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deanwinchesterswitch · 4 years ago

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A Wedding to Remember {Part One}

Summary: It’s the Winchester brother’s annual road trip to Vegas, and Dean has insisted you join them. Gambling, copious amounts of alcohol, and Sam leaving you and Dean on your own make for an eventful trip.

Word Count: 5665 (I haven’t written anything in months, and then this happened.)

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, language, fragmentary alcohol-induced blackout, hangover from hell (I’ve had this hangover-wish I had the same outcome.), a little bit of fluff if you squint

Credits: @cleighwrites thank you so much my lovely friend for your help (beta/editing/suggestions)! Couldn’t have finished it without you.

A/N: Pre-COVID. Canon divergent. Let’s pretend that Dean isn’t wanted for murder, and using his real name won’t end with the feds showing up and hauling him off to prison. The challenge prompt and bingo card quotes are in bold italic. If you are not familiar with Las Vegas, all the locations and attractions mentioned in the fic are real. The Fremont Experience includes a Viva Vision Light Show.

Written for Maries 600 Follower Challenge. My challenge prompts were “What are we doing here?” and Las Vegas.

I also filled a square on my SPN Quote Bingo /@spnquotebingo / square filled “I don’t know if I even find you attractive.”

The incessant buzzing sounds like a nest of angry hornets has taken up residence inside your skull. “Fuck… please, stop.”

Peeling open an eyelid, you groan—the diffused light is too bright, the soft rustle of sheets is too loud, the sweet smell of cinnamon is too strong. As your eyelid snaps closed, you catch sight of dark wooden beams against a pale gray backdrop.

Before you have time to process the image, a sound like a freight train fills your ears, and you turn your head to see Dean roll onto his side with a loud grunting snore. The small movement makes you whine, every cell in your body crying out in agony.

What the hell happened to me? Why the hell is Dean in my bed? And just where the hell is that cinnamon smell coming from?

The floor to ceiling glass wall you are now staring through beyond the curve of his shoulder takes your breath away. The view of the setting sun and a private balcony pool surrounded by lush tropical plants does nothing to soothe the anxiety beginning to grow inside you.

Where the hell are we?

You’re afraid to move, but need to use the bathroom, so you carefully roll to the side and let your legs fall off the edge of the mattress, then push yourself upright, a small sob escaping with every flex of muscle. As soon as you stand up, your legs give way beneath you, and you land on the lush carpet with a thud. The soft fibers feel like tiny little bugs crawling over your skin; you shudder and beseech the universe to kill you now. As you lie there contemplating the life choices that led you here, a soft rush of cool air causes your skin to pebble as the air conditioning kicks on, bringing along the realization that you’re wearing nothing but your underwear.

Seriously, what the fuck happened?

With a soft groan, you extend your arm and grip the bedding, using it to pull yourself up slowly. You peer at Dean’s shirtless back over the edge of the mattress, leaving you with the assumption that he is either sleeping in his boxers or is naked. Either way, it’s not good. Eyes darting around the room, you find a trail of your and Dean’s clothes leading from the door to the bed.

The hammering in your head increases as your heart pounds against your ribcage. Having sex with Dean was something you swore to yourself would never happen. One, he’s your best friend, and B, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t become another name in the long list of women he’d slept with. You love the man dearly but are well aware of his reluctance of settling down with anyone for fear of putting them in harm’s way. You’re also quite aware of the consequences of pursuing anything further than the close friendship you currently enjoyed; it would lead to nothing but heartbreak.

Damn, this is bad.

You rest your forehead on the mattress and silently pray that your assumption is wrong. Moments later, it feels like some alien creature is literally trying to claw its way out of your abdomen, and you stumble to the bathroom just in time to empty the entire contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Tears seep from your eyes when the dry heaves set in; you’d gladly suffer the pain of torture at a demon’s hand to be rid of this hangover. The cool tile helps to diminish the heat of your flushed skin as you lie on the floor after your body finally stops retching. The smell of cinnamon drifts past your nose again, and you realize that it’s coming from an automatic room freshener.

Several minutes later, you roll to your back, and when the room, thankfully, remains still, you carefully sit up. Eventually, you manipulate your aching body to stand in front of the vanity, squinting at your reflection as you lean against the sink. Tiny black flecks of mascara speckle the dark circles under your eyes; your hair is plastered to your head on the left side and sticking up in every direction possible on the right. Smacking your dry lips together and gagging at the taste on your tongue, you reach for the small bottle of complimentary mouthwash and rinse out your mouth.

The fluffy, grey washcloth is soft to the touch when you pull it from the rack to wet it under the hot water. Covering your face with the cloth, you tilt your head back, quickly gripping the sink’s edge when vertigo sets in. Once the dizziness passes, you slide the cloth down your face and catch a bright flash in the reflection from the mirror. Cleaning the gunk and remaining makeup from around your eyes, you drop the cloth to the counter and gape at the peridot and diamond-encrusted silver band encircling the ring finger of your left hand. The sound that fills the air seconds later is almost inhuman.

Holymotherfuckingsonofabitch! No, no, no… is this… Damn, it’s gorgeous! Okay, nope, focus!

Yanking one of the robes from a hook on the wall, you slip your arms through the sleeves as you rush back into the bedroom. Now lying on his stomach, Dean is no longer snoring but is still sound asleep; the sheet has slipped down his body with his movements.

You’d always found his broad shoulders with their dusting of freckles captivating and openly admired them whenever you had the rare opportunity; this time was no different. Taking a calming breath, you stare at the beautiful speckles dotting his smooth pale skin, following the valley of his spine to the tight shapely curve of his cloth-covered ass.

Oh! He’s still in his boxers. That’s a good sign, right?

With a relieved sigh, you pull your eyes away from him and take a look around the room that appears to be more of a large suite. It’s quite stunning—pale grey walls trimmed in dark wood, exposed-beam ceiling, expensive-looking artwork, furniture covered in deep burgundy leather and plush fabric—there’s even a poker table that seats six. A ginormous stuffed turtle stares back at you from its perch on one of the barstools across the room. Its existence presents yet another mystery to solve. Any other time, you would take the opportunity to bask in the luxury surrounding you, but right now, you’re more concerned with how you got here and why you were practically naked in bed with Dean and wearing what appears to be a wedding ring.

Walking through the space, you begin to gather up the articles of clothing that had apparently been stripped off as the two of you had made your way into the room and find a piece of paper lying beneath Dean’s flannel. You stoop to retrieve it, and a loud gasp escapes you as you turn it over and read ‘State of Nevada Marriage Certificate’ across the top. The clothes slip from your grasp when your eyes land on the signatures, one in your fluid cursive and the other in Dean’s neat print above your typed names… your real names.

Son of a bitch!

Shaking uncontrollably, you plop down on top of the clothes you’d abandoned. Your fingers timorously graze the document, hoping it’s just an illusion that will vanish under your touch. The pads of your fingers trace the raised lettering of the official seal, and your heart drops to your stomach as your brain kicks into overdrive. It was official; you and Dean were married—married. Legally, too; you had both used your real names and had an official marriage certificate. When the hell you had managed to get that, you had no idea. You didn’t even remember getting married.

Where the hell was Sam while all this happened? Why didn’t he stop us?

Swiftly standing, you brace a hand against the wall as a wave of dizziness hits you. A couple of deep breaths later, you search for your phone only to find that the battery had died. Dean’s had, too, since you hadn’t returned to your rooms in what was almost 24 hours now.

Not ready to face Dean just yet, you leave him to continue sleeping as you slip out onto the balcony. You sit at the pool’s edge and dangle your feet in the warm water, the open robe hanging loosely on your shoulders. Small waves ripple across the water’s surface as you gently kick your legs and let your mind drift to try to piece together the events that led to this trainwreck.

With no forthcoming cases or looming apocalypses, Dean had declared that it was the perfect time for the annual Winchester brother’s road trip to Vegas, and this time, they invited you to come along for the ride. To say that you were excited was a gross understatement. In the five years you’d known them, they’d never invited you. Dean was the one that insisted that you join them for this trip, which was a bit strange, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was only about an eight-hour drive from Grand Junction, CO, where you all had just taken down a pack of werewolves. You’d left the next morning and had arrived in Vegas around six-thirty that night. Dean had made sure that you had a separate room when checking into one of the older, less expensive casino hotels on the outskirts of town. His behavior once again struck you as odd when you had argued that there was no need for the extra expense, that the money spent on the additional room could be used for gambling. He was adamant, though, so you had finally conceded, secretly happy to have some privacy for once.

Dean found a safe spot to leave Baby—an empty corner of the parking lot—and Sam made arrangements for an Uber to pick you up in an hour. After taking a shower and changing into the dress clothes you always packed—just in case—you met the boys outside your room where your ride was already waiting. Both boys stood by the curb in fresh clothes and with damp hair, freshly showered. Dean’s hair was still spiky from towel-drying it, and he was wearing one of your favorite shirts, the black and white plaid. He’d left the top two buttons undone, and you caught a glimpse of his tattoo as he moved to open the car door for you. He was stunning. Just the sight of him kicked your pulse up a couple of notches, and you quickly turned toward the car before he could notice your ogling.

The driver had dropped the three of you off on Fremont Street. Both Dean and Sam made a beeline for the Paradise Buffet & Café while you trailed behind, taking in the neon spectacle of the Fremont Street Experience. It had been years since you’d been to Vegas, and a lot had changed.

A few minutes later, you’d caught up with the brothers, having decided it was probably best to eat something before all the drinking began. An hour later, you and Sam left Dean to finish his fourth round at the buffet, stopping to take a few pictures before starting your Vegas adventure at Binion’s Gambling Hall.

Your little trio had spent the next three hours or so hitting most of the casinos on Fremont Street. The winnings between all of you had remained relatively modest, as most of the big gambling was saved for The Strip. When you eventually made it to Caesars Palace, Dean abandoned you and Sam to take up residence at one of the poker tables.

Sam wasn’t as keen on gambling as Dean, so the two of you had wandered around the casino just taking in your surroundings and enjoying the free drinks—you played a couple of rounds of Keno, and Sam tried his hand at Baccarat. When he found a set of available slot machines next to each other, he asked if you wanted to sit down for a while, and you gratefully accepted, the shoes you’d chosen to wear already beginning to cause you pain.

Although you should be used to it by now, the juxtaposition in energy when you’d spend one-on-one time with either brother still managed to surprise you. With Dean, there always seemed to be an underlying current of electricity, a raw energy much like the crackling air before lightning strikes. Sam, however, was the calm before the storm; he was a constant, soothing presence. Even amidst the noise of whirring machines and clanging bells, the two of you sat quietly next to each other, peacefully pulling the handles of your slot machines. That was until Sam broke the companionable silence with a surprising question.

“Have you ever thought about getting out of the life, maybe settling down?”

Your hand stilled mid-pull as you cocked your head in his direction. Convinced that the amount of alcohol you had consumed had skewed your hearing, you ask, “Sam, did you just ask me if I want to get married?”

The look of utter panic on Sam’s face had you leaning to the side with laughter, and he’d gently gripped your arm to keep you from sliding off the chair. “I- I didn’t mean to me,” he’d sputtered. “I just meant, in general.” He let go of your arm after making sure you weren’t going to fall out of the chair.

Pushing out your bottom lip, you’d pouted, “What? I’m not good enough for Sam fucking Winchester to marry?”

The look he’d given you almost rivaled the bitchface he generally reserved for Dean. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

You playfully punched him in the shoulder and laughed, “I was only teasing, you big lug.”

He rolled his shoulders and let out an exasperated sigh. When he fell silent again, you snuck a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He seemed to be debating whether to say anything further, but he remained silent and went back to playing slots.

The atmosphere around the two of you felt awkward, so you decided to break the silence. “Hey, is there a reason you asked me that? Are you thinking about it? Have you met someone I don’t know about?”

He brushed his hair behind his ear and turned to you. “No. I think maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink and was just curious.”

You knew Sam well enough to know that he had a reason for asking you but apparently didn’t want to share any details at the time.

“Yeah, I have.” You shrugged when he looked at you in surprise. “I don’t think I could ever leave the life completely, but yeah, it would be nice to settle down one day.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a small smirk, before turning back to the machine in front of him. Everything had seemingly gone back to normal as you sat in comfortable silence once more, teasing each other now and then. It was all very odd, but you figured it was like Sam had said, the alcohol made the two of you feel a little looser, maybe a bit more sentimental.

Sam had bowed out and gone back to the hotel about half an hour later—around 3 a.m.—having won a few hundred dollars at the slot machine.

That was the cause of this runaway train… Sam had left you and Dean to your own devices. And nothing good happens past 2 a.m.

You were feeling rather tipsy at that point and knew it wouldn’t be any fun gambling alone, so you’d set out in search of Dean. He tried to brush you off at first, but once he’d lost his third hand in a row, you were able to convince him to join you.

Much to his dismay, you dragged him to the roulette table. He argued that there was no skill needed to play the game and that you would surely lose everything you bet and then some. You, however, liked the thrill of leaving it all up to luck, merely choosing a color and number. When your winnings had reached a little over two hundred and fifty grand, he profusely apologized, pulling you in for a tight hug and a lingering kiss to your cheek.

That was the first sign of real danger… that kiss. You could still feel the sensation of those soft, supple lips on your cheek.

Trying to hide your reaction to his display of affection, you had laughed and told him that he must be your good luck charm. He agreed and placed a kiss near your temple, lingering a little longer than necessary there, too. Flustered and not sure what to do next, you decided to take your winnings and move on.

Dean wanted to head back to the poker tables, but you talked him into playing Blackjack, where he racked up an impressive sum of two hundred and forty-five grand. When you begged him to leave, telling him you had a gut feeling that the next hand wasn’t going to play out in his favor, he had laughed, saying that you just didn’t want him to beat your winnings, but he lowered his wager for the next round, which he’d lost.

He’d turned to face you and, upon seeing your smug expression, had doubled over in laughter, almost falling out of his chair. Lacing the fingers of both his hands with yours, he’d pulled you in between his thick thighs and whispered in your ear, “Guess we are each other’s good luck charms.”

You remember thinking that his voice had been deep and flirty, the voice he used when trying to pick up some random girl in a bar. You were reasonably drunk at that point, and you’d felt overwhelmed with emotion; you’d turned your head, the scruff on his jaw gently scraping along your cheekbone, and placed a kiss on his cheek. When he’d asked what that was for, you’d said it was a thank you for letting you come along.

His breath was hot against your skin and smelled pleasantly of the expensive whiskey he’d been drinking when he’d rasped, “Let’s get out of here.”

And that was when the train derailed. It was also the last thing you clearly remembered other than Dean and you signing the necessary paperwork for your winnings, only taking a few thousand in cash. Sometime after that, the train had apparently flown entirely off the track and promptly down a steep embankment.

“Hair of the dog?” Dean asks as he comes to stand next to you. Deep in thought, you hadn’t heard him open the sliding doors. When you turn your head to look up at him, you come face to crotch with an impressive bulge.

Quickly dropping your chin, you huff, “For fuck’s sake, Dean; you could have at least put on a robe.” At the mention of a robe, you realize that the one you’re wearing isn’t covering much and quickly gather the fabric around you and tie the belt to keep it in place.

Dean laughs as he plops down next to you, bumping your shoulder with his. “Not anything either one of us hasn’t seen before.” Sliding his legs into the water, he starts to gently kick in time with you. He raises both hands, a bottle of whiskey in one and two bottles of water in the other.

“Give me the water, jackass.” Dean sets the whiskey next to him and hands over a water bottle. “Thank you.”

“Here.” He flattens his palm to reveal the pain relievers he’s also holding, and you accept three of them with a grateful smile before washing them down with a couple of sips of water.

Popping the remaining pills in his mouth, he opens the other water bottle and guzzles it down in a few large gulps.

The two of you silently watch the sun make its final descent over the horizon as you lean against one another. The Vegas skyline’s stunning lights begin to brighten, and you wave your hand to indicate the suite around you and break the silence. “Dean, what are we doing here? What happened after we left Caesars?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he softly replies, “You don’t remember?” His voice is rough, raspier than usual, like he’d been yelling for an extended period. Typically, you’d find it sexy as hell, but right now, it grates along your frayed nerve endings like sandpaper.

“No. I’ve been trying to piece it together.” You try for something maybe a little more specific. “Giant stuffed sea turtle?”

“Circus Circus?”

You nod, the memory slipping forward. The two of you had been strolling down the Midway, Dean’s arm around your shoulders, keeping you close amid the throng of tourists; the closeness also helping to keep both of you upright. You had squealed like a toddler at the sight of the turtle, and Dean had magnanimously vowed to win it for you by playing darts.

“Do you remember where we went after that?”

You shake your head in response just as another memory begins to swirl around the edges of your mind; Dean is yelling at you, wait, no, cheering for you. Something about a cow, no… a bull.

Oh, wow.

“Dean, do you remember riding a mechanical bull?”

“Uhmm…,” he scrubs a hand down his face, “... yeah, yeah, I do. You did too, didn’t you?” A small laugh escapes his lips. “You did pretty well, but I was better; I stayed on the entire time,” he proudly declares.

Ignoring the arch of his eyebrow and arrogant smirk, you try to bring the memory into focus. “Gilley’s Saloon. That’s like almost five miles total, which means we didn’t walk.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t wear my hunting boots.” You tilt your head toward the front door of the suite. “There’s no way I’d walk five miles in those shoes.”

“I could have carried you.”

The look of disbelief you give him actually hurts your face.

“What? I’ve given you piggyback rides before,” he shrugs.

“Not for five miles, when we were obviously drunk out of our minds!” Another memory flashes in your mind. “Oh. A limo… we had a limo. The concierge from Caesars—Tom, no, Tony—he got us a car.” But that’s it; nothing else is forthcoming. Frustrated, you rub small circles into the skin at your temples.

“Uh, Y/N?” Dean grips your left hand, pointedly looking at the ring on your finger. “You’re wearing a wedding ring.”

With a beleaguered sigh, you whisper, “Apparently.” Rising to stand, you tug at Dean’s hand, indicating he should follow you.

He slowly rises to his feet, careful not to slip on the wet tile. “What’s up?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Squeezing his hand, you pull him along as you walk back into the suite. “Come on; there’s something you should see.”

Once inside, you let go of his hand and plop down onto the buttery soft leather couch, while Dean slumps into one of the overstuffed chairs opposite you. After taking one more look at the paper lying on the table, you slowly slide it over to him.

Dean’s brows furrow before rising in shock as his eyes drift down the page. “Is this… did we... “ Without lifting his head, he looks up at you, mouth in the shape of a silent, oh. “We… we’re married.” The corner of his mouth lifts into a smug smile. “You know what that means, right?” When he wiggles his eyebrows at you, it sends your anxiety into overdrive.

“Dammit, Dean, this is serious! Did you look at the signatures?” Jabbing a finger in the direction of the marriage certificate, you shriek, “We used our real names! That is a legal and binding document.” Jumping up, you pace in front of the couch, wildly gesturing with your hands. “Do you even remember getting married? Because I don’t! Not remembering my wedding day is not something I ever dreamed of happening. And what else did we do that we don’t remember?” You start to hyperventilate as you continue to pace. “I mean, we could have fucking killed someone or started another damn apocalypse and have no fucking clue!”

“Okay, whoa!” Dean gets up and takes a step over the coffee table to stand in front of you. Resting his hands on your shoulders, he looks you in the eye. “Hey, calm down, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Your hands clench into fists, and you shake them out with a huff. “Yeah- yeah, okay.” His touch is both electrifying and calming; it would be so easy just to fall into his embrace and let the steady beat of his heart soothe your frayed nerves. You nod your head and turn out of his grasp, taking a couple of steps away before he can see the emotion you can only imagine is written all over your face.

“Y/N?”

“I’m alright.” Spinning back to face him, you plaster a smile on your face. “So, what do we do now?”

Dean’s gaze is intent before he startles you with a shout. “Wait! Where’s the money?” Racing into the bedroom, he comes back with his jeans in hand and unceremoniously tosses your bag to you. Pulling out his wallet, he sits back down to count the bills. “I have a little over two grand; what’ve you got?”

Opening the small bag, you pull out a wad of bills and lay them out on the table to count. “Just under a grand,” you reply after your third attempt at tallying up the money.

“Son of a bitch! Where’s the rest of it?” Dean hops up from the chair again to pace the floor. “I swear, if we were robbed—”

“Easy there, cowboy,” you laugh. “It’s not like in the movies. Casinos don’t just hand over large sums of money to the winners. We had to fill out paperwork, remember? We only took twenty… no, ten grand in cash. They’ll send us, well, the ‘Campbells’, cashier’s checks for the balance after they deduct taxes.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Fine, but that still leaves us short about seven thousand.”

Pointing to the ring on your left hand, you huff, “Well, this probably cost around three grand, easy.”

“So what happened to the other four grand?” You watch as Dean stuffs the bills back into his wallet, partially pulling a slip of paper out before sliding it back into place. “The room.”

“Maybe…,” you huff. “I’m more concerned about this marriage certificate than I am the money.” Pulling the document closer, you point to the signatures. “I mean, how the hell did we get away with using our real names? It’s not like we have our real IDs.” You take a moment to think, then snap your fingers and exclaim, “Hey, maybe that’s where the rest of the money went. Maybe we bribed them.”

Tapping your finger on the paper, you continue to ponder. “I still don’t understand why we’d use our real names. Or why the hell we got married in the first place.”

“Is it really that horrible that we’re married?”

The tone in his voice makes your head snap in his direction. His face is unreadable as you try to determine what he meant. The silence grows heavy between you as you continue to stare at each other. He arches a brow, still waiting for your response, so you attempt to cut the tension with a joke.

“Look, I don’t know if I even find you attractive. Why the hell would I marry you?” Collecting the money lying on the table, you stuff it back into your bag, missing Dean’s anguished frown.

“You know, Sam is probably going nuts since he can’t reach either one of us.” You continue to avoid further eye contact with him and make your way toward the bathroom. “Why don’t you find the phone in here and call him while I take a quick shower? Once you’ve showered, we can meet up with him and see if he can help us put the rest of the events together. Maybe grab some food?” Without waiting for a response, you shut the bathroom door and slump to the floor.

What the hell was that? If you didn’t know better, you’d think that Dean is actually happy that the two of you are married.

The metal band is cool against your skin as you scrub your hand down your face. Stretching your arm out in front of you, you stare at the gemstones sparkling in the fluorescent light as you wiggle your finger. The ring fits perfectly like it was made specifically for you.

What a waste.

Out of all the people you had met and the few you had dated over the years, Dean was the one person you could actually see yourself marrying. He was the real deal, the whole package—brains, brawn, heart of gold, a hero—all neatly wrapped in that beautiful body with those gorgeous green eyes—the same color eyes as the stones in your ring.

Your ring… Is it really your ring? Where had it even come from?

The tears you’d been forcing down since first seeing the marriage certificate slide down your cheeks as you slide the ring off, wondering why you haven’t removed it before now. You immediately miss the weight of it around your finger.

With a sigh, you stand, slipping the ring into one of the robe’s pockets. You still need to figure out how you got to this point, and that isn’t going to happen sitting in here and wishing that the fantasy you’d often dreamed about hadn’t literally come true without you even being able to remember it. Maybe the hot shower will calm the storm of emotions raging through you and help release the memories still blocked in your mind.

The water pelting your body from all angles and the misty steam begin to ease the tension in your muscles, but your mind is still blank when it comes to what took place after the two of you left Gilley’s.

Geezus, the first time the brothers ask you to join them in Vegas, your presence causes everything to go down in flames.

You should have just said no. Then you wouldn’t have to face the feelings for Dean that you’d managed to keep in check all these years. Feelings that you had hoped might be reciprocated one day but knew in your heart never would be.

Dean is lying on the couch when you exit the bathroom, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. The shower had done very little to diffuse the overwhelming panic you were still feeling, and there he is, looking so at peace, like not being able to remember one of the single most important events of your life is no big deal.

It irritates the piss out of you, and you bark at him, “Bathroom’s all yours.”

Opening one eye, he arches his brow in question as he looks at you over the back of the couch. He opens his mouth but apparently thinks better about saying anything and instead swings his legs off the sofa to sit up, shoulders slumped and face buried in his hands.

The resigned sigh and troubled look on his face make your heart ache for no apparent reason when he finally stands. You reach out and gently grip his hand as he shuffles past you, making him pause.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and give his fingers a quick squeeze before releasing his hand. “Did you get a hold of Sam?”

Dean purses his lips, giving you a small nod. “Yeah, he’ll be here in about forty-five. He’s bringing a change of clothes for us, too.”

“Did you remember anything else?”

“Uhm… No.” He grimaces as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You?” His eyes seem to be pleading with you to tell him yes.

You shake your head and whisper, “No.” Dean looks almost pained at your response before his poker face slides into place.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says as he shuts the door to the bathroom behind him.

You plop down on the bed and bury your head in your hands, tears once again dampening your cheeks. Did you imagine it, or did Dean hesitate before he said he didn’t remember anything?

What a fucking mess this all turned out to be.

You had been so excited about coming to Vegas and spending time with the brothers having fun, yet here you are in the middle of one of the worst dilemmas of your life—married to your best friend without any idea of how it happened. You know that this isn’t something that he’d ever wanted, that being tied to you in this way will only be more of a burden to him. He’d never given you any indication that he felt more than friendship toward you. You need to fix this; Dean deserves better.

The thought of dressing in the clothes you’d spent the night before in isn’t very appealing, but you don’t have a choice. If you waited for Sam to get there, you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to do. You find a pad of paper and a pen in the nightstand drawer and write a quick note.

Dean,

I’m sorry for my part in this; it was obviously a mistake. I’ll find an attorney to annul the marriage as soon as possible and have them send you the paperwork.

Picking up the marriage certificate from the coffee table, you put the note, along with the ring, in its place. After one more look around the room to make sure you have everything, you slip out the door, determined to set things right… no matter how much it hurts you.

@mariekoukie6661 @wayward-and-worn @weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thinkinghardhardlythinking @carryonmywaywardcaptain

#minnies600challenge #a wedding to remember #dean winchester #dean x female!reader #spnquotebingo #angst #language #fragmentary alcohol-induced hangover #010221

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crystalirises · 3 years ago

Text

In Dreams I See You, In Reality You Haunt Me

Today is a good day

For angst

Aka

I want angst and I haven’t been fed in daaaaays.

So... have this.

TW: Sleep Deprivation, Near Death Experiences, Implied Death Experience, and Suicidal Themes (at least in other people's POV)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/82150489

When he’d asked his grandson to meet him in the ruins of New L’Manburg, he was unprepared for the person he would meet. He stood on top of the glass, eyes cast low to the crater of a country that once was. Red vines had crept along the crevices, consuming the land that they had tried so desperately to get rid of. He’d heard of the red egg, a being that was spreading throughout the land. Though Phil couldn’t find it in himself to care, so long as it left those he loved alone, then he’d let it thrive and consume the Essempy. He was so busy contemplating that he barely even noticed the hurried footsteps of his grandson until Fundy practically ran into him.

Phil flinched away, messy ginger hair and dark circles beneath the eyes reminded him of the last time he’d seen his son. He held Fundy at arms length, the tired fox hybrid blinking profusely like he wasn’t sure there was a person right in front of him. His hair was a tangle of uncombed hair, grayed at the edges with… soot and gunpowder. Fundy eyes were dull, devoid of any life, the dark circles beneath them only seemed to pop out against too pale skin. His clothes were a mess, his usual white shirt covered in dust and black with ash. He was shivering despite the warm sun that reflected off the glass, his black jacket didn’t seem to be able to keep him warm. Phil shrugged off his green cloak, it wasn’t made to keep anyone warm, but if it helped Fundy. He tied it around his grandson’s shoulders, but Fundy didn’t seem to acknowledge him at all. Phil sucked in a breath, smelling cinder and destruction. His grandson looked just like Wilbur now…

“When’s… the last time you slept and took a bath, mate?” Phil chuckled nervously, reluctant to let go of Fundy in case he decided to faint. Fundy jolted at his voice, blinking away his exhaustion, a weary yet confused smile appearing on the fox hybrid’s face. “You look like shit.”

“Huh? Uh no, no sleep. Bath… I… Why am I here? Oh, you wanted to talk to me…” With every word, Phil found himself slowly frowning. Fundy giggled, shaking his head as though to remember why he was there. “I was… I was blowing up my house. I, uh, a demon lives there, ya know? It’s in my dreams, in my house. Wilbur came by one time too, the demon was gone then.”

“Wilbur visited you?” His heart ached, his son really was alive…

“Uh huh, he was… he was standing there… all Wilbur-like.” Fundy let out a yawn, eyes fluttering close for a moment before he flinched, reaching up a hand to slap himself awake. Phil’s eyes widened. Was Fundy… intentionally refusing to sleep? He kept a gentle grip on Fundy’s arm, reaching down to untie the lead that kept Friend from wandering off too far. He didn’t doubt Fundy’s claim that he’d blown up his house, but that meant Fundy didn’t have a place to stay, and he wasn’t about to let his grandson wander off on his own. “Why am I here, Phil? What d—”

“Nothing you have to worry about, mate.” He would want to ask Fundy where Wilbur had gone off to, but he wouldn’t want to upset his grandson. He knew how… Fundy felt about Wilbur. He needed Fundy calm and relaxed, enough to push him into falling asleep. With the lead in one hand and his grandson’s arm in the other, he slowly led his grandson and Friend in the direction of the nether portal. “You’ll need a place to stay… I have a spare bed that you can sleep in—”

“NO!” He nearly fell to the ground in Fundy’s haste to get away from him, the fox hybrid pulling against Phil’s hold. Phil pitied his poor grandson… he wasn’t holding Fundy that strongly but he couldn’t seem to get out of Phil’s hold. “I don’t want to sleep! The demon is waiting to kill me!”

“Fundy, mate, there is no demon. There are no demons, they’re just nightmares, mate. You’re fine! They can’t get you in the dreams.” Fundy had started to cry now, shaking his head so fast that Phil was surprised he wasn’t getting sick. Friend let out a soft baa beside them, nudging Fundy’s leg as it to calm him. “I cannot, as your guardian, let you live while you’re in this state.”

“You don’t understand, I can’t go back in there. I-I can’t go back to that desert wasteland. I can’t, Phil! I can’t!” It was sad to watch, and Phil knew he’d have no choice but to take Fundy back. His grandson could get in a lot of trouble if Phil were to leave him alone. “Grandpa, please!”

“Fundy, you need to sleep. You’re wasting away like this.”

“I don’t need sleep! Wilbur even told me… he told me that if I wanted to keep the demon away that I… that I didn’t need sleep! I’m fine. ‘m fine!” After a few more seconds of struggling, Fundy slumped over, eyelids fluttering close. Phil adjusted his hold, praying for his back before pulling Fundy up into his arms. It wouldn’t be a proper sleep, fainting was different from sleeping, but they’d have to settle on this for now. He glanced over at Friend, the blue sheep giving Phil a baa before walking forward. At least Friend wasn’t trying to make a break for it while Phil was distracted, the poor sheep probably did want to search for Ghostbur… oh, right.

“I’m so sorry, mate.” Friend didn’t look at him, but Phil was sure that the sheep understood why.

He shook his head, he’d have to make sure Fundy got a better sleep schedule once they got home. With his grandson in his arms, and Friend in front of him, Phil started to head back home.

Surely Techno wouldn’t mind seeing his nephew again.

---

Techno wiped the sweat off his forehead, his breath coming out in cold puffs of smoke. He leaned against one of the spruce trees, taking a moment to breathe in the air of the arctic, the chill wind blowing through his pink hair. The hair tie must have come loose at some point during his training, he’d have to find it in the snow later on. He sniffed, the icy wind smelt of an incoming blizzard. He’d have to bring Carl inside the stables and collect Steve who’d gone out to go fishing in the nearby ice lake. His gaze turned towards the cabin, smoke coming out from the open window. He could only hope that Phil was cooking and that Fundy hadn’t caused a fire. He wouldn’t blame the poor kid, but it certainly would be exhausting to rebuild the house again.

Speaking of his nephew, Techno’s ear flicked up at the sound of a door creaking open. A familiar fox hybrid sneaked out the door, glancing around before pausing to look in the distance. He followed Fundy’s gaze, unsure if his delirious nephew was looking at Steve or at the ice lake.

He sheathed his sword, heading back towards the cabin. Fundy was very unstable, no matter how hard Phil had tried, Fundy refused to sleep. Techno would have to herd or drag him back inside.

Techno paused at the bottom of the steps, careful to avoid Fundy’s gaze, an easy feat to accomplish for he was too occupied to even notice Techno’s presence. He moved up the stairs, feet gently thumping against the wood, but the noise was enough to cause Fundy to bolt.

He glanced over at Techno, dull brown eyes blown completely wide before Fundy jumped off the side of the patio. Techno rushed forward, but Fundy had jumped down into the small pond. His tail was raised and bristled, his teeth bared at Techno while he let out a low growl. He made a move to jump down, preparing himself for the shock of jumping into ice cold water. Luckily, the water only reached up to his knees. Fundy screamed as he jumped down, running further away.

His heart seemed to freeze in his chest. Fundy was headed towards the ice lake. He raced after him, unclasping his blue cape along the way as it was only extra weight. Fundy was quicker, pouncing past fallen tree logs and rocks. He was determined, Techno gave him that. If only his nephew could put that energy into a hobby that didn’t involve jumping into freezing ice lakes.

“Fundy! Fundy!” Techno chased him down, “Fundy, you don’t know how to swim!”

He didn’t get a response, but Techno expected that. Fundy had reached the edge of the river by this point, pausing to glance back at Techno. “Fundy, get away from the edge. Now. Or else.”

His nephew was shivering. Frost had already formed on his dripping wet clothes.

“Mama.” Techno’s nose scrunched up. He hoped his nephew wasn’t hallucinating him for Wilbur’s wife, whose name he’d never been told for Wilbur was adamant to keep her a secret. Fundy scooted closer to the lake, shaking his head the moment Techno took a few steps forward. The fox hybrid had wrapped his arms around himself, his body aware that he was freezing even if his mind was muddled with sleep deprivation. Techno would have to research more on the topic. Fundy pointed at the lake, tears flowing past his cold cheeks despite his smile. “Mama!”

Fundy tried to jump.

Techno rushed forward, taking Fundy by the arms before setting him on his shoulder.

“Mama!” Fundy squirmed in his grasp, reaching back for the ice lake. Techno huffed, lugging his confused nephew back to the cabin, trying desperately to tune out Fundy’s cries. It hurt to hear.

It did hurt to hear, more than he cared to admit. He headed back to the cabin, waiting for Fundy to tire himself out. It was the only sleep he ever got nowadays, if fainting counted as sleep. He glanced back towards the river, unsure of why Fundy had insisted that his mother was in the lake. Phil hadn’t mentioned hallucinations, but Techno knew the signs. He’d heard them all his life, the voices. Fundy had visions, not voices, or maybe he had both. Techno paused on the way, waiting for Fundy’s breath to lull down. He only continued to head back once he was sure Fundy had passed out. He’d have to find a way to get his nephew to sleep. He’d die if he stayed awake.

Now, if he saw his twin brother, he’ll have to ask why Fundy thought a lake was his mother.

---

“I’m not a fucking babysitter, Phil!” It was too late, his dad had flown off before Tommy could curse at him further. He scowled, turning back to his… nephew. Gods, that was so fucking weird.

“Hey, big man. You look shit, you know?” Fundy glanced up at him, the book he’d been reading (though if you’d ask Tommy he was sure that Fundy was just staring at the page) completely forgotten. He sighed, sitting across from Fundy for a moment. It was unsettling - fucking creepy, if you asked him - how Fundy hadn’t stopped staring at him, if anything, he wasn’t sure if Fundy had even blinked once since he’d started staring. “Hey… You know that’s… You okay, Fundy?”

“... Why are you a ghost?”

He felt a chill run down his spine. He traced the scars on his skin, dark forest green eyes flashing in his mind, the stench of decay and blood hitting him in full force. His throat had gone impossibly dry. No one had known of his death, at least, no one had tried to talk to him about it. Fundy wouldn’t… how would he know? “You know you can’t just ask me that kind of question.”

“... How did you die?”

“I did not—” Tommy slammed his hands on the table, the noise startling Fundy. The fox hybrid blinked, mouth agape as if he was only seeing him for the first time. Tommy took a deep breath, counting down from ten before sinking back in his seat. He didn’t remember Fundy being so rude, but then again, he didn’t remember ever seeing Fundy tired. He looked at the dark circles underneath his eyes, wincing at how familiar the look was. “I’m not dead, and I’m not a ghost.”

A clear look was in Fundy’s eyes as he looked at the scars that traced Tommy’s hands.

It disturbed him. Fundy looked aware for the first time since he’d gotten to Phil’s house.

“I can’t sleep.”

“What?” Tommy leaned back against his chair, tilting his head as a bitter smile crossed Fundy’s tired face. He’d known that Fundy was going through some shit, but he didn’t know about what.

“These past few weeks, everytime I close my eyes I could see him.” Fundy curled in on himself, his face buried in his hands. Tommy winced, afraid that Fundy might start sobbing and that he wouldn’t be able to do anything. “I’ve had these nightmares. I can’t sleep because I always wake up in the desert, alone. The van is always there, until it isn’t. Then there are books, and they tell me to wake up. I… I’ve been trying to stay awake but Phil and Techno say that’s not healthy.”

“... They’re right, Fundy, and you know I hate agreeing with Techno of all people.”

“I can’t sleep, Tommy. I won’t.” Tommy didn’t know how long it’s been since Fundy’s had a proper rest, but there’s a reason why Phil had brought him back with him. If Fundy looked like shit now, gods know what he’d looked like when Phil first found him. “He’s waiting for me.”

“Who…?” Tommy frowned.

“The demon.” Fundy paused, and shook his head. “No, not the demon. Wilbur.”

---

He’d escaped. Phil was busy in the mines and Techno had been on the cusp of hibernation. He’d had to run from Steve but he’d gotten away from the arctic and back to the Essempy. Fundy walked down Prime Path, a voice whispering into his ear. His dad was calling him, and Fundy really wanted to see him again. The one in the real world, the one in his nightmares terrified him.

He reached the top of the hill, casting his eyes to the right where the walls of L’Manburg were (once were? no, they were right there). His dad said he’d wait for him at the bench. Well, it was Tommy and Tubbo’s bench but his dad said to meet him there. He swayed at the top of the stairs, shaking his head as he turned to look towards the bench. His dad stood by the edge, the sun illuminating the blue of his uniform. He felt something wet run down his cheeks. He reached up, surprised to find that he was crying. Why was he crying when his dad was right in front of him?

“There you are, Fundy.”

“Hi, dad.”

He stood next to his dad, basking in the sun that was setting in the distance. The sky had turned a beautiful mix of orange, purple, and pink. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his dad had taken the time to watch the sunset. He felt an arm snake around his shoulders, keeping him in place. His dad moved forward a bit, Fundy hesitating to follow. His dad hadn’t turned around to face him yet. His tail stopped wagging, his ears pressed to the top of his head. Was his dad angry at him? Had he taken too long to get to his dad? He let out a small whine, but then an arm ruffled his hair. A smile found its way to his lips. Oh. His dad wasn’t mad at him. That’s good, great.

“How’s my little champion?”

“I missed you.” He hesitated, but reached up to hold his dad’s hand. It’s been years, but somehow his hand still looked so small against his dad’s. He laughed nervously, his hold gentle as if afraid that the vision would end. But it wasn’t a vision. “I missed this version of you, dad.”

“Hm… come with me then.”

His dad finally turned around, a kind smile on his face before he turned back to walk forward.

His breath stuttered in his throat, his dad’s hand suddenly slipping from his hold. His dad was walking away, right into the sunset. Fundy could feel his breath quicken, his head heavy with nausea. His dad was leaving him again. His dad was leaving again. But he said Fundy could go with him, didn’t he? He took a step forward to follow after his dad, climbing over the wooden fence that was in his path. He reached out a hand, calling out for his dad… then he was flying.

He didn’t dare to loosen his grip.

Wilbur breathed through clenched teeth, grasping his son by the arm before willing himself to pull him up. Fundy had fainted, good. Wilbur didn’t want Fundy, his son, to struggle against him.

After a few agonizing seconds, he’d pulled Fundy away from the edge of the cliff.

He held Fundy in his arms, eyes tracing the dark circles beneath Fundy’s eyes. He’d been on a walk down the path when he’d seen his son climbing past the fence. Wilbur couldn’t believe it, but Fundy hadn’t stopped, eager to jump off the edge as quickly as he could. He had been lucky, he’d grabbed just as he fell. He cradled his son in his arms, pressing a kiss to Fundy’s forehead.

“Oh, my little champion…” Wilbur held Fundy closely, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

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

Clarification:

I know he's supposed to be at least out of it... but I wanted Fundy to talk to Tommy cause honestly, I want more of their dynamic. It's like a friendship that doesn't seem like it would hold up... but I think if there's two people on the Dream SMP who has suffered to much, it's Tommy and Fundy.

#fundy #philza #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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johnseedfanclub · 3 years ago

Text

Wip Day

Startin this bad boy up (at least this is an attempt)

Chapter 6(?)

TW: Mentions of drugs, suicide, vulgar language, hallucinations, abuse, vomiting

Angel rose up out of bed with a groan followed by a stretch

“Good fucking LORD” Angel grinded out as he cracked his back “I feel worse than that one time I was injected with fucking ketamine...”

After contemplating his life choices, and considering putting a bullet to his head, Angel managed to drag himself towards the window of his room.

“Hmm. Still out here huh?” Angel grumbled discontentedly “I would’ve hope it was a dream” Angel looked up as if he were speaking to God himself

Angel made his way downstairs and looked around. House was still quiet. There’s no way that she was taken, right? Missy couldn’t be gone. Angel had his own “gifts” but Missy was a trained army soldier, maybe higher than just a soldier. All Angel knew was that she was trained in the army and probably had way more control over herself than he did over himself.

“..Missy..?...MISSY?!” Angel called, walking through the deathly silent home

No...no..this isn’t good...They couldn’t have possibly kidnapped her. She’s a trained professional. She would know what to do in these situations. Angel is more likely to get himself captured and probably nearly get himself, and others, killed in the process. And aside from that, if Missy is gone...what will be of Angel? He is nothing but a ticking time bomb waiting to lose control.

Suddenly the silence was broken as his radio cracked “Ayooooo Angel!!!”

Angel jolted nearly sending himself out of his skin “Who the fuck is that” Angel took out his radio “How did I not lose this shit...” he whispered to himself before clicking the radio “Hello..?” Angel answered back

A voice of happiness and relief was heard on the other side “Angellll! Great to hear you’re alive bud! Kinda heard a lot of ruckus going on back at the bunker since you were....ya know...spotted and all but this whole ordeal kinda died down a bit of course..for now that is”

Jesus Christ who is this guy and why is he rambling at a time like this...it’s too fucking hot and early to be talking a man’s ear off.

“Also uh..Sorry about the whole smoke sesh we had the other day I kinda got a bit too excited and gave you way more than a shoulda..You probably feel-“

For fucks sake.

“Jesus fuck you’re talking way too fucking much.” Angel clicked the radio and it went dead silent. Angel drew out a deep sigh and clicked the radio again “Sorry...Havin a bad mornin...what’s your name now?”

“Oh shit my bad- you’re probably feeling like a dog that got ran over!” Connor laughed on the other side “Probably can’t remember a damn thing either...I’m Connor! The guy you met in the bunker” Connor replied in benevolence

Angel paced in the living room “Connor.....guy I met in the bunker......smoking...” Angel froze in realization “This fucking dickwad-“ Angel clicked his radio “YOU’RE THE GUY THAT TRIED TO FUCK ME UP WITH THAT FUCKING BLISS- BULLSHIT.”

“Woah...hey now I said sorry for that already. I meant good intentions. I would never purposely fuck a gay man over unless he fucked me or my guys ov-“

“GOOD INTENTIONS? I HAD TO FIGHT THROUGH RUGGGED MEN WHILE NOT BEING ABLE TO SEE STRAIGHT” Angel blurted out

“HEY. I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE. TO BE FAIR I DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD A RECORD” Connor yelled back drawling out the ‘record’

“WHATEVER. Say now....what did you give me. I nearly had night terrors because of that fucking plant. And there’s no fucking way that it’s just weed.” Angel sat himself down on the couch thinking about the nightmares he had last night

There was a silence after that question. Was it that it was a mistake? Should he not have asked? Or hesitation? Maybe there was something in that cigarette-joint whatever it was...he-...Connor had to have gotten it somewhere...this wasn’t no ordinary plant or mix of bad drugs in a plant. This was...different.

“Okay....look. I trust you. But you cannot say this to anybody.” Connor spoke carefully

Gullible for a man who works in a cult

“What I put in that joint was bliss oil and ground up Moonflower....l-look I’m sorry okay...the flower adds to the high and the oil makes it burn longer” Connor had a very regretful tone in his voice. But that didn’t explain what any of that substance was...

“What the fuck is bliss oil? And moonflower...sounds slightly familiar..” Angel said confused

“Don’t worry about it. Can you meet me near John’s ranch later?” Connor asked

“That asshole? Fat chance drug mule” Angel returned with a chuckle

“Ya know you should be nicer. And how do you remember him easily???” Connor huffed, malcontented

“This man has been harassing me the last four months ever since I moved here. I think at that point it’s safe to say he has a rememorable face....a punchable one too.” Angel sneered

“O-oh right....probably not a good place then huh...”

“Of c- didn’t you say that I had a record Connor?”

“Okay okay...I wasn’t thinking straight-“

“Obviously”

“Jesus Chr- DO YOU WANT TO MEET AT FALLS END THEN?!”

“That would be great love” Angel mocked

“Ain’t you a peach...you know...I’m starting to believe what John was saying about you.....hmm.” The radio clicked and went silent

“Oh I’m goin to nick his ears off...” Angel growled “Can finish a sentence but not a fight”

Angel got up after having a moment of planning to beat up Connor later and decided it might be better to head to Fall’s End...maybe after a nap of course.. he won’t have to worry about Connor till later.

Angel decided to head back into his room and throw himself on his bed “Oooh...” Angel breathed out “I have a feeling this is gonna be one fucking day.” Angel drawled out in exhaustion before closing his eyes shut.

"𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁..."

Angel had a horrible gut wrenching feeling...that voice...that terrible fucking voice...

"𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁...." the voice sang his name in a comforting tone...but that voice was never a comfort to him

He kept his eyes shut...but didn’t know how much longer he would have to for him to go away...it was impossible to ignore something that was so insisting and demanding...

"𝒲𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅...𝑀𝓎 𝓈 𝑜 𝓃."

He opened his eyes and saw red. Only red. The walls of his room. Red. The ceiling. Red. Where he slept. Red. The sky. Red. Everything was Red. He immediately felt sick but he couldn’t escape there was no escape. He sat up.

There.

There he was in the doorway. Blocking his only way out. The tall figure that loomed over Angel’s doorway. A Man that Angel could never fight, The Man that Angel fears the most more than anything...anyone in the world

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓸 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓮𝔃

Angel quickly looked around but realized he was stuck. He was backed into a wall. There was no way he would make it out alive.

"𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓈...𝑀𝓎 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓎." The voice said tenderly moving closer to him

“D-don’t call me that....” Angel moved back to try to move himself away from the Man but there was no use of it. He started breathing heavy. With every step the Man took the more weight he felt on his chest. He started to spiral, every fighting instinct left his body. He felt like a rabbit being hunted by a Lion.

“𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝒹𝑜?"

“help...h e l p.” He tried to call out but struggled to get the words out between breaths “somebody help me. get me out of here.”

The Man grabbed Angel’s face and tightened his grip, enough to leave bruises on the skin. All the fight left his body...he froze in horror having to force himself to look in his eyes. Tears started to stream down his face and he whimpered and tried to scream.

"𝒮𝒽𝒽𝒽𝒽...𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌..𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒" the Man stroked Angel’s face gently while shushing him like a puppy

“I don’t feel safe around you...I will never be safe or free in your hands....” Angel rasped out, nearly overworking his lungs for air “I will never call myself your son.”

The Man’s eye twitched but he cracked a smile "𝒜𝒽..." the man clicked his tongue before breathing in "𝒩𝑜..𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇" he retreated slightly before taking both of his large hands and pressing them on Angel’s throat, tighting them and he watched Angel panick and try to push him away legging out a crooked laugh

Angel saw his vision fading and slowly going dark. He was trying to fight back but it was a losing battle to begin with. So, he gave up.

"𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓉𝒾𝒸 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝑜𝓃"

Angel immediately woke up and started coughing and immediately felt something coming up his throat. He ran to the bathroom and flipped the toilet cover up and immediately started retching. Fluids poured out of his mouth that burned his nose and throat. And when he thought he was done more came back up. After finishing he was shaking and his head was pounding, tears were streaming down his cheeks and he still felt that weight in his chest. He looked into the toilet and...it was red. He flushed the toilet quickly as the color made him nauseous again not to mention he didn’t even have a chance to eat. It was nothing but bile. Angel sat back. He couldn’t even bring himself to try to speak to himself. So he sat on the floor, trembling....crying. The silence in the house was loud. He has to get out of here.

Angel quickly got up in a panic and washed his face and brushed his teeth, wanting to get that awful taste of bile off his tongue. After he packed his backpack with survival tools and some basic needs to help him out...there...I mean there was just more than one man chasing after him...

He wasted no time leaving after, wiping whatever tears were left on his face, God, he hated looking vulnerable I mean he was already enough..

“I’m never taking a fucking nap again...not until the exhaustion comes over me...”

Angel made the trek to Fall’s End. And though it wasn’t a long hike, it was quiet...almost too quiet.

“Hey-“

Angel reached for his hun and aimed at the sudden greeting

“Woah! Hey now! It’s just me Angel Mary May spoke softly

Angel lowered his weapon quickly in shock ‘I could’ve killed her for Christ sake’ he thought

“You okay love? You seem...different? On edge..?” she spoke with a tone that was almost a comforting as Missy, Bless her heart if she’s still out there

Angel tried to get the words out “....I......uhm...y-yea....kind of...just had a nightmare...no big deal...” he manage to put on a smile that could fool a careless man. But Mary saw right through it.

“Look I know you probably don’t wanna talk about whatever is going on with you bit don’t try to fool me with a smile m’kay” Mary scolded Angel a bit and started walking forward to Fall’s End

“Okay mom” Angel huffed out a laugh “Funny seeing you out here huh” Angel followed after her like a little duckling

“Funny seeing me out here? It’s noon Angel! Did you oversleep again?” Mary looked at Angel teasing him a bit

“Very funny. I was up earlier but was still tired from yesterday so I took a nap......unfortunately it didn’t work out in my...uhm....favor” Angel cleared his throat

“Well why don’t you tell me all about it?” Mary asked curiously

‘This is gonna be a common thing huh...’ Angel thought before breathing out “Where do I start?”

Tagging:

@mrspaigeomega @mrsladydiana @oorah22 @minilev @lilwritingraven @scungilliwoman

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riversofmars · 4 years ago

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Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your lovely comments, very happy you all approve of my choice of cast lol! I'm still in the early stages of setting up the story so I'm still mulling over some of the details but I think it's coming together. This chapter actually took a lot of restructuring and rewriting but slowly I'm getting there I hope. I really hope it works for all of you, I've re-read it so many times now that I can't see the wood for trees so I'm just gonna post it now and hope for the best lol :D Enjoy!

Chapter 3: There’s Stories About Us

London, late 19th Century

“Why don’t you have a seat?“ To Vastra, the Doctor’s pacing around the drawing room was becoming increasingly irritating. She was engrossed in the file River had left behind and refused to sit down.

“I think better on my feet.“ The Doctor retorted without looking up. It was the first full sentence she had spoken since picking up the file. Her expression was unreadable.

“Is it still five sugars?“ Jenny questioned, pouring tea for everyone, hoping to lighten the Doctor’s mood.

“You do know her well.“ Yaz commented while the Doctor just took the cup without comment and carried on.

“I take it she doesn’t talk much about her past?“ Vastra easily picked up on the hint of jealousy in the young woman’s voice. The Silurian had seen it many times. The Doctor was very private and by neglecting to speak about their past, they tended to make the person they were travelling with feel all the more special. To them it was like they were the first person to experience all the wonders of the universe with them. Finding out about all those that came before them wasn’t always easy.

“She never… I never expected her to have a family.“ Yaz looked over to the Doctor who was still walking up and down the drawing room, mumbling under her breath as she kept reading. She briefly put her cup down on the mantle of the fireplace so she could turn a page. Her brow was knitted in a deep frown, she was restless though more level-headed than before.

“I don’t think she expected it, either.“ Vastra conceded, taking a sip of her own tea. As she watched Yaz’s reactions to the change of circumstances, she felt reminded of the time the Doctor had regenerated and Clara had struggled to adjust to them changing. This situation wasn’t so different, Yaz was struggling as well. They were all going through a big change, and the Doctor even more so than the rest of them. Vastra could tell the Doctor was different from her last regeneration, even without the added pressure of finding out about having a child. This Doctor reminded her so much more of the one they had accompanied to Demon’s Run, than the one they had last seen. It seemed fitting as again, a child’s life was on the line; just one generation on.

“Why does her wife not travel with her?“ Yaz turned to Vastra with the question that had been bothering her.

“Professor Song travels in time as well. Their timelines are not always synchronised.“ Vastra explained, hoping not to reveal too much. It wasn’t her place.

“So like The Time Traveller’s Wife?“ Yaz asked, but found herself looking into confused faces. “It’s a book, do you not… right 19th Century…“ She waved it away but it gave her cause to think. Being out of sync with the person you loved had to be incredibly hard indeed. She remembered crying over that book and she couldn’t imagine this would turn out to be a more cheerful tale.

Suddenly, the Doctor halted in her tracks, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright, Doctor?“ Yaz asked as their friend’s face went very white as she stared at the page in front of her.

——

Darillium, 52nd Century

River stirred slowly, a light breeze tickled her nose though she couldn’t remember leaving a window open. The bed was soft and familiar, she stretched her limbs into the silky sheets and hummed contently after a good night’s sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up slowly when she realised something was off. It should not be as quiet as it was; and she should not have slept through the night. The explanation to her questions perched on the side of the bed. The Doctor was feeding a bottle to his son who quite happily curled into his father’s arm, allowing his mother some well deserved rest.

“You can lie back down if you like, we’ve got this, haven’t we.“ The Doctor gave her a soft smile when he noticed her sitting up.

“How long have you been up?“ She asked, her voice sleepy still. She hadn’t heard either of them waking.

“You know I’m always awake before you.“ The Doctor reminded her. River smiled, her hearts swelled at the sight in front of her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her husband look so utterly content and happy. She wanted to enjoy the moment but a strange, unsettling feeling was seeping into her subconscious

“Yeah but I didn’t even notice…“ She looked around, wondering what was intruding on this perfect moment.

“Everything okay?“ The Doctor asked with a frown. He lay the empty bottle down on the bed and pulled his son against his chest.

“I just…“ River couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like things weren’t adding up. “When did we come back?“

“What do you mean?“ The Doctor started sounding more concerned. He gently tapped and rubbed the baby’s back.

“Vastra, Jenny, Strax… the Library…“ Slowly River’s memories were returning but they weren’t compatible with where she was.

“What are you talking about? Did you have a particularly vivid dream?“ The Doctor chuckled. “Or nightmare, rather, if Strax featured.“

“The sunrise.“ River looked out of the window to see orange and purple stretching across the sky.

“It’s almost time.“ The Doctor nodded with a soft smile. “First light.“

“But we’ve already seen it.“ River looked back to him, confused.

“I think I’d remember if we’d already watched the sunrise after twenty-four years of waiting for it.“ The Doctor retorted amused. “Are you feeling okay?“

“This isn’t right…“ River shook her head slowly. Her hearts sank at the painful realisation. “I’m not meant to be here…“ She wanted to lean forward, reach for her husband, touch her son, but she didn’t dare.

“River…“ The Doctor said but she shook her head more firmly.

“No, I left before I even… and you didn’t…“ She looked at him with sorrow and the genuine concern in his eyes only made it harder. This was where she wanted to be.

“River.“ He reached out for her but she pulled away.

“This isn’t real, it can’t be, I…“ River turned away and closed her eyes, shaking her head to herself. Her hearts ached. She wanted this to be real so badly but she knew better. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

“River!“ This time, the voice changed pitch and River woke with a start.

“Anita.“ River looked up to her colleague, blinking against the morning light. She found herself surrounded by piles of books and notes, back in the artificial reality of the Library. She must have fallen asleep on the sofa while reading last night.

“Considering we probably don’t actually need sleep in here, you were very difficult to wake up.“ Anita pointed out and held out a coffee to her. “Went anywhere nice?“

“You could say that…“ River gave a mournful smile but quickly put her walls back up, projecting confidence and assurance. “Thanks.“ She took the coffee offered to her and sat up properly. “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it. I didn’t realise we’d dream…“ She gave a wary smile. Though it felt like real life, she couldn’t quite let herself fall for the comforting illusion; not yet anyway. Not while she was still so deeply concerned with what was going on in the universe beyond.

“It feels like real life.“ Anita shrugged and took a sip of her own mug as she perched on the coffee table. “Certainly beats the alternative.“

“Certainly does.“ River admitted.

“So what have you been up to? Everyone was meeting up for breakfast and when you didn’t show up, I thought I’d check on you.“ Anita revealed her reason for being here and River glanced to the clock on the wall.

“Are the kids up, too?“ She found herself asking, almost instinctively.

“Been up ages. CAL said they thought it best to let you sleep, you were in a happy place.“ Anita explained with a smile. She hadn’t taken River Song for the mothering type but she had taken on that role without a second thought. She seemed to be taking comfort in it.

“I suppose I was…“ River thought back to Darillium and the Doctor, the perfect family life they could have had, had she just stayed. She took a deep breath to maintain her composure.

“So what’s all this?“ Anita asked, gesturing at the mess around them.

“Ah, just a bit of light reading…“ River smiled weakly, sipping her coffee. It tasted just like the real deal.

“You call this light?“ Anita laughed. “What are you researching?“ She picked up a sheet of paper that River had been making notes on.

“I may have… lied to you about why I agreed to lead this expedition… It wasn’t just for the money.“ River answered slowly, realising there was little point in keeping secrets now. They would be spending eternity together and River knew she needed a friend. She’d gotten on well with Anita from the start and she wanted someone to confide in. “The Library is the sum knowledge of the universe, as it were, and I needed access. Looks like I got more than I bargained for, eh?“ River joked but the sorrow behind her eyes was easily spotted.

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but… what’s the point now?“ Anita asked, contemplating her words. “Technically, to the universe, we’re dead…“ She could tell River wasn’t adjusting all too well.

“Doesn't mean that the universe out there stops, does it?“ River pointed out.

“Are you trying to get out of here?“ Anita raised her eyebrows.

“And go where? None of us have a body to go to.“ River gave a bitter laugh. “No… but eventually, he’ll come…“

“Your Doctor? The one from your time?“ Anita asked and River nodded:

“One day, I’m sure of it.“

“And you need all this for when he does?“ Anita concluded, feeling like she was beginning to make sense of the professor’s actions. “So tell me what this is? Maybe I can help.“ She picked up more notes, skimming them.

“They’re stories, myths, every record, every…“ River started but Anita was quick to pick up on one unifying factor as she picked up more of the articles:

“It’s all about you.“ Anita looked up with amusement. River Song had a reputation of course. She was an accomplished archeologist who had published a lot of research. Who would have thought that there were also plenty of books and articles about her, not just by her.

“Some of it. I always told him there were stories about us… he was modified.“ River smiled as she recalled bringing it up with the Doctor.

“The Doctor?“ Anita asked to confirm. “Is he your husband?“ She exclaimed as she continued reading.

“Afraid so.“ River chuckled.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re doing this? Or will I have to drag it out of you?“ Anita prompted, looking back to her.

“This is just the start… it might look like a lot already but really, I’m just a tiny speck of dust in his life. There is so much more I don’t know, so much more that’s in his future and in his distant past…“ River mused. This was just a tiny fraction of the records she’d found so far.

“You’re not just being nostalgic, are you?“ Anita asked, putting the books down to give her her full attention.

“Before I joined the expedition, I received a message from a friend, someone who deals in information. They came to me with concerns about a prophecy and rumours.“ River said, tightening her grip around her mug. “Now, there are a lot of prophecies out there and I don’t pay much heed to any of them, but there was something about it… stories of a Timeless Child that somehow relates to the Doctor, to me… and as it happened, I just found out I was pregnant at the time.“ She explained and Anita’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“Were you still pregnant when…“ Anita was stunned. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“No, thankfully.“ River smiled, touched by her concern. “My son is fine, he’s with some dear friends. He was three weeks old when I set off to the Library…“ She revealed with a sad smile, wondering how the Paternoster Gang was getting on. Surely they were doing an excellent job at looking after her little one… but she regretted her choice nonetheless. She should never have come here.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.“ Anita reached out and gave River’s hand a squeeze. Immediately, she saw River’s interest in looking after the children in a completely different light. “Does the Doctor know?“

“I don’t know. They may have told him by now…“ River shrugged taking a deep breath to maintain her composure. “God, he will be furious… Hopefully furious enough to come and shout at me in here…“

“So you think your son is the Timeless Child?“ Anita asked, trying to make sense of what River was telling her.

“Maybe…“ River couldn’t be sure of anything. She had found no clues either way, despite her many inquirers; but it seemed like a funny old coincidence that whispers of a child surfaced just as she’d found out she was pregnant. “I haven’t been able to find out much at all, so I’m hoping I can now.“

——

London, Late 19th Century

The Doctor’s mind started racing, as did her hearts. Where, when and how had River heard about the Timeless Child? And why was it referenced in her file? The Doctor hadn’t told anyone about what the Master had revealed to her and she couldn’t imagine the Master would have shouted it off the rooftops either, seeing as he’d murdered everyone that could have known. Even when the Doctor had briefly spoken to Ryan about learning about the gaps in her past, she had never used this term or gone into detail. She hadn’t even filled Yaz in either. Someone out there knowing that exact term couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Doctor?“ Vastra’s voice was sharp, drawing the Doctor’s attention at last.

“Sorry…“ The Doctor snapped out of her thoughts when she realised everyone was looking at her.

“Does something stand out to you?“ Vastra prompted, gesturing towards the file.

“It’s nothing, never mind, just… it’s not related to this.“ The Doctor shook her head, closing the file disappointed, yet unsettled. This was in no way helpful for finding out where their child was or who could be behind the kidnapping. It did, however, raise some very unsettling questions. How did the secret about the Timeless Child get out? Though River might have drawn some wrong conclusions about who it might be, she couldn’t discount the possibility that there might be a connection between the myth and the kidnapping. Maybe there were Time Lords involved in this after all.

“So what do you think?“ Vastra pressed on. “Time Lords or…?“

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t…“ The Doctor shook her head. “First thing’s first. I need to find out where River got her information from.“ The Doctor decided after brief consideration. She rolled up the file and stuffed it into her coat pocket to study more intensely later on. Someone out there - Time Lord or not - knew about the Timeless Child. Maybe, whoever was behind this, already knew it was the Doctor and were trying to get to her by kidnapping her child… There were a lot of possibilities but all seemed as unlikely as each other at this point.

“So can’t we just, like, talk to her?“ Yaz interrupted. “Why don’t we go and find her, your wife, I mean. You must be itching to go. She’ll be able to fill us in far better than…“

“Can’t.“ The Doctor cut in sharply.

“It’s not as easy as all that.“ Jenny gave Yaz an apologetic smile.

“Why not?“ Yaz frowned. “You know where she’s gone, you said earlier: The Library. Let’s go there.“

“River died at the Library.“ The Doctor shot back, anger returning to her voice. Rationally, she knew Yaz couldn’t know all these things, but that didn’t change how she was feeling about it being brought up or having to explain.

“What?“ Yaz was dumbfounded. She looked around into knowing faces and realised she was far out of her depth. There was a lot she had yet to catch up on.

“Well, Doctor, technically, we could try and…“ Vastra started but the Doctor wouldn’t let her finish:

“For all intents and purposes she died at the Library, she can’t help us now. I was there, remember? I know that she didn’t make any great discoveries about the Time Lords while we were running from the shadows. There was hardly time.“ She stated bitterly.

“There must have been a reason for her visit there and she said she would need your help.“ Vastra was getting frustrated with the Doctor’s refusal to give weight to her wife’s concerns and attempts at research. Just because she hadn’t found anything yet didn’t mean she was wrong to be looking.

“She didn’t get the Doctor she was hoping for.“ The Doctor huffed.

“Obviously not, which is why you visiting her now could prove enlightening.“ Vastra countered.

“Sorry, I’m not following.“ Yaz looked to Jenny for an explanation as she didn’t want to interrupt the increasingly tense conversation the other two women were having.

“Professor Song died but she’s not really gone.“ Jenny explained kindly. “The Doctor saved her.“

“I didn’t save her, I trapped her.“ The Doctor interrupted angrily.

“Her consciousness remains in the Library’s computer.“ Vastra clarified which only seemed to infuriate the Doctor more.

“Yes and she has to exist in the knowledge that she will never hold her child again! If I didn’t think she hated me for putting her there before, I’m damned sure of it now.“ The Doctor snapped.

“She will want to help.“ Jenny interjected.

“I will not be the one to tell her her child is gone!“ The Doctor yelled, her emotions boiling over. She had caused River so much pain. She had thought she’d done a good thing when she had saved River’s consciousness only to learn during their next meeting that she hated the idea of being trapped like that. The Doctor already carried so much guilt, she would not add this to the pile. She refused. How was she to break this news to her? “I won’t do that to her. Put that on her while she can’t do anything to help, having to rely on others, no! I can’t do that to her!“

“Doctor…“ Vastra tried to intervene but to no avail.

“No! Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. She thinks he’s safe with you and I will not tell her otherwise until we’ve found him.“ The Doctor snapped.

“If you’re sure.“ Vastra knew there was no talking to her when she was like this. She would come to her senses eventually but she appreciated the sentiment. If at all possible, they should go about things another way before breaking the news to the Professor who would have to watch from the sidelines, unable to help.

“Someone else might have got their hands on Timelord technology…“ Yaz said changing the subject and breaking the heavy silence. Perhaps her not knowing too much about the Doctor’s wife would be a good thing. Perhaps she could look at things more objectively. Tensions were running high indeed.

“It might be more likely than someone surviving the Master’s destruction.“ The Doctor conceded. “But it’s very little to go on.“

“We have to start somewhere.“ Yaz got to her feet feeling a sense of determination. They had to stop wondering about the ifs and buts and start doing something. A child’s life was on the line.

“River started investigating a myth based on some rumours that someone might be after us, after our family.“ The Doctor explained of Yaz’s benefit. “I have a pretty good idea who would have brought it to River’s attention. Perhaps we can trace these rumours back. It’s as good a place as any to start.“ She decided at last.

“Excellent. We shall carried out our own investigation and torture those we find for information!“ Strax stated in excitement as she returned to the drawing room at just the right time. He was carrying several bags.

“Really, Strax, that is not…“ The Doctor started but Vastra interrupted:

“I hope you don’t think you’re going without us.“

“I have packed three types of grenades and the caustic blaster I have been dying to try.“ Strax announced with great enthusiasm.

“And I will get the swords.“ Jenny nodded, exchanging a quick glance with her wife.

“Please, Doctor, we owe you this.“ Vastra didn’t give the Doctor the opportunity to protest. “Let us help bring your child home. We failed you. We won’t fail you again.“

“Let’s go.“ The Doctor wasn’t so proud that she would refuse help offered. She would do whatever it took to get her child back.

#doctor who #fanfiction #river song #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #action/adventure #space wives #yowzah #river x thirteen #river x twelve #twelth doctor #femslash #madame vastra #Jenny Flint #strax #Yasmin Khan #the timeless child

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k-pop-imagines · 4 years ago

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Protector | Chapter 10

Protector Masterlist

Summary: Yesterday’s events have your thoughts wildly racing through your brain and if that wasn’t enough, your father brings back someone you never wanted to see again.

Word Count: 2472 A/N: So, ummm, it’s been a year, I know. But I’ve recently gotten quite a lot of messages asking me to update because the cliffhanger was a really mean move on my part, I’m sorry! Either way, happy holidays to everyone and I hope you enjoy this small gift from me! - Admin Soomi Warnings: /

When you woke up the next morning, your head felt like it was going to explode. The night hadn’t been exactly restful, you just couldn’t seem to fall asleep after yesterday’s events. Your thoughts kept going back and forth between your current life situation trapped as the heir to your father’s business and the tension between you and your bodyguard that had made itself very clear. Donghae was a mystery to you. If that was even his real name. It wasn’t like you actually knew anything about that man. How old was he? Where did he come from? Did he have family? All you knew was that he was an arrogant ass with a lot of strength and wits despite not looking like it. He had a way of constantly getting on your nerves but still gave you a weird sense of comfort. Why did you end up with this strange attraction towards him that was impossible to deny at this point?

You weren’t even sure what kind of attraction this was. Was it platonic? For the first time in ages, it seemed like someone genuinely cared about you. You felt like you could trust him and with him being your bodyguard, he naturally knew a variety of your secrets. He’d seen different sides of you. Even though you argued and bantered a lot, he knew when to draw the line. It had begun to feel like a friendship but was there more? Did you want more? Something else? There was some kind of sexual attraction as well, that was obvious to you. He was attractive, that was a fact. You hated to admit it, but your thoughts couldn’t help but wander to indecent things at the memory of how his abs felt under your touch. Yous shook your head in annoyance. No, not now. If you kept thinking about it, you wouldn’t be able to keep a composed demeanor around him anymore. Was there romantic attraction as well? Maybe. All you knew was that your heart skipped a beat when you thought back to how you had almost kissed yesterday. And that you wished you had actually kissed. Maybe all of these factors somehow played into it. Whatever it was, thinking about it too much and trying to find a word for it was driving you crazy.

The maid that knocked and asked to enter your room to serve you a fresh cup of tea was a welcome distraction from your racing thoughts. Not so welcome was the message from your father that she brought. I’m expecting you in the entrance hall in 30 minutes, dress nicely and behave for once. The second you read his note, you decided that you would absolutely not behave, whatever it was that he had planned for you. You had a bad feeling about what was to come. For a few moments, you also contemplated simply putting on sweatpants as your father hadn’t specified what occasion to dress nicely for, but that would have been overkill. Donghae greeted you right outside your door with a lazy wave and as much as your mind wanted to go back to yesterday’s events, you were more occupied with the look on his face. He didn’t give you the usual smirk, you didn’t even get any playful remarks about your hairstyle of choice, instead he seemed quiet. Too quiet. “What’s up with you this morning? Aren’t you going to tell me that I look like a racoon because of the bags under my eyes?” A small smile threatened to form on his lips but it was quickly washed away by the sigh leaving his mouth. “You look more like a panda because the rest of your face is awfully pale but I won’t be making any comments. You’ll have enough trouble today, trust me. You’re not going to like what your father has in store for you. And neither will I.” The last part was muttered under his breath and you almost missed it. You didn’t even need to ask your bodyguard what exactly he was talking about as you had already reached the entrance of the mansion and were greeted by the sight of the one person you had never ever wanted to see again. Hwang Kyuseok. The man your father apparently still wanted you to marry. “Okay, so here’s the plan. I’m going to pretend to collapse, you carry me to our physician and bribe him to pronounce me dead. Then you help me escape to Peru where I can start a new life under a new name. How does that sound?”, you whispered to Donghae but he put a hand on your lower back to gently lead you forward. “Pretty good except for the part where I apparently have enough money to bribe Dr. Choi.” “It doesn’t have to be money, you could-” just as you were about to present Donghae with the alternative of selling his body, Kyuseok spotted you. “Well, if it isn’t my lovely wife. I haven’t seen you ever since that incident but you seem as lively as ever,” the young man said with the most disgusting grin you had ever seen a human being produce as he slowly walked towards you. “I don’t remember us getting married let alone engaged so do not call me your wife.” “Did I not tell you to behave?” Your father had appeared behind Kyuseok and went to stand next to him. “You’ll be getting married next week, so you might want to get used to being called his wife.” “I have told you plenty of times that you do not get to marry me to a stranger. I refuse. I will not be marrying him.” “And I have told you plenty of times that I simply do not care. You’ve been acting like a brat recently, so I contacted Mr. Hwang and he agreed to proceed with the marriage as soon as possible. Maybe this will put some sense into you. You don’t have a choice in this matter.” Kyuseok is a respectable young man and he knows how to handle a woman who is acting up and forgot where her place is.” Your father left and your heart sank. He was really doing this. He was 100% serious and no matter how hard you tried to fight back, it was useless. Maybe you could really escape and move to the other end of the world. But knowing your father’s influence and contacts, he would catch you before you could even leave the city. You’d go along with it for now but there was no way you’d accept this. If everything failed, you’d at least make sure to make this marriage a living hell for your husband.

Kyuseok stood in front of you and took your hand, earning him a death stare from Donghae that you didn’t notice, as you were too occupied with keeping yourself from lashing out. “Let’s go eat breakfast, my love.”

------

“Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?” Breakfast had been quiet so far, at least on your part. Kyuseok had bombarded you with his ideas for the wedding and you found out that essentially everything had been planned already. Not only were you forced into this, you didn’t even get any say in what your wedding would look like. Even the wedding dress had already been chosen. “You’re asking my opinion? Very considerate. Paris sounds good.” “A very classic choice. And very romantic.” “Exactly. Let’s visit the catacombs, maybe I can lose you in there. Or I can just yeet myself off the Eiffel Tower when you’re not looking.” You heard a snicker from Donghae, who had silently been standing in the corner of the room and tried to cover up his mishap by clearing his throat. Kyuseok simply ignored you. “Prague or Madrid would also be lovely places to visit but Paris it is. We should also start conceiving children as soon as possible to secure a heir to our families' businesses. You almost choked on your omelette. “Yeah, that is not happening. Marrying you is bad enough but this is where I draw the line. I will not let you anywhere near me.” He sighed. “I really don’t blame your father for wanting you to move in with us right after the wedding. You are indeed quite a handful. But as I said before, I am sure I can tame you.” “Good luck with that. You won’t tame me unless I develop Stockholm syndrome.” “You’re feisty.” “And you’re a creep. Excuse me for a second.” You quickly left the room, headed for nowhere in particular, just anywhere as far away as possible. It felt kind of ironic when, after a few minutes of mindlessly wandering the halls, you laid eyes on a small storage room and followed your instinct to hide in it. Just in case Kyuseok had been following you. You were physically shaking from the emotions building up inside of you. Anger, frustration, helplessness, panic. You name it. You sank to the floor and let silent tears run down your cheeks.

Maybe you should really just run away. Not like your father would let you. Even if you escaped at night, knowing that most of the night guards regularly slept during their shifts, there was no doubt your father’s men would find you. And if they didn’t, he would send Donghae, and there was nowhere you could hide from him. He knew you too well by now.

The door to your hiding spot opened a creak. Speaking of the devil.

Donghae fully opened the door, took one look at your crying form and opted to sit on the floor right next to you after closing the door again for some privacy. Of course he’d find you. Not that it bothered you. “I don’t think I’d survive one week being married to that weirdo,” you complained. “I don’t think he’d survive even one week. You’re gonna kill him after three days. Maximum.” A dry chuckle escaped your lips. “Can you show me how to make it look like an accident?” “I’ll lend you one of my handbooks.” Silence settled between the two of you for a few seconds while you tried to dry your tears. It all seemed hopeless. “What will you do once I’ve married him? I doubt Kyuseok will have you come with me to his mansion. That man gives you that death stare like every 20 minutes. I bet it’s because you’re more handsome than him.” “I genuinely don’t know. Maybe your father will have me as his own bodyguard. Whatever will happen, believe me when I say that I am dreading it as much as you are.” “You’re a bodyguard...if anything, you should be glad this job is over and you could move on to a better paying client. I’ve seen what my father pays you and sometimes I’m surprised you’re still here.” “You make me seem like a heartless monster. I care a lot more than you may think. That’s why I’m still here.” You raised an eyebrow. “How much?” “What?” “How much do you care?” Instead of answering, Donghae proceeded to get up. He dusted off his clothes and held out his hand for you to take. He pulled you up and reached for the doorknob. “You didn’t answer my question. How much do you care?”, you pushed for a reaction. “Way more than I should”, he muttered under his breath, avoiding your eyes. He went to turn the doorknob but you put your hand on top of his to stop him. Your other hand reached up to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him closer so your faces were mere inches apart. “Then tell me...do you care enough to kiss me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your breath hot on his skin.

Donghae didn’t need to be asked twice. His free hand cupped your face as he leaned in and his lips found yours. They were so much softer than you could have ever imagined. He was careful at first, but quickly deepened the kiss when you didn’t back away. It lasted only a few seconds yet felt like an eternity. You hated how your first intent was to tease him with your question and see his reaction but the kiss just proved that, just like him, you cared way too much. You still didn’t know what exactly those feelings were that drew you to him but it just felt...right. Like it was meant to be.

Donghae slowly pulled away from the kiss and took your hands in his. “I don’t know why but the thought of him being with you, touching you, kissing you...it makes me furious. It makes me want to vomit. I can’t stand it.” “Then help me get out of this somehow. If you can. Please.” His heart felt like it was getting torn apart when you looked at him with pleading eyes that were still puffy from crying. He wanted nothing more than to help you, he really did. “I’ll try to figure something out but I can’t promise anything.” For a second, you saw a hint of guilt flash in his eyes. You thought it was because of his loyalty to your father. He’d most likely have to betray him if he wanted to support you, it’d put his life on the line as well. Little did you know, Donghae’s thoughts were conflicted for a completely different reason.

---

“There will be a wedding ceremony a week from now. Not only will our target family be attending but also the famous Hwang family. If we attack then, it’ll be like killing two birds with one stone,” Donghae reported. “That’s fantastically convenient. Do you know where the wedding will be held? If not, find out and send us the layout of the place. We’ll provide you with a detailed plan 24 hours before the event.” “I’ll make sure to get as much information as possible.” “Great, you’re dismissed.” After finishing the phone call, Donghae felt like punching a wall. Guilt flooded his mind. He had lied to you, this whole time. He had put on an act, played the perfect, sassy, but loveable bodyguard. He had faked his undying loyalty. Yet he hadn’t been able to lie about his feelings. That kiss, it had been nothing but the truth. He never meant for things to develop the way they did. And now he was stuck in this dilemma. He had to follow orders, your family had to be taken down but couldn’t bear to see you go down with your father. You had nothing to do with this. He had to figure something out and he’d be damned if he couldn’t come up with a solution.

#super junior imagine #donghae x reader #donghae imagine #super junior x reader #kpop #k-pop #super junior fanfiction #donghae fanfiction #lee donghae #au

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emachinescat · 4 years ago

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By Night My Mind

A Tales of Arcadia: Wizards Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 19 - sleep deprivation

Summary: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy.” In the aftermath of the final battle against the Arcane Order, Douxie is plagued by guilt and nightmares about his part in Merlin’s death, and decides that he’s better off staying awake, which his battered and weary body does not take well. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 19: sleep deprivation

Characters: Douxie, Archie, Jim, Claire

Words: 4,719

TW: None

Notes: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy, Living (Without You) Is Harder,” and set in the same universe as “That I Could Fear a Door” and “Lest Back that Awful Door Should Spring.” In this version of events, Douxie doesn’t have to leave with Nari, and is trying to adjust back to life in Arcadia after the events of “Dying Is Easy.”

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

- From “Sonnet 27” by William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head

To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired…

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

The night after his battle with the Arcane Order, Douxie slept more soundly than he could ever remember. His near-death experience had left him with a litany of aches, pains, cuts, bruises, a couple of fractured ribs and a lot of unanswered questions - it should have been impossible for him to survive a fall from that height; every bone in his body should have been broken, and no one knew how he was still alive - but still he slept, his final meeting with Merlin and the restored Morgana fresh on his mind and a soothing balm through the night.

The trouble came the day after, when he nodded off while curled up on his couch with The Sword in the Stone distracting him from some unpleasant thoughts and a nagging guilt that had begun to crop up, slowly but steadily, over the course of his day. No one knew that the hokey, mostly plotless Disney movie was his favorite, and he preferred to keep it that way. It had always amused him, Merlin as a bit of a crackpot and Arthur a poor young boy running around after a magical master who only halfway knew what he was doing at any given time - it reminded him of himself, and of home.

But he was exhausted from the muscle relaxer he’d been prescribed when Jim and Claire had practically kidnapped him and forced him to let Jim’s mom, a doctor, examine him, and he fell asleep right when Mad Madam Mim issued her challenge to Merlin and for a few wonderful moments, there was nothing, and he could rest.

He woke with a yell only minutes later (Merlin was now turning into a germ to outwit the atrocious purple dragon), fighting desperately against the effects of the muscle relaxers that were already trying to pull him under again. He couldn’t even remember what it was that woke him, what he’d seen in his dreams, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was - and he had a good idea - it left him trembling, short of breath, on the verge of tears.

“Douxie?”

Archie padded into the room and hopped up on the couch beside his friend, eyes full of concern behind his glasses.

“I’m fine, Archie. Just a nightmare.”

“I miss him, too,” the cat said solemnly, reflective gaze compassionate and sad as he observed his human friend. “Perhaps we should talk--”

“Talking won’t bring him back,” Douxie snapped, and Archie flinched back the tiniest amount and fell silent, looking more like a chastised pet than Douxie had ever seen him. The wizard sighed. “I’m sorry, Archie. I just don’t want to talk, that's all.” He rubbed the furry head with distracted affection, then moved from the couch and pulled up a hard-backed kitchen chair, and sat in that.

He didn’t feel like sleeping so much anymore, even if the burning of his eyes told him otherwise. He turned off the movie - it suddenly held no appeal. The Disney+ main screen took its place, and he clicked on something at random. He was so caught up in his bleak mood and dark thoughts that he didn’t even realize for a solid ten minutes that he was watching Hannah Montana.

***

Dr. Lake called him at five and asked how the muscle relaxers were treating him - “Are they keeping the pain and back spasms at bay? Are you taking them with food? Have you been able to rest?” Douxie placated her with lies on all accounts, but the truth was that he was sore even with the medicine, he hadn't taken it with food because he couldn't bring himself to eat, and every time he closed his eyes he felt the unfathomable pain of being run through all over again, or, worse, he saw Merlin kneeling over him, sacrificing his life for Douxie’s stupid mistake, and that wasn’t worth any benefits rest gave him.

***

He did finally fall asleep that night around eleven, not by choice - he’d been forced to take another muscle relaxer when the pain in his ribs and back crescendoed to nearly unbearable levels, and the drug worked quickly despite his best efforts to stay awake.

The dream was, at the beginning, not good, but not nightmare material, either. He found he was reliving his final conversation with Merlin, in that Nowhere between life and death where his mentor had waited patiently for him to arrive before moving on at last, after 900 long years.

At first the conversation was much the same as it had been, and Douxie found a thread of comfort in Merlin’s reassurances - I told you, my boy, I chose to die for you. I want no part of a world without you in it. And I am happy, reunited with my dear friend and first apprentice, ready to step into the next chapter.

But this time, right before Merlin stepped through the door into the light, he turned and contemplated his grieving apprentice with a cold look. “Although,” he said, accusation seeping from every word, “it is true that I wouldn’t have had to give my life for you if you hadn’t bungled things up so much in the first place.”

Douxie felt his heart stutter to a stop and he stammered, “W-what?”

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Merlin hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. “It was my fight. And if you were going to interfere, why not cast some other spell that kept us both out of harm’s way?”

Floundering for any purchase on solid ground, Douxie finally managed, “I didn’t know how - the magic, it just responded -”

“You were always good at making excuses, Hisirdoux,” the wizard snarled. “The faith I thought I had in your abilities was obviously misplaced.” A terrible, eternal beat of silence. Then - “Perhaps I should have let you die after all. It’s no more than you deserve.”

“But Master -”

“I’m done with you.” With a dismissive wave of his arm, Merlin stomped into the waiting light of the unknown, muttering, “Might as well enjoy your life since you ended mine to save it.”

And Douxie was left alone in the between-space, and the tower crumbled around him in time with his soul, and he let it bury him, book after book crashing on his head, and he hoped that this time, he wouldn’t wake up at all….

It’s all my fault.

He woke up crying, not screaming, and shortly after he flushed the muscle relaxers while Archie wasn’t looking (the wise familiar would most certainly have not approved), splashed his face with icy water, and grabbed his well-read copy of The Catcher in the Rye and forced his eyes across the familiar words in a vain attempt to distract him from the loathing and pain and guilt that screamed through his aching head and pounded out a tattoo of shame that persisted through the lonely, sleepless night.

***

Two days later, he returned to work, and his manager stared openly at his disheveled appearance. Douxie had slept a grand total of four hours since he’d tossed the pills, and those had been intermittent catnaps that his body had forced him to take. Eventually, though the thought of using his magic made his skin crawl now after what it had done to Merlin, he conjured a simple alarm clock that sensed when he fell asleep and screeched metal core at him every time it happened.

He knew he looked bad - he’d seen a glimpse of himself in the mirror before he left. His face was thinner than usual, pinched in pain that tylenol just wasn’t cutting through - but anything else would make him fall asleep. Although all of the bruising was centralized around his back and chest and invisible beneath his rumpled t-shirt, it looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, with the dark, puffy circles accenting each one. He’d been too out of it to properly bother with styling his hair, or brushing it, if he were honest, and he was pretty sure he was wearing two different combat boots. They were both black, though, so maybe no one would notice. He didn’t have the energy to care if they did.

“Damn,” said his manager, Jeff. “I think you came back from sick leave a little too soon, man. You look awful.”

Douxie shrugged, not trusting himself to speak. He’d been screaming from one emotion to the next with no warning ever since he woke up, and even though he felt rather empty at the moment, he knew it was distinctly possible that if he opened his mouth he might start crying against his will.

“I think you should go back home. Have you seen a doctor?”

Douxie grunted in affirmation.

“Go home until you’re feeling better, Douxie. Seriously, man, you have to take care of yourself.”

The hollowness inside of him filled with irritation at the dismissal. “I’m fine,” he growled sullenly.

His manager blinked, surprised at the tone. Douxie had always been a model employee, respectful and fun to be around.

“You’re going to scare customers away,” Jeff insisted. “You can’t wait tables like this - people will be afraid you’ll give them whatever plague you’ve come down with.”

With a snarl, Douxie spat, “Why can’t things just go back to normal?” He stormed out before his bewildered manager could answer.

***

The next afternoon, someone knocked at his door. He cast a suspicious side-eye at Archie, who sat innocently on the table, tail tucked contritely around his carefully arranged paws as he studied Merlin’s magic book, the one Douxie had refused to touch since returning home. Archie had disappeared for a short time earlier, flapping out of the window in dragon form and saying that he was just going for a short flight to clear his head. Now Douxie wondered if the dragon had actually gone out and told someone of his worries about his wizard familiar. After all, Archie had been on his case constantly over the past few days, practically begging his friend to sleep, to eat, to talk, and Douxie always ignored him and had even yelled at him on a couple of occasions.

Douxie was picking at a bowl of dragon-popped popcorn listlessly, the small desire for food that he’d felt earlier having been immediately usurped by a fresh waves of undulating guilt and devastating emptiness. A smattering of empty cans - soda and energy drinks - lay crumpled on the coffee table around Archie, and the dregs of his latest cup of coffee were still warm. He seriously considered just ignoring the knocking until whoever it was went away - they’d promised to give him some time to recover, after all - but then they started ringing the doorbell and his head already hurt so badly it made his stomach curdle, so he made the tremendous journey to his feet. He swayed, his limbs like pool noodles, head swimming with dizziness at the effort to stay upright.

Each step toward the door - that incessant, too-loud doorbell was going to drive him mad! - was a hard-fought battle, and by the time his hand reached for the doorknob, he felt like he was going to be sick, and his vision was blurred, and he was having trouble remembering why he had gotten up in the first place.

Then the doorbell rang again, and a muffled voice called his name from the other side of the door, and he remembered.

It was Claire and Jim. The moment they laid eyes on him, their expressions went from concerned to relieved to something Douxie couldn’t quite identify but that might have been a kind of shock, or even horror.

“Douxie!” Claire half-shouted, and Douxie fought the urge to cover his ears as her voice, normally pleasant and soothing, tried its hardest to split his head in two. “What happened?”

Douxie squinted at her in confusion. Shouldn’t she know what happened? She had been there, for parts of it, at least. She’d heard about the rest. He could barely stand up straight anymore, and his eyes started closing of their own accord. This had happened so many times before, but as soon as sleep started to stake its claim, the memories and nightmares and things that might have been memories followed, mixing up into a blur that he couldn’t navigate, and then his magic alarm clock would blare, and he would wake up, and drink another Mountain Dew or Monster or cup of coffee, and try to do something to take his mind off of sleep and pain and Merlin. Then the whole process would start over again.

This time, it didn’t look like he would make it back to the couch before he passed out - the arduous trek to the front door had drained him, made him breathless and dizzy - and he was toppling forward, trying to force himself to wake up, battling sleep and the panic of sleep, or worse, hitting his head and being knocked out and forced to sleep.

“Whoa!” He startled awake to a hazy reality as Jim caught his stumbling form and propped him up the best that he could given how much taller Douxie was than him. Distantly, Douxie heard, “Claire, help me get him inside.”

And then Claire slung his other arm over her shoulder and they half-supported, half-dragged him back into his house, and though his eyes were on his couch, he realized that they were taking him past it, further into the house, in the direction of his bedroom, and he began to struggle against them.

“No, not there,” he gasped, knowing that if he had a mattress under his body and a soft pillow under his bed, there would be no way he could resist the siren call of sleep. He’d been avoiding his bed for days now.

But they didn’t listen, and soon they helped ease him onto his bed, perpetually unmade, and he scrambled up clumsily into a facsimile of a sitting position and shook his head to clear it of the gummy cobwebs that infested it. Archie, having followed the trio closely, literally hovering right over their shoulders, perched on Douxie’s desk and kept his lamp-lit eyes on his human, watchful and protective.

As soon as their charge was no longer in any immediate danger of hurting himself, Jim pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling my mom.”

“No, no,” Douxie said, forcing his burning eyes open as far as he could and making a feeble swipe at the phone in his friend’s hand. Jim hesitated, his thumb hovering over the send button.

“You are obviously not feeling well,” he said. “And you look sick. You need to see a doctor before --”

“I’m not sick,” Douxie explained, trying to project an air of wellness that he couldn’t even muster within himself. At their doubtful looks, he clarified, “Just a little tired.”

“You don’t look like you’ve slept in a month!” Claire exclaimed worriedly. “We promised to give you a few days to yourself to heal and rest, not turn into one of the living dead!”

“It’s only been a few days,” Douxie assured her. “I just need to sort some things out in my head, that’s all. Then I’ll sleep.” It was a lie, but he needed them to believe it, needed them to go home and go on with their lives and not sit here worrying about him - or worse, try to make him sleep. He appreciated their concern, and was touched that he had friends who cared so much about his well-being, but they had more important things to deal with - Jim’s transition from being half-troll to enslaved hulk troll to fully human and the loss of his amulet, for starters. And he had made this mess on his own, this was his fault, so if his punishment was to never sleep again, it should be his to bear alone. He didn’t deserve to be worried about, he suddenly realized - that was the crux of why he wanted to be left alone so badly.

“A few days without sleep will wreck you, man,” Jim said seriously, his blue eyes offering nothing but concern. He did pocket his phone again, though, for which Douxie heaved a sigh of relief. “Trust me, I know.”

Douxie didn’t know the details, but he had heard stories from Claire and Toby about how Jim had, over a year ago, willingly gone into the Darklands, a hellish nightmare-scape beneath the skin of this world, and Claire had told, her own eyes haunted, of how he had come back not himself, traumatized, and how he’d barely slept nor ate and had become a shell of his former self.

So he asked, voice far more unsure than he felt comfortable with, “How did you move on? How did you get back to normal?”

He hated himself for sounding so weak. He’d lived 701 years. He’d lost people he cared about so regularly that he’d eventually tried to avoid personal connections. Such was the curse of being a wizard, and being functionally immortal. The world around him would turn, but he would not age - or rather, he would age slowly, at the pace of his own choosing - and people would die, wars would rise up and die down, and still he would live, watching it all, alone. That wasn’t true. Even if Merlin had been entombed for much of that time, he hadn’t been dead, not really. The knowledge that he would see his mentor again had kept Douxie going during the loneliest of times, during the most devastating losses.

And, of course, he’d had Archie, a constant companion who even now had done everything he could to help his friend, and when that hadn’t worked, when Douxie had been too stubborn to listen, he’d taken it upon himself to gather more of Douxie’s friends and staged an intervention. If Douxie hadn’t been so exhausted and his mind hadn’t been so muddy, he might have been grateful or touched by the gesture and loyalty, but right now, he just felt irritated, like his privacy had been infringed upon.

Jim blinked. “Well, uh,” he stammered, glancing at Claire before continuing, “it took time, first of all. But, honestly, it was my friends. But it took talking to someone who had gone through the same thing as me, who understood what I was going through, to first start the healing.”

Douxie shook his head. “Everybody loses people,” he said slowly. “But this feels different.”

“Just because everyone deals with loss doesn’t make your experiences any less important, Douxie,” Archie said sagely. He was the only one in the room who had a true scope of all the heartbreaks Douxie had accumulated over his centuries of life in a world of short-lived mortals.

“It’s not that.” Douxie was desperate now for them to understand the truth. Then maybe they would stop being so kind to him. Dream-Merlin had been right. He didn’t deserve it. “Don’t you see? It’s my fault Merlin’s dead. I killed him.”

Jim froze at his words, looking like he’d just been struck across the face. For a moment, Douxie wondered why he reacted the way he did, but then remembered that Jim had been the one to hold Douxie down when Morgana was going to kill him. He hadn’t been in his right mind, had been enslaved by the Arcane Order, but still, he had, in a small way, been the reason that Douxie had been forced into doing the switching magic that he had. Still, Douxie could find no ill will in him against the Trollhunter. He’d not been in control of his own mind. Douxie had.

“I am so sorry,” Jim started, but Douxie immediately cut him off.

“It’s not your fault. You weren’t you. But me…”

“You have to see the truth,” Jim insisted urgently, now moving to take a seat on the bed next to his older friend. Sure, they hadn’t known each other all that long, but going through the things they had and saving the world together tended to bring people closer together rather more quickly than usual, in his experience. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to save Merlin. You took a sword in the gut for him.” Douxie flinched internally at the reminder of the agony, the feeling of dying, the cold and the dark.

“Yeah, Douxie,” Claire chimed in. “You’re a hero. You saved him.”

“If I’d had more control over that magic, if I’d channeled it a different way or done a different spell, then we might both be alive.” He was so tired, but the conversation held him in its grip, and he couldn’t sleep anyway, he’d go back to the sword and Merlin’s death and the wizard’s tower where Merlin would tell him again that he’d failed.

“Douxie, you’re the one who’s been teaching me more magic!” Claire reminded him. “One of the things I learned from my Shadow Staff - and that you’ve continued to show me - is that magic is emotion. You can’t always control what magic is going to do when you are in a moment of fear or anger or desperation. Magic reacts to your emotions. And Jim’s right. What you did was very brave and selfless.”

“That’s why Merlin gave his life to save you in return,” Archie added. “That, and because he loved you, very much.”

Douxie felt the sting of hot tears carving pathways down his face and didn’t bother to wipe them off. He felt like having a full-on temper tantrum, flopping onto his stomach and screaming and sobbing and slamming his fists into the ground and letting his magic explode out of him with all the force of the emotions and exhaustion that had built up inside. He knew if he did that, though, he would just end up hurting someone else.

So he asked a question he was ashamed to ask, because it made it sound like he blamed Merlin instead of himself, “If he loved me, why did he leave? Why didn’t he let me make my sacrifice? It was like what I did didn’t matter. I saved him because I don’t want to live without him, but that’s just what he forced me to do.”

Archie flapped off the desk and landed on the bed on the other side of his friend. Placing a paw on Douxie’s leg, he spoke gently, as if to a lost child, “Merlin was a great wizard” -- Douxie sobbed -- “but he was also very selfish sometimes. That comes with great power and an ego left unchecked paired with a very long life. Merlin saved you because he couldn’t bear to think of a world without you in it. Nor,” said the dragon, nuzzling Douxie’s elbow affectionately, “can I, for that matter.”

“But if I --”

“No buts,” said Archie. “This was not your fault. And I know Merlin told you the same.”

“He did,” Douxie admitted. “But then he didn’t. Every time I sleep, I see him, and he tells me… he tells me that I f-failed, that he’s d-dead because of me, and that I don’t deserve to live.”

“Oh, Douxie,” Claire breathed softly, sinking down into his desk chair.

“That’s not Merlin telling you that,” Jim spoke up. Something raw lingered in his eyes. “It’s the lies you are telling yourself. I know because for weeks after the Darklands, I…” He cast his gaze briefly at Claire, and even in his semi-conscious state, Douxie got the feeling that he hadn’t even told his girlfriend this before. “I had dreams every night of Claire, Toby, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, everyone telling me I should have stayed in the Darklands. Should have died there, because I wasn’t strong or brave enough, and I went in alone and betrayed them, and that they were better off and happier without me. For a while, I believed them.”

Claire was crying quietly now, her hands pressed against her lips.

“But then,” Jim continued, “the more time I spent with my friends, and talked to them, I began to be able to separate their truth from my own lies. Like I said earlier, you really need to talk to someone who gets it, you know. And even though we’ve experienced a lot of the same things, it’s not me.” He looked pointedly at the small black dragon who was currently in the same place he’d always been - at Douxie’s side.

“I miss him too.” Archie repeated his words from a few days ago. “And I am here for you, Douxie.” He must have seen the doubt festering in Douxie’s eyes and he reassured, “I do not blame you for what happened. No one does. The Merlin in your dreams is not real. He is spitting your own self-doubts and guilt right back into your face, but deep down, you know the truth. The real Merlin told you. Jim and Claire told you. And I am promising you - Merlin died because he chose to in order to save you because after all he had seen and done and all the years he’d lived, the one thing he was terrified of was having to light your funeral pyre. And Merlin never did anything he didn’t want to do. No one could have stopped him from making that choice.”

The words struck something deep inside of Douxie, and he felt the tiniest fraction of weight shift in his chest. “M’be,” he slurred, so tired that his friends were all now blobs of blue, black, and purple. A giant bruise. He chuckled, a bit madly.

“Okay, Douxie,” came Claire’s voice, distant and very close at the same time. “I think you really need to lie down now. You’ve been awake for too long.”

She and Jim helped him lie down. Weakly, he protested, “I cn’t sleep.”

“You can,” said Jim. “Take Archie’s words with you if you end up facing that dream-Merlin again. Remember that we’re here for you. None of us will leave you while you sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be right here when you wake up, and if you have nightmares, we’ll remind you of the truth,” Claire promised.

“And I will guard you,” Archie vowed, retaking his cat form and curling up protectively over his closest friend’s heart. “You are safe here.”

Douxie could resist the call of sleep no longer. He closed his eyes and let it take him, and he felt the warm weight of Archie on his chest and the presence of his friends around him and the slightest of smiles curved his lips as he drifted off.

***

Thirty seconds after Douxie grew still upon the bed, his three friends let out a collective sigh of relief.

Thirty seconds after that, Jim and Claire let out a collective yell of shock and Archie leapt to his paws, hissing and arching his back, as a giant, misty alarm clock appeared out of thin air and started screeching a terrible cacophony of wailing guitars and screaming vocals at top volume.

“What the--?” Claire shouted over the racket, slamming her hands over her ears.

“I forgot,” Archie called back, “he cast this spell to wake him up when he fell asleep.”

And yet, this time, Douxie still slept.

“Can you turn it off?” Jim yelled.

“No, only Douxie can undo the spell.”

Jim considered this for a moment and shook his head. “Let him sleep. He needs it.”

And despite the loud, jarring music, he, Claire, and Archie kept their promise and stayed faithfully at their friend’s side until, four hours later, he woke up long enough to blessedly vanish the clock.

Then, like a little boy with a teddy bear, the already fading Douxie pulled a startled Archie into his arms and held him tight, curling up on his side with his furry prize. Although uncomfortable in his new position and robbed of his draconian dignity, Archie snuggled in and purred, content to listen to the steady breathing of his deeply sleeping familiar.

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 2 years ago

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408 of 2022

1) I have green eyes. 2) I come from a rich family. 3) I have a Deadjournal. 4) I know how to operate a vehicle correctly. 5) I have been in more than 2 car accidents in the past 12 months. 6) I have a motorcycle permit or license. 7) My father is over 50. 8) I have a boyfriend/girlfriend. (married) 9) I listen to rap music. 10) I’ve never done anything I say I really regret. 11) I cheated on one of my exes and they don’t know about it to this day. 12) I slept in a bathroom once. 13) My favorite color is neon orange. 14) My school colors were red and white. 15) I wish I knew my mother better. 16) I look older than I really am. 17) I am a Scorpio. 18) I detest spiders with every fiber of my being. 19) I am pro-choice. 20) I consider myself to be an intelligent person. 21) I was alive in 1989. 22) I have a broken heart. 23) I remember a lot about my first love. 24) I will die and bring no secrets to my grave. 25) I hate driving on ice or in snow. 26) I am Japanese. 27) I speak a language most people don’t understand. 28) My vision is perfect. 29) My favorite band is From First To Last. 30) I am left-handed. (was) 31) My favorite drink is Mountain Dew. 32) I am a Grammar Nazi and I am proud of it. 33) I don’t have a twitter. And I’m cool with that. 34) I am single. 35) I am pretty personable. 36) I let moodiness take over sometimes. 37) My mother is well taken care of. 38) My father makes more money than my mother does. 39) I play the lottery 40) I only like dark chocolate. 41) I have eaten already today. 42) I want to conquer the world and rename it something else. 43) I am a virgin. 44) My favorite animal would not make a good pet. 45) I often contemplate throwing my computer out the window. 46) I have a distaste for anything made with cheese. 47) I am hispanic. 48) I hate chores. 49) I am a neat freak. 50) My hair is brown 51) I am short. 52) I am afraid of dying. 53) I love someone very dearly and would give my life for them. 54) My email is not hotmail, yahoo, or aol. 55) I have been seriously depressed in the past. 56) I have had the Chicken Pox 57) I enjoy reading the newspaper. 58) I like online shopping better than going to the mall or to the store. 59) My place of work is less than 20 miles from my home. 60) I have social anxiety. 61) I’m lazy. 62) I am too nice for my own good. 63) I really should be doing something else. 64) I like to debate. 65) I enjoy/enjoyed high school. 66) I think that I am nice-looking or sexually desireable. 67) I clean my room at least once a month. 68) I’ve lived in an apartment. 69) I like the city more than the country. 70) I listen to country music. 71) I am listening to music right now. 72) I’ve been to a rock concert. 73) I like listening to wind chimes. 74) I have been skinny dipping before. 75) I wanted to be a super hero when I was little. 76) I remember being born. 77) I don’t trust politicians. 78) My hair has been dyed in the past year. 79) I have 2 or more piercings. 80) I am female. 81) I love being different. 82) I’m incredibly sarcastic. 83) I like to play videogames. 84) I am lactose intolerant. 85) I keep a journal. 86) I’m sensitive. 87) I cry more than most people think I do. 88) My favorite movie genre is Comedy. 89) I have sang in public before. 90) I enjoy dancing. 91) I’ve gone clubbing with friends. 92) I am 18 or older. 93) I have never tried to do a cartwheel. 94) My dad made me a treehouse when I was younger. 95) My mother drives a truck. 96) I wanted to be a lawyer when I was younger. 97) I watch CSI. 98) I want to dye my hair an unnatural color. 99) I have wasted more than 5 minutes on this survey. 100) I watch football on Sundays.

#survey #random survey #bolding survey

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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

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05 | Over the Moon

→ previous | next

→ summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you're left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You're not ready for that alone. Are you?

→ genre: 85% angst, 15% fluff | mafia!au

→ warnings: profanity, intense description of torture, blood, mentions of death by torture

→ wordcount: 8.7k

Your days as a Crescent are a delightful routine. Every day is different from the last, yes, but the events are almost all the same: breakfast, lunch, dinner, sales with Yoongi and Hoseok, talk with Yoongi, sleep. The sense of repetitiveness, the touch of routine is what makes your life the best it's been since six years ago.

You almost don't have time to even mourn, anymore. Jimin would've wanted you to move on.

Besides, you're really finding yourself integrating into this family. Every one of their faces, from Kim Seokjin to Jeon Jungkook is welcoming—you're familiar with the new quirks they had picked up with maturity and you like it. You like the new them.

You've come to acknowledge that Kim Seokjin is a reasonable, level-headed boss who looks out for everyone in the Crescents. He's kind, astute and more observant than he looks. The same goes for Namjoon. You can't think of anyone else who would do his job as the underboss, Seokjin's advisor, better than he does. Yoongi and Hoseok are dauntless dealers. Both are quick-witted and scary when they need to be. While they share a quality of pragmatics, they use it in different ways that balance each other out. Though Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are often stuck with the so-called 'dirty-work' of the household, they rarely throw away their duties. You've come to admire their diligence.

You finally think you fit in with this family once more. Adult life is starting to become enjoyable.

You've been on the phone with your parents a few times too, reassuring them that yes, you got a job (minus the part you were in a lucrative underground business) and yes, you paid your rent and no, you can't get Jimin on the phone because you don't know where he is. It's only half true. Where do you go when you're dead?

Every time Jimin comes into your mind (though less often these days), you try not to become miserable; instead, your defense mechanism is to read his diary, which you're half-way through, by the way. His writing keeps you grounded when you miss him. You do everything you can to imagine him sitting at his desk with his diary splayed out in front of him as he pours out his mind onto the pages. It calms you down—makes you feel like you knew your brother.

You haven't really been paying attention to the dates until today, however. And you had no need to because Jimin wrote in his diary almost every day or every other day at most. Yet, the last entry you read before this had been nearly six months later (since you were going in reverse chronological order).

You frown as you examine the pages of the diary. Why the long break from diary writing?

Situating yourself on your bed so that you're comfy, you tug the diary closer to yourself, preparing to read it. The moonlight shines in from the open window as the crescent moon watches you read:

How much easier will this get? I don’t want to think about it. And I wonder... is there a special place for murderers in hell? The more I think about it, the more depressed I become.

What I was tonight... Whatever I was, wasn’t me, right? I think I was a monster today, but when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be normal. I’ll be Park Jimin. But a Jimin who had used his own hands to take another’s life. God. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself.

But I couldn’t help it. This is my job as a hitman. Jungkook and Taehyung were shaken up about it too, but Taehyung doesn’t want to talk about it and Jungkook’s too shocked to say anything. I’m too cowardly to mention it, so I can only write about it here.

I’m not scared of blood. But watching it seep through someone else’s body... knowing that I caused it to happen... Fuck. I think I might be going insane, writing this. My hands are shaking and my limbs are completely numb. I feel detached from my heart and soul and my mind is heavy in my head.

Oh, god, I cherish the glimmer in my eyes—and I can attest that everyone has their own special sparkle. But I took it away from someone today. I watched the sparkle abandon his eyes, leaving two dull, glassy, dead eyeballs. How am I going to live with myself after this? How can JK, Tae and I all live through this?

And you know what’s sadder? You know what’s fucking sadder? I’m more worried about what I have done than who I have killed.

I’ve become a monster.

Jimin's handwriting deteriorates further down the entry and the pages are wrinkled from teardrops and sweat. You can almost feel the pain he had gone through writing this. Yet you are stunned to silence as well. Slowly, you close the diary, tucking it under your mattress and laying on your bed with your hands folded on your stomach. You stare at your ceiling again.

Maybe Jimin stared at the same spot when he slept in this room.

God. You turn over to your side, sliding your knees up to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It's one thing to imagine or assume your brother has murdered... but to see him confess it in his own writing...

What's worse is the fact that he never mentioned murdering in the entries after, which meant he became completely immune to it. You're in stupid denial once more. Just when you thought you weren't going to cry over your dead brother anymore...

You don't know how long you've been drowning in your own thoughts when someone knocks on your door. The sound scares you and you sit upon your bed, quickly checking the time. When had it gotten so late? It's 10 pm, already? Who would want to talk to me so late?

"Yeah?" you call. "Who is it?"

"I-It's Yoongi... I just, uh, wanted to talk."

No, Yoongi. I'm not in the mood. I can't—

"You can come in," you say, your own voice betraying your thoughts.

Yoongi's shy as he steps into your room, his hands folded neatly in front of him as he eyes you sitting on your bed. "Hey, I just..." he starts, walking towards you before sitting down on the edge of your bed. "I just wanted to apologize, Y/N."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Apologize?" Damn, the moment you hear his voice, you're able to forget about everything else.

"I, well... I'm not very um, good with humans as you may know," Yoongi confesses, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "I mean, I don't know how to talk to them... I never... Well, to be quite honest, I've never felt this," he motions between you and himself, "with someone before and I wanted to apologize, erm, because I don't know if I'm handling this um, normally... I don't know," he groans, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't even know what I'm saying right now. I just thought you deserved an explanation. I sure as hell don't know what to do when I like someone. Words aren't really my thing, you know? I just don't know what to do with... us."

"Oh, Yoongi..." you sigh, your chest feeling warm and your cheeks blushing. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I do!" he protests, throwing his hands out before looking at you. "We've kissed. Twice! And nothing's official! Is this how these things work??"

"These things," you giggle at his choice of words. "Actually, I'm not sure, either. I'm just as new to this as you are, you know?"

Yoongi smiles. "So I'm not the only one confused?"

"I'm just as confused as you are."

"But you're sure about one thing?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I like you too, you know."

"I don't think you would've kissed me back twice if you didn't," Yoongi chuckles. "So what now?"

"I dunno," you answer truthfully. "But I do appreciate your honesty. I can trust you." Yoongi's somehow able to take your mind off of business. It's funny. He's part of the Crescents, part of the mafia, part of a brutal gang, but when you're with him, you feel normal.

The bed dips as Yoongi slowly makes his way over to you, sitting so he's right in front of you. "Can I spend the night here?" he asks.

You don't think twice before you nod.

It's one in the morning but you're still wide awake. You find that it's impossible to fall asleep when there's so much on your mind, anyway. Sighing, you look up and out of your window, following the moonlight with your eyes. The moonshine illuminates Yoongi's soft features as he sleeps soundly with your head resting on his bare chest.

You feel safe like this, in his arms. Your Crescents marks touching too—Yoongi's on his chest and yours on the back of your neck.

You didn't think that you'd have sex with him tonight, but one thing had led to another... and it had just happened. But you don't regret it, either. Yoongi is a diligent and selfless partner, always chasing after your release more than his. The enjoyable sex took your mind off of everything. Until both of you had come down from your highs, that is.

Now that Yoongi's asleep, your mind can wander back to its bad habits: thinking about your brother. Though you'd forgotten about the diary when Yoongi was taking sweet care of your body, you remember now. That your brother is a murderer. That anybody in this gang could be one. You can't seem to fall asleep.

At that moment, Yoongi groans softly underneath you, making you raise your head to look into his barely open eyes.

"Hey, you still awake?" he asks with his gravelly voice. "Do you need some water?"

"No, no, I'm fine," you say, quietly. His arm moves around to wrap you tighter against him, and you snuggle into his chest. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"You always do," Yoongi chuckles.

You take a moment to contemplate before deciding for it. Maybe talking about it will put you at peace. "Can I ask you something, then?"

"Sure," Yoongi says, rubbing small circles on your arm. "What is it?"

"Have you..." you hesitate, "um, have you ever murdered someone?"

Yoongi frowns. "What?"

"I mean, have you ever killed someone before?" you say.

"That's what's been on your mind?" Yoongi sighs. "Well, would any of this change if I said yes?"

You stay silent for a while before sighing, turning over so you can face Yoongi properly. He sits up on the bed, staring at you with a worried look plastered on his face. It's the first time he's not stoic, outwardly expressing his feelings.

"I... I don't know, Yoongi."

"Y/N," Yoongi groans, raking his fingers across his hair as he breathes in deeply. "Will it make you feel better if I told you no?"

You stare at him blankly.

"I've never handled a weapon other than to sell it," Yoongi clarifies, making you let out a sigh of relief. "But indirectly, I've probably killed many."

Your brows furrow as you ask, "Indirectly?"

Yoongi gives you a sad look, caressing your warm cheek with his delicate fingers. "We sell weapons, Y/N... What do you think they do with them? Let's go to sleep, hm? Talk about it in the morning..."

He snuggles back into the blankets, tapping his chest for you to lay your head. You oblige, laying your head against him as he falls back into sleep. You can feel his even breathing, the small rises and falls of his chest. It should be soothing. But you're more awake than ever.

You've accepted it, really.

You're an indirect murderer, too, anyways. You sell weapons with Yoongi, therefore you are much capable of indirectly causing the demise of another stranger. You shouldn't be thinking too much about it—so you haven't. And as a result, your relationship with Yoongi has soared.

Your relationship with your co-workers has soared, in fact. Hoseok isn't really an asshole once you get to know him better. When you have your nice afternoon chats with him, he strikes you like the most normal businessman ever. Just a little uptight, though.

"I was afraid to sit my ass down on the toilet for a year after that prank," Hoseok snorts, shaking his head disdainfully as you're thrown into a fit of laughter.

"We didn't mean for it to affect you so much!" you wheeze, trying to pick up your teacup without spilling the tea from laughing too hard. "Besides, we thought it was insanely obvious that the snake in the toilet was fake!"

"If you had a penis, you'd be careful too," Hoseok scoffs.

You scrunch your nose, setting the teacup back down on the table. "Okay, let's not get into all about genitals, though."

"Fine. Then what about the time you guys hung a giant spider dangling down on the wall next to my bed?" Hoseok asks, shuddering at the thought. "Who's idea was that? Taehyung, again?"

"Surprisingly, that was my idea," you confess. "Dangling a fake spider to try and scare you is too tame to be Tae's idea!"

Hoseok scoffs again. "I didn't deserve those pranks."

You smile. "I know. You were so patient with us, too. But I'm just putting it out there that I only pranked you with JK and Tae. I'd never do it solo."

"Yes, that makes me feel much better," Hoseok says, rolling his eyes.

You snort. "Hey! You learned sarcasm!"

Hoseok laughs, crossing his legs as he leans back on his sofa. "It took me a while. You guys used to make fun of me for not understanding sarcasm too." He never sounds bitter when he recalls his past, which puts you even more at peace.

"But that was all of us as a group!" you protest. "Jimin used to call you the Sarcasm Man, remember?"

Hoseok hums in remembrance, smiling wistfully. "Of course I do. Remember? He used to always tell me, could you be more serious??"

"Yeah!" you laugh, "And you'd always say—"

"Here are the baked goods for the little tea party!" Taehyung sings, carrying a plate full of warm, homemade cookies. He sets them down on the table in between you and Hoseok, grinning proudly at his masterful baking skills.

"Oh, thanks," you say. "They smell really good!"

Apparently, Hoseok doesn't think so. "What kind are these?" he asks, scrunching his nose.

Taehyung scoffs. "Isn't it obvious? Chocolate chip!"

"Can you bring oatmeal?"

You raise your eyebrows as Taehyung groans. "Only old farts like oatmeal, Hoseok. Act your fucking age for once." But with one look from Hoseok, Taehyung's darting out of the room to bake oatmeal cookies.

"Isn't chocolate chip fine?" you say, picking up the warm treat and biting into it. "Mmm, see? It's great. JK and Tae have been getting really good at baking these days."

Hoseok shrugs. "Taehyung should know I don't like chocolate chip," he grumbles. "He's always getting on my nerves."

You nod silently. There's nothing you can really do about the in-house rivalry except watch it unfold before your eyes and hope you don't become a part of it. It's something that was never a problem before when you were children, too. Yet, you've gotten used to it now.

Hoseok sighs, taking a sip of his bitter tea. "You know how the family is, right? We're always split up in different ways no matter how united we are. Jungkook and Taehyung have always been great friends. Jimin and Namjoon were always close too, along with Seokjin. And I was left with Yoongi. It's better that way. Besides, Yoongi was one of the few who wouldn't drool over you in the past, anyway."

You laugh. "So I've heard."

"Yeah," Hoseok smiles. "Seokjin, Jungkook and Taehyung were all completely into you, though you might've heard from someone else. But I didn't want them coming to me to confess their undying love for you. So I stuck with Yoongi. Until now." He groans dramatically but you smile, seeing right through his act. "Yoongi won't stop fucking talking about you!"

"Really?" you grin. "What does he say?"

"Ugh," Hoseok groans. "Have I become the middleman?"

You giggle, shrugging. "I wouldn't mind if you did."

Hoseok grunts as he sips the last of his tea and throws a disgusted look at the sweet chocolate chip cookies. "That's enough chit chat for today, don't you think Y/N? Let's get ready for that sale today."

"Oh, yeah, right," you say, quickly stuffing a cookie in your mouth before taking two in each hand and standing up. "Mmph—what?" you ask with your mouth full when Hoseok gives you a disgusted look. "Ift's for Yoongmi, I swmear!"

"Sure," Hoseok snorts. "Yoongi hates chocolate chip."

"Oh—" you say, shrugging before swallowing. "More for me, then."

Hoseok rolls his eyes but he smiles. "We'll have to grab the oatmeal cookies later, after the sale. It'll be like an incentive to make us work harder."

You scrunch your eyebrows. "Yeah, but who says I even like oatmeal cookies?"

"Y/N, you would eat anything that has the word 'cookie' in it," Hoseok sighs. "You loved baked goods when you were younger so I just assumed you like baked goods now as well."

"You're not wrong," you say, taking a giant bite out of your cookie. "C'mon let's go find Yoongi for the sale."

You kinda might've totally accidentally forgotten to cover up for the sale today. Your arms and legs are left exposed (which, you don't mind because that's how you beat the hot L.A. weather), but that's also bad news when you're dealing.

You can easily ignore the cat-calls and sexual side comments the men shout in your face. You've come to toughen up these past several weeks. Besides, you know that if any of them lay a finger on you, they'll deal with Yoongi and Hoseok's consequences. Otherwise, you, Yoongi and Hoseok have made a silent pact to ignore the comments completely—actually ignoring them scared them even more, you found. Once a man had vulgarly pointed out how nice your tits would look in the open air; you didn't even flinch as you cocked a pistol next to you. He shut up after that. It's amusing to speak with your actions.

Yet, today, Yoongi is on a different page.

"What did you call her?" he asks, quietly, teeth clenched.

"Oh, you need me to repeat that?" the hitman grins. "I called that girl a whore. Look at her, exposing skin like that. She's asking for us to look."

You're about to point your biggest, scariest, most expensive rifle at him to shut him up when Yoongi speaks again.

"If she didn't say you wanted her to look, then she didn't quite ask for you to look, did she?" Yoongi seethes. "Besides," he grins, "we have men everywhere around the city looking to take out some of you low-level crooks, so you better keep your mouths shut in front of a proper lady. Learn some manners."

The men look terrified. Without another word, they quickly gather their items before dashing out of the room like their lives depended on it, which apparently, it did. The three of you watch them leave with amused looks on your faces.

"Damn, Yoongi. You're really looking out for Y/N," Hoseok laughs. "Well, I'm gonna go get my oatmeal cookies. Join me if you want to." He leaves in an excited rush before you and Yoongi can answer.

"He's always really liked Taehyung's oatmeal cookies, though he fails to admit it each time," Yoongi laughs.

"I want to try some of these famed cookies myself," you say. "But um, I'm honestly confused. I thought, you know, we, the Crescents only consist of the seven of us? Are there more out in the city that I don't know of?"

Yoongi laughs again at your innocent question, putting an arm around your shoulder and guiding you out of the room. "I was bluffing, Y/N. We're a very, very tiny gang. But no one else has to know that." He gives your arm a little squeeze before turning you around to leave a chaste kiss on your lips. "Let's go get those cookies."

You nod, though you feel a bit wary. Damn. Just when you thought you were getting used to the mafia tactics... This place is really testing my moralities.

The whole gang is in the white room again with Jin in the power seat and everyone else in their assigned seats. You're honestly a bit confused about what this meeting will be about but Yoongi assured you that you don't have to worry at all. You take his word for it, but something about that white room always makes you feel so uneasy.

"As you may know," Seokjin announces loudly, everyone quieting down to hear him speak, "the annual gala is being hosted soon."

"Hell yeah!" Taehyung shouts, pumping his fist in the air. "Free booze!"

Jin chuckles at Taehyung's excitement, nodding. "The Crescents will be going as usual."

"Objection!" Yoongi protests, which causes everyone to stare at him in utter shock. The man who's practically famous for having no input in any meeting yelling clearly seizes everyone's attention.

"Yes?" Jin asks. "If you are concerned about Y/N's safety, you do not have to be. We'll arrange something special for her."

"You surely can't let her go," Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his chair. "It's dangerous and you know that."

"That is true, Boss," Namjoon says as he turns to you. "It's an open party for all citizens... But there's a murder or two there every year since all of the gangs in the city go to pay their respects. We must be vigilant."

Hoseok chuckles. "You know, they keep coming up with creative ways to kill. Last year the unlucky victim drowned in his own sparkling champagne. I wonder what they're planning this year..."

You frown. Maybe Yoongi's right. Maybe you shouldn't go...

"Aw, but it's fun," Jungkook says. "Y/N will have fun!"

Yoongi snorts. "If your definition of fun is getting sexually harassed and objectified by the male gaze then sure, Y/N will have a lot of fun, Jeon Jungkook. I'd like to keep my girlfriend out of it if you please."

"Your girlfriend happens to be a Crescent," Hoseok sighs. "Yoongi, she's more than capable of going. It's just a single party."

"If she doesn't go, we all don't go," Seokjin says. "We don't leave Crescents behind."

"And we're definitely not going to skip the gala," Hoseok snorts. "That's where our alliances are formed!"

"It's also where our enemies are made," Namjoon points out. "We strap guns, grenades and knives under our tuxes and gowns."

"We'll be careful, then," Seokjin says. "Not that we're ever not careful..."

Hoseok throws a dirty look at Taehyung who raises his hands in protest.

"So I'm going?" you ask.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Yoongi says. "It's your call."

"Since when is it her call?" Taehyung frowns. "It's really Boss' decision."

"I'll leave it up to Y/N, Taehyung. Don't worry," Seokjin says, smiling. "Yoongi's right. It is your call, Y/N."

"Wait, but that's—there's pressure now," you sigh, slouching in your chair. "I don't want to ruin tradition..."

"It's not as dangerous as Yoongi says," Jungkook offers, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. "Please, Y/N? Tae and I love going there."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, grunting but not saying anything.

"If Yoongi's such a good boyfriend, he'll prove to you that he can protect you," Taehyung snorts. "Besides, it's an extravagant gala! And Boss has already bought you a dress!"

"Wait, what?" you and Yoongi say at the same time.

"You bought me a dress?"

"You bought her a dress?" Yoongi gawks.

Seokjin smiles warmly at you. "Yes, I did. The gala's in a few days, so after my day job, I went to get a dress and called Taehyung over for a second opinion. He said something about how you look good in midnight blue."

"Yeah," you laugh. "I wore that color for all of the high school dances. Taehyung remembered?"

"We all did, frankly," Hoseok snorts. "You wouldn't shut up about your dresses in high school, remember?"

"I was excited!" you defend yourself. "And, I mean, if I already have a dress... I might as well go, right? I'm sure nothing too bad will happen."

"JK's a cop, Y/N. If Yoongi can't save your ass, he will," Taehyung jokes. "Think of it as a social gathering with a double meaning! Free food and alcohol included! But don't mess with anyone because they might spear your head to the wall."

You laugh nervously, unsure whether you should take that as a joke or not. "In that case, I think I'll be fine."

For an hour now, Jungkook and Taehyung have been fussing over you as they helped you get ready for the big gala. They'd tried to help you with your makeup, but Taehyung failed your winged eyeliner eight times so you banned him from touching your face again. Meanwhile, Jungkook accidentally knocked over your eyeshadow palette, reducing the assortments of colors into unusable powders. Looked like you were going without eyeshadow tonight. You had to threaten them with the hair curler at one point too because Taehyung wouldn't stop burning your ear to curl your hair.

Now, you were hiding out in your bathroom with the door locked, taking your sweet time to put on your dress.

"Did you put it on yet?" Taehyung calls for the billionth time.

Your groan, throwing your head back in annoyance as you try to shove the dress on your body. "I'm never gonna come out if you ask me that one more time!"

Taehyung shuts up after that.

You zip yourself up with no problem, admiring the way the dress is perfectly your size. When you turn to face yourself in the mirror, you can barely recognize yourself.

I look beautiful.

The dress hugs every curve of your body, the feather-like chiffon fanning out from your cinched waist. You like the human embodiment of the nighttime sky: soft, delicate but mysteriously dark. You feel like you're being taken to high school prom all over again, the familiar giddy feeling rising up your throat. Except—your date is not Taehyung. He is Yoongi. And this isn't a high school prom. There's a one in five hundred chance that you might be murdered tonight, but all of the Crescents promised you'd make it out alive. You know that if everyone—except Taehyung—makes a promise, they keep it. You feel much better about your safety.

When you walk out of the bathroom to twirl for your friends, you find that literally everyone is already in your room, waiting for you. They're dressed to the nines. If you combined the total costs of their well-ironed, stiff suits and their jewelry, the sum could have probably paid for your whole college tuition. They look rich, in other words.

"You took so long, JK and I had time to change into our tuxes," Taehyung laughs. "But damn, you look hot. You're welcome."

"Thanks," you mutter, sheepishly. "Jin, you really outdid yourself with this dress. Thank you."

Seokjin smiles. "No need to thank me. It had your name written all over it so I had to buy it. It fits you very nicely."

"You look beautiful, Y/N. And I got a matching tie. Do you like it?" Yoongi asks, grinning at you wildly, unable to take his eyes off of you. You giggle as you admire his all-black suit with a midnight blue tie.

"I love it, Yoongi," you smile. "This is like prom all over again."

"Rated R prom," Hoseok points out. "With the possibility of a brutal murder. Oh yeah, and drinks, sex and drugs. Here," he says, handing out a holster to you. "Just in case."

"Woah, um—" you start.

"And this is the gun you'll be using tonight if you were to get into any trouble," Yoongi says, handing you a pistol. "But you won't get into any trouble because I'll be by your side the whole time." He helps you strap the holster on your thigh, securing it and sliding the gun in. When the dress falls over your legs, it hides the lethal weapon from view.

"Oh, and blow this whistle only in an emergency and all six of us will be running to help you," Jungkook adds, handing you a safety whistle of all things. It was silver, matching all of your jewelry and if you hadn't known it was a whistle, you would've thought it was a beautiful necklace. You mumble a thanks before putting it on.

"Now you're more than prepared," Seokjin says, smiling. "How are you feeling, Y/N?"

You laugh nervously, weighing out the rather heavy gun on your leg before replying, "I honestly feel overprepared. I think I'll be fine."

Hoseok snorts. "Oh, honey, you are not overprepared. You should see some of the stuff I'm hiding up my sleeve right now—literally."

"He's right, Y/N, you can never be too overprepared," Yoongi says, moving in to link your arms together. "Don't let go of me when we get there, okay? They're good at sniffing out new meat. If we get separated, stay still and look like you belong there. Okay?"

You scrunch your nose at his strange directions (how the fuck do you look like you belong somewhere??) but you nod. "Okay."

It takes another hour for Yoongi to explain, in detail, what you should and shouldn't do at the party. The list for the shouldn't do's is way, way longer than the list for the should do's. But you're not complaining—especially when apparently a single slip-up could lead to your own demise. Yet even with all the warnings and precautions, you're not sure what to expect. To you, this seems like a high school prom that had gone through puberty. JK and Tae describe it as the best party ever and only Yoongi seems to be truly worried.

You conclude that yes, the gala is dangerous, but no, it wouldn't affect you too badly. You'd go and have some fun, get out of the house for once. Right?

And with that, the seven of you are off to one of the most dangerous parties in the city in a shiny, black limousine.

Saying that the gala is extravagant would be an understatement. Everything looks like it's been touched by gold from the heavens. The ceiling is so high, it looks like the sky itself and the luxurious marble floors stretch on forever. The majestic chandeliers illuminate the whole room with yellow light. The food towers over the guests and the casino tables are bustling with wealthy people seeking a truce with fortune. Everything about this place is gilded—even the people in it.

You can't help but feel a bit underdressed when some women strut around wearing dresses made from diamonds and aureate shoes. Maybe underdressed isn't the right word. You are intimidated. You hadn't expected to feel this way, but something just seems off. Maybe your expectations for the gala had been too high? Or maybe your gut instinct was trying to tell you something.

Yoongi notices your tense shoulders and squeezes your hand as he looks around the party. "I hate this fucking song," he jokes to lighten the mood.

You didn't even realize music was playing until he mentioned it; you had been too entranced by the visual aspects of your surroundings to notice the soft jazz melodies echoing through the open space.

"Namjoon and I are going to talk with some of our buddies," Seokjin says, "I'll meet all of you later for dinner! And Jungkook and Taehyung," he gives them a stern look, "we are not here to hook up with women."

Taehyung grumbles. "I thought we can. We're just not allowed to bring them home."

"What are we supposed to do then?" Jungkook sighs.

"I'll lend you money to waste at the tables," Hoseok says. "Taehyung, you're good at poker, right?"

"Oh, I'm the fucking best," Taehyung grins. "Let's go!"

The three of them saunter off without missing a beat while Seokjin and Namjoon disappear to talk with their 'friends,' or allies, you suspect. That leaves you and Yoongi alone.

"This place reminds me of a 1920's hedonistic jazz party, minus the flapper girls and plus the sugar babies dripping in gold," you whisper anxiously to Yoongi who chuckles quietly. He must've thought you were joking. But you were making an observation laced with concern.

"So, The Great Gatsby on steroids?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What do you want to do?" Yoongi asks as he snakes an arm around your waist rather protectively.

"What is there to do?" you ask, stiffly. "You choose. I'll just follow."

But there is honestly nothing to do. Earlier, from the long list of things you shouldn't do, eating had been one of them—someone was murdered with cyanide in their caviar, once. You can't even walk around to give yourself a tour because that'd raise suspicion and someone would fling a knife straight at your heart. And most of all, you can definitely not act as if you've never been to the gala. They play with the new meat like they're toys, apparently. And if you don't respond to their demands, they'll kill you without a second thought. No wonder you're so tense. When Yoongi had warned you about these things, the reality of it had flown past your head. But actually experiencing it...

"We can grab a table somewhere," Yoongi says, rubbing warm circles on your back in an attempt to help you relax. "And we'll just talk. How does that sound?"

"Like this is a date?"

"Exactly," Yoongi says as he leads you to an empty table. He pulls out a chair for you and you mumble a thanks before sinking in. It's strangely silent after that. Which is weird because when you and Yoongi are silent, it's usually a peaceful, calming aura. But this kind of silence carries heavy tension and stress in the air.

You begin to fidget with your hands.

"Hey, beautiful," a gruff voice calls to you.

You nearly jump a foot in the air when you see a rather handsome man with a chiseled face looking right at you. He grins and before Yoongi can do anything, he's already kissing the back of your hand like he's some prince from a faraway land and you're the princess he's to marry.

"May I take you away?" he asks politely, staring straight at you and failing to acknowledge Yoongi. Though there's a warm smile on his lips, there's something into his eyes that screams red alert to you. You get a strong gut feeling this man isn't an innocent person wandering around this grand party—he's a man with purpose, possibly a man with weapons hidden under his suit. The gun in your holster begins to burn against your thigh.

"I'm afraid not, Junhe," Yoongi speaks up, his voice clean-cut and cold.

The middle-aged man, Junhe, cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, Yoongi. Didn't see you there," he smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'd say we let the fine lady decide. Would you like to come with me?" he asks you. "Or would you like to stay with his tedious man? I'll make sure I'm anything but stoic," he offers. "I'll give you the reactions you want."

You're already disgusted by the smoothness of his words. He's manipulative in all the wrong ways, you realize, so you politely refuse. "I'd like to stay," you reply, slightly leaning away from the man as he looms over you. "Yoongi brought me here so the least I can do is offer him my company."

Junhe scoffs and mumbles something about you having a bad taste in men before he glares at Yoongi and strides away.

"Sorry, Y/N," Yoongi apologizes. "He's just some guy I know from work."

You frown slightly. Which kind of work was he talking about? His job as an anesthesiologist or as a dealer for the Crescents? But you realize Yoongi had purposely been vague so you let the whole matter go.

You haven't yet released the tension on your shoulders since you first walked into the gala and that encounter with Junhe was not helping. You're awkwardly staring at your hands folded in your lap when Yoongi clears his throat.

"I, uh, I'm not too stoic, am I?"

"What?"

"I'm not too apathetic?" he asks again. "I don't want to be boring."

You shake your head though your body remains rigid. "It's part of you, Yoongi. And I like that about you. You don't dramatize anything."

Yoongi nods thoughtfully but you can tell he's troubled because there's a thin worry line dragging across his forehead. It's too bad both of you suck at small talk.

The silence between the two of you gives you time to drown in your worst fears. You've never quite liked crowds, but a crowd of highly-dangerous, rich folks is far worse than anything else you've ever experienced before. You can't trust anyone. You don't know who has a dagger literally hidden behind their back.

It also makes you realize you might not be safe.

Jimin's murderer could be here.

Chills run down your spine and your blood runs cold when you realize that a cold-hearted killer could be looking for you. Waiting to kill you like he killed your brother. Your eyes shake as you try to look around the room, trying to see if anyone is targeting you. God. Why did you agree to this? Why did anyone agree to this? Did they really think you could be safe?

With so many wealthy people here, it'd be easy to hide any murder with hush money. This is a mafia gala, for heaven's sake—the room is filled with people who have gotten away with murder once, twice or thrice. Maybe even countless times.

Suddenly the skin exposed on your arms feel prickly and cold and the hair tickling the back of your neck is irritable. You're getting a crazy feeling at the pit of your stomach that someone is watching you. Maybe you're being paranoid?

"Hey, you okay, Y/N? You're starting to sweat," Yoongi whispers. He reaches over to grab your hand across the table. "Do you feel sick?"

Your face is starting to feel hot and your head is starting to hurt. The room seems to spin. "I wanna go home," you whisper. "Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi hesitates. "Oh, Y/N—"

But he's interrupted by a series of muffled gunshots coming from near the gambling tables. Your heart drops. "Isn't that where Jungk—"

Yoongi takes you by the arm mid-sentence, dragging you further away from the commotion that was starting to pick up. "We'll get you home early."

"Wait, but—"

"There's nothing we can do, Y/N. I'm sure they're fine. We're just going to wait in the limo," he whispers lowly in your ear as he guides you steadily toward the exit. Your heart is threatening to leap out of your chest but he seems fine. Unbothered, even.

You squeeze your intertwined hands and you lean closer to Yoongi as he leads you out of the gala safely. He whispers not to look back, to act natural as the two of you make your way over to your parked limo.

The moment both of you get inside the luxury car, Yoongi pulls down the blinds and whips out his phone. He frantically texts someone—you assume it's Seokjin or Namjoon. You hold your breath for news.

After six painstakingly silent minutes, Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief. "The rest of them are coming right now. Taehyung told me to not say anything as of now because he wants to tell you the story, himself."

"So they're okay?" you say. "But there was a murder?"

"There were several, today," Yoongi sighs. "But everyone we care for is okay." He reaches out to check your temperature, placing the back of his hand on your forehead as he caresses your cheek with his other hand. "Are you feeling better?"

You nod. "I'm sorry I freaked out. I just hated—"

"We've survived!!!" Taehyung sings as he swings open the door of the limo, nearly causing you to have a heart attack at the suddenness. "I'm here to spill the tea!"

Hoseok rolls his eyes as he steps into the car. "It wasn't really as creative this year," he grumbles. You grimace when you realize he's talking about the murders.

Everyone else fills in the car, all ears on Taehyung to tell the dramatized version of the story.

"So," Taehyung begins, his voice soft and eyes sparkling. "Hoseok, JK and I were minding our goddamn businesses at the gambling table. And I was kinda losing, you know? It's been a while since I played poker. So I had to fold and get the fuck out of there before Hoseok beat my ass for losing his money. And for some reason, I really had to pee, which was the universe's way to tell me I had to check out this awesome murder in the bathroom!"

Jungkook giggles. "I was there too! We walked in and it was just eerily quiet in there, you know?"

"Yeah, usually couples are getting it on in there, if you know what I mean," Taehyung snorts. "So JK and I are like 'oh, ha, that's strange,' but we don't think much of it until we see a pair of legs poking out of an open-doored stall."

"At this point, I'm cursing at these stupid hooligans because I'm holding their spot at the tables and they're taking too damn long to relieve themselves of piss," Hoseok sighs, shaking his head. "Didn't know they were going full-on detective-mode in the bathroom."

"Yeah, well my first reaction is, 'man, if you wanna fucking piss on the toilet at least close the stall door??' But then I realized there's blood on the floor," Taehyung says. "JK and I get closer and man it was INSANE!"

"He had a knife just stuck in his back! It was wedged so deep into him too," Jungkook marvels. "And the best part—"

"His face was in the fucking toilet!" Taehyung exclaims. "Whoever killed him was not playing around. I personally think they drowned him first, but JK thinks they stabbed him and pushed him into the toilet. But that would mean they'd had to have a spectacular aim if you know what I mean."

You squirm in Yoongi's arms, unsure if you wanted to hear the rest of the story. He notices your discomfort and sighs, "Let's not be so vulgar."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "How can I not be vulgar? It's a fucking murder." But when he sees your scared face, he becomes more serious. "Well, JK and I weren't going to report the murder because we're not going to get involved. And besides, I bet we were probably the tenth people coming across that scene—no one wants to get involved in that gala. So we just left to find Hoseok again."

"And that's when I hear the gunshots," Hoseok says. "It came from the table behind me, too, so I got to see everything." He crosses his legs and arms, scoffing. "Three men fell down. I left before a fight broke out."

"Four murders," Seokjin shakes his head. "That we know of, too. It gets worse every year, doesn't it?" Even though he speaks of bad news, he smiles, stretching out on the expensive leather seats. "But Joon and I got our jobs done. Yoongi, Hoseok, Y/N? We've got some good sales on the way."

"Delightful," Hoseok says.

"I think we'd better get home, now," Jin says, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "Y/N, you'd appreciate a nice, warm, bath, right? I'll try to dig out some of my special bath salts for you. I think you need a good soak."

You nod, though you grip at Yoongi's black silk button-up shirt.

Home has never sounded this welcoming.

Though Yoongi offered to soak with you in the tub, you'd declined, telling him instead you'd meet him in your pajamas in his room. He'd nodded without saying another word, and you silently thank him for knowing when to give you some space.

Seokjin had been right. A hot bath did really help—yet it didn't help clear your head filled to the brim with thoughts. Once you've lathered yourself with lavender lotion and gotten dressed into comfortable clothing, you knock on Yoongi's door.

"Hey," he says, opening it right away. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yeah," you nod.

Yoongi guides you over to his bed, helping you into the covers and tucking you in before he climbs in and spoons you from behind. There's a comfortable silence. Then:

"How long did it take you to get used to this?" you ask.

"This?" Yoongi inquires. "You mean life as a..." he pauses, "Crescent?"

You nod.

"Not a while, really," Yoongi says, curling his fingers into your hair. "It... Well, it takes longer for others to adjust. Depends on the person."

"Hmm," you hum softly. "The murders today... Do you think they were correlated?"

"It could be anything," Yoongi answers. "But no, I don't think they were correlated."

"But either way, there were murders because there were enemies at the gala," you sigh, turning around to face Yoongi. "I was just so tense all the time. I think I subconsciously felt the tension between the gangs."

Your boyfriend shrugs. "Maybe, Y/N. But sometimes new recruits have to murder someone—anyone—to be accepted completely into the gang," he sighs. "Think of it as a token to join," he expounds further when he sees your confused expression. "The more tortuous the murder, the better. It's happened every year at the gala."

"But that makes the murder worse," you scoff. "At least if they were enemies, the victim might've seen it coming. But if the victim was chosen randomly—that's just the worst kind of misfortune!"

"I know," Yoongi mumbles. "It's not fair, Y/N. We all know that."

The way he's so nonchalant irritates you. "But, Yoongi! I could've died tonight," you sigh. "You know, the person who murdered Jimin could've been right there, waiting for the right time to kill me!" You shudder just thinking about it. "I didn't realize how unsafe I felt until I was at the gala, Yoongi. I don't know if I was being paranoid but I really felt like I was being watched. I could've been killed..."

Yoongi's silent, refusing to look into your eyes. Finally, he answers with a soft, husky voice. "I wouldn't have let that happen to you."

You scoff, sitting up and tugging yourself out of Yoongi's arms. "Really?" You raise a doubtful eyebrow. "You let it happen to my brother, though." You regret the words that had spilled out of your lips when you see Yoongi's hurt face. An awkward silence follows and neither of you moves.

Finally, Yoongi turns around, facing away from you as he grunts out, "Go to sleep, Y/N."

You don't have it in you to apologize, half angry at Yoongi for not protecting your brother like he swore to protect you and half sorry that you let out your fear and frustration on him. Without another word, you tuck yourself back in the blankets, back facing Yoongi. You stay still, staring into the dark nothingness as you wait until Yoongi's breaths become even. When you know he's asleep for sure, you slip out of his bed.

You can't do this right now.

Yoongi's supposed to be the one who makes you forget about your dead brother. But he's doing everything but.

You need to read Jimin's diary to calm yourself down. The only thing you need right now is to hear your brother's soothing voice echoing in your head as you read the words he had written years back. Quickly, you find refuge in your own room, snuggling up in your own covers before pulling out the leather journal from underneath the mattress.

You open the diary and read it in the faint moonlight.

Today, I woke up because I thought I heard Y/N’s voice calling my name somewhere off in the distance. I imagined that she was calling me a lazy stink bomb and pestering me to wake up so I could keep her company. But when I came to my senses, I realized that Y/N’s probably still sleeping in her apartment and I’m in a mansion miles and miles away from her. Part of me feels guilty for living such a luxurious life without her. But another part knows that what I did is for her own good. I think.

Sometimes I just want to drive back and tell her I’m sorry I left her. That I’m sorry I didn’t give her any explanations. That she has to lie to our parents for me. She must be so mad at me...

I feel like I left my blood-related family for my self-proclaimed brothers. On some days, I wonder if I made the right move. But then again, I can’t imagine a life without my friends and I’ve lived more than half of my life without my parents by my side.

The only person who has to face the consequences is Y/N. I abandoned her to pursue my own dream life. I know it’s selfish of me but for once, I felt like doing something for myself.

I drowned in guilt for the majority of today. Y/N’s most likely called me at least a hundred times on my old phone... I can’t even bring myself to imagine the disappointed look on her face when I don’t pick up. I had to stop myself at least twenty times from dialing her number to call her. God, I’m just getting so homesick. I think I stared at those polaroid pictures for hours on end today.

I miss Y/N.

Maybe one day, when this... all of this dies down, I’ll be able to visit her. I’ll be able to tell her everything I experienced and before she gets mad at me, I’ll tell her my funniest stories! It’d be like I never left. I guess I’ll be waiting for that day to come.

For now, I have my polaroids and drawings for remembrance. I’ll go to bed hearing Y/N scream at me to toss my socks into the laundry basket. And for once, it’d be a welcoming noise.

You can't help the tears dripping down your face when you reluctantly shut the leather-bounded notebook This is the first time Jimin had mentioned you in his diary... which meant that in his future entries, he completely neglected to write about you or just... didn't care as much. It hurts to think, really. That every real feeling Jimin has, he ditches it the more he becomes involved in the mafia.

You fall asleep alone on your bed, but you don't feel lonely. Usually, Yoongi would be by your side to take your mind off of your brother's murder, but today, you need time to think about it.

The last thing you think you hear before you drowse off is the sound of your brother screaming at you that yes, he already did toss his socks into the laundry basket, so no, you didn't have to yell at him. Normally this kind of reply would irritate you even more, but it's a cordial illusion that brings a smile to your face before you're drifting off to dreamland.

—previous | next

—masterpost

—masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #ot7 #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #mafia au #over the moon #otm

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skiasurveys · 4 years ago

Text

521

cross out what applies

1) I have green eyes. 2) I come from a rich family. 3) I have a Deadjournal. 4) I know how to operate a vehicle correctly. 5) I have been in more than 2 car accidents in the past 12 months. 6) I have a motorcycle permit or license. 7) My father is over 50. 8) I have a boyfriend/girlfriend. 9) I listen to rap music. 10) I’ve never done anything I say I really regret. 11) I cheated on one of my exes and they don’t know about it to this day. 12) I slept in a bathroom once. 13) My favorite color is neon orange. 14) My school colors were red and white. 15) I wish I knew my mother better. 16) I look older than I really am. 17) I am a Scorpio. 18) I detest spiders with every fiber of my being. 19) I am pro-choice. 20) I consider myself to be an intelligent person. 21) I was alive in 1989. 22) I have a broken heart. 23) I remember a lot about my first love. 24) I will die and bring no secrets to my grave. 25) I hate driving on ice or in snow. 26) I am Japanese. 27) I speak a language most people don’t understand. 28) My vision is perfect. 29) My favorite band is From First To Last. 30) I am left-handed. 31) My favorite drink is Mountain Dew. 32) I am a Grammar Nazi and I am proud of it. 33) I don’t have a twitter. And I’m cool with that. 34) I am single. 35) I am pretty personable. 36) I let moodiness take over sometimes. 37) My mother is well taken care of. 38) My father makes more money than my mother does. 39) I play the lottery 40) I only like dark chocolate. 41) I have eaten already today. 42) I want to conquer the world and rename it something else. 43) I am a virgin. 44) My favorite animal would not make a good pet. 45) I often contemplate throwing my computer out the window. 46) I have a distaste for anything made with cheese. 47) I am hispanic. 48) I hate chores. 49) I am a neat freak. 50) My hair is brown 51) I am short. 52) I am afraid of dying. 53) I love someone very dearly and would give my life for them. 54) My email is not hotmail, yahoo, or aol. 55) I have been seriously depressed in the past. 56) I have had the Chicken Pox 57) I enjoy reading the newspaper. 58) I like online shopping better than going to the mall or to the store. 59) My place of work is less than 20 miles from my home. 60) I have social anxiety. 61) I’m lazy. 62) I am too nice for my own good. 63) I really should be doing something else. 64) I like to debate. 65) I enjoy/enjoyed high school. 66) I think that I am nice-looking or sexually desireable. 67) I clean my room at least once a month. 68) I’ve lived in an apartment. 69) I like the city more than the country. 70) I listen to country music. 71) I am listening to music right now. 72) I’ve been to a rock concert. 73) I like listening to wind chimes. 74) I have been skinny dipping before. 75) I wanted to be a super hero when I was little. 76) I remember being born. 77) I don’t trust politicians. 78) My hair has been dyed in the past year. 79) I have more than 2 piercings. 80) I am female. 81) I love being different. 82) I’m incredibly sarcastic. 83) I like to play videogames. 84) I am lactose intolerant. 85) I keep a journal. 86) I’m sensitive. 87) I cry more than most people think I do. 88) My favorite movie genre is Comedy. 89) I have sang in public before. 90) I enjoy dancing. 91) I’ve gone clubbing with friends. 92) I am 18 or older. 93) I have never tried to do a cartwheel. 94) My dad made me a treehouse when I was younger. 95) My mother drives a truck. 96) I wanted to be a lawyer when I was younger. 97) I watch CSI. 98) I want to dye my hair an unnatural color. 99) I have wasted more than 5 minutes on this survey. 100) I watch football on Sundays.

#surveys #crossed out survey #survey

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0lshadyl0 · 5 years ago

Note

Hi may I ask for yandere Shoto x fem reader non-con, she's part onryo and thinks she's unattractive.

>sees the word onryo in the ask

> has zero ideas what the hell is that

> do some research time *insert elevator music here too* > understand what onryo mean

> has an existential crisis because this gives a full OC's creation material but doesn't have the time for that because of Christmas /but still creates one for her future villain oc blog/

> surrender and do the request

well, the idea is nice and have a good non-con material but I think that this answer will be kind of different at what you asked since I have to give a more realistic way of what an onryo is and her characteristics

first of all, Onryo is (怨霊, literally "vengeful spirit", sometimes rendered "wrathful spirit") refers to a ghost (yūrei) believed to be capable of causing harm in the world of the living, injuring or killing enemies, or even causing natural disasters to exact vengeance to redress the wrongs it received while alive, then taking their spirits from their dying bodies.

mainly these spirits are feminine, women who were abandoned by their husbands, their husbands were capricious and made them suffer a lot or that on their deathbed their husbands promised not to remarry but breach their promise, they are also distressed women who curse their beautiful Kimonos

now with that explained, let get this jam~

Get you back to me, Yandere Todoroki Shoto x Onryo Reader

warnings: cursing, rape, verbal abuse, death, toxic relationship, cheating, betrayal

word count: 2223

He would have been able to avoid that catastrophic end, if he had only acted before, if he had not respected your wishes, letting you be "happy" with that moron who only caused you unhappiness while cheating on you with whatever woman crossed him, he would not be there crying... at your funeral

You endured his abuses, lies, deceptions and from time to time, knocks from when he arrived drunk to your home, forced your door to insult you, reminding you how horribly ugly you were and that you should be grateful that he fixed his gaze on you, then he was beating you, watering his beer in your bruised face and then going to the neighboring building where he slept with some other girl

But your kind heart did not allow you to recriminate or blame him, even though Shoto insisted that you leave the son of a bitch, after all, you deserved better, you, a sweet woman who with a smile from your lips made the heterochromatic transcend to nirvana and thank all god that he knew for the fact of your existence, you only saw him as a friend, he, who treated you as if you were a queen, you only allowed him to be the one to console you after the mistreatment of the loser who didn't treat you like Todoroki thought you deservedAnd that's how in the bicolor's desperation to show you that he loved more than him, that you deserved more than that fucker, that you should be in his arms and not his; one night he invited you to his apartment, a luxurious pent-house, where he started drinking with you while they talked about worldly subjects

Sometime later, when you were a little past from tipsy, Shoto took advantage of your moment of weakness, in the middle of your crying while you were questioning if you really were so horrible that the love of your life decided to meet your fleshly needs with other women while he only gave you hurtful words along with blows that occasionally left you in the hospitalShoto comforted you by massaging your back while slowly directing you, preventing you from tripping over various furniture on the way to your room, where he laid you in his bed, so that later when all the alcohol went up at the head so that you were almost half unconscious, he proceeded to undress you, then he undressed and made love to you as you had never felt beforeIn your alcoholic state, you thought that the man to whom you gave all your passion without inhibiting yourself, was your beloved who had finally decided to stop fucking with other women to finally surrender entirely to you, perhaps, your relationship with him, at last, was going again for a better way

But you were not aware that those sweet moans and your lascivious expressions full of desire were not seen by the man you thought you were giving yourself, but, on the contrary, it was Shoto who enjoyed you at that moment even though he hated a lot that the name you moaned with such fervor was his damn one, but he let it go through this time, after all, it was he who had you at that moment, fucking in and out of you to finally implanting his seed deep inside your walls The next day, when you woke up, with tremendous headache due to the hangover, you realized your mistake, seeing you wrapped in the arms of the bicolor man, quickly and ignoring both the headache and your best friend who asked you to stay in the bed with him, you said no while looking at him with hate shouting that you would never forgive him, also when I try to approach you, you slapped him "I hate you! I hate you Todoroki Shoto, I trusted you and you took advantage of me" you were angered"Understand Y/n, I have done it for a good reason" he was surprised since he had never seen you so furious"No! I will not listen to you, you have gone out of line with this, I do not want to see you anymore! I want you to disappear from my life!" You yelled at him, which he got shocked and in his chest, a feeling of emptiness was beginning to be generated within it

In a clumsy way, you put on your underwear while a shiver ran through your body, feeling like liquid began to come out of your pussy staining your pantyhose, you knew very well it was and fear seized you for that, because, yesterday was the day most likely for you to get pregnant, something that Shoto also knew since he was the one who remembered about your menstrual cycle since you were quite forgetful about itYou just put on some pants while the feeling of betrayal got into your heart, you had made it very clear to Shoto that you didn't see him that way, you already loved another person and, even so, against your wishes he got you drunk, he fucked you and he came inside of you, by this point you already understood that his intention was to get you pregnant so that you had no choice but to marry himWith tears in your eyes, you put your shirt in a bad way and left the apartment all messy, making it clear to everyone with your image that you had a lot of sex, but that didn't matter to you because you just wanted to get to a pharmacy and buy the morning after pill, take it, go to your house and bathe to remove all evidence of Todoroki in your body, although you saw it complicated with the marks of hickeys on your neck, breasts, and legs

But for your bad luck, just when you left the elevator you saw your boyfriend with another woman, but this was not any other woman, she was your friend, rather, your best childhood friend, the same woman who now she was massaging her body in the chest of your beloved with lust, however, he was very busy looking at you with the deepest disgust that could manifest on a face"I can not believe that someone as disgustingly horrible as you

had the audacity to fool me with anybody out there" he said seeing in the obvious state in which you were, it showed from afar that you had fucked someone"I have more pity for the poor idiot who put his cock inside you, after all, you have always been the ugly of both," said your supposed best friend making fun of you "but this show of betrayal of you, damn bitch, make the things easier for us, no honey? ”she looked at your boyfriend"Consider any shit that we had finished, I already found a prettier bitch than you" said your now ex-boyfriend while giving your now ex-best friend a hard spanking and smiling pleased with himselfEven though you wanted to say something, prevent the relationship from ending, beg for him not to leave you for another woman, you raised your right hand to get the attention of your beloved, but he gave you a look of hate that pushed back your advance for fear of him hitting you right thereWithout more I just watch you as he left with another more beautiful woman, a woman you trusted, you thought she was your friend and in the end, she betrayed you, saw how they kissed inside the elevator while the doors closed and your heart, like your desire to live, broke into a thousand pieces

Feeling as miserable as a person who was abandoned by the person they love the most in the world, terrible pain in your chest took your breath away, arching to try to ask for help you fell to the ground while suffering a heart attackWhen Shoto came out of his shock and dressed half decently to run after you and apologize, in addition to making sure that you didn't clean up or take a pill the day after, thus ensuring your pregnancy and that his plan could end with a successWhen he arrives at the lobby, he contemplates how paramedics tried to give you first aid, there were people between horrified and curious seeing you suffer, Todoroki accompanied the paramedics to take you to the ambulance to quickly go to the hospitalHe was sweating cold, inside Shoto it was a whirlwind of emotions, but mostly there was the terror of whatever happened to you was serious, unfortunately, his fear was confirmed when they arrived at the hospital, you had died from a heart attack, according to the doctor was stress-induced cardiomyopathyYou literally died because the son of a bitch broke your heart, now he had to bury you while he lamented your death and the future he would never have with youBut, much to the surprise of the bicolor, you came back to life, or, rather, you were forced to return to live with your quirk, one that you didn't know you had, after all, you were supposed to be quirkless, but not, you had a quirk, but it would only be activated if you died

Your quirk was Onryo, a skill that allowed you to come back to life to retaliate for all the evils that had been caused to you in the form of a vengeful spirit full of hateThis organization was the legion of the elite, a criminal group approved by law that was responsible for dirty work, of any kind, that the government ordered them to do in exchange for being exonerated of any type of crime they committed in their "time free"This group had been following you for years, since one of its members, who could see the future in the long term, saw your potential to kill in your vengeful spirit formSo they decided that you were as miserable as possible by the time you died, you became a powerful murderous spirit which they would control, they were the ones who killed your parents, they brainwashed your boyfriend's brain to make you psychologically weak until he point that you only wanted to die, either by suicide or other methods, so your brainwashed boyfriend, mistreat you by telling you every day that you were horrible, betraying you with other women, while beating you and making you feel worse than crap, not only that, they also brainwashed your best friend to fall in love with your boyfriend and take it away from you

At your funeral they were there waiting for the few who came to visit you, a few friends to whom the organization did not take importance because they were not very significant to you and the pro-hero Todoroki Shoto, they waited for them to leave to steal your body and resuscitate you, the wait was long since the hero stayed a long time crying your loss, regretting not having forced you to break up with your boyfriend so that you were with himNine hours later, when the squad in charge of stealing your body began to lose faith that the hero left, Shoto finally did, he was called to attend an emergency of a villain attack with a water quirk

With renewed hopes, the five members stole your body successfully, then in one of its many bases your spirit was brought back to life with the help of a necromancer and sealed in a puppet that had the same image of your body, now with your spirit inside the puppet, you seemed as if you had never died, with the small difference that you no longer had the same personality, in you there was only hate, the desire to avenge yourself of all the women who hurt you and you took your revenge, you killed them allIt didn't take long for everyone and, above all, a certain pro hero with half white half red hair to realize your return; Thanks to the legion of the elite that provides you with the information of all the women with whom your ex-boyfriend cheated on you, you went and killed them all, you eliminated all those that you knew that they had hurt you because the truth is, you had no idea that the ones that ruined your life were the same ones that now helped you and that you started to consider them as your new friends, all because they're gentle, supportive and caring with you, and that comfort was very welcomed As soon as Todoroki learned that you were walking again in the world of the living, for the first time he thanked the existence of that organization of legalized mercenaries, after all, they had given him a new opportunity to have you by your side and this time he would not leave, not even if you gave him a negative answer, he was going to have you whenever you want it or not, he would keep you safe and take care of you as he couldn't do it the first time, without wasting time, he began his search to find the legion of the elite and above all to bring you back

................................................................................................

this was so long, why I can’t do short scenarios?

#bnha #bnha scenarios #bnha fic?#this has the posiblity of a second part??#maybe?#todoroki shoto #bnha todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #yandere #yandere posts #yandere bnha #yandere todoroki #yandere shoto #yandere todoroki shoto #yandere todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #i am bad at romance #shady spicy

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omgviolette12 · 5 years ago

Text

Dark Morning - part 3

Previous Chapter

An AU Loki fic

Summary: Lita sourly regretted going to his office. She should’ve stayed home, to work on her manuscript. Then she would head out to the daycare, and watch her cute little son play for a bit. Live in her ignorant bubble. But no, she just had to make him lunch, didn’t she?

Chapters: 3/3

Pairing: Loki/Original Character

Words: 1662

Warning: Angst, Implied/Referenced cheating

Tags: @voila-tout @caffiend-queen

I hope this was a satisfying end :)

Read it here on AO3 as well!

I listened to this song as I wrote,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHEGzsyzr1w

I hope it fits!

———

Although her eyes were closed, she could sense that he was watching her through the door.

Lita had been in the hospital for a week now, and she slowly but surely gained back some of her energy. Although, she still felt ridiculously sluggish and weak.

A part of her never wanted to recover, however. If it meant she had to see Loki again...she honestly wasn’t sure if she could survive it.

Her heart was still in shambles, his words from a week ago tearing her further a part. How he only loved her. That it was just “meaningless sex.” It made her sick to the core.

But for the sake of Uri...she had no choice but to confront him. He was the father of their child, and she had to speak with him eventually no matter how much it may hurt.

She opened her eyes, and turned to Thor who played idly with Uri in the seat beside her bed. He was a frequent visitor, with Frigga dropping by on occasion. She thought that she’d prefer some solitude but...she appreciated them, despite everything.

“Tell…him to come...in.” She said in between breaths. Her body was still in somewhat of a stupor, so she could only say a few words at a time.

Thor paused, and looked at her with a surprised expression.

“Lita, are you certain? You still haven’t…”

“I need...to do this.”

Thor still looked unsure, but he adhered to her wishes, holding Uri to bring him outside, “...I’ll call him over, then.”

When Loki entered, she could tell that he barely slept a wink, his pallor sickly with dark shadows underneath his eyes. She found it almost funny, that he looked as heartbroken as she did.

“...Lita, I…”

She wanted to say something. But her throat constricted, trapping the words before they could escape. Because all she saw whenever she looked at him, was a man that gave himself to someone else. A sordid memory.

She revisited the scene in his office so much in her head that she no longer felt rage, or sadness. She was just...hollow.

Lita merely pointed vaguely to the seat beside her, remaining silent.

Loki took her cue, and moved to take the seat offered. A beat of silence passed as they stared at each other, and he contemplated what to say to her. He rehearsed this moment so many times that he dreamt about it, what he could say to gain her forgiveness.

But before he could ponder any further, her quiet voice finally broke the silence.

“...I’m so tired,”

He stared at her as she spoke, swallowing.

“I’m so tired...of everything. Too tired to hate, to feel sad. To think.”

“Even...before you did what...you did. This feeling...was always there.”

“Sometimes I would just... look in the mirror...and...not know who I was looking at...or..who’s looking at me.”

“I...became a stranger to you, didn’t I? My tiredness, my hopelessness... it led you astray. I became a burden... to escape. I tried so hard to hide it...to smile, and be happy. But...I failed.”

She closed her eyes, leaning back into the bed, “If it wasn’t for Uri…I would’ve jumped... from the window in our room.”

Loki recoiled visibly. His face was wet with tears.

“Stop...don’t talk like that. Stop it.”

“It’s...just the truth. I wish...I told you how I felt, much...much earlier. I wish I wasn’t so scared...”

“Lita...please listen to me. I am the one in the wrong. It was a moment of weakness, a grave mistake. The problem lies solely with me,”

“Then...for how long...did it go on for? For you to realize…it was a mistake? What was it...before then? It was a choice...right?”

“A choice you made, despite the life...we built with each other. There was a reason...why you slept with her. Instead of just...talking to me.”

Loki’s head hung low, his body drenched in defeat.

“..I’m sorry. I’m so...so sorry,”

In all the years they’d been together, she’d never heard him cry. Not like this.

“I’m willing...to do anything to make up for this,”

He looked up, eyes red and narrowed. Determined.

"Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. If you want me to leave you be… then I’ll leave. If I am to stay by your side at all times, then I’ll do so. You.. you probably won’t ever trust me again. But for the sake of all the years we spent together, for our son, please...give me a chance to make up for this. Please…”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“It hurts... just to look at you.”

“I..I know.”

“Even if...I somehow forgave you...I won’t ever see you...the same way...”

“I know…”

“I might...hurt you, remind you...again and again...of what you did…”

“I...know.”

“I’ll always compare...myself to that woman. What she had… and I didn’t.”

“ She could only satisfy one aspect, and one aspect only. She, or anyone else can’t compare to you. I’ve released her from her position, and I’ve been working from home this past week. I won’t ever see her again.”

“You’ll…get tired of me - “

“ - I won’t get tired of you. I was never tired of you...I was just too greedy. ”

“I don’t believe... you. Empty...promises.”

“I know...and I don’t expect you to. I’ll just have to show you. That from now on, my promises...are far from empty.”

She did not reply after that, and just looked at him.

He tried not to shrink underneath her cold, scrutinizing gaze. But her silence made him nervous, causing him to fidget.

“Tomorrow...I’ll be discharged.”

She looked away from him then, staring straight ahead. “When we...get home. I want to be... alone.”

We.

Although she made no comment about his promises to redeem himself, his heart lifted in momentary hope. Granted, she still wanted nothing to do with him. But she wanted to return home. To the home they shared together.

“...I understand, Lita..”

______________________

The weeks following were practically torturous for Loki.

When she arrived home that first day, she barely looked in his direction, and only spoke to him if it related to Uri.

She obviously didn’t want to share a bed with him, so he took it upon himself to move elsewhere.

Thankfully they had two guest rooms in the house, so he relocated to the one upstairs.

Although Loki wanted to give Lita more space, more air to breathe, it made him incredibly anxious if she was by herself for too long. What she told him that day in the hospital haunted him. That she wanted to end her own life…

The night before she returned, he went home and immediately bolted that window shut.

But even with that, the worries for her safety continued to plague him.

So despite himself, Loki slowly began to hover over her. Even if he wasn’t so overly concerned for her wellbeing… he missed her dearly.

It was subtle. He never came too close that she would be uncomfortable, or notice him right away. If she was reading in the living room on the couch, he would stand by the door, watching silently. When she wanted to take a walk in the park with Uri, he’d wait a few minutes after she’d leave the house, and followed behind them a reasonable distance away.

Loki loved the way the breeze would sway her hair, how the sunlight would glisten her eyes. He loved the way she smiled when she played with their son. If only he could see it up close once more.

They ate and prepared meals separately now. Because on the second day that Lita came home and he cooked dinner for them and Uri, he found the entirety of her food dumped in the bin. Untouched. He understood, but it hurt nonetheless.

Lita never spoke to him directly, since their exchange in the hospital. If she needed to tell him something, she would leave simple, to the point notes. He kept them all in a drawer close to his bed. They were far from love-letters, but he found whatever words she addressed to him precious.

This went on for almost two, long years. His hovering. Her coldness. His yearning.

But after two years, he finally saw a glimmer of hope.

It started on his birthday, her small change in behavior. He’d woken up to a delicious aroma that wafted up the stairs from the kitchen, so he went down slowly, cautiously.

As always, he hovered by the kitchen door, just watching. Lita was flipping pancakes by the stove, swaying to the beat of her humming. And Uri, now four years old, sat at the table with a cushion underneath his bum, yogurt smeared on his cheeks as he ate. The scene was warm and beautiful, yet it tortured him so. Because he knew he was not welcome.

“...You’re awake,”

Loki stuttered back in alarm, not expecting to hear her voice. She knew he was there?

"I could feel your brooding presence for a minute now," She turned to look at him then, her skin glowing, her eyes bright. "Stop standing there and come sit."

Loki was still a bit shocked, so there was a delay in reaction. She didn't wait for him to move from his spot, and went back to cooking.

He made his way slowly, sitting down at the table apprehensively.

When she turned around from the stove once more, she had a plate of fluffy, hot pancakes.

"You look so worried," she walked to the table, placing the plate of pancakes in front of him, "It's just pancakes, Loki." There was a playful tint to her tone, a small, barely there smile on her face.

Loki looked up at her, eyes wide. He pinched himself discreetly underneath the table. Surely, this must be a dream.

Lita didn't stay by his side at the table much longer, moving to the far end to sit with Uri.

Loki looked down at his plate. The pancakes were fluffy, whipped cream on top, drizzled in strawberry syrup. His absolute favorite.

He picked up the fork to section the pancake, before taking a small bite.

He closed his eyes to stop the tears from breaking through. Because the taste filled with love... was just as he remembered.

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fic #Loki Laufeyson #tom hiddleston

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kaetastic · 5 years ago

Text

| Dagger . voldemort x reader (1/2)

song: nightmare halsey

warning: dark, really dark, just dark.

pairing: voldemort x reader

words: 1.8+

(A/N: i was planning on making this smut but do you know how frustrating it is to try to write a smut when voldy is wearing a robe, like for gods sake what’s under that. also, i will start editing their equal part 2, and can i say i live for dumbledore x reader x grindelwald ;))

“Crucio.”

The only sound that echoed throughout spacious room was the battle between the silence of the superiors and the raging screams of the innocent victim. No one dared to speak up; heads lowered to stare at the suddenly interesting wooden table.

“Say it.. say it..” Her voice teased the bleeding victim. Sending hairs to shiver as the audience listened against their will. The tip of her pointy wand pressed his temple.

“N-no...” He coughed out the painful blood, choking on his own voice; hoping it sounded threatening, but it echoed vindictively.

“No? Crucio!” With a flick of her wand, the tied up man screamed out once again; the pain electrocuting throughout his muscles. He bit his bleeding lips, in attempt to silence the cry out to justice; in hopes for someone to hear his excruciating pleads. But he has given up, knowing there is no hope, so all he desperately waits for was death.

A silent whimper erupted from a platinum blonde haired boy, who sat next to his silent parents; his grey eyes begged for it to stop. Pleading for the screams to stop.

“Please! I have a f-family!” She rolled her eyes at his attempt to end her fun, reluctantly pausing the curse. Pulling his hair to face her, she smirked at the masterpiece she painted. Rolling his head around, she examined every crooks and crannies.

“Oh? Is that so? Is it this one?” She rapped her wand in the air and a floating orb exposed a peaceful resting family. His eyes widened in shock, realizing it was his family.

“Please! Don’t harm them! They’re all I have..” He cried out, wrists tugging the tight restraints. His wrists bruised in gradients of blue and purple. Wincing as the rope held him in its’ trap, not letting go.

She tilted her head, contemplating on what to do; glancing at the Dark Lord who nodded at her.

Before returning her gaze back to brink-on-death man.

“I’ll play nice,” Pulling her wand back, twisting it, observing the object she cherished. “I had one too. Family, that was so long ago. You want to know what happened?” The corner of her lisp quirked up.

He did not respond, breathing deeply.

“I killed them all. They all stopped breathing together, poetic, right?” She sighed out, staring at a wall as she looked back in the past. Circling the victim, “You want to know why?”

Some ears could not help but budge to eavesdrop the sentimental conversation.

“Blood traitors they were. My brother slept with a muggle. My sister married a mudblood. My uncle allied with a half-blood.,” Eyes darted in random motion, the listeners gulped as she whispered the list of her tragic life. “But I’m innocent right?”

She stepped in front of him, pouting her lips slightly to entice him into her innocence, “Who would suspect Little Y/N? Hm?” She batted her eyes.

“And you..,” The tip of her wand puttered on his skin, he flinched away from the weapon; eyes shut as beads of sweat dripped down from his forehead to puddle on the ground. “You are one of them.. are you not?” Her attractive voice made him gulp, skin running cold.

No response.

“Answer me.” Teeth gritted, she prodded and poked his neck with her sharp wand; frustrated at the unresponsive man.

“Y-yes.. I am..” He sighed out, knees shaking; his life flashed before his eyes.

“But what to do?” She pushed his chin with her prodding wand. Their orbs meeting each other; her eyes tempted him. It was hazel. How similar it looked to oak wood. “Such a pretty face to lose.. Too bad..”

“Crucio!”

Her yell rung through out the room once again; and all the empty spaces were filled with his agonizing cries. Eyes narrowed to the shaking man, irritated at the fact that he was not cooperating with her idea.

“Y/N.” With his deep voice, she blinked into reality; the curse halted as the suffered man clenched his jaw, his eyes focused onto the messy floor. He breathed out a large amount of air, knees frail, which screamed to rest. Her head snapped up to the owner of the voice, her loyal arms fall down to the sides of her body, waiting for him to continue. “Let’s not waste time on him.”

That was enough for her. Whatever he mumbled enticed her. It attracted her. It pushed her onto her knees, and all she could do was obey.

“Yes My Lord.” She nodded her head before turning her attention to the man.

“Lets make this fast and quick,” She flicked her wand again, the orb revealing the same scene, playing. His presumed wife bounced her son on her leg, both giggling. “See this? Death is waiting at their doorstep. If you want them breathing, you say what I want.”

His chest huffed and puffed, he was playing a dangerous game. His irrevocable decision seemed to course its way to exposing the desperate information they wanted. The information he found out with no choice, the information he swore not to reveal, the crucial information which could end the wizarding war.

Not risking the lives of his family, “If I say this.. you will leave my family alone,” She nodded with no hesitation, a grin formed on her face. A spark of joy, zipped in her body. He breathed out yet again, chest tightening. Gulping before revealing, “He marked him, he made him his equal.”

The pale skin lord pushed his chair abruptly, it clashed onto the wooden floor with a bang. Making those present in the room to flinch. His long-waited approach ended as he roughly tugged onto his collar.

“Elaborate.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked at her Master before her, “Y-you gave him your powers, when you attacked the Potters, your powers transferred to his blood.” He stuttered, sweating from nervousness at the intimidating glare of the infamous Dark Lord, flashes of the posters he would pass everyday to enter his workplace; warnings of the return of You-Know-Who

“Ah, the Potters... James Potter.” The name rolled off her tongue, as it rung a bell in her mind. A short flash of her memories played. As she remembered to accidentally seduce the said-Potter. And when they would have a short affair of benefiting off one another.

Voldemort huffed, entering the mind of the victim; not satisfied with his answer, even though his answer was inadequate to satisfy his curiosity, that was all he carried. The Dark Lord stared at the trembling man before shoving his collar away. Walking towards the door to part.

‘Finish him.’ With the whisper of his voice that rung in her head, the room flashed of green- darkness engulfed the man, his deceased body slumped onto the floor.

She chuckled, pacing away from the corpse, flicking her wand- the same scene played; a devilry smile smeared onto her, tapping her wand in the air, yet again. As if the radio had jumped from one song to the other, the bodies of his supposedly-lively family sagged onto the floor.

No remorse. No guilt. No heavy heart. Y/N hopped out of the room with a malignant smile.

Wand in her hand, Y/N strolled passed the dungeons, a smile on her lips as her gaze landed onto the wandmaker of the exact wand she held.

“Ash wood with a phoenix feather core.” Her voice echoed through the encased cellar, the sprouting white-haired elder man head snapped towards the prison like door; which separated the manor and the dungeon.

Ollivander stood up, his frail knees did no help at all as he was supported by his hands flat on the cold walls, “13 inches and hard flexibility... it felt like it was just yesterday when you entered my store to purchase a wand, Miss Emerson, what are you doing in the wrong crowd?”

His hands grasped the chilling bars, concern curtained his eyes, “I’m in the right crowd. You are not one to tell me what surrounds me.”

She pressed as if she was confirming her own statement, Ollivander smiled at the young lady, “I knew you were different as soon as you stepped into my store.” He irritated her, she clenched her wand- tempted to hex him, or even worse, curse him. That was until an enticing voice hissed in her head.

‘Come to the study room.’

Not hesitating, she scoffed at the elder before walking up the stairs with a proud smile; straightening her outfit, ready to face her Master.

Dear child, you fell into the wrong hands. Even if you fell, they would not run after you for your safety. Your loyalty means nothing when they face death.

Standing in front of the study room, Y/N stared at the wooden door, engraved it were cracks like streams of rivers; some ended while some never broke a chain. Ready to rap on the door, her hands halted in the air as a muffled but understandable voice cut her, “Come in.”

With a smile she twisted the door knob, entering the library-like room. Closing the door behind her, she hung her head low before obeying the order, “Look at me.”

Her eyes landed on a figure who sat on the chair, the backrest stood tall; its’ edges engraved with gold. The chair’s headrest met at a sharp point like a pointy mountain. Voldemort’s focus were on her as she tried to stand straight and strong for her Master.

“Come here Y/N,” Not even a hint of hesitation in her head, she walked towards the pale Lord, hoping her shoulders were straightened and her head was high up. As soon as she reached the table, she halted in front of her Master, who exuded domination. “I don’t like to do favorites but it seems you are more pleasant... then the rest of them.”

Her eyes light up from the sudden compliment, her cheeks burned, “T-thank you my Lord, I am honored for you to say such high-praising and worthy words to me.” She bowed her head.

He ‘tsk’ed, his fingers wrapped around her chin, pulling her head up to face him, “Such pretty eyes..,” his gaze fell onto her lips. “and valuable lips.”

With no control, she bit her lips as she felt her cheeks to burn crimson red, her eyes fell onto the floor; staring at her feet; his close proximity sent her heart racing as she gulped, Voldemort tugged her chin, rather harshly, yet again, shaking his head, “Look at me and only me.”

Nodding calmly, she tried to maintain her loudly beating heart, following his orders, she tried her best to uphold their eye contact ; clear and vast like an ocean, mysterious and endless. If anyone was in her place, they would’ve cowered in fear or die with their heartbeat frozen. But she was not anyone. She was Y/N.

Catching her by surprise, the Dark Lord placed a delicate kiss upon her lips. He pulled back to observe her reaction. A lopsided smirk smeared smugly onto his face, “You’re different.”

NEXT PART

Tags: @kurochan3

#voldemort #harry potter #crucio #voldemort x reader #voldemort oneshot #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #fanfiction #oneshot #imagine #angst #dark #voldemort imagine #voldermort imagines #death eaters #cruciatus curse #magic

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