughed again, attention then flying elsewhere.

"Y/N! The TV's not working again!" Taehyung calls from the room, the horrible sound of someone hitting something and breaking made me cringe.

"I'll be right back okay? For heaven's sake don't touch anything."

He just nodded and went back to studying but now with a new task in his mind to stick to. I went to fix the TV with a heavy heart, not wanting to leave Jungkook and Jin and also not wanting to see the mess of the living room that I was picturing in my head.

Minutes later, the reoccurring static on the TV wasn't enough to distract me from the yelling in the kitchen so I returned to my first job and entered the kitchen again.

"I can't believe you Jungkook! When are you going to learn when to grow up? I knew double the things that you do when I was your age!"

There in the glow of the early sunlight from the several windows was Jin yelling at Jungkook, pointing a spatula at him and also some brown looking pancakes that covered the counters, the plates, the stove, everywhere really.

"Hey what's going on?" I ask, making the glare then cut through the floor to my direction. "Is that soy sauce?"

"What's going on? I told you to watch him and you leave him alone for a small lifetime!" Jin continues to exclaim, veins popping out and batter flying all over the three of us as he continues to point the spatula.

Who knew a utensil could be so aggressive?

"Woah he's just a kid Seokjin stop yelling at him. He made a mistake, okay? I shouldn't have left him but my TV was being surgically operated on in there and I can't make expensive things like that pop up as easily as you guys can," I retort, nose beginning to crinkle as the main event starts to brew.

The guilt on Jungkook's face made me apologise halfway through the bickering just so we could return to normality for his sake but this time stubborn Jin and I weren't having it.

Not when his face got as red as it did out of pure anger.

"You should stop giving your opinions all of the time Y/N you don't even know us. All of a sudden you're part of our lives and you think you know us but you don't," Jin stopped yelling and instead spat at me in disgust through each syllable.

"Get out of my home Jin, if I'm such a stranger to you."

And that was it, we didn't speak.

...

"Hold it please," a panting voice ran towards the closing elevator doors and before I knew it I was leaping towards the button to reopen them.

We had only realised our mistake when it was too late and the doors had shut and we were beginning the 10-floor climb to our shared floor.

Fuck.

Beside me stood Kim Seokjin looking handsome and fancy as ever in a suit with his jacket creasing in his clenched fist and his black tie hanging from his clenched neck. It was incredibly tense, tenser than that split moment before we dived into the main feature of insults that day just before I kicked him out of my apartment.

Tiny tingles ran up my arms to my neck and then down to my legs that held a chill from having him stand so close, his cold heart radiating ice. I glare at his expensive outfit that heavily contrasted with the rusted elevator that clanked at every stop it made.

I knew it was a matter of time before he moved on to greater and more lavish things- before all of them would and that made me physically ill. A few months and he had changed this much. Maybe I was hoping to hold onto them all just for a little while longer.

He looked very arrogant from the corner of my eye, chin held up high and those lips as rosy and pouted as ever. Fuck he was hot.

God damn it we were only on the fourth floor.

Then suddenly an eruption of noise and crashing made us both stumble in our little spots which we daren't move from. The elevator came to a dreadful stop, half of the lights cutting out but just enough to see the fear in our eyes as we exchanged our first look.

Saying he pressed the emergency bell once would be an understatement. He pounded it over and over as if the tension was that unbearable or sharing a confined space with me for a little while. The feeling was mutual.

"Stop pressing it for God's sake or we're gonna be here for even longer," I gritted, angry at the thought of having to spend time with this guy in a tiny metal box that was floating in the air if it weren't for some wire.

"Stop telling me what to do Y/N," he panted frustrated but also in fear as his phobia of any situation like this crept slowly onto his broad back and limited his breathing.

But, I can't stand here and say hearing him say my name again didn't make my stomach drop.

Then there was a calmer voice coming from the speakers that made me lazy as I didn't have to think of a solution myself for this seeing as the guy beside me would be completely useless.

"Y/N, Jin, Namjoon here. We've decided together that you're not coming out of there until you've resolved all of your issues," his calm demeanour didn't help our fury.

All four fists clenched we both let out a very loud; "Issues?"

Namjoon made it sound as if this was just something that happened. Issues were topics like the refugee crisis, David Beckham's hair and not things like how much of a complete dick Kim Seokjin turned out to be.

"Please guys do it for us. It's been awkward as ass around you guys and we love you. Both of you," Jungkook's sweet words took over the mic and our huffs started to quieten.

"Language," we mutter in unison.

Jin and I looked at each other sheepishly, from the corner of our eyes and came to an agreement. A silent one. A hesitant one.

But this was still messed up.

Our first plan that we didn't discuss out loud, in our heads or even agree upon was to stay quiet for as long as possible so they'd eventually have no choice but to let us out because of human rights and the fact that we weren't the only people who used this elevator in the entire building.

But something we both knew was that being loud and talking generally was Jin's speciality so that plan soon failed as the day became fresher in our minds and things started getting more unbearable in our little box.

"Irresponsible," he muttered over his shoulder at me as I chose to step to the back.

"Obnoxious," I retorted, throwing insults at his suited back.

"People pleaser."

"Cold-hearted."

"Irritating."

"Arrogant."

"Bitc-"

Yoongi's very loud voice yelling at us both to shut up scared us both into next year and that was the only reason that our little adjective showdown stopped. There was nothing scarier than Min Yoongi.

Plan B was to whine and argue as rationally as possible to the six behind the speaker, which again wasn't something we both settled on but came about automatically since Jin's entire existence revolves around food and only food.

"Jin you're always hungry! You'll live," Namjoon huffed over the mic, speaking so harshly knowing that Jin's vulnerability now could protect him from getting smacked with some kind of kitchen utensil again.

"Okay fine!" I unexpectedly cut across, throwing silence onto the table with a heave.

"I'm on my period."

Jin blushes beside me but stares in hope at the speaker because of my genius plan.

There was nothing.

"No you're not that was last week," Hoseok answered in confusion, completely unaware of the invention of lying.

"God damn it!"

I needed to start going to the store myself when on my period...

There was no final plan that we had mutually agreed on by the end of what seemed like forever in this tiny elevator.

With the lack of electricity brought the lack of air conditioning and things started to get a lot warmer. We slumped on the ground in a puddle of sweat, shoulders touching slightly and him fanning down the opening in his unbuttoned shirt and me trying to shake my dress to do the same.

"Look Jin this is ridiculous, can we just talk so we can get out of here?" I spoke with a dry mouth, feeling as if I was walking towards the end of consciousness and him panting all the same.

He looked way better sweating than I did though. He nodded with a pant, a bead of sweat dripping from his brown locks, down his pink cheeks and towards his even pinker lips.

"You shouldn't talk to Jungkook like that."

His head snapped towards me, giving me a slight breeze that I could briefly enjoy. That would be the only time that I would thank his pettiness.

"He shouldn't have put soy sauce in the pancakes! The boy needs to learn more responsibility, we pampered him too much from when he was 15 and it's starting to show," he looks towards his lap and his long limbs stretched out on the floor.

There was some truth to his words, hope for a middle ground in his message.

"Okay that's true," I began to compromise "but you need to learn to listen. You yelling at him all the time ain't doing anybody any good. How do you expect anyone to ever trust you as a hyung if you can't listen to what they're saying?" I ask him, guilt starting to replace the old malice on his expression that I knew was just a facade anyway.

Jin huffs in defeat, giving me air and a breeze in this suffocating heat.

"I know," he lets out after a long silence, the lack of fresh air slowing our motherly thought process "I was just afraid. Everything's going so fast and meeting you, seeing how you settled in so easily when I'm still arguing with people it's scary, like I'm being replaced."

I looked at him as if he was crazy, remembering how he made all of them smile in a way that I could never even try to do.

"I would never, I couldn't even if I tried. The boys really love you and need you in their special way. I need you too, what would I do if you were gone?"

I admitted this half-truth, letting some of the pressure off of my body and into the air to be forgotten. It was true I did need him but not in the way Bangtan did but how the hell was I supposed to tell him that? If he didn't feel the same way, it would ruin things even more and I'd rather have mediocrity with Jin in my life rather than nothing at all.

He lets out a little smile as if he was remembering something incredibly specific.

"Remember when I saw you for the first time? You were half-naked and holding a magazine, screaming over a wasp flying around the living room," we laughed together than the memory, embarrassment flooding my laughter too with cringe at the horrible and vivid details that he remembered about that day.

"Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me- to us," the end of his statement made me search his eyes again only to find him already searching mine.

"I'm sorry for the soy sauce," I let out in my moment of stupidity, my mind turning to a mushy substance in my skull as I saw his fluffy lips get closer and closer to mine.

I felt like the luckiest but sweatiest person in the world. He laughed, transferring heat onto my cheek by cupping it with his left hand and a quick breeze onto my lips from his mouth.

Then Jin kissed me and everything that happened before felt as stupid as it was.

Inhaling and pressing more to him, I could feel the flutter of his eyelashes when our chests touched we were that close. My hands cupped his cheek as he continued to cup mine, forcing us to continue the kiss even if the extra heat that we were creating was killing us in here faster.

Our lips folded over and over each other over and over again, making us breathless as the heat we made went full circle. We'd make it, feel it, want to go faster and make more in turn. I didn't know whether to thank the lack of air conditioning or not as the things jumping around in my stomach seemed to love our passion.

Breaking the kisses was not either of us pulling away but instead an awkward Namjoon over the speaker, clearing his throat to let out a quick 'I told you so'.

"Is that good enough for you?" Jin sassed to the tiny holes in the wall, arms securely around my waist as he smirked in victory.

"Well uh we didn't really plan that but, you can come up now," Namjoon stuttered awkwardly, a zoo of weird noises, cheers of celebration, laugher and clapping behind him from the mixture of personalities that were trying to take over the mic.

There was a ding and the elevator let out a ginormous huff of freezing air straight onto us as a reward for good behaviour. We both collapsed to the ground again, his hand clinging onto mine as a reminder of what exactly just happened between us.

We turn to each other, a sweet smile that started on his lips spread to the rest of his soaked face as he asked a casual question;

"So, what now?"

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: Can I request a one bed trope for willex?

Oh, you absolutely can request that! I’m a sucker for this trope and I think this is my second time ever writing it (first for this fandom) so this was a lot of fun to get into. Thank you for the request, anon!

Champagne and Roses

Alex was never trusting Luke to book a hotel again. There was a reason Flynn handled admin for the band despite not being in it, and that reason was that all the actual bandmates were useless at it. Still, Luke had found a hotel that he had described as “super insane, like bro, it’ll be awesome, I promise” and had insisted on being the one to book it so nobody had the surprise of what was so good about it ruined for them. But it looked like Alex was set to reap the consequences.

Technically, Julie and the Phantoms were on tour, but what they were really using the opportunity for was something more akin to a road trip with just their nearest and dearest. Alex, Luke, Julie, and Reggie were there to attend their shows and meet-and-greets, Flynn had come along as their manager, but Carrie and Willie were also tagging along for the fun of it. So far they had stopped off at six different venues around North America, and they were on their way to the seventh, namely the hotel Luke was so pumped about.

He hadn’t stopped talking about it since they’d got in the tour bus the previous night, and it was starting to drive Alex a little insane. He was sat on one of the bus’s plush sofas with a cushion clamped over his ears as he tried to drown Luke’s voice out, but it wasn’t working all too well. Sat next to him, Willie was clearly trying not to laugh at him.

“I know I said I wouldn’t tell you guys anything about the hotel,” Luke was saying, the biggest grin plastered across his face, “but just wait until you see the pool. It’s gigantic, and there’s like a thousand slides. And Reggie, bro, you’re gonna love the breakfast buffet they set out, from the photos on their website it looks like they’ve got literally everything.”

“It sounds expensive,” Flynn called from the front seat, sat between Julie (who was taking her turn at driving the bus) and Carrie, who was somehow managing to paint her nails immaculately in a moving vehicle on the highway. “If you’ve blown the band’s budget on a hotel, Luke Patterson, I’m going to hop back there and murder you.”

“It wasn’t that expensive,” Luke said, looking sheepish. Still, Flynn’s threat shut him up a little – Alex decided it was probably better not to ask how much Luke had spent on the booking. “Besides, I saved money by booking shared rooms instead of individual ones.”

That grabbed Alex’s attention. If ever they were away as a band they shared rooms – Alex would buddy up with Luke and Reggie, and Julie and Flynn would be together – but this time there were two extra people in the mix, and Alex didn’t really see how it would work having Willie and Carrie share a room when they hardly spoke to each other outside of this kind of setting.

“Who’s with who?” Alex asked, removing the cushion from his ears and setting it down next to him. A moment later, Willie reached across Alex’s midriff, plucked the pillow from the sofa, and put it behind his own head, laying back comfortably. Alex’s pretended that he wasn’t blushing profusely at the brief touch.

“Well, we can probably change it if we want to once we get there, but I’m with Julie, Flynn and Carrie are together, Reggie’s got a room to himself, and you’re with Willie.”

Alex had no idea how to react. The moment Luke had spoken, his mind had imploded. At every other hotel they’d stayed at so far, everyone had got their own room, purely to give themselves some alone time because they were spending every minute of every day together on the tour and it could get a little suffocating. To go from that to sharing a room with Willie of all people?

Luke had to have known what he was doing. He knew how Alex felt about Willie, so this plan had to have been formed in the deep dark corner of his brain that was designated for doomed matchmaking. It wasn’t like Alex had never shared a room with Willie before, but they had always chosen to, it had never been forced upon them like this. He couldn’t help but wonder what Willie made of it, if his heart was hammering the same way Alex’s was, if the thought of sharing a room made him giddy and nauseous all at the same time too.

He cast a quick, careful glance in Willie’s direction, only to see that his expression had remained completely unchanged, which was unhelpful. Complete neutrality could mean anything. Still, Alex supposed it was better than Willie looking annoyed or disgusted or downright angry at the thought of sharing a room together.

This was silly, Alex told himself. He had shared a room with Willie before, they’d had the occasional sleepover and it had always been lovely. There was no reason that this time should be any different. He tried to calm himself, school his features into something resembling nonchalance.

“Alex,” Reggie said, sounding concerned, “are you feeling travel-sick again? You look like you’re about to vomit all over Willie.”

Apparently nonchalance hadn’t worked.

Alex seized the opportunity. “A little bit of fresh air might be nice,” he said.

Julie pulled over a minute or so later and Alex hopped out of the tour bus. They had pulled off the highway a while back and were now on a much smaller road lined with tall hedges and completely deserted except for their bus. Alex let a gentle wind wash over his flushed face, closed his eyes, and let himself calm down a bit.

It would be fine.

“Hey,” came a voice behind him, startling him. Alex jumped and looked to see Willie stood beside him, his hair blowing elegantly behind him. Not for the first time, Alex wondered how he managed to look like an angel constantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, trying to smile. “The roads were getting a little twisty. I’ll just take a minute to cool off. I’m fine, though.”

He leaned back against the cool metal of the tour bus and felt Willie do the same. He could feel Willie’s side pressed against his and his heart starting beating faster at the slight contact. Their fingers brushed gently together and Alex felt a smile tugging at his lips.

“If you don’t want to share a room with me, that’s fine,” Willie said. He rushed the words out as if he didn’t really want to say them, avoiding eye contact until he’d finished speaking. Then he turned to look at Alex – Alex was bad at reading expressions at the best of times, and all he could make out of Willie’s right then was something close to nervousness. He just couldn’t pinpoint why.

“No,” he assured Willie quickly, “I don’t mind. I do. I do want to share with you, I mean. It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“You sure?” Willie asked, sounding unconvinced. “Because the moment Luke mentioned it you freaked.”

Alex felt himself blush faintly. “No, I told you, it was just the roads getting too twisty. I’m not worried about sharing with you, if that’s what you think.”

“So we’re okay?”

“Of course.”

“Great,” Willie said. He beamed, and Alex couldn’t help but smile back. It was impossible not to smile when Willie did. “I’m going to head back onto the bus. Take as long as you need – I don’t think any of us want to clean up after you again.”

“That was one time and it was four years ago,” Alex protested, though he couldn’t help but smile at Willie’s teasing. At that, any nerves he’d had were gone; how could he be worried about being with Willie when doing just that was so easy? “I’ll come back in a minute.”

As Willie disappeared back onto the bus, Alex closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. His panic was replaced with butterflies in his stomach, silly with excitement at the thought of what the night might hold. Not much, he reminded himself, it was just sharing a room with a friend. Still, he suddenly couldn’t wait.

To Luke’s credit, the hotel was amazing. They arrived there in the late afternoon, checked in, and had their luggage taken up to their rooms for them, leaving them free to explore the hotel. The pool looked bigger than the actual building, with six different slides, people zooming out of them gleefully every few moments. They found the restaurant, which was currently preparing for dinner, and the smells wafting from the kitchen were to die for. There were bikes to hire (Julie suggested a group bike ride which led to mixed responses from the others, ranging from Reggie’s immediate enthusiasm to Carrie stating monotonously that she’d rather do literally anything else), an enormous duck pond nearby, and a small cinema which that night was showing some generic action film Alex had never heard of. Overall, Luke had really outdone himself with the booking.

They busied themselves for the rest of the evening, splashing about in the pool (or, in the case of Alex, Willie, and Carrie, relaxing by the side of the pool on the sun-loungers) and spending far too long in the mini arcade that Reggie had stumbled across. Luke hadn’t been wrong about the food either – the staff set out an enormous buffet that had every food Alex could think of. Alex tried to stick to a regular meal because mixing so many different foods felt strange, but Luke’s plate was piled with pizza, curry, and a slab of chocolate cake.

The evening had been so hectic and jam-packed that by the time Alex and Willie bade farewell to the others, he had almost forgotten all his whirring thoughts surrounding the shared room. But by then he was too full and tired to be too bothered anyway. It was just sharing a room with Willie – what could go wrong?

Willie pushed open the door to room seventy-three and entered ahead of Alex, flicking the lights on as he went. Alex was exhausted and his vision slightly blurred as his eyes kept closing, but he could still make out that this room was nothing short of luxurious. There were chocolates on the pillow, complementary tea and biscuits, a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket of ice, a vase of roses, a flat-screen TV so big it looked as if it would fall off the wall, and a gorgeous king-size bed with rich red satin sheets.

It took Alex far too long to realise that there was something a little off.

He looked around again. Chocolate pillows, tea, biscuits – that was fine, that was normal. Flat-screen TV – expensive, but every hotel room he’d ever stayed at had a television. But champagne, roses, only one bed… Alex felt the pieces click in his mind.

“This is a couples room,” he said.

He was never letting Luke book a hotel ever again.

Willie looked just as bewildered as Alex felt. They had both frozen in the doorway when they saw the room, but now Willie headed in cautiously, picking up the champagne and one rose as if trying to work out whether they were real. He smoothed down the bedsheets, not that they were rumpled, and then turned back to Alex. His expression was infuriatingly neutral and hard to read again.

“Yep,” he agreed, “definitely.”

Alex carefully followed him into the room and looked around. Those old nerves about sharing a room with Willie came back – if they had to share this space then surely it was going to be incredibly awkward. Especially since they weren’t even dating.

“Do you think there’s been some sort of mix-up?” he asked, eyeing the singular bed. It looked invitingly comfortable, and Alex was knackered. He wanted nothing more than to just crawl in and sleep beside Willie as the room was clearly telling them to do. But he couldn’t do that, not if Willie wasn’t comfortable with it, not if there had been a mistake.

“I don’t know,” Willie said, shrugging. “It’s definitely the right room, otherwise the key wouldn’t have worked. I could go and ask at reception if there’s a different room, if you like? With two beds?”

There was something in the way Willie said it that caught Alex’s attention, but he couldn’t identify what it was. But he could see that Willie was watching him carefully, looking for all the world like all he wanted was to make sure the night went well. He thought, Alex realised with a start, that Alex wouldn’t want to share a bed with him. It nearly made Alex laugh, but his nerves stopped him.

He did want to share the bed, but the idea terrified him.

He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “If you want. It’s up to you, I don’t mind.”

“You sound like you mind,” Willie countered.

“I don’t.”

They stared at each other for a minute or two, sizing one another up. Alex didn’t want to seem like the idea of sharing a bed with Willie made him uncomfortable, but equally he didn’t want to seem too eager. He wasn’t sure what the middle ground was – indifference maybe? But if he seemed like he didn’t care at all then it could look like he simply didn’t feel one way or the other about Willie.

He decided he was reading too much into it, worrying about it too much. So he was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, Willie,” he said. “It’s late and I’m exhausted, I could sleep anywhere right now. And I’m sure you don’t really want to go all the way back downstairs just to ask if they have another room. It won’t make any difference. We can share a bed – we’ll be fine.”

Willie blinked, seeming surprised, but then he smiled lightly. Alex felt his heart flutter despite his exhaustion – it was incredible how Willie could have that effect on him no matter what.

“Okay, hotdog,” Willie agreed, nodding resolutely. Just with the use of the nickname, any tension in the room dissipated. Suddenly they were just two guys about to share a bed and it was completely fine. “You’re right. Let’s get some sleep.”

They took turns getting ready for bed in the bathroom (which was far bigger than a bathroom had any business being, Alex thought) and eventually settled down into the bed, side by side, plenty of room between the two of them. Though the day had been hot, the night had turned cold, and the satin sheets were doing very little to keep them warm. Alex burrowed further into the covers, pulling them up to his chin and trying to settle himself. He was still a little nervous, it would have been impossible to be completely chilled out about the whole situation, but he was too tired to really notice.

There was total silence for a few minutes before Willie quietly said, “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

Alex turned to his right to face him. Willie was laying on his side, facing Alex, one hand under his head on the pillow and the other hidden by the duvet. The top he wore was oversized and revealed most of his collarbone, his hair was mussed as it spilled out over the pillow, and he had the sweetest little smile on his tired face. Alex, heart hammering, mirrored his position without realising he was doing it, but he did register that his movement brought them much closer together.

“Do I?” he asked, voice low and hushed.

Willie giggled gently, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve heard you on some of our sleepovers.”

“What do I say?”

“Nonsense, mainly,” Willie told him. “But sometimes you talk about the band, that’s always sweet. It’s a change from you calling Luke and Reggie annoying so often. And it’s nice to know you love them really.”

Alex grinned. “Of course I love them. They’re my brothers and Julie’s my sister. Although I am still annoyed at Luke for this whole thing.”

Willie’s expression changed abruptly, from amused to… what was that? Hurt? Had Alex said something wrong without realising it? Oh god, had he just changed the tone of the situation back to awkward?

“I thought you were okay with this,” Willie said. His voice was a different kind of quiet. Small now in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I am,” Alex said quickly. “I’m more than okay with this.”

“Then why are you still angry at Luke?”

“Because he knows how I–”

He stopped himself abruptly. He knows how I feel about you. That had been what he was about to say. The late hour had loosened his tongue and he had almost ruined everything. He stopped, changed course, started again.

“He knows how I get nervous about this kind of thing. If I’d been sharing a room with him and Reg like normal then there wouldn’t have been this whole problem.”

“Why is sharing with me a problem?” Willie asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “Would you have been like this if we were just sharing a room, not a bed?”

Alex opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to reply with that wouldn’t prompt further questions. He couldn’t see this night ending well for him at all. It was barely midnight and already he had offended Willie by saying the wrong thing. How was he meant to carry on from this?

“I wouldn’t have been so worried if there were two beds,” he admitted slowly. Willie deflated, nodded, curled into himself slightly. It broke Alex’s heart. “But it’s not because I don’t want to share a bed with you.”

“Then what is it?” Willie asked pleadingly. “Just tell me, Alex – whatever the reason is, it won’t change anything between us. I won’t hate you or anything like that. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Alex couldn’t help wondering from that if Willie had already guessed. And if he had then there was no point in pretending anymore. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been so tired, his brain working so slowly, but he made his decision then and didn’t back down.

Willie’s hand had come out from beneath the covers and was now resting in the space between them on the mattress. Alex placed his hand over it and linked their fingers. He heard Willie gasp quietly and didn’t stop to think whether that was a good or bad sign.

“Luke knows how I feel about you,” Alex said. His voice wavered nervously and he couldn’t look Willie in the eye, but he still felt a thrill knowing that he was finally saying this, taking an enormous weight off his shoulders. “He knows that I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve known you. He knows how much this could mean to me, but also how nervous I’d be. I don’t know if you feel the same way, Willie. If this is weird or I’m out of order or anything like that then you can tell me to stop talking. I was just nervous because Luke did this, got me this close, without telling me about it and it threw me off. You threw me off. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or made you uncomfortable. But that’s what’s on my mind.”

Alex finally took his eyes of his and Willie’s interlinked fingers to look Willie in the eye. Willie’s eyes were sparkling, an incredulous half-smile on his face. Alex took that as a good sign.

“Really?” Willie asked.

Alex swallowed heavily and nodded once. “Really.”

Willie said nothing. He just used their intertwined hands to pull himself closer to Alex and rest his head on his chest. Alex was glad his heart was on the other side of his chest, otherwise Willie would have been able to hear how fast it was beating. Willie had thrown an arm over Alex’s waist, holding him close, so Alex’s wrapped his around Willie’s back. He felt Willie sigh contentedly, and on a burst of confidence he pressed the lightest kiss possible to the top of Willie’s head.

“Does this mean you like me too?” Alex asked. He was fairly certain, but it was always good to double check.

Willie chuckled and Alex felt his heart swell with love. “Yeah. I like you too, hotdog.”

“So the couples room worked out after all, I guess,” he joked.

Willie tilted his head to look up at Alex, looking for all the world like an angel on Earth.

“Definitely,” he agreed. “But I think we finally use this bed for its real purpose and get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Willie.” Alex reached over and flicked off the little bedside lamp, plunging them into total darkness.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas

[bluegarners]

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse. 

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family. 

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.” 

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair. 

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan. 

Money. Old money at that. 

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick. 

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance. 

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor. 

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food. 

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes. 

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand. 

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up. 

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind. 

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely. 

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim. 

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation. 

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more. 

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop. 

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at. 

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him. 

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone. 

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it. 

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry. 

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it. 

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation. 

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known. 

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company. 

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties. 

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects. 

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow. 

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest. 

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods. 

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches. 

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers. 

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking. 

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready. 

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports. 

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice. 

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology. 

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance. 

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again. 

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful. 

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened. 

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has. 

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles. 

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line. 

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be. 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XVI

Jason is a CEO: Part XVI

okay wow it has been a hooottt minute since i’ve updated a multi-chap fic and an even hotter minute since i’ve updated this one. so here’s a recap:

jase and zoe broke up, because she is being forced by her father to marry someone else (who that may be is yet to be revealed). jason has finally had enough and at the insistence of his friends he packs up on a holiday to Panarea (in italy) where he is delightedly shocked to discover Percy Jackson is currently working, and oh no.....would you look at that......the hotel messed up their reservations and now they have to share the same room, and the same bed. lmao they’re dorks.

here’s how the last chapter ended:

“Let’s just stay together? We’re friends. We know each other, we trust each other, and it’ll be less hassle than trying to find a room for either of us.”

“But there’s only one bed?” His brain was short-circuiting.

It shut down altogether when the man before him smirked. “Well i can keep my hands to myself, if you promise to.”

“I-” What is stopping him from saying yes? Why should he say no?

“It’s totally okay if you don’t want to.” Percy’s expression was so gentle, and it turned every weathered rock in Jason to gemstone.

“Yes.” He said firmly. “Let’s share the room.”

It was only when they got back to the hotel did Jason realise they were still holding hands. He wondered if they’d find each other like that in their dreams too. They did.

masterlist; my links

Jason awoke to an arm slung over his waist and soft breaths fanning the bare skin of his back. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, bringing with it the heat that was sure to get unbearable. He thought he’d feel uncomfortable with someone touching him in weather like this but Percy seemed to be cool, and gods did he look cute with his messy black curls, and brown skin that absorbed rays of light and turned it into magic.

They had promised each other that they’d keep to their sides of the bed and refrain from mauling one another in the night, but it seemed like they had gravitated together anyhow. And Percy was certainly a cuddler. 

A knock sounded and with groaning realisation he saw the clock on the wall read ten am. They were out later than either of them had realised. 

“Jackson,” He nudged the man gently, “I think you need to get up.”

A mumbled response sunk into his skin as soft lips brush against his back. Jason went completely still, the sensation running along his nerves like hot wires. 

“You okay?” Another mumble filtered through his delirium. 

“I’m fine,” He managed to choke out, “I think we need to get up though. Room service is already here.”

That sparked movement. Suddenly green eyes were wide open, and cheeks, streaked with the creases of the pillow, were red with panic. “What is the time?” 

“It’s ten am,” He pointed to the clock. 

“Fuck!” Percy practically leaped out of bed and slammed his shoulder into the door frame as he skidded into the bathroom.

Jason heard the shower go on, and an electric toothbrush whirr to life, and then he heard a multitude of curse words, a loud bang and some groans of pain.

“Er,” He should go in there and make sure his friend was still alive. “Jackson?” He stepped into the bathroom and was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him.

There, tangled in his pants, toothpaste stains on his face, and the shower soaking the bathroom floor was Dr. Percy Jackson.

“Do you need help?”

“This is not how this morning was supposed to go,” The dark-haired man garbled, looking hopelessly at the mess he had created.

Jason hid a smile as he bent down to help tug Percy’s pants off him, “And how was the morning supposed to go.”

Green eyes clashed with his, the toothbrush still whirring in his mouth. “I was supposed to wake up early and order a buffet for breakfast and then as we stuffed ourselves-” he cut off, choking on the toothpaste. 

Jason couldn’t hide his amusement, and burst out laughing at Percy’s subsequent glare. Standing up and tossing the pants in the wash basket, he offered his hand to his friend, who took it gratefully before heading to the sink to finish brushing his teeth.

“What were we going to do while we ate?” He asked, leaning against the basin, one leg crossed over the other.

“I was going to feed you maple-covered waffles and answer some emails, and you were going to read that book I know you brought.”

“Are we an old married couple in this scenario?” He quirked a brow, lips twitching.

Percy frowned, stripping off his underwear and stepping into the heat of the shower. “I’m just trying to start our future early.” 

Jason watched those glorious back muscles ripple, as water streaked down, but he refused to follow its path, not daring to go lower than the small dip of that spine. He didn’t even know why he was still in the bathroom, why he was being such a creeper, but his feet were superglued to the floor. He couldn’t move even if a crowbar tried to pry him away.

“Are you not agreeing with my vision?” A muffled voice drifted around him.

He attempted to come back to reality but it was proving near impossible. “Uh no-” He stuttered, “I think it’s a solid plan.” His eyes traced the sharp angles of that jaw, and the strong-bridged nose, and black hair matted to beautiful brown skin. He was sure he was dreaming. There could be no other explanation for the surrealness of the moment.

“Jase?” Percy touched his arm gently, skin hot from the shower. “You okay?”

He startled into the world so fast he felt dizzy. Where on earth had he gone? To another dimension it seemed. “Oh gods i’m so sorry,” He groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I just watched you shower like a complete pervert.”

His friend smirked, and then he was laughing. “Who says i didn’t enjoy it?”

The blush that raced across his skin was enough to dull rubies. He didn’t know where to look, or how to breathe, or what he was made of. He was simply an untied balloon barreling towards the nearest thorn bush. “You,” He managed to choke, “Are going to be the death of me doctor.”

“Good,” He heard the smirk like violins, “Maybe then I won't feel like I'm falling straight to the bottom of the ocean all by myself.”

Jason peeked through his fingers, watching as Percy finished up and flitted around the room, trying to still the heart that threatened to beat out his rib cage and into a drum set. It was an ache in his chest, how much he felt for this man. How much he wanted him.

“So i’m going to be in and out for the next few days but i’m going to work my butt off so i can have Thursday and Friday off. I’m sorry for being a terrible roommate but i don’t think i’ll make meals until then.” He could see the regret in the doctor’s eyes, turning that vibrant green a shade like dying leaves.

“No,” He shook his head, “Seriously it’s not a problem. You do what you have to.” He couldn’t believe his friend felt bad for leaving him, when they hadn’t even known they’d be here together. It said enough about Percy's character that Jason was trying very hard not to bundle the man up in blankets and kiss his cheeks until the guilt of the past stopped carving valleys between his brows. Instead he hugged him, accidentally letting his lips brush against Percy's neck, just above his collar as he pulled away. Accidentally. The squeeze at his waist let him know his accident was well received.

“Goodbye Jackson.” He smiled as he watched the doctor race down the hall. A ringed wave was the response before he disappeared around the corner.

Jason closed the door, leaning against it with an expression made from coffee foam and whipped cream. He couldn't imagine a morning as peaceful as that one, not in days, months, years? With a satisfied sigh he flopped back into bed, inhaling the ocean scent of Percy that lingered across the sheets like cool waters on a summer evening. The plan for the day was that there was no plan. Thalia had chosen well by booking this little place. He wouldn’t be distracted by touristy things ergo he couldn’t possibly do anything else but relax. So he snuggled into the pillows and stared at the ceiling and fell half asleep and listened to the wind and felt the heat creep across his skin and he just let himself be.

His thoughts were as wild as the tides and sometimes they spilled like ocean water across his cheeks. But then he’d drift off to a dream and wake up to the sound of people laughing and cars sputtering and footsteps stomping past his door and all of a sudden nothing felt too far away.

He was sad. He was sad enough to wonder if sadness was all he knew. His ex boyfriend, who he had loved like stars loved darkness, had broken down his dream and rebuilt it as a nightmare. He managed to wake up. His girlfriend, who he could have loved given time, had tied all the fraying parts of his heart to the wheel of a car and pressed accelerate. He managed to cut himself free. His girlfriend, who he had loved outright and bold, had danced him to the edge of a cliff and left him with one foot already going over. Had he managed to catch himself before reaching the bottom?

It was a question that kept him occupied through the day. Through the breakfast he ate slowly. Through the sleep he found restlessly when his mind wouldn’t focus on the book he’d brought. Through the very late lunch he gobbled down like his stomach would start a rebellion if it didn’t get it’s due. Through the golden sunset he sat at the window and watched.

But it was finally when he sunk to the floor of the shower, letting the water hit his back like welcome rain, that he had an answer; and with it the question of “What came next?” That answer, he knew, would come later. Clear and bright and ready to be grabbed with teeth and hands and love.

So he finished his shower, and changed into loose cotton pants and a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. A walk on the beach didn’t require formality.

The sand was soft on his feet, different to the way New York beaches felt. And the ocean was a richer blue, as if he were being introduced to colour for the first time and this was how water was supposed to look. He supposed places like this weren’t called paradise on earth for nothing. The last dregs of sunlight skittered across the water, as if playing with it. His fingers itched to paint the scene but with nothing but the sand at his fingertips he simply took in the view, and let his mind form the painting he couldn’t.

The air was cooler here, not as sticky, but that didn’t mean the heat wasn’t ever present, scorching the sand like coal hearths. His feet would be blistered if it weren’t so late into the evening. Any earlier and he may have been hopping around like a scared crab. The image was enough to make him giggle to himself. It’s a sound he misses, and one he loved enough to leave him smiling.

“Care to share, comedian?” A smooth voice called from behind him. 

He turned around, whipped faster than the wind, to see Percy walking towards him, a grin on his handsome face.

“I was picturing myself as a scared crab.”

Dark eyebrows raised in confusion, before rich laughter burst into the air. Jason swore it turned the night into magic. “Maybe I should have left you in peace.” The doctor shook his head. 

“Who says you’re disrupting it?” He tilted his head, before starting on his walk once more.

He didn’t see the look that crossed his friend’s face, like comfort turned to being.

“What did you do today?”

“Self reflection,” He said into the air, into the world, into himself. “How about you?”

“Oh you know, a little lab work here, a little analysis there.” Percy shrugged.

“Tell me more,” He prompted.

The look of surprise on his friend’s face made him want to throttle anyone who’s ever stopped this man from talking.

“You sure?” It was hesitant, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t promise to understand everything so I may have questions but if you’re willing to indulge me I want to hear all about it.”

With a look that spoke of worlds beyond their comprehension Percy launched into a detailed play-by-play of his day. He answered every question with patience and sparkling eyes, and there were many questions. By the time they got back to their hotel the crescent moon was their only source of light in the inky blackness of the sky and his stomach was growling enough that he knew he couldn’t afford to snack for supper.

“Want to go to the restaurant for dinner?” He tilted his head to the opposite side of the lobby where grand doors opened and closed periodically. 

“I uh,” His friend winced, “I have some work today so i’m going to head to the room.”

“Okay,” He shrugged smiling, “I’ll meet you up there later.”

“Uh yea,” Percy’s face held an expression he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “See you then.”

“Want me to bring something up for you?”

“No, no, don’t worry about me.” Black curls bounced as he shook his head. 

They parted ways, Jason only slightly confused by the weird turn his friend’s mood took, and decided he’d bring back a chocolate brownie if nothing else.

As he sat down at a table, observing the grand balustrades and curtained windows he felt suddenly alone. It wasn’t a feeling he let himself be consumed by but just the fact that it was there had him reaching for his phone. With a few taps he was calling Leo, knowing it’d be early morning for them.

“Hello,” A cheery voice crackled through his earphone. It was enough to settle all the worried nerves hidden between his ribcage.

Their conversation was bright and energetic, Leo being a morning person; he even got a few grunts out of Annabeth, who was decidedly not. Everything was okay with his company and more importantly his friends were fine.

“I found a person we know here,” He mumbled, trying to keep his voice and excitement quiet.

“Who?” Leo was practically vibrating. Even Annabeth looked at the camera with blurry eyed curiosity.

“Uh Percy.” He scratched the back of his neck, shyness crawling across his skin.

“Oh,” His friend’s eyes widened. “What is he doing there?”

“Work,” This was fine. This was safe. Nobody was jumping to any conclusions.

“Are you sure you didn’t run away to get married?”

And there went all his hope of having reasonable friends. “No!” He hissed. “And besides I didn't run away, you guys forced me to go.”

“Well it’s done you good. I can finally see some colour in those pasty cheeks.” Brown eyes sparkled with mischief. 

Before Jason could respond another call was interrupting. “Zoe Nightshade” flashed across the screen.

“Uh Leo,” He frowned at his phone. “I’ll call you back.”

“Everything okay?” He heard the worry like tv static.

“I hope so.” The furrow between his brows didn’t disappear. 

And then he hung up on his best friend and answered the other call.

“Oh Jason,” Relief flooded in his ear like water in a drought. “Thank you for answering.” The smooth voice of his ex-girlfriend reached him.

“Zoe,” His nerves were bow-string taught. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”

“I need your help.” She answered. She sounded desperate. “I can’t marry Octavian.”

Jason Grace nearly falls off the cliff.

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

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts​

@leyontheway​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​

@msdrpreist​​

@sparkythunderstorm​

@nishlicious-01​

@lucyisblue​

@legendary-cupcake​

@larrikin-is-a-himbo​

[chibinekochan]

Morning Sunrise ft. Beel and Belphie

A fic about the brothers and you get a free day in a spa hotel. On paper, it sounds great but not everything is going as planned.

Will the twins still get to enjoy their birthday even when it seems that everything is ruined?

Read on to find out.

  I hear a knock on my door. I open it to find Levi. "Hey Levi, can I help you with anything?" 

"Well, I have a huge problem." He looks very distraught. 

Then he starts to rummage through his pocket and pulls some tickets out. "I won these tickets in a raffle. Sadly they are completely useless to me. They are for a day and night in a spa, for three people. Well, you can probably see the issue. First of all, I don't even have that many friends and it's in a region without wifi. Then there is a concert that weekend that I simply can't miss." Levi dumps all this information on me. 

"I would have gone with you. You have Solomon and Henry. I mean any of your brothers would come too." I feel bad for Levi. 

"That is so kind of you." His eyes sparkle. "You are a true friend!" Levi smiles gleefully at me. 

"Sadly that concert is still more important to me. So I want to give these to you." Levi is holding the tickets for me. 

"That is very nice of you. I will pay you back with some anime merchandise from the human world." I graciously take the tickets from Levi. 

"That is super fair. There is a ton of stuff that I need." Levi agrees and leaves me alone. 

  I check the date it's on the night before the twins’ birthday. This is the perfect opportunity for a little early birthday celebration. 

   I already have gifts for them so this is only a bonus. Well, if they are up for it. 

  I head to their room right away. 

  I knock and hear someone say. "Come in."

I'm sure it's Beel. 

  I open the door. Belphie looks at me with a sleepy expression while Beel smiles at me. 

"Hey you two, I have a question about your birthday." I get straight to the point. 

"Sure, ask whatever you want." Beel sounds very enthusiastic. 

"Yeah, as long as it's not too tiresome." Belphie is still half asleep. 

"Levi gave me tickets for a day and night in a spa for three people. It's on the day before your birthday and I thought it would be great if we could go." With a big smile, I show them the tickets. 

"That kind of sounds like a pain. I mean we have to travel to get to the place." Belphie sounds not really in the mood for it. 

"They got this great spa massage that is said to give you the best sleep ever and they also got an enormous buffet." Luckily enough I know just the right thing to motivate him, and I also throw something out there that will make Beel happy too. 

"Oh, that sounds great! I mean I wanted to go anyway since you can see the stars very well up there at night." Beel seems to drool for a moment. 

"Haha that's so you Beel, but it sounds pretty nice now that I think about it. We can celebrate our birthday morning in peace. It will be great." Belphie changes his tune rather quickly. 

"Great, I will get Lucifer's permission for us. I'm so excited!" I beam with happiness. A spa day to relax just sounds perfect. 

"Yeah, it will be fun. I'll make sure to thank Levi later." Beel is in a great mood. 

Even Belphie seems affected by it. "We just get him something anime-themed. That will make him happy."

  With that, everything is settled. 

Getting permission wasn't super easy but we did it in the end. 

  I only pack the bare minimum. It's a trip that will take a few hours after all. While the hotel is free the trip itself isn't so we travel cheaply. With a train and a bus. 

The journey is pretty pleasant, even when I nod off on the train. We had to start very early to get to the hotel in time. 

I lean on Beel's shoulder and Belphie takes two seats all by himself across from us. It's pretty comfortable. 

At breakfast time we have to stop Beel from buying the entire food cart but other than that it's a fun time. 

We eat at the train station before riding our bus into the mountains. 

I sit next to Belphie on the bus ride. He is sleeping on my shoulder this time. 

Beel and I talk about different topics. I have some plans at the spa for sure. 

The bus is a bit late but there's no issue. 

Once we arrive at our final stop I stretch my body. I'm all tense after the long ride.

  Belphie studies the map on the side of the road and groans loudly. "This looks like a real hike."

I look at the map, the hotel is on the top of the mountain and we have to walk. Probably gonna take us an hour or two. Luckily I'm prepared. "We knew this Belphie. Just think of the nice spa treatment as your victory price." I try my best to motivate him. 

"Yeah, and the nice food!" Beel doesn't lack motivation at least. 

Belphie sighs and shrugs. "I will do my best. In the worst case, one of you has to carry me."

"Good luck with that, Belphie." I laugh at that. 

"I'm sure you can do it." Beel gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder. 

"I guess I have no choice." He shakes his head and groans. Then he starts walking. 

Beel shrugs at me and we both laugh a little. 

"Are you coming? You snails!" Belphie turns around and teases us playfully. 

"I'll show you a snail!" I reply equally playful and speed up until I catch up with him. 

In the end, we all walk together along the path. 

It's more exhausting than I expected but the idea of a spa day is more than enough motivation for me. 

Belphie, on the other hand, looks like he suffers. 

"Are you alright?" Beel has a worried tone. 

"I'm fine." Belphie doesn't sound convincing. 

"I can carry you." Beel is worried. 

"I can still walk." Belphie wants to push on just a little bit longer. 

"Don't push yourself. Oh, look, that sign there means we are about halfway there." I point ahead to a fork in the road. 

Beel looks at the sign. "Yeah, maybe we can take a short break then." 

We've made good progress and are pretty much on time. "Sounds good to me. Let me check the map, I think there is a nice spot just a little bit ahead."I get the map from my side pocket. 

"You don't need to do that just for me." Belphie doesn't want to be a bother to us. 

"I'm getting hungry so I need a break." Beel is mostly concerned about what is best for everyone. 

"In the guide, it said from the rest spot just a little bit ahead we have a great view of the hotel. I would like to see that." I chime in support of Beel and to give us all a well-deserved rest. 

"I guess I have no choice. Let's take a break." Belphie shrugs with a smile. He knows very well that he needs a break but is too proud to admit that.

  We find the spot just a little bit ahead of the path. 

It's a very nice spot with a great view not just of the hotel but also the surrounding nature. 

I look in awe of the beautiful landscape. 

Beel enjoys the snacks we have packed and Belphie has decided to take a quick nap. 

It's a very peaceful scene. It makes me smile to see them both so relaxed. 

Then I feel a slight chill in the air. I notice some dark clouds on the horizon.

  "That looks pretty bad." Almost as to confirm my bad feeling, Beel speaks up. 

"Yes, we need to move asap. Have you eaten enough?" I worry about his huge appetite. 

"I can eat while we walk. What about you, Belphie?" Beel tries to wake Belphie up. 

He groans. "What is going on?" 

"It looks like there is a storm coming," I say in an alert tone. 

"Huh, I see, just give me a moment." Belphie gets slowly up. He seems pretty sluggish. 

Another gust of wind hits me, something wet touching my skin. “We need to hurry, it's already starting to rain.”

"You are right." Beel looks with a worried expression towards the ever darker sky. 

Belphie gets hit by some droplets of water and groans. "We should hurry." He seems to be fully awake now.

  I can only agree and so we hurry back to the path upwards of the mountain. 

The rain now really starting to hit us all and soon it's down pouring. 

It hits so hard the road is hard to see. 

I have never been so wet my entire life. 

We hurry our steps more, especially when thunder roars through the sky. 

It's coming down now. 

We had been prepared but certainly not enough. 

Then I see that Beel has come to a halt, just a little bit in front of me. 

Our path is blocked by a fallen tree.

  Belphie groans. "What are we supposed to do now? The path down is very far."

"Climbing it would be too dangerous too." The tree is huge and looks very slippery. 

"It looks like there are rocks and mud on the other side too so removing it would only cause us harm." Beel has already scouted the situation. 

"We have to take shelter from the rain. I saw a hut on the map, there should be a path right by marker 113." I have to speak loudly due to the rain and the wind picking up now too. 

"Let's see if we are at 114 so it should be behind us," Beel confirms the marker. 

"At least that's some good news. Let's get moving." Belphie seems very annoyed. I can't blame him.

  Beel and I can only agree. 

By now I'm entirely soaked. 

Still, there is no resting now. We silently walk back to the waymarker. 

Then suddenly something pushes me out of the way and something big crushes right next to me. 

Then I realize that a tree just fell inches away from me. I look surprised at the tree and then at Beel. Who has shoved me away.

  "Are you okay?" His face twists in pain and yet Beel is only worried about me. 

"Y-yeah but what about you?" I can see that he got hit. His cheek is bleeding and his shirt is torn right at the shoulder. The tree must've hit him there. 

"I'm good. Let's be careful." Beel acts like he is fine. I'm still worried. As soon as we hit shelter I will treat his wounds. 

We carefully move as fast as we can. The ground is slippery. 

"Beel stop pretending to be fine, you are limping." Belphie looks angrily at Beel. I look at him and notice that Belphie is right. 

The guilt is ripping my heart out. "Beel come lean on me. It will only get worse if you don't." I can't stand seeing him like this. 

"No, I'm too heavy for you." He bluntly refuses. 

"I'm too wet and tired for this Beel just lean on us both." Belphie doesn't take no for an answer. 

Beel sighs but doesn't refuse our help. "Fine."

"We should be there soon. Just hold on for a little bit longer." With that, I carefully take Beels injured side and Belphie takes his other side.

  Belphie takes the brunt of Beel's weight. 

I know he is much stronger than me but he still struggles. 

This slows us down even more but nobody complains at all. We all might get wet but we just focus on getting to safety. 

"There I can see the shelter." I can see a small hut in between the trees.

"Thank the demon lord." Belphie seems to be very relieved. 

"Just a little more and we can all rest," I say this mostly to Beel. 

Once we finally hit the small, but cozy and sturdy hut we are all very happy. 

Beel sinks to the ground, checking his leg. "It's not broken at least so with some bandages and rest I'll be as good as new by tomorrow morning. 

"That's good to hear. We got some wood so I'll make a fire." Belphie lights up the fireplace. 

"I will treat your injuries. Take your shirt off. It needs to dry anyway." I don't care much about being wet right now and get my first aid kit from my bag. 

"You should change into something dry first. If you stay like this we will have far bigger issues than my injuries." Beel looks at me with a stern voice. 

"He is right." Belphie is already half-naked. I turn around blushing. "Belphie, gee warn me when you do this." 

"There is no need to be shy. You should take a closer look while you can." At least Belphie hasn't lost his humor yet. 

I throw a towel at him. "No thank you, and you both better not peek while I change." I huff, slightly embarrassed. 

"It's not like you have anything we haven't seen yet." Belphie uses this chance to tease me. 

"Just be polite, Belphie. I'll make sure he doesn't look, don't worry." Beel encourages me greatly with his words. 

"Whatever. I will go and call the hotel for help and I won't look." Belphie shrugs.

  I turn around and undress my wet clothes. Luckily, we planned to stay the night.

I'm glad to be out of my wet clothes and quickly dress something dry. I dry my hair and then turn back to Beel, to finally treat his wounds.

He didn't even bother to wear a shirt yet, which makes it just a little bit harder for me. 

A bit embarrassed I treat his foot first. "It's a bit swollen. I will put some cream on it and a bandage. You should just take it easy for today unless it swells more we are fine." I give Beel a quick summary of my thoughts. 

"Yeah, that is what I'm thinking too. I'll be fine by morning." He wholeheartedly agrees. 

I hope he is right and carefully start to apply the cream. Beel slightly winces from the pain. I feel very bad for him. "Just a little more." I wrap the bandage around his foot, ankle, and a bit up his leg. "There we go."

Beel moves his food a bit. "Much better, thank you so much." He smiles gratefully at me. 

"No problem, now I will clean your other wounds." I get the disinfectant and bandaids out. 

Beel looks with great discomfort to the disinfectant. He doesn't like how it stings. 

"I know you hate it but you know it has to be done. If you keep still I will treat you with your favorite chocolate bar." I'm being a bit playful, trying to cheer him up more than anything else. 

"I will be good then!" Beel is instantly motivated by the prospect of chocolate. It's so cute that it makes me chuckle. 

"Have you my favorite too?" At that moment Belphie comes back.

"Sure, I love those too after all. I actually got a value pack with all our favorites." I had planned to surprise them both on the trip back, but due to our current circumstances now is a better time. 

"Oh, nice. Can I get them out of the bag? All this running made me kinda hungry." Belphie seems pretty chipper again. 

"Sure, but what did the hotel say?" I'm pretty curious about that. I start to carefully disinfect Beel’s arm while I wait for Belphies answer.

"They can't get to us with this storm raging but they are sure it will be gone by tomorrow. They were very sorry about the whole situation. It sounds like they will greatly extend our stay." This explains Belphie's great mood. 

"Won't the others be disappointed if we aren't back by tomorrow evening?" Beel seems conflicted. 

"They will survive, plus we might just do it another time anyway. The hotel will likely give us some vouchers or something." Belphie doesn't sound concerned at all. 

"Lucifer won't let us miss a couple of days of school anyways." I put a few bandaids on Beels shoulder and then start to disinfect his cheek. 

None of the injuries are deep, this gives me great relief. 

Belphie sighs. "Too bad really. How are your injuries?" 

"I'm fine." Just then Beel winces from the disinfectant. 

"Hold still." I can't work well with him moving around. 

"Sorry." Beel mumbles. 

Belphie has pulled out the bag of sweets. "Talk about a big stash of goods. You put Beel to shame." Belphie gives me a light chuckle. 

"Not really, about 90 percent of my backpack was stuffed with food." Beel is eyeing the sweets. 

"At least we won't starve." Belphie shakes his head.

"At least he didn't bring an extra pillow." I put a bandaid on Beels cheek. "There all done."

"Hey, I need that extra pillow and tonight you will be grateful that I also packed a blanket." Belphie buffs slightly. 

"Ahh, thank the demon lord. Now I can eat!" Beel is just glad he doesn't have to sit still anymore. 

He gives me and Belphie a fair share of treats before starting to shove chocolate into his mouth.

  Belphie eats his portion with much enjoyment. 

I suddenly start to shiver. "Now that I think about it. How are we going to sleep here tonight?" I haven't packed a blanket. 

"I suppose we all share my pillow and blanket. It will be tight but we will be warm that way." Belphie shrugs like it's no big deal at all. 

"Kinda like a sleepover in one bed." Beel doesn't look fazed at all either.

They both are probably used to this, meanwhile, I'm not. 

"Are you saying that we should all cuddle up under one blanket?" It's pretty embarrassing to me, I blush. 

"Yeah, unless you want to catch a cold." Belphie smirks at me. 

"There is no way I will let that happen." Beel seems to agree with Belphie. 

"Will we even all fit under that blanket?" I can't imagine that. 

"Let me show you." Belphie pulls his backpack towards him and produces his pillow and a huge blanket. 

My eyes widen and I gasp from the surprise. "How did you fit that in there?!"

"Magic, of course." Belphie is very amused. 

Of course, it was magic. Pretty stupid question of me.

  Belphie spreads the blanket out and I can see that it will fit all of us without issues. 

Beel wraps the blanket around himself, with a bit of help from Belphie. 

There is definitely plenty of space for me and Belphie left.

  "As much as I'd love for you to be in the middle, we have to use Beel as our heater." Belphie seems slightly frustrated by this.

"It's kinda mean to refer to Beel as a heater but I'm fine with this." There aren't many other choices anyway. "More importantly, are you fine laying in the middle with your shoulder being injured?" I'm still very worried about him. 

"It's fine he isn't wrong and it doesn't hurt that much anyway. I'm more worried that me and Belphie somehow squish you when we sleep." Beel is as usual mostly concerned about anyone but himself. 

"Yeah, that would be terrible, as unlikely as that might be." Belphie seems troubled by the thought too. 

"Alright, but if you have pain you have to promise to tell us." I look with a stern face at Beel. 

Beel nods. "I will."

"Alright then, I'm tired so I will get comfortable now." Belphie yawns very loudly, it's a surprise he even lasted this long. He then proceeds to sit right next to Beel and without a second thought he snuggles up to him. 

Beel doesn't even bat an eye. I'm used to Belphie doing the same thing to me so it's not that odd. 

I again start to shiver. 

"Come here, you need to warm up." Beel is very worried about my health. It would be very bad if I catch a cold. "You are right." I carefully move next to Beel, making sure I don't hit his shoulder. 

He wraps the blanket around me. It's very warm, helped by Beels natural heat. 

"You can move closer." Beel encourages me with a soft voice. 

There is very little space between us even now. I still take his offer and scoot closer. My side is now touching him. I'm very aware of our closeness. 

Beel puts his arm around me, erasing any distance between us. 

I feel embarrassed but it's very comfortable so I settle down pretty quickly. 

"Does it hurt?" I want to make sure that Beel is also comfortable. 

"Hm? No, not at all." Beel seems almost surprised by my question. Has he forgotten about his injury already?

"Hey, can you hand me some of the snacks?" Belphie sounds like he is already half asleep. 

"Hold on." A bit reluctant to leave my comfortable spot and reach out to grab the package of sweets.

"Thanks." Belphie eats one of his favorites with a gleeful smile. Then he grabs another one. "Here Beel for you." He can tell that Beel is still hungry.

"Very nice of you." Beel eats it with glee. 

I take a turn and feed Beel next, while also grabbing one for myself. 

Belphie and I repeat this a couple of times.

  Then Belphie yawns again, very loudly. 

I admit that I'm feeling pretty sleepy myself. The warmth of the blanket and the stress of the day finally seem to catch up with me. I yawn almost in unison with Belphie. 

"We should all rest for a while." Beel makes a very good point. 

"I agree." Belphie seems to be already half asleep. 

"Sleep well." I get more comfortable at Beels side.

  Soon I hear Belphie softly snoring. I, on the other hand, just can't find any rest. I try to focus on the sound of the Storm. My thoughts keep on coming back to feeling guilty. I know it's not really my fault but I'm still sad about possibly ruining their birthday. 

I sigh quietly. 

"Is something wrong?" Beel speaks in a hushed tone. 

"I just can't relax." I feel bad for bothering Beel. 

"Sorry, it's not very comfortable." He seems to think this is somehow his fault. 

"No, that's not it. I just feel bad about today." I admit while whispering. 

"But this is still pretty nice. I mean we are all safe and together." Beel speaks softly. 

"Isn't this a bad way to start your birthday?" I just wanted them to have a nice day but now we are all stuck in a small hut. 

"I can only speak for myself, but I'm with the people that I love the most and I can't think of a better way to celebrate my birthday."I can hear Beels smile in his voice. This comforts me greatly. 

"He is right." Belphie chimes in, sounding more asleep than awake. 

"Thank you both." I smile and relax a bit.

  As long as they are happy I'm happy. 

I can feel Beel squeeze me just a bit closer towards him. 

After a while, the sound of both boys soft breathing and the sound of the rain on the roof lull me to sleep. 

At some point, I wake up and realize it's the next morning. 

I'm still curled up in the blanket. Now on the floor and sharing Belphies pillow. I feel a bit drowsy when I get up. Belphie is still asleep. 

I can't see Beel anywhere. I sit up and look around.

  My movements wake Belphie up. "Hm? Is it morning already?" He still seems to be more asleep than awake. 

"Happy birthday Belphie." I smile at his sleepy face. 

"Thanks, do I get a birthday kiss?" He smiles at me in a teasing manner. 

"Maybe later." I can only shake my head at this comment. "I will go look for Beel." Slowly I get up. 

I hear Belphie moving around. "Hold on, I'm coming."

Belphie gets up, sluggishly. 

I grab my now dry coat and wait for Belphie at the door. 

We head outside and I see Beel checking on the surrounding area. 

"Good morning Beel." I get his attention. 

"Good morning." He smiles. 

"Happy birthday." I congratulate him with a big smile. 

"Thank you." He smiles back at me and then notices Belphie behind me, "Happy birthday Belphie." 

"Happy birthday Beel. How is the road looking?" Belphie stretches. 

"It looks pretty fine. We should get help soon enough. Let's have some breakfast while we wait." Beel seems to be hungry again. 

"Sure." Suddenly I notice the sun bursting through the clouds, flooding everything in the beautiful morning light. I look at it in awe. "Wow, this is so beautiful."

"It's hard to believe that it was so miserable here yesterday." Belphie looks at the sky with a smile. 

"It's very pretty. I'm glad we came here." Beel has a very gentle expression. 

"Let's eat out here and enjoy the sun." I think this is the best idea. 

"Sounds perfect." Belphie agrees right away. 

"Good that I haven't eaten all I brought yet." Beel smiles and heads back into the hut. 

"Can you bring the picnic blanket from my bag?" Belphie seems to have blankets for all occasions in his bag.

Beel nods and soon comes back with a blanket and food. There's plenty for everyone. 

We all get comfortable and start our breakfast. 

"I think this might be the best birthday we've had in quite a while." Belphie smiles at me. 

"I agree," Beel says in the middle of chewing his food. 

I smile at both of them. "Next year we will make it even better."

With that, we all smile and look over the surprisingly great view.

[layanasstories]

This part might be a bit of a boring part. I needed to create some sort of bridge to the next part of my story...

So enjoy? 😅

Thirty - one

The next morning I was up earlier than Jake. So first I went to get breakfast in the dining room, always nice to have a buffet. Only thing was I didn't know exactly what Jake likes to eat. Thats why I took a little bit of everything. Then I went to the front desk, to check if I could take Jake's clothes. Luckaly they were washed and folded, ready to be picked up. I hadn't thought this through, because with the tray full at the front desk, I was thinking about how I could get everything in one go. I had to laugh a little at myself. "Can I help you with something?" asked an older male voice behind me. I looked back at who the voice belonged to. The man was quite tall, indeed somewhat older, with white grey hair. But he looked well groomed. The realization of who it was and my joy that someone came to help me made me speak first and then think. "Old Gray! I'm so glad to see you, I'll gladly accept your help." I said. He looked startled and raised his eyebrow "Only people who have known me for a long time call me Old Gray. And I don't know you, so Mr. Graham will do." I felt a bit stupid, "I'm sorry Mr. Graham. Jessy told me about you, that you are always kind. She called you Old Gray instead of your full name. My apologies" I said a bit shyly. "Oh you know Jessy, Yes, she is such happy and cheerful lady. Sweet girl." his attitude changed to friendly when he spoke of her "How can I help you?". "Well I wasn't that smart, I wanted to do everything at the same time. But then came here, and concluded that it isn't possible" I smiled at him, and at my own stupidity. "No problem. You came for the clothes, right? I'll carry them, and walk with you." He took the clothes and without saying a word any further, he walked with me to the room. After I had put the tray with breakfast down I took the clothes, and thanked Mr. Graham for helping me.

Jake came out of the bathroom "Good morning beautiful" he greeted me. His hair was still wet from the shower. "I was secretly hoping that you would take my clothes with you, because I don't really have anything to wear at the moment" he pointed with his eyes to the towel around his waist. "Maybe I should just say that unfortunately all your clothes have been lost. I can get used to this view" I wiggled my eyebrows as I put the pile of clothes on the bed. "I bet you will" he smiled back. He grabbed some clothes and walked back into the bathroom. Now that he was there, I put breakfast on the table. As I set the plates down, I heard a litte cough behind me. "What is it?" I asked as I turned around. I saw him standing crestfallen with a shirt in his hand. "I can't do it. If I raise my arm all the way up, well, I can't because of the pain in my rib". I walked over to him and helped him put on his shirt. Just like he had helped me a few days ago.

After we had eaten breakfast, we walked slowly towards the town center. First we went to the pharmacy to pick up the pain medication for Jake, and everything we needed to keep the wounds clean and bandaged. Then we went into a grocery store, to make sure we had something to eat or drink. And also a bottle of water so he could take his first pill right away. After that we found an electronics store. Jake did what he had promised and bought a new phone, plus a new SIM card. Luckily I had thought of taking my passport with me. I had left it in my suitcase when I went shopping for toiletries, on the day Phil took me. This allowed us to transfer my old number to my new SIM card. He had also found a laptop that met his criteria. And I consciously didn't wonder where he got all the money from. We took a short break before going back to the motel.

In the room, I put the groceries away, Jake made sure everything related to the meds or bandages was neatly in the bathroom. We were both pretty tired from the walk and the shopping, that Jake snuggled up on the bed and I found my soft place on the couch. "Jake?" I said hesitantly "I've been thinking. Now I have a new phone and stuff, but everything is empty." I paused "Does Nymos have a backup by any chance?". All Jake could do was smile. "I'd be a really bad hacker if I didn't, wouldn't I?" he winked at me. But then he said nothing and just looked at me. I sighed and hung my head in defeat, which only made him laugh more. "Fine! Will you please restore my phone with the backup for me?" I asked very softly. "With or without Nymos on it?" he asked me back. "With" I replied "But you can't interfere in my conversations anymore.". "Okay" his eyes twinkled a little. "Promise me. Promise me you won't interfere in my conversations unless I ask you." I said firmly. "I promise! I won't make the same mistake twice." his expression grew a little sadder at the thought of the game. "But you will have to wait a while until my laptop is installed again before I can restore your phone".

Because of the waiting, the day went slow. I watched some TV, made lunch, and by the time afternoon approached, Jake's laptop was ready. Within fifteen minutes my phone was fully recovered. Like a happy little child, I curled up on the bed next to Jake, scrolling through my messages to read up on everything. It was Hannah's message what made me stop. I immediately sat up straight "Jake, we have a problem" shocked I looked at him. Surprised, he looked at me "What's the problem?" He asked. "Phil... Alan has ordered them to find him and lock him up. Only they haven't found him yet. He is still walking free."

[monochromemedic]

Ashy Slashy

“What is that Ash?” “A long story, look for some reason that damn sky spider took all my hands and left me with this. Luckily it works... somehow.” He huffed raising the felt puppet on his hand and moving it’s mouth open and closed. “Listen if it starts saying shit, it ain’t me and you gotta cut this thing off pronto, you got me?” I stared into the black button eyes of the muppet, noticing how it was modeled directly after the man holding it. “So... it’s alive?” “Deadite, but I don’t know if those things are ‘alive’. Frankly I don’t give a shit, they all should be dead but the world ain’t perfect.” He grumbled twisting his hand towards himself to look the creature in the eyes. “You hear me? You should be dead buddy.” Silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I tried to picture what exactly this thing could do that was dangerous.  With all the stories Ash told, even the most mundane things could become dangerous when possessed by Evil. But those things usually transformed or had a dangerous quality to them already, some supernatural strength or claws and fangs. Unless this thing would suddenly grown bones, it’d have to be a rather weak demon wouldn’t it? Then again, that’s usually how these things work, they’d prey on your naive nature, your fears, every weakness you had, that was the deadites strength.  The night seemed to carry on without much trouble. Not a single sound from the puppet’s mouth despite the glares, insults and abuse from Ash to try to get it to talk. It was obvious he was paranoid, then again why wouldn’t he be. A deadite on your hand that you had to have or else be left without a limb. Sure he could have taken it off but having to be ready to run off into the fog at a moments notice to fight for your life was probably a good reason to take a risk, that or he couldn’t.... A few times I saw him walk off to the darkness, out of the light of the campfire to pull and yank at the puppet to no avail. He’d eventually sigh and go to the bathroom or return to the soft bustle of activity, acting like nothing had happened. As the ‘night’ carried on people began to settle in, grabbing their sleeping bags, ripped up mattresses or walking off into wherever the campfire had put us to find a place to sleep. Usually it was somewhere with enough stray objects to entertain ourselves, or something we could call our own private area at least until the campfire moved us to another campfire in another realm. I grabbed my blankets and pillows, settling down besides Ash’s stained mattress for the night. Ash’s chest rose and fell in monotonous motions, his face caught in a strange scene of peace. I smiled, beginning to close my eyes only to catch the shape of the puppet staring directly at me. A wave of discomfort flooded my senses and my brows knitted anxiously. He couldn’t be alive. Ash was trying all day to get him to speak, and deadites usually break a few minutes in. I just had to relax, I was just getting paranoid. “You got a staring problem toots?” My eyes shot back towards the puppet, it’s head now tilted at an angle it wasn’t at before.  Oh god Ash wasn’t crazy... “Well? I know I’m the most handsome guy around but unfortunately I’m not into fatties. But if I turn my head now maybe I can make it work...” He spoke, his pacman mouth opening and closing with every word. I’d feel insulted, well I did, but if what Ash said as true and he was a Deadite they preyed on the weakness of others.  “Why are you speaking now? You didn’t seem to speak to Ash all day.” I hissed, remembering Ash’s words to kill it as soon as it talked. As much as I’d love to tak his word, if what I saw was true Ash couldn’t get him off, and so I’d have to make a bit of a scene to try. And what to pry him off with was another question I didn’t have the answers to at the moment. “Like I could speak to him, not since what happened last time. It was like a bad break up, real messy.” The puppet smacked his chainsaw hand against Ash’s nose, moving the real Ash’s arm in the process. How the hell did he do that? How much control did he have over Ash? “So you gonna take me up on the deal? I’ve had to hold this guy’s dick in my mouth when he pissed, a guy could use a little stress relief. A motorboat would really get my motor running~” The puppet shook his head, making a loud motor boating sound as it lurched forward. I quickly grabbed it’s head and pushed it back, alarmed by how fast this thing could move. “Get the hell away from me you creep, you should be lucky I haven’t killed you by now.” “You really gonna listen to Ash’s tall tales. He’s probably going through dementia, he can’t remember what he had for breakfast. However, I know alot.” I raised a brow, sitting up from my collections of blankets and pillows. “What are you on about?” “I got a direct line to Ash’s twisted mind. Every and any dark secret you ever wanted to know from the man, I could give you for a low price.”  “...Any secret?” “Any. Secret. And oh boy does this guy keep em. First kiss, most embarrassing moment, what he’s packing... it’s all yours. All we gotta do is make a deal.” I turned away from the deadite, reaching for my glasses to hopefully find something to pry this guy off. “Sorry but I don’t make deals with demons. Those are Ash’s secrets. If he wants to tell me them, he can of his own free will. Also you could just lie or kill me before telling me anything so.” I moved towards the fire, picking up a nearby stick and lightening the end in fire before returning to the deadite, my hand wrapping around it’s neck tightly. The puppet began to squirm, arms wiggling in panic as the burning wood approached Ash’s arm. “Okay, Okay no deal, I’ll tell you straight up just let me stay on his nub! Don’t you wanna know how he feels about you?” Ashy Slashy squealed, desperation in every movement he could muster. I felt my hand pause, eyes shifting over to the sleeping figure just a few inches away. “He thinks you’re a pathetic little BITCH!” The muppet roared, it’s eyes now white, mouth full of razor sharp teeth. The creature managed to move it’s head in just the right position to sink it’s fangs into my hand causing me to yelp and jerk my hand away in pain. It didn’t let go, and pulled the still sleeping Ash along with him. Was he just a heavy sleeper or was it something unnatural, a forced sleeping state that Ashy Slashy put on him? My eyes darted around the area, at the lack of survivors around us except for Jeff a few feet away. Damn it why was he a heavy sleeper? “Ash wake up! Ash!”  “Too late babycakes, his body is all mine. Been working my way to his noggin all day~” The body jerked and with a sudden jolting movement  Ash sat up, his head slowly turning to face me despite his closed eyes. No way, was Ash really gone? No... no that couldn’t be, Ash survived hell and back, no way a stupid felt puppet was the one to do him in. The real Ash’s other arm shot out, gripping my shirt to pull me closer to his body. Ash could easy over power me, one hand or not. I still had a chance, I still had the stick. But where to aim? If the puppet really did have full control over Ash, would trying to jolt him awake by burning him do anything? I gripped the stick hard, using all my strength to pierce the puppet’s eye with the burning wood. A spurt of blood erupted from the socket, staining the felt and earning a scream from the bastard. A scream that lasting just long enough for it’s teeth to dislodge from my hand. I yanked the stick from the creature and began to scramble for Jeff, managing to grab the edge of his sleeping bag just as Ash’s arm wrapped around my leg, yanking me towards the fire pit. “You dumb whore, I was gonna go easy on you!” Ashy hissed, pushing my bare foot into the embers of the pit, causing a scream to rip from my chest. “Mmm, flame broiled bitch. My favorite!” The pain was intense and every second longer my foot stayed in the fire, the more I could feel the nerve endings begin to die, the smell of burning flesh filling the air around us. I gasped and pushed down the bile that began to form the more I thought about what was happening, trying to focus on the situation. I could do this, I just needed to wake Jeff up. I jabbed the stick into Jeff’s leg, twisting and digging the wood until it splintered under my strength. Jeff may have been a heavy sleeper, but even he wasn’t immune to being stabbed awake. His head rose sharply, nose scrunched in anger, ready to angrily bark at whoever caused him to wake, only to catch sight of the scene unfolding in front of him. “Jeff! Get the puppet off of Ash!” His eyes darted to Slashy, it’s head tilting at the new player in the game. “You really think homeless Jesus is gonna help you? You just made this one course meal a buffet! Jeff didn’t question me for a second, lurching forward and yanking with all his might at the creatures base. A loud, wet, ripping sound filled the air, one that seemed to grow in volume before being silenced by a clothesline strike from Ash, knocking Jeff to the ground. We laid in awe of the sight before us, crawling away from the lumbering figure that stood before us. Ash’s arm was soaked in rotten blood, blood not from himself but from the creature sitting atop his mutilated wrist. Where a clean cut should have been was instead tendons, ripped and torn connecting fabric to flesh. The muscles began to stretch, as Ashy rose, a mess of muscles raising it further from Ash’s arm like a cobra ready to strike.  The small chainsaw began to rev, before Slashy lurched towards Jeff, the umbilical cord snapping with such force a splatter of crimson painted the grass around us. Jeff’s raised hand was no protection from the saw, cutting into his palm with ease. If it wasn’t so tiny, it could have easily cut straight though the shield and into the skull of the survivor. Jeff cried in pain but tried his best to latch on to the puppet, following the only instructions he was given. I knew I had to help, despite the numbing pain in my foot, despite the horror pounding in my chest. We were getting somewhere, we could save Ash. I pushed myself upwards, rushing and slamming my weight against the slumbering chosen one. I felt his body follow through, our body’s falling against the mattress in a spray of blood and stray tendons. I heard the deadite scream in agony, screaming expletives before increasing in volume as Jeff threw it into the firepit, a surge of light erupting from the pit for the new kindling it had received. For a moment all was quiet. No screams, no sounds of movement. Only the sounds of ragged breaths and the roar of a well fed fire. My fingers clawed at Ash’s shirt, my nose brushing against his jawline as I begged for him to wake up. “Ash... Ashley? Ash, please wake up, come on...” I gritted my teeth, tears beginning to prick the edges of my eyes as I began to fear for the worse. “Wake up you old bastard!” I slapped his cheek, fingers leaving fresh lines of blood along his skin. The shock of pain seemed to do the trick as he groaned in pain, eyes snapping open. “Hng! Huh? What? What are you doing...on me...” His voice trailed off as he saw the gore in front of him, the man nursing his wound a few feet away, the bloodied clothes of the people around him. He cautiously raised his hand, seeing the puppet was no longer in his place but instead was place in the fire, the only trail of it was the strange muscly appendage that decorated the ground, leading it’s way back to Ash. “I knew that creep was up to something... I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.” Ash muttered, a tinge of regret lingering with every word. True regret for what had happened as if he had some control over the situation. I felt his arms wrap around me, his big hand beginning to rub circles to try to give some comfort to the horrifying situation. “He had you move... You weren’t waking up, I thought you... “ “Shh, hey... I wouldn’t go out like that are you kidding me? I ain’t going out to a muppet rip off.”  I shuttered against him, burying my face into his chest to hide the hot wet tears that began to fall with every shaky breath. He didn’t seem to judge, knowing the fear of losing loved ones all too well.

[youarejesting]

Herb.2 The Date

Pairing: Dealer!Jimin x Reader Beta: N/A Genre: Romance, implied sexual activity, Fluff, Rating: recommended 18+ (or whatever the legal age is in your country) Words: 866 Warnings: Blow Job Summary: Jimin was the mary poppins of drug dealing. What ever you wanted he had and he NEVER disappoints his customer. That is until he met you. He finally decides to take matters into his own hands to fulfil your order.

[Masterlist] [Herb.1]

You didn’t know why you were nervous, you had seen him naked for christ sake but, there was something about him all dressed up and not his typical dealer getting up for house parties, no this was really dressed up. He had a blouse on which you had a sneaking suspicion was for women but he made it look so much better, and his pants were black trousers high waisted accentuating his long legs the fabric around his thighs straining to contain his thick muscular legs.

He turned up his hair combed, flowers in one hand and his phone in the other texting you his arrival. You answered the door as soon as his text came through wearing your best dress that was semi formal as you didn’t know where the two of you were heading. “You look truly amazing, are you ready to go, or should I wait inside?”

“No, I am ready” There was something odd about him and you couldn’t figure out what it was.

He led you out the front of your apartment and you followed him as he lead you to his car, ah a sensible hatchback beside a beautiful, luxury car the logo was Two R’s now you knew nothing about cars but you would die if that was his car. He pressed the Key FOB and the luxury car lights flashed as the doors unlocked.

Freezing in place his hand slipped free of yours and he paused turning looking back, “Is something wrong baby?”

“This is your car?” You asked and he looked at his car curiously, he looked it over and turned back. He didn’t see anything wrong with this picture, clearly used to the vehicle in question.

“Yes, do you not like Rolls Royce?”

“I honestly had no clue what the brand was and don’t you think, I am a little underdressed, this is a nice car?” You stammered “What if my shoes are dirty?”

“If it makes you feel any better I gave Tae a lift home in it the other day after a party and he vomited all over the dash and I was frantically cleaning it all week to get the smell out for our date.”

“Really?” You said, in a way it did make you feel better, you couldn’t do anything worse than vomit. He opened the door for you and you climbed in inspecting as you went. It didn’t smell like vomit and it was really clean. He climbed in promptly to the other side and looked at you with a soft smile. “What is something wrong?”

“No you are just so beautiful today?” He smiled before rubbing his hands together, “Do you need anything before we go, if I can't provide it the next item is free” 

“How much is it for a Kiss?” Was it too forward of you to ask, you were just so excited tonight was already so thrilling and all you did was sit in his car.

“One kiss will cost you, two questions?” he stated seriously.

“Questions?” This intrigued you, what type of questions was he going to ask.

“Question number one” He said softly, taking your hand, “Movie or dinner first?” “Dinner” you smiled leaning in, impatient with how long it took him to ask you these questions, you wanted to kiss him, heart racing in anticipation.

“Question number two” He whispered you were closing in and it seemed he was losing focus as well, “Do you like sushi?”

Your lips collided and his hand swept under your hair to cradle the back of your neck. You missed him and it had only been a week, his taste, his cologne, the way his lips felt, the way he made you feel loved. “Baby, we have reservations and a movie, let me take you on a date and give you presents” he begged against your lips only parting for a few seconds to speak before capturing them again.

You pulled away and thanked that you had used a lip stain instead of a lipstick so there was no transfer, even though Jimin with red lips would be a delectable sight indeed.

Your date was filled with jokes and laughter and Jimin confessing to all the times he tried to inadvertently help you at parties. He was a gentleman and he even told you about his dream job stating that dealing was only a hobby and he truly loved helping others and that’s why he was in University studying medicine.

Dinner was spectacular and Jimin asked a few times if you needed anything and you half expected him to pull his mary poppins bag out from under the table and list off all the things he could offer you. That was it, he looked odd because he wasn’t accompanied by his huge compartment jacket and duffle bag.

“Can I get you anything more, some soy sauce, another drink, some more of the delicious ikura?” he grinned, it was nice but you feel like Jimin was working and you were a customer and you decided for once he should be the one to be waited on. 

“I don’t need anything at the moment thank you?” You raised your hand sagely in an attempt to sooth his questions. “What about you, what can I get you, napkin, some wasabi?”

“Oh could you grab one of the tiny seaweed salads as they come past,” He grinned, the two of you talked and ate before heading to the movies. Taking the boardwalk along the beach you held hands swinging them gently and talking about your favourite things. He said he liked the colours blue and black. He enjoyed listening to music and dancing though he didn’t know if he was any good at it. 

You assured him from what you had seen at parties he was pretty good. He didn’t realise but you were categorizing all his answers and noticed when he started talking about himself he started opening up. It became less about trying to make you have a good time, to mutually having a wonderful date.

Deciding that you would make sure to give him more days where he gets what he wants amongst those where he tries to fulfill everyone else's wishes.

Choosing a hilarious action movie the two of you found your seats and held hands. Half way through the movie you laid your head on his shoulder and it stayed there until the credits. Once the movie was done, Jimin dutifully drove you home and prolonged walking you to your door.

“Is it bad I don’t want you to go?” He breathed

“Well don’t go, come upstairs and we can have some coffee or something?” 

You woke up beside him, you didn’t know it yet but you would never be able to get him to leave after the first night. You made breakfast which was a series of fresh fruit and you woke up wearing a beautiful blue sundress, you were dancing in the kitchen making some coffee. Planning to wake him you softly padded back to the room and leaned over him. “Jimin, wake up, it’s time for breakfast” you said gently kissing him and he stretched looking up at you with a lopsided smile.

“Mmm… breakfast you say?” In a flash he had rolled you onto your back on the bed and trapped you in his arms and legs. “I could go for breakfast”

You tried to ignore his wiggling eyebrows and insinuations and pouted. “But I cut up lots of fruit cause you said they were your favourites”

His eyes showed hesitation and he grinned, “Don’t move!” He said seriously and ran to the kitchen his boxer briefs were tight around his behind showing his cute butt as he left.

He came back with the platter and placed it on the bed munching on freshly cut apples and grinned.

“Now I have a buffet” He grinned cheekily kissing you, his lips tasting extra sweet. Before he could even tried you decided today really was about him. He was in the middle of eating some grapes when you let your hand ghost along his muscular thighs.

He thought nothing of it until your fingertips grazed a little high against him through his underwear, you continued eating pretending like you hadn’t noticed when your hand moved higher palming him gently.

“What are you doing?” He asked side eyeing you while reaching for another strawberry. And you looked at him coyly. “I am eating breakfast what are you doing?” You challenged him and he gestured to the fruit 

“I am eating breakfast as well” He said and you moved to lay down across the bed, and it didn’t take long before you had released him from his boxer briefs he looked down at you and hummed all your playful teasing had stirred him.

“Okay Baby,” You said looking up at him with a sly smile “You can ask for anything you want and I will give it to you for half the price.  If I don’t have it I will give you the next best thing for free.” you repeated the words he had said in Namjoon’s bedroom a week ago”

“I want you.” He smiled

“You have me baby” You loved using the pet name against him. “What do you want me to do, you bought me baby I am all yours”

“Suck me,” He had abandoned the fruit platter opting instead to watch you trace your fingers along his hips with a heavy breath of anticipation.

“With pleasure” You took him by the base and gently licked the head tracing your tongue around the top before taking him in your mouth and sucking him lightly, you didn’t want to give him everything just yet. He moaned softly and you moved so slow trying to get him to beg for more.

When he did, you showed him no mercy, his breathing was coming out as quick pants and you were trying your best to keep your hands and mouth busy. Soon he was unable to stop himself from audibly responding, his lips falling apart and the sweetest sounds escaping him. 

Taking him deeper into his mouth you tried so hard to calm your gag reflex, breathing slowly you felt his hands move to clutch the back of your head desperately and the sweet sound was gone his voice was now guttural and heavy and within a minute or two he stammered for you to stop which you didn’t greedily taking him faster and swallowing down your reward. 

You removed him from your mouth with an audible pop and he gasped from the overstimulation it gave him. You laid your head on his thigh and at a grape slowly. 

Rumours started that Jimin had been busted or had even died but a select few new the truth he was tangled up in your sheets and you wouldn’t ever let him leave.