#i need to go outside anyway. i feel a bit woozy. so some fresh air would be good!

[candyredappledragon]

...uhm. i got bored with homework that i played with furret for like an hour. i think.

oops.

[celestialsoyeon]

I was the one who requested the Woozi fic and I loved it! I hope you decide to write more often because you do it very well 🤩💖

I would like to order another one if you have time 🫶🏻

Maybe now Dino with a stomach virus being pampered like the baby from Seventeen 🥺

Hiii! I'm glad you liked it! I intend to try and post more often, thanks for the compliment! 💖

Of course! I'll give you a Dino-centered fic where he's being pampered by the other members!

Summary: It's winter and Dino gets sick, a quite bad stomach virus. But he doesn't have to handle that on his own, he has 12 brothers to take care of him.

wc: 1,68k

contents: vomiting, fever, crying/whimpering, fluff

Sickie: Dino (Lee Chan)

Caretaker: All the other members, specifically Vernon

After spending the day practicing, Chan had wanted to get some fresh air. He walked around the city, covered in a blanket of snow. It was very cold, but Chan didn't care. He needed this moment of solitary respite.

He walked for hours, stopping in a street-food stand to get a little snack. As he went back home, he felt a bit weird, but didn't think much of it.

Maybe he was just tired. After all it had been a grueling day of practice. Sleep would probably help. He still decided to talk about that to Soonyoung, who offered to either stay with him all night just in case. He refused, knowing the dancer was exhausted.

"No, it's fine.. If I don't feel good I might just wake Vernon up. He can take care of me if needed.. I think I can handle that on my own though."

"Alright, if you want it like that it's fine by me. Just make sure to rest well, okay?"

Chan nodded. His stomach was hurting a bit but he put on a smile and walked back to his room. He would try to sleep a bit before eating. At least he would try to.

He slept for an hour before Vernon came to wake him up.

"Channie? Come on, you need to wake up. You need to eat a bit.."

Chan opened his eyes, with great difficulty.

"Hyung.. I wanna sleep.. I don't feel good.."

"Oh baby.. I know you feel sick, Soonyoung told me.. But you still have to eat.. Your body needs energy to get better.. You should at least try to eat something. If you wanna eat in bed, I'll bring you your meal."

"I wanna stay in bed..."

"Okay, I'll bring your meal in and stay with you."

"You should eat with the others.. you're gonna get sick too.."

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you alone right now."

He even decided to text Soonyoung to help get the meal, really not wanting to leave Chan's side. Not when he was sick like that. Soonyoung arrived a few minutes-if not seconds- later, a tray full of food and drinks in his hands.

"Enjoy your meal guys. Do you want me to stay with you? I'm done eating anyway."

Chan shook off his head.

"You were supposed to spend the evening with Seokmin and Seungkwan, weren't you? I don't want to change your plans."

"They'll understand. And if anything, they'll even want to come keep an eye on you. You know how Seungkwan is when it comes to our health.. especially since last year."

"But.. It's nothing.. i'm just a little sick.. I can sleep it off. You should go have fun with them. And it's not like I'm on my own. The other members will help me if I need and Vernon probably won't leave my side..

"You really don't need to stay there last minute instead of enjoying the few hours of fun you can have with them. Don't worry about Chan, I'll take care of him." Vernon said, his voice gentle but firm.

Only hearing Vernon's tone was enough for Soonyoung to understand that none of them would let him stay when he could finally enjoy a few hours together with Seokmin and Seungkwan, whom he was very close to.

It had been months since the last time they had the chance to spend time together outside of work. The last time they went out was when Seungkwan came back from his hiatus. So if he didn't enjoy this evening, Soonyoung knew he was going to be mad at himself for months for ditching his friends last minute like that, even though they would not be mad at him.

If anything, Seungkwan would just get worried about Chan's health and would ask that he gets checked out properly. He would never get mad at Soonyoung for taking care of a member who needs it.

Soonyoung ended up leaving the room, leaving Chan in Vernon's care, not without pressing a small kiss to the younger member's forehead.

"Your forehead feels warm. You might run a fever and if it's the case, I count on you to take your medication. Rest well, Channie. We'll be back before you know it, and you can call any of us if you need okay? No one will be mad at you if you ask us to come back home."

Chan nodded and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Vernon stayed near him, laying on his bed and reading a book while Chan was resting. He was keeping a close eye on him, in case he needed anything. The youngest slept for a few hours, but a bit after midnight, he woke up feeling even worse than before. He called out for Vernon, who immediately came to his side.

"Channie-ah? What's wrong? What do you need?"

"Nonie-hyung.. I think I'm gonna throw up.. I don't feel good.."

"Hold on, I'mma get a bucket for you. You can't get up and go to the bathroom like that."

He sprinted out of the room to get Chan what he needed, meeting Wonwoo who was still in the living room, playing games with Mingyu.

"Vernon? Is there something wrong?" the oldest asks, surprised to see Vernon like that. He paused his game, looking at Vernon with confusion.

"Chan's gonna throw up. He's not feeling well. I'm getting him a bucket so he doesn't make a mess on himself.. He's probably unable to get up and go to the bathroom given the state he's in."

"Oh.. Do you need us to help you? We don't mind." The oldest says, his voice showing a hint of concern.

"I think I can handle that on my own. I just need to get this bucket to him before he throws up all over himself."

"Okay. Just know you can call us if needed."

"Thanks, hyung."

Vernon smiled reassuringly, and dashed back to Chan's room. But when he arrived in the corridor, he heard a small thud and little cries.

"Oh no.."

He ran to the room, hoping it was no big deal. He froze when he saw Chan on the floor, curled up and crying near a puddle of sick. He approached him carefully and helped him back to bed.

"It's okay Channie.. I'm going to take care of everything, just rest. If you feel like throwing up again, the bucket is on the side of the bed okay?"

The youngest weakly nodded. He felt even worse than before. And it was something he hated. He wanted to be independant and reliable, and the fact that he was now bed-ridden and having his fellow members taking care of it was kind of humiliating to him. He wanted to be see as strong and dependable, not as a baby they needed to take care of.

Vernon seemed to sense his inner turmoil. He halted his task to look at him softly

"It's alright Channie. Just rest. It's not your fault if you're sick. Just let me be a good hyung and take care of you until you're doing better okay? I just want you to be safe. No one will be mad at you because you're sick okay?"

The youngest nodded once more.

Jihoon, alerted by the commotion, came into the room.

"Is everything okay? I heard someone crying.."

"It's alright Jihoonie, Channie's a little bit sick but I'll handle it. it's no big deal."

"Okay.. take care then. I'll be right there if you need anything. I probably will go to bed very late anyway.

"As always Hoonie.." Chan tried to joke a weak smile on his face.

"Yah, you both~ I'm still your hyung you know that-"

"Yup, but we don't care~" Chan says, trying to lighten the mood. He didn't want anyone to worry about him.

Jihoon laughed slightly. He was glad to see that Chan was still able to laugh even when being sick. Vernon finished cleaning up the mess and sat by Chan's bedside.

He smiled at him and carefully took his temperature.

"Damn.. 39°C.. You need to rest well and take a bit of medication. You have a quite high fever, Channie-ah."

Chan looked a bit out of it and sleepy.

"Come on, Channie, stay awake for a while longer, I'll give you the medication."

He hadn't said anything else yet that Jihoon was back with a glass of water and some fever-relieving medication.

"Make him take this and make sure it stays down so it can take effect." He said, his voice showing a tone of a concern he didn't really show.

Vernon nodded and gave the youngest the medication, along with some other so that he doesn't throw up more. Chan takes it then falls asleep. Jihoon stays for a while longer, humming a soothing melody whenever Chan got agitated or woke up.

Vernon didn't sleep at all that night, even after Jihoon went to sleep advising him to do the same. He would get scolded by Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Seungkwan if they were to know about that, but what they ignore can't hurt them, right?

And the next morning, Chan was already doing better, so he knew he would be able to sleep peacefully.

Anyway, the others would all take care of Chan for as long as he needed. So he could fall into a deep slumber, not worrying about him anymore. He was in good hands. He texted Seungcheol to explain the situation, before going to sleep. The leader had been sleeping early the previous day and might not know what had happened, unless Jihoon told him. But for now, the only thing Vernon wanted was to get some rest. He'll handle the rest later, when he was a bit more rested. He was in no state to handle anything anyway.

He slept for hours. When he got up, Chan was next to him.

"Slept well, Sleeping Beauty~?"

"Yah, go to rest, you're not fully healed yet~ and quit rizzing me, Seungkwan and Wonwoo will get jealous~"

Chan just flashed him a small smile before settling back in bed. They would both rest. Both of them could use it.

[purplesauris]

Oasis of Green

He searches the coordinates, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and hits one that looks familiar- somewhere that instinctively he knows will be safe.

In which Din searches for the comfort and safety he's missing.

Read on AO3 here!

There is agony in his blood, in his bones. 

The world around him slides in and out of focus, going razor sharp and then wool soft, fuzzy and faded around the edges. Each breath is like ice in his lungs, pulling and scraping through his throat, scratching against the bruised parts of him. The bounty had many, many reinforcements. A whole platoon, basically- Din could only do so much, even with the Darksaber on his hip and a blaster in hand. He’d managed to get his mark, always, always did, and he sat, frozen in carbonite on Din’s ship as he hauled himself one handed up into the cockpit. 

There was something wrong with his shoulder- he didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the sharp, dragging pain whenever he tried to move his left shoulder, but his fingers tingle painfully with any movement and he isn’t going to test it. He can feel blood sticking the layers of his clothes to him, seeping down his side and under the seal of his helmet, and he’s woozy with it as he shakily gets the engines going. He can’t quite get his eyes or hands to work well enough to handle the ship himself, and he reaches for the autopilot, pain searing through him at the simple movement. 

He searches the coordinates, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and hits one that looks familiar- somewhere that instinctively he knows will be safe. The ship whines to life, and Din’s grip is death tight on the one yolk he can use- thank whatever is watching over him, because the ship has one handed capabilities. Perks of a bounty hunter’s ship, he supposes. His ascent out of the atmosphere and into open space is sloppy, half assed and just enough to keep his ship from ripping into pieces, but it does the job, and once Din is able to he flips over to autopilot, letting the ship jerk into hyperspace.

He tries to take stock of his injuries as best he can, but his eyes won’t focus anymore and each breath is like fighting to break the surface of the water. He floats, body screaming, and succumbs to the pull of unconsciousness. 

His pain is a living thing, digging into his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, searing through his lungs and eating away at his heart. He fights with every breath to open his eyes, to keep the beating of his heart easy and steady, but any jostle of the ship in hyperspace jars him again and a fresh wave of pain sweeps him under. He fades in and out over and over, until the ship beeps in alarm, breaking through the atmosphere of whatever planet he’s piloted to. Din wakes up enough to sloppily land himself among the sandy dunes of a desert planet and stagger down to the ramp before his vision blanks out again.

He falls hard and fast, dropping away completely, and the only thing he remembers is a sea of sand and an oasis of green.

--

He isn’t expecting to see Din for another month at the least. After his ad’ikas capture and subsequent rescue and relinquishing, Din had taken to the jobs Boba could convince him to take like a fish took to water. With a co-dependence that would kill him eventually when he stopped and let himself settle. He knew that he would be back- Din seemed to gravitate to him in the same way that Boba longed to call out to him, to sit in silence, helmets heavy and breathing slow. To press themselves back to back in a fight, whistling birds dancing around them and Boba’s blood singing with adrenaline. 

It hadn’t been something that they discussed when Din walked onto the Slave after capturing Gideon, saber heavy on his hip and shoulders slumped in hollow defeat. He hadn’t said anything when Din had flinched when Boba had reached to thumb at the dusty mark on Din’s helmet, the faint outline of a fist. He had only tilted his head, observing the quiet, resigned way that Din bowed his head and waited to be shamed. 

“There’s a room in the hull of the ship.” Is all he had said, all he had offered. And when he found himself dropping off an angry Bo-Katan and resolute Dune, he hadn’t told Din to leave. 

Din hadn’t left his side for long since. 

Something in Boba liked that, in having Din close to him. Fennec was a partner, someone he found he could trust, could rely on to get the job done. Din was- different. A remnant of a culture his father had hardly ever spoken of, a reminder in the deadly efficient way that he fought what Boba lost when his father had died. What he gained when Din stayed, helped him take over the Hutt dynasty and stood resolutely near the entrance, ever vigilant as Boba took his place on the throne. Din had looked at him then, nodded in understanding, and Boba had felt the acknowledgement so deeply in his core that it still rocked him to this day. 

So he knew that Din would be back, as surely as he knew what was happening in a small desert town halfway across Tatooine. When the Crest landed roughly in the sand, sending waves of it up into the air, Boba knew something was wrong- he had hardly watched on the camera for a moment before bounding up the steps as the roar of the engines grew louder and louder. The ramp was down by the time Boba made it outside, and Boba is halfway up, heart pounding against the durasteel of his armor as Din staggers out. 

Boba has never seen his beskar so covered in blood. Oddly, it's the first thing Boba can think of when he sees Din, left arm tucked close to his stomach and whole body slumping to one side. He feels his lips form words, hears himself talking, but Din can't respond, knees giving out and hand shooting forward as Boba's arms come up to catch him around the abdomen. A sharp, agonized noise rattles from Din's throat as Boba hoists him up in his arms, the stench of blood and blaster bolts strong even through the filter of his helmet. He clicks over to Fennec's comm without a thought, voice strangled in his throat and whole body weak. 

"Clear them out." The command is rough, sharp, but Boba hears Fennec begin yelling immediately, and relief floods him once again at having chanced upon someone he can actually rely on. It only takes a few moments for any lingering visitors to be ushered out of the entrance, and Boba sweeps down the stairs, Din held close to his chest as the unconscious man's head lolls, clinking gently against his chestpiece. 

"Shit," Fennec says upon sight of him, standing abruptly a bit straighter. 

"Bacta." Boba grinds out, arms straining with the weight of Din and all his armor. He can't stop, can't think past the strangely detached panic rushing every one of his movements. He brings Din to his room, mainly because of its privacy, but also because Boba can't bear the thought of him being further away than he needs to be. He doesn't care about the sheets when he lays Din out, working at the clasps of his armor with brutal efficiency. 

There is something both intimate and betraying about working Din's armor off, peeling it away from his body and watching as more and more blood is revealed. Boba doesn't know how Din managed to make it back here, let alone land the ship and stagger out onto the ramp before finally succumbing. He's working at wrenching Din's jetpack and back plate off with one hand when his comm crackles, Fennec's voice low and only slightly breathless.

"Fett- there's no bacta. The stores are completely empty."

"It's a fucking crime syndicate, how is there not-"

"I can get some, but it'll take days." Fennec interrupts, voice quirking, and Boba heaves a deep breath, trying to clear his muddied thoughts. 

"Fine. Bring water, bandages, whatever we do have."

The door to Boba's room pings softly a few minutes later, and while Boba eases Din back onto the bed, listening to the pained groan that earns him, the door slides open with the override of the lock. Fennec comes in, juggling a basket of what looks like all of their possible medical supplies, two huge jugs of water pinned under her arms. Boba takes the jugs, since there's blood on his hands and he doesn't want to ruin the linen yet. When Fennec's eyes linger on Din's unarmored form Boba finds himself shifting, obscuring her view, her dark eyes flicking up to his. "He needs more than we can give."

"He isn't leaving." Boba snaps, Fennec setting the basket on the bed and shaking her head. 

"I'll get bacta, see if I can find a nurse droid." 

"Do what you have to." 

Fennec pauses, looking like she wants to say something, and then seems to think better of it. She gives him another curious, pitying look before leaving with the intent to get something to help Din. Boba in the meantime, locks the door again and washes his gloves off in the water before yanking them off and reaching up to remove his helmet. He isn’t going to be able to work properly with it in the way, even with its advanced optics, and he leaves it on the dresser as he begins stripping Din’s bloody clothes from him. He manages with the pants fine, keeping his eyes carefully averted, but the instant he lifts Din’s arm off his stomach to remove his shirt a hand comes up, clamping down so tight around his wrist that Boba feels the bones grind. 

Din’s head moves, trying to lift, and Boba reaches to brace his head, allowing Din to look at him. Boba can see his chest rise, taking in a breath to speak, but all that comes out is a pained whimper and Boba shakes his head, shushing him quietly and gently lowering his head back down. “I had to remove it. Stay still.”

Din’s head turns again, searching, and Boba gestures toward Din’s armor, allowing him to look before urging him back down fully onto his back. Din finally drops his wrist, hand going limp, and Boba pulls out a knife, splitting the shirt straight up the front in lieu of trying to wiggle it off. It’s so saturated with blood anyway that it would have been hard to save, and Boba hisses at the sight of Din’s ruined torso. Bruises bloom across his side, so purple they’re nearly black, and when Boba presses in, searching, Din cries out, flinching away. 

The sound breaks something in Boba, but he presses harder, feeling along the curvature of Din’s ribs and gritting his teeth when Din dips back into unconsciousness. Boba finds two ribs broken in his rough examination, and his eyes track further up Din’s chest, toward where he can very plainly see that Din’s collarbone has snapped. It hasn’t broken skin, but each ragged breath makes the skin shift, and Boba has only a cursory knowledge of how to set a collar bone. 

He isn’t setting anything yet, though, not until he wipes away the blood staining Din’s skin, dabs at the cuts that managed to get into the small gaps of his armor. He’s careful about how much water he uses- he wants Din to be able to drink when he comes to, and he can’t do that if Boba douses him. So he uses it sparingly, just enough to get the blood to come away from his skin, to wipe him down until Boba can see the battered, bruised expanse of him in his entirety. 

Din is still unconscious, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen as Boba grabs the bandages and carefully lifts him up. He slips behind Din’s limp form, bracing him against his chestplate, and begins to wrap. It's awkward, working with just himself, but he's bound ribs in worse conditions, and Din isn’t in any condition to fight against him. He’s careful not to wrap too tight- he needs the ribs to stay mostly in place, but Din still has to be able to breathe, and Boba watches his chest for each and every breath. His collarbone is another story: he doesn’t know if anything has been damaged, and without a nurse droid to scan or advise him Boba makes due.

He dips out momentarily to find something long and flat, coming back to the room with held breath. Din hasn’t moved from his prone position on the bed and Boba is grateful; whatever happened to him is over now, and he can only hope that Din was at least successful in getting his quarry. Because if not… There are many, many things that Boba will do to the target before the night is over. 

Boba’s second worst part of the night starts- he gathers the bandages and his length of wood, setting a cloth between Din’s collarbone and the wood before abruptly pressing down in one movement. Din’s screams echo in his ears far after they’ve cut off, and Boba grits his teeth, wrapping around Din’s shoulder and over his chest to secure the makeshift splint in place. Din’s chest rises and falls with broken, grating breaths, and Boba uses a length of bandage to tie it around Din’s wrist and across his chest, pinning his left arm up onto his stomach to prevent him from moving his shoulder. He’ll fashion a more permanent sling when he can see properly, when he can blink the wetness from his eyes and keep the tears from falling onto Din’s bandages. 

With Din’s most pressing injuries taken care of and his blood cleaned as best Boba can manage, he realizes he only has one thing left to do- check underneath Din’s helmet. The thought is horrifying, demeaning, and Boba’s skin crawls at the thought of being the one to shatter Din’s Creed further than it already is, but he- he can see blood, has cleaned blood from the undamaged slope of Din’s neck and he knows that it’s seeping from under his helmet. 

Boba gathers all of what he’s going to need near him on the side of the bed, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. He reaches forward, bumping lightly across the front of Din’s visor, following the t-shape down until his hands are around the back. Din’s seal lock is in the same spot, and Boba pops it with a gentle movement. He pauses there, breath held, and only lets it shudder out when Din doesn’t stir. He pulls back to brace his hands on either side of Din’s head, thumbs dipping into the hollow of the cheeks, and bows his head, eyes squeezed firmly shut. Forgive me.

He lifts Din’s helmet from his head in one smooth, gentle movement, using one hand to catch Din’s head before it can thump back. His brain shorts at the feeling of Din’s hair, soft and curling in his palm. A bit damp with either blood or sweat, but when Boba pulls his hand back, sniffing, he gets only the soft tang of sweat. No blood on the back of his head, at least. Boba sets Din’s helmet off to the side gently, not wanting it to go far, and then reaches out with both hands. His fingers bump over Din’s chin, scratching faintly against stubble, and Boba is surprised to say he never expected that. Boba traces the line of his jaw, following the bit of facial hair he has, and moving up slowly. Din’s breaths are shallow but warm when Boba’s fingers pause over his mouth, tracing his lips for any scabbed blood and finding none. 

He continues his way up, checking to make sure Din’s nose is in the correct position, his cheekbones haven’t been broken in. He brushes over Din’s closed eyelids, feeling the way that Din’s eyes twitch madly underneath them, trapped in a dream or nightmare. He doesn’t find anything wrong until he gets up closer to Din’s hairline, and there he finds a long cut just below his hairline, already scabbed over. Now that Boba can feel where the wound is he grabs for a washcloth, gently dabbing at the cut and wiping the area around it. When he runs his fingers through Din’s hair they tug with the blood dried in his hair, and Boba freezes. He doesn’t want to cause more pain, but Din doesn’t wake up and Boba spends a few minutes trying to work the blood from his hair without being able to see.

The longer he touches Din’s hair the more he begins to admire the texture: it’s curly, though not in the tight, bunched curls that Boba remembers himself having. No, these are softer, easily brushed through, and Boba very suddenly misses his own hair- the care he’d taken, the way it had made him seem like Boba, not Jango, not a clone, but him. He realizes that he’s sitting here, playing with Din’s hair, prolonging his time helmetless, and shame so hot it scalds sweeps through him. Boba touches lightly at the cut again, relieved that it hasn’t opened with his cleaning, and fumbles for Din’s helmet. 

--

Din can’t stand the pain- fingers are digging into his side, rending him, ribs shifting under his touch, and he grabs blindly for whoever has hurt him. Whoever continues to hurt him. Boba’s face comes into view when a hand cradles the back of his head, and his eyes are wide, near imploring as Din realizes with faint shame that he’s been stripped of his beskar. Boba says something, an excuse, but Din is distracted again by the pain, and his neck is too weak to support his head as he looks for his armor. His armor. Boba shows him it, disgustingly red but close, and when fingers stab back at his side Din careens back into unconsciousness. 

The next time he wakes he can hardly breathe- each breath rattles in and out of him, made harder by the bandages crushing at his ribs. He breathes as deep as he can, but that only sends pain searing through his shoulder, and Din’s head lolls. The light in the room is all but gone, and Din searches with what strength he does have. His armor is gone from his side and a bolt of panic goes through Din, nearly overriding the pain keeping him bound to the bed. He shifts, neck aching, and stops when he sees Boba, hunched by the only lamp in the room, scrubbing resolutely at the front of Din’s chestplate with deliberate care. Din wants to reach out, to say something, but his mouth won’t work, and he sinks back into sleep. 

He wakes again briefly to a hand brushing through his hair, heart rate spiking in panic and breaths coming fast and rough as he peels his eyes open. Each image before him is blurry at best, but he stares at Boba’s closed eyes, the ugly, resigned pinch to his brow as fingers find the throbbing cut on Din’s forehead. Din stares at him, stares and stares and wills himself to say something, but Boba is spraying something cold that smoothes the pain, and Din is sinking back into sleep before the helmet can even seal back around him. 

The pain isn’t what wakes Din this time. It’s the absence of it, the utter lack of anything other than a faint uncomfortable stickiness. He shifts, turning his head, and finds Boba pacing the length of the room, armor left in a heap with Din’s and black clothes rumpled in a way that suggests Boba has been working. Din chokes on a breath trying to talk, and the other man’s head snaps toward him, watching as Din scrabbles at the back of his helmet with one hand. 

“Gev, gev, Din, stop-”

“Can’t- breathe-” He chokes out, each word eeking out with harsh gasps. He watches as Boba lunges, grabbing at his wrist and forcing it into the bed as Din’s breaths come faster and faster. “Gaa’tayl.”

Help. 

Boba’s hands are shaking as his eyes close and the helmet comes off, Din sucking in whatever greedy breaths he can manage. Boba holds the helmet close to his chest, as if cradling the anonymity that Din has always craved. Din’s heart cracks in his chest at the bitter, angry set of Boba’s lips- not at him, never- but at the way he’s broken Din’s creed, twice now that Din knows. It doesn't hurt to think about as much as he expects. Din reaches out with the one hand that isn’t strapped down to his body, taking his helmet from Boba’s hand and forcing words up from his chest.

“It’s already broken.”

“Not by me.” 

“Boba.” Din says, and that word alone is what breaks the stubborn set of the other man’s shoulders, what causes his shoulders to shake as a weak, aching sob shudders through him. His moment of weakness is that- a moment before Boba reigns himself in, face evening out, but Din is reaching for him the same moment Boba’s hand slips under Din’s head, holding him steady as their foreheads press together.

--

He wants to marry him.

He wants to say the words and never take them back and hope to whatever god is listening to him that Din says them too. Somehow in Boba’s mind, in the dark, twisting and turning of his reality after the sarlacc, he forgets that Din isn’t invincible. That the saber heavy on Din’s hip is a reminder of his mortality, not a shining beacon of all that Din has become: all that he’s risen above, to be the man that he is now. 

He has survived worse than Boba could ever imagine a normal man surviving, though with every breath that Din draws in he proves him wrong. It’s too much- the soft, pained rasp of Din’s breath, the slow rise and fall of his chest- the stark white of the bandages against his skin. The image of Din outside of beskar is one that Boba has longed to see, to touch, to taste, to feel, but seeing him now, none of that matters. Nothing about him matters, not his feelings, not the blood that he knows is Din’s that won’t scrub away from his nail beds. Not the sharp, stabbing ache in his wild beating heart that throbs with each and every breath that Din continues to pull in. Seeing Din breathe is all that Boba cares for- the longer he breathes, the easier he settles into bed, the better Boba can think.

He'd torn the Slave apart looking for the med kit he knew was on board, and used up his entire supply of bacta just to ease Din's pain for a little bit. Fennec was on her way to get and bring back more- objectively Boba knew this, but he also knew Din better than he sometimes knew himself. The mandalorian would stay down for all of two seconds before insisting on going back to do something else, to return to a hunt or head off to gods know where. Boba just had to figure out how to keep him here long enough to actually recover. 

He's still thinking about it when Din groans behind him, legs shifting under the blanket that Boba had tossed over him once the suns set and the temperature had plummeted. It's probably the only part of him that Din can move without his body screaming in pain, and Boba turns to him, eyes carefully downcast. "Are you in pain?"

Din grunts, trying to use his right arm to shove himself up. Boba is careful, quick as he hoists Din further up to lay among the pillows piled at the head of the bed. There are dark smears of blood staining the sheets, but the last thing Boba cares about is sheets. "I'm fine." He mumbles, voice weak with the strain of moving.

Boba doesn't comment on the lie, instead moving to carefully sit at Din's side, close enough that he can brush his hands over the bandages, trying to feel for any spots where blood might have seeped through. The cuts and gashes on Din's exposed sides and arms are almost healed already with the generous helping of bacta that Boba had sprayed him down with. The bandages pressed to his skin are soaked with it as much as Boba could manage, and he has no clue if bacta will really do anything for bone breaks without them having a bacta tank, but he can hope. 

"What happened?" It's probably one of the last questions that Boba wants to ask, but Din huffs, the sound turning into a wheeze as he slumps against the pillows completely. 

"The bounty had friends."

"Are they alive?"

Din somehow forces out a laugh, and Boba jerks when warm fingers slip against his chin, lifting his head. His eyes flick up of their own accord, but he averts them before he even gets to Din's neck. "Do I take prisoners?"

"Lately?" Boba asks, voice teasing but chest constricting with the knowledge that he doesn't have anyone to punish. "How many?"

"Twenty, thirty maybe." This time Boba can't stop his reaction, and it feels as much a betrayal as anything he's ever done, but Din's eyes are hard and glittering and Boba feels like he's plummeting hundreds of feet back into the sarlacc pit. His skin burns with Din staring at him, and Boba keeps his eyes carefully on Din's, refusing to wander until Din says, voice quiet, "My Creed is my own."

"I know." He croaks, throat tightening. Din's eyes narrow slightly with what Boba assumes is a smile, corners crinkling, and he feels too hot, too smothered and yet too laid bare all at once. 

"Look at me, Boba Fett." His full name, his last name shocks through him with such intensity that his eyes close before he can even think to keep them open. Din's hand touches his face again, draws him closer, and Boba fights the urge to grab a handful of Din's dark hair- because it's black, with white peppering his temples- from stress or age Boba doesn't know. His eyes are still dark, so brown they're near black, and Boba loses himself within their depths as Din's thumb sweeps along his cheekbone. 

Having a hand so close to his eyes, his throat has Boba's body tensing on some unspoken, fear driven impulse, but Din's touch is featherlight, achingly gentle over a scar that twists along his cheek and up onto his temple. "I'm looking." 

And he is. Gods, but he is. 

He still doesn't think he should; Din's Creed is what he clings to, Boba knows this as surely as Boba clings to the fiery, burning pit of loss and rage and flames that fuel him. But it isn't his place to decide what Din should ask for- it's only his place to give Din what he asks for, if he's able. And this, Boba is able to give him a thousand times over. 

Din is soft, with doe-like eyes, a scruffy beard and mustache that looks like he should have trimmed a few days ago, hair that stands on end from where Din had been sleeping on it. There are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling, a dimple that pops on his right cheek when Din grins, teeth flashing. Boba is struck by the urge to reach out and touch him, despite never having craved anyone's touch himself. He reaches up, hiding the shaking of his fingers, and pauses, waiting, until Din nods, closing his eyes when Boba's fingertips bump his cheek. The scratch of stubble is more familiar than it should be under Boba's fingers, and he slides them until they touch right behind Din's ear, palm pressed flat to Din's cheek as he leans heavily into the touch.

He doesn't know how much longer he can sit like this, lingering on some unseen edge, heart fluttering in his chest in a distinctly scared way. A way he's desperately tried not to feel since he was orphaned. Set adrift. 

"I get to choose." Din whispers, soft enough that Boba hardly hears him. 

"Choose me." He blurts out, before he can think better of it. It doesn't make sense, what he's said, but Din's lips quirk in a small, pained smile, and Boba falls silent when those soft, warm eyes open and lock onto him.

"Together." It isn't a question, isn't a request- it's a plea, a call to Boba that he rises to meet. That he runs to meet, lips forming the words in time with the more sinuous melody of Din's Mando'a.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Somehow Boba doesn't expect it to be different- and it isn't. But somehow nothing is ever going to be the same again, with Din bound to him and someone his equal waiting for him, no matter how far apart they are. He’s never fancied himself a romantic, even now with Din looking at him with that soft, curious look and tilt to his head that Boba knows is because he isn't used to being helmetless. This way, Boba tells himself, this way he can look at Din and not feel like he's intruding on something- Din is his now, just as Boba is Din's. He's somehow lost himself in thought long enough for Din to think he can try to move, and Boba's hand shoots out, palm heavy on Din's chest as he presses the other man back into the bed. 

"Don't even think about it, Beroya."

"Unless you want me to ruin the sheets, I have to use the 'fresher."

"You already ruined the sheets." Boba points out, clenching his jaw to keep from smiling at the way Din's nose wrinkles in distaste. "With me, Beroya."

"I can-" Boba shoots him a look as he stands, moving to swing Din's legs out of bed. Din wheezes with the simple movement and Boba gives him another look, brow raised, causing the other man to glower. It takes another few minutes for Din to be able to support enough of his weight that he can walk, and Boba stays tucked resolutely under Din's right arm the entire way, glad for once, that his height allows Din to lean without straining him. 

It takes a bit of awkward maneuvering and swearing from Din, but they manage, and Boba leaves Din sagging against the dresser while he strips away the bloody sheets and changes them out. No need to risk some kind of infection from the wounds Boba couldn’t slather in bacta. Din settles back into bed without much protest, skin pale and sweat dotting his brow. 

“Thirsty?” Boba stoops to gather up the jug of water he’d saved for Din, holding it steady as Din’s hand braces against it, keeping it close as he drinks. “Alright, alright, don’t drown yourself.”

Din glares at him when he pulls the jug away, but there’s water dripping down his chin from how quickly he drank and Boba reaches to wipe it away without a thought. Din stills at the touch, shocked, but when Boba goes to pull back, lips pressed together Din catches his hand, leaning into his palm and closing his eyes. “Don’t. You’re allowed to.”

“Is that what you want?”

Din laughs, though the action of doing so causes a shudder to go through him, and his face pinches with pain. “I married you, Fett.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Just come over here.” He frowns at Din, thinking over what Din could want, and he inches slowly closer, careful of his side and arm. Din allows him this hesitance, this moment to puzzle him out before he holds out a hand, brushing his fingers over Boba’s cheek. “I’ve never seen you hesitate.”

“I don’t.”

“So stop doing it now. If I had a problem with you touching, or you looking, I’d have kicked you out.”

“It’s my room.” Boba points out, chuckling when Din raises a brow.

“Our room.” He knows that Din is half joking, but something warm and flimsy settles in his stomach and he can feel himself smiling without meaning to. There’s a question in his statement too, of whether or not Boba wants his own space, and he tips forward, bumping their foreheads together as gently as he can manage with Din’s hand goading him on. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You can stay until you piss me off.” Din barks out a laugh that turns abruptly into a groan, and Boba frowns, ready to chastise him. 

“What if you piss me off?”

“I’m king.”

“So am I.” Din shoots back, though Boba knows he hardly cares to acknowledge that fact in owning the Darksaber. 

“I’m king of this castle.” He fires back, just to watch the way that Din’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Though technically, you are as well, now.”

“Ugh.” Boba can’t help the low, pleased chuckle that comes from him at Din’s obvious distaste. “I don’t want a crown.”

“Trophy husband?” 

Din rolls his eyes.

--

Boba has to physically restrain Din twice before he agrees to stay in bed. The first time Boba had just sat on his thighs, pinning him into the bed with his weight and waiting until Din tired from the pain in his side and lack of an arm to help shove Boba off. The second time was harder, because by then Fennec had brought droves of bacta, and Boba was near religious in smearing it along Din’s collarbone and rib in the hopes that it would help past healing the bruises. 

The nurse droid that Fennec brings back is a great help as well, and gives Din a once over before Din shoves it away. It reports that the splint and wrapping is sufficient, and that there are no bleeds or tears in Din’s muscles or tendons. All it takes is time and a whole lot of rest. Rest that Din insists is unneeded, that he doesn’t want. The bacta helps with his pain, and that makes Din reckless with his arm and his side. It makes him reckless, and sometimes a little stupid when he really wants to get going, but Boba is nothing if not indulgent, and whatever Din asks for he’s given. 

When Din asks him after a week to let him go outside, Boba straps him into his armor and walks his through the courtyard. When Din tires Boba tucks under his arm like there's nothing he'd rather do, allowing Din to sag his full weight against him and pant through the modulator of his helmet. 

When Din demands that he be allowed to go return his bounty to claim his reward Boba goes with, leaving Fennec to watch over Tatooine while they're on Nevarro dropping off the carbonite encased Rodian. Boba refuses flat out to let Din look at bounty pucks, though, and Din gets one look in warning before Boba is dragging him out of Karga's office, ignoring the swears and protests that trail behind him.

When Din begs Boba to kiss him, Boba only denies him for the first two days. The last thing he wants is to hurt Din, and he knows himself and he knows Din too well to think that either of them will stop if they get going. So when Din demands instead of begging, grabbing Boba's collar with his good arm and yanking him close, he only laughs and finally, finally gives Din what he wants. 

When Din crawls into his lap, regardless of the way his side twinges, Boba holds him by the hips and denies him what they both want. Boba may give Din whatever he wants, but in this he's firm, and no amount of sweet talking or noises or touches will bend Boba to Din's will. He tells Din to wait, to be patient, and kisses the protests from his lips until Din is once again leaning all his weight on Boba, good arm up around his shoulders and fingers idly tracing along the nape of Boba's neck. 

Boba will continue this dance for as long as he needs to, until Din can walk and breathe without wheezing, and until Din can move his left arm and still have strength in his hand to grip. 

-- 

He is swimming in frustration. He wants to move, to run and fight and stop laying around. But each breath is still a knife in his side, even four weeks later, and he's just beginning to work strength back into his left arm despite all of Boba's protesting. The feeling of wood, straight across his collarbone and hindering his movement has become something of a comfort, because sometimes when Din lifts something too heavy he feels like the bone is creaking inside of him, ready to snap at a moments notice, and the only thing keeping that from happening is the slat of wood pressing down into his skin. 

He spends each night under Boba's careful attention, reeking of the mint-sharp smell of bacta as Boba sits on his thighs and smooths his hands over the yellowing on Din's side. Occasionally his fingers will dig in, just to check on his progress, and Din has to hold onto Boba's knee to keep from punching him in some automatic retaliation. But for all his protesting and prowling, Boba takes it all in stride, and Din's chest burns with the thought and sight of his husband- his husband caring for him. 

Din watches him now, the broad slope of his shoulders, the careful way his brows flinch when he's concentrating on feeling the ribs that are nearly healed. Din slips his hand higher on Boba's knee, thumb tracing along the seam on the inside of Boba's thigh, and hopes his face won't betray him for once. Boba's attention doesn't stray, but his legs shift, spreading just so, as if the gesture is more unconscious than conscious. Din isn't sure Boba even knows that he does it. He's not going to point it out.

His eyes remain carefully on Boba's face when he slips his hand a bit higher, bolder, and he can tell the moment that Boba notices him. His body goes still, head twitching in a brief tilt, and his eyes flick up, lingering on his throat before finally glancing up to lock eyes. It's the quickest way that Boba seems to be able to convince himself that he's allowed to look, even after weeks of Din waking up to Boba leaning on one elbow, staring down at him like he's some buried treasure that Boba is still trying to uncover. 

"I told you to be good." 

"I am." Din says, not moving his hand another inch but continuing the slow sweep of his thumb. "Haven't even tried to hit you today."

Boba's eyes narrow, but Din can see the amusement that softens any hard edge, and he flashes what he hopes is a smarmy grin. It seems to have worked because Boba rolls his eyes, shaking his head and scooting a bit further to sit on Din's hips so he can reach his collarbone. Din makes an encouraging sound, tilting his head to the side and raising his brows. Boba snorts, pausing to squeeze more bacta onto his fingers before dipping to smooth it over Din's collarbone. 

Din waits until that concentrated look crosses Boba's face again to move his hand, inching it further up. He feels Boba shudder, just a small quake in his thighs, and Din bites the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. Boba’s fingers are warm and gentle on his collarbone, smoothing over the faint bruises and working the bacta into Din’s skin as best he can without potentially shifting the bone. Din loses himself momentarily in the way that Boba traces along his collarbone and leans to grab at a washcloth he keeps nearby, wiping his fingers off and glancing down at Din with an appraising look. 

He remembers his purpose suddenly with a roar through his veins at the sight of Boba above him, and his fingers dig into Boba’s thighs, thumb rubbing hard over the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh. He delights in the small, pleased gasp that falls from Boba’s lips, but then Boba’s fingers wrap around his wrist, snatching his hand up while his dark eyes narrow. Din’s fingers twitch, arm straining as he tries to tug away, but Boba’s got him now, and his attention is firmly on Din, like a predator tracking prey. 

“Your ribs are broken.”

“They’re healed.” Din protests, though they definitely aren’t fully healed yet. 

Boba knows better, of course he does, because there’s no one that Boba bothers to pay attention to more than he does Din. It makes Din feel warm, flushed with want and love and everything else he doesn’t really have a name for. 

“You’re being impatient.”

“I’ve been a saint.” He says, frowning with displeasure when Boba shifts his hips back a smidgeon. “We’re married, I think it’s normal to want-”

“Din.” Din’s teeth snap shut with an audible snap at the sound of his name on Boba’s lips, and he stares, entranced, as Boba lifts his hand. His breath catches in his throat, chest aching for an entirely different reason as Boba kisses at the soft inner skin of Din’s wrist, eyes warm and affectionate. Din, despite his protests, feels himself relaxing, sinking back into the sheets and watching as Boba places another kiss, humming quietly. “I’m not going to do anything yet.”

“But-” Boba’s teeth scraping lightly over the tendons of his wrist makes his brain short out, and Din’s vision goes blurry at the hot, aching twist in his stomach. His tongue flicks out to soothe the spot, as if in apology, and a rough, strained noise rattles from Din’s chest. 

“Do not think,” Boba murmurs, “That this isn’t torture for me. To see, to touch, and not be able to do anything. I just happen to have better control.”

Din laughs- really he can’t help himself, and he tilts his head, ignoring the faint tug at his collarbone. “Are you saying I’m being needy?”

“Are you not?” Din laughs again, this time more in disbelief than anything else. Boba drops his hand, dipping down to touch their foreheads together, Din humming softly in contentment at having him close. “Wait until you can actually breathe.” 

“I don’t want to.”

Boba’s lips quirk in a smile that’s too attractive for Din to ignore. “Tough shit, Princess.” 

--

Boba is beginning to enjoy telling Din no. If only to watch the way his brows pinch in puzzled confusion, as if thinking over how best he can convince Boba otherwise. It’s a fun game, to see what Din will come up with for the bigger requests, and just how long Din will stare with wide, imploring eyes until Boba sighs and gives in for the smaller ones. 

Like now.

Din has that look on full display, sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed while Boba straps his armor on. He has to go off planet for a problem with some trade routes, and Din has demanded he come too- much to Boba’s amusement and Din’s frustration. 

“Why can’t Fennec stay?”

“She’s the only one the contact will talk to.”

“But-”

“I need you to stay here, Beroya. Please.” His voice softens at the end, and if Din thought he was good at begging, Boba can do so much worse when he puts his mind to it. Din’s pleading expression crumples into one of soft, resigned adoration, and Boba is near breathless at the sight. 

“I want to come on the next one.” He says, as if bargaining.

“We’ll see.”

Din groans at that answer, clearly not pleased, and Boba rolls his eyes as Din flops back. His ribs have healed well with the bacta and time, and the only worry Boba has left is the tenderness in Din’s shoulder. The nurse droid assured them it would work out with therapy to strengthen the muscles around it, but Boba isn’t ready to push it yet. 

“-the worst husband I could have gotten-”

“Hey.” Boba protests, striding over to frown down at him. Din continues his lament. Boba dips down and grabs a handful of his hair, holding him steady as Boba’s lips press to Din’s, cutting him off mid monologue. Din’s hand comes up to cup the side of Boba’s neck as a soft, pleased noise rumbles from him, and Boba nearly ruins the kiss by smiling at the sound. “I’m the best husband.”

“A good husband would let me come.” Din says, lips twitching in a smile when Boba groans. 

“A good husband would stay here, to protect their home.” 

Din hums, as if thinking that over before his smile grows into a grin. “You’re right.” 

“Come again?”

“You’re right.” Din says again, “You can stay here- I’ll go with Fennec.”

“That isn’t what I meant, you little shit-” Din laughs, bright and open, and drags Boba down into another kiss, silencing the both of them. 

[miastideclock]

Seventeen (Vocal Unit) Meeting Their Ex Girlfirend

Can you do a seventeen vocal unit reaction of meeting again their ex but they already have a girlfriend, anyways her ex stays as a friend and end up dating another member (like she is Joshua's ex but now is Jeonghan's girlfriend). I hope you like it, uwu.

word count: 2975

Woozi / Jeonghan

You rush out of the house so you have time to drop by your favorite coffee shop before work. The past few nights has been hectic, so you know you needed your caffeine before showing up. The cool air conditioning of the coffee shop hugged around you upon entering, cooling you down from the late summer sun outside. You ordered your usual and sat down by a table, waiting for your name to be called. A few short minutes later, a barista called it out for everyone to hear, making you jump to your feet.

"Y/N?" Your name was repeated, but not from the barista, it was someone behind you. You whipped around and came face to face with a very familiar face. Your ex boyfriend Lee Jihoon. Contrary to the gut dropping feeling you would have running into any other boyfriends, a smile plastered itself to your face. The two of you had ended on great terms as you had simply grown apart, rather than a nasty fight breaking you up. 

"Jihoon? No way!" You replied and gave him a hug, one he more than willingly returned. His name was called soon after, and he grabbed his coffee, walking you out to the street. Turned out your were headed in the same direction, and you found yourself talking about the good old days and how bummed out you both were when Jihoon had moved to Seoul. Thing was, he never told you where he had gone to, so you didn't think anything of hitting him up when you moved there yourself. You soon had to part ways as you didn't work in the same buildings, but he promised you he would call you sometime and you could hang out. He even said he wanted to introduce you to his girlfriend and his friends.

It didn't take a number of days before he messaged you- in fact, it was later the same day. He had texted you and said that him and his friends got off early, and wondered if you wanted to meet them earlier than originally planned. You agreed and told him where to meet you. You had gotten off work about an hour prior, so you had already showered and gotten dressed as you were about to ask one of your room-mates to hang out.

The restaurant you asked them to meet you at was just down the street from your apartment, so it was no surprise you were the first of the two parties to show up. Jihoon had let you know that they were quite a big amount of people, so that you should call beforehand. You said he should do it as he knew exactly how many people you would be. The hostess of the restaurant seated you in a booth that looked like it could fit a million people. Soon, the door opened and in came a small village of people, Jihoon leading the troop. Your jaw dropped to the floor as you saw how many people they were. You had imagined like five, maybe six people, but from where you sat, you could count thirteen individuals. 

"Y/N!" Jihoon cheered as he spotted you, walking over to the table. "There are so many of you." You deadpanned as you got to your feet to greet them. You all got seated, and then went around the table to introduce themselves. You tried your best to keep up, but everything just poured out of your head as soon as your eyes met the last one. "Yoon Jeonghan, pleasure to meet you." He spoke in a tone that made your heart flutter. 

The dinner went well, and you got to know everyone there quite well, and even planned on meeting up later in the week. You and Jihoon were the last ones to exit the restaurant as you held him back a bit while the others were outside messing around. "I have a super weird confession-" You started, but Jihoon was quick to cut you off. "I already have a plan on how I'm gonna set you and Jeonghan up, don't worry." He grinned. He then hugged you and bid you goodbye, leaving you feeling all giddy and happy in the middle of the closing restaurant.

Jeonghan / Joshua

You walked down the hallway, going through some papers. It was your first day at the new company, so you were pretty nervous to say the least. You had been a professional vocal coach for a while, but never at this specific company. You took a sharp right and entered a studio, where a blonde guy sat at the mixer, and four other guys were in the booth, recording some harmonizers. You stood by the door for a minute, not wanting to disturb them. 

A few minutes passed by before the four lads paraded out of the booth, noticing you standing there. You could see their faced properly now, not believing who you saw. It seemed as it caught him off guard too, but the two of you soon burst into smiles and giggles as you hugged him. Jeonghan, your ex boyfriend.

"Y/N! What are you doing here?" He smiled as soon as you let go of each other. You explained how you had been hired by Pledis as a vocal coach. You had been instructed by one of the managers to come by and greet you, so you had some time to get to know them before you started working together. "So, lovely to meet you all- I'm Y/N. I'm an old friend of Jeonghan." You said as you greeted the other in the room.

"Wait, are you the ex girlfriend who is always included in the dumbest stories?" The one introduced as Jisoo asked, and you had to nod. You and Jeonghan had been on some crazy adventures in your time.

A spread chorus of 'no way' and laughter occured for a second, making you blush ever so slightly. You didn't know if it was because you had just met them and they had already heard so much about you, or if it was because you felt Jisoo's eyes linger on you. Something you didn't necessarily minded as he was one tall glass of water- but he was Jeonghan's friend. You and Jeonghan ended on great terms, as it was a mutual feeling of falling out of love, but still- it felt wrong.

But much to your oblivious self, Jeonghan had noticed the lingering stares, and when you actually sat down t get to know each other, he saw how you two had laughed extra hard at each others jokes, and how you had touched his arm when you spoke. 

After a few hours you realized that time had flown away from you, and that you needed to be headed to a meeting. You got out of the sofa and bid them goodbye, Jeong offering to walk you out as you did so. As soon as the door shut behind you and you started to walk down the hall towards the meeting rooms, Jeonghan asked you about Jisoo. You instantly started to apologize and said that you could put your interest on the shelf if Jeonghan was uncomfortable with it. But much to your surprise he wasn't.

"Don't worry, Y/N. I put your number in his phone when he wasn't looking, so we're good to start project Set Up."

Joshua / DK

"And five, six, seven, eight." You counted as you moved in sync with both the beat and the partner by your side. You and Soonyoung had been dancing partners for quite a few months, as he was in a bit of a block, choreography wise. He had called you up and you happily agreed to help him. You helped him out of the dump, and turns out the two of you worked really good together, better than expected. So after that, he had a talk with the company, and got you hired. 

"What if we, drop into it like- 1, 2, 3, 4.." Soonyoung started, but was cut off as soon as the door to the studio opened. You looked up at the mirror to see who entered behind you, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as a very familiar face came into view. You whipped around as you stated the name of your ex-boyfriend. "Joshua?"

His head tilted up in a confused manner, as did Soonyoung. "You know this kid?" Soonyoung questioned, you shooting the question right back as you never knew they were friends. You explained to Soonyoung, telling him you broke up once Joshua was scouted and moved to Korea. Yet another conversation was interrupted as the door swung open a second time. In came a tall brunette, holding a thing of cloth- maybe a shirt. 

"Hosh, you forgot this in the-" He cut himself off as his eyes met yours. You felt your jaw literally drop open as you looked at the snack and a half that was the man in front of you. His skin was silky smooth, uninterrupted all except a freckle on his cheek. His bone structure was unlike anything you had ever seen. (can y'all tell im a seokmin stan?) 

You saw his lips fall open into a soft gape as his jaw weakened as well. You prayed to whatever creature it was that listened in that it was a good thing that he couldn't take his eyes off of you either. 

Joshua and Soonyoung looked first at you and the mystery boy, then at each other. Joshua decided to be the first one to speak up. "Seokmin, this is Y/N. She is an old friend of mine. Y/N, this is Seokmin, he is a more recent friend. We're debuting together."

Seokmin snapped back to reality and gave you a smile, sending your heart into loops. You gave him a smile back, and you could have sworn you saw a blush on his cheeks. 

DK / Seungkwan

You sighed as you rummaged through your fridge, eager to find the milk. You had just poured yourself a bowl of cereal, only to find out your roommate drank the last of your milk. It had already been quite a tough day, so you didn't bother confronting them and yell, rather you grabbed your coat and headed out the door. You didn't care that the bowl of dry cereal was presented on the middle of the counter, you were already fed up with the day as it was. 

Luckily, the closest grocery store that carried the brand of milk you preferred, wasn't too far away. It was about a fifteen minute walk, the fresh air helping you clearing your mind in the process.

The store was fairly empty as it was almost midnight, but still a few people roamed around the twenty-four/ seven store. You grabbed a basket as you could pick up a few more things since you were there anyways. As you reached for the celery, someone tapped your shoulder, asking for your attention. You whipped around and was suddenly face to face with someone you hadn't seen in what felt like forever. "Seokmin!" You smiled and immediately went to hug your ex-boyfriend. 

"Y/N!" He smiled back as you both pulled away from the hug. Before you could ask him how he was, a friend of his came around the corner, talking to him. "Seokmin, is this the right rosé?" He spoke as he studied the bottle. if you get that reference, i fucken love you. When he looked up, he realized he had interrupted and quickly apologized. 

You would have just continued the conversation with Seokmin, but you couldn't take your eyes off his friend. It was as if Seokmin picked it up, because before you knew it, you were being introduced. "Y/N, this is Seungkwan. Seungkwan, this is Y/N, an old friend of mine." You shook Seungkwan's hand and smiled at him. Hadn't it been for the fact that you had yet to be able to tear your eyes off of him, you probably wouldn't have noticed the blush on his cheeks. 

"So what's up with you?" Seokmin asked after the introduction, you finally turning to him and answering. "Nothing much, just asshat roommates who drank all of my almond milk." You chuckled, the two boys doing so as well. You spoke for a few more minutes before your stomach growled, signalling to the two that you were ready to leave. 

"Sorry boys, I gotta go! But hopefully I'll see you around?" You said and started to move away from them ever so slightly. They nodded, Seokmin informing you that he still had your number. You smiled at him then moved your eyes to Seungkwan for only a second, but Seokmin knew what you meant. He winked at you as to let you know that he would indeed set you up. 

Seungkwan / Woozi

You and two other girls around your age grunted and groaned as you pushed a large wooden box across the set to where it was supposed to be. You were on the set for a music video, being a set intern while you waited for a spot to open as a producers intern. You had applied months ago, but as your application had gotten lost in the office and you had to send a new one, you had fallen to the bottom of the waiting list. 

"Artist to set!" Someone, probably the director, called through a megaphone, startling not only you, but the two other girls as well. You chuckled among yourselves as you moved off the set so filming could begin. You hadn't been informed what artist they were shooting for, but you didn't care. If it was someone you were a fan of, it didn't matter- you didn't wanna come off as a wild fangirl in front of your boss. 

You were coiling extension cords when you hear the two other girls let out small gasps. You assumed it was because the artist came into view, so you turned around while still working your hands. It was a large group, that much you could see, but your attention was immediately drawn to a specific brunette in the way back. He was shorter than everyone else, but there was something about him that made your heart flutter. 

You tried to ignore it and started working again. You soon found another pile of cords that needed coiling, so you started, watching as the music video started shooting. You found yourself looking at the brunette more and more, all until you made eye contact with him. You snapped your head in another direction, trying to seem smooth about it. Where your eyes went next threw you off, though. Going from one cutie to another- your eyes met the ones of your ex-boyfriend, Seungkwan. He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he had seen you looking at his bandmate. You had completely forgotten that he was in a band, and that there was a chance that you would see him here. Not that you minded, you had put your breakup behind you and agreed on being friends. 

You wiggled your eyebrows back in a joking manner, but only for a short second before you went back to work. A few minutes later, you were greeted by Seungkwan who was now stood right next to you. "Y/N! What are you doing here?" He smiled as he greeted you. You explained the situation with the waitlist and how you just wanted to produce music. 

An idea unlike anything else popped into Seungkwan's head as you said what the problem was. While he was thinking, he saw you eye his bandmate, Jihoon, from across the room.

"I think I might be able to help you with that. Two birds with one stone actually." He grinned, almost evilly. You questioned his coming actions, but he wouldn't let you know. He just grabbed your wrist and dragged you across set. As soon as you realised whom he was dragging you over t, you tried wiggling out of his grip, but to no use. 

"Jihoon! You mentioned the other day that you needed Chan to assist you in the studio right? Well, what if I told you a very pretty and very smart little human being is more than happy to help you?" He spoke, holding you still. It was almost as if you hid behind him, and you had to admit it wasn't far from it. Jihoon looked confused as ever, and that's when Seungkwan pulled you out from behind his back.

"This is Y/N, the one you were drooling after earlier. She wants to be a producer- teach her. Bye guys!" He snickered as he left, leaving you two to get to know each other.

I am so freak fracking sorry this is so late eye-

-bentley

[shindekutrashsquad]

Drunk Night by Starlight

((This is my first Shindeku fic I’ve not felt absolutely terrified to post so I hope you all enjoy it... uwu; Also, all the characters here are 18+ so they’re old enough to drink in most places, I think uwu I’m lazy at researching uwu

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Vomiting

Word Count: 2639)) It was too loud. Too crowded. He definitely didn’t want to be there anymore. When Kirishima had invited Izuku to this party he thought it would be a movie night and a snack, not all this crazy shouting and drinking stuff. It really wasn’t his kind of thing, especially after breaking up with Uraraka only a few weeks before. With a small sigh Izuku scratched his cheek and stared into the plastic red cup of lemonade he was holding, no interest in drinking himself and trying to ignore the wild shouting and shoving from another mock fight from Kirishima and Bakugou near him, rolling his eyes a bit at their yelling and trying to step away, accidentally bumping into someone and quickly turning around to apologise.  

“O-Oh, Sorry..-!” He quickly said, freezing when he realized his bad luck seeing he had bumped into another ex, a purple haired man with lilac eyes and milky pupils staring back at him and blinking slowly in response. “S-Shinsou-Kun...? What are you doing here?” The taller man glanced down at him, a small grin etching onto his face. 

 “Well I wasn’t invited.” He chuckled, swaying a little on his feet as he looked around lazily. He took a sip out of his own cup before nodding over at the sparring match in front of them. “Not that they’d notice me being here anyway with them waving their dicks around like that.” Izuku couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the comment, trying to dodge some more shoving as the fight got more intense and sighing a little bit. Shinsou seemed proud at his little achievement, gently pulling the shorter man out of the way easily and waving nonchalantly as he began to walk away. “It was good seeing you, Midoriya. Enjoy the rest of the party.” He glanced back for a moment, partially hoping the greenette would stop him but when nothing came after him he let out a small sigh, taking another deep drink from his cup and shuddering slightly at the taste of it as he left. Izuku ended up just standing there, cursing himself as he looked down at his feet again and deciding after a few seconds that the party just wasn’t to his taste, leaving the room to find a way outside. As he squeezed through the hallways he noticed another familiar figure; his recent heartbreak Ochako Uraraka drunkenly kissing Denki Kaminari, forcing a lump in Izuku’s throat to rise in jealousy and hurt before forcing his way past. He snatched a cup of real drink - well, cider - and tried to blink away the hot tears that had sprung into his eyes as he quickly downed it in one swift go, choking on the bubbles as they hit the back of his throat when he sat down on the porch step, shaking with anger and upset. It had only been weeks...! It’d barely been that since they broke up! She could at least pretend to be more upset about it...!

Izuku’s thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up to see the owner and wipe his face quickly with his sleeve, leaving a slight trail of mucus and having to hide his arm in embarrassment. Much to his surprise, Shinsou had found him, now lacking his drink and swaying a little bit as he gripped Izuku’s shoulder a little too tightly. Thankfully, the green haired man didn’t need to actually say anything, hiding his face in his arm once more as the tears tumbled out again, making Shinsou sit beside him with blurry eyes and watch quietly for a moment. “You’ll have to remind me; happy or upset tears?” He joked fondly with a lopsided grin as he swayed ever so slightly. For some reason, Izuku couldn’t stop himself from letting out a choked laugh, trying to wipe his eyes again until Hitoshi carefully offered out a tissue, clumsily but gently dabbing at his face to clean him up. 

“Upset tears.” Izuku eventually confirmed, glancing back to the noise and the lights inside the house and pressing his lips together tightly at the image still fresh in his head of Uraraka and Denki. He eventually opened his mouth again to speak, the words hesitating to come out for a moment. “Ochako-“ he started, startled when Hitoshi interrupted. 

 “Never deserved you.” The purple haired man finished, making Izuku watch him in surprise as he ran a hand through his lilac hair drunkenly. “I’m not saying I was any better as a boyfriend but... you’re just too good for most people, Izuku.” He let out a small sigh, looking at the cup in his hands for a moment with a melancholy feel in the air between them, not noticing Izuku’s blush remaining on his cheeks as he stared at him. “Listen, you should probably go home, I’m not sticking around either but this isn’t your kind of scene, Midoriya.” Shinsou went to stand up again, caught by surprise himself when he almost fell over. The world just suddenly seemed to spin around him and his stomach turned slightly, only able to focus on a flash of green as Izuku quickly leapt up and caught him before he could injure himself.

“How many have you had to drink, Shinsou-Kun...?” Izuku asked worriedly, supporting the taller man by holding his arm over his shoulder. His heart was pounding, but after a few hero jobs he was already pretty good at hiding it. Shinsou blinked again, looking at the hand holding the empty cup with slight confusion before tossing it aside.

“Probably too many.” Hitoshi admitted, scratching his cheek and leaning his head against Izuku’s head, his hair as soft and fuzzy as he remembered it. He didn’t know how much he missed the smaller male until now; they’d mostly tried to avoid each other after their break up, but with Izuku holding onto him so gently, so carefully making sure he was okay and his warmth was so perfect against his cool skin... He didn’t want it to end. 

“Um... maybe... maybe I should take you home, Shinsou-chan. You’re in no state by yourself.” Izuku insisted, not noticing Shinsou’s drunken thinking and carefully helping him slowly take steps away from the party and the noise. Shinsou just let him do so, too woozy to argue and his feet dragging slightly. Thankfully, the streets were mostly empty at that time of night, a fine mist of rain beginning to cover them and making Shinsou’s poof of hair slowly flatten against his scalp. After a while of careful walking, the taller man did speak up again. 

“Izuku, why do you keep helping me...?” He slurringly asked, his vision spinning as they dipped in and out of the streetlights, disorientating his balance even more. He hiccuped slightly, beginning to regret how much he had drank and clutching onto Izuku’s shoulder a little bit tighter as he stumbled. Izuku caught him easily, thinking about it for a moment as he rearranged the drunken man’s feet again. 

 “Well... We’re still friends, right?” He smiled eventually, his emerald eyes glancing up at him with a gentle sparkle in the moonlight, making Shinsou’s chest ache at the sight. He quickly readjusted his grip on Shinsou’s arm over his shoulder before they continued forward. “Besides, I wouldn’t have been a very good hero or friend if I had left you there, would I?” He added, smiling softly and enjoying the rain gently falling on their faces. Something about being with Shinsou again just made him happy, but he knew better than to act on any of his feelings. It’d gotten him in trouble before after all. Shinsou hesitated, unsure about all the feelings re-emerging in his own self, leaning his cheek against Izuku’s head again and closing his eyes for a moment. Big mistake. 

“Hold on, Izuku.” Shinsou mumbled, pulling away and managing to stagger over to an alleyway to hide. He didn’t want the greenette to see him in such a state, leaning his hands against the rough exposed bricks and losing the battle against his turning stomach, the alcohol he had drank that night returning in a spectacular mess against the cobblestones. It almost hurt with how violently his gut had turned against him, and he jumped slightly when he felt familiar, calloused yet gentle hands scooping his hair back out of his face, glancing to the side to see that perfect, slightly chubby face belonging to Izuku softly smiling at him through the rest of the blurred world. 

“Hey, you’re okay, Hitoshi-chan. I’m here.” Izuku promised, his free hand gently rubbing at Shinsou’s back as he vomited again. It wasn’t exactly the glamorous hero work he had envisioned for his first real mission after graduation but somehow it didn’t seem so bad after all. Shinsou groaned slightly, wiping his mouth with his wrist as he tried to fight off another wave of nausea, Izuku looking concerned. “You okay...?” He asked, laughing a little to try and ease the worry. 

“I still love you...” Hitoshi eventually replied, mumbling slightly and feeling Izuku’s hands retreating off him like he had just been scalded. The other man’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish gasping for air, his fist clenched over his heart nervously. 

“I-I’m Sorry...?” Izuku squeaked, unsure of he had really heard what he thought he had. Did Shinsou really just say...? He shook his head quickly, trying to dismiss it as him just being drunk as he quickly tried to help him stand upright again. “I-I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, Shinsou...” 

“I’m serious, Izuku. I still love you.” Hitoshi insisted, grasping at Izuku’s arms tightly as he stood tall again, regretting it instantly as the nausea fought back and almost sent him toppling over again. Izuku’s quick reactions prevented it once more, holding Shinsou carefully under the arms as he stood precariously far forward. “I-I love you. I miss you. The day you broke up with me I couldn’t breathe.” Shit. Shit shit shit. Why couldn’t he stop? Hitoshi watched as Izuku seemed to hold his breath, taking a gulping breath down as well as he tried to refocus, his legs feeling like jelly under him, though at that point it was impossible to tell whether it was from nerves or from the alcohol. After a few seconds, he managed to find his voice enough again to continue. “I-I miss waking up to you next to me, I miss your tiny little snores and watching you breathe. I miss your hair under my chin as you write all your hero notes on your lap, I miss the way you mumble all your thoughts. I-I miss seeing you wake up and smile despite all the shit going on around us, a-and your hair explodes out like a Brillo pad and you look so confused but happy...” He paused for a moment, pressing his fist to his mouth as he turned away to the wall again, worried he may vomit on his ex. He did gag slightly, but thankfully nothing came up this time, it just hurt his muscles from the force, beginning to shiver in the coldness of the drizzle coating them. Izuku took his hoodie off, more than used to the cooler temperatures due to his old training regime and draped it over the purple haired man’s back to shelter him a little more, continuing to listen for a moment before he opened his mouth to talk again. 

“Shinsou... You treated me like an object to be won.” He gently explained, making sure the drunk man was finished emptying his stomach before gently supporting him across his shoulder again. Hitoshi noticed the stiffened posture, clumsily but quickly grabbing Izuku’s cheeks to turn him to face him again, trying to read his face unsuccessfully. For someone who usually wore their heart on their sleeve Izuku was proving to be impossible this time. 

“I was wrong.” Hitoshi insisted, his voice embarrassingly cracking slightly as tears caught in the corner of his eyes, shocking even Izuku at the powerful emotion. “You’re not an object, y-you’re someone who made me want to work harder to be a great hero and you make me feel human. No-one else has ever done that. You’re such a wonderful person and I was a complete idiot to treat you the way I did. I love you, Izuku. I have done since the Joint Training Exercise but I was too scared to admit all those feelings. Please. Please give me another chance.” He begged, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He felt woozy, and worryingly lightheaded, trying to mutter out a warning before his whole world suddenly disappeared from his conscious thought and the booze finally dragged him into a clueless sleep. 

-----

 It was a bright light that woke Shinsou again from his slumber, his head pounding like a thousand jackhammers drilling into his brain and the world spinning around him, forcing out a pained groan from his throat. Everything burned, and ached, and he pressed his palms to his eyes to try and ease some of the awful sensations. He almost jumped out of his skin as he felt a gentle touch on the top of his head, scrambling backwards and almost passing out again from the sudden movement as he tried to focus, his eyes eventually settling on a soft green figure sitting beside him on the edge of the bed and gently offering him painkillers, some water and some toast. 

“Morning, Mr Poetry.” Izuku laughed softly, fully aware of the mind numbing brain implosion going on inside Hitoshi’s head at that moment. After a few seconds of glancing between his ex and the offerings in front of him, Hitoshi nervously took the pills and the water and carefully took them, anxious about his stomach’s sensitivity at that moment. 

“We didn’t...?” He couldn’t help but ask worriedly, glancing down under the blankets quickly. Izuku squeaked a little bit in embarrassment, his face going his trademark red as he almost threw the toast across the room from the shock.  

“W-what?! N-no! You passed out and I brought you home, that’s it!” He panicked, and Hitoshi suddenly remembered everything up until the passing out, turning even more pale than usual. Izuku immediately leaned forward, worried for the other man just in case he felt sick. 

“Midoriya, I’m... I’m so, so sorry for everything I said.” Hitoshi explained, burying his face in his hands to try and disappear from the world, missing Izuku’s soft smile on his lips instead. 

“Why are you sorry, Hitoshi-chan?” The greenette asked, trying to mask the glee in his voice as he tucked one leg under himself. Before the other man had a chance to talk again, Izuku had leaned in and gently kissed Shinsou on the top of the head again, just as he had done to wake him up. Hitoshi looked up, confused, a small blush on his face as he realised the bright smile on Izuku’s instead. “You... Only told me the truth.” He carefully found a space beside him, snuggling under Hitoshi’s arm and fitting perfectly as though they had never broken up. It clearly took Hitoshi completely by surprise, staring at him in shock as he tried to process it. 

“We’re... You...?” He stammered out, and Izuku nodded, smiling wider as he nuzzled his hair under the purple man’s chin comfortably. 

“Yeah. I missed you too, you know.” Izuku promised, and Shinsou smiled softly, bringing his other arm around to cuddle him properly and went in to kiss his boyfriend again for the first time in years, looking offended when Izuku laughed and gently put his hand over his mouth. 

“Brush your teeth first, barfy. Then I’ll kiss you.”

[leonkennedystuff]

not alone p.2 (leon kennedy x reader)

[RE4!Leon]

Summary: wherein reader finally confronts leon about ada wong

Warnings: angst, swearing, underage drinking, descriptions of mental illness, mentions of broken family (?)

Part 2 of 2

holy crap, you guys. This is probably the longest chapter I’ve ever written in my LIFE. I got so carried away making this oops I’m sorry but wah! I’m so happy it’s finally done! Hope you guys enjoy!

Weary (E/C) eyes staring blankly outside the window, the budding feeling of depression pays you another visit– like a viper, it coils around your scorned heart tighter and tighter, choking you. 

It’s been 6 days since that horrid fight with your longtime boyfriend, Leon Kennedy, and your insatiable sadness was the only friend you let in and comfort you. You knew you were coping with this unhealthily, you were aware you were setting yourself up for disaster, but you honestly could care less. You barely felt the discomforts anyway; you didn’t give no mind to how weak or hungry or tired or numb you felt all over. You just didn’t have the energy or the will. You felt, for a lack of better words, dead – and the last memory you had before you died was that fucking fight.

On that same night, you left your shared apartment; you packed a bag and practically had to force your way out because Leon kept trying to stop you, blocking the door, pleading with you to talk your problem through. Despite how vulnerable you were feeling though, you didn’t budge – refusing him his request, refusing to hear anything else about his standing with Ada Wong. 

Relentless attempts after relentless attempts, he figured his pleas were falling on deaf ears. He eventually lets you go. Watching you leave - it was like the biggest part of his heart left with you. He’s never felt so empty, and you weren’t doing so well either.

That was the last time you’ve seen or spoken with Leon; his messages on your phone, the calls you were rejecting - they continued to grow almost hourly, but you had no plan on answering them. Not now, at least. You needed to heal; reading his words or hearing his voice, your emotions would overshadow your logic. You knew you’d succumb to how much you missed him and you had to be stronger than that.

Currently (and for the past 6 days), you’ve been squatting at your best friend’s apartment. Claire Redfield has been your constant person ever since you were children; your family and the Redfields have been long-time friends and you got along with her just like your parents did. You’ve never trusted anyone the same way you did her, at least not until Leon entered your life almost a decade after.

When you met Leon, you were 19 and had just moved into a new city to pursue your degree in Nursing. You were no philanthropist but you always wanted a career that revolved around helping others, it was a striking similarity you and him shared. 

One night long ago, you were invited by some classmates to go drinking in a bar, a bar that was a favorite among students because they didn’t check ID – and that was when you saw him for the first time. 

You almost smile at the fond memory.

He was with a bunch of loud, intoxicated and rowdy cadets from the police academy not so far from your school, he stuck out like a sore thumb because of how awkward he looked with them. Definitely, the comradery with him and everyone in that group was evident but he just seemed so out-of-place as the other guys hustled around, trapping him in the middle of their wild antics. Although you thought it was funny, you also remember feeling bad for him.

It was around 2 in the morning when you decided you really had enough drinks and were going to call it a night. 

Despite the protests of your friends, you bid them a woozy goodbye and started heading out of the still cramp, neon-signed local bar. You barely made it a foot out the door when your drunk body doubled over, the urge to puke out the excess alcohol making your already dizzy head spin more. This wasn’t your first time drinking, absolutely not, but this was the first time you drank more than you could handle. 

Did you regret it? Even with the throbbing hangover you had the next day - no, you don’t, because if it weren’t for you getting so shit-faced, you don’t think you would have had the interaction you did with Leon.

“Someone really enjoyed their night,” A pleasant voice resonates from behind, teasing you. Too out of it to check the face it belonged to, you remain as you are – your knees on the rough pavement while your head hovered over a bush. “That makes one of us,” He notes, his mild amusement and his voice drawing closer as he walks to where you were.

“Do you need help?” He asks, his badinage tone now mixed with a hint of genuine concern. When you feel him settle beside you, bending a knee so he was at your level and so that he can take a better look at how wasted you were, you finally turn just enough to see who this enigmatic joker was.

For a second, you felt like you sobered up at the mere sight of him. Initially, from his attire – a plain white shirt clouded by a navy-blue windbreaker and fitted black pants- you recognized him as the awkward dude from the big crowd, but your attention shifts from that after your gaze falls on his face.

My God – you wondered just how drunk you were to have your beer goggles be this misleading. There was no way, you thought, that anyone could look this heavenly.

A dirty-blonde guy with fringes framing his fresh face looked to be the same age as you; he had a small smile on his plump pink lips. He was saying something, his mouth was moving, but it’s like you’ve suddenly turned deaf. You were so fixated on his looks.

You note how structured his features are, like a sculpture, his jaw was ample and strong and contrasted well with the fullness of his rosy cheeks. He had beauty marks decorating his clear skin, two on his neck and one small one beside his celestial nose. The real star, though, were his eyes. They were bluer than blue, like sapphires and moonstones.

Who the hell was this dude?

“So, are you going to tell me or should I just guess?” He cocks a dark eyebrow, his playful demeanor returning. Snapping out of your trance, you just blink at him, confused.

Oh right, he was talking.

“What?” You manage to find your voice but hate how raspy it sounded even to your own ears. He chuckles, looking down. His long eyelashes flutter as he subconsciously checks your body for any wounds or bruises you may have gotten in your buzzed state.

“I was asking for your name,” He repeats himself, clearly finding the cute but besotted girl humorous.

Your own cheeky personality coming out, you give him a curious squint. “What’s it to you?” You question, “I happen to be very familiar with the saying–“ You lean forward a bit to be dramatic but stagger a little. As if on instinct, the blonde holds you by the shoulders. It was almost impossible to ignore the flurry of sensation building under your skin where his hands were. “-‘stranger danger’,” You finish off with air-quotations, keeping your cool.

The guy laughs again, the luxuriance of it making your own mouth curl upwards in a smile.

“Maybe you’ll feel better knowing I’m training to be a cop?” He offers, riding along with your banter. You shake your head, “No, I’ve heard stories of serial killer police men. All charming and dutiful and handsome – you could definitely be in the list and I’m not risking it,”

With that, Leon’s face lights up with a surprised expression. You also note how his confident demeanor suddenly shifted into a coy one. You nearly raise your eyebrows in question but realize soon after why. 

Damn your drunk tendencies!

Now amply embarrassed, you open your mouth to apologize but were cut off with his bona fide smile. “You’ll just have to trust that I’m going to be one of the good ones,” He says, his voice softer but seemingly warmer. “I’m Leon Kennedy,” He introduces himself, earnestly outstretching a hand for you to shake. You take it, a blush undoubtedly heating up your face.

“(Y/N) (L/N),” You respond.

That night, Leon walked you back to your dormitory and the rest became history. It didn’t take long for you both to develop the feelings sparked by the night you met – it was only a matter of a few months until he finally confessed the obvious affection you had for one another. You both agreed, though, to remain as friends until you both graduated.

Your ‘remain as friends’ phase lasted almost 2 years, but you didn’t mind because you were so in love with him and he, you. You’ve never been happier. When you graduated from college and him from police academy, he wasted no time asking you to be together. 

You couldn’t wait to finally tell Claire all about it; you’ve updated her that there was someone you were seeing but left it at that until you and Leon were official. You planned to meet with Claire the day after Leon left for Raccoon City, also the day that she’d be coming back from the same place to check up on her older brother, Chris.

Of course, everyone knew about the tragic events that lead to the death of hundreds and thousands of people in Raccoon. When the outbreak first spread, you heard about it in the television and nearly fainted in the hospital you were working as a trainee nurse. You thought you could die right then and there – your body and your heart unable to cope with the distress plaguing your head. For nights on end, you couldn’t sleep and, the rare times you were able to, it was due to fatigue from crying so much. 

You couldn’t fathom the thought of either Leon or Claire in danger, hurt, or worse.

When you received the most gratifying news though that they both made it out alive and clear from the horrific infection, you felt lucid. You don’t remember crying as hard as you did that day. When you found out that Claire and Leon actually ran into each other during the outbreak, you started to bawl again. They took up the deepest crevices of your heart.

You scoff softly at that.

Look how that now turned out in your favor. Half of it was broken beyond repair.

Suddenly, for the nth time this night, your phone blares in the dreary guest room you occupied, disrupting the welcomed silence. Your reverie broken, you sit up sluggishly on the bed too big for one person, your gaze indolently shifting to the vibrating device beside you. You didn’t need to think twice or wonder who it could be; your heart was already clenching knowing it was him.

With the heaviest feeling settled in your chest, you bring yourself to push your phone away, to push Leon away. To think nearly six years of your life was spent being with someone who might not have been entirely set on you after all…

You lay back down on the soft, silky sheets and close your exhausted eyes until the only noise left was your wounded sobbing. Inconsolable, dismal, helpless.

Alone with your wayward thoughts, another painful feeling creeps up your chest – although he was a persistent and tenacious man, you were sure he’ll eventually tire from reaching out just to have you ignore him. How long will it take until he finally gives up? How long will it take until he’s moved on from you? Will he be with Ada?

Too lost in your own sorrow, you almost didn’t hear the soft knocks resonating from the other side of the door. “(Y/N)?”

Startled, you bring your pounding head up. For a moment, you weren’t sure whether you imagined the sound. “Yeah?” You croak, your voice scratchy and barely there. You’ve misused yourself for the past few days and it was beginning to show.

“It’s me,” Claire leans her cheek on the door, pressing an ear to the wood. “Can I come in?”

You prop yourself upright a second time and a sudden wave of vertigo hits you. You lean back on the headboard, your vision dancing with stars. You wait until the dizzy feeling passes before you reply. “Of course,” You say, finding it a bit ridiculous that she had to ask permission in her own place.

Not a moment after your thumbs-up, the door creaks open and a crack of light from the hallway floods the room, illuminating your friend’s sympathetic face. “How are you holding up?” She checks on you, entering the room fully. You see she brought a glass of water and a cookie on a plate.

You smile, genuinely touched by the sweet gesture. Claire makes her way to you and settles down on the bed; she brings her feet up so she can sit with her legs crossed. The mattress rocks slightly as she shifts to a more comfortable position, turning the bedside lamp on. You wince at the orange light.

She hands you the glass of water, which you gratefully take from her hold and sip from, and places the huge chocolate chip cookie towards your body. She looks almost expectant but you pretend not to notice; you really couldn’t bring yourself to eat. 

Claire knew what was up though and, thankfully, she didn’t try to push it. It was always something you appreciated about her – she wasn’t overbearing, she didn’t try to impose or force anything. She just gives her 2 cents and leaves it to your better judgement; you respected that a lot.

“Still the same, unfortunately,” You crack a halfhearted chuckle, trying to sound better than you really felt. You look down and away from the sad look in Claire’s eyes, obviously seeing past the fabricated act. Wanting not to dwell in her scrutiny, you reach for the still warm cookie and break off a small chunk, bringing it to your mouth. It tasted heavenly – her food always did, but you couldn’t enjoy it.

“It’s good,” You comment with a nod, your eyes still anywhere but on the brunette girl in front of you. Of course, you were trying to evade the conversation that dealt with talking about how you were feeling.

You open your mouth, to apologize for being so detached, but her hand suddenly on your thigh catches you off-guard. You look at her to see her smiling. “How about we take a walk? Maybe visit the ice cream shop right before the curb? I’ve been wanting to check the place out,” She suggests with a thoughtful cock of her head, her dark brown hair swaying with her movements. 

She leans in a bit, her knowing expression deepening as she gives your leg a pat. “And it’ll do you some good to get some fresh air.”

Claire had a point, you acknowledged. Although you didn’t want to, going outside would probably help distract from your stuffy thoughts, especially considering that you’ve been camped in this apartment almost the entire time you were here. You note that Claire probably blew her plans off just to accommodate you. This is the least you can grant her.

“Okay, yeah, let’s do it.” You crack a smile, shifting your weight so you could swing your legs off the bed. Claire, who looked a little surprised from your answer, blinks before a big grin appears on her face. She gets up as well, “Alright! Just let me get changed,” She says, gesturing to her olive-green baseball tee and black sweatpants. 

You chuckle, nodding.

When the door closes behind her, you swap your pajamas as well for some leggings and a grey hoodie two sizes too big on your frame. Your hand moves its way to feel the letters of the police academy Leon attended bolded in the center; you didn’t realize you’ve packed it but now it’s the only thing you wanted to wear.

You let yourself. Considering you didn’t allow to talk or reach out to him, this will help you cope.

You sigh. You just couldn’t believe how complicated it’s gotten.

After taming your (H/C) hair into a ponytail and trudging out of your room, you enter the living space and the first thing that caught your eye was a small white envelope in front of the main door. It was most probably slipped in through the crack.

You walk towards it, your heartbeat picking up speed for a reason unknown to you. Crouching down to get a better look, you take it in your hands. It was plain until you turned it over.

A red kiss mark.

Your breath hitches – you knew point-blank exactly who this was from. No doubts, no second thoughts. 

Why the fuck has she sent this? How did she know where you were? Did Leon tell her about your fight?

“Unbelievable,” You hissed under your ragged breath, clenching your fists. With your stomach churning, your eyes brim with tears as you angrily tear it open. Your chest felt so constricted, it was almost painful to breathe.

               Hope you don’t mind that I told him your whereabouts.                                                                                  -A.W.

Just one sentence – just that one sentence was enough to get you bawling your eyes out. Even though it lacked reason for you to be this heavily affected, it was the mere fact that it meant Leon had reached out to Ada again. You visibly started to shake. 

You’ve had enough of this shit.

“You ready to head ou-“ Claire’s smile falls the moment she saw your slumped and trembling figure by the door, her crystal blue eyes growing wide with worry. She practically runs over to you, dropping to her knees and draping an arm around your shoulders. 

You were inconsolable, violent sobs rocking your body.

“(Y/N), what –“ Her sentence was left hanging in the air as she saw the poorly torn white envelope and letter in your hands. She cautiously takes it from your iron grip and reads what was written; her anger flares right away.

Before she had the chance to bust out her profanities, a loud series of knocks resonate from the door. Claire gets up and, because she was too overcome with ill feelings, didn’t bother to check the peephole. She swings the door open and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Leon Kennedy stood before her; his impossibly blue eyes were rid of any warmth – they looked exhausted, lidded and tired, and the dark bags under them seemed to weigh them down more. His body was stiff with tension, his usually groomed hair was in its messiest state she’d ever seen and, really, just his whole aura was thick with dread. 

He was a mirror image of you.

If it weren’t for how angry and disappointed Claire was with him, she would have felt bad seeing him in his weary state. Claire always looked so highly of Leon; she saw how pure, sincere and brave his character was in light of the events they experienced in Raccoon City. 

So, when she found out he was the man you were seeing? She approved of the relationship right off the bat, loving him for you. Claire knew, though, about the problem with the woman in red but she didn’t realize how bad it actually was to have this whole thing happen.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Leon,” She scowls, chastising, crossing her arms over her chest. He looks down and takes the harshness of her words; he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting this to happen. “Can I please see her?” His voice was hoarse.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,”

“It’s okay, I want to talk to him.”

Claire twists around to look at you. Your eyes were hard on the man whose heart had just skipped after being unable to see you or hear your voice for nearly a week. He recognizes the hoodie you had on and the ache in his chest tripled.

Despite your own heart jumping, your fury overclouded any feeling of longing. The letter crumples under your hand.

Claire gives you an expression as if to ask ‘Are you sure?’ and you nod. With one last look at the crestfallen male, she turns on her heel and leaves the premise to give you both some privacy.

“(Y/N)-“ Leon starts, taking a step towards you. You backtrack harshly.

Couldn’t he take a hint?

“Where’s Ada?” You grit your teeth, trying to keep your melting composure together. So much for a proper greeting. “I’m surprised you’ve bothered to come here, or that you even thought of me at all.”

Leon’s already fallen face sinks further, your words deepening the terrible pain the last few days have imbedded in him. If you only knew what the man’s been through; he could barely function not knowing where you were or who you were with or how you were doing and it showed in his present state. Ada, or at least the interaction you assumed happened between them, never reached reality.

“(Y/N),” He sighs, arduous, running a palm down his slightly stubbled cheek. The fact that you were so near but he couldn’t hold you made the inside of his chest itch. “Please, stop being like that. I want to talk this out. Properly. I don’t want Ada to be in this conversation,” He says, unable to keep the frustration from appearing in his tone.

Your anger grows. “That’s rich coming from you, especially when you hired her as your personal investigator,” You bring your clenched hand up and finally show to him the letter. “Here-“ You nearly hiss, taking a step towards him so you could press it to his chest. “You can thank her for coming through, as always.”

Leon studies the paper and his eyebrows furrow immediately. He shakes his head, looking at you perplexed. “I haven’t spoken to her ever since-“ He pauses for a split second, his jaw clamping ever so slightly, “-ever since we fought. I don’t know how she knows anything, or how she knew I was trying to find you.”

Despite your rancorous feelings, your chest prickled. You weren’t very surprised, but it softened your hardened exterior to hear his efforts. He always prioritized you, but the reason why you were so unwilling to move on from this was because of how prioritized Ada was too.

Noticeably gentler than a few seconds ago though, you moisten your dry lips. You knew Leon was telling the truth not only because of his honest eyes, but because he was just an honest person, especially when it came to you. But you just couldn’t wrap your head around how Ada was able to find out about you and Leon’s current situation and how she tracked you down.

As if he could tell what was plaguing your train of thoughts, he offers an explanation. You don’t know, though, if it made you feel better. “Ada – she’s a mysterious woman.” He acknowledges, cautiously moving closer. 

You stay where you are and it made him almost sigh in relief. If this proximity was all that the situation would allow, he’ll take it. “She has her ways, she has her own methods of knowing things.”

He shakes his head, “But enough about her. Please. I don’t want to talk about her – I want to talk about our relationship, because that’s what matters the most to me.” He says. 

You remain silent because you want him to continue and because a lump was growing in your throat.

You know from years of knowing Leon that he wasn’t the type of person to be vocal with his affection; how he grew up rendered him to be kind of awkward when it came to his feelings, he always had a hard time talking about it in general. It became especially more difficult after Raccoon City and you never tried to pry or change that; so, the rare times he did verbalize about what was in his chest, it was so special for you.

Leon takes a deep inhale, running his calloused thumbs over his fingers. “I-I’ve taken you for granted. All these years, you never left me, not even when our lives got so complicated.” He closes his stinging eyes, feeling his chest grow heavy as memories of his past played through his head – all the people lost, all the places now in ruin, all the missions he’s taken that always scared you half to death with worry. They were scars he had to live with.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever cared for me the way you do. It’s something I was never really familiar with,” He falters for a moment, wanting to compose himself. You, on the other hand, already had tears falling down your cheeks. You knew he was talking about his family and his upbringing – it was such a sensitive topic for him and your heart ached.

“-but it gives me so much hope, you know? It gives me more reason to want to end this whole attack on humanity. It’s contagious, how selfless you are.” He sighs, shifting his gaze to the carpeted floor. “The reason why I’ve been talking to Ada again is because she has information regarding new B.O.Ws being created somewhere. It’s stupid – maybe I should have just told you but I never include or disclose to you anything in my line of work because I don’t want to risk your safety.”

“You make me a better person, (Y/N), the love that you share so generously – I could only wish to reciprocate it all back to you. I-I’m trying, and I’m sorry if you have to suffer my inability to but I-“

Leon fails his words, his beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears. You’ve only ever seen him cry once your whole life, when you reunited after Raccoon City.

Without a moment more, you dash forward and wrap your arms tightly around the vulnerable and visibly upset man. You press your head to his chest, your tears – at this point – coming down like a waterfall as you listen to the beat of his heart. The heart made of pure gold, the heart that you loved more than anything in this whole fucking world.

Leon overlaps your embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other snaked around your waist ardently, like he was afraid you’d fall out of his grasp again. 

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few moments before he closes his eyes, feeling like a thousand pounds just lifted off his shoulders. He was light-headed, the warmth of your touch he craved so much felt like paradise.

“I’m sorry too, I just- I got so hurt but I never should have left the way I did,” You sob, not caring how you looked like. “I love you, Leon, more than anything. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re lacking or that your baggage will ever be too heavy for me to carry with you. I’m not perfect either- I have my own shit, I have my own issues as well, but I know you’ll be there to help me out.”

You wipe at his eyes and he captures your hand, kissing it tenderly before intertwining his fingers with yours. “I promise I’ll be better,” He looks at you with commitment, his gaze unwavering and honest.

You smile, pledging to do the same. You trap his warm face in your palms and kiss him lovingly on the lips, your heart soaring. He deepens it.

You knew there were still going to be countless of bumps in the road ahead of you and Leon, some small, some big, and some worse or as worse as this but, no matter what, out of the billions of souls in this earth, it’s only him you’d ever love this way.

[chanagun]

Helianthus

Chapter 1

Fandom: SEVENTEEN (K-Pop) Pairing: Seungkwan/DK (Seungkwan/Seokmin); Woozi/Hoshi (Lee Jihoon/Kwon Soonyoung)

Summary: Jihoon is in the hospital, Soonyoung is stressed, and Seokmin is just trying to keep the peace. Seungkwan helps run his parents’ flower shop and Hansol is very tired. It starts with a bouquet and there’s a few black eyes along the way.

Notes: A Call Call Call MV AU A present for my dear sweet Sven. Please keep inspiring me.

Sven has the idea for the whole plot and I have quite a few LINE screenshots to prove it. She wrote the beginning of the story as well and I wanted to finish it for her. For you, bean. 2,048 Words

AO3   ——

“Are you sure you want to get him flowers?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure that’s what Jihoon wants?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin rolled his eyes and unclasped his helmet before getting off his bike. No matter what he said, Soonyoung was adamant not to listen to him. Trying to convince Soonyoung was pointless, but Seokmin would be an awful friend if he didn’t at least try. He sighed. “Well, I think-“

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Seokmin.” Soonyoung cut him off, making them both a little bit more annoyed.

“Why don’t you just visit him in hospital? I’m pretty sure- “

“Stop.” Soonyoung interrupted again.

Seokmin huffed, “I’m just saying, Jihoon would appreciate your presence more than a present your broke ass can’t even afford. I highly doubt he likes flowers, anyway.”

“Well, he does”, was Soonyoung’s flippant answer and with that he thrusted his helmet at Seokmin’s chest, who struggled to catch it before it hit the ground. Soonyoung walked off towards the flower shop, determined, only to stop just short before making it there. Seokmin followed close behind, watching as his friend took a deep breath.

“You didn’t see him, Seok. I may have been drunk and fucking useless that day, but I remember all of it. If I had kept my fucking mouth shut like he asked me to-” Soonyoung swallowed and shook his head.  “He’s hurt because of me. Do you know what that feels like?” he turned around to stare Seokmin dead in the eye. It made Seokmin’s skin crawl uncomfortably. After a moment of silence, Soonyoung’s shoulders sagged and the angry expression on his face turned into a look of regret. “He probably doesn’t even want to see me right now. He told me it wasn’t worth it. He told me not to start a fight and now he’s in hospital because I didn’t listen. You have no idea what that feels like. I thought they’d kill him. Hell, they might have if Hao and Jun hadn’t shown up when they did. I was terrified. I still am. I could have gotten him killed, Seok.”

“Jihoon wouldn’t have let that happen, you know,” Seokmin said softly. Soonyoung nodded absentmindedly as he sulked.

A week prior, Soonyoung had invited his dance crew out for drinks. As always, Jihoon had tagged along even though he never particularly seemed interested in drinking or spending time with the boys. But he liked hanging out with Soonyoung, hence coming along frequently. The night had been going fine until Soonyoung had caught the attention of another group of guys across the bar. Soonyoung was too drunk to control his mouth even though Jihoon had tried to get him to settle down. He ended up pissing them off anyway, earning a black and blue shiner on his eye. Once the tussle started, Jihoon jumped in to save Soonyoung. It was an all out brawl that had to be broken up by Jun, Minghao and bar security. Chan called the cops and an ambulance, seeing as Soonyoung was unconscious and Jihoon was in even worse condition. He held his own though, the others guys being handcuffed at the bar.

“I’m just scared he hates me. So you gotta take the bouquet to him. Test the waters, you know?” Soonyoung finally said before pushing the door open to the flower shop.

They were greeted by cool air tinged with a fragrant aroma. Seokmin smiled to himself, immediately in awe of the store. It was larger than it looked from the outside; the counter stood right in the center of the shop and was surrounded by different decorations and greenery. “I didn’t even realize this place was here. We’re across the street all the time at the cafe.” Seokmin said. Soonyoung hummed in response.

Seokmin felt his annoyance with Soonyoung melt away as he breathed in the flora. He always loved the smell of the flowers his mother would always keep fresh in his childhood kitchen. Her favorite had been peonies but he was always a big fan of the sunflowers. He peeked around the counter to browse as Soonyoung traveled right up to it to ask for help.

He wandered, making various stops to gawk at the  springtime displays, until he found the sunflowers. They were being cared for by a boy in a long green apron and the softest looking blond hair Seokmin had ever seen. The boy turned and sent a genuine looking smile to Seokmin, accentuating his round cheeks. Seokmin melted. “Can I help you?” the worker asked.

“My friend is buying, I was just looking for my favorite… to, uh, look at. It’s the sunflowers, so,” Seokmin explained before laughing nervously. The worker took a step forward, biting his lip. Seokmin could read his nametag - Seungkwan - and smiled bright. There was a new brush of color on Seungkwan’s cheeks as he motioned for Seokmin to go to the sunflowers. “Thank you, Seungkwan!”

“Y-you’re welcome!” he spluttered before briskly walking towards the back room that Seokmin hadn’t noticed before. Seokmin swallowed hard, trying to ignore his own blushing face. He waited 0.2 seconds before practically running to meet Soonyoung at the register.

The other worker - Hansol - according to his nametag, was ringing Soonyoung up for the bouquet of multicolored carnations that was resting on the counter, wrapped nicely in paper and ribbon.

“He said carnations are good for apologies,” Soonyoung mumbled to him.

“I think I just met the love of my life,” Seokmin mumbled back, earning a swift punch to the arm. “You’re lucky you already have a black eye or else I’d give you one myself.”

“Shut up Seok.” He replied, both smiling.

Hansol quirked an eyebrow, but just took Soonyoung’s money and put it in the register. “Thank you, have a good day.”

“Thank you, come back again soon!” a voice called from the back room and Seokmin almost tripped over his own feet on his way out.

“Dear lord.” Soonyoung rolled his eyes.

.

Jihoon’s head jerked to the door upon hearing the knock. He sunk back down into bed when he saw Seokmin was alone. “Where’s Soonyoung?”

“Oh don’t get dejected on my account,” Seokmin teased. “He… can’t make it. But he wanted me to bring these to you,” he continued, holding up the flowers. Seokmin couldn’t help but noticing Jihoon’s sad eyes widening at the sight. He held his good arm out, making him look like a kid in the hospital bed with his matching pout on his face. Seokmin placed the bouquet gently in Jihoon’s scraped palm. It was quiet for a moment.

“If you tell anyone I like flowers, I’ll kill you. It took ages to build up this tough demeanor,” Jihoon whispered to Seokmin, making him chuckle.

“It’s kinda hard to hide you’re a big softy when you look like a scowling baby,” Seokmin teased, pulling up the extra chair next to Jihoon’s bed. He was unexpectedly greeted with a pillow to the face once Jihoon put his bouquet to the side delicately.

“If I wasn’t stuck in this bed, I’d kick your ass,” he scowled.

“Oh, I have no doubt. But I’m taking full advantage of this unfortunate situation. What’s the damage, anyway?” Seokmin said, resting his chin on his hand. He stayed quiet while Jihoon took a deep breath. He wanted to give his friend the time he needed.

“Well, I pretty much broke my entire right hand,” he started by holding up his casted arm weakly, “and then they got a few of my ribs and bruised the hell out of the rest of me. They wanted to keep me here to monitor in observation for a little bit. A few days, probably,” he sighed. Seokmin’s bright smile did little to cheer up Jihoon. He fiddled with the ribbon for a moment before he spoke again, voice cracking slightly, “Seok, where is Soonyoung?”

“He’s afraid you hate him. I couldn’t convince him--”

“I’d never hate him.”

“I know.”

“He won’t answer my texts, either, Seok.”

“What?” Seokmin asked, louder than he intended. “Okay. That’s crazy. I need to go talk to him,” he continued as he got right back up off his seat and turned to the door. Jihoon stopped him with a sigh. “What?”

“Don’t force him. Just let him know… I miss him? I guess?” Jihoon said, not making eye contact. Seokmin couldn’t help but smile softly at him; he really was uncharacteristically gentle in that moment.

“I’ll tell him,” Seokmin replies just as gentle right before there was a knock on the door and Jisoo entered.

“Hey guys,” Jisoo started, pulling out his blood pressure cuff from his scrubs pocket, “time for vitals, Jihoon.” Jihoon just nodded and let Jisoo take his good wrist. “Oh, Seokmin did you bring flowers?” He asked with a smirk.

“I’m just the delivery man,” Seokmin laughed, knowing Jisoo could assume who they were from. “How are you? I feel like I’ve only seen you a few times since uni.”

“Shifts are long,” Jisoo answered, shrugging, before taking Jihoon’s chart and writing down some numbers. “Jeonghan and I just moved in together, too, so he keeps me occupied.”

“You dog ,” Jihoon interjected.

“Not like that, you nasty,” he chuckled. Jisoo looked again at the cuff, his smile disappearing. “Jihoon, your blood pressure is a bit low, how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine. Besides the pain in my hand and ribs obviously,” Jihoon answered, brow furrowed.

“Any lightheadedness?”

“No, not really.”

Seokmin watched the interaction back and forth, biting his lip. Soonyoung should have been there.

“Let me know if you do feel faint, okay? I’ll update Dr. Kim and I’ll be back in a bit.” Jihoon just nodded and watched him go. Seokmin sat back down in his chair, not wanting to leave Jihoon alone. He pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Soonyoung.

DK: The smol grump said he misses you. At least text him back you mopey ass. He’s your best friend.

Hoshi: I thought you were my best friend

DK: we both know that’s not true

 The room’s quiet aura of buzzing lights and a softly beeping heart monitor was interrupted when Jihoon’s phone ping ed with a notification. Seokmin rolled his eyes fondly at the small smile finding its way to Jihoon’s face.

 .

“Hansol-”

“Seungkwan I swear to god if you bring up those guys again I’m going to walk out and you can close up the shop by yourself,” he said, interrupted his coworker. Seungkwan huffed and stayed quiet for a moment as he swept the floor.

“Okay but Hansol I swear,” Seungkwan started, only lasting 10 seconds without talking, making Hansol groan loudly, “that one guy came in and gave me the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. He just shined... he was so bright; he's like...” Seungkwan scrunched up his nose in consideration, making Hansol groan again.

“A sunflower?”

“YES! Exactly! And I showed him to the sunflowers! How perfect is that?”

“How much trouble would your parents get into if I murder you in their shop, you think?” Hansol answered, still closing up the register. Seungkwan scowled.

“They wouldn’t get in trouble, you would. Because you killed your best friend, you absolute curmudgeon. Can’t you just appease me?” he huffed, sweeping the same spot for the twentieth time.

“Seungkwan, I love you, but you have that ‘love at first sight’ with every other guy that comes in here,” he said, making Seungkwan frown. “And those guys rode up on motorcycles with their fancy leather jackets- who do they think they are?”

“Looks can be deceiving. You’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover you know. Your brother, and his friends ride motorcycles, too.” Seungkwan grumbled.

“Kwannie, the guy buying the flowers had a black eye. Your sunflower boy threatened to punch him again, I heard it. They seemed like bad news. Now come on and finish sweeping, I’ll treat your to ice cream if you finish in the next five minutes,” Hansol bribed.

Seungkwan snorted out a laugh before he dramatically ran around the store with the broom, wailing about how he didn’t have enough time. He couldn’t help it if he smiled by the sunflowers on his lap around the store.

[loadingluke]

Days 2-4 post op stage 2

Hey all, here’s a little update on how I’ve been going. Just warning in advance I’ll be talking about some sensitive topics so if that makes you uncomfortable read with caution. Unfortunately the nature of all of this surgery stuff is pretty gross and tmi, but I thought I’d warn you all the same since we’re here now 🤷‍♂️

SATURDAY

Day 2 I would say was my hardest day in hospital, possibly even including stage one to be honest. I was feeling pretty weak and uncomfortable with 3 cannulas in one arm and an iv machine that would just not shut up if I moved my arm at all. I was given a bed wash and that made me feel a lot cleaner, and I brushed my teeth and had some mouthwash, which always makes me feel at least 12% better. I got out of bed for a brief second and sat in a chair. I really wasn’t feeling up for much more, and with the pca, iv, catheter and all the padding I really didn’t want to walk too far at all.

I was still feeling kind of woozy and tired from the bloods from the day before and wasn’t eating or drinking all that much. I started feeling quite nauseous around lunchtime, and nothing really seemed to shake it. I had some anti nausea medication but it didn’t help too much unfortunately. Around dinner is when I started throwing up. I was sick once or twice, and then I felt a little bit of nausea relief for a few hours before it started up again. It really got to the point where I didn’t have anything coming up but I just wasn’t stopping 😫 I was feeling pretty emotionally and mentally wiped, barely drinking or eating and just waiting for it to pass. We believe I was having a reaction to one of the antibiotics I was taking, and by giving me an anti nausea med about half an hour before the antibiotic I felt much better. Over the course of the night I slowly started feeling better, and my vitals started to actually settle and get a little more regular. Everything was up from here to be honest, and since then things have been pretty peachy.

SUNDAY

After my monster of a night I was hoping for a little more relief from day 3, and thank the penis gods this was granted. The difference 24 hours made was night and day. I felt more alert, a lot less sleepy, I had more colour in my face and I felt tons better. I got out of the bed again, and managed to take myself to the bathroom to sponge bath myself, as well as brush my teeth, put on deodorant and change into a clean gown. Afterwards, managed to have a bit of a walk around the ward, dragging along my IV machine which surprisingly chose those moments to behave.

I had the pca and oxygen taken down, and my fluids were drastically reduced once I was able to keep my food and drink down. The drain coming out of my abdomen that was draining my scrotum was also taken out as nothing was draining from it (yay). The catheter wasn’t bothering me much either, so I was feeling pretty great to be honest. I spent most of the day pottering around, I got myself up a few more times, including to go and make myself a cup of tea (a feat I am still very chuffed about and excitedly told Maddy about (thanks for being patient with me, I love u)) I had a visit from a family friend who bought me some flowers and my hospital guilty pleasure that for some reason I always get a craving for, avocado and cucumber sushi. It was nice to see someone I knew and it definitely lifted my spirits.

I got myself off to bed and slept most of the night. The one downside was my IV. I don’t know if I mentioned, but I needed to be cannulated a second time for my blood transfusion, and unfortunately since they were both so close together it was all kinds of uncomfortable. Well, over the few days, as well as me moving, this cannula just would not quit. One of them started leaking and had to be removed, and the one remaining just seemed to jump out of my vein any chance it could get, meaning the iv was having difficulty properly draining. I swear the machine was going off every 2 or 3 minutes no joke unless I kept my arm in the exact same position. The nurses ended up wrapping my arm up with some gauze and a tubigrip to keep it all (somewhat) in place. This, coupled with me literally not moving a muscle, and I started getting a very stiff arm and neck which made it even harder to fall asleep. Also, one of my nostrils decided it was the perfect time to get blocked right then and there, so it was not great getting off to sleep. Once I was asleep though, I slept pretty solidly. I woke up for my obs, went back to sleep, and then woke up again because the machine screamed at me. I couldn’t get back to sleep for a couple of hours because of it, rip. Honestly don’t know how the nurses deal with them. Every time they go off I want to throw it out the window. Eventually I fell back asleep until about 7:30am.

MONDAY

Monday morning I woke up to Dr Goossen coming in for my my morning check up. He wasn’t in for long, and mainly explained what will be happening over the next few days for my discharge, and when I’ll be getting the padding removed. He said he was happy with how everything looked, prodded me a few times and asked if I could feel it (I could) and went on his merry way saving more lives I assume. I had my cannula removed and was taken off the IV machine (thank god) and then I hopped on over to the bathroom for my morning freshen up (at this point I’m getting pretty good at it all if I do say so myself) and then I had my mum and sister come to visit. It was really nice seeing them, and I’m honestly very glad that they didn’t come any sooner because I was in no shape for their energy until today. We ended up getting a wheelchair and going for a little walk downstairs. It was really nice to get some fresh air, and I had a hot chocolate which I enjoyed. After being outside for about 45 minutes I was suddenly feeling pretty wiped and I was taken back to my room. I had a bit of a power nap, and they went home. They’ll come back to pick me up tomorrow for discharge.

The rest of the afternoon I have to say I felt pretty gross. Now that I wasn’t feeling faint or nauseous anymore, and since the padding has been there for 4 days, I started to become uncomfortably aware of its presence. It feels very much like a cup that would be used in contact sports to protect someone’s balls, and it goes right between my legs and up quite high near my butt. This understandably has made navigating bowel movements rather uncomfortable. I managed to without much of an issue luckily, but I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.

I was talking to a nurse and they said they have a running joke that they’d be able to know right away if they were getting a Christmas present form Goossen, because it would be more like a pass the parcel. Honestly, when I was told this, I cracked up because it is so true. There is soooo much tape and padding, it’s honestly so overwhelming. It was the same for stage 1, so I don’t really know what i expected, but it’s really hard to see anything that is going on down there as it’s just a maze of gauze and tubes, so I’m just trusting the nurses and Goossen that they know if it was going in a way it wasn’t meant to. I have to say I did have to fight my brain a bit today, as that feeling of the padding is uncomfortably similar to the something experienced monthly before starting testosterone. Logically I KNOW that it is definitely not the same, but the padding + draining from all the wounds made me feel pretty rough. I think having it sitting there for 4 days has also made it feel pretty gross anyway, so I am counting down the seconds until I get that removed and all cleaned tomorrow morning. This was all bad enough, until I started noticing a little bit of leakage from the urethral catheter, which was awful smelling. It’s not too constant, but was enough that I noticed it and felt EXTRA disgusting. Then some of the padding started falling apart, so a nurse grabbed me a pair of hospital underwear to just hold it all in place. This is fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. ☹️. I’m just telling myself it’s only 12 or so hours until it’s all gone and I know I’ll feel tons better.

The afternoon was pretty uneventful besides one moment when I started feeling like I was getting bladder spasms. I have had these once before after my hysto, but surprisingly was fine for s1. I think I normally would have been okay, but since I was already feeling pretty gross I freaked out a little. I started worrying about the next 3 weeks and how long that would feel if I was in constant pain. The pain was starting to get more and more intense, and I felt like I was busting to go to the toilet. A nurse happened to come in as I needed to have some obs done, and when she had a look at the catheter it seemed to have been blocked or kinked or something. A little bit of a wiggle later and 800mLs flowed through completely fine, and completely relieved my pain. After that I felt much better. Nurses are heroes.

FINAL THOUGHTS

That’s about all that’s happened so far. One thing I haven’t touched on really is the pain, and honestly I’m managing really well. Pain hasn’t passed above a 2 or 3, and I’ve not had anything but Panadol and a one a day anti inflammatory for at least 48 hours. Most of my difficulty has come from the nausea and my low blood pressure, and once that was sorted I would say I was more uncomfortable than in pain.

In saying that though, I definitely underestimated this surgery. I think after overestimating stage one (which I knew would be hard and don’t get me wrong it was rough) but I had a very smooth and quick recovery following my first procedure and I’d heard some pretty horrid stories about how rough it was going to be, so I ended up feeling like it ended up being easier than I expected it would be. I was told that stage 2 would be a lot easier than stage 1 and in some ways it was, but in other ways it was harder. That second day was really hard on me and definitely the worst surgical experience I have had by far. Once I bounced back from that it has been a lot easier compared to stage 1 sure, but living through it at the time it just felt overwhelmingly difficult. My advice is to make sure you take every day as a baby step, and little by little you’ll get through it.

A picture is worth 1000 words, first one is from day 2 post op, feeling my absolute worst, second is from day 4 post op with my mum 😊

Let me know if you have any questions, I’m always happy to help 👍

[auberginesdonthavelimbs]

Phanniemay Day 16: Animals

Word count: 1953

TW for discussion of a minor lingering injury

Hanabusa’s day had started … if not particularly well, then at least fairly normally. She got out of work late, which meant that she had missed her usual bus. The next bus would come in forty minutes, but walking would take only thirty minutes. It was cold, but not raining, and, anyway, she could use the fresh air after a long day inside. She started walking.

Along the way, Hanabusa noticed the Axiom Labs building. She would have just kept walking, like any other day, but for the sound. Yelling, coming from inside. She stopped, listening. Should she see what was happening? Call 911? She hadn’t been deliberating long when the first ghost flew out of the building. Hanabusa didn’t recognize him, but, then, she made a point of avoiding ghosts, usually. He was big, and his hair was, as far as she could tell, actually green fire. She noted idly that he looked rather more like a robot than a ghost. She did not notice the vial of liquid in his hand.

Less than a second later, a second ghost followed. This one she did recognize - the town hero, Danny Phantom. Well, she thought, if he’s here, then the situation is more or less in-hand. Eager to get away from the ghost fight, Hanabusa started walking again, her pace nearing a jog. She tried to ignore the sounds of blasts and shouts coming from just above her head. Maybe, she would think later, if she’d been paying attention, she could have avoided the glass vial that landed directly on her head.

There was a brief moment of silence as Hanabusa and the ghosts all tried to process what had just happened. Hanabusa was standing absolutely still. There was a sharp pain at the crown of her head, and she could feel something dripping down through her hair. Slowly, she raised her hand and touched the liquid. She saw, when she pulled back her hand, what she expected to see - blood. But there was something else, too. A glowing green liquid that she couldn’t begin to identify but was absolutely certain was a bad thing.  

“What did you do!” Hanabusa looked up. Danny Phantom was yelling at the other ghost.

“What did I do? You shot it out of my hand. This one is all you, whelp. And since you just destroyed the one thing I came here for, I think I’ll just leave you to clean up your mess.” The robot ghost turned to fly off, but then he paused and looked down ant Hanabusa, who was still staring at him with a frozen expression. The ghost smirked. “I hope you like animals, human.” Then he flew off, leaving Hanabusa alone with her thoughts.

“Shit, are you ok? You’re bleeding.” Oh, right. Her thoughts and Danny Phantom. Hanabusa turned to find that he had landed next to her. He looked scared. “I think the cut is just superficial, but there’s broken glass and … I don’t know what, so I’d feel better if you let me take you to a hospital.” It took Hanabusa a second to realize that that was a question. She nodded.

Unfortunately, her time at the hospital was about as eventful and elucidating as the trip over. Which is to say, not. Danny Phantom had no idea what the green liquid was, except, ‘ectoplasm, I guess.’ He said that it was certainly a ghostly substance of some kind, but he didn’t know what, or how it would affect her. The doctor said much the same thing, only longer and worse. He did also take the broken glass out of her head and then sew her skin back together, though, so she couldn’t complain too much.

After taking some ibuprofen, Hanabusa’s headache was starting to fade, but she still felt a little woozy. After weighing the options, she decided to cover the half-mile between the hospital and her apartment by bus. It would do no good to hurt herself further by fainting during the walk back.

While she sat at the bus stop, she heard a chittering sound behind her. It wouldn’t have been so unusual on a nicer day, but it seemed a bit late in the year for chipmunks and the like. Hanabusa turned. There was a slight rustle of bushes, but she didn’t see anything. She turned back around, shrugging. The activity of the local rodents wasn’t really her concern. By the time she got on the bus, the incident was entirely forgotten.

The rest of the evening was pretty boring. Hanabusa had leftovers for dinner, checked her emails but didn’t respond to any, and did laundry. Then she watched Netflix for long enough that it asked her whether she was still watching, and she said no, because she probably shouldn’t be at this hour. She sighed because she knew she had to get up for work tomorrow, took another ibuprofen, and went to sleep.

It was raining when she woke up. Cool. The incessant patter of raindrops against the window was bringing her headache to the fore, and she briefly considered just calling in. But she only had so many sick days and, really, it wasn’t all that bad.

More than the headache, Hanabusa was somewhat concerned by the tingling feeling that covered her entire body. She’d felt it yesterday, too, only much less pronounced. Whatever that ectoplasm stuff was doing, it seemed like it might be getting stronger. But there wasn’t exactly anything that Hanabusa could do about it, so she got dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and headed out. Huddled under her umbrella, she didn’t notice the bird that followed her, watching her until she got on the bus.

She thought that she might go the whole day without having to talk about yesterday’s unpleasantness. But, just before lunch, one of her coworkers, Penny, decided to stick her head over the cubicle wall.

“Hey, Hana, have you seen … what the fuck happened to your head?” Hanabusa rolled her eyes.

“Nothing serious, I’m okay. What did you need?” Penny just stared for a second.

“... I was going to ask whether you’d seen Ty. He’s not at his desk.”

“No, I don’t think so, sorry.” Hanabusa went back to what she was doing, but she could still feel Penny’s eyes on her. “Was there anything else?”

“You have stitches! You can’t just say it’s nothing, so what happened?”

“There was a ghost fight, and I got hit by some debris, that’s all.”

“A ghost fight? Is that why you’re glowing?” Hanabusa’s eyes snapped up to meet Penny’s.

“Is that why I’m what?” Penny gestured vaguely.

“Glowing, sort of. I don’t know. You just look … brighter than what’s around you.”

Hanabusa looked at her hand. Penny had a point; her skin was in sharp contrast to the cubicle wall behind it, and to the shirt covering it. She looked like a bad photoshop, where the model was in totally different lighting from the environment. Now that she was seeing it, she wondered how she could have missed it before.

“I … yes, I suppose that’s why I’m … glowing. I got hit with some ectoplasm, apparently, and I guess it makes people glow.” Hanabusa thought back to the moments just after the fight. That robot ghost had said something to her. Was it something about her skin glowing? … No, she recalled. It was about animals. ‘I hope you like animals.’ What did that have to do with anything?

“Hey, maybe you should take the rest of the day off.” Penny looked genuinely concerned, but Hanabusa shook her head.

“No, no, I’m fine. I already went to the hospital, and there’s nothing wrong with me.” She looked at her hand again. “But it’s basically lunch time, so maybe I’ll head out now. Go for a walk, get some air.” Penny nodded.

“Yeah, you do that. And if you need some extra time, I’ll cover for you.” Hanabusa was about to say that she didn’t need to do that, but then thought better of it. Instead, she nodded gratefully, grabbed her purse and umbrella, and went outside.

As it happened, it wasn’t raining anymore, so she shoved the umbrella into her purse. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going. She’d left her lunch in the break room fridge, and wasn’t inclined to buy food. She supposed she really did just need a walk. Luckily, her building was close to a park. Well, not that close, but Penny did say she would cover for her.

It was a nice park, the kind with actual trees and such, instead of just manicured lawn. Hanabusa didn’t have much of a green thumb, but she did find it calming to be surrounded by nature. At least, she always had before.

For one thing, the gloom caused by the combination of the overcast sky and the tree cover made the glow of her skin all the more obvious. For another, the tingling sensation that she had managed to ignore for most of the day felt stronger out here. Hanabusa rubbed her arms, simultaneously trying to warm herself up and to somehow dispel the odd sensation. She was unsuccessful in both endeavors; her skin continued to prickle, and she only seemed to be getting colder.

Hanabusa’s eyes were suddenly drawn to movement in the trees, but whatever had been there was gone before her eyes could focus. She felt like she was being paranoid, but she decided that now wasn’t a good time to be ignoring her instincts. She turned and started walking back out of the wooded area, moving at a brisk pace. There was movement in the trees again. And again. Hanabusa kept her eyes down, but her peripheral vision caught flashes of something - or things - that seemed to be glowing. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Hanabusa’s own skin seemed to be getting brighter, too, as though it were powered by adrenaline. She supposed that was possible, for all she knew about what was happening. What she did know what that there were things on either side of her, now, that were following her, and those things seemed to be ghosts. Giving up on dignity, Hanabusa broke into a run to clear the last twenty yards of the forest. She felt intuitively that she would be safer in the open.

Despite her fear and the throbbing pain in her head, Hanabusa found that she actually still had some dignity, after all, when she passed the tree line and found herself back in the sparsely occupied park. She slowed to a jog, and then a leisurely walk as she tried to catch her breath. After she had gotten her heart rate down to only three-quarters of a mile a minute, Hanabusa steeled herself, and then casually glanced behind her.

She was greeted by the sight of two squirrels, a bird, and a cat, all following at a respectful distance, all green, and all glowing. She wasn’t able to stop herself from screaming, but, even as she did so, she had to admit that the group wasn’t exactly intimidating. They, or she, did manage to scare off the other few people in the park, though. Hanabusa was left alone, staring at the small assemblage of ghost animals. As she did, another glowing green bird from who-knows-where flew down to join the concourse.

The robot ghost’s words echoed in her mind again. I hope you like animals, human. Hanabusa cocked her head, then smiled. She walked over to the little group and knelt beside the ghost cat. She raised her hand cautiously. The cat leaned into it and meow’d pleasantly.

“You know what?” she said to no one in particular, “I do.”

[justatiredghost]

Unsolved Academy Ch5

Klaus and Dave get sidetracked but eventually manage to get back to work filming their ghost hunting show.

-

“Are you sure about this?” Dave asked, keeping pace with Klaus as he marched down the street, showing no sign of slowing.

“Don’t try to change my mind,” Klaus said, not even glancing over at him. “Because I’m already way too close to turning around and going to that hole in the wall Thai place we passed a few blocks back instead.”

“Ooh, I could go for some lunch,” Dave said.

“After. Diego hasn’t been getting anywhere with this whole murder case thing and I feel bad just sitting around at home knowing I’ve got direct access to the ghost witness.”

“It’s only been a couple days, I’m sure they’ll get somewhere eventually,” Dave said.

“Yeah, probably. But in the meantime there’s a killer wandering around out there who might hurt someone else. It’s fine, I just have to talk to a screaming murder victim that barely has a face, no big deal.”

“Hey, hey, babe, just stop for a second,” Dave said, taking his hand and giving it a gentle tug. Klaus reluctantly obliged, turning to face him. “This is a good thing you’re doing and I’m with you on it, I’m just worried about you. You sure you’re okay?”

“I know, I know,” Klaus looked away guiltily. “I promise I’ll be fine, it just caught me off guard last time is all. This time I’ll be okay.”

He hated how he’d made Dave worry after their last run in with the ghost. Dave had spent the entire time at his side, just being there for him and Klaus hated that he still needed that kind of help. It felt like he’d lost all progress, like he’d never get any better. They both knew he had a habit of pushing himself when he was frustrated like this, and to be honest he kind of was, but that didn’t change the fact that this still needed to be done.

“I’d tell you not to push yourself too far,” Dave said, giving his hand a brief squeeze, “but I know you’re not gonna listen to me anyway so let’s go kick some ghost butt!” He pumped his fist in the air making Klaus laugh.

“Jeez, Dave, we’re not gonna beat the ghost up,” Klaus said, grinning at him.

“Why not? It sounds fun,” Dave joked as they continued walking down the street, at a more leisurely pace now, Klaus feeling infinitely more confident with Dave’s hand still in his own.

“Okay, maybe we can fight a little. Just until it realizes it’s dead and agrees to actually be helpful instead of just wailing. I already have a headache and that will not help.”

“Would it help if I screamed back? Maybe it'll be so confused it’ll stop.”

-

“All right, all right,” Klaus announced as he barged through the doors into the police station. “I’ll do it.”

“Klaus?” Diego said, standing up from his desk. Several other police officers glanced over, but they were more or less used to Diego and his weird family by this point. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve decided, graciously, to talk to the ghost of the victim for you so you can find that murderer,” Klaus said magnanimously. “Please don’t thank me, I’m only doing my duty.”

“Isn’t he amazing?” Dave swooned, playing along, although there was a bit too much affection there for it to all be an act. “So selfless and brave!”

“Now now, Dave, I’m only doing my duty as a citizen,” Klaus said, patting his cheek.

“You’d make an amazing detective,” Dave added.

“Well, obviously, but we don’t want to put the entire police force out of a job, now, do we?”

“Ah, wise as well as brave,” Dave sighed.

Diego made a face, clearly displeased by their dramatic display, but he hadn’t objected yet.

“So, dear brother of mine,” Klaus said as he came to a stop in front of Diego. “Shall we get this show on the road?”

“You realize we can’t actually use the statement of a ghost to arrest anyone, right?” Patch said as she joined them, gesturing for those less subtle to stop staring and get back to work.

“No, but it might give us a better idea where to start,” Diego said with a grimace. “Come on, let’s go get this over with before I realize how stupid this is.”

“Good luck,” Patch said.

“Wait, you’re not coming?” Diego said. “You’re gonna leave me alone with them?”

“Hey, they're your family,” Patch shrugged but she was grinning.

-

Klaus didn’t exactly want to go back to the scene of the crime, but he felt a sort of responsibility to help, both to the ghost and to Diego. With Dave there, holding his hand, it made it easier to face the gruesome sight. He was used to gore and violence so this wasn’t exactly something he’d never seen before, but that didn’t make it any easier.

It was still terrifying and upsetting and he knew he’d have nightmares about this. He just tried not to look directly at the ghost’s mutilated face. Once he was able to calm the ghost enough for him to realize he was dead, Klaus did his best to relay whatever information the ghost could provide, including any answers to questions Diego had. Honestly, Klaus didn’t know if any of this would actually help the ghost rest, or get him to at least not follow him around for the rest of his life, but at least it might get one more killer off the streets.

As they talked, the sound of the blood dripping onto the tile floor felt like it was slowly drilling into his skull, particularly unfair considering there wasn’t actually any blood. At least no blood any living person could see. But he was using his abilities and they always left him feeling ill and light-headed with a vicious headache so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Then again he was thankful irritability and a headache was the worst he had.

By the time they’d gotten what they could, a vague description and the location where the actual murder had taken place since the body had apparently been dropped here, as well as some petty and cliche motive, Klaus had a full-blown migraine, leaving him nauseous and wincing at the sunlight as they stepped outside.

“Thanks bro,” Diego said, punching him gently on the arm. “We’ll get the guy now.”

“You better,” Klaus joked, unable to muster up much more of a comeback. He leaned heavily into Dave who wrapped an arm around his waist to help support him. He breathed deeply. The fresh air was helping, but the sunlight was not.

“You guys want a ride?” Diego offered.

“Nah, we’ll be fine, I think I could use the walk,” Klaus said.

They stayed where they were, waving as Diego drove away. Klaus bunched a hand in Dave’s shirt to keep himself upright, feeling sick to his stomach and shaky. He felt a little hysterical with how close to a panic attack he knew he was and he felt so so drained. He hated using his abilities. And he hated ghosts.

“Why’d you lie?” Dave asked once Diego’s car disappeared around the corner. “There’s no way you’re walking anywhere for a bit at the very least.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want him to see this,” Klaus said. He didn’t exactly want Dave to see it either, but he’d already seen Klaus at his worst, this wasn’t anything new.

He turned around and dropped to his knees, heaving onto the grass, his stomach empty enough that it was more painful than anything. Dave made a distressed noise and dropped down beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. When he finally managed to compose himself, Dave handed him a water bottle. Klaus took a tentative sip, not positive what his stomach could handle for the moment, and tried to clean himself up.

“How are you doing?” Dave asked.

“Oh just peachy,” Klaus said bitterly and immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Thank you.”

“It’s fine, love,” Dave chuckled. “It was a stupid question. You wanna get out of here?”

“Will you carry me?” Klaus joked, batting his eyelashes at him.

Laughing, Dave lifting him up and into his arms before placing a kiss to his cheek.

“Wait, no, I’ve changed my mind!” Klaus said, clinging to him, feeling woozy. “Put me down!”

-

It was dark out, the only light in the room coming from a little night light Ben had given them that slowly cycled through the colors of the rainbow in a way that Klaus found soothing. It was nice to have on nights like this when he couldn’t sleep. The ghosts calling his name and begging for his help were still there, but they sounded more distant than usual which was a blessing. He could even almost block them out entirely if he focused on the sound of Dave breathing where he lay with his head against Klaus’ chest.

He brought a hand up to wrap a little more securely around Dave, hand resting on his arm as he let his thumb brush back and forth across his skin. He thought Dave had long since fallen asleep and didn’t want to wake him, but then they both often suffered from nightmares and sleeplessness so he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Dave eventually broke the silence.

“I hope I didn’t sound like I was doubting you this morning,” Dave said, voice hushed as he looked up at Klaus, the colored lights playing across his face making him look radiant.

“Of course not,” Klaus said, voice also quiet as he smiled at him. There was no need to whisper but somehow it always felt like he should when it was dark like this. Or maybe it was old habits from another time, stolen moments and conversations when they really did need to stay hidden.

“You’re amazing,” Dave said, taking Klaus’ hand briefly to place a kiss to his fingers. “I know I worry and sometimes I wish you were a little more selfish so you didn’t have to be so strong all the time, but I really am proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

“Strong, yeah, sure. I’d say throwing up on the lawn is a great indication of how I’m doing,” Klaus said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“It is when you just got done doing something impossible like talking to the dead,” Dave said. “I know it’s hard to see sometimes but you really are doing great. Needing a hand now and then doesn’t change that. And I’d be happy to pick you up again and make it worse if you need,” Dave added with a quiet chuckle.

That got a laugh out of Klaus. “Yeah, thanks for that,” he said. “But really, thanks for coming. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

“Nah, you don’t need me,” Dave  said dismissively. “You woulda been fine.”

What?” he sat up a little and Dave glanced away as if afraid to make eye contact. “Dave, I hope you know— I mean, you know what I was like when we first met. I never would have even considered getting sober before. Without you— you make me want to be better.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Dave said, grinning at him.

“Oh? You think I’m exaggerating?” Klaus said, rolling Dave over so he could straddle his waist, leaning down to place kisses across his face. “Is that what you think? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?”

“Who told you that?” Dave said, horrified. “If I’m the smart one we might be in real trouble.”

Klaus laughed and settled down against Dave’s side. “I mean, if the position for the smart one is open, I guess I can fill it, but I should warn you, my life is filled with bad decisions.”

“Oh good, I’m not the only one,” Dave said, chuckling. They were silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Just so you know, you make me want to be better too.”

“You’re already perfect,” Klaus said. “You put up with me, after all.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, voice dreamy, not an ounce of sarcasm to be found. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

It was nice, getting back to work. Klaus had desperately needed something to do and he’d spent way too much time lying around. Thankfully the perfect opportunity fell right into their laps. Allison had actually suggested it which was a bit of a surprise. She was here in town filming and had talked her producer into letting them have the run of the creepy building the film took place in for the night. For once the sort of publicity Klaus and Dave would bring would actually be beneficial for a change. Everybody wins.

At the moment, Ben and Vanya were still setting up cameras so Dave and Claire were playing while Klaus and Allison stood together watching nearby. Dave was pretending to be some sort of monster as Claire brandished a stick as a sword, ready to do battle. What might have been a dramatic scene was only slightly ruined as Claire giggled hysterically at Dave’s overly dramatic monster impressions and dinosaur noises

“I’m glad you and Claire could make it out here,” Klaus said. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah, and I know Claire’s enjoying getting to know her family,” Allison said, chuckling as she watched her daughter. “You guys seem to be doing well for yourselves.”

“Yeah, who would have thought?” Klaus said, also smiling.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Allison said quickly. “I just meant--”

“Hey, I’m as shocked as anyone,” Klaus said, wrapping an arm around Allison’s shoulders and giving it a brief squeez. “Who would have expected me of all people to become a functioning member of society?”

“I’m just happy for you.”

“What about you? Back on the acting scene, I see.”

“Yeah, it feels like life’s finally getting back to normal,” she said. “Just gotta avoid making the same mistakes as before.”

“Yeah, I’m right there with you on that.”

“We should probably get started before we lose the light,” Ben called.

“Yes!” Claire said, pumping her fist as Dave got up off the ground where he’d been ‘dying’ with the stick tucked under his arm. The two of them returned to Klaus and Allison hand in hand. “Uncle Klaus, Uncle Dave, can I be in your show too?”

“Do you even know what it’s about?” Klaus asked although he was flattered that Allison had apparently told her what they were up to.

“Of course!” Claire said. “I love your show!”

That took Klaus by surprise.

“Wait, what?” Dave said in dismay, hand on his forehead. “You watch our show? Klaus, do kids watch our show?”

They all turned to Allison. She cringed.

“I didn’t show it to her, I didn’t think it was appropriate for her age, but everyone at her school was watching it so it was only a matter of time.”

Dave muttered something in Yiddish Klaus didn’t understand as he rubbed his face.

“Please oh please?” Clarie said. “None of my friends believe I know you both!”

They all turned to Allison

“Don’t look at me, I don’t mind,” she said, nudging Klaus goodnaturedly. “All the harm’s already been done after all.”

“Okay,” Klaus said to Claire. “You can be on the show so long as you remember that we are professionals.” Ben chuckled at that and Klaus waved him off as he continued. “You aren’t to do any of this yourself, got it? I don’t want to hear about you running off to sleep in some abandoned building or something.”

“I promise!” she said looking excited.

“And we’ll promise to try to tone down the cursing,” Klaus whispered as an aside to Allison.

“What else have we done on the show?” Dave said, looking increasingly panicked. “Klaus? What other terrible things have we done on the show?”

Allison couldn’t help but laugh.

-

(Next chapter)

[queerbaitingjuce]

Metamorph - Chapter 3 - Part 2

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, staring distantly into his coffee. “Yes, it is.” He turned to face him, nursing his hot cup. “It’s my fault.”

Alfred frowned at him disapprovingly. “Now, whatever gave you that impression, Master Bruce?”

“He’s doing this because of me,” babbled Bruce guiltily, uncharacteristically. “He said he wants to show me how I hurt him. The people that died in the arson attacks, the woman... they’re dead because of something that I did to him. And it eats me inside, and I can’t find the person or the words to let it out.”

Alfred adjusted his glasses, looking stern. “You have no evidence to suggest that you did anything as of now, Master Bruce,” he said. “So blaming yourself and getting all worked up is foolish. If you start thinking like that, then you’ve let him win. He wants you to feel terrible. Don’t feed into his desires with distress.”

Bruce took a long sip of his coffee. It burned his mouth. He didn’t care. “You’re right,” he conceded, swallowing his distress to be replaced with a spark of resolve. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Maybe it’s time to retire?” Alfred suggested.

“I can’t. I found plenty of evidence that needs analysing immediately. He keeps killing. I don’t have any time to waste, Al.” Bruce sighed, taking another sip of coffee. Caffeine zipped in his nerves, but he was so exhausted it barely made a difference at all. “You can go to bed if you want. It’s late.”

Alfred shook his head. “Maybe it would be wise to contact Miss Kyle and ask her for her assistance in this case. She’d make a useful ally, what with her abilities.”

Bruce sighed impatiently. “Alfred, Selina and I are on bad terms,” he pointed out, taking a larger gulp of coffee to bide his time. Selina was a touchy subject; they, at this point, had a mutual disrespect for each other.

“Master Bruce, I know how you feel about each other-”

“I don’t feel anything for her,” said Bruce firmly. “She was a friend once – if that – but I have never had any romantic feelings for her.” He added sternly, “And I didn’t sleep with her that time in her apartment, no matter what Harvey said.”

Alfred blinked in surprise. “Master Bruce-”

“Sorry, Alfred.” Bruce rubbed his eyes with his hand, torrents of frustration intensifying his exhaustion. “It’s just frustrating that everyone always claims there’s a romantic bond between us – you, John, Gordon. And there isn’t.”

“I understand,” Alfred said. “My apologies, sir. I saw Master John head out into the garden,” he told him evasively. “He looked forlorn. I dare say he needs some company right now. You can join him while I analyse the evidence.”

Bruce could have hugged him. But he didn’t. He only said, “Thanks, Al.” He finished his coffee and put his cup in the sink with a clatter.

“Oh, and take this with you,” said Alfred, holding out an expensive, imported bottle of red wine.

Bruce was surprised, because this was Alfred, and Alfred liked to store the wine he bought for special occasions, not the odd drink on a glum October night. “Are you sure?”

“Well, we’ve run out of whiskey, and this is the next best thing...” Alfred’s face softened imperceptibly. “Trust me. He needs a drink right now. And so do you. So go. I’ll take over in the cave.”

“Thank you, Al.”

“Take some teacups. Dreadfully, all the wine glasses need washing.”

Bruce took the mugs and the wine outside, where John was sat on the rim of the new instated fountain, his feet in the water. As he came closer, basking in the quietness and the fresh chilly breeze of Gotham’s nighttime, John sighed, and it was true – he looked desperately forlorn. Bruce kicked off his shoes, and, without a second thought, he sat on the edge of the fountain and dug his feet in, consumed in his company. The water was cold, cold enough to shock his skin. The air was heady with the smell of tequila, and sat next to John, on the fountain, was a refilled wine glass of it.

“I brought wine,” he said awkwardly, because what else was there to say? He suddenly envied Alfred’s eloquence; Alfred, who was always composed; Alfred, who always knew what to say. He wished he knew what to say, because he ached sweetly to comfort him. The ache shocked him, honestly; he, never in a thousand years, would have thought he’d genuinely care so vehemently about John Doe, not now, not ever. He’d never experienced an ache this strongly for a person, either; not anyone outside of family, anyway. Well, except for maybe Harvey, but he’d been his best friend once; of course Bruce had cared for him. He still did, in a more distant kind of way.

He supposed it had only been a matter of time before he’d let John wholeheartedly into his heart. Despite the dastardly Joker episode, John was a sweet soul. Curious. Excitable. Caring. Selfless. Sick – regretfully sick. There was something undeniably loveable about John Doe, though, something his sickness couldn’t take from him. Bruce would have been heartless to not adore his swelling, warm soul eventually.

John stopped staring miserably at his own reflection, and looked at the mugs perched on the fountain. He looked puzzled. “Are they... mugs?”

“Ah, well... yes.” Bruce stared accusingly at the mugs, wanting them to disappear. “The wine glasses were all in the sink.”

John stared at him for a long moment... and then threw his head back and laughed.

Bruce was perplexed. “What?”

“Oh, buddy!” he howled, wiping hysterical tears from his eyes. “I just can’t stay miserable around you!” He smiled at him. “Bruce Wayne, drinking wine from a mug... I never thought I’d see the day.”

Bruce peeled the metallic film off the top of the wine bottle and opened it, inhaling the sweet-bitter smell of the wine. It smelt familiar; of nights in his office, and the cave, drinking from wine glasses; of galas, and dancers whisking into each other as he drank; of his parents’ breath as they laughed during parties; and he inhaled it boldly until he could practically taste it, serving it into the mugs expertly. “Why not?” he asked, a little defensively.

“Because,” said John laughingly, “drinking wine from mugs is practised by middle-aged mothers who break out the cheap wine while their kids are in bed!” He gave a pause, his smile ebbing. “Well... they do in movies, anyway.”

Bruce shrugged, and picked up his mug. “It doesn’t matter what cup it’s in,” he rejoined to quell his embarrassment. “It still tastes good either way.”

“True that! Hey, I’ll drink to that!” John laughed, picking up his mug and knocking it against his clumsily. Wine sloshed out of it, but John didn’t seem to notice. His breath was bitter with tequila.

They both drank. The wine was lovely, and the air smelt of it, tart and warm, and the water felt warmer now that he was getting used to it. He wiggled his toes and sighed, exhausted but, for once, content. They sank into a companionable silence for a short while, enjoying their wine and the scenery: the cropped garden, carefully tamed; the groomed roses, the shaped bushes, what lay beyond the manor’s supreme gates. And then Bruce felt inclined to ask something, because, really, what friend would he be if he didn’t? A bad one, and the point of them working together was to prove he could be a good friend – if John returned it with equal dedication.

“John?”

“Yes, bud?”

“Something... earlier...” No. That was the wrong way around. Bruce thought for a long while, planning his sentence before he said it. “Earlier, in the house, something was clearly bothering you. I mean, more than... you know... seeing the woman did.”

John sighed, looking like a deflated party balloon. “Got it in one, buddy,” he said glumly. “But why are you bringing it up?”

“I just wanted to... check in, I guess?” And then he scolded himself for making it sound like a question, but John didn’t seem to blink twice. “I mean, I wanted to check in.”

John took a deep drink from his mug, smiling at him patiently. “Well,” he said softly, “thanks for doing that, buddy. I know that doing that is outside of your comfort zone.”

Bruce embraced the smile, tentatively returning it, even though it felt a little forced. He drank a bit more wine, letting the alcohol warm him on the inside, and waited for him to talk... if he talked at all.

“Well... I don’t know, buddy... It’s hard to explain.”

“Take your time, John,” Bruce encouraged quietly.

“I guess I just... I saw your face when you saw her. That moment before you covered it up, the moment you really saw her for the first time, the moment where the invulnerability disappeared. And I hated it. I hated that face in indescribable ways, buddy...” John paused, overcome, and started doing his breathing exercises.

Bruce patiently waited, finishing his mug off. He refilled it, the splash of the wine hitting the bottom of the mug sounding exaggerated in the silence, while he thought about what John had said. He didn’t have a lot of thinking time.

“I’ve killed people, too, buddy.” John grimaced. “The agents... among other people. Some of them to hurt you, just like he’s doing.” He looked down into his drink, his expression tinged by remorse. “You spoke about the killer like he was a monster. And I can’t help but think that, while you had that face, and spoke in that voice, I’d done what he had done. But you forgave me.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve that.” He looked at him sideways. “I’m just like him.”

“You’re nothing like him.” Bruce knew there were similarities, the drive to kill people for the sake of getting to him, the gory violence – but John was different. He knew that; he believed in that. So he believed his own words as they came out his mouth. “This man, he is faulted and cruel. You’re...” He paused, uncomfortable, but John was looking at him expectantly, and he felt inclined to press on. “You’re, you know... kind. Selfless. Playful. Enlightening. Loving. John. And people like him? They don’t understand that, much less how to be that.”

John frowned. Bruce thought he looked lovely in the ribbon of moonlight, and the thought made him feel woozy and confused. Or maybe that was the wine... “I just feel like I don’t deserve to be part of this investigation as your sidekick,” he sighed.

“You said you wanted to help me. Have you changed your mind?”

“No, not at all!” John held up his hands. “Geez, buddy, who do you think I am? Working with Batman, it’s been an honour!”

“But...?”

[puppetwritings]

Lost Traveler || Mingyu || Oneshot

Word Count: 2247

Genre: fluff, witch!au

Summary: You didn’t think witches were the scum of the earth, but you definitely did not have a very great opinion about them. That is, until you get lost in the forest and meet one.

Minghao // Woozi // Wonwoo // Seungcheol // Junhui // Hoshi // Joshua //

You had always heard about the guardian in the forest but you never really believed it. It was all just rumors. Why in the world would a witch spend all their time in a forest, guiding lost travelers to safety? You found it unlikely. Witches were the most powerful being on earth and must have better things to do than that. You could imagine maybe this witch passed by often and he did the easy deed of guiding travelers the right way but actually staying around and helping? Impossible. No one is actually that nice. That’s what you believed.

You weren’t cynical about the goodness of a person’s heart, but you also didn’t have a high regard for witches. The witches in your city were all prim, proper, and stuck up. They expected the best of the best even when they don’t actually deserve it. They sat on a high pedestal and acted as gods and you, for one, felt that they were hell’s workers and not the gods’ messengers. So you had an excuse to hate on witches. And it was a good one.

This story about the helpful witch in the forest never affected your life though. You lived a perfectly fine life in the city with your parents and your younger brother. You liked walking down the stairs of your apartment and going to the small coffee shop next door that served delicious bagels. You liked the hustle and the bustle; you like the confined yet unspoken freedom of the city. You had no thoughts of venturing through the forest to the countryside. None at all. You were content and safe where you were. But things never really go as planned, do they?

You were sat, eating breakfast and fooling around with your younger brother, when your parents walked over to where you two were. You looked up and you immediately knew that something was up. They had that guilty look in their eyes--the one that had you cancelling your plans on a Saturday night just to babysit your little brother.

“So,” your mother’s voice trailed off. She cleared her throat and glanced at your father.

“We,” his voice also trailed off. This was their thing. When they weren’t sure how to break some bad news to you, they’d pass it off to each other word by word until some crucial bit of information leaked out and you exploded or they hurried to explain themselves. You decided to save them the trouble.

“What’s up?” you asked in the most cheerful voice possible, ignoring the foreboding atmosphere.

Your father cleared his throat again. “We, uh, we need to talk to you about something.”

You nodded. You figured.

“It’s about,” it started again. Your mother’s voice was trailing once more.

“What? What is it?”

“Your grandma wants to see you.”

“Alright.”

“We agreed to let you live with her for the summer.”

Your eyes widened and your jaw nearly dropped to the ground without permission. You loved your grandma--really! You did!--but the thought of spending an entire summer with her, in the countryside and away from the city, just didn’t really sit well with you.

“It won’t be that bad,” your dad said hurriedly. He nudged your mother.

“Yeah! It really won’t! It’s just another month before school starts and then you can come back,” she quickly added.

“So,” you paused, trying to take in the information, “I’m going to live with grandma for a month?”

Your parents nodded, ecstatic at the thought.

“Who’s going to take care of him then?” you pointed a thumb towards your six year-old brother.

“We will! We have no plans during this month.”

You frowned hesitantly.

“It’s good for a young girl to get out and get some fresh air. You stayed cooped in your room and in the stuffy city too much,” your dad reasoned.

You weren’t so sure about that. The city air smelled and felt perfectly fine to you. But you agreed. Reluctantly. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice anyway; your parents would have forced you to go whether you liked it or not.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” your grandmother said, pulling you into a tight hug. You smiled, hugging her back before she pulled away, “I have your old room cleaned and ready for you.”

You thanked her and followed her with your things towards your old room. It was the same as it was when you were younger and had to stay over at her house often. Your old toys stayed in the same place on the shelves and on the bed. Your pictures books were still stacked (albeit arranged neater) on your small desk.

“Well, if you’re planning on visiting often, we may need to change out the furniture,” your grandmother joked.

You shrugged, “I think it’s still perfect.”

You grandma smiled gratefully and patted your back. “I still have some things to do but you can go around outside and see if you can make any new friends. Your parents tell me that you haven’t been leaving the house often?”

“I’m just tired, grandma. I have too much work to do at school,” you shrugged helplessly.

“Well now is the time to go out and take a breather! Who knows,” your grandma winked, “Maybe you’ll even see a cute boy.”

You laughed and nodded, putting your things in the corner of your room before you followed her back out and slipped on your shoes again. You headed out of the house as your grandma instructed but you really had nowhere to go. All your friends from childhood had moved away from the countryside to go to better schools in the city. The people left were their parents or aunts and uncles or grandparents. And you didn’t find the thought of talking to these people very pleasant. Backed into the corner with no one to talk to and nothing interesting to do, you turned your attention to the fabled forest. The one with the friendly witch guardian.

It wasn’t a long walk from where your grandma lived but it was still more walking than you were used to. Things were very spread out and there were few people around. It gave you an unsettled feeling.

When you got to the forest, you came to the conclusion that people were just making up stories to make the little children in this town feel safer. This forest was definitely not guarded by any guardian. It was creepy and felt different from the things that the city witches guarded. The things that were guarded by the city witches were pristine, obviously safe, and had a warm touch to it. This place? No way.

But you ventured in anyway. Out of curiosity and pure boredom.

The forest was like any forest. Large and dark with a lot of trees and foliage. It wasn’t surprising. Honestly, nothing in the countryside had surprised you yet. It was all expected and boring. You wanted to go back home already.

You continued your little adventure and moved deeper into the forest until your phone couldn’t even get signal anymore. You sighed and decided to turn back but when you turned around...the path was gone. Or maybe it wasn’t gone but you couldn’t see it anymore. Had you strayed from the path without realizing?

You felt a panic beginning to rise in your throat. What were you going to do? Were you just going to wander here forever? You didn’t know what sort of animals preyed in this forest and you weren’t sure just how often travelers passed through. Those stories of travelers were old--stemming from older generations and their experiences. If there was a forest guardian, he would have long retired by now and you highly doubted the newer generation would take him up on his boring job of standing around and waiting for lost people.

You let out a frustrated sigh and turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning the ground for possible traces of the path you had been walking. None.

You checked your phone again and slowly began moving in one direction. No signal. You began to move in the other direction. Still, no signal. This was great. Your first day here and you were already lost.

You sighed and looked around again. It was still bright out and it was noon. You had plenty of time. You picked on direction and began walking, hoping it was the correct way back into the same town you had left.

It was short but you soon came to the conclusion that you were just walking in circles. That rock--you were sure you had passed by it six times already. You chose another direction and went that way. This time, you didn’t circle back but for some reason that just made you antsier.

You paused in the middle of the forest and looked around again. Still bright out but still no sign of a path to follow. You groaned, running a hand down your face. You were lost. Terrible, horribly--

“Watch out!”

You turned at the sound of the voice and you were met by someone flying into you, knocking you out of the way. You looked up and saw a snake, hovering near you. You were about to scream when you felt a large hand fall over your mouth and a voice whisper into your ear, “It’s harmless if you don’t threaten it.”

You nodded and watched as the young man got up from you and carefully walked over to the snake, politely redirecting it away with a stick. The snake hissed in annoyance and the young man apologized sheepishly before turning back to you. You were still laying on the forest ground. He smiled a strangely brilliant, almost magical, smile, and walked back over. He held out a hand and waited until you took it and he pulled you up.

“That was a close one. The snake isn’t that poisonous at all but it’s never fun to be bitten by one,” the young man said.

“Poison…” you shuddered slightly at the thought.

He smiled again reassuringly, “You wouldn’t have died.”

“Right.”

“I’m Mingyu,” he held out his hand and you took it, giving it a firm shake. “What’s your name? Are you lost?”

“I’m Y/N and yes,” you admitted sheepishly. “Terribly lost.”

Mingyu grinned, showing off his sharp canines, “Good thing I know the way out.”

Your eyes lit up, “You do?” but then you paused. “Wait...how do I know you’re not some weirdo?”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at your sudden accusation and he smirked, offense obvious in his gleaming eyes, “Why would i be some weirdo?”

“I dunno, why are you walking around in the forest?”

“I’m the guardian,” Mingyu said, straightening. “I was doing my rounds.”

“You’re the guardian?” Mingyu nodded.

“But I always imagined the guardian to be…”

“My grandpa was the first guardian. I’m the second,” Mingyu explained. He looked around and then turned back to you, “We can walk and talk.”

You nodded and followed him, curiosity piquing up now. “So, you’re a witch?”

“Yep.”

“Are you part of a coven?”

“The Diamond Coven,” Mingyu said. He glanced at you, “It’s, uh, different from the one my grandfather was in but it’s a good one. Reliable.”

You nodded, not quite sure what it meant to be a reliable coven. “You guys have, like, patron animals, don’t you? What’s yours?”

“Mine’s a wolf,” Mingyu replied proudly. “Like my grandfather.”

“And your specialty?”

“It takes a lot to beat me. You could say that I’m,” Mingyu hesitated and tilted his head, “Invincible? A normal sword or bullet can’t hurt me.”

You oohed, “That’s pretty cool.”

Mingyu glanced at you and smiled. “You seemed like such a non-believer but now you’re asking me all these questions.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that I didn’t believe--witches are obviously real and anyone who denies it is just stupid--but I just didn’t think you were the forest guardian. That’s all.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so.”

Mingyu chuckled at your mildly childish response and you hmphed, turning away and looking back to the path. You were almost there. You felt a slightly sinking feeling in your stomach and Mingyu must have sensed it.

“You can come visit me if you want,” he offered.

“Huh? Oh, can I?”

“I actually live in the next town,” Mingyu said. “But since my grandfather cared so much about this forest I figured I’d visit it once in awhile…”

“So, to visit you I’d have to go to the next town?” you asked.

Mingyu thought for a moment and smiled, “You can just come to the forest. I’ll sense you.”

“Can’t you just give me your number or something?”

Mingyu shrugged, “I dunno. I don’t really give my number to suspicious weirdos that wander around the forest in the middle of the day.”

You scrunched up your face and Mingyu laughed.

“Next time! Next time, I’ll give you my number,” he promised. “I forgot my phone. I wasn’t expecting to meet such a cute person today.”

You pursed your lips and found your cheeks warming up at Mingyu’s sweet words.

“We’re here,” Mingyu announced and you looked around you. You were. You turned back to him. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is,” you nodded.

Mingyu flashed his sharp canines again and turned, walking back into the forest. Maybe...witches weren’t all that bad after all.

[ghostradiostoryhour]

Slay

Once a month, every month, we go to the club and we slay. Let the smooth edges of the music slide across our exposed shoulders like silk, like Britney’s snake, like the arm of a lover we’vejust met. We come home with blood in our mouths, fur on our knuckles still receding. The thin cuts from breaking fresh and red down our hands and arms, our chests and faces. Our jaws and teeth sore, still a little swollen from the transformation. We throw on some fresh clothes, dump the bloodied ones in the outside trash. We text a time to meet for brunch and then we all sit together, pushing our eggs around our plates like it’s nothing, this monthly trauma, like we’ve just gotten our periods and oh my god are we all finally on the same cycle? We laugh because we are still coming back to our bodies, because at first humor is the only kind of consciousness that is tolerable. And it is quite the joke, isn’t it? Werewolf drag queens? The stuff of B-horror movies, sexploitation films. But here we were, real as the mimosas in our manicured hands. Last month, one of us joked that we felt long in the tooth, and we all threw our heads back to howl.

           We never thought of ourselves as mutants, but I guess some people saw it like that. We were in constant transformation, but hadn’t we always been? Hadn’t everyone always been? To be human wasto change. We had reached a higher plane. We tucked, we stuffed our bras.If we had to, we filled our veins with hormones. Some of us cut away at ourselves, with the help of doctors or razors, whichever felt more like home, whatever homewas supposed to be. We broke ourselves to make the breaking a choice. We were family.  

We are the best of the best, we are the house that dominates the drag scene. We kill as long as we have the stage and a murderous pair of heels and a damn good song. We spin, and we let the beaded fringe of our skirts rattle over our thighs. We throw the long hair of our wigs out over our shoulders and then pull our hands up our silk-smooth, shaven legs, careful not to let our fresh red nails snag the fishnets or the nylons we wear. We smile and the whole crowd melts. They look and they look and they look and we let them. We strut out to take the dollar bills from the bachelorette parties and the straight-but-curious and the oh-no-not-me-I-could-nevers and the liberal anthropologists and the best friends and the beards and the hags and the drunks and the allies and the whole entire spectrum. We are radiant, and this—killing—is how we can afford to stay radiant.

           Slaying is our one night off, because who can work knowing that the bodies we love so dearly, the changeable bodies we maul and remold and fight against and show off with, are about to break open? So on nights when the full moon rises high in the sky, we slip on a sparkly red dress or a slick new suit, and contour and tuck and bind, or sometimes we slay simply as we are, unedited. So many of us feel out of place in our own skin, even when we change at night, even when we become something closer to who we really are. The one place we feel at home? That’s on the dance floor at our favorite bar, Tits Up, a drink in one hand and a new lover on the other.

           Under the half-dome of the ceiling, the spinning disco ball threw multicolor lights across ourfaces. All around us, sharp-lined eyes flashed like pinpricks in the dark bar. Even in the dead of winter, skin was everywhere, moving in time with the music, and we were no exception. We liked to dance against the moon, until we could feel our milk teeth pushing out from the base of our gums. When we could take it no longer, we’d hand our heels to a friend, andshuffle out, discreet as we could.We’d run down the alley at the end of the block, to the parkon the water that closed after sundown. Then it was a quick dash under cover of the trees to the nearest abandoned construction site, far from the eyes of the bustling nightlife. Then we’d break open, tears in our eyes, the streaks from our mascara only more shadows in the light from the moon.

           We knew our history. House LaBeija. DuPree. Xtravaganza. We were respectful to our elders. We were old school, or we wanted to be.Weall had different styles: femmes and kings and butch queens and comedy queens and then there were some of us that were just starting out. But of course we were all the same, so we made our own house.

We were the House of Breaking. The House of the moon. The House of blood and bite and bone. Nobody, not even the horror queens, wanted to be in our house, but that didn’t mean we didn’t command their respect. People in the drag community knew what we were, and they kept an open mind, or they kept their mouths shut, anyway.

           One night, we were out at a show, one night. A Williamsburg show, in a newer place.

           A lunatic had made the country his bitch.His white men in red hats wanted a fight, had the gall to shout slurs and declare themselves proud Nazis on camera, and still they cried that they were the oppressed. They needed protection. The look in their eyes frightened us. Us! Creatures of fur and tooth and claw, creatures of unknowable strength. But we were petrified. Because we knew the look well: bloodlust.

           That night, we were leaning against the wall of the club, out for one lastsmokebefore moonrise.Aman, white as Florida beach sand, in a bright red baseball hat, turned on to the street. He was with a few friends of much the same ilk, though they did not have the hats to match. They laughed easily, telling a long-winded story about something basic. We tensed a little, armor on, and the youngest of us, the stunning Miss Maya Condios, bared her teeth.

           The man approached, and as he walked we took all of him in: his look (middle-aged dad), his scent (sweat and cornchips and Aqua Velva), who he was wearing (nobody, maybe Massimo for Target), whether he could hurt us (yes). When he got close enough, Maya tilted up her chin and glared down at him imperiously. She blew him a kiss.

           “Fucking faggots,” the hat man snarled, and launched a thick glob of spit at us. It landed on Ursa Major’s breasts, smearing the contour applied there. And that was it.

           Maya leapt on him, sunk her teeth into hisshoulder, and drew blood. We knew, because it spread like an opening black bud on the white pique cotton of the polo he wore. And because of the unearthly shriek he let forth. His two friends fell on Maya, landing punches left and right, but she dug her teeth into that shoulder and growled, the dark curls of her wig swinging wildly as the man spun beneath her, trying to shake her off. We leapt into the fray, the largest of us prying the men apart from each other, the smallest of us pulling at Maya, begging her to stop. We liked this club, it was good money. We didn’t want to be banned, especially not on account of some homophobic asshole.

           We broke apart, a clump of brawlers glistening with sequins and sweat, and glared at each other. Some of us held Miss Maya back. We could feel the breaking starting beneath her skin. Her arms were shaking with rage, with the coming change boiling in her blood.

           “Get her out of here,” one of us said, and the others obliged, rushing Maya down the street and into a dark alley where she could break peaceably, a place away from the leering crowd that had gathered, a place free of reflective surfaces. Maya, always the high femme, hated to watch herself break. She couldn’t bear the masses of fur that sprouted from her knuckles and the way her petite fingers lengthened and gnarled into paws with dirty yellow claws. The stretch and distortion of her face, her nose. The contour would be all wrong, her perfect makeup suddenly a garish mistake on such a wolfish head. As we watched her duck into the alley from our places outside the bar, we could hear her cry, a low mongrel whine.

           “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

           The indignant tone in the man’s voice brought us back. It wasn’t the man who’d been attacked, who was looking a little woozy. That was the way it was. He would break later tonight, guaranteed. He had caught it, and you always broke the night you were bitten. We exchanged nervous glances. It wasn’t our way to leave a fellow breaker unsupervised, but it also wasn’t our way to take in so called Proud Boys. Most often, we bit when in the throes of passion, not out of hate or righteous indignation. And there was no easy way to separate this man from his friends.

This was uncharted territory.

           “Your friend fucking bitGarrett,” the one man kept saying. “Bit him.”

           “What the fuck,” Garrett said, sounding a little weak. His other friend helped him sink to the bench outside of the club. He touched his shoulder and looked at the blood on his hand.

           “You better not have given him AIDS.”

           We had a few options. Killing him would be messy. A crowd was already gathering.

           “Faggots,” said one of them.

           That word again. We looked at each other. The oldest of us, Rhea Bilitation, stepped right up to the mouthy one, towering over him in her blue sequin leotard, her breastplate nearly touching his face.

           “Honey, do you know where you are?” she said, allowing a little of the growl into her voice. “This is New York fucking City, not Fargo or Topeka or wherever the fuck little shit town you call home. You want to call the cops? Do you knowwhat drag queens like us do to cops?”

           The man swallowed. Rhea was used to flexing her muscles in dangerous situations. She was the one of us with the most control over her breaking. The smell of the wolf—musk, woods, wet dog—pervaded the air. The man dropped his gaze and stepped back.

           “Yeah,” Rhea said. “That’s what I thought.”

           A twink across the street let out a cheer.

           “Now get your girl,” Rhea flicked iridescent nails toward the bleeding man on the bench. “And get out of here.”

           The men considered for a moment, but then thought better of it, probably because their friend looked so bad. They hoisted the bleeding man up off the bench and to his feet.  

           “Better go get that looked at, honey,” someone shouted.

           We really hoped they didn’t get it looked at. Exposure would be the end of us. If anything was true of America these days, it was that only so much difference was permitted, and even then on very rocky terms. Now was not a good time to be outed.  

           Rhea touched her short blonde wig and curtseyed to the gathered crowd, then yelled, “Now who wants to see me reallyslay?”

           Brunch the next day was tense.

           Yes, we had slayed, thanks to Rhea’s recovery, but we did not consider it a victory. At least, most of us did not consider it a victory. Others, including Maya—who looked a little worse for wear after breaking, but still glamorous as ever—were alive with excitement. We were fighting back. Hate could go and fuck itself.

           But some of us, the older ones, still felt danger crackling in the air. And more than that, we were less of a unit now. Less “we” more “me,” and that was how drag houses died.

           Some of us felt that this was no display of force, nor was it a win for love. Maya biting that man put all of us into danger.

           “We don’t have to take him in, do we?” Maya said, pulling the celery out of her Bloody. “I’m not babysitting that. Hell no.”

           “You should have thought about that before you decided to bite him,” Lex said, her pencil mustache from last night’s Gomez drag still Spirit Glued to her upper lip. She took a bite of her cheeseburger.  

           Rhea sucked her teeth. “Hopefully the problem resolves itself.”

           First, we had to get ready for our show. Same Williamsburg venue, with hopefully a different crowd. Tres LaVain squeezed into thigh high stiletto boots and a shocking white wig, and Lex prepped her Lady Gaga/Joe Calderone drag. Rhea went red this time, and Maya looked like a space princess from another dimension. Ursa opted to keep the Morticia drag from last night’s duo with Lex, but this time in irony. Williamsburg would eat that shit up.

           $2 PBRs, $3 wells, and the packed-house crowd was revved, bristling with bills ripe for the taking. Lex did a backflip off of the shoddy piano and tips rained down. Ursa’s death drop was amazing, and Maya landed a full back handspring into a split. Tres did an original comedy number about Jerry Springer. Rhea broke a little onstage, letting her face elongate into a snout and then when she turned around again, she was her regular self, only a little bloody. The crowd roared.

           We had all but forgotten about the fight.

           And then, at three AM, we walked out of the club, and there he was, caked in rust-colored blood. He wore the same white polo shirt, or what was left of it. He looked like death.

           “Please help me,” he said.

           We took him home with us. We piled into the subway and climbed out at the Myrtle-Wyckoff stop. On the way, we learned a little more about our guest: Garrett, no last name, though he did tell us he had a wife upstate and three young kids—two girls and a boy.

           We all agreed; his obvious fear—of himself, of us—made everything much less fun.

           “Relax, doll,” Rhea said.

           “You’re one of us now,” Lex said, and we weren’t sure how to feel.

           “I… I killed someone, or something,” he said. “I think, anyway.”

           “Alright, well, rule number one is discretion,” Rhea said sternly, as she unlocked the door to our apartment building. “Which means don’t talk about kills, or about breaking, while you’re still in the middle of a fucking street, especially not in motherfucking New York City, honey.”

           “Breaking?” he asked. Somehow, Garrett had the gall to speak after this reprimand. We exchanged major side-eye. It was a bad idea to fuck with Rhea.

           “Could you please shut up,” Maya said, under her breath. The door opened and we pushed him in front of us.

           “You live here?” he said.

           “Welcome,” Tres growled, and opened the door to the apartment.

           We tried to make ourselves comfortable in the living room. Ursa put a kettle on, like she always did when she was stressed. Garrett did not sit. He paced the length of the apartment, which made the whole scene tight and dire. It was not a good look. None of us were sure whether we should start getting out of drag or not, if we should start counting our money. The breach of trust that this man had created by entering our sacred space was more and more damaging by the second, and our resentment toward him—and toward Maya—swelled.

           “Okay, first off,” Rhea said. “Don’t fucking touch anything that doesn’t belong to you. This is not your home, and this is not your space. You are a visitor here, and you will act as such until we teach you how to handle the breaking. When we are confident that you have control of yourself, you will leave, and not come back.”

           “You’re experiencing Breaking,” Ursa said, bringing a tray of teacups and a steaming hot pot into the room and setting it down on the coffee table. She served us each a cup as she spoke. “At least, that’s what we call it. You’re a werewolf, for lack of a better term. We don’t really like to use that word—it’s reductive and dehumanizing—but that’s essentially what’s happening to you. You will break—turn—every month at the full moon. More often until you get a handle on the wolf inside you.”

           “How do I get better?” Garrett asked. We had clearly confirmed his worst fears.

           “You don’t,” Tres said, and sipped her tea.  

           “What do you mean? There’s gotta be a cure, right?” he said, voice cracking.

           Ursa poured him a cup of tea and pushed it into his hand.

           “I know it’s tough,” Maya said. “But we can help you—”

           “Fuck you,you’re the one who got me sick,” he spat.

           “Language,” Ursa said, as calmly as she could. She sat on the couch next to Maya and held her hand. Maya was trembling, trying to keep herself under control.

           “Rule number two: you treat us with respect, or we turn you out before you’re ready,” Rhea said with authority. “No more of this homophobic, toxic masculinity bullshit you’re serving. And trust me,” Rhea said. “You need our help.”

           Garrett glared at her. “Fine.”

           “Good,” Rhea said. “Managing this conditionis fully a matter of self-control. We will work with you—at our own expense, by the way, so you’re welcome—for the next few weeks to teach you how we handle the breaking, and what to do during a full moon.”

           “What if—what if I killed someone already?” Garrett stammered, fear again in his voice.

           Rhea leaned forward, pulled the man close to her, and sniffed. “This is deer blood. Lucky break. Now, call your family. Tell them your trip has been extended, that you’ll see them as soon as you can. And remember: discretion.”

           The man nodded and got up to go into the kitchen, dialing a number on his cell.

           “Don’t think we won’t kill you to keep ourselves safe,” Lex called after him.

           “Please,” Ursa interrupted. “I think we’ve had enough violence for now.”

Lex crossed her arms.

           Over the next few days, Garrett learned as best as he could how to control his emotions. Apparently, he had never felt like it was okay to even acknowledge his emotions at all, much less known how to control them. We would have pitied him for that, if it weren’t such a huge problem. He listened when he wanted to, which was more and more often. He and Maya became close. Terribly close. A little too close, we thought.

For a week, we ran Garrett through the gamut: how to control each break until he had found safe cover, where to stash extra clothes for the next day, how to gracefully back out of a conflict (some of us were still working on that one). The more he learned, the more optimistic and kind he became. The more human to us. We marveled when one night we came in to find him braiding Lex’s short hair in the living room, the two of them laughing at an old re-run of The Addams Family. We were even more shocked when the sound of glass shaking in the kitchen cupboards echoed through the apartment one night, and we peeked out of our doorways to find the blue light of the open fridge spilled out onto the kitchen floor, broken into long shadows by Maya’s bare legs lined up with Garrett’s. One of her broad hands pulling his bare ass back and back again against her body, the other buried in his sandy hair, his ear pressed hard against the freezer door, his face screwed up, small moans of pleasure from them both as they rocked against the appliance, Ursa’s many crystal vases clattering in the cabinets above. We exchanged looks as best as we could in the dark, then slipped back into bed.

When we got up the next morning, Miss Maya was sitting on the couch in the living room, a piece of scrap paper in her hand. She was smoking a cigarette, something she only ever did after someone dumped her.

“He left,” she said. She held up the piece of paper. Thanks for everything, three cold words in chicken scrawl. Tres scowled. Ursa climbed onto the couch with Maya, touched her knee. Lex was silent.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Rhea said, and poured herself a shot of tequila. And that was that. There was no news of Garrett for days.

Until there was.

           We were at brunch, after a particularly lucrative show the night before. We’d finished eating and gossip hung heavy in the air. It was almost time for the menu to change over to dinner, and all of us were feeling tipsy, loose and bright. All was right with the world, for the moment, at least.

           “That opener,” said Tres. “Do you think she knew her weave was all fucked?”

           “Her? Please,” Ursa reached out to touch Tres’s elbow. “Honey I don’t even know if that wasa weave.”

           “Girl needs some practice,” Maya agreed, smiling snidely. “And a mirror.”

           “Such shade,” Lex said and tutted, then smiled. Maya flicked the umbrella from her drink at her.

           Rhea didn’t say anything. She was staring at the TV above the bar.

Garrett’s face was on the news, along with the caption, SEARCH FOR SUSPECT CONTINUES.Our mouths dropped, and Tres gasped. Rhea waved and got the bartender’s attention. The screen cut to footage of helicopters circling a white clapboard house. Yellow police tape fenced off the crime scene. Police swarmed like ants on the yard.

           “Could you turn it up for a second?” she asked, her voice flat. We held our breath.

           The bartender nodded and turned up the TV.

           …earlier this morning, when police responded to a 911 call from a neighbor after they heard screams coming from the house,a male news anchor was saying. When authorities entered the house, they found the suspect’s wife, Sandy Keller, and the Kellers’ three young children, Christine, Megan, and Johnathan, had been slashed open and left to die in what is seemingly one of the most brutal murders that Rochester has experienced in the last decade. We go live now to Patty, who is on the scene. Patty?

           The report cut to a tearful interview with the neighbor, and we turned to each other. None of us knew what to say. Had we not trained him well enough? Did he not listen to anything we had taught?

           The TV showed a cop with a serious expression, giving some kind of official statement.

Our main suspect, Garrett Keller, is still at large. We have a warrant for his arrest. Anyone with information should call Rochester PD. It is not clear whether the suspect is armed, but he is considered dangerous, the sheriff said.

Rhea thanked the bartender and passed him a ten dollar bill.

“This is not good,” she said, and the rest of us nodded, suddenly sober.

We took a car home together. We were anxious and tense, and we needed to be somewhere it was safe to discuss logistics. If he did get caught, and he would, what if he outed us? What if he didn’t plan to out us, but he got hurt in the scuffle, and needed to go to the hospital? We couldn’t have doctors finding out about what he was, even if he did keep his mouth shut, which we didn’t trust to begin with. Where there was one werewolf, odds are there was another. Or five others, in our case. We didn’t want to split up.

“Maybe he won’t get caught,” Ursa suggested as the car pulled up in front of our building. Tres snorted.

“Yeah,” Ursa said, in a resigned tone. “You’re right.”

We thanked the driver and got out, started to walk up the steps to the door.

“Wait,” Rhea said with such authority that we all froze in place, our breath caught. Fear vibrated off us.

A shadow moved in the darkness of the alcove where the door to our apartment building was.

“Who’s there?” Rhea said.

The shadow stepped out into the light. Garrett.

He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood up, khakis and penny loafers. His eyes were wild, and his face and hands were still bloody from the morning.

Rhea tucked one hand into the pocket of her jacket, where she kept her cell phone and a switchblade.

“Please help me,” he said. “I have nowhere else.”

“Why did you kill them?” Maya said, her voice cracking. When we looked, we could see that she had started to cry. “Why would you do that?”

Garrett stepped forward and we all stepped back instinctively. His face fell. He seemed hurt by our retreat.            “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t want to be alone,” he said. “I was trying to turn them.” He glanced at Maya. “Like how you did with me.”

He stepped toward us and we stepped back. “I don’t know who I am anymore. After all this and then that night—“

“Don’t you darefucking blame this on that,” Maya growled. Lex reached out a steadying hand. “You’re the one that wanted to hook up to begin with.”

“I was confused—”

“So you went home and slaughtered your family?” Tres said. “Confusion doesn’t justify murder, you asshole.”

We were all quiet for a moment. A siren wailed in the distance. The wail became louder.

“You didn’t,” Garrett said, and Rhea held up her cell phone.

“I’ve had this text drafted since I saw the news,” she said. “I knew you’d try to come back here.”            “You’re my family,” Garrett said. “You said. We’re family.”

“No,” Rhea said. She turned and gestured to all of us. “Thisis my family. You are an unfortunate accident, one who only thinks about himself. You don’t know what it means to be in a family. You just murdered your own children, for fuck’s sake. How dare youtalk to me about family.”

He clenched and unclenched his fists, looked wildly at each of us. Then he settled on Maya.

“Baby,” he said.

Maya spat on the ground. “Don’t even fucking start with me.”

The cop car turned down the street and Garrett cursed, pushed past us to run, but it was no use. Soon the cop ran him down, threw his body to the concrete and read him his rights. We turned away. We never liked seeing anyone get arrested.

A few months passed. The news would not let up about the Rochester Ripper, the name they had given Garrett, thanks to the gruesome state he’d left his family in after he broke in front of them. His trial was widely publicized, and there was nationwide coverage of the grim affair. We had go bags ready, in case things took a turn for the worse, but even still, we weren’t sure where we could go that this nightmare wouldn’t follow. Europe, maybe. South America. But odds were good that if a werewolf craze broke out in the U.S., and there was even a little proof, we would never have a safe place to break in peace again. We would all end up like the Lady Twain, or worse. At best, we knew we would never see each other again. A whole pack, a drag house, is too easy to find. We watched the proceedings from our apartment, in a black mood.

Garrett took the stand. After he answered some basic logistical questions (where were you when it happened, why did you run), the information Garrett began to share made us tremble.

“Mr. Keller,” the prosecutor said with a voice like a knife. “Why were you in Brooklyn the night you were arrested? What were you doing there, a full five-hour drive from your home? Were you attempting to find shelter from the law?”

Garrett looked terrible. His months in jail had not treated him well. His beard was nearly full, and his blonde hair had become stringy and matted with sweat. He had scratches all over his face, arms, and hands. From breaking, we knew. According to the news reports, Garrett had been kept in solitary confinement out of safety for the other prisoners, and probably out of some cruel sense of retaliation. Some said he had even bene forced to wear a straightjacket, because of all the self-harming he was doing. We cringed at that. The idea of having to break inside of a straightjacket was more than horrible. We wondered how many bones he had broken in the process. From the looks of him, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“I was there because,” Garrett started, then looked down at his hands for a moment. We prayed he didn’t sell us out. “I was there to see some friends. People I thought were my friends. People who were trying to help me.”

“So where to? Canada first, then Iceland?” Maya said, her voice flat. She sat on the couch with her arms crossed, uncrossing them every so often to take a drag from her cigarette.

Lex put a finger up to her lips and hissed. We all listened, hard.

“According to the arrest report, the person who called the police was named Ryan Bisby, a local drag queen better known as Rhea Bilitation,” the prosecutor said, pacing the floor.

“He butchered my name,” Rhea grumbled, and Tres put a hand on her shoulder. “RayBilitation? What the fuck is Ray Bilitation? There’s no pun there, it’s not even pretty!”

“Mr. Keller, are you homosexual?” the prosecutor asked, a cruel twist of the knife in his voice. Garrett blanched, and he continued, “Were you having an affair with this person?”

“Jesus Christ,” Maya said.

“Here it comes,” Ursa said, and squeezed Rhea’s hand.

“Objection!” cried the defense lawyer. “This is irrelevant to my client’s case.”

“Sustained,” the judge said, surprising us all. Maybe she was our ally in the courtroom.

The prosecutor did not look amused. “Then what were you doing there?” he said.

Garrett took a deep breath, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Then he set his hands down and answered. “I just drove as far away from Rochester as I possibly could. I didn’t care where. I figured the city was as good a place to try to get lost as any, and so I went there. I picked the first house I got to and tried to break in. They came home too soon. I panicked when I saw the cops and I ran,” he said. “That’s it. That’s the whole story. I don’t know them. They seemed like good people.”

“Oh my god,” Rhea said. Maya shed a tear. Lex’s hand went to her mouth.

“He didn’t sell us out,” Ursa said. Tres narrowed her eyes at the screen.

The prosecutor looked skeptical. “Interesting,” he said. “So, you’d never seen them before you showed up on their particular doorstep that day looking for a place to hide?”

“Right.”

The prosecutor grinned.

“That is a truly remarkable answer, Mr. Keller,” he said, back to pacing, confident. “You see, the police received an anonymous tip from someone who mentioned they had seen you and some friends about three months before the attack. They saw you get into an altercation with a group of drag queens, including the aforementioned Rhea Bilitiation, outside of a Williamsburg gay bar.”

“Oh fuck,” Rhea said, and we were all thinking it, too.

The courtroom was silent, except for the sound of the prosecutor’s pacing steps. He stopped. “Well?”

Garrett came unraveled. He told it all, from the initial bite to the cohabitation to the training to the fucking to the killing. His eyes were wide, and the whole time, he clawed at himself, digging new red lines into the skin of his face. He did his best to explain the process of breaking—he was getting so worked up even talking about it that we thought maybe he would break right there, on camera, for all the world to see. But he kept it together, enough that he didn’t start to turn. When he was done, breathless and weeping, the court was silent once more.

Rhea turned the television off, her expression more tired than anything else. It was over for us, what we’d had here. We’d have to run. But not that day. We spent the rest of that day together, drinking and telling stories about our greatest shows. Smoking all of our cigarettes and draining what booze we had, music turned way up loud. We wanted to be together for one last day. We’d leave in the morning.

We rose before the sun came up, all of us dreadfully hungover, all of us packed and ready to go. Rhea fried up an egg for each of us. Ursa, tears in her eyes, poured cups of tea. One last meal. We were less ready to let go than we wanted to admit.

Tres clicked on the television.

“What’s the verdict?” Maya asked.

Tres flipped to a news channel covering the story.

ROCHESTER RIPPER PLEADS INSANITY,the screen read.

“Whoa, hey, turn it up,” Maya said, but Tres was already on it. Hope spiked in our hearts.

“And that’s the thing about these kinds of killers,” a dark-skinned woman in a smart suit was explaining. The description under her name read: FBI Agent, Criminal Profiler.“Sometimes they become so disconnected from reality, and the reality of what they’ve done to their victims, that they truly start to believe in an alternate reality, one in which they are the victim. One in which they have no control over their actions.”

The blonde news anchor nodded along. “It’s just terrible, what’s happened in Rochester,” she said. “But at least now the community is getting some justice.”

“And the killer is getting help from the good people at the Rochester Psychiatric Center,” the FBI agent agreed. “Rehabilitation is key in these cases. Perhaps by the end of his life, he will be able to come to terms with what he’s done.”

Rhea smiled. “You heard what they said: Rhea Bilitation is key in these cases.”

“So we’re not leaving?” Ursa asked, her joy evident in her tone.

“We’re staying right here!” Maya shouted. She unzipped her suitcase and dumped out the contents, spilling makeup and glitter everywhere. The rest of us did the same. We all felt so full of light, of justice. We looked around at each other, safe again in our home, with our family, in our House. We would go out and slay tonight, that was a given. But for now, we threw our heads back and we howled.

[vernon-luv]

Mr. HeadPhones Pt. 2 (high school au)

pt. 1

admin k: do you guys like this series?? please tell me so I can continue! it seems that you guys like it? 

disclaimer: swear words and some violence 

pairing: vernon x reader x joshua 

gene: fluff/angst

word count: 1.8

“If you need help with the project, then you can just ask me. I can help you with the project if you feel like it’s too much for you.” Joshua told you during lunch.

“Joshua, you don’t have to. You have your own project to work on.” Joshua tried arguing with you on helping the project since he didn’t trust Vernon.

It started off being a nice, kind gesture but after arguing for a while, your voices started to become louder, almost shouting at each other. 
“He’s not going to be any help Y/N! Just let me help you!” He gave you a serious look.

“Do you not trust me to do this on my own?!” You asked, feeling as is he looked at you like you were a helpless soul.

“Of course I trust you Y/N but I’m just saying…it’s better if I help you.” You scoffed. You couldn’t believe Joshua right now. Thinking back to the past times you’ve had to do things on your own, even then Joshua was there to help you.

Right then, you realized you’ve never gotten to do anything on you’ve never accomplished anything alone without Joshua’s help.

“Guys…calm down, people are staring.” 
“Whatever! When are they not?!” You yelled out of anger to Woozi. You felt a big horrible about it and wanted to apologize but in the moment, you couldn’t’ stand being near Joshua anymore. 
He could see the stress he caused you and wanted to comfort you. Joshua tried putting a hand on your shoulder but you back away, breaking Joshua’s heart a little.

You turned around and quickly left the cafe. “Y/N.”

Going out of the the cafe and heading out of the school, you expected to be alone to get some fresh air. Turns out, the one guy Joshua and you were fighting over was also there.

He had his classic red headphone on and sat on the table outside, near the field.

He was faced away from you and his music pretty much blasted in his ears. Vernon had no idea that someone else was in his presence.

You rolled your eyes at him though he had did nothing wrong to you, you were still upset about what just happened.

You knew if you yelled at another person, everything would just go downhill even more today, more than it already has.

Especially with Vernon, you shouldn’t yell. You wanted to prove to Joshua and everyone else that you can do things on your own without Joshua’s help.

You needed to be on good terms with Vernon so you can prove your point and get your project work done.

“Hey.” You finally spoke up but he didn’t hear. You walked up closer to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around to see who it was calling him, once he saw that it was you, He just fixed his headphones while turning back to go on his phone. You were jaw dropped at the rude act he was giving you.

You then proceeded to stand right in front of him yet he still doesn’t look at you.

You grabbed his headphones and that’s when he quickly short a death glare at you and gave you a horrible look. “Yah!”

“What’s so special about these anyway? You always have them on.” You asked, looking st the famous Vernon headphones you had in your hands.

“Give me it back.” He growled through gritted teeth, trying to keep his cool and keeping his sentences short.

“Okay Mr. Headphones.” You said, not wanting anymore trouble as he snatched it from you and went back to listening to his music.

“Can we talk about the project please? You know it’s counts for a lot of our mark and I really want to do well.” You crossed your arms, keeping a calm tone but was still exhausted from your fight.

“Then go do well. We both know I’m not going to do work.” He mumbled.

“But you should. You know, it’s a partner project, so 50-50?? Don’t you understand that?”

He clearly ignores you. “Can we work something out before I break your headphones?” Immediately he takes off his headphones and rests them on his neck.

“First, don’t you dare touch my headphones again. Second, fine just tell me what to do and I’ll..try my best.” He tried to sound like a good student.

“It’s not the fact that I need to tell you what to do because we have to work on this together.”

“I just wanted some peace and quiet.” He said under is breathing before groaning in disgust of this project. You felt the same.

Letting out a sigh, you asked “So my house or your house? ”

“No ones going to anyone’s house.” Another voice said behind Vernon.

The two of you looked to see who it was. Joshua was coming straight towards you and before you could react, he had already grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.

“Joshua!” You said in an upset tone, glaring at him and wanting him to stop pulling you away. You did not want to be any where near him.

He didn’t answer and forcefully put you in the passenger seat before he went into the driver seat, driving off at full on speed, ignoring every word that came out of your mouth.

“Where are we going?! I still have classes to attend! You can’t just-” he cut you off with a steady, almost emotionless tone.

“We’re going home. I’m not letting you anywhere near him. He’s not good for you Y/N.”

“You don’t even know him!” You yelled at the top of your lungs.

“Neither do you! Now just shut up and let me drive!” Joshua yelled back, finally looking at you with rage in his eyes.

He made a sharp stop, making you jump in your seat and become held back by your seatbelt for safety.

You guys had stopped at the ref light and right when he stopped, the two of you fell silent, just staring at each other.

You two never fought like this before, why now?

“The light’s green.” You mumbled, looking away from him and looking down at your shirt, playing with the lining of your shirt.

You did your best to not look at him and he did the same as he drove again to his house.

Once you parked in front of his house, you didn’t question why he didn’t drop you off at your house. You didn’t want to say another word to him.

You just got out of the car, slamming the door shut before storming off to the front door where his butler, Mr. Kim was waiting patiently, having the door opened and standing at the side for the two of you to come in.

You gave a quick thank you, short bow before rushing off into the living room. You were comfortable in Joshua’s house, it was like your second home.

Surprisingly, Joshua’s mother was home which made you soften your expression when you saw her.

You were taken by surprise but so was she. When she saw you she immediately gave you a huge grin and brought you into her open arms.

Usually, around this time of the day she would be at her office at work or in meetings.

“Y/N! Sweetheart, you’re here! What a surprise! Did you two finish school early?” She turned her attention to Joshua who had just walked into the the house.

You gave one glance to him before looking away.

He licked his lips before putting on a smile for his mother who he welcomed with a hug.

They talked for a bit before an odd topic came up. “Oh, Y/N, you’re mother is here as well. The two of us were waiting for you two to come home so we could talk to you about something.”

The call of you name took you by a little surprise, until your mother was mention. You looked at her confused before hearing your mother coming from across the house from the kitchen to the living room.

You greeted your mother and so did Joshua. “What is it that you wanted to talk to us about mom?” Joshua asked the question you were both thinking.

We looked at each other confused before looking back at our moms. If his mother and your mother got off work for this, then it’s probably important.

“We should sit down and talk.” Joshua’s mothers expression grew less joyful and became a little more serious.

We sat down and slowly, the two of them started talking about both families but still, you had no idea where the conversation was headed to. Finally, they revealed the major part you and Joshua were waiting for.

“We want… the two of you to get married.” His mother told you two, cautious and alert of your next reactions.

“What?! Mom I can’t marry him! Why?!” You raised your voice, as the two of you stood up out of shock.

This news was not what you wanted. “Why don’t you want to marry me? Am I that horrible to you?”

“I never said that! I just…” you didn’t know how to explain yourself.

You looked back to your mom. “Mom why? I’m in high school, it’s my senior year. I just want to have a good time, I don’t want to marry! Not now.” You whined.

“Y/N, please listen. It’s the best for the two of us! And don’t you like Joshua? You both are good friends! It won’t be any different from before when we used to live with his family!”

“I don’t understand what we’re getting out of this, this arranged marriage!!” You continued to argue. This was probably the most arguing you’ve done all day.

“Y/N, Joshua needs to be married for purpose of the business. If he has to marry, i would like it if he’s happy with someone he loves. If he marries you, your mother and you would benefit greatly from this.” His mother explained calmly.

“Do you want him to be unhappy?”

“No but why me? How are you okay with this? Have you already known about this?!” You asked Joshua wondering why he wasn’t arguing back with you.

“No it’s my first time hearing it. If our parents need us to do this, shouldn’t we? I don’t think it’s that horrible Y/N.”

You were jaw dropped by how everyone was okay with this idea.

“No, I’m not doing this.” You stormed out of the house. Your mother was displeased by your behaviour and tried to call after you but you had already made your decision to walk out.

[ziggs-rp-den]

discord chat: #whensmahvel character(s): Remy LeBeau, Magneto, (???)

Remy stood across the room, dimly lit by the sole monitor illuminating the room. His stance may have been casual on the outside, leaning comfortably against the wall, but on the inside, his gut was doing backflips. Magneto, much like his waffling second in command, did not take bad news very well.

Magneto faced away from him, cast in a still silhouette in front of the monitor. He always looked as though he was doing four different things at once, because he usually was. Right now, however, he was still as a statue, processing the information he had just been given. “Someone else is helping them?” he said, voice low and calculating. “Is it Xavier and his underlings?”

“Naw.” Remy shook his head. “We been watchin’ d’em close enough to know d’ey ain’t sent no one to help. This is... someone new, I t’inkin’.”

Magneto turned his head, showing just enough of his face from behind shadow and his helmet to show his tepid mood. “... Find them. Offer them a place here. If they refuse, show them a sample what they would face.” The orders were clear enough. Remy took in a deep breath through his nostrils, turning toward the door silently. “I expect results this time, LeBeau.” He heard growled to him.

“You’ll get ‘em...”

It took longer than he had anticipated to track anything in the city district in Bayville down. The town was scant for sources, and rumors were sketchy, at best. He had to follow his gut, instead. The most convenient place for someone buy large amounts of supplies would be the CosMart. It also was convenient for its nearby *sewer entrance.* Behind the large warehouse store was a manhole, which was just close enough for the Morlocks to sneak to.

He heard from one of the employees -- after a *small payoff* -- that a man routinely bought same survival supplies each week, and got a description. After another *bigger payoff* he got another tip. He saw the same guy fighting in the local underground cage ring. His gut knew where to go next.

The underground cage fighting business was surprisingly good in Long Island, and even in small cities like Bayville, a couple of pits could still be found. The most popular, with the biggest payouts and pots, was hidden underneath a Korean dry cleaning business in the red light district. He waited outside in the fire escape, all but his glowing red eyes hidden in darkness. It would be another few hours before he saw people leaving after the fight, and another thirty minutes on top of that before... Bingo.

Tall, young, Caucasian, brunette, green eyes. He was dressed in a hoodie and a pair of torn jeans. He still had his kick boxing gloves on. Remy watched silently from above as the man set down his gym bag, leaned against the brick wall, and lit up a cigarette. Same brand Remy himself smoked, from the smell of it. Once he was certain the area around them was isolated enough, he stood up from his crouching position and said, “You lookin’ a little young to be smokin’.”

The man whipped his head up, taking wide steps away from the wall in surprise. “What the fu...”

Remy smirked with a quirked brow, then leapt down. He landed gracefully a few feet away from the man. Now that he was on the same level, he could see the man’s face more clearly. He was covered in little freckles, and his eyes looked too old for the age he must have been. “D’en again, someone livin’ you’re life might need the stress relief.”

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Great way to sound like a fuckin’ creep.”

“You like d’at word, huh?” Remy rolled his eyes. Foul-mouthed twerp, wasn’t he. “Listen, I know you been givin’ the Morlocks supplies.” When he saw the shift in the man’s expression, he knew his hunch was right. He’d pat himself on the back later.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it, pal?” He saw the man’s hands clenching into fists, already defensive.

He tossed up his hands. “Me? No... I see how d’ose people have to live,” he spoke honestly, “I appreciate someone tryin’ to make that easier.” He tilted his head, the smirk creeping back onto his lips. “I was actually goin’ t’offer a way to make it easier on you.”

The response was fast enough to get across his certainty. “No thanks. I don’t need help."

“Hold on, now,” Remy insisted casually, “I know d’eh tough-guy act must’a gotten you this far, but it’s not about pride, to me. The easier it is to help the Morlocks, the more help they get, you see? My employer has resources. He can help.”

The man’s face tensed in realization, and he stepped back. “You work for Magneto, don’t you?” Remy’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. “I knew it... The Morlocks told me he was working out of New York.”

“You’ve met..?”

The man dropped his cigarette, snuffing it out under his work boot. “Yeah, you could say that. He tried to recruit me years ago for his ‘Acolytes’.” The mocking tone he used to say that made Remy’s nose crinkle just slightly. “It’s never to help anyone. It’s always to help him out somehow. And people who work for him?” the man paused to look straight at Remy like he was some lowly street punk, “They’re just tools.”

Well, at least kicking his ass wouldn’t feel bad, now. Remy closed his eyes and scoffed at the insults. “We all have to make a living, kiddo.” He flicked the release switch on his bo staff holster, letting it slip free from his forearm and into his palm. He hit the trigger, extending it fully as he took stance. “Let me show you what a tool does.”

The man finally cracked a grin, eagerly yanking his hoodie off to free his arms up. “Oh, you fuckin shithead...” He held up his hands in loose fists, ready to go.

He swung first, of course. Remy swung up into a front twist flip to dodge, landing with his back to the wall. He took the opportunity to kick the man on the lower back to stagger him away. “Hm.” He held up a finger, tutting mockingly. The man turned, snarling in offense. He spun around, swinging out another punch. Remy again flipped up into the air, using the wall behind him like a springboard to get enough distance to land across the entire alleyway. “You must be tired!”

The man was quick to close the gap once again, letting out a three combo of punches. These were faster for sure, but nothing Remy couldn’t knock away with his bo staff. “Stop. Fucking. Dodging!!” With the last word, the man threw out a haymaker of a punch. It was so fast that all Remy could do was duck his head out of its path. As it passed by his face, he could see the fair skin of his opponent rapidly shift to a myriad of greens, almost like a huge chunk of polished malachite. When it hit the wall next to his head, the bricks and binding cement shattered in a cloud of dust.

Shocked, Remy rolled to the side, grinding his knee on the asphalt to stop. When he looked up, the dust was clearing, exposing the now fully shifted man. All of his skin now resembled malachite, and his eyes glowed a bright green-yellow. That must have been his mutation, then. It was almost like...

There was no time to think about it. Now that he was a rock, it seemed like all the man’s fatigue was now lifted, because he lashed right out with a kick so fast that he had to guard with his bo staff. It bent with the impact, and sent Remy into a pile of trash bags with the force. He grabbed blindly for a bag of trash behind him, charging it. The man took a few steps over. “Some tool. You just have a stick?”

“You think I got into the Acolytes with a stick?” Remy chucked the charged bag of what felt like empty boxes right into the man’s face. It exploded just as he rolled away. He prepared his deck of cards, pulling a hand of them out and charging them while he turned around and waited for the new dust to settle.

He expected the explosion would have blasted the man into the brick wall behind him, and he was hoping to see a fresh, vaguely-human-shaped dent. Instead, the man was standing in the same place, give a few feet of forced movement. Oh, good. He was heavier, just like Piotr, too. And now he was even more pissed. “Ow! That hurt!” the man joked as he brushed himself off.

Remy threw his hand of cards out, trying to keep that precious distance, but his opponent had just vanished. Where was he? The moonlight above him dimmed, and he looked up just in time to get a good view of the man flying down at him. He swung his bo staff up to guard, and the man grabbed it. He landed behind Remy, and used the bo staff like a handle to flip Remy over his head, intent on slamming him into the ground.

He let go of his staff, but was still flying too fast to land properly. Instead, he tumbled gracelessly, hitting the ground hard. He came to a stop five feet away, on his stomach, dazed and sore. Coughing, he lifted his head up from the floor, a fresh scrape on his cheek starting to bleed. His bo staff was thrown in front of him in two pieces.

His shaky double vision saw the man walking back to his bag and hoodie, shifting back to his previous form. “Why did you fight me, anyway? Did he tell you to do that?” Was what he figured the man was saying. Bits of it were hard to hear through his ringing ears. “Figures. Look,” he said as he turned around, “if you wanna help anyone, Magneto ain’t gonna help you do it. He’s always got his own plans.” He slowly got to his knees, woozy and wobbling. It seemed the man had no intent on fighting further. He just walked away and out of the alley, leaving Remy alone to pick himself up off of the pavement.