#i wish i had a pantry that never went out of stock

[cococaffeinated]

I was asked to cook lunch (and dinner again later) despite it being a Monday, a little treat! I feel like cooking gives me a +3 Morale Boost.

Today I made Honey Barbecue and Garlic Butter Fried Chicken

And Miso Glazed Grilled Japanese Bottle Gourd (it was supposed to be an eggplant but we ran outta those so bottle gourd will do for today)!💖

[idontplaytrack]

Can I request lilette x reader where reader is Robbies sister and lilette and her have to like sneak around bc they don't want him to find out about their relationship

Got A Secret, Can You Keep It?

Lilette Suarez x fem! reader

Warnings: angst, coarse language, closeted reader, implied homophobia, anxiety, mentions & description of death, make-out & smut. Very long fic ahead.

In which, you’ve got a secret to keep from your brother— the only who knew you as well as you did yourself. And you were terrified.

“Okay, I’ll see you for dinner tonight. Can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Me too.” Lilette says, your phone was held between your shoulder and ear while you went around the apartment tidying up. “See you soon, babe.”

“Bye.” You said and hung up. Robbie comes home. “Hi, sissy.” He greets you with a bright smile. In a panic, your phone just flies from your hand and falls onto the couch, thankfully. “Hey, how was practice?”

“Good, but tiring.” He tells you, “How’s your day been? What have you been up to for the past couple hours?”

“Uh, well.” You started, “I got home from school at 3:30. Did my homework, got a snack and now I’m just watching a bit of TV while scrolling through my phone.”

“Very chill.”

You shrug, “Hey, I would hate to bother you but could you give me a ride to the diner at like 7? I’m meeting Lilette there to work on a project.”

“The diner at seven? Yeah, sure. No problem.” He agrees quickly. That was partial lie— you weren’t there to work on a project, you were there for your bi-weekly dinner date. Though yes, you have been paired up with Lilette for a project. You guys just didn’t need to work on that right away.

While he went ahead to take a shower, you laid on the couch reading a book to pass the time till you had to go get ready. Well, you also had to wait until Robbie was out of earshot to leave Lilette a voice message. You called her ‘babe’ usually, so, that’s why. Lilette was currently working her shift— she went to work directly after school and would be right there to meet you for dinner that evening.

You put your phone up to your ear to listen to her reply, “I miss you too, cookie. All yours tonight.” You couldn’t help but laugh. She’s always called you by that nickname— Lilette claims it was because you were ‘obsessed with cookies’. And at first you thought she was calling you like, crazy, kookie. But she was horrified by that assumption and immediately told you otherwise. But ‘all yours tonight’…that got you a little excited. Maybe a little too much.

You set an alarm to remind you to get ready in time. After reading some pages of your book in hand, you dozed off. When you woke up again, it was right before your alarm went off. So, you turned the alarm off and went to get ready. “What time will you want me to pick you up?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You admitted. “I’ll keep you updated?”

“Okay, yeah. Don’t forget otherwise— how are you gonna get home?” He jokes.

“Probably walk.”

“When have I ever let you walk alone. After sundown?” He chuckles, “If you’ll be out late, call me. I don’t care how late it is, I just want you to be safe.”

“You know we’re the same age, right?” You bit back a laugh, checking your hair in the mirror by the front door.

“I’m still older.” Robbie retorts.

“Whatever.” You shoved him playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.” He nudged you towards the open front door.

You got into the front passenger’s seat as per usual, he puts on his playlist and started to drive. It was a pretty quiet ride to the dinner, so your mind just wandered for the duration of it. Thinking about your Dad, how both yours and Robbie’s relationship was great but they constantly clashed. You hated that they yelled so much, it scared you. Unlike Robbie, your Dad never apologises for raising his voice. Instead, his way of an apology was quietly stocking the fridge with your favourite fruit or the pantry with your favourite snack. Sometimes, just sometimes…he’d take you to go get ice cream. You liked that way the best because you actually got to spend time with him. He liked spending time with you, but he wad almost always too focused on Robbie. How Robbie was doing at his sport, were his grades okay, are rehearsals going well, will they interfere with practice? You couldn’t blame him. Either of them, actually.

Robbie was the boy, the wished-for child, of course he was favoured. Your Mom however, you were her favourite— she always joked about this to make you smile. But now, you rarely saw her. But only because it physically hurt you to see her so sick. You were always thinking about her as much as you wished that that wasn’t the case…thinking and wondering how much time she had left. With you.

Lilette was no doubt the nicest person you’ve ever met. She was such a sweetheart. You didn’t have a lot of friends— you liked it that way, keeping your circle small. Lilette was your closest friend. Now, you were dating her. And have been for the past four months. There wasn’t actually a specific moment the two of you declared that you two were in an exclusive relationship, it just naturally happened evolved time. Everything felt comfortable with her, with her you felt like you had no worries, no fears, no nothing. You simply felt like you were in a little bubble of safety and so much love.

————

“You alright?” Robbie’s voice and the vehicle coming to a stop, snaps you out of your thoughts.

You cleared you throat, “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Hey, just enjoy yourself tonight, alright? Don’t worry about Dad, don’t worry about Mom. I’m on my way to go see Mom— we’ll go together tomorrow too, okay? The two of us. She’s okay.”

“Okay.” You agreed with a nod.

“Okay.” He says, “Go on, have a good time. Remember to update me what time you want me to pick you up later and where.”

“I will.” You tell him before getting out of the car. As you entered the diner, you turned to look over your shoulder and he waves. You wave back, stepping into the diner. He drives off seeing that.

Once inside, you see Lilette walking out from the back, her hair down and wearing a flannel and her favourite pair of jeans. Her gaze finds yours and her face lights up. Lilette nearly squeals, rushing over to give you a hug. “Hi!”

“Hi.” You said with a smile, mutually breaking away a few seconds later so you two could sit down. Quickly placing your orders, Lilette started chatting with you. “What’ve you been up to since I last saw you at school?”

“I got home, did my homework, read a book then fell asleep.” You nearly snorted, “How was work?”

“It was good, actually.” Lilette says, “Better than yesterday, thank goodness. No rude customers today.”

“Good.”

“Can I…ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod, seeing from the corner of your eye that a waiter was walking towards the booth with your food.

“Would you…want to go somewhere private after we’re done here?” She asks shyly, a deep red dusting her cheeks.

You nearly drop your fork, blinking profusely while looking at her, “Uh— you mean like get…

“A room?” She completes your sentence, nodding her head.

“Actually.” You swallowed your mouthful of your sandwich— your eyes…they were just fixed on her, tracing her features with your gaze, “Yes. Sure.”

Thank God Lilette's mom wasn't on this shift so she wasn't anywhere near here.

————

And so you and Lilette ended up getting a room at a cheap hotel nearby, paid for in cash. She had her arm around you and you were already beginning to fantasise…feeling a certain rush of something going down south. Shit.

“Oh, my God.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I have to text Robbie and let him know he doesn’t need to pick me up.” You realised, rummaging through your pocket for your phone.

“Oh.” She laughs, gently pushing you onto the mattress. You sat down, shooting your brother a text to tell him that you were going to be spending the night with Lilette— you did not however, tell him where. You put your phone aside, focusing on Lilette again. “All good?”

“Yeah.”

She shifted closer to you, barely a couple of inches away from your face. You feel her fingertips on your face as she brushes the stray hairs out of your face to get a clear view. Her hand settles on your cheek, cupping it and she leans in pressing a gentle little kiss to your lips. Lilette does it a few times over before the connection deepens. The kisses became heated and wet, lingering for longer and longer each time. You eventually fell on your back, Lilette went along with it but was careful of how she moved around. Her hand rested on your chest, just shy of your breasts below. She smiled, eyes opening to look at you for a second.

“Are you sure you want to?” She asks, breaking away from the kiss. Her eyes study your face. You nodded eagerly, kissing her back first. “Have you ever done this before?” She asks, voice muffled by your constant kisses.

“No.” You hummed, feeling her knees bracketing you on either side.

“It’s okay, me neither.” She reveals, pressing her first kiss along your jaw. Then, her lips were kissing a trail down your neck, trying to learn what it did— to you and for you. You whine when she kisses a specific spot, she does it again, and again, then harder. Your whine increases in pitch, you feel your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, cutie.” She assured, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, “It’s alright, you don’t have to be quiet.”

Through your breathlessness, you nod, agreeing to what she’d just told you. Then, she started back up again. Kissing that one sensitive area on your neck to keep drawing out those noises and build up your arousal. She’s learnt about something you liked and decided to keep to it. No complaints, though— you were going in blind and absolutely loving it so far.

You feel her hand caressing your hip, over the area that was the waistband of your pants. Your breathing hitches, wondering what she’d do next. "Can I take them off?" She asks you in a quiet voice. All you could manage was a nod, it was as though you didn't know a single word anymore. With that, your pants and underwear were slid off by Lilette. Her eyes meet yours to ask, "Are you comfortable? With me hovering over you like this? Or would you rather...kind of just sit and lean back?"

You took a deep breath and swallowed your spit harshly, "Maybe— maybe we try this first."

"Okay." Lilette smiles sweetly, lips reattaching to the spot on your neck.

"Mm— my God—" You panted.

"So that's good?" She questioned, breath tickling you.

You confirmed, "Mm— mhm, yeah." She tries something she hasn't done to you yet: her teeth grazes your skin just ever so lightly to see how it made you feel. "How's that?"

You shook your head, "No."

Humming, she resumes working on the spot on your neck. She sucked harder and harder over time, you were eventually left with a pretty obvious mark over it. Her hand begins moving down south, stopping just before the mound. "Do you want me to try?" She inquires seriously, her eyes filled with concern— as were her words.

"Yes." You told her, looking at her too, "Yeah."

She moves slowly, fingertips circling the overheating and swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You whimper, she watches you, you look back at her. It made you grow shy, cheeks blushing as you averted your eyes from hers very briefly. When you grew louder and wetter, she decisively picks up her pace. You feel a finger ghost your entrance and you flinch, then was clenching around nothing. "I'm gonna try, okay, baby?"

Shit, that petname. She's never used that before on you. Oh, boy...

You whined needily at the new petname, giving her an affirming nod to slip a finger inside. As wet as you were you felt every bit of this completely new sensation, it reflexively makes you taking in a deep breath and lift your hips a little. Then, it was as if all of that ignited something in Lilette: she begins moving her finger in and out of you, at the same time, she kisses you...peppering kisses all over your face and down to your chest. She discovers a few other sensitive spots she could take note of for future purposes, too. You feel the tip of a second finger at your entrance several minutes later, and you let her try adding on to the first. But quickly, you learnt that you would rather she didn't do that. It hurt. "Ow!" You cried out as if on reflex from what you were feeling. Lilette removes her finger from you, the second one retracts too.

"Oh, I'm so sorry baby." She says a little scared by how you were affected by it, though a bit apprehensive, her hands found their way to your inner thighs as she sat down between your legs. "Do you want to stop?"

You shook your head 'no'. Her hands then started to massage that erogeneous zone, you relaxed, telling it was okay, "No, no it's not your fault. I'm alright, okay? I promise. We can keep going." Lilette nods her head, kneeling then smoothly bending down towards your cunt. You saw what she was trying to do, "Oh, fuck. Yes, go for it." Your bluntness had her shooting you a look of bewilderment but she quickly recovers and started using her tongue to stimulate your clit. They were slow and almost a little hesitant at first, but you moaned feeling the sheer closeness of you and Lilette. Her being so careful and loving, telling you that you looked beautiful. You were on cloud nine hearing her practically worshipping your body. That was all she needed to gain the confidence and momentum to keep going, picking up her pace gradually to allow for build up of arousal and pleasure.

“Feel good?”

“Fuck— fuck— so good.” You breathed out shakily, voice almost strained. You were clenching your fists and licking your lips, unsure what to do with your hands. However, your natural instinct was to run a hand through her hair and without any thought, that’s what you did. A smile forms on her face, and yours, seeing her happy.

Lilette contently ate you out until she felt you throbbing against her tongue. With her brows raised slightly, she pulls herself away from your cunt to look at it. “Oh, baby.” Her hands massaged your inner thighs again, “So pretty. So, so pretty~” Her eyes flicked up, catching your gaze. It makes you squirm out of frustration, though you weren’t exactly sure why you were feeling that way. Her thumb rubs your clit and you back away just slightly, a whimper falls from your lips as your head rolls back. She decides to test something— she rubs your clit again. You whimper. The back of her fingertips ghosts your clit. You whine. Grinning to herself, she got back to rubbing your clit consistently all while feeling the throbbing intensify and watching you begin clenching.

“Oh God—” You breathe in deeply, the fluttering in your core stops and spreads immensely, “Oh. God! Shit. Lilette, fuck— oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Each exclamation came out in a pant, with you whining through the whole thing.

Lilette slows down progressively to help you come down from your climax and then detaches her mouth from you once you started to seem more relaxed. She scooched upwards to sit right by you, her palm rests on your abdomen, stroking it, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, and felt a sudden urge to burst into tears. You don’t know if it was the realisation of the whole act of having sex, or it specifically because of the intensity of your climax, but the urge…was strong. Too strong. Lilette repositioned herself and was laying on her stomach while face to face with you. You licked your lips and pursed them together. It quivered anyway, and Lilette brushes her thumb over your cheek watching you with worried eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You managed. “Nothing. I promise.”

“It’s okay.” She squeezes your cheek slightly, “It’s okay, I’m right here with you. Cry if that’s what your body feels like doing.” The feeling was dying down until she said it, then the waterworks began with virtually no warning. She guides you onto your side to hold you in her arms and rub your back to soothe you. “You’re alright, hm? I promise.” She said softly, planting a kiss on your shoulder, “You did good.”

————

Early the next morning, you and Lilette were getting ready to leave the hotel and go back to the diner for breakfast. Holding onto the wall to steady yourself while you put your pants on, an obscene noise startles you and you cringe.

“Oh, geez.” Lilette realises too, “Bit early, huh.”

You moved away from the wall and finished getting dressed. Once freshened up, you two checked the room to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Lilette was holding onto your hand, fingers intertwined together. But you were a step ahead, pushing the door open you step outside first. “Robbie’s picking you up from the diner at 7:30, yes?” You confirmed with a nod of your head. Looking left and right on reflex but locking eyes with none other than your father. You tried pushing Lilette back into the room but he saw you immediately. Someone was with him— someone familiar but you couldn’t see their face.

Your feet were rooted to the carpeted floors out of total fear. “My Dad.” You turned your head to whisper quickly. Lilette successfully pulls you back into the room but he was too fast, coming face to face with you and Lilette. “Why aren’t you at home?” He bellowed. You flinch, backing up against Lilette. A cry was caught in your throat.

He yells at you until you all leave the hotel, following you around right beside you.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Why aren’t you home?’

‘Does your brother know about this?’

You started to zone out, your heart was slamming in your chest as the sound pounded through your ears. Your breathing…it quickened to the point where you couldn’t feel much of anything going into your system. Behind his shoulder, a car driving by catches your eyes. Robbie. You ran, Lilette ran with you as you desperately waved to catch his attention so he could stop. “ROB!” You screeched.

“You’re screwing with my mother and you don’t know who I am?!” You hear a voice behind you yelling right as Robbie slows down his car to a stop, “You’ve met me multiple times. I’m your daughter’s best friend.” Seeing how upset and flustered you were, he quickly unlocks the doors so you could get in.

“Fuck you.” Lilette spat, her words filled with venom. You’ve never seen her so angry.

That. That was why your father didn’t chase after you anymore. He got caught too— it was becoming a complete shit show in this driveway. Your father looked at Robbie, as though trying to apologise, but he was gripping at the wheel so tightly that his knuckles became pale. Next thing he did? He drives away. So fast.

————

The car ride was silent, but the tension was high. None of you knew what to say. But you feel a sickening feeling bubbling in your stomach. “Pull over.” You spoke up. Sensing your tone, he does so immediately. You opened the door and leaned over the grass patch to throw up. Lilette rubs your back, obviously worried and startled by how abrupt it was. But, she had an inkling why you were like that.

By the time the three of you arrived at the diner, you had calmed down. Or so you thought. Your mind was still racing, trying to piece together an explanation for your brother. You didn’t want him to be mad at you as well.

“Rob—” You sniffled. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you. That’s the last thing I’ll be feeling. I saw enough to know who to be mad at.” Robbie assured, “Did he hit either of you?”

“No.” Lilette answers, “I almost kicked him in the crotch, but I didn’t.” You shook your head.

You knew he was waiting for a full rundown of the events, and you were going to tell him— despite how terrifying it was. “After we had dinner, we went to the hotel and spent the night. Because—” You stopped yourself, “We wanted…privacy. That’s why I said you didn’t have to pick me up last night. Everything went fine until we heard people going at it in the room next to us this morning. We leave the room to check out, it was Dad he started tailing me demanding an explanation as to why I was there. Couldn’t tell him— nothing came out of my mouth. I almost passed out in front of the hotel.”

“So that’s when I drove by and you stopped my car?”

“Yeah. And while I was making my way to the car, Lilette was screaming behind me. That’s why he stopped chasing us. He got caught too.”

“With my mother.” Lilette adds on.

“Can you not tell Mom, please? A-about me and Lilette.” You requested quietly, feeling the tears pricking at your eyes.

“Hey, you have my word, okay? I’m not gonna tell mom or anyone. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.” He promised. “I’m just…glad it’s Lilette and not that creepy chess club guy that tried to take you to the dance last time.”

You chuckled at the memory, “Thanks.”

“Okay, eat your breakfast. Don’t worry about Dad, I’ll handle him.”

“But— where can we go? What if he gets violent? We can’t stay at Lilette’s either.”

“I’ll take you two to go spend time with Mom. Alright? Stay there until I come and get you— we’ll figure something out if the time gets too late. But you should be okay, the staff knows us. They’ll let you guys stay longer.”

“Okay.” You agreed. Lilette holds your hand, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. Breakfast went by uneventfully, then the three of you were on your way to your Mom. Though it was early, your Mom was awake, smiling so brightly at the sight of you. You let go of Lilette’s hand and rushed to her side, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, mama.”

“Good morning, ladybug.” Your Mom says back, caressing your cheek weakly, “Who’s that pretty girl you came in with?”

Oh, right.

You looked over your shoulder, silently asking Lilette to approach. She walks over. “Hi, Mrs. Thorne.”

Your Mom laughs breathily. “Too formal. Rhea.”

“This is Lilette, remember her? My best friend.”

Your Mom sighs, “Of course. Oh, goodness. I’m sorry, sweetheart. My memory’s all over the place. I used to call you little lily.”

“That’s right.” Lilette cracks a smile.

“Lilette’s my girlfriend now, mama.” You revealed.

“Oh, that’s so great.” Your Mom gasps softly, “I’m so happy for you, ladybug. I’m so happy you found love in your best friend.”

That was it, you were crying like a baby having received your Mom’s blessings. Lilette pulls a chair closer for you to sit, no— fall back on. She rubs your back and held you close while she stood. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Mommy’s happy for you, don’t you worry about things like that. I love you. You’re my baby.”

“Thank you, mama.” You swallowed your tears, “Thank you, I love you so much, mama.”

You and Lilette stayed with your Mom for hours, chatting and laughing. You wanted her to sleep and get some rest since she’s been up for awhile, but she refuses and there was no fighting her. So you just let her stay up. “Hi, y/n. Good to see you here again.” A nurse who recognised you came by to check on your Mom.

“Hi, Iris.” You gave her a smile.

“Oh, who’s this?” She asks, curious.

“That’s Lilette. Her girlfriend.” Your Mom answered before you did.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Iris sighs, “Young love is beautiful.”

Once Iris leaves, you told your Mom, “Dad doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t even come by. He doesn’t need to know anything.” You mom tells you calmly, “What matters is you’re safe, healthy and happy. How’s school for you?”

“Very good.” You reply, Lilette nodded too. “Great friends, teachers are great too. My grades are good. I got a 95% on my last quiz.”

“That’s my girl.” Your Mom praised, “I’m so proud of you.”

Lilette couldn’t help but smile seeing you and your Mom interact. The love was so, so apparent. “Robbie’s coming later.” Your Mom says.

“I know, Mama. I know. He dropped us off, he just has to go run some errands.”

You could never tell your mom what your dad’s done. You couldn’t do that to her. She didn’t need any of that right now. She was on her literal deathbed.

“Thank you for coming to see me. Both of you. It’s so nice to have you both here.”

“Of course, mama. I’ll always make the time to come see you.”

Robbie came to the hospice in the evening. Lilette taps him on the shoulder once and he flinched, seething. Uh oh.

“Robbie, hi, baby.” Your Mom’s face lit up again just like when she saw you.

“Hi, ma. Here I am.” Robbie chuckles, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Your sister said you had to run some errands.” Your mom mentioned, almost suspiciously but also with an undertone of worry.

“Uh, everything’s fine. Dad’s just being difficult.”

“Don’t let him affect you. Focus on yourselves, that old man can take care of himself.” She says, “I’m serious. You all are graduating high school this year and going off to college, working next…whatever. Life’s gotta keep going, don’t let stuff like that hold you back.”

What?

“Take care of yourselves. You can’t rely on your Dad. You, take good care of my daughter.” She looks at Lilette at that moment. “I promise.” Lilette answered seriously. “Good.” Your mom smiles.

“Mama.” You mumbled. Holding onto her hand, you looked at her— incredibly worried. You couldn’t shake this feeling once you’d heard all of that. She squeezes your hand and gave you a smile. You didn’t say much of anything else for the rest of the night. The three of you decided to hang around for way longer even though your Mom initially wanted you all to go home and get some sleep. You just couldn’t leave her.

“Kids.” Your Mom says breaking the silence and looking away from the TV screen. The three of you focused on her, she sighs. “Remember to take good care of yourselves. Always stand up for what’s right. Don’t ever change yourselves for others. Remember I love all of you and will always be around in whatever way possible. Don’t worry about me. I know I do not have to worry about you kids. Don’t worry about college, both of you. Lilette, thank you for making my baby girl so happy.”

“Ma—”

“What—” Robbie paused the the movie. Ghostbusters. You guys watched this all the time at home.

“I have to go, okay? Mommy’s tired, I’m very sorry. I’ll be back. Every time you see you a sunset, I’ll be there.”

Tears streamed down your face as the realisation hit and denial went away. You clung onto her hand for dear life, as did Robbie. Lilette had her arm around you. Suddenly, everything felt like they were going in slow motion.

Your Mom’s gaze looking between the three of you.

Her smiling, her eyes welling up with tears.

You hear Robbie trying to hold it together but quickly failed, choking on a quiet sob. Lilette was breathing heavily beside you, sniffling.

Your mom’s eyes, her eyelids begin to droop.

The sound of the heartrate monitor going lower and lower, slower and slower.

Then, the flatline. It echoed, her eyes closed. Her hands, let go. You went limp in Lilette’s embrace, but you were soon escorted out by a nurse. Lilette hugs you, and since you were facing the direction of your mom’s bed you could see them drape a blanket over her to cover her up. You were a mess, tears soaking her shirt, mumbling incoherently as you cried.

Lilette was speechless. Nothing she says would be right. So she just held you to keep you steady. Robbie tries to get you both to leave but you resisted, not wanting to leave your mom.

“y/n, let’s go. Mom said to take care of ourselves.” Robbie says quietly, hand on your shoulder. “Let mom rest. She’s been fighting for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Don’t be sorry, let’s go.“

————

Once home, it was another fight. A very angry father was waiting for your return. “What are you crying about?” He snarked.

“Mom died.”

“Mom’s fine.”

“She died.” Robbie repeated, “Took her last breath right in front of us. She’s been there for such a long time and you haven’t seen her more than three times. Leave y/n alone, leave Lilette alone. If you think it’s right to get mad at your daughter for being herself, I get why you’d think it’s acceptable to cheat on your dying wife. You are a sick bastard.”

Your Dad swung on Robbie, but Robbie was agile, he successfully defended himself by dodging and your Dad’s fist slams into the wall. “Why didn’t they call?!”

“Ask yourself that. Ask yourself when the last time you saw her was. Even Lilette’s been there more than you have. Her name’s always in the visitor log. Ask yourself why felt that it was okay for her to go, without you around.” Robbie responded lowly, his whole frame trembling with anger. “You know what? It’s no use talking to you. You need to leave the house and never come back.”

“How dare you ask your father to leave his house!”

“This is mom’s house. And now, it’s mine. Mom left it to me. She left you nothing. She may have been very sick, but she was more clear-headed than you have been.” Robbie continues. “LEAVE!”

You all watched him leave, finally defeated. “Burn in hell.” He says as the door slammed.

“Go to bed.” Robbie urged, “It’s late.”

You gave in, Lilette heads up to your room with you.

“Good night. I’ll be up with you in a minute.” Robbie says softly. Entering your room, Lilette shuts the door behind the both of you and turned the lock. She picks out a change of clothes for you and herself then handed your stack to you. Till now, not a word’s been said yet. You got changed, so did Lilette. She took your clothes and tossed them in the hamper before pulling your covers off the bed enough so you could get in comfortably. Lilette knew you were hurting and grieving. It didn’t take a genius to know that, but there was hell of a lot more going on. You needed her and she knew it.

“I love you.” She holds you tightly, both arms wrapped around you. You laid on her chest, trying to empty your head and focus on the steady beat of her heart. Lilette stroked your hair to lull you to sleep, eventually she resorted to singing. The door, having been unlocked by Lilette righr before you both got into bed…creaked. It opens up, you hear Robbie’s voice. Indistinctly.

“I got her, go rest.” Lilette tells him, “You’d better keep a close eye on your shoulder. If it gets worse, get it checked out.”

“I will.” Robbie says, “G’night.”

“Night.”

Robbie exits, closing the door again. “I’m sad.” You mumbled. “I know, honey. That’s okay. Let it out, I got you baby. You’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be okay.” You repeated while she rubs your back and pressed kisses to your head every now and then, “Thank you. For being here for me. Always.”

“And forever.”

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[arisherifeu]

Broken People Part III

Author’s Note: Im asking myself how did this story ended up getting part III? That’s the the thing about impulsive writing. It just happens. ໒(⊙ᴗ⊙)७✎▤

WARNING ‼️- DRUG ABUSE

Part I Part II Part IV

Last night felt like fever dream for Lynette. House came, struck a fight, James got angry, she confessed she was using drugs to stabilise her chronic migraines that comes every time she moves and today, she was still not going to work. It was already 5 am and she attentively watches James sleeping on the couch where he offered to stay for the night.

Lynette went over at the couch but she sat on the floor, her back against the couch. Carefully trying not to wake James up. She brought her knees to her chests as she contemplates on what to do with herself. She knew what she needed to do. But she was scared. She loves being a doctor. She didn’t want to lose any credibility. A part of her was hoping that House wouldn’t say anything at all. Not to anybody. Because she heard stories about how ruthless House can be. She was scared and intimidated by how powerful House was at the hospital. Would she be spared from his ruthlessness? It wasn’t fair to her. Because House was just as guilty as he supposed to be. This hospital would be bankrupt if anyone exposed what House did to his patients despite saving their life. Lynette was thinking hard. She got too worried.

But a gentle pat on her back relinquished her from all the evil thoughts. She lifted her head to the side to see Wilson sat up, looking at her endearingly. “I hope you’re feeling a little bit better today.” He wished.

And to be honest it kinda did. Just a little bit better.

______________________________________

James decided to stay at home together so they can talk things out today. He was just so glad that he already settled down all his patients charts and the medicine to be prescribed to them today. So, he doesn’t have to worry about work at all. While Lynette got herself sorted out in the shower room, James helped himself to her kitchen trying to make something out with the things he found in the fridge. For someone who doesn’t eat much like Lynette, he was just really glad the fridge and the pantry were stocked with food. He decided to make a heavy breakfast for her to start off the day. So he managed to make eggs, toasts and sausages with cut up apples on the side.

Lynette walks in the kitchen smelling something so delicious. With towel on her head, cropped shirt that display her awfully skinny body with protruding bones in her baggy sized jogger pants that dropped lower than her waist. James unconsciously eyes her again. He couldn’t stop worrying. Hoping that she will never ever fell and break her bones.

“I made a heavy breakfast.” He smiles.

“It smells nice, James.” She smiles back.

They both sat together at the eating table. Face to face as they eat in silence. Lynette didn’t gobble up the food at once like she did before. She was slightly scared that she might throw up again so she ate slower as she can.

“I can’t thank you enough..” she started. She was still looking at her food. To be honest, she was still shy. She was timid as she was yesterday after listening to the whole ordeal about the fight yesterday with House.

“It’s fine. I am just sorry that he went through your personal record. But trust me, he means well. He just can’t put it into good words..He understands..you know hes on vicodin..” James began.

Lynette just kept eating in silent. James doesn’t push her with anything except to eat silently with her too because he knows its hard for her to admit to everything thats happening. He was also worried about the fact that the relationship started off on the wrong foot.

“I lost my dad at the hospital I used to work before Princeton..I jeopardised the whole operation thinking that I knew better than the doctors who had his chart. That was my dad and I couldn’t let anything happen to him. He was the only I had left. So I..” Lynette stopped, subtly choked on her food. Trying hard to swallow the food with the glass of water in her hands.

“You don’t have to tell me the story if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything.” James clarify. He held her left hand. Lynette looks deeply into his eyes, feeling comforted but she knew in the end he will found out about her maybe from someone else’s mouth so she decided to come clean with it. It’s the best way to get this relationship stabilised.

“You just need to understand, I am not the person you know today or these 6 months before. I was different. How I was back then was just the consequences of self negligence. I did it, with my dad in my mind hoping he would still be alive on that table when the doctors cut him. But I was wrong, it was never the heart, even when he has the condition before. It was his head. But even with all the blackmails I did to the doctors, to force them carve open my dad’s heart. It was already enough to send me into some sort of vortex. My license should have been revoked but I was saved. Then all I know I was already here. Then my migraine came and haunt me. It wouldn’t stop hurting. I feel pain every time I move anywhere. So I took the pills and they help.” She stopped there.

By then, James already stopped eating his food. James silently stares at her unknowingly that he has been caressing her left hand and never let go. Even when the story ended. Lynette’s heart has never been that fast. She couldn’t hear herself breathe because of how strong the heartbeat of her heart is. Her hand started shaking. James noticed and he just held it more tight. Not letting go. He sat silently. Grieving with her as she tries her best but her body’s started to shake, quite vigorously. James got so worried that he pulled Lynette from the kitchen and bring her straight to the bed where he covers her with the blanket. She was already on the withdrawal phase he suspected.

“When did you stop taking the pills?” He questioned. Lynette was already shaking profusely with sweat all over her forehead. “Last week..” she said but almost sounded like a whisper.

“You didn’t take any pills then? At all?” He questioned again sternly. But Lynette can only shook her head trying to deal with the pain in her head.

“You’re doing so well. You look better. You’re gonna get better in a couple more days.” He motivates. James was astonished at the woman’s durability. James passed her a cup of water to chug. Which helps to stabilise her electrolytes. James hugged her the best way he possibly could so he could stop the shaking. Which did help Lynette to become more calmer.

She was way worse before in the last week when she first stopped taking the pills. Her head pain worsens, nausea and vomiting everywhere. She doesn’t even have the energy to clean her own mess that she would leave it for a few days till maggots formed around it. She slept on her bed for a few days dealing with her pain, crying. But she had to go to work. She was so good at hiding her pain when nobody else watches. Even James didn’t realised that her demeanour changed. Lynette can only feel glad that the withdrawal doesn’t seemed as bad and that only her head hurts and she was glad that James doesn’t see her worst side.

Lynette suddenly shot up, James was taken aback. Lynette started running towards the toilet and vomit all the content that she had. James trailed behind and held her hair up, stroking her back while she vomits all that she can.

“We gotta go to the hospital, Lynette.” James started.

“No. I am not going anywhere near a hospital.” Lynette resisted.

“But we gotta do scans, we gotta do MRI. We can find if there’s anything we can do to subside your migraine.” He tries to convince. Lynette slowly closed the lid of the toilet, and flushed the contents. She sat with her back against the wall, looking at James weakly. She already has to deal with the pain but now she has to resist James knowing James can just force her to get the scans. But she was adamant, she can fix this on her own. James started to spoon her, and carry her with ease to the couch. He was worried at the lack of fat she has in her body considering her weight was like a feather.

James gave her more water by filling up a bottle and hand it to her to drink. She drank willingly. James also brought her unfinished food to the couch table, in hoping she can try to eat again. Lynette willingly takes another bite at the toast, slowly chewing. She was afraid to vomit again but she was hungry. She needed the energy. Thankfully, she managed to eat everything even though she took around an hour and a half to finished them all.

By then, she has some energy to walk around in the house. Just pacing around. James watches attentively to everything she was doing. She decided to do housework and started uncovering her bed sheets and pillow sheets but James sighed and went up to her.

“I will do it. If you let me?” He requested but more commanding. He held her forearms very gently.

“It’s fine, James. I need something to distract myself right now.” Lynette said looking at him, feeling kind of cranky.

“But what you need is rest..” he looked at her with his puppy dog eyes.

“Is that how you flirt with most women?” She scoffed, feeling blushed looking at his soft eyes.

“It still works.” James smiling shyly at her.

Lynette softened. She looked at James with the most smitten look on her face that she immediately blushed right after. She went over to her drawer to get fresh sheets to hide her blushes.

“Can I ask you a question?” James asked.

“Shoot.” Lynette responds after passing him right side of the bed sheet so James could fit his side of the edge.

“Do you have someone before this?” He questioned nonchalantly while Lynette stopped in her tracks, feeling weirded out by the question.

“Well I haven’t been thinking about it for quite some time now..had that monkey love when I was at school..but that was like 7 years ago. I couldn’t be bothered with this because of my dad.” She answered and she finally got the left side edge fitted on to the mattress, leaving the pillow sheets left.

“Is it still recent? About your dad?” James asked again.

“Well yeah..it’s technically last year. Tomorrow night should be his first death anniversary.” Lynette answered finally got the new bedsheet sorted in with James’s help. Lynette lay on the bed feeling a bit tired just from doing that small chore. James just sat beside her, arms stretched out holding his weight while his legs stretched across the bed.

“I’m not just some damaged goods right..?” Lynette questions.

“Why do you think so?” James asked worryingly. Lynette took a minute to answer because she was nervous, so she decided to lay on her other side so she doesn’t have to look at James.

“I don’t like the look in your eyes James. You’re looking at me as if Im damaged beyond reparable. You look nice. But your eyes are telling me I am just too different than any other person you saw. It’s the same look you give House too.. sometimes I see how you looked at him and I wondered if it was true…that I am just the girl version of him. Thinking that if you could fix me .. maybe there’s a way for you to fix him..” Lynette finished. James looked defeated. He loves Lynette for she was but she was needy. She needed someone on her side and James decided to stepped up to the role. He hated how House was right that he always comes to the rescue when this case happened.

James was frustrated but he couldn’t say anything. Instead he got up and walk out. Lynette got up and trailed behind him but as soon as she saw James reaching for his jacket and walk towards the door, Lynette ran after him. An adrenaline rush throughout her whole body. She rushed to hug him from behind. James was surprised because of the momentum his body felt when she hugged him.

“Even if it was true! I…I don’t want you to leave. I have no one else..” Lynette trembled, because she was desperate to stay connected to the feeling that she has right now with James. It was the one thing that could make her keep going. Something that she could look forward to. James was saddened, as if he didn’t feel the same epiphany before because he knew, he relied too much on House as well and wanted House to change and be someone like Lynette. House is his best friend. But with Lynette it’s so much different.

James turned his body and looked at Lynette with his left hand on her jaw, feeling her warmth, his thumb caressing it. He looked in her eyes with the same puppy dog eyes he always have. “Do you trust me enough when I said I love you?”

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: The Christmas Exchange

aka - a very TSOF Christmas

Summary: Virgil and Gordon exchange Christmas gifts Characters: Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy Words: ~2K Genre: Family Universe: Adventures of Chicken Dad

a/n it’s the hours leading up to the eve of Christmas eve - a little further along for some of you, and I wanted to take a moment to wish the Thunderfam a very Merry Christmas! For those who participated in the TAGSS, I can’t wait to feast my eyes on your gifts to each other. To everyone who supported me this year or read my stories, thank you. I bring you a closing to the year on my blog with a scene from one of the AUs - I know not everyone’s thing, but it’s the story they wanted me to share. Fishtank, because it’s me. You may want to read Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm before this scene. 

***** “This is weird right? Just a little bit?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” From the other side of the holo-screen, Virgil frowned across from him, his brows pinched in concentration at the large box in front of him. “Your wrapping is abysmal. I don’t even know where to start.”  

Virgil kept his tone light, the dig wrapped in a warm smile instead of judgment as he looked up at Gordon fondly.

Gordon hated to admit it, but there was a part of him still nervous. It was… nice, being like this and able to casually call up his long lost brother to talk about nothing, and everything, despite the distance and despite the hours. But their journey was far from one that picked up just like old times. He could be comfortable with Virgil and he knew he was safe with Virgil, but their boundaries weren’t ones that could be learned overnight, especially the long distance ones.   

Or, re-learn, as it were. They had both changed over their years distanced from each other, which was the phrase he used intentionally because “estranged” now felt too strong and too final when they’d since reconciled, and when his brother was dating one of his best friends.

They talked to each other many times over the holo-vid since Virgil had returned to active duty with the rest of his brothers. It wasn’t uncommon for them to call each other up like this. What felt different about it and what Gordon knew was the cause of this conversation feeling as strange as it did was all because of the weight of the small box that fit into the palm of his hand.

The exchange of gifts felt so heavy this year, their first Christmas together after everything went down. And despite the significance of it all, they were both decked out in a hue of blue atop their Christmas attire, on opposite sides of a digital connection made stronger by the involvement of Thunderbird Five.

Virgil had wanted to do this in person.

Gordon had too, but not on the Island. Not yet.

“Gordon? Relax.” Virgil encouraged. “I just meant I won’t bite. There’s no reason to feel nervous. Besides, it’s Christmas!”

“I’m sorry still.” He unclenched his jaw.

“I’m not. You weren’t ready.” With the gift Gordon sent him propped on his leg, Virgil peeked around the top of the bow Gordon had tied up like his shoelaces. “Never apologize for that. Of course I want to see you, but I offered so you knew you were welcome here. I wanted you to know I didn’t need to be the reason you stayed away, but I understand that there are other reasons you are choosing to.”

“I still want to try. Someday.” Gordon meant that, truly.

“Take your time. There’s no rush. Besides,” he said, playing with one the dangling ribbons on his box by twirling it with his finger and releasing it with a springing bounce, “I don’t think any of us loathe the opportunity to visit the farm. Not when you send us home with enough of your homesteading to stock the pantry.”

They could’ve done that instead – waited until the next time Virgil visited Gordon at the farm and do their exchanges then. But Virgil had just left again two weekends prior and wouldn’t be back again until New Year’s. That’s when IR was finally able to coordinate time off for the whole family to visit between the short notice of Gordon finalizing his Christmas plan, their rotations already in place, and the busier time of year for International Rescue. December was snowstorm season for half the world, cyclone season for the other half, and human stupidity didn’t have a season. Plus, while Scott and John were attending the last few meetings of the year at Tracy Industries, Virgil and Alan were left on call to cover rescues, and though their corporate-minded brothers planned to be done as soon as possible, it was the hours leading up to Christmas New York time and very much already the 25th Island Time.

It was either this or after Christmas, and neither one of them had wanted to wait for New Years. Gordon had his boxes of “TSOF care packages” for each of his family members ready for their visit – an assortment of his personal teas, a combo of their wines, meads, and brews, a stack of honey and honey sticks, and assorted fresh spices and seasonings, with a little bit of customization in each create. This year while thrifting with Scraps, he’d found a Christmas ornament of a chicken walking out from an overturned grow pot, and it looked so much like Ginger who’d taken such a quick liking to Virgil that there were no questions about it. His brother had to own that for his Christmas tree.

As a gift, it certainly commemorated their time on the farm, but it wasn’t the gift.

It wasn’t the one that had him nervously clenching his fist on his knee.

He didn’t know what Virgil’s reasoning was (maybe he would understand once they opened their boxes), but for his purposes, Gordon knew the gift Virgil had on his lap was the one that would be better heard when no one was watching and when the possibilities of Christmas miracles were at their highest – Christmas Eve for Gordon, Christmas Day for Virgil – and the memories of the Christmases of years past close to the heart. Years of running down the stairs to be first to see the tree with presents beneath it, the winters in Kansas and wearing their pajamas inside out to bed as part of their superstition to make it snow for the holiday, and all of them tucked on the couch listening to Virgil’s piano after ripping through wrapping paper.

“So, this gift?” He lifted his palm up so Virgil could see it, making a show to examine outside. Virgil always was super attentive to presentation, and the compostable paper around the outside was folded precisely and perfectly with the tiniest of bows tacked onto the top. “It’s rather compact. Are you sure this one is meant for me?”

Gordon held it between his thumb and forefinger, squinting at the rounded corners of the small box.

“What do you -? Oh.” When it was apparent Virgil had been a little slow on what he was suggesting, Gordon wiggled his ring finger, and he took an immense amount of pleasure at the flush that ran up his brother’s cheeks, even through the hologram.  Virgil rolled his eyes at him. “Yes, that’s your gift.”

“Just making sure,” he cackled. “Could’ve been really embarrassing for you.”

“Gordon?”

“Yes?”

“I would really like for you to open your gift now, please.”

"You got it." Banter was among the few languages he spoke fluently, and there was a nuance to knowing when it was time to stop.  He nudged his finger under one of the folded sides but stopped short of ripping it open the way he’d done as a child. “Together?”

"No, you first." Virgil shrugged. “It wouldn’t feel right. We’ve always done the youngest first.”

Gordon smiled. When he was younger he hadn’t thought twice about it. He just knew what it was like to wait for Alan who would take a long time because he wanted to keep opening the toy packaging any time he received something to play with. His older brothers had to wait through each of their siblings in age order.

“I think our parents did that because of our patience. Or lack thereof.”

Virgil grinned. “And they were right to do so. Your attention span was terrible.”

Gordon stuck the tiny green bow on the top of his head and felt it fall briefly before catching on the strands of his hair.  “’Kay, I’m going in.”

Once he’d made a mess of Virgil’s perfect wrapping, the box inside could still have easily been mistaken for the kind that would hold jewelry inside, but inside was a simple computer plug-in, the size of his thumb and with ribbon matching the bow in his hair tied around one end.

He lifted it out. “I don’t—”

“Plug it in,” Virgil encouraged him eagerly. “It’s about what it holds.”

“A gig is worth a thousand words, huh?” He leaned over to stick the drive into his computer.

“More than that surely. A gig can hold a lot of pictures. That’s not what’s on there, though. I ...uh, saw how you were at the bonfire. When I started playing on your banjo. And I realized” – the light flutter of piano keys began playing from the speakers of his computer – “just how much you missed my music. I figured I’d give you the real thing.”

“Virgil, this is…”  His heart swelled hearing the concerto bend under Virgil’s fingers.

“There should be some of your favorites in there too, for you to play along with.”

He understood now why Virgil had wanted this to be just between them. His siblings had the gift of Virgil’s piano anytime they desired. Gordon had been without the timbre of those chords for so long that his expression faltered as he processed his memories and the meaning behind the gesture. He had been taken with Virgil’s playing at the end of season bonfire, enamored by the sounds of his brother’s fingers teasing the taut strings on his banjo.

His talent was magic, and having it so easily at hand… He glanced at the number of tracks that had been saved. “Woah, that’s a lot of music.”

“I had a lot of time to make up for.”

“Virgil, thank you, this is… really beyond special.” He glanced back to the holo-screen and away from the computer monitor, leaving the second song running low in the background. “I’m going to take my time with this.”

“You’re welcome.” Virgil still had his head propped on his hands, leaning into the box that held his Christmas gift, a pleased smile plastered between ears. “My turn?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

It felt a little silly to Gordon, being on the other side when his gift was being opened, suddenly feeling nervous and unsure about it. He hoped it said what it needed to. That it was good enough to give Virgil.

“—my lord, there’s a lot of tape on this thing.”

Virgil had given him a gift that held something he was skilled at. Gordon’s was similarly homemade, but he was in no way at Virgil’s level of ability when it came to this kind of -

“-ordon? Are you listening?”

“Huh, yeah, of course.”

“There’s that attention span of yours. Typical.” Virgil shook his head, as he ripped through the wrapping from the back and pulled out the box inside to allow him to lift the lid. “Oh, there’s a canvas in here.” He gently pulled it from its paper padding, running his fingers along the edge, and did a double take when he saw a peek of paint along the back and sides before the rest of it was unfurled. “You got me a painting? Oh, my God, you painted?”

Virgil tore the paper away.

“Yeah,” Gordon beamed. “Scraps and I made a beverage donation to a local paint and sip. They liked our wine so much that we started getting invites. I know it’s not anything unique.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. It’s yours. A Gordon Tracy original.” Virgil didn’t look up, his eyes still scanning the details within the artwork. Gordon hoped it was without his discerning eye towards technique.

“Not quite. It was still designed by someone else.” He’d been following an artist’s instructions at the paint night, and there were plenty more just like it.  Scraps was planning to gift hers to Jules. Though, the artist who designed the paint night had been inspired by their local homesteads, and the farm roof and chicken coop were both distinctly Tracy.  “A painting for a painting, it felt right.  I hope you like it.”

The loss of the artwork that he’d destroyed years ago weighed heavily on him and was what inspired him to take that first step to the artists’ shop. There was never a doubt when he walked in that what he walked out with would be Virgil’s. It didn’t erase what he’d done, but it was a firm reminder that he’d never stopped appreciating his brother’s hobbies. And this was the gift that carried all the memories of their time on the farm.

They’d both given each other a little bit of home.

“I love it. Thank you, Gordon.”

With Virgil’s music playing in the background, they continued talking about their plans for the holiday, and Virgil laughed when Gordon told him he and Jules would be art twins once the farm celebrated their exchange. In the morning, Scraps and Jules were planning to go over to the Sheridan’s for Christmas brunch, while he and Everett worked on the morning chores before starting on dinner for an evening among the estate residents.

He wouldn’t be alone for Christmas, and he could tell Virgil was relieved to hear it.

“You should get some rest,” Virgil nudged when he yawned for the third time in a manner of minutes while speaking. He promised to call him again tomorrow and wished him a Merry Christmas just in case. It was an IR thing. Gordon nodded, yawned again through an “FAB”.

As they closed the call and he made his way to the comfort of his bed where Skipper was already curled up alongside his pillows, he dozed to the gentle lulling of his brother’s piano, his heart feeling lighter with the excitement to share in the holiday season with those he loved, not just the next day, but the days onward with his family of friends, his animal companions, and his family by blood and by heart in the days to come.

[wonderlandsakura]

Day 15: The Town, part 4 - warmth

So I lied about coming back the next day, the hyperfixation went on longer than expected.

(Never trust me to come back when I say I will)

Anyway baked goods as promised:

The liaison took the three of them on a tour of the town.

Alice had insisted on it, she wanted to see what the town was like in this new world and the state of the people she was now responsible for.

As she had noticed previously, the town was much more rural than before, with less technology.

The people looked rougher, but it seemed they lived honest lives and we're friendly with each other and the mayor, waving to him when he passed, though she could do without the whispers and gossip she could hear.

The bustle and noise and number of people seemed to grow as they approached a quaint little shop that appeared to be a bakery.

People were lining up to enter and the hardworking bell over the door of the sweet kept tinkling away as people busily streamed in and out of the place.

Was the bread in that shop really so good? Or was it the people that ran the store that had their customers leaving with beaming smiles and a bit more pep in their step? Or perhaps it was the community and shared experience of it, meeting neighbors and friends alike in the little store?

Alice was intrigued.

"What store is that?" She asked.

"Oh!" Said the liaison, startled out of his rambling tour, "That's the best bakery in town! It opened up a few years back, when you were still... Ahem. Well, they couple that runs it are relatively new residents, but everyone adores the shop. It's become more busy of a gathering place than the town hall itself!"

"Is that so?" Alice thought aloud to herself, "Well, while we're here, I would like to visit it and see what it's like... What do you say Martha? Marcus?"

She turned back slightly towards the two in question, prompting them for their opinions.

They nodded slightly in deference.

"As you wish my Lady," said Marcus, sending a harsh glance at the liaison, which Alice pretended not to notice as she turned back to the man.

The squat, round man mopped his brow fearfully and agreed, gesturing for them to approach the building.

The crowd parted before them as they approached and the whispers grew in their intensity.

Finally they entered the little bakery, the tinkling of the bell silencing the murmurs from the townspeople as the noise of the streets fell away.

The inside of the bakery was... Warm. Bright. Cheerful... Homey.

There were people inside, of course. The bakery was filled to the brim with people.

But they hadn't seemed to notice them, or if they did, they couldn't care less, going about their day, and chatting with their friends, more interested in the bread than the gossip.

And what bread it was.

It looked so soft, warm and fluffy, some flushed with a golden brown sheen, others dark and hard with crust.

There were designs cut into some, and all had the look, the smell, the sound, of well rested, lovingly made bread.

And the smell of it was heavenly, filling up one's heart and soul with every inhale.

It was well worth the hype it seemed to have.

Alice knew she would not be leaving the store today, much less the town, without as much bread of all kinds as she could reasonably carry.

She had to stock the pantry with it, instead of the poor, dry, disgusting excuse for bread she had eaten that morning with her breakfast tea and then refused to touch during lunch.

She adored her household staff, even though she was not as familiar with most of them in this world the way she had been in the last, but, by the gods, whoever had made the bread she ate did not know anything about how to do it right.

She would be sending them, or at least whoever wished to learn, to this very bakery as soon as she was able so that they could learn the ways of making good bread. Or maybe she should hire someone from the bakery to bake for her?

She wanted to set up a daily delivery of bread in the meanwhile however, and for that, as well as all the other bread-related tasks on her ever growing to-do list, she would have to first find and meet the baker and owner of this fine baking establishment...

I think I just gotta start writing the thing, so I'm gonna try to write a bit a day and we'll see how it goes:

Alice wakes up and looks out the window, and... That's weird, it's so much emptier.

Where's the port town facing the sea with their little red roofs and white walls that she can usually see in the distance?

Where are the smoking chimneys of big cargo boats out in the port, made small by the distance?

Where are the cranes, seemingly still ever time she looks, but somehow always hard at work, loading and unloading?

Where is the touch of modernisation?

Out in the distance, all she sees are trees that should not be there and rolling green hills with no roads with people and cars and trucks cutting through them, ever busy.

She opens the window, and the breeze blows in, but it's crisper, fresher, not carrying the smoky tang of vehicles and boats alike, something she never thought of, never noticed until now.

It's quieter too.

There isn't the sound of people and cars and boats in the distance, only the call of birds and the rustling of leaves, so much closer than before.

BANG!

The door startles her and she turns to see Marcus there, panting, anxious, his mouth gaping open, mouthing words he cannot find or voice.

She knows before he speaks what he's going to say.

They aren't in their world anymore.

[baroquebucky]

the 5 love languages

in which you and bucky love each other, in every and any love language possible

word count: 1.6k

masterlist

a/n: hi hi guys !! hope u all enjoy this i went overboard again srry for any typos !! :]

Bucky loved you. He loved everything about you. He loved the way you dressed, the way you cooked, the way you laughed, the way you talked. He loved every aspect of you, even when you were cranky and would stomp away from him in a fit of anger, he loved you.

You loved Bucky. You loved everything about him, the way he bit his lip when he was frustrated, the way he leaned on everything when he was standing, how his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, how he would take deep breaths when he was upset about something. You loved every aspect of him, even when he would try to shut you out and deal with things on his own.

1) gift giving

“I’ve read all the reviews it’s supposed to be so good, i hope it isn’t overhyped or ill be really upset” you pouted, setting some brownies on a plate for Bucky, putting the plate in his hand without him even asking. He smiled, thanking you silently.

“it looked good from the trailer you showed me” he spoke, eyes trained on the brownies in hand, he just wanted to eat them already.

“buck i baked the brownies for you, eat them” you laughed softly and he blushed, immediately going for a bite, chewing for a second before stopping.

“that bad huh?” You joked, about to make another comment when he cut you off, shaking his head and swallowing his bite, going in for another right after. Within seconds the piece in his hand was gone.

“oh?” You grinned and threw his head back, moaning dramatically as he finished eating the piece.

“this is the best brownie I’ve ever had in my whole life” he spoke, his face serious as he stated you in the eyes, getting up and kissing your face all over.

“Bucky!” You laughed, shoving him slightly, a smile on his face.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything but i saw this at the store and-” Bucky began, knowing you were gonna be upset he bought you something when you told him the brownies were just out of love.

“James!” You scolded him, trying to look angry but failing as a smile creeped onto you face, eyes landing on the bag he held in his hand.

“Cmon baby you’ll love it” you let out a sigh, a grin playing on your lips as you opened the bag, eyes landing on a pretty notebook and your grin grew wider.

“i know you said you wanted to start journaling so” he motioned to the book and you smiled, cheeks hurting.

“thank you bucky i love it” you kissed his cheek before setting the notebook on the table, sitting on the couch next to him and turning on the movie.

Bucky always bought you little things, he loved visiting antique shops and almost every time he brought back something to give you. His excuse being one of three:

“it was too cute to not get!”

“it made me think of you and so i had to get it”

“i figured i could have it as decoration or you would find some use for it”

You told yourself next time he bought you a gift you wouldn’t take it, and every time your heart melted at his actions and you couldn’t help it.

You would be a hypocrite, considering how often you also bought bucky little things. Getting his his favorite snacks and fruit, buying him shirts and jackets when you went shopping because you knew he’d been wanting some, getting him small decoration items because he wanted to decorate his apartment and buying him candles knowing he loved having his apartment smell nice.

2) acts of service

You and Bucky could either have nothing to do or have no time to breathe, no in between.

Bucky loved helping you when you were stressed, he loved knowing he was helping you stress out less.

He would help you with anything he could, cooking for you, helping you with your work, helping with daily chores so you wouldn’t have to worry about them and you could focus on your tasks.

You loved helping Bucky when he was busy. Being an avenger was tough work and you knew how exhausted bucky would get. You just wanted him to relax when he had the chance.

You would buy his groceries along with yours when has barely returned from a mission, bruised and battered, making him breakfast in bed and stocking his fridge and pantry. You would help clean up his wounds, scolding him when he didn’t want to, saying he would be fine and he just wanted to cuddle you.

When you were both busy you still found ways of helping each other, always trying to decrease the others load, wanting nothing but happiness for each other.

3) quality time

When you both had nothing but time you spent it together. Doing work silently, watching movies or tv shows, baking and cooking together, playing board games, anything you could think of.

Both of you loved going out to the park, walking hand in hand and enjoying the cool breeze, sitting down to watch the sunset and smiling at each other when he was caught staring at you.

You would have some spare painting supplies lying around from the time you had a bob ross night with the team, gathering them up and painting with Bucky for the night.

40’s music filling the air as the two of you talked and painted, ignoring everything except each other.

4) physical touch

Bucky was touch starved, he wanted to be held and loved.

And you did just that.

You peppered Bucky in kisses, holding hand and playing with hair, cuddling him any chance you got. You would sit next to him and lay your head on his chest, letting him wrap his arm around you and pull you closer.

Bucky would always be holding you, having his hand on your thigh while he drove or hold your hand when you went out together, sometimes just linking your pinkies together. He would drape and arm around your waist when you slept next to him, holding you securely and protecting you from the world.

Bucky loved running his fingers through your hair, braiding it absentmindedly at times, kissing your forehead when he finished.

He loved kissing you. Placing sloppy kisses all over your face because he loved hearing you giggle, quieting you with a gently kiss on your lips before pulling away and wrapping you in his arms.

You would hold Bucky when he was upset, running your fingers through his hair and kissing the top of his head. You would let him be the little spoon at times and hold him tightly, making sure he knew you weren’t gonna leave him.

5) words of affirmation

Bucky needed reassurance sometimes and that was okay, you were more than happy to tell him how much you loved him.

“you’re doing amazing bucky I’m so proud of you” you would tell him, looking him in the eyes and pulling him into your arms.

“i love you so much lovebug, you mean so much to me” he would stare at the ground, refusing to believe how lucky he was. But you would always gently lift his face, look him in the eyes and assure him that you loved him.

Sometimes he would have a rough day on a mission, he would be upset and cranky, ending your calls short as opposed to his usual bubbly and excited ones that could go on for hours. You would send him some texts, hoping to boost his mood

i love you and i know you’re doing your best

im proud of you, can’t wait for you to come home to me <3

Bucky loved them, his mood always lifting after reading them.

He would always reassure you, when you were sad, upset or just in a bad mood. He would remind you how much he loved you and how proud he was of you, telling you how far you’d come and how much you’d achieved.

“you’re so amazing and so talented angel, you can get through this” he told you, helping you get through the absurd amount of work you had.

When he was away for long periods of times he would have letters he left for you, telling you to open them on certain days so you wouldn’t miss him too much. Writing to you and telling you how much he loved you, wishing he was there to tell you himself.

Sometimes you got in your head after arguing, Bucky was always there to help you out.

“do you still love me” you whispered, eyes red and teary. You had argued an hour ago and had yet to speak to each other, giving yourselves space to calm down.

Bucky was upset, but he immediately softened at your words, moving to sit next to you and pull you into his chest, stroking your hair softly so you could calm down.

“you’re mine angel, you have me forever” he whispered, “of course i love you baby, nothing is ever gonna change that, especially not one argument.”

You both apologized, talking everything out and spending the night cuddled up. Bucky telling you how much he loved you and you telling him all he meant to you.

Five languages of love.

You thought you would only speak one, maybe two.

Bucky thought he could never learn to speak any again.

You were both wrong.

When it came down to your love for bucky and his love for you, both of you spoke all five languages, and you spoke them well, never failing to remind the other just how much you loved them.

[fruitydiaz-archived]

97 — “It’s not that easy.” for @eddie-diass

from this prompt list

Eddie thinks this should be easy. He’s spent the last three years of his life not thinking about Buck romantically.

Not that he really succeeded in stopping the thoughts all together, but he did succeed in distracting himself from them, from diving into them and figuring out what they meant. That should be the easy part — finding a distraction. He’s always been good at that.

He wishes he didn’t have to, is the thing. He got out of the hospital and started healing his busted shoulder and realized that life was short and he could die at any second and broke up with Ana and turned around to find his best friend locking lips with Taylor Kelly. Literally, he showed up to work on his first day back to find Buck leaning against his car with Taylor pressed against him like this was an 80s romcom and they were a bunch of lovesick high schoolers.

It stung. It made him bitter and jealous and angry — like he was a lovesick high schooler.

“You’re mad that I didn’t tell you about Taylor,” Buck had said later, when he approached him in the locker room. Eddie rolled his eyes and kept his head in his locker, refusing to look at Buck.

“No, I knew there was something going on. She was at my damn welcome home party, Buck. You’re not subtle.” Buck grimaced.

“You had enough going on, Eds. It just didn’t seem that important to bring up.”

Eddie spun around and stared at him, a little dumbfounded.

“You didn’t think your new relationship with your girlfriend was that important?”

Buck froze. He stared blankly at Eddie before his gaze shifted away and his shoulders dropped a little. Eddie watched him run a hand through his hair, step into the locker room and slide onto one of the benches.

“Wrong choice of words, maybe,” Definitely. “I just didn’t want to bother you with it. You were my priority, you know? Helping you feel better. Still are.”

Eddie’s thought about that line an infinite number of times since it left Buck’s lips.

You were my priority, you know? Helping you feel better. Still are.

Eddie doesn’t know how to tell Buck that that’s weird. That the fact that Eddie, who had a girlfriend at the time, was Buck’s priority, when he also had a girlfriend at the time (and still does, as Eddie’s brain keeps helpfully reminding him), is fucking weird. And it’s probably not fair of him to even try since he just came to the realization himself that the way that they’ve been acting for the last three years is weird as fuck and not the way two best friends who want to stay best friends and only best friends act.

It just hurts that he came to the realization too late.

One day, when Eddie’s stewing up in the loft, trying hard not to be bitter over the fact that he and Buck were about to throw down in a battle of ping pong when Taylor stopped by and swooped him up and out to her car for a chat, and failing — Hen settles down next to him.

He glances at her and she shoots him a sympathetic smile, offering to share the bag of chips she’s snacking on. He shakes his head but thanks her anyway.

“Must be really bad,” Hen says, focusing on her bag of chips. “To turn down your favorite chips.”

“How do you know they’re my favorite?” Eddie raises an eyebrow. He checks the bag again and — she’s right. They are his favorite, from his childhood. He never eats them around the station because he likes to save them for special occasions, ones that make him feel like he’s young and naive again.

He has a bag stored at the back of his pantry at home right now. But he’s pretty sure Hen’s never seen him eat them.

“Buck put in a special request with Bobby to get them stocked up. He said they’re your favorite. Something about a childhood treat.”

Eddie doesn’t remember telling Buck that. He’s sure he must have, in passing at some point, probably during his recovery, but he didn’t know Buck had latched onto it like that.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth shut. It’s been 10 minutes since Buck left with Taylor. Eddie’s getting antsy. He can’t help it when he glances in the direction of the garage again.

“You should tell him, you know.”

Eddie stares at her, raising his eyebrows again. He can play stupid.

“Hm?” Hen stares back at him.

“Buck. About how you feel.”

Eddie feels the blood drain from his face. He looks away from Hen quickly, dropping his eyes to his lap.

“Yeah? About what?”

“Oh, geez, Eddie, come on. Don’t make me spell it out for you.” He doesn’t say anything. Hen softens her voice. “Listen, I know the way that you’re feeling is scary, I know it’s probably new to you. But you and Buck have a relationship like no one I’ve ever seen — and I’m including all the married couples I know.”

Eddie shifts in his seat and keeps his eyes averted.

“Seeing him with Taylor is cutting you up inside, Eddie. Every time you see her I’m afraid to cross through your line of sight because I’m not trying to get caught in the crossfire of those little eye darts of yours.”

“So what?” Eddie cuts her off. He’s never liked people throwing his feelings back at him, not when they’re already uncomfortable enough to face on his own. He looks up at her and sets his jaw. “I appreciate your concern, Hen, okay? But I’m not going to tell Buck that I don’t like his girlfriend just because...just because…”

“Because you’re in love with him, Eddie.”

Eddie stills. He feels his brain shut off and the panic spike in his chest, feels the fight or flight response kicking in instantly. He struggles to breathe.

“I’m not…”

He is.

“Eddie. It’s okay. I’m not telling anyone. I’m just...telling you what I see.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Eddie lets her words settle over him, squares his shoulders and confronts the fact that this is reality. He can’t hide from his feelings.

“I can’t lose him, Hen,” Eddie says after a moment, his voice so quiet that she barely hears him.

“Watching him with Taylor isn’t losing him?” Hen counters. “Look, I get that you’re scared that you’ll tell him how you feel and then it’ll ruin your friendship forever — but it doesn’t have to.”

“It’ll change things.”

“Maybe not the way you think,” Hen shifts so she’s looking Eddie straight in the eye. “The way you look at him when you think he’s not looking? That’s the same way he’s looking at you when your back is turned. Trust me. I’ve been watching it for years.

“Eddie, you both went through something traumatic together. You got shot and Buck watched you bleed out. You both thought you were gonna lose each other. In a way, your relationship became stronger after that. But you also realized how important he is to you. And he realized the same thing. Why do you think he rushed into his relationship with Taylor?”

“Because he’s wanted her for years?” Hen gives him a look.

“Because she’s safer. If Buck loses her, it’ll hurt like hell but he’ll move on. If anything were to happen and he lost you...we both know what would happen.”

“So why would I tell him?”

“Because you both love each other. I like Taylor and I’m glad she and Buck are happy together. But they’re not gonna last, Eddie. That boy would die for you. No one is ever going to mean as much to him as you and Christopher do, we all know that.”

“...It’s not that easy,” Eddie says quietly. He looks over as Buck skips back into the garage, shining and grinning big, like he always does after he sees Taylor. Eddie’s heart settles in the pit of his stomach like a rock.

“Be right up there to kick your ass at ping pong, Diaz, don’t think I forgot!” Buck calls, before he takes off to the locker room. Eddie swallows.

“The things that are worth it are rarely easy,” Hen says to him, setting her hand down on one of his and squeezing gently. “He loves you too, Eddie. Trust me.”

And with that she’s gone and Eddie struggles to pull himself back together before Buck comes back up the stairs.

He’s not gonna tell Buck how he feels. He’ll probably have to, eventually, and it terrifies him to think that that might be soon, since apparently everyone around them can clearly see the thing that they keep dancing around.

But he can’t do it while Buck is dating Taylor. If Hen thinks they’re not going to last long, then he can wait until then.

Buck’s happy with her, and Eddie thinks he should be allowed to have someone that makes him feel happy.

Even if it’s not him.

[everlarkficexchange]

Just Close Your Eyes, You'll Be Alright

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 154: Soulmate au where your soulmates injuries and scars show up on your body tinted in their favorite color. Katniss through the years as she discovers new marks, pondering what it could possibly be, finally figuring out that her soulmate is being hurt way too regularly and in very specific places. Do her parents figure out Peeta is being abused? How do they find and “rescue” him? Or does Peeta live his whole childhood being abused before turning 18? Does he runaway? How do he and Katniss find their way to one another? [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone / @peetamewllark]

Teen and up

AU- Modern setting (but like without cell phones). One Shot. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Language, child abuse and neglect, injuries, implied (non-descriptive) underage smut. Nobody dies! Unbetaed. 

-lyrics of Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift, Feat. The Civil Wars - Songs from District 12 and Beyond (2012)

Author’s note: Thank you to @lovely-tothe-bone for her inspiring prompt and to the organizers of EFE, for bringing the challenge back so faithfully, you ladies rock! 

KPKPKPKP

“Look at her!” Papa screeched at the policeman, lifting the back of my favorite pink polka dotted shirt. “You have to do something about this, Sheriff Cray!” Papa demanded, angrily.

  The man just watched, like he didn’t care. Then sat back down lazily, “There’s nothing much I can do, to be honest. Unless you can produce the child sporting the actual bruises, my hands are tied.” Said the policeman.

  I had no idea what the problem was, I felt fine, but ever since my 5th birthday, every time Mama helped me out of my day clothes for my bath, she wept and held me close to her chest, whispering “No child deserves to be treated so poorly,”

  Papa too always made a face and looked sad and angry when Mama showed him my back after my baths. 

  It was funny how bath time could easily be my favorite time of day, but it made the grown ups upset somehow. I just liked that mama would rub ointments on my back, bottom and thighs, carefully and without fuzzing about the time she was spending away from my baby sister, Primrose. Is not that I didn’t like Prim— I thought she was as lovely as a doll— I didn’t mind sharing mama’s snuggles with her either, but it was nice to just feel mama’s warm hands caressing me to sleep every now and then. 

  Either way, I wished someone would tell me what was so wrong with my behind that had the grown ups acting so weird. 

  They were starting to scare me, really.

  “There has to be something we can do! There are genetic tests to determine matchless people, couldn’t we use the same technology to find the markers matching my daughter’s counterpart to identify him?” 

  “Mr. Everdeen, I’m not a geneticist. I wouldn’t know about anything like it… and who’s to say we could use it to find your girl’s soulmate? Then we what? It’ll open an unknown Pandora’s box situation, people would start tracking soulmates illegally or something less than honorable. It’ll certainly set a precedent we cannot foresee the ramifications of!”

  “You’re telling me that there’s some kid out there, somewhere, getting beaten week in and week out, and you’ll do nothing about it?! You’ll allow the abuse to continue uninterrupted?” 

  The man nodded slowly, “You said it yourself, Mr. Everdeen. The kid’s ‘out there, somewhere’, we don’t even know if he’s local, or his age. In any case, I only have jurisdiction over District 12, and I can’t very well launch a country wide investigation on an alleged case of abuse, specially if  we have no victim,”

  “But my daughter’s soulmate is suffering! Who knows what permanent damage this poor child may have as an adult! It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about!”

  “Most unfortunate, sir. I don’t wanna seem unsympathetic, Mr. Everdeen, but unless your little girl can figure out a way to communicate with her soulmate, find… an address— at the very least a name— there isn’t anything we can do to help.”

  Papa huffed, his nose flared, “Fine. Thank you for your consideration…Sheriff.” Papa put his big ol’ hand on my shoulder and guided me away, “Come on Katniss, it’s time to go home.”

  I looked up at Papa and reached for his hand. I smiled at him, “It’s okay, Papa. Mama says to give grumpy people time, and they may be nicer the next time we talk to them.”

  Papa smiled at me, but it didn’t crinkled the corner of his eyes, like real smiles did, “That’s nice sweetie… although, that usually only applies to people just waking up from naps, like you and me,”

  I giggled when he picked me up and tickled my tummy. 

  Papa kept talking to grown ups about my back, but nothing was ever done about it. 

  ———————-

I was 11 when our world pitched upside down. 

  Papa was one the foramen on shift at the town’s coal mine when the earth shifted and an entire tunnel collapsed. 

  Prim and I were in school when the sirens went off. There’s nothing worse than to hear the end of your world being advertised so loudly and without mercy. 

  I grabbed my sister’s hand and rushed to the mines; we found our mother there, clinging to the yellow tape cordoning off the site. 

  I should’ve known something wasn’t right when I was the one seeking Mama out, trying to comfort her, instead of the other way around. It was the first time the concept of a soulmate stopped being an abstract notion, and became a reality, because my mother stopped functioning altogether the moment she realized Papa had been hurt.

  I saw how much a soulmate could affect you. It wasn’t only the marks on the skin— those came without conscious pain— it was the fear of knowing that someone you loved was hurting, sometimes badly, and not being able to do anything about it. 

  Mama’s left leg started glowing pink from the shin down at first, and the color began to shift to a darker red the longer Papa laid underground. 

  Unbeknownst to us, my father had been pinned under fallen rock and dirt after pushing a man to safety, risking his own life. The sharp end of a pickax perforated Papa’s leg in the cave-in. The pickaxe worked as a plug, keeping him from bleeding out while he waited for the rescue crew to reach him. 

  Papa laid on the floor of the very last lift to surface with rescued miners. He was unconscious. Had suffered extensive blood loss. The lone medic in the rescue crew couldn’t fix him up right away, but Mama was a nurse, and like a switch flipping on, she ripped off the bottom of her skirt, and tied a tourniquet around my father’s thigh, saving his life at the cost of his limb. 

  My father lived, but his leg had to be amputated. 

  He couldn’t work in the mines anymore, and what little money we got as compensation from his injuries, were put into paying off the mortgage, because Papa decided that having a roof over his family’s heads was far more important than having a leg. 

  The rub was, a roof didn’t fill our stomachs or put a coat around Prim’s shivering shoulders. Mama put a hold on her nursing career, obsessing over Papa’s care, despite his protests. Someone had to pick up the pieces, and that someone turned to be me. 

  I started selling everything I could carry out of the house in my arms: tools, kitchen appliances, small furniture, etc. But we never had many possessions to begin with, so my wares ran out soon, and I turned to our closets for their meager treasures.

  I sold my parents best clothes, along with my sister’s winter boots that didn’t fit her anymore. I looked at my own shoes with longing, but put them into Primrose’s shoe rack, deciding I could manage with Mama’s boots, if I stuffed them with newspaper. Mama never left the house anyway. Neither did Papa for that matter, but he wasn’t dead, just convalescencing, so I left him a pair of footwear just in case, and sold his work boots and his Sunday loafers. 

  The day I was down to the last pair of clothing, we had been slurping on mint tea for the third day in a row from a few old leaves I found in the very back of the pantry. It was the last of our food, besides Papa’s bland diet, but I refused to let on on how precariously stocked we were, until absolutely necessary.

  But, nobody wanted the hand-me-down baby clothes I had for sale, nor the slightly beaten stroller I was pushing around with my ‘merchandise’. 

  Icy cold rain, soaked me to the bone. I was so tired and downtrodden, I ran to the first awning I found, unwilling to go back home to Prim’s sunken blue eyes and chapped lips, asking for something to eat, while my hands were empty. 

  I tripped and fell face first on the umbrella stroller, breaking it irreparably and soiling the few onesies I’d been trying to sell. 

  With my wares ruined, and winded by a sharp pain shooting through my elbow, I limped towards a scraggly apple tree a few feet away. I recognized the place as the alley behind the town’s bakery, just by the smell alone. 

  I cupped my elbow, wondering if I’d broken it or merely banged it up? That’s when I saw the dumpster. 

  Big ugly thing, dirty and smelly. I climbed a wooden crate to dig for anything edible inside, but before I could lift the lid, a screeching voice shouted at me.

  “Get out of there, Seam brat!” 

  I jumped off the crate, startled, and cowed behind the dumpster when I saw the baker’s grumpy wife sneering at me from the warmth of her kitchen’s back door. 

  A boy about my age— I recognized him as one of my classmates from school— peeked his towheaded face around the woman, and although they were a good five yards away, I could see his blue eyes widened as he took me in. The boy slipped back inside, as his mother spewed threats of calling the police on me and whatnot.

  I started debating whether I wanted to trace back and drag my broken stroller over; pretend I was merely trying to dump it in the garbage, while inspecting the trash for food… but the baker’s wife was nicknamed the Witch by all the neighborhood children for a reason. 

  Before my mind was made, a loud, metallic bang resonated into the street from inside the bakery. Yelling ensued, then the sound of a meaty hand against a small face. 

  A few seconds later, the witch was chasing the boy out the back door, “Toss it in the trash, you stupid creature! Nobody will pay money for burnt bread anyway!” 

  The boy scurried by with his head down. 

  My eyes stuck on the bread in his hands, was probably the reason I missed the shiner under his eye. He stopped right in front of the dumpster, but instead of throwing the ruined loaves in, he tossed them in my direction. 

  I didn’t wait around to ask if he meant for me to grab them. I just scooped them up and fled like a bat out of heck. 

  When I got home, Mama gasped in horror. She grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed me to her chest. “Oh no! It’s getting worse. They don’t even care to hide the bruises anymore!” 

  Mama lathered my face with all the medicinal herbs she had at hand, while apologizing profusely for abandoning me and Prim to our own devices. She vowed to find a job, and to take better care of us. 

  “No child should ever suffer like this!” I couldn’t tell if she meant Prim and I, or whoever my soulmate was.

  Mama interrogated me about my whereabouts and how I came upon the bread in my arms, but she seemed to rest easier after a while. 

  When I was finally able to look at my face in the mirror, I was horror struck by the deep orange bruise swelling under my eye. It took three days for the bruise to go away completely even with mama’s careful fingers.

  Coincidentally, the baker’s son didn’t show up to school for the next four days. By the time he did, I had lost any confidence in myself to go up to him and thank him for the bread that fed us for a few days; the loaves were perfect! Only the crust had been charred, but I had a hunch the boy knew that when he threw the bread to me; I was also convinced he burned the bread on purpose, I was just too chicken to ask him why? Which made it even harder to hold his gaze when we crossed each other in the school hallways. 

  All I knew was that because of the selfless actions of the boy in my year at school, my mother seemed to wake from her single minded obsession. The boy with the bread gave our family a sense of hope, despite the fact that it would take some time for Mama to find work and produce enough money for the family. Papa’s medical needs had to be met as well, and he was due a new leg. 

  While those thoughts churned in my head, my eyes focused on a bright yellow bloom across the school yard. The first dandelion of the season! I picked the cheerful blossom, and the idea on how to feed my family until Mama was back on her feet, came to me. 

  After school, I took Prim’s hand and a clean bucket in the other; together we scoured the yard and the woods nearby for all the dandelions we could fit in the bucket. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad, and the next day, I pulled from under my parent’s bed, the only thing of value we had left in the house, Papa’s hunting bow. 

  “Are you sure you can handle it, pumpkin?” My father asked, watching me carefully.

  “You taught me how to do it,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

  “I taught you with a smaller bow,” he pointed out, “why don’t use yours?”

  I shouldered the heavy bow, and took a few loose arrows in my hand, “I sold it. These are all we have left now,”

  After a handful of days practicing, I actually shot  something worth eating. Seeing my mother’s blue eyes pop in surprise when I dropped the dead rabbit on the table, was priceless. 

  ——————-

  One early morning, right before summer break, I happened across another hunter… a trapper, to be precise. 

  A lanky, scowling boy, with three fat bunnies tied to his belt, and a fourth hanging in the air by a simple— yet elegant— wire snare. 

  I’d seen his traps before, his prey with their dead eyes and lolling tongues, just high enough off the ground to keep other animals from taking off with them. Papa told me that hunter etiquette was to be observed; if I happened across a trap that wasn’t mine, I was not to touch it, out of respect for my fellow hunters. That still didn’t discourage me from looking! After all, the snares looked like works of art, and I had no idea how to set any on my own.

  “Stealing is a punishable offense, you know,” Snapped the boy, and suddenly I realized just how tall he was. 

  From up close, I could see the beginning of some stubble under his chin. 

  “I wasn’t gonna take it…” I stepped away from the twitching bunny, with my hands raised in surrender. “Admiring your work, that’s all. By the way, I’m Katniss Everdeen, what’s your name?” I asked, trying to be friendly. 

  “Name’s Gale. Hawthorne. So… you know how to use the thing hanging from your back, Catnip, or is that just for show?” He practically bumped me onto my butt, stepping passed me while pulling a knife from his belt to cut his kill down. He turned to watch me, smirking. “That thing looks bigger than you, are you sure you can lift it up?”

  I scowled at him, wondering if he was expecting to see me squirm or something. I was smaller than the average 12 year old, but I was fast and scrappy. 

  “My name is KatNISS. I can shoot my own food thank you very much,” I held my bow aloft and moved so he could see my quiver full of arrows, “my weapons aren’t props or fakes,” I said, haughtily.

  “Yeah, well, it still looks bigger than you,”

  I rolled my eyes, fed up. Any other time I’d meekly shy away, and let him be; but I was feeling stubborn and confrontational, so I pulled my bow, nocked an arrow and let it fly, all in a fluid motion. 

  Gale gaped with a hint of fear in his gray eyes. 

  I felt smug and satisfied. 

  I wasn’t aiming at anything in particular, I just wanted the obnoxious boy to shut it, but by a stroke of luck my arrow pierced a falling leaf, and imbedded itself deep into the knot of a gnarly looking tree trunk. 

  “Wow! That was amazing, Catnip!” Gale said in awe. 

  “It’s Katniss… I’m okay, my father was better,” I said, puffing my chest a little, “I haven’t managed stealth yet, not like Papa before the accident, anyway. He doesn’t hunt anymore.”

  Gale frowned. “Was your dad in the cave-in?” He asked grimly.

  I nodded. 

  “So was mine. He almost didn’t make it.”

  “Same.”

  He just stood there, staring at the ground for a moment, then I tried to play cool, “Hey, I’d be willing to spare some shooting lessons, in exchange for some snaring techniques,” 

  Gale watched me, intently. He finally nodded and stuck his hand out for me to shake, “Deal!” 

  I smiled. Papa always said that good hunting partners were hard to find, and while I didn’t want a new hunting partner— I already had my father!— I could always exchange knowledge with a fellow hunter and improve my game. 

——————-

Papa was fitted with a basic prosthetic leg. He couldn’t run or swim with it, but having the ability to walk without crutches gave him a “new lease in life”, as he called it. 

  He found work doing odd jobs for Haymitch Abernathy, a hermit drunk, with more money than he knew what to do with, and no family to spend it on. The man needed someone to talk to every now and then, and seeing as he and my father were close in age, they developed a strange rapport between them. 

  Still, Papa wasn’t completely confident with his fake leg, no matter how many physical therapies he attended; he still walked with a pronounced limp. Yet, he always had a word of comfort for Mama. 

  My mother often blamed herself for Papa’s disability. 

  He’d tell her that she did the right thing, that it was thanks to her torniquete he was still alive, and she should never doubt her own healing skills. But every now and then, my mother would catch a glance of her permanently grey skinned leg, and silent tears would slide down her exhausted, pretty face.

  By then, I was old enough to know that the soft orange marks hidden under my clothes, meant a kid somewhere in Panem, probably my age, was getting beaten on a regular basis. It was sad to think about, but I’d grown so used to the marks, they felt like a distant happening without a meaningful connection to me. The bruises were there… just shy of a shirt sleeve, or around mid thigh, where they could be concealed by shorts; the way I saw them, they were like oversized freckles that came and went. A nuisance. That’s why watching my mother weep over her shadowy leg, was always unnerving and a little odd. 

  Was I supposed to despair the same way she did over my own soulmate marks? Was I broken or heartless if I didn’t feel as strongly? 

  Until I saw my mother’s grief over her soulmate’s leg, it didn’t register to me just how much the orange bruises were supposed to affect me. 

  I started to think if I wasn’t any better than the person dispensing the punches.

  One day, I was leaning on my parents bedroom door, watching Mama applying soothing oils to her gray leg with the utmost love and care.

  “Why do you rub so much medicine on your leg? It doesn’t seem to be bringing back your normal color,” I asked, staring where her fingers massaged into her flesh. 

  Mama stopped and called me over, to stand on her side of the bed. 

  “Papa is fast asleep, do you see?” She pointed out, kindly.

  I looked past her shoulder, where my father was sprawled on the mattress on his stomach, dead to the world. 

  I nodded.

  Mama smiled, “Do you remember all we’ve told you about soulmates? I’m sure they’ve taught you at school other stuff as well,” 

  Again, I nodded, just a little puzzled. “Soulmates have a very strong bond. They can’t feel when the other hurts, but they can see the marks, tinted in their favorite colors. That’s how we identify our soulmates, because we match and they can see themselves reflected back.” 

  “Exactly.” Said my mother, beaming. “Now, your papa and I are soulmates, and we love each other very much. When Papa’s leg was separated from his body, my body reflected that loss, despite still retaining my own leg. We match. The one thing most people don’t seem to realize, is that the connection goes both ways. I may not feel the physical pain Papa does, but I can still do things to my leg to help him feel better.

  “For example, when he feels phantom itches, I scratch and his itching sensation goes away. When he can’t fall asleep because he’s uncomfortable without his leg, I massage lavender oil on mine, until he relaxes and goes to sleep. Everything I do to heal my body, and take care of it, helps my soulmate feel better.”

  “Is that why you put lotions on my marks? To help my soulmate feel better?” 

  Mama’s lips thinned out; she didn’t like talking about the orange marks on my body. 

  “Katniss,” she said very seriously, “I tend to your bruises because I love you. I worry about your soulmate, because I love you. I try to keep you as healthy and happy as possible, because that will help your soulmate heal faster… because I love you. I can cure your soulmate’s body through yours, but I cannot protect his heart, mind, or feelings. Right now, you both are too young to feel the pull of your bond, but one day, when your bodies have matured, you’ll have this… yearning, to find one another, and then, I just hope, whoever your soulmate is, knows we tried to help.”

  I cocked my head, “Should I be sad every time new marks show up?”

  Mama inhaled a deep breath, “We should feel sad every time a child is mistreated, darling, no matter how we’re related,”

  From that day on, I paid close attention to every child in my class for bruises matching mine. I also kept pomades and tinctures in my school bag, in case I ever saw another kid getting hurt. I wouldn’t say I started to develop deeper feelings for my soulmate after that, but I did feel deeper empathy for my classmates… I just couldn’t stomach big injuries, gore or vomit, but smaller cuts and bruises… those I could manage. 

————————

“Silver Anderson figured out her cousin was dating her soulmate!” A girl in my year was telling a cluster of other 15 year-old girls in the locker room. “Do you remember how Silver has been wearing a turtleneck for the last two days with this darned awful heat?”

  The other girls hummed their yeses. 

  “Well, is because Silver’s soulmate had a hickey on the throat, given by Silver’s cousin, who was his girlfriend or whatever. But apparently the cousin went over to visit Silver with her boyfriend, and one look at the guy’s neck, and Silver recognized the mark!” 

  There were gasps all around. 

  It wasn’t rare to hear of soulmates having relationships with other people before finding each other, but it was almost unheard of a relative dating somebody’s soulmate so close.

  I finished tying up my shoelaces, and started rebranding my hair, making a mental note to double shampoo, to get all the sweat out.

  “What an idiot! Who gets hickeys from their ‘whiles’?” Snorted somebody. 

  I wasn’t much for gossip, but even I had to agree. 

  ‘Whiles’, weren’t permanent romantic interests, they were just to pass the time while waiting to find your soulmate. ‘Whiles’ were people to satisfy ones curiosity about dating and that kind of stuff, with no strings attached or substance; ‘whiles’ had a bad connotation associated with. 

  “Oh, the boy had never gotten one mark in his body that wasn’t his, so, he assumed he didn’t have a soulmate, and the cousin has already been confirmed to be a matchless.”

  A big “Oh!” Swept the room. 

  Matchless were born without a soulmate, which meant they could choose to be with whoever they wanted as long as they were matchless as well, or with nobody at all. 

  Sometimes I envied their freedom to choose, but other times I felt a sense of safety, knowing there was a person somewhere in the world meant just for me and me to them. 

  Soulmates were genetically evolved to complement one another, but some just wanted to experiment before settling down. Lately, though, matchless births were growing in number, and that upset people for whatever reason, as if the freedom of choice was scary or a curse, then again matchless were usually whiles and those were looked down on. 

  “That’s awful!” Said a girl.

  “I knew Silver’s near freakish obsession with keeping her skin pristine and hidden would bring her issues finding her soulmate someday,” Declared another.

  “I don’t think she wanted to find him,” whispered someone else.

  “Oh well, they did find each other! You can’t hide from your destiny. That’s just silly!”

  “Either way, I feel bad for the cousin, because apparently she and Silver’s soulmate were talking about marriage, since they thought they were both matchless.” Informed the first one. 

  I lost interest in the conversation when it turned speculative, and stood up to shove my P.E. uniform into my locker. 

  Someone suddenly called, “Everdeen, how about those orange blooms on your arms?” 

  My eyes widened, and immediately, I dropped my arms, pulling my sleeves as far down as they would go to cover my soulmate’s private marks.

  “Oh… um… yeah. My mother thinks my soulmate might be an athlete,” I stuttered; Mama had only said such a thing in passing once, when a couple bruises appeared that didn’t match the usual ones. “Also, he seems to work with his hands. Lots of nicks and scrapes.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me. That much was true, my soulmate probably wore those marks freely.

  “Oooh!” A girl, Delly Cartwright, reached to take a closer look. “Could be a carpenter. Or a locksmith? Maybe a farmer!”

  “It could be the blacksmith’s son! Doesn’t Silver have an unmarried brother?” Asked another girl.

  “Yeah… a kid like 10! Ugh, Everdeen, I really hope he’s not your soulmate… can you imagine being so much older than your soulmate?!” Interjected the same girl that spotted my bruises. 

  I scowled. Age was a stupid thing to complain about. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to have an age gap between soulmates… my father was six years older than my mother, and Mrs. Sae from the Soup Corner at the market, was a handful of years older than her soulmate. 

  Still…

  “No. My soulmate is most likely my age. I’ve gotten his marks my whole life,” I shrugged, absently rubbing my arm, where the brand new bruise appeared that morning. 

  “Oh… at least that’s something. Knowing that your soulmate isn’t so much younger than you, and that he might at least have an apprenticeship somewhere,”

  “Right,” I said, turning away, wondering if it was awful of me to wish for a boy who never got marks on his body, like Silver’s pristine skin? At least that would mean my soulmate was safe and treated fairly. 

———————-

Papa and I shared many qualities. I inherited his coloring: olive skin, gray eyes, dark, straight hair, our penchant for singing mountain ballads, and the same quickening of the blood when we got a kill during hunting. Prim favored our mother more closely, with their fair skin, blonde wavy licks and blue eyes, they also were more skilled as healers and more soft-hearted towards animals. 

  The day Prim brought home a half dead cat, riddled with fleas and missing an ear to be patched up and adopted into our family, my first instinct was to drown the orange pelt and be done with it, but Prim got upset and worked up, and I just couldn’t stomach her cries over what I considered to be the world’s ugliest cat… his face was flat, like it’d been smashed against a wall…

  It took a long time to calm my sister down, and Papa made me pinky promise that I wouldn’t kill the fur sack and pretend it ran away, which I only did reluctantly, because I loved my sister and didn’t want her to be crossed with me. 

  Papa asked me to walk with him into the woods, afterwards, which I did readily. 

  Before he lost his leg, we used to go hunting all the time; everything I knew about hunting and foraging, I learned from him. But after losing his leg, we’ve only gone to the woods to hike and get him used to his prosthesis in the uneven terrain. 

  It was good exercise for him. The fresh air seemed to lift his spirits too. 

  We didn’t hunt together anymore. Papa’s tread wasn’t feather-like the way it used to be, prey scattered away before we even saw it.  

  It was alright. We enjoyed being out there together, and he still had lots to teach me about edible plants. Sometimes he’d find one of his old spiles, and then it would hit me: all his knowledge would’ve been lost if he’d died in that cave-in. I would’ve never known where to look for those spiles; I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to harvest sap and turn it into syrup. 

  Sometimes, I had to sit down and catch my breath when those thoughts knocked the wind out of me. 

  I was having one such moment, when out of the blue, my father spoke in a low, calmed tone. 

  “There’s a new chief of police,” he said while sitting on a log, next to me. 

  “I heard.” I wasn’t trying to be snippy with him, but every time a new chief or sheriff was appointed to our district, Papa wanted to run back into the precinct, and demand they look for my soulmate. 

  Appealing to the police never led anywhere. It didn’t matter if they had new staff, they always gave us the same spiel: can’t investigate an abuse case without a victim. They couldn’t go looking for a person without a name or an address. 

  After a while, one just started feeling like it was an impossible task, to help one child feel safe. 

  Papa sighed. “We could try ourselves. I’ve been saving some money, and we could—“

  “What? We could what?” I snapped. “We could go door to door visiting every little town in Panem until we find the bruised up mutt matching me?” I was at the verge of tears. 

  Mama said that once my body was matured enough, I’d start feeling the pull. Well, I kinda felt it, calling desperately. It started around my 14th birthday, when I started having a regular cycle, and puberty was at its summit. 

  First, I was curious about my other half and began cataloguing all the soulmate marks I could see easily. Suddenly I had whole maps of my hands and arms, and legs. Mama suggested I keep track of my hidden marks too, just in case. The curiosity persisted and evolved into an incessant wondering: where was he? How was he getting along? How could I help him protect himself? 

  “Haymitch may have a way, sweetheart. He knows people, and he likes you… he says you’ve got spunk,” Papa smirked.

  I’d met Haymitch Abernathy countless times. He was rude and sarcastic. I usually responded to him in kind, earning myself a host of reprimands from my parents— although Papa still couldn’t hide his pride, despite trying his hardest. 

  “What would he know about soulmates anyway?” I muttered.

  Papa shook his head, standing up, “Haymitch lost his girl, mother and brother all at once during a special outing. There was a car crash. Haymitch was badly hurt, but survived. His family didn’t. His soulmate was 16, so was him. The government paid him excessively for damages and the loss of his soulmate, because it was proved the city had skimped on roadside safety that caused the accident. But money didn’t fill the void of losing his loved ones. Haymitch never recovered. 

  “He told me once that losing a soulmate is akin to drowning. Except you’re still breathing without filling your lungs with oxygen…” Papa picked up the bucket we brought to collect sap, and smiled sadly at me. “Katniss, I may be exaggerating by hounding the police about your soulmate, but sometimes I worry that if we don’t find that kid soon, you could very well share Haymitch’s fate. Believe me when I say that I’d do anything in this world, to keep that from happening to you.” 

  I turned 16 that spring.

  I started carrying a small mirror on me, to try and look over my shoulders into places I couldn’t reach, obsessing over every little mark that sprouted anew on my back. 

  I wasn’t sure if the all consuming watching, and the doubts that kept me up at night, not knowing what was being done to my soulmate, wondering if he’d survive another day, was the pull Mama talked about, or simply terror at becoming the next Haymitch Abernathy. Either way, I became more vigilant for injured teens around me, but a sinking feeling in my gut started nagging at me, that my soulmate was an expert at hiding in plain sight by now… how would I ever find him if he was as adept at camouflaging as I suspected?

—————————

“This spot is perfectly in the middle of the turkeys’ path.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to glare at Gale, “You just spilled a bunch of blood there. No critter is gonna come this way anymore with that stink.”

  “Turkeys aren’t that smart, Catnip,” Gale looked up from his belt after securing his new catch— his pants were covered in gore from where the rabbit nearly cut its own foot off trying to fight the snare’s grip. “I’m more than confident that if we set traps here, we’ll catch at least a fat Tom…more if we set up a system wide enough,”

  After a somewhat rocky start, Gale and I learned to respect each other’s skills, even joining forces for certain seasons, like deer and turkey hunting. We also fished together on occasion. It was safe to say we had a friendship after three… almost four years of partnership in the woods. At 18 Gale was less obnoxious, but still a stubborn ass. 

  “And I’m telling you, the path is tainted now. We need to put feed on the other side of the bushes, to keep them in the area.”

  “That’ll take weeks!” 

  “Then you shouldn’t have let that bunny bleed to death in here!” 

  “Listen here, Catnip—” whatever he was about to say, died in his throat.

  “What?!” I demanded, angrily, when he just stared at me horror struck.

  “Your nose!” He roared. “Your eyes!” He tumbled forward, and squished my cheeks in his one, long-fingered hand. “There’s more coming!”

  I yanked myself away from him. “Cut it out!”

  “I think your soulmate is getting the shit beaten out of!”

  I grunted and brought my fingers to my face, as if I could feel the changes. 

  Gale had seen some of my bruises, enough to be sure I had a soulmate, but not enough to realize my soulmate was being abused.

  I rubbed under my nose, and the tip of my index came back bloody. 

  I gasped. That had never happened before. 

  “How bad is it?” I asked Gale, frantically. 

  “Um… orange keeps popping up all over your face. There’s some running up your arm right now.” He sounded careful, but frightened. “It’s like… burn marks,”

  I looked down, where indeed, long, fat tongues of intense orange glowed up my left arm. I’ve seen glowing marks before, but always in the tip of my fingers or the sides of my hands, I never connected the glowing with fire— burn marks— but it made sense. I guess my soulmate must handle fire regularly. 

  “What’s happening?” I pulled my little mirror from my pocket, to see my face, and nearly sobbed at the sight.

  One eye was completely covered in orange. Burn marks ran all the way from my elbow up to my cheek, and part of my forehead. My nose had a tiny, bloody smear, and my lip had streaks of orange here and there. 

  Whatever happened, was bad.

  “Fuck… Do you know where he is, by any chance?” Gale winced. 

  “No… but I’m about to find out!” I looked around for a place to sit, then pulled my small knife out of my boot. 

  Once seated, I examined my forearms. The flaming marks started at the elbow on my left arm, and went up on that side, my right arm was free of injury, except for my palms. Both were glowing orange, but not too bad. 

  “Okay… here goes nothing!” I gritted through my teeth, placing the tip of my knife to my arm, I traced the word, “WHERE?” crudely, and just deep enough to break the skin.

  Gale made a face, but crouched closed by, staring intently. “Do you think it’ll work?” He asked dubiously. “He might be unconscious for all we know,” 

  “We’ll see.”

  The minutes rolled by and no answer came. I was starting to panic; all I could think about was would that be the day I became the next Haymitch Abernathy? At least he got to meet his soulmate and have a relationship with her before she died; I had no idea who mine was. Was it worse that way, knowing them and then losing them, or was it worst to never meet them at all? Would I become soulless? Would my entire body turn gray? Would I ever find another soulmate? Haymitch never said if he ever looked for another, but I knew it was possible to get a secondary soulmate if enough time went by. 

  “Look!” Gale shouted. 

  A shaky “D12��� appeared under my message. 

  A relieved gasp left my mouth. 

  “District 12! That’s good! He could’ve been all the way in District 4, and then what were you gonna do? Call the authorities there?” Gale muttered, clearly invested in what was happening to me.

  Tears stung my eyes. I wrote: “ME 2” 

  We’ve been in the same district the whole time, and I still had no idea where to find him! 

  I turned the knife back to the first word, and traced a line under it “WHERE?”

  The answer came back faster. “S H”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I moaned,  “What kind of abbreviation is that? Ugh! I’m trying to help you!” I screamed at my arm as if my soulmate could hear it.

  “Seam House?” Gale mused… “No, there are hundreds, if not thousands of houses in the Seam,” he said.

  The Seam was the poorer part of the district, where people like us lived: low income families, miners, laborers and the such. 

  “Ah! Ask if he means Slag Heap? If I was trying to pick a fight with someone, that’s where I’d go.”

  “He didn’t pick a fight!” I snapped, defensive and angry. “He’s been beaten every other day, since I can remember. My parents used to go to the police station every year to see if they could do something about it. Nobody ever did! They always said we needed to figure out a way to communicate with him… well, I’m doing it now!”

  Gale frowned, “That’s shitty. I’m sorry to hear that. The Slag Heap could still be it, though. Many people go there to be alone… if they’re running from someone, there’s plenty hiding spots,”

  That sounded logical, “Okay… but the slag heap isn’t exactly small, and there’s some woodsy area to consider too,”

  “Mmm… asking has been working so far,” 

  “Yeah, but the whole mutilation part is getting to me…” I glared, he wasn’t the one cutting his arm, “I’m starting to get woozy,” 

  “You’re a hunter, Catnip! Blood is nothing,”

  “Animals, Gale! Not my own blood,”

  “There’s no difference,” Gale cupped my face in his hands, to keep my eyes on his gray, steely ones. “we’re all animals. We all bleed the same. Your soulmate needs your help, if I knew who mine was, and I knew she was in trouble, I’d be rushing to them… you can do this, Catnip,”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath, and nodded. “I’ll ask him. As soon as we know where to go… could you please fetch my father? He’ll know what to do,” 

  “You got it, Catnip!” He let go of me, and I felt renewed courage after his weird pep talk.

  Once again, I trace the tip of my knife on my skin, “SLAG H? WHERE?”

  “YES    NE”

  “North East! I told you it’ll work!” 

  “Yeah,” I grumbled, spelling making one last message: “W8 4 ME”

  “K”

  With half a plan in motion, Gale rushed to find my father, and I made a mad dash to the slag heap, where years and years of dumping dirt and rocks removed from the mines had formed small hills and mounds at the edge of the district. 

  “Hello!” I called out loudly. “Can anybody hear me?!” 

  There wasn’t a whole lot of vegetation in the slag heap, only hundreds of disturbed soil pits and little mountains… some were tall and wide enough they’ll easily conceal a person or two looking for privacy. 

  “Anybody here?” I called again.

  A weak cough answered in the distance. 

  I rushed in it’s direction, hoping it was my soulmate, and not a couple trying to steal away a few minutes alone. 

  “Please, tell me where you are!” I called before another round of coughing reached me. 

  “Here to finish me off, sweetheart?” Came a weak, raspy voice from behind me.

  I turned around but saw nothing besides dirt, and sticks, and moss on rocks. 

  I swallowed, “Where are you?” I stepped closer to the heap in front of me, and then…

  “Well, don’t step on me!” 

  I jumped back and looked downwards, and finally saw dirty pieces of flannel and denim, incongruous with the area, and under all the debris, I realized a person had dug a little wedge at the foot of the hill, and thrown the stuff he’d dug out back on top of himself. The disguise was clever, camouflaging himself into the terrain. 

  I gasped and dropped to the ground, pulling handfuls of earth out of the way. A jolt of recognition hit me when a pair of bright blue eyes blinked open and shut, slowly, as if fighting off fatigue. 

  “Don’t go to sleep!” I warned.

  “I’m sorry, but it might be too late for that already. There’s an angel hovering above me, and I’m not sure I’m not dreaming it,” a row of white teeth appeared from the soil.

  My knee-jerk reaction was to chuff and roll my eyes, but if he was throwing me those cheesy lines, it meant he was somewhat lucid, and it was imperative to keep him that way. 

  “How do you know is not a nightmare?” I countered.

  “Because Katniss Everdeen coming to my rescue, and being my soulmate could never be a bad dream. On the contrary It’s only my deepest, most desperate hope, really…” he trailed off, and closed his eyes again. 

  I was momentarily frightened.

  “Keep talking,” I ordered, brushing dirt off his head. Some of it mixed in with his blood and sweat, turning into a thick mud. I could see more of his battered face; my heart beat erratically against my rib cage, there were so many bruises. “Peeta, keep talking,” 

  His untouched eye opened slowly, a lazy, sideways smile greeted me, warming me up. “You know my name?” 

  I chuckled, startled, “You know mine,”

  “Everyone knows you, Katniss ‘the huntress’ Everdeen!” He reached up, tentatively, and touched the tip of my braid, whispering under his breath, something that sounded like: unreal.

  Just saying his name felt otherworldly; like breathing for the first time. I’ve never uttered it before, for fear of bringing forward memories of that awful day in the rain, by the bakery’s scraggly apple tree. 

  “And you’re Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread. I’ve known your name for a long time, baker’s youngest son, whose kindness saved my entire family from starvation,” I cupped his injured face in my hands, and I couldn’t help the slight tremble in my voice. 

  He seemed to melt at the sound of my voice; then his hands came to touch my face. “I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you found me!” He said, an edge of incredulity and awe colored his tone, but then his face fell, “But, your sweet, beautiful face… it’s all…” a fat tear rolled down his muddy cheek, while his thumb gently caressed my temple and the side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Katniss… I never wanted you to look like this! I always tried to shift positions, so you’d never had to see how bad it got. I’m so sorry,” he was crying so hard, he started to shake and cough.

  It took inhuman strength not to cry myself; I knew he needed me to protect him, and there would be time later to fall apart and feel emotional. 

  “Shush, I’m here now.” I knelt next to him and locked my arms around his head, pulling him against my chest, so he could hear my heart beating only for him. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “I really hoped it was you. I really did…” he heaved into my neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around my waist, “thank you for finding me,”

  “Of course I found you… I’ve been looking for you for ages,” I whispered, finally giving in, shedding some tears, relieved that the tension, fear, uncertainty, and frustration were finally gone. My soulmate was in my arms, where he belonged! “My parents started looking for you when we were little. But we’re together now,”

  Peeta calmed down some, but he was still breathing too fast, “Now that you have me… what are you gonna do with me?” He asked meekly. 

  I smiled down at him, “I’ll put you somewhere safe, where you can never get hurt again,” 

  He closed his eyes. “I’d like that…” 

  “Peeta, you can’t go to sleep just yet, okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,”

  “I know,” I cooed. I had no idea I was capable of speaking with such softness. “My father will get here soon, and then we’ll patch you up real well.”

  “I can’t go back to my house though—“

  “You ain’t going there, kid!” Papa said from a few feet away. Gale and two police officers followed closely. 

  I must’ve been completely enthralled with my soulmate, because I never heard them coming, 

  “Even if it’s the last thing I do, I won’t let you go back to that place!” My father stated. 

  And that was that!

  ——————————-

“Tell me what happened,” Officer Darius asked in a soft tone, trying to be encouraging.

  My soulmate inhaled; one eye was so swollen it was completely shut, his other one roved around the room nervously. Peeta locked his gaze with mine, beseeching, and I offered my hand in support. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

  “My mother asked me to burn a pile of leaves and branches in the backyard that had been there since fall, but the branches were damp and it was taking me a while to fire it up. Since it’s the last week to burn stuff, my mom got impatient. She screamed at me, called me incompetent and useless… the usual stuff—“

  “Does your mother call you names regularly?” Asked the officer. 

  “My mom calls everybody names. I guess that’s how she was raised. Her mom used to call her names too…” Peeta shrugged.

  “That’s no reason to keep the cycle going,” my mama grumbled quietly, so only I could hear her.”

  “After insulting you, what else happened?” Prompted the police woman, Officer Purnia.

  Peeta scowled. “I told her I’d pour some lighter fluid on the pile and let it soak for a few minutes, but she wouldn’t hear it. Said I was doing it wrong, I was too stupid, I would never accomplish shit if I couldn’t even light up some dead branches… and, well. I got fed up. I told her she could start the fire herself if I was doing such a lousy job… my mom… she—She doesn’t like to be talked back…” He sagged on his hospital bed, and turned his face away. 

  “What do you mean?” Asked officer Purnia, taking notes, trying to keep an impassive mask on.

  “The first slap landed across my ear because I dared to move away from her flying hand,” Peeta said tersely, “She didn’t like that either, so she took aim again, but with the bottle of lighter fluid on her palm. She practically smashed it against my face.” He stopped to gasp for air, while his good eye filled with tears. “I think fluid squirted everywhere, I smelled like my hair and clothes had been doused in the stuff,” he raked a shaking hand over the singed hair at his temple. 

  I caressed his arm to sooth him. 

  He smiled gratefully at me, and faced the officers to continue. “I’d just put a piece of burning cardboard into the pile. I guess the leaves caught fire during the squabble with mom, and I must’ve lost my balance after taking a plastic bottle full of liquid to the face, because next thing I know, I’m bracing my hands on the ground, on burning sticks, and then I’m on fire myself.”

  Peeta sustained first degree burns on the different spots from his left forearm, up. Luckily, his wounds were managed as soon as we got to the emergency room, and his treating doctor said he would recover, with minimal scarring.

  “How did you end up at the Slag Heap?” Asked Officer Darius. 

  Peeta sighed, “My mom kind of freaked out when she realized I was on fire. She picked up a rag from somewhere and started hitting me with it…” he paused, “in retrospect, I think she may have actually been trying to help me, but… I just saw it like she was still trying to beat me, so I ran off. I tripped, fell, then rolled on the ground, she started calling my name, coming closer to me. I was scared. I took off again and didn’t stop until I fell at the foot of that mound of dirt in the slag heap. That’s when I noticed my soulmate’s note.”

  Officer Darius quirked up a reddish eyebrow, “Your soulmate’s note?” 

  “Yeah… these,” Peeta tried to peel back the bandage over his arm, but my mother put her hand over it, and shook her head. 

  “Here!” I said, immediately shoving my own arm in front of the officers. 

  Both examined my arm. “How did you think of doing that, Miss Everdeen?” 

  “I was inspired by your bosses actually,” I snarled.

  “Katniss!” Mama chided, and then politely addressed the officers. “You see, my husband and I have come to the authorities for many years, urging them to find a way to locate our daughter’s soulmate. You see, she’d started exhibiting her soulmate’s bruises from a very young age, which in my professional experience, were inconsistent with normal toddler scrapes and bumps—“

  “The chief of police always said to find a way to communicate with him, ask where he was… so I did,” I interrupted, haughtily. “I got you a real life victim to investigate. You’re welcome.”

  The officers stared at me, flabbergasted. 

  Mama made a dismaying noise in the back of her throat, but Peeta’s face— burnt, bruised and swollen— lighted up, with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen a person direct at me. 

  Mama interjected, conciliatory, “My husband and I believe, your department should have enough evidence to investigate Peeta’s case, now?” My mother’s searching blue eyes seemed to x-ray the officers. 

  “Well, Miss and Mrs. Everdeen, Mister Mellark, I think we have everything we need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” Said Officer Purnia snapping shut her notebook. 

  “Mr. Mellark, your case worker, Miss Trinket, will be in as soon as the matter of your emergency custody is settled.” Informed Officer Darius, right before wishing us a good evening.

  Peeta frowned, “Are they sending me to like a home or something? What about my brothers? They can’t stay home with my mom… she’ll go nuts on them!” 

  “No, no, Peeta,” Mama spoke softly, “Miss Trinket is already on it. Haymitch Abernathy has offered his house for your brothers to stay at for a few days while things get sorted out. You’re welcome to join them, of course, but your injuries need supervision and several cleanings daily, so Mr. Everdeen and I feel it is in everyone’s best interest if you stay with us, at least until you’ve healed enough.” Mama hesitated, and then patted my soulmate’s hand, “I hope that’s okay with you, but if it isn’t—“

  “It’s absolutely great, ma’am! Yes, I—thank you,” 

  Mama nodded, “Well, I’m gonna go get some stuff taken care of, and check on that case worker. Then they’ll hopefully let us go home… Katniss, I’ll need your help with something before we leave, alright?”

  “‘kay.” 

  “Mrs. Everdeen…thank you,” Peeta said meekly. 

  Mama just stood stoically by the door, “You’re family, Peeta, it’s the least we could do for you.” The door clicked shut leaving me alone with my soulmate.

  We were both silent for a minute. Then Peeta said half amused, half shyly, “I think the guy cop liked you. I caught him smirking a couple of times after your ruthless answers.” His smile was crooked. Boyish. I almost swooned. 

  I shrugged. “I don’t think he cared that much,”

  “Are you serious?” Peeta laughed, “Katniss, you have no idea the effect you can have,”

  I scowled at him, and he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or complimenting me. He changed the topic before I could decide which. 

  “So, you’ve been looking for me then?” He sounded nervous, and a little uncertain, “isn’t it weird…we are soulmates, but the only thing I know for sure about you, is that your favorite color is green?” He rubbed his fingers together, then showed me the tips, where he had dark green spots, exactly on the same place I had permanent calluses from pulling on my bow string. 

  I bit my lower lip, studying the thin spidering of green nicks and scratches, were I surmised my own marks have appeared after my daily trips into the woods. 

  “Your favorite color is orange. Not bright, but muted…”

  “Like the sunset,” he finished for me. 

  Mind bonding wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities between soulmates, but my understanding on the matter was, that the bond had to be physically sealed before a pair could develop those empathic connections, where soulmates shared perfectly synchronized thoughts, as if they had one mind. Peeta and I weren’t there just yet, but it felt like we understood each other pretty well already. 

  He just stared at me in fascination, before his face fell, “I hope you don’t get permanently disfigured, if my burn scars don’t go away completely… you are so pretty.”

  I rolled my eyes, pleased that he thought I was pretty, but not really knowing how to respond graciously. I’d never been called pretty by a boy before, not that it’d have the same effect as when Peeta said it… “You’re just saying that I’m pretty because I’m your soulmate,” 

  He smiled sadly, “No… I really mean it. I’ve had a crush on you since I can remember. I just new I belonged to someone since I was like 4, when I saw my first soulmate scratch on my knees. Your favorite colors back then were teal and pink. Your marks were always swirls of the two colors. I liked them. I liked that I belonged to someone who enjoyed colors, like myself… I wondered what your marks looked like, but then, I hoped you never had to see my marks. I was ashamed of them.”  

  My chest tightened, I climbed onto his bed, and pressed my side right against his, “Hey… I’ve like your marks.” I stuttered, “my parents never let me see the ones on my back until I was older, but I liked the ones you got in normal places. Yours appeared as rainbows where we were little.” I held his hand in mine. “I don’t care if we stay fire mutts forever, Peeta, the important thing is that we are together now,” 

  “Thank you for finding me,”

  “Thank you for leading me to you,”

  We leaned our heads together, and fell into an easy silence.

  “Katniss…”

  “Mmm,”

  “We are soulmates.” 

  I tilted my head away, to look at him, “Yeah. We already established that,” I said suspiciously.

  Peeta smirked, “You know, we’re supposed to be madly in love…so, it’s okay to kiss me whenever you want to,” 

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, but he was right. In any other circumstance, I’m sure we would’ve already progressed into couple-y, lovey-dovey stuff. 

  “If you’re already fishing for kisses, that means you’re healthy then!” I kissed his forehead. “But let me tell you right now, cheek and sass won’t take too far, sir,”

  “It won’t?” he pouted, “then I’ll just have to swoop in when I see an opening,” he leaned into me, and I let him plant a peck, full on my lips. 

  My first kiss ever, and all I could register was how chapped his lips were… besides the small fluttering of butterfly wings in the pit of my stomach, of course. 

  “Well, time for a sip of water, and you should rest some too.” I said feeding him the straw in the Styrofoam cup full of icy water by his bed. 

  After he drank, we gravitated towards each other, meeting in the middle. Our second kiss was short, sweet, and full of relief. 

  I liked it. In fact, I wanted another, but Peeta was drowsy after the day we’ve had. 

  “I remember you used to sing, so beautifully, even the birds would stop to listen,” Peeta said, shyly… “would you… mind singing for me?”

  “I don’t sing all that much nowadays, but if that’s what you want…”

  He stared at me expectantly, so I had no other choice. I combed back his freshly washed hair, and started.

  “Just close your eyes;

The sun is going down.

You’ll be alright;

No one can hurt you now.

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound...”

  When Mama came back, Peeta was asleep, and so she took me outside while my father sat in the room with the case worker, signing in my soulmate’s release papers, waiting for him to wake up. 

  “I want you to take these,” Mama produced a packet of medicine from a white, pharmaceutical baggie. 

  “Birth control?!” I groaned, embarrassed. 

  “Don’t look so scandalized, Katniss,” Mama rolled her eyes, “You and Peeta are healthy, newly acquainted teenaged soulmates, who will suddenly coexist together in close quarters. Papa and I agreed that starting you on contraceptives is the right thing to do,” she fixed me with a stare that broker no protests, “That said, we are not giving you carte blanche to act on pure hormonal instincts, Katniss. While we aren’t so naive to believe you won’t explore intimacy with your soulmate, we fully expect you to use caution, and make responsible decisions. Is that clear?” 

  I nodded, and snatched the pills from Mama’s outstretched hand. My face was burning with mortification, but I was grateful for my parents’ wherewithal and openness. 

  The next few days proved harsh and blissful at the same time. After 11 years pestering the authorities, Papa finally got the law to prosecute my soulmate’s parents for abuse and neglect. To call it a victory, was understatement. 

  Peeta’s father was declared another victim of the Witch’s abuse, but court ordered him to see a therapist and get evaluated by a professional, before he could come back home to his sons. 

  Mrs. Mellark was charged with endangering a child, battery, abuse and arson. She was court ordered to seek anger management and psychological counseling. She had been abused as a child too, and after watching her son in fire, it finally clicked in her head, that she needed to put a stop to the cycle… late as it may be. She went willingly when the police served her arrest warrants. 

  Since Peeta and his middle brother were still minors, they were temporarily placed under their eldest brother’s care; but the eldest brother was only 19 and had no idea how to be a father figure, so strange as it was, my parents insisted on having them all bunk in our tiny house, which was comically insufficient. Thank heavens Haymitch Abernathy was still willing to help. 

  The grumpy old drunk invited the lot of us to stay at his place for as long as we needed, and after cleaning up all the empty bottles and general messes around his huge house, we could enjoy the place at our leisure. 

  The boys kept working at the bakery, since they needed a source of income, and something to keep themselves occupied. Mama said they needed the normalcy of their business to cope. 

  It was a good thing Haymitch’s house was so big, since Peeta started having horrible nightmares after his mother was released from holding, after making bail; her trial was still pending, but my poor soulmate suffered severe PTSD from the events that brought us together. Neither of his brothers wanted to share a room with him at night…which allowed me to slip in when I heard him crying out desperately and fearfully.

  Peeta would only go back to sleep after I laid beside him and sang, while carding my fingers through his sweat-damped, ashy blond waves. 

  “I’m not okay until I can see you’re safe,” he told me once. 

  After the third night in a row of this happening, I just stayed with him in his bed. My parents didn’t exactly approve— we were still 16— but there wasn’t much they could say to stop us. After all, our soulmate bond trumped any other familial bond; we just couldn’t legally get married and apply for housing until we were both 18. 

  Peeta still woke up in cold sweats at night, but my arms were there to fend off the terrors, and so were my lips. 

  On the night I felt a hunger so consuming and devastating, gnawing at me from my core, radiating to the tips of my being, I was glad my mother put me on birth control. 

  My soulmate gently, but steadily joined us together, cementing our physical bond for the rest of time, while branding his love and adoration to me into my very skin, with fevered lips and shaky hands. We gasped and whispered vows of devotion to one another, and then an explosion of feelings and emotions went off… I couldn’t tell where his life force started, and mine ended. We were one. Sharing a single soul. 

  After, we laid tangled together, our hearts beating as one. Peeta kissed my knuckles, and asked.

  “You looked for me, for years. Real or not real?”

  “Real.”

  He kissed my forehead, “Will you sing?” 

  “Of course,” I combed back his hair with loving fingers, and sang.

  “Just close your eyes;

You’ll be alright;

Come morning light,

You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[thorniest-rose]

I wish we discussed italian daniel more!!!!!!

Oh my god you know I love Italian Daniel!!! And Italian Daniel who’s really pompous about it too. Like you meet him for the first time and within the first 5 minutes of talking to him, he’s already told you all about his Italian heritage and where in Italy his family’s originally from. And it’s just like, “Okay king thanks for that, but I didn’t need to know about your entire family tree, can we please talk about something else?” 

It’s a cornerstone of his personality too. Daniel grew up bilingual because of his dad so he can speak Italian fluently, which he does with Lucille all the time when they’re together. It’s a way of remembering his father, but it also means he can talk about people (Johnny) openly without them realising. And he has a habit, when he gets angry or emotional, of slipping between English and Italian without realising it. 

He also loves cooking Italian food and is really snooty about any kind of fast-food Italian. He makes his own bread and pasta from scratch, and he stocks his pantry with the most eye-wateringly expensive Italian wines, vinaigrettes, peppers, olives, you name it. This means he refuses to take the kids to Olive Garden because he thinks it’s a disgrace to Italian cuisine. He won’t even let them order pizza on the weekends. Instead he insists on making pizza himself from scratch, which admittedly tastes amazing, but sometimes Amanda and the kids just want something easy! And they can’t have it!! One night Daniel finds a pizza box in Sam’s room after she comes home from hanging out with friends and Daniel’s so offended it takes him the entire weekend to recover. 

And maybe if Daniel had grown up during the High Renaissance he would have been the muse of artists and his visage would have been painted in churches and castles across Italy. But instead he grew up in New Jersey and couldn’t be coddled, he had to be tough and scrappy to survive. But with his cross necklace glimmering against his collarbone, and his thick hair and creamy skin, people’s eyes would still catch on him as he ran down the street. Especially when he moved to the Valley and felt like a misfit in the sea of blonde, blue-eyed kids. He was like something unknown, almost too wild and pretty to look at head on. He stood out everywhere he went, like a swoony boy from a painting. At least until he opened his mouth and said something ridiculous in his husky voice. And people realised, oh he’s not an angel, he just looks like one.

In his 20s, after graduating from college, Daniel also went to Italy and spent a summer there to reconnect with his roots. It’s there that he learned all about fine art and the difference between the grapes in Italian wine and how to ride an unbridled horse. And while he was there, standing out because of how American he was, like a modern soul in a renaissance angel body, he had a reckless, wild affair with an older man. It’s something he never tells anyone about when he goes back to America, but every now and then Daniel will read the man's old letters, or look at the sketches the man made of him, the nude ones where Daniel’s in the bath or sitting outside against a Tuscan sunset, and feel nostalgic. It was just a summer fling but it was the first time Daniel has ever felt truly desired by someone, and the sunlit, syrupy weeks he spent in the man’s bed and in his studio seem like something from a dream, especially now, in his 50s, when he has a wife and children. But sometimes he looks at the young Daniel LaRusso in these drawings and thinks, wow, that was really me.

[jenomark]

Part 5: YangYang, The Rich, Little Asshole

➔Pairing:  YangYang x Reader (Female) | Hendery x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Kun ➔Genre: Smut (+ angst, + fluff, + plot) ➔Warnings: vaginal penetration, fingering, angst ➔Word count: 5,436

➔Summary: You don’t know what you do. You don’t even know who you are. Some would call you a whore. Some would refer to you as a sex worker. All of your clients would say you’re damn good at your job.

MASTERLIST

  Kun leaned against his car and folded his arms against his chest. The wind was picking up, so you pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands and hunched over. No matter what, you wouldn’t wait in his car, like he asked. All Kun wanted was to grill you about who was on the other end of the phone call. 

“You can go home.” you said. “ I don’t need you to wait with me.”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he said. “But, it’s cold, so we should wait inside your place.”

“No.” you said, knowing that if you waited inside, Kun would try and worm his way back into your good graces, and you would let him.

Kun sighed. “I don’t...know how to fix this.”

  You turned away from him. Any direction that wasn’t Kun’s direction was good enough. You could still feel the clutches of alcohol around your mind, squeezing until it was pulp. You started moving your feet around to keep warm from the chilly night air, but there was an iciness to you that wouldn’t melt. For the most part, ignoring Kun felt good. You liked seeing him waiting on you, maybe a little jealousy creasing the lines on his face. 

 To pass the time, you took out your phone and looked at your messages and emails. A little voice in your brain told you to delete them all. No one would know or care. You could start over tomorrow and regain control of yourself. You could come clean to Lucas, break things off with Kun, give Hendery the apology you know he deserved, and tell men like Ten and Xiaojun that they deserved far better than the likes of you.

 You looked at the plethora of messages from another possible future client you were ignoring. He had been pushing to meet you for weeks. Every message title was the same kind of vibrant greeting, followed by the usual “I don’t usually do this…” You closed your phone and wished you were also the type of person that didn’t do this. What you did, you also didn’t know how to fix.

 You looked at Kun. He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were on the windows to your place, his face pondering questions you knew you would never answer. 

“I’m moving,” you said. “I’m moving in with Lucas. In a few weeks, you won’t know me anymore.”

Without fully registering what you had said, Kun touched his hand to his heart. “I think I’ll always know you.”

You thought about taking off your shoe and throwing it at him, but violence was never the answer. “You never intended for us to be together, did you?”

Kun shifted from one foot, to the other. “It’s complicated.” 

You shook your head. “I really thought you would, you know? Leave her. Not leave your kids. I knew you weren’t that type of man, and I’d never want you to be. But, Kun, imagining a life with you was too easy. It was too fun, too distracting, too much of a fairy tale.” 

“My feelings were real.” he said. “I’ve meant everything I’ve said up until this point.”

“Were real?”

“Are real.” he corrected himself. “But you won’t let me in. If I knew you were like this, I would have broken it off a long time ago.”

Again, you shook your head. “You have no idea what you want.”

Kun opened his mouth to speak. You didn’t hear what he said, just watched the way his lips told lie after lie.

  Of course he believes he knows what he wants, you thought. He has the right job, the big house, the pretty wife. He’s a father, a friend, and a good son. He’s handsome and good at sex. He knows all the right things to say.

  You stayed silent until a car pulled up. The car was black, not unlike the one that Ten sent your way, and all the ones before and after it. The only difference was the boy hanging out of the window, his arms raised above his head, and his hair flying in the wind.

“Good evening.” he said, his slight German accent making your body perk up. “Your ride is here.”

  YangYang. 20. Self-professed rich, little asshole. Daddy’s money, but not enough of daddy’s love, YangYang liked to dip his fingers into many honey pots. In the beginning, you weren’t sure you could keep up with him sexually, but as it turned out, you could. You and YangYang were purely sex and company, nothing more and nothing less. It was the most straightforward sexual partnership you had.

  Kun looked at the sleek, black car and scowled. He was so sheltered away from your real life, that it was his first taste of the person you were with other men. Judging by his face, he was angry with you, but more angry at himself for being angry in the first place. The wheel of lies would never end, for him or for you.

“Isn’t he a child?” Kun asked, loudly enough for YangYang to hear him over the car's engine.

“Me?” YangYang said, looking mock-offended. “A child? Mind your manners, old man.”

  The car came to a smooth stop and YangYang got out. He was wearing pajamas and a robe. He knew how ridiculous he looked, but he didn’t care. He was what he was. You looked down at the slippers on his feet and smiled. The smile stopped as soon as Kun spoke again, and YangYang noticed your reaction.

“Old man?” Kun asked. “I’m not o-”

“-Is everything okay?” YangYang asked you, not sparing a second look at Kun.

 You nodded. The best thing about YangYang was that he never asked too many questions. If you said you were alright, you were alright. He motioned to the car door hanging open and said, “Your carriage awaits.”

  As soon as you made a start to leave, Kun came from around his car. He sunk down to his knees on the asphalt in front of you. You looked down at him, everything in you wanting so badly to take him into your arms, to forgive him for the night, take him up to your apartment and fall asleep against his body.  It was until you looked at how uninterested YangYang was in Kun that you were faced  with reality.

“Don’t walk out of my life like this,” Kun said. “I’m here begging you, on my knees, on this street in front of everyone. Give me another chance. We can make it more than just sex, I promise.”

“You have a baby on the way.” you said.

YangYang’s eyes widened. “That’s fucked up, bro.”

“Goodbye, Kun.” you said.

  You got in the car and stared straight ahead, not daring to catch Kun’s eyes . YangYang slid in next to you. He didn’t put his hand on your knee. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t ask you what was going on in your life, or if you were okay. It was something you really liked about YangYang: how little he cared about what went on in other people’s lives. He was the right person to call.

  The only thing YangYang asked about Kun was if he was also a rich asshole and you replied, that no, Kun was just an asshole.

“To my place?” YangYang asked.

“Yes, to your place.”

     YangYang lived by himself in a penthouse apartment with two floors and a view that normally would take your breath away had your heart not been shattered into splintered pieces. A fun, colorful slide ran from the upstairs to the downstairs. There was graffiti art on the walls, splotches of neon colors on formally stark, white walls as a result of YangYang’s boredom. His style of decor was haphazard and typical of a twenty year old boy, in that none of it made any sense. He kept his fridges stocked with energy drinks, and his pantry stocked with more snacks than you had in all of your places combined. It was a much different vibe from all of the other rich men you entertained. Stepping inside of his penthouse made you feel like a child again. There was magic in every corner, but sadly, you felt none of it.

“You know I don’t pry,” YangYang began. “But you look really sad, like a sad dog.”

“Sorry.”

“Can I help with anything?”

You inhaled. You held your breath. When you exhaled, YangYang had moved on from the conversation. You set your phone on his coffee table next to a set of legos. YangYang walked upstairs to where his bedroom was. Through the glass partition, you could still see him. He removed his robe and ruffled his own hair. You turned to look down as a long-haired cat brushed against your leg.

“Hey little man,” you said. “Have you missed me?”

  You and YangYang didn’t meet up that frequently. He was always horny, but he had a large amount of people he went to, so that every need was met. You didn’t know what other things he was into, but his times with you were relatively vanilla.

 The cat meowed at the same time you heard YangYang barreling down his slide. You met him at the end, a playful smile on your lips.

“I really appreciate you coming to get me,” you began. “I know we weren’t scheduled this month.”

“No problem,” he said. “I could use the company. Things can get a little lonely way up in the sky.”

  You never asked why YangYang didn’t have a steady girlfriend. He was cute in a really sweet, younger brother way. You never saw him as a brother figure because that would be pretty gross, but there was something about YangYang that made you very fond and protective of him. 

“Anyway, “ he said. “I can tell you want to get some sleep. I’ll leave you be. You know where my guest room is”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Early. Tons of breakfast. Me and you. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

“Yeah, it does.” you said, meaning it. 

  Even though you knew his place like the back of your hand, YangYang walked you to the guest bedroom. You and him had fucked in there only once before, but it was always offered to you as a place to get away for awhile. The only reason you never had sex in there much was because the room itself was so plain and formal. You figured the lack of life made YangYang uncomfortable to be in for long periods of time. Beyond the double doors and the slide, and all of these grandiose things he grew up  around, he wasn’t a little, rich asshole. He wasn’t a playboy. He was just Liu YangYang, a lonely boy living in a lonely life.

  You didn’t want to shed any more tears for Kun, or spare another thought about him. Before you went to sleep, you cried by yourself as a way to let go. You tucked your knees to your chest and you let all of the feelings pour out of you, your tears soaking into freshly cleaned sheets. You tossed and turned until the early morning, your night demons coming to haunt you. When you woke, you didn’t feel rejuvenated like you wanted, and Kun was still infiltrating the spaces in your mind you kept for yourself.

 You sat up with a start, too disoriented to understand where you were, at first. Your head was pounding. It might have been normal to sulk in bed for a little while, but you got up and went to the on-suite bathroom to wash up. You pulled your sweatshirt and shirt off until you were in your bra, splashed water on your face, and gave yourself a good look.

“I think you look pretty.”

  You jumped. YangYang was standing in the doorway. He had a fresh pile of clothes in his hands, as if he knew what you were up and doing. 

“I didn’t mean to be a creep.” he said. “There are cameras everywhere, and I thought I might come and see if you needed these.”

  You took the clothes from him and looked at yourself in the mirror after he walked out. He was flattering you. Your make-up and hair were a mess. Your eyes were puffy. You looked like you had been ridden hard and put away wet. 

“I hate this.” you said

  You looked at the clothes YangYang brought: a pair of jeans that looked like they might fit you, one of his t-shirts and a hoodie. Quickly, you put the clothes on, put up your hair using an elastic, and wiped away left behind mascara that was clinging to your lower lashes. You brushed your teeth with your fingers and some toothpaste, and went downstairs. You didn’t use the slide.

   Downstairs, YangYang was leaning against his kitchen counter in a pink apron. The dining room table was full of food that he didn’t cook, pastries of every color and shape, a plate of rolled eggs stacked high, and many more things to satisfy his sweet tooth. You knew he didn’t make any of the food, but seeing him act like he was the chef tickled you.

“A feast fit for a queen.” he said. 

  You sat at the table. You weren’t feeling hungry, and you certainly didn’t feel like a queen. You looked at the food. It was such a wasteful array of things you and him would barely touch, and it made you sad. Your mind was starting to wander as you looked over everything, your eyes beginning to glaze over and replay memories behind them. 

“Ah, that’s never good,” he said. “I know that look. Can I try getting your mind off of him? I could go back and fight him. He looked weak.”

You looked his way. “I wish it were that easy.”

  YangYang was the type of boy who would wear absolutely nothing underneath his apron. He would lead you into the kitchen, put you on top of his counter and take your hand to brush it against the imprint of his cock. Marathon sex would ensue, and some time later, when your limbs were tangled in his, you would let him take you again. But the person before you tore off his apron and was perfectly dressed underneath. He looked tired, like he was dealing with his own personal issues. YangYang came and sat beside you, all the sympathy in the world, and none of the pity in his eyes. 

“We can do whatever you want.” YangYang said. “I could take you for a day out on the town. We could go to an arcade and play claw machines until I’m out of pocket change. I’ll win you a stuffed bear and link my arm with yours, grease from french fries on our fingertips. We could stuff our faces here and pass out on my couch, you with the fuzzy blanket you like, and me with the remote control on my belly. We could pretend to be strangers that just met on the train. I’d sit next to you and tell you about my life. We could be anybody but us for today.”

“Honestly, all of that sounds good.” you said. “Being anyone else but me. ”

YangYang smiled, leaned in and whispered, “ You and me both, but, I quite like you how you are.”

“You might be the only one.”

“I doubt it.”

  YangYang covered his hand over yours. You felt grateful for all the people in your life who tried to make things easier for you. Those people were never forgotten by you. Amongst all of the bad choices you made on your part, there was always someone who was ready to see the best in you. You could see it in YangYang’s eyes, the way he didn’t see some poor girl in love with a married man. He didn’t see the person who had sex for money, or the one cheating and keeping secrets from her boyfriend. He saw you as what you were, and the beauty of what you could be.

“Do I have to choose right now?” you asked.

YangYang pursed his lips. “No. We could just sit here until our asses go numb.”

You laughed. “Okay.”

“We could talk.” YangYang offered. “I know you and I aren’t talkative, but the option is there. I kind of need a friend right now.”

  Making friends in the industry was one of the reasons why you still kept the job, even though you were mostly unhappy. In your loneliness, and in your ugliness, there were still people who wanted to be around you. They wanted your company. They needed your company. They smiled when you came around, and it was genuine, and infectious. On a deeper level, you suspected you were masking all of your real issues by seeing men, by being their fantasy, but you weren’t willing to dive into it too much. 

 So, as a friend to YangYang, you listened to what he had to say. You placed your head on your hands and watched him speak, his youth disappearing with every word. Not once were you lost in your own problems. Not once did you think of Kun, or Lucas, or Hendery. 

“I don’t mean to unload all of my stuff on you,” YangYang said, leaning back in his chair. You noted how much younger he looked when he was done speaking, how much weight was lifted from his shoulders. “It feels good getting it out. That much is true.”

“Good.” you said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give more advice.”

YangYang scrunched his nose. “I don’t think I need it. Just needed someone to listen to me rant.”

  You lifted your head from your hands and looked out at the view from his penthouse windows. You wanted to tell YangYang that you needed him, too, but you didn’t. You felt scared, like your own vulnerability would show itself once YangYang showed his. You shifted in your chair and didn’t look at him again until he called your name.

“You’re too good for him.” he said. “You’re too good for all of them.”

“Mmm, if only that were the truth.”

  You felt the itch as soon as he started speaking. You would rather scratch it with sex to shut YangYang up, to keep him from going further. That’s how your life always worked. You used your body to forget, to shut up the world for one second. You fucked to forgive yourself. It took all you had not to reach out and start something with YangYang that you weren’t feeling, just because you could.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” YangYang asked.

 Expecting the worst, you fought hard to keep the surprise from your face. YangYang saw and laughed, his smile beaming. You found yourself smiling, too, wondering if his line of questioning was normal, because you were already grown up. You thought about the slide and the way he lived his life, and wondered if he still thought he hadn’t. 

“Entertain me.” YangYang said. “An honest answer. Don’t even think about it. If you could be anything right now, right here, what would it be? Money doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t matter. It’s just you and doing something you love.”

“I don’t know.” you said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“But I genuinely don’t know.” you said.

  It was true. Your mind drew a blank. For as long as you could remember, passions were really hard to come by. You weren’t interested in much when you were young. You didn’t have hobbies. You didn’t yearn to go places, or to learn new things. Suddenly, you felt the void in front of you, and it felt cold and empty.

“What about you?” you asked. “What do you want to be?”

  YangYang got up from his chair and walked over to the windows. He gestured out at everything, at the city that curled up at his feet like his cat. You got up and joined him, your eyes penetrating the streets below. He stood behind you and touched your arms. You could feel his breath on your neck. He was hesitant in moving your hair, but he brushed it aside and laid the sweetest kiss on your skin. It was a tender moment that almost made you cry.

“I just want to be kind, I think.” he said softly in your ear. “I want to make a difference. I want to be happy and fulfilled. I think that’s all. I think that’s all there is.”

  YangYang kissed your neck again. You leaned back into his body and watched a bird fly by, soaring through the sky, completely unafraid.  You focused on your own breathing, on the silence that felt too thick with the past.

“Do you ever just want to quit the life you have and run away?” you asked.

“All the time.”

“Would you ever do it?”

“Maybe,” YangYang said. “I’m not sure if anyone would miss me.”

You turned around to face him. “ I would miss you.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” he said. “Someone would miss me, so I would never do it. Keep myself here forever, perhaps until I’m too old. If you want to run away, I’m not sure it’s always a bad thing. Sometimes you just have to go and see what is out there for yourself. Sometimes you can’t worry about whether someone will miss you or not.”

“You are full of the philosophical today, YangYang.” you said.

“I always am.” he said. “We just never stop fucking long enough to listen.”

You smiled. “I mean, we could still fuck, if you want.”

  He thought about it. Watching him think about it meant the world to you. But there was something about the way it felt with you both standing there that was anything but sexy. The time for fucking had passed, and you could feel the future hurtling towards you. 

YangYang shrugged. “Sometimes you need a good fuck, and sometimes you just need a good hug. Both are good.”

  With that, he held out his arms. You took a step forward and let YangYang hug you. You felt stiff until he started rubbing your back to comfort you. Gradually, you could feel your body and soul softening. You wrapped your arms around him for a long time, thankful that Liu YangYang was anything but a rich, little asshole.

“Where have you been?”

  When you came home, Lucas had come out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Your brain created a scenario where you laid it all out in front of him, every lie you’d ever told, and every secret you’d ever kept. Catching him while he was vulnerable and naked could be the easy way out you were looking for. You almost did it, but the way he looked at you began to make you feel angry. It was like you were insignificant, and he was tired and bored of even looking in your direction.

“I was out with a friend.”

“All night?” he asked. “Must have been a good friend.”

  You didn’t say anything, because anything at that moment could have been the truth. Instead, you walked further inside and went over to hug him. You were still riding the high of being around someone as free as YangYang. A part of you wanted to keep the sentiments going, to feel comfort in the life you were living. But Lucas moved away from you, denying your affections. 

“Why were you in my clothes?” he asked. “What were you looking for?”

  You had two seconds to come up with a lie that would sound convincing. When you didn’t, Lucas left the room. You were still standing in the same place when he came back fully dressed. You tried to brace yourself for the end of an era, for the argument that would burn you out for good. You were not prepared for the cold shoulder, or for Lucas taking his keys and walking out of the door.

You: I know you never wanted to hear from me again, but Erase Message You: I’m sorry I hurt everyone. I never meant to hurt you. Erase Message You: Can you come to our place? Send Message

  You sat on the edge of the hotel bed. You swore you could feel your soul being sucked out from your lungs and out through the grate in the wall where the heat should have come out. It was freezing in the room, and dark because of a busted lamp. It wasn’t ideal for someone who already felt as threadbare as the carpet, but it was the one place - the last place- he knew to find you.

  After trying to reach Lucas through message, you had given up. You left the apartment after him and puttered downtown on your own. You had spent a lot of time thinking, watching, waiting. You were trying to recall a feeling other than the numbness you felt. YangYang’s warmth and vibrancy was gone. The hopefulness was slipping away every second you spent sitting on the bed, knees knocked together, and shoes grinding a piece of trash into the carpet.

  You could feel yourself at the end of your rope. You had many choices, and all of them had you quitting your life as a sex worker and searching for a little slice of happiness. You wanted more for yourself, and from yourself. Spinning around in circles, your web of lies keeping you restrained, wasn’t your ideal life. All of those thoughts and more were rummaging around in your brain, when there was a soft knock on the door.

 You weren’t sure he would come. If you were him, you didn’t think you would have made the choice. You got up and answered the door, swinging it open to see him standing there holding a wad of money in his fist, just like the last time you saw him. When he saw your face starting to screw up, Hendery’s eyes got comically wide.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just a joke. A poorly timed joke. “

  It wasn’t just the tears. You could feel your legs collapsing underneath you. You felt everything fall when you saw him. Luckily, right on time, Hendery caught you before your knees could buckle. He picked you up and carried you to the bed, his face full of worry.

“What happened?” he asked. He rubbed your head and sat with you in his arms, on the bed. “Did someone hurt you? What is it? Tell me.”

 All of the words wanted to come out, but your mouth was like bumper-to-bumper traffic. You stuttered and felt yourself beginning to whine. You felt ugly that you were reacting in the way you were, but Hendery’s kind eyes began to soothe you.

“It was a stupid joke.” he said. “I’m sorry. I take it back. Please don’t cry.”

“It’s not you.” you managed to say.

  You untangled yourself from his body and sat on the bed beside him. Hendery was inches away from kneeling down on the floor in front of you to look at your face. He kept looking into each of your eyes, his hands holding yours,  moving to rub against your leg, and lastly, going to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

“Lucas?” he asked.

  You shook your head no. Realizing that you were lying again, you tried a different approach. You moved yourself back on the bed so that you could face him. Taking the first step of honesty felt painful.

“You’re the first person in my life I was ever fully honest with,” you said. “But I still lie to you, too. Doesn’t that make me a bad person?”

“No,” he said. “I lie all the time. I lied when I said I never wanted to see you again.”

  You took Hendery’s hands and held them. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped what we were doing when I knew you were falling in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“I know,” you said. “But it’s what should have happened. I thought I didn’t know why I did it, but I think I do now. It’s not an excuse. I’m not excusing anything I’ve done, but I want you to understand me. You made me feel something, Hendery. You made it easy to distract myself from my shitty life.”

 Hendery leaned in to kiss you. Once you felt him on your lips, you were hungry for more. The long conversation you wanted to have with him was forgotten. You kissed him back and fed yourself. You got up on your knees on the bed with him and held your body against his.

“ I don’t care.” he said. “I just want you. You make me feel it all.”

  You could taste your own salty tears in his kiss. Your mind was so barren of any kind of rational thought, so letting Hendery take off your clothes was easy. You did the same for him, touching his body like it held all of life's answers.  You clung to his sweaty skin. You stretched yourself across the hotel bed, your body eager to be filled with something, anything. 

 Neither of you could stop. Hendery remembered everything you liked. He parted your legs and slipped his fingers inside of you. His eyes never left yours, even as you got on top of him, your hair matted to your face and a wild look in your eyes. 

“Like old times. “ he said.

  You placed your hand over his mouth. He licked your fingers and you smiled. You took him inside of your body, feeling very full. You could still see the love staring back at you, could feel it in the way he trembled as you fucked. You missed him. Each touch brought life back to a memory, like crayons coloring in a page. 

 Looking up at the ceiling made you feel like you were flying through space. You would have welcomed feeling lost, but Hendery pulled you back down to earth again. He sat up, shifting himself so you were riding him in a sitting position. He touched his nose to yours and held your back as you started moving.

  You let yourself go, leaning backwards, feeling Hendery’s strong grip holding you up. His lips were on your collarbone, his tongue leaving trails all on your skin. It wasn’t why you invited him, but you always knew how to make him stay.

  You laid on Henderys chest. Your body was exhausted, your brain even more so. Hendery looked content, like he had been waiting to see you again to feel that ecstasy. You were scared of letting him down again, but you wouldn’t think like that. Besides, after he came, he kept repeating that he knew you could never be together. You were grateful for his effort, but hearing him say it made you a little sad.

“I think I’m going to quit.” you said. “I’m not sure I can keep this up much longer.”

Hendery looked down, his chin doubled. You touched your fingers to his face and laughed. Seeing you smile made him smile. 

“When?” he asked.

  You could hear the hope in his voice. You wished it could rub off on you. You laid back down on his chest, your ear hot against his skin. You didn’t have an answer for him, and even if you did, you weren’t sure it was his to have.

  Hendery got up to go to the bathroom, so you checked your phone. There were no messages from Lucas, none from Ten, none from Xiaojun, and definitely none from Kun. You looked through some of the old messages from possible clients and felt a pull towards them. Their happy, hopeful faces called out to you, begging you not to leave them. 

 You heard Hendery talking to himself in the bathroom and rolled over. You flicked through more clients, coming up on the one from before. His name was WinWin, and he was gorgeous. Too persistent, maybe, but he looked like a sweet man. Before things had gotten too crazy, you were thinking about entertaining the idea of adding on a new client to make things interesting. You clicked on his profile. You opened his messages and thought of something clever to write back. 

 If you were going to quit your job, you might as well have one last hurrah. 

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

Dad!Mob!Tom Holland x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x reader, Parker Holland x Charlotte Owens

-Warnings: Language, Blood, Death, Fighting

-Words: 3.6K

Author note: I really love this chapter. I love all the comments and would appreciate nice constructive criticism (please don't butcher my work lol) if you want. Feel free to leave in the comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter :))

Chapter 3: A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

Word: 3.6K

“Haz are you okay mate?” Tom asked, seeing Haz freak out, they were about to land at Heathrow, on their way back from Dublin.

“No, I just heard from my neighbor that Henry never came home last night. With everything that happened yesterday, I’m just worried. I hope he is not lying in a ditch somewhere.” Harrison explained.

“He probably crashed at ours, everything will be ok.” You said as you comforted Haz. Oh boy, were you wrong.

Back at home, Parker awoke to his impending death once you and Tom, his parents’, find out what happened to their beautiful mansion. One party did all this damage. The curtains were torn down, there was red party cups everywhere and all the liquor bottles were displayed on the table. One amazingly epic party did all that.

“Bloody hell! That’s it I’m dead. I’m dead. I will never be allowed to leave this house ever again.” Parker said to himself. Picking up his phone he noticed 4 missed calls from you. Each one had a message and if there was one thing he knew about you is that you only left more harsh and frantic voice messages the more you called.

He only played the most recent one, you sounded really peeved “PARKER JACKSON HOLLAND! Please call me, I’m worried about you. I can’t get in touch with the staff either. I will be home in 20 mins, you better have a good fucking explanation for everything.” Parker’s eyes nearly flew out of his head when he saw that was sent 15 mins ago. Any moment now he would hear the Rolls pulling into the driveway.

The poor kid could only move so fast, he quickly gathered the liquor bottles and threw them into a plastic trash bag along with all the red solo cups that seem to be multiplying. All the meanwhile corralling all the squatters, from last night, who crashed there. He found some people by the pool and others passed out in the dining room. Running like a madman through the house, he caught a glimpse of what would be the reason for his demise. The door to Tom’s office was open. He swore to god he locked it, someone must’ve broken in. They could’ve taken anything, all the information about the mob was stored in that one tastefully decorated room. Parker quickly shut the door and hoped nothing would happen, he couldn’t live with himself if this one stupid party cost his family their livelihood.

“Rosie? Henry? Where are you guys? Mum and dad will be home any minute, I need your help.” Parker called out throughout the house. He didn’t expect Rosie to show up because of their fight last night, but where the fuck was Henry.

You and Tom pulled up along with Harrison in the black Rolls Royce, coming to a screeching halt. You all walked along the cobble stone path to the two large, intimidating front doors. You all simultaneously freaked out when you saw the door was ajar. Tom and Haz pulled out their guns and made it a priority to keep you safe by shoving you behind them. You all had no idea what you could be walking into.

Tom whispered to Haz to split up, Haz took the East Wing while Tom checked the main rooms. Rounding the corner he could her footsteps.

“Darling, stay behind me. I don’t want you getting hurt,” Tom whispered and you nodded in response.

“On the count of 3. 1, 2, 3,” Tom screamed as he jumped out, holding his gun straight ahead. He found his son disheveled, carrying grocery bags filled with empty beer cans and liquor bottles.

“DON’T SHOOT! DON’T SHOOT! Holy fuck! Dad is that you?” Parker screamed, dropping the bags to the ground, glass shattering and raising his hand up in innocence. Scared for his life her quickly caught his breath when he realized who it was.

“Parker, what the hell? Why the fuck was the door opened…. wait? Did you have a party!?!” Tom thundered as he realized what his son did. His voice gradually growing more furious. Parker just stood there with a shameful look on his face.

“Mum, dad. How was Dublin?” Parker sneaked to quickly change the subject.

“Don’t try to get out this, explain now!” You scolded, just as furious as Tom

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it, I just needed to blow off steam.” “What the fuck do you think a sorry is going to do? I run a fucking mob, Parker. Are you a fucking idiot? Parker, for fucks sake, anyone could have stolen some information from my office or gotten into the gun room. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I’m not that much of a div, I locked your office and I don’t know,” Parker explained.

“You’re not as dumb as I thought. Hope you were smart enough to lock the liquor cellar too,” Tom concluded.

“Yeah…about that,” Parker mumbled as Tom ran off to his liquor room. A loud clash and curse sounded throughout the house when he laid his eyes on his ransacked priceless collection.

“Mum, say something?” Parker pleaded with you as you just stood there in silence.

“2 months. You’re grounded for 2 months. No dates or parties, just school and home. I don’t think you understand how lucky you are that nothing serious happened here.” You said, your voice drenched with disappointment. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about what dad and you asked me and —” Parker whispered as he was soon cut off by Haz walking in.

“Did you find Henry?” Haz interrupted.

“No, I’m going to check upstairs. Will you check on Tom?” Harrison nodded as you ascended the staircase. Making your way through the halls, coming upon Rosie’s room.

“Roo, honey you awake?” You said walking into Rosie’s room

“AHHHH! Oh my fucking god! Rosie!” You screamed at the sight in front of you. Your sweet, slightly bad tempered daughter asleep with a boy in her bed.

“Darling? You alright?” Tom yelled from downstairs after hearing your scream.

“Mum, what are you doing here?” Rosie exclaimed frantically.

“Hi, Y/N.” Henry whispered, praying he wasn’t going to be berated. You were a mother figure to him after his own mother left his father and never looked back. “This is my house and hi Henry. What the fuck is Henry doing here in you bed? What the fuck are you doing here?” You questioned bouncing between the two of them to get some answers.

“I can explain. But, firstly are you gonna tell dad?” Rosie inquired.

“The fact that he is already fuming downstairs, no. Not right now. And please explain, you have 5 seconds, but first you need to get Henry out of here.”

“Thank you mom, I just don’t —.“

“Ehh, eh, eh! Shut it, I’ll deal with you later,” you barked.

“Henry, I suggest you take the window and your dad is looking for you,” you said.

“Shit! Thanks Y/N… I mean Mrs. Holland” Henry said as you shot him a glare.

The moment Henry was in the clear, Tom barged in with his gun in hand. Someone needs to tell this man to put it down. All morning he has been traumatically scarring his kids for life, first with Parker and now Rosie.

“What? Is everyone all right? I heard a scream.” Tom exclaimed out of breath.

“Umm, yeah. I just saw a spider.” You stuttered.

“Oh love, you can kill a man in cold blood but can’t handle an itty bitty spider,” Tom joked as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“You're afraid of them too, Thomas.” You quipped with a side eye. If looks could kill, yours definitely would.

“And for you missy, you’re grounded along with your brother.” Tom said, looking down on Rosie. “Me? What did I do?” Rosie asked in a high pitched voice. “You attended this party correct? And since this is also your house, you threw it by association. Am I right?” Tom inquired.

“I guess so,” Rosie huffed.

The twin’s exile was worse than they prepared for. Not only were they responsible for cleaning up the entire mess but they were given a list of chores to complete. This was no ordinary list. It was devised by you and Tom along with inputs from the maids and capos.

On it read:

Wash the Rolls

Clean the guns

Reorganize the pantry

Mow the lawn

Re-order all stolen liquor and stock the liquor room

Drain the pool, clean the pool, fill the pool back up again…

The list was never-ending. Each task more pointless than the next. It went on forever. The household staff was happy for their load was to be lessen for a couple weeks, unlike the kids. Harrison even forced Henry to partake in the chores.

The kids were only a couple days into their quarantine and were already going stir crazy. Parker was having withdrawals from Charlotte, missing her even more. The boy was whipped for her, really smitten. They would talk the night away. Some nights never getting any shut eye as their conversations would prolong hours.

Parker couldn’t believe this was where he was now. One night of unadulterated juvenile fun equated to 2 months of misery. Today was Charlotte’s birthday and he was supposed to take her to the London Eye on a surprise birthday trip, but all his plans were ruined the moment his parents came home and grounded his sorry ass.

“I can’t believe your parents grounded you. Assholes.” Charlotte said over the phone, fuming he couldn’t celebrate with her.

“I can’t go babe. I really wish I could but I’m grounded for life remember.” Parker said, the cold shoulder Tom and you had been giving him was killing him.

“Parker its my birthday. You have to come,” Charlotte pleaded

“There’s no chance in hell I’m allowed to leave.”

“Geez you just threw a party, it’s not like you killed someone,” Charlotte added. He might as well have. If he killed someone he wouldn’t be burdened with this punishment, probably praised instead, carrying on the family tradition.

“Just sneak out. Come on, we are all going to this nightclub downtown. It’s gonna be awesome. And I’m such a good girlfriend, I can’t let you miss it.” Charlotte pleaded.

“Alright, Char you wore me down.”

“I knew it. Pick you up at 11 tonight.”

“Park around the block, I’m going to have to climb out my window. Remember my house is like a fortress.” Parker said. He wasn’t lying.

Meanwhile, Tom was in and out of meetings in his office all day. He received one odd phone call in particular from his dad, Dominic Holland. “Hi dad, how are you” Tom said as he picked up the phone.

“I’m fine son, so how did the talk with Parker go. I’m excited to teach him all my mobster tricks,” Dom exclaimed. “Actually dad, he reacted like I did.”

“Oh well, he will come around just like you did” Dom said encouragingly.

“I don’t know if he will. Anyway it wouldn’t be so bad if he had his own path in life.” Tom murmured trying to stick up for his son’s decision.

“Tom, you know what will happen to this family if that happens,” Dom yelled.

“I know dad. I just don’t want him to feel trapped, like you did to me,” Tom exclaimed growing more annoyed by the minute.

“What I did to you got you to where you are today. Your life is thanks to me son and don’t you forget it,” Dom said with a stern, menacing voice.

“Understood sir,” Tom quipped. “Maybe Parker needs a push, in the right direction.” “Dad, I swear to god, don’t fucking do anything. Y/N and I are handling this” Tom yelled. “We’ll see how that turns out” Dom ended the phone call. Leaving Tom frustrated that his father sees him as his own puppet.

The night soon fell and Parker’s plan had been put into motion. He bribed a few of the Tom’s men with his allowance to let him sneak past. He jumped out the window, carefully walked on the roof as to not slip and make any noise. Finally on the ground, he scaled the iron fence to be met with Charlotte’s ice blue eyes. She was dressed in a pink party dress that hugged her figure perfectly.

“Wow princess, you look *chef’s kiss. Happy birthday baby,” Parker said while making his way back to the ground.

“Thanks doll. Now come on, before someone catches us,” she yelled whilst hopping into her silver Mercedes.

Arriving at the nightclub, everything was in full swing for 11 o’clock at night. Parker, Charlotte and her other friends were treated like royalty the moment Parker let his name slip.

“Right this way Mr. Holland and I will have someone bring you a bottle of champagne, on the house of course,” the hostess said as she sat them at their table.

“Oooo fancy, you should drop your name more often,” Charlotte whispered in Parker’s ear.

“Oh it was nothing, love.” Parker said while pouring himself and Charlotte a glass of bubbly. “Seriously Parker, how’d you do this? If I didn’t know any better I’d say your dad owned the club or something,” Charlotte said dumbfounded, causing Parker to choke on his champagne at her remark.

It was amazing what power could do. Having enough power to make your enemies disappear was unimaginable. Parker knew what turning down his father meant. He would have the name and the look of a Holland, but he wouldn’t be one anymore.

How could he give all that up. He enjoyed his cushy lifestyle. Sure it was day after day of worrying about your image but, he felt as though he belonged in that world. How could he go on being a kid for two more years knowing there was a metaphorical expiration date on his life.

He desperately wanted to want to be like them, his family. You, his mother, are the strongest person he knows. Having you in his life keeps him grounded, literally at the moment. Also his dad, Tom is a very loving and amazing father. He was there at all the football games (English football) cheering him on and at the spelling bees, also when he felt his first heartbreak, Tom was there.

Family has been the one constant in his life. Now it was being eclipsed by power, a power that could ruin lives or affect change. Turning his back on his family means they would never get see his future.

No one would be there at his graduation from college or when he first child was born, only Charlotte would be there. The girl he hoped to marry and have his kids. He couldn’t give up his future with her, no way. Parker eyes glanced at her, mesmerized by her beauty. He thought to himself, “This was it. This, she is all I’ll ever need, my princess.”

Most of Parker’s pet names for Charlotte were derived from Tom. He had heard his dad refer to his mother as: princess, queen, doll, darling, love. The list goes on. As long as Parker had his princess he knew he would be ok.

They danced the night away. Song after song. Feeling like the only two people in the room. Getting more drunk as the night progressed and other guests started to fizzle out. Leaving Charlotte and Parker alone on the dance floor.

“Char, I think it’s about time we head home. We are the only people left,”

Parker chuckled.

“Just two more songs please,” she muttered with her head nuzzled by his neck.

“It’s two hours til sunrise!” Parker exclaimed.

“Just a little while longer, I don’t want this moment to end.” “Me neither baby, I want to stay in your arms forever” Parker said. In a moment of love, coupled with champagne and a few tequila shots, Parker whispered, “We should get married.”

“What? Are you serious? Do you mean now or in like 5 years?” Charlotte asked as her voice slowly diminished

“Umm… yes and now. I love you,” Parker murmured. “YES! I will marry you!” Charlotte exclaimed pulling her boyfriend into a deep, passionate kiss. Parker’s dream was coming true and all he had to do was leave his family.

Just then a group of tall, stocky men, all dressed in black, funneled through the door of the club. They didn’t bother with sitting down, they just stood there blocking the only exit.

One of the men spoke up, “Parker Holland? I have a message for you.”

“Can’t it wait til morning, just tell him I’m sorry and he can ground me even longer,” Parker replied thinking the message was from Tom.

“It’s not that kind of message,” all the noise drifted away as the other man drew his gun. Both Charlotte and Parker grew tense at the sight of his pistol.

“Charlotte, get behind me,” Parker whispered, scared for both their lives.

“Boy, it’s not from your daddy,” said the leader of the men. “Do you know who my father is? He will have all of your heads if you so as much lay a finger on me,” Parker responded

“So the girl is up for grabs?” “Charlotte, RUN!” Parker Screamed

“Eh, not so fast. I’m going to enjoy this one.” The guy said, seizing Charlotte in his grip and motioning for this associates to grab Parker. Two arms holding Parker back from protecting Charlotte.

“LET GO OF ME! CHARLOTTE!”

“Why you hanging out this rift raft? I’m sorry but he needs to atone for his mistakes.” “Parker..” Charlotte whimpered.

“Such a pretty girl and such a waste” the man snickered as he pressed the gun into her abdomen. Tears slipped down her face as she felt the cool metal against her.

BANG

It was the shot heard round the room. Everything stood quiet as Charlotte collapsed to the floor. The leader of the men shouted he need a drink. “NOOOOO! ” Parker screamed as he was let go and raced to Charlotte’s side

“Hey, hey, baby look at me. Look at me,” Parker said as tears flooded down his face.

“I’m sorry, we should’ve left.” Charlotte whispered with labored breaths while blood poured out of her wound. “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Parker cried while rubbing his thumb on her cheek. Blood pooled around them and he could only be focused on one thing, the love of his life dying in his arms. “Parker, it hurts so much,” Charlotte cried. The pain was mind-numbing. Threatening the life inside her.

“I know, love. Just keep your eyes on me love, keep’em open”

“I’m so tired Parker… I want my last words to you to be I love you. I love you ok? So much.” she whispered, then broke into a coughing fit. Blood filling her mouth and running down her chin, scaring Parker.

“Don’t, don’t fucking start that now you, hear me. You’re gonna be fine, we’re gonna get married and have kids and grow old together,” Parker exclaimed as her eyes threatened to shut.

“You said yes, Char. You have to be okay. You said yes. I asked you to marry me and you said yes.” Parker cried as tears refused to stop coming. Charlotte’s eyes growing more and more to a close.

“Please, don’t leave me baby. Charlotte don’t leave me. Don’t fucking close your eyes. You hear me. Don’t.” And with that, the hand Parker held so close to his heart was limp. Her eyes had closed and heart stopped beating. She was gone.

“No! No, no no, hey hey hey, come on, come on baby stay with me. Stay with me please.”

“Wake up, darling. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just come back to me baby. , I need you,” Parker whimpered. He burst into a fit of sobs and hugged her close to his body, not wanting to let her go because then it all became real.

The woman who changed his life, no longer walked this earth. The love of his life was gone. All the bubbling life inside of her, vanished like it had never existed in the first place. Parker’s demeanor flipped like a switch. His sadness became infused with anger, he was out for blood.

“You bastards! Why did you do that? She had nothing to do with this?” Parker thundered as blood coated his knuckles. “I’m sorry kid, but it had to be done” The leader spoke.

In a fit of rage, Parker grabbed the empty champagne bottle and smashed it over one of the guy’s heads, knocking the muscular guy unconscious.

“Big mistake, kid. Thought you were smarter than that.” The leader said as he stood in front of Parker and delivered him a swift punch to the jaw, flooring Parker.

“She really wasn’t enough of a message? Want her death to be in vain?” He spat as he kicked Parker in the stomach.

Several kicks followed, two more to the stomach, one to the groin and one final blow to the head, demobilizing Parker. He laid on the ground coughing up blood, trying to gather enough strength to get home.

He looked once more over to the girl he had loved, lifeless with a whole in stomach, knowing if it weren’t for him she would still be alive. Charlotte was the only thing on his mind as he succumbed to all the pain and everything faded to darkness.

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort

[admiralbuttcheek]

A Pox on Our Pilot (Sicktember 2021)

@sicktember 2021 Day 3: Chickenpox/Rash

Fandom: Top Gun (1986)

Characters: Maverick/Goose

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33667063

The first call came from Carole.

“Hey, honey, how are you?” Goose’s smile was audible.

Carole didn’t sound as happy. “I’m doing well, but it’s Bradley.” Goose’s smile faded. “You see-”

“What is it?” he asked, cutting off the rest of her sentence. She huffed a heavy sigh before continuing.

“He’s got chickenpox.”

Well… shit. Now it was Goose’s turn to sigh heavily, then turn away from the phone for dramatic effect. “How is he?”

“Oh, he’s right as rain. Itchy and all, but happy to be staying home from school watching cartoons all day.” The pilot chuckled. He’d had chickenpox as a kid too, and that’s exactly what he remembered: staying home, eating ice cream and reading comics. Not a bad couple of days.

“And you? You don’t have it, do you?” Goose couldn’t bear the thought of his wife and son, itchy and miserable and all alone, while he and Mav had the time of their lives in Miramar. Just a few days ago they’d come up to visit, which was nice.

“Not,” Carole hummed. “Not yet, anyway. I called his pediatrician, he said Bradley is contagious until all the spots go away. Apparently you can be contagious before they even show up.”

“Really? If you need anything, call your mom, okay? I’m sorry, babe, I wish I could be there to help.”

“Goose,” Carole soothed. “I can handle a little chickenpox. But you, stay safe out there, you hear me? No more crazy flyby’s with Maverick.” She giggled in good nature.

“I will,” Goose promised. “Take care, my love. Just a few more weeks.”

“You too, Goose. See you soon.”

When he got the second call, he knew who was on the other end. Maverick.

“Goose,” came the aviator’s croaky, washed-out voice. He sounded like hell.

“Say no more, Mav;” Goose replied. “I’m on my way.”

The front door was unlocked, which was perfect because Pete knew he didn’t have the strength to go open it. He woke up this morning with a pounding headache. When he trudged into the bathroom to get some Tylenol, a chance glance into the mirror showed him exactly why he felt so goddamn awful. Spots, hundreds of them, all over his face. When he looked down, they were all over his chest, too. Oh my God. As the sleepiness waned, the itchiness kicked in. It was downright unbearable. But moving his arms to scratch at them hurt; every joint simply ached.

He didn’t think twice before calling Goose.

“I’m glad you called, Mav,” the RIO said as he scrutinized the lump of blankets and spotty flesh on the couch. “You sounded like crap on the phone, and you look like crap in person.”

“I feel like crap, Goose,” Mav moaned. “Seriously, everything hurts. And itches.”

Goose reached a hand out to his pilot’s forehead to check for fever, but Maverick jerked away.

“Don’t, I’m contagious,” he croaked. Goose shrugged and reached forward anyway.

“I already had it, when I was in 3rd grade.” Maverick felt warmer to the touch than usual. Nick went to search for a thermometer. “Can’t believe you never had it,” he called back from the bathroom. He returned with a thermometer, giving it a vigorous shake before sticking it in Pete’s mouth.

“Got lucky, I suppose,” Maverick mumbled around the glass.

“Don’t forget, under the tongue,” Goose prompted.

Maverick rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Goose, I have been sick before.” The pilot scratched absent-mindedly at his bare, pockmarked chest.  

He smirked. “You sure as hell don’t act like it. You’re a disaster, man.”

“No wonder they call you ‘Mother Goose,’” Mav retorted. “They should call you ‘Mother Hen.’”

Goose erupted into disproportionately hysterical laughter. “Good one!” He cawed. Taking some time to catch his breath, he sauntered into the kitchen. It was pretty bare; Maverick wasn’t exactly a five-star chef. All he could find was some instant coffee, a loaf of bread, some saltine crackers, and half a box of breakfast cereal. Not even a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. Shrugging, he grabbed the crackers and filled up a tall glass of water.

When he returned, Maverick had spit out the thermometer and was holding it up to the light.

“What’s the damage?” Goose asked.

“100 even. Not great, but not bad.” Maverick slumped back over, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He was shivering ever so slightly.

Goose held out the crackers. “Here. You should eat something.” Maverick shook his head, looking away.

“No. Feel too sick.”

“Sick like feverish sick, or sick like ‘gonna puke’ sick?” Goose probed.

The pilot gave a half-hearted shrug. “I dunno. Both, I guess.”

“Fine, but at least drink some water, okay dear?” Goose said in a wifely, mock-doting tone. Maverick snorted and looked at the glass like it was toxic, but accepted it and took a sip anyway.

“Do you have any calamine lotion?” Goose asked.

Mav’s brow furrowed. “Any what?”

“Calamine lotion,” Goose repeated. “Y’know, the pink stuff your mom would rub on you when you got into poison ivy. Looks like Pepto Bismol.” Maverick’s face remained blank, confused. “Seriously? Never got chickenpox, never got poison ivy… Did you even have a childhood, Mav?” Maverick smiled, then wrenched the blanket off to frantically itch his back. He cursed.

“Don’t scratch them,” Goose chastised softly. “That only makes it worse.”

“I wouldn’t scratch them,” Maverick began, voice strained with irritation. “If I wasn’t. So. Damned. ITCHY! God, can’t you give me something for this?”

“That’s what the calamine lotion was for.”

Maverick made an exasperated noise that broke into a weak cough.

“I have an idea,” Goose said. “Stay right there, I’ll be back in a sec.” He shuffled back towards the bathroom.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Maverick hissed, taking this opportunity to scratch more while his RIO was out of eyesight.

Thankfully, Maverick’s medicine cabinet was better stocked than his pantry. Sure, no calamine lotion, but he did have some Tylenol PM. Bingo. Goose shook out two pills and carried them back to the pilot, who was now itching so hard he looked near epileptic.

“Seriously, stop scratching, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Goose cooed. He held out the two pills. “Take these.” Maverick took them without even asking what they were. Goose explained anyway. “They’re Tylenol PM. In 20 minutes, you’ll be out cold. Can’t feel itchy if you’re sleeping.” He plopped down on the couch next to Pete.

“Thank God,” he whined. “Better living through chemistry, I guess.” He took another tentative sip of water, staring at the ground. “How did I even get chickenpox anyway? Nobody at TOPGUN is sick.”

Goose blanched. He gulped. “Yeah, about that…” Maverick glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “Bradley’s got it. He must’ve given it to you when he and Carole came to visit a few days ago.”

Maverick smoldered. He wanted nothing more than to smack Goose upside the head, but he loved his “nephew” (and his RIO) too much to lash out. Plus, he knew how much it meant to Goose to see his family. 5 weeks was a long time to be away from two people you love more than anything.

“Sorry.”

That apology was more than enough. “It’s fine. Is he doing okay? And Carole?”

“They’re both fine.” Goose fiddled with the corner of Maverick’s blanket. “I miss them.”

Maverick gave a long, slow blink. The medicine was starting to work. Everything had gone wonky, like a record played at the wrong speed. “I know you do, Goose. They miss you too.”

“Just a few more weeks,” the RIO whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. He lost himself briefly in memories, of his first dates with Carole, the day Bradley was born, his first steps. He’d been there for all of that; how many memories was he missing while he was here in Miramar, and his family… wasn’t?

Something landed on his shoulder, wrenching him from reminiscence. He turned to look at what it was. He saw short, dark, tousled hair. Maverick had finally passed out, with his head on his RIO’s shoulder no less. Goose reached over to tuck Maverick in more snugly. Even through the sleeve of his shirt, he could feel Maverick’s low-grade fever.

“Sleep tight, Mav,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. The pilot hummed in response, already deep in dreams of jets and open skies.

[writers-blogck]

A Pity Party for One ( Sugawara Koushi x Reader )

Warning(s): This includes a lot of cursing and alcohol use. Characters are assumed to be aged up to past the legal drinking age. Did I get the inspiration to write this after listening to Michael in the Bathroom for the tenth time in a row? The world may never know.

Title: A Pity Party for One Pairing: Sugawara Koushi x Reader Fandom: Haikyuu! Word Count: 1,798

       Mascara? A mess.

       Drink? Empty.

       Mental State? Terrible.

       Hotel? Trivago.

       You tossed your red solo cup against the tiled wall of the bathtub that you had claimed as your current residency. Whose house was this anyway? You think the guy had a man bun but you could have been wrong. Everything was a blur other than the image of your boyfriend feeling up another girl. How could he just throw three years away, three goddamn years?! A choked sob slipped past your lips as you pulled your knees closer to your chest.

       How had you gotten yourself in this situation? Here you were, in a stranger's empty tub having a mental breakdown. Converse sneakers and pastel pink dress bunched at your waist. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew that your makeup was a mess. It would only make sense with how much you had cried. You had no plan for what you should do. Everything just hurt and you were wishing you were home under your covers instead of this porcelain bed. All your tears had been shed and you were left with small whimpers and clenched fists.

       "Oh...I didn't know that anyone was in here. The door was unlocked and I was just planning on washing up a bit and-" A boy with light brown hair that seemed to be tinted with silver when it hit the light right walked in your hiding place. It wasn't like you had locked the door, you probably should have. You had simply slammed the door behind you and that had been enough notice for the people around you. How long had you been in here? Your phone had died an hour ago when you arrived at the party. You were just on life's shitlist today!

       "It is utter bullshit!" You huffed out, not seeming to care that this guy you had never met before just walked in the bathroom where you were hiding. It wasn't like you were using the restroom but you knew that you looked like a hot mess right now. Damn, you might not even look hot and instead just look like a mess. How was that fair? Groaning, you leaned your head back and hit it against the cold wall.

       "Whoa...You look like you have had better nights." The guy slowly walked in, shutting the door behind him. If you weren't drunk out of your mind and hurting like you never had before, then you might have been scared about being in this room with this guy alone. He could lock the door and then who knows what could happen. Still, that was the last thing on your mind.  

       The boy was wearing a dusty blue shirt with what looked to be khaki pants. Average, normal, safe. He didn't have any immediate red flags that you seemed to attract. Did you just give off the vibe of someone who could be walked over? God, maybe you were. How had you been so stupid for three years...This wasn't the first time. You had a suspicion but you didn't want it to be true. You had been with this boy since high school and the idea of having to live without him was terrifying. You had become dependent on him. God, what were you going to do? How were you going to get home?!

       Red sneakers moved closer and soon the boy who looked to be around your age was squatting next to the tub. His arms rested on the cool porcelain, something that had felt wonderful against your hot skin when you first got in. You couldn't help it, you got hot when you drank too much. Normally you would just sip on whatever you were having that night but once you saw your world crumbling in front of you, you decided it was time to just down the entire thing as fast as possible. The faster it got in you, the faster the hurt would go away. You hoped anyway...

       "I just want to go home!" You whimpered, hands gripping at the itchy fabric of your dress. He had been the one to suggest you wear it, he said that he liked how it 'hugged your curves'. So, being a nice girlfriend, you decided to wear it and what does he go and do?! Feel up some girl that you had never even seen before! Had you not been enough? How long had he been cheating on you? Was this the only girl or did he have multiple women he went to so he could get his rocks off? Your head was spinning with the alcohol affecting your system. You were drunk.

       "Okay," His voice was soft, like he was approaching an injured animal and didn't want to scare it off, "How did you get here? Can I go get someone for you or is there someone I can call?"

       Watery eyes met his warm ones and it was the first time you had made eye contact with this stranger. You wouldn't lie, he was very attractive. In that soft but strong way. The kind of soft where he wouldn't let anyone walk over him. You had thought that was you but you had three years of experience to prove otherwise. You must have been a pitiful sight to see if his expression was anything to go off of. Why did he care? It wasn't like either of you knew each other. You weren't used to people being nice just to be nice. Was he an angel? He sure looked like he could be one. You wondered what he looked like under his shirt with how it accentuated his muscles...Oh, God! Your cheeks only reddened even more at your thoughts. What kind of drunk were you?! You never would think that way...At least, you would never tell anyone you thought those things. Luckily you still had enough control of your lips to keep yourself from saying anything too embarrassing, for now.

       "My ride is out there with his hand under some other girl's shirt. Fuck, I have to go home with him. I live with him and I just saw him...." You buried your head in your knees, in a mix of wanting to hide your misery filled face and wanting the bright lights to just tone down for a bit. They seemed brighter than normal bathroom lights...What were you even talking about? It wasn't like every bathroom had the same lights. Even with your brain trying to distract you with these unusual thoughts, you couldn't get the image of your boyfriend out of your head. The two of you had even been talking about marriage recently. His mother seemed so happy with the two of you...What would she think if she knew what her son was really like?

       "Three years and this is how he treats me...I think I am just cursed with bad luck or something. God doesn't want me to have a good relationship. I've wasted three years with this guy and...."

       "Don't talk like that. Sometimes we have to go through tough times to get out on the other side. You know, you have to have rain to have a rainbow." The boy brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you were convinced that he was your guardian angel. Why else would he be this nice and so helpful to a drunk girl he didn't know, crying in the bathroom for who knows how long.

       Sugawara bit his bottom lip gently in thought, unsure of what he should do in this situation? He knew he was good at helping people (according to the team anyway), but he had never dealt with something like this before. He was glad he decided not to drink tonight or else he would be having a harder time with this. All he had to do was think clearly and he surely would come up with some plan, right?

       "Well...I can always drive you home or we could go find the people throwing the party. Asahi and Tanaka might be able to think of something. More likely Asahi since Tanaka might be a bottle in already..." He mumbled the last part mainly to himself but your ears perked up at the familiar name.

       "....Tanaka?" Your voice was quiet as you glanced up at the handsome boy, causing his heart to skip a beat. Why did people's eyes always look so pretty after they had cried? That wasn't fair. He wished he could help more but he simply nodded at your strange question.

       "I know him," You rubbed the back of your hand against your eyes, not even thinking about the black smudges that were only getting worse on your skin. You were disheveled with makeup smudged more than an abstract painting and a dress with a recent stain that Sugawara would assume was whatever you had in your plastic cup before it was empty. Yet, he couldn't help himself and thought you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. If he saw your ex.....He pushed those thoughts to the side. He could think of that in the future.

       "He is our friend...I mean, my friend...He is in some of the same classes as me."

       "Great!" Relief washed over the young boy as he realized that he wouldn't be left in the dark on what to do with the situation at hand. "How about we go and get you some water and then we go look for Tanaka? I'm sure we can find him, he lives here after all. We can get you feeling a bit better and then we can figure out what to do from there, okay?"

       "That sounds nice...I don't drink normally, I don't like it."

       "Don't worry. Once we get you some water and ibuprofen, then you will start feeling better. Who knows, I'm sure he has something to eat here. Nishinoya and Tanaka tend to keep the place stocked to the brim when it comes to parties. I bet they keep the pantry that filled even when they weren't planning a party. Those guys could eat an entire banquet themselves and still be ready for seconds."

       Sugawara smiled as he heard the soft sounds of your laugh echo in the small bathroom. He hoped he would be able to hear it more, even if only for a little bit. He may only know you for this day but he still wanted to see you smile. Tears and a frown didn't suit your beautiful face.

       As the man offered his hand, you had no idea that it would be the hand that you would be holding for years to come. It would be the hand that gave you what you always dreamed of - a wedding ring.

[whumpiary]

Darktimeline!AU continues. As ever, written in collaboration with the incredible @untilthepainstarts.

content warnings: referenced murder, referenced noncon touch, alcohol, mild violence, briefly referenced victim blaming

-

It took a lot for Cassius Bergen to feel unsettled. Usually he was fazed by so very little, an I’m-rubber-you’re-glue kind of guy, attitude loose and languid in a way that made it adaptable to any incoming occurrence, good or bad. There wasn’t any use in the feeling of being perturbed to a man who had already laughed outright in the face of the perverse, from twisted colleagues to the character that had raised him. 

But when Viklund-Reid turned up on the doorstep of the estate this evening, bloodied and half-wild, Cassius may have felt the slightest twinge of it. No small amount of satisfaction as well of course, at seeing the gaping cracks in the man’s usually impenetrable self control—he had been wondering just how much pressure that nice guy facade could withstand before it popped, and mild-mannered house mouse Lev fell away to reveal Lev Alexander Viklund-Reid, criminal mastermind.

As it turns out, all it took was a single loose end.

"I think I killed Jacob St. Clair."

Standing in the doorway to the sitting room in his nightrobe and slippers, Cassius’ mouth drops open. He shuts it just as fast, but it doesn’t seem like Lev had noticed at all. If anything, the man seemed wrapped up in himself, eyes staring into middle distance, hands rubbing up along the outsides of his arms.

"Wait, you think you did, or you did did? Because—”

"I did," Lev restates. "He's definitely dead. And if he wasn't then… he is now."

It’s then that Cassius’ eye picks up the things he didn’t before. It's a warm November night outside and Lev isn't wearing his usual jacket, but rather a comparatively thin dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. It's torn a few inches in at the collar, the top buttons popped off  to reveal the delicate golden necklace he always wears underneath. A trail—a spray—of blood sits across his face, from his cheek to the inside corner of his eye. And on his knuckles. And in his hair, in tiny little spots.

Cassius realises that he’s grinning. It feels sharp in his mouth. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.” Lev’s hand reaches up to play with the gold chain. His eyes remain unfocused, staring somewhere between Cassius’ chaise and his china cabinet.

“Jesus Christ. So I guess we’re not going with ‘take him down quietly’?”

“Apparently not.”

Blowing air out through his cheeks, Cassius shakes his head. Leans in the doorway, He’s not that mad, not really. 

Though Lev could have asked if he wanted a piece first, selfish bastard. A bit rich considering it all. If Cassius had known he was going to up and off the guy—

“Just say it,” Lev says, eyes flicking up to meet his in a tired sort of challenge. “We both know you’re going to.”

Cassius smirks and crosses his arms, “Let’s not rush it, Bergen. There’s no satisfaction in a quick kill, Bergen. Let’s savour the take down, rot him from the inside out…”

Lev’s eyes flick away from him, dark and blazing, as though he hadn’t just asked to be served what he was given. As if he didn’t deserve a little mocking for his hypocrisy. 

“I know.”

Cassius shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, and really what is there to be all that bothered about? If St Clair was dead, he was dead. Not much they could do to wind back time now. 

“So what happened, then?”

Lev eyes flick up and then away again, find the same middle distance he’s been staring into all night. His hand comes up, knuckles rubbing against the bare of his neck, just above the necklace. He could just be rubbing at the dried blood there. Cassius would bet half his house that he isn’t.

“What happened, Viklund-Reid?” he says again, a tiny tug back to earth. “Come on. You stole my kill, I deserve the story at least.”

“He called my guy yesterday, begging me for help with James and whatever takeover that little fuck is itching to pull the trigger on now, asking for a meeting. At first I thought about just telling him I had no wish to be caught up in that, shut it down, but… I figured it could be a chance at information. And frankly it was weird that he reached out to me directly, and at the moment James is being a right prick with my deals up north. So I went.”

Cassius nods along like the story is new to him, all while a sense of déjà-vu creeps slowly in. “But he didn’t want to talk about that at all?”

Smiling self-deprecatingly, Lev shakes his head. “He wanted to talk about me. Said I had done really well so far, better than he’d expected, but it was time to face the facts: that I’d never be what Martin was, that I’m not designed for this kind of life… whatever, you get the idea. But then when I made to leave, he stopped me. Physically. And I just—you don’t just do that, but he did—warned him too, said if he kept going like that, he’d have known if he’d just listened to me, I wouldn’t have had to, to, to—he just kept pushing, and pushing and then—” 

The disjointed stream of a sentence ends in a laugh, tightly wound. Lev’s shoulders have drawn in, his jaw clenched, and he’s speaking at the wall as if it had been the one who’d wronged him, his initial audience all but forgotten in the room.

Cassius raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t seen him angry like this. Anxious like this. “Viklund-Reid?”

“—Wonder why no one likes you, fucker, sticking your nose into other people’s business, putting your hands where they don’t belong—”

“Viklund-Reid.”

“—Put down that fucking ego for twelve seconds—”

“Lev.”

“What.”

When he’s sure he finally has Lev’s attention, Cassius moves his eyes down to the knife that had appeared in his business partner’s hand and back up again, pointedly. It’s enough to make the man pause and take stock of what had seemingly been an unconscious fiddling, smoothly flicking it open and shut in rapid repetition. 

It’s not the knife that bothers Cassius particularly. Lord knows he’s seen it enough. It’s the way he was holding it, fiddling with it. The specific grip to the handle. Unconscious maybe, all of it. But careful. Practiced. With intent. The same way a cat settled back and locked its gaze before striking prey. The same way a sharpshooter fiddled with a gun.

Lev clears his throat, before slipping the knife into his pocket. “I, uh. I’m gonna use your bathroom.” He pushes up off the arm of the sofa and starts walking away, but not before Cassius can cut him off at the pass.

“No you’re not. Kitchen’s closer. Has booze,” Cassius adds, before heading off in that direction, not waiting to check if Lev is following, and definitely not moving anywhere within striking distance. As much as he didn’t need Lev falling apart in his sitting room, he also didn’t particularly need a stab wound either. 

Cassius steps into the kitchen and goes directly to the sink, turning on the water and letting it run before heading to the pantry and straight to the liquor.

“Is this a champagne or vodka sort of occasion?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Vodka,” comes the mumbled call from the sink. “Definitely fucking vodka.”

By the time he comes back, near-full bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, Lev is sitting on the kitchen bench, frowning at his knuckles, rubbing at them absently with a piece of blood-pink paper towel.

“You look rattled,” Cassius says mildly. 

“I am rattled.”

Cassius snorts a laugh and Lev looks up at him with something a little too tired to be a glare. “What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just didn’t think I’d be spending my night talking through baby’s first murder.”

“Not my first,” Lev mutters with a scoff. “Jesus, of course not my first. Just first like this. First where I… lost control.”

Cassius frowns barely and looks Lev over, eyes narrowing in curiosity while the other man’s gaze is diverted. He’d always kind of thought… well he’d assumed how it must’ve gone down with Martin. But apparently he was going to have to ask for that story one day too.

He offers out the vodka, leaves the glasses on the bench behind him. “Drink.”

Lev takes a generous swig and returns the bottle to the bench, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Did he try that with you?”

Taking his time ripping a bit of paper towel from the roll, folding it into a square, using it to dab away the little streak of blood on Lev’s face, Cassius ponders his answer. Decides to let the other do the work. “Try what?”

Lev’s lips press together in a thin line. “If I’d known, I’d have taken care of it from the start. Or at least… wouldn’t have told you to wait.”

The image of St. Clair flashes up in front of Cassius' eyes—furious, yes, but from the other side of the table over lunch. Looking like he’d wanted to leap over it and strangle him, but hadn’t in the end. Just called him the usual—little Bergen whore—and left.

“No, he didn’t. Just ran his mouth.”

Lev’s face falls slightly, as if that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. He leans backward, eyes narrowed, calculating.

“Sorry, did I just relieve you of some preconceptions?” Cassius says drily, feeling annoyance stir somewhere underneath the surface. He had no right. “Or did he need to have groped me a little for me to be able to be mad about it?”

“That’s not—”

“Because if I recall, I wanted the fucker gone months ago and you kept telling me it wasn’t smart. So now I’m just trying to figure out where the double standard fits into all of this, or whether I now get to present my own TED talk on self-control.”

“If he had kept his hands off of me—”

“You think I haven’t had people put their hands on me?” Cassius spits. Lev looks away. Cassius burns. “How is it that when I do this shit it’s stupid and impulsive and—”

“It is stupid and impulsive.”

“And when you do it, it’s what? Righteous?”

Bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Lev heaves a sigh. “Shut it, Bergen. Shut up.”

“Or what? Your cleaner’s going to be hitting up my place later too?”

Lev moves his hand away, looks like he’s about to bite back a response, before he pauses. Blinks, hand hovering in the air. Mouth open, then shut, and the tension fizzles slightly in the room as he flounders.

For the second time that night, Cassius feels a shark-like smile creep across his face as he puts two and two together. “Oh, you’re kidding. You’re kidding,” he says through bared teeth, tone dangerously low.

Dark eyes lock with his as Lev looks at him. “I fucked up. I know I fucked up.”

Cassius’ annoyance shifts gears right into anger, revving hot at the half-admission. “Say the fucking words, Lev,” he challenges, incredulous.

When the only response he gets from the man in front of him is a sheepish look and a phone pulled out of his pocket, Cassius scoffs, grabs the vodka on the bench. He’s furious, can only hold it in for long enough to take a swig straight from the bottle, and for Lev to start dialing.

“So. Just so I’ve got all of this perfectly fucking clear. You murder a guy, right, guy you told me specifically not to. Then you get in your car. Drive forty minutes here. Come into my house—”

“I know, alright?”

“—And you haven’t called your fucking cleaner yet?”

“Don’t yell at me Bergen,” Lev warns, frowning.

Laughing, Cassius gestures at him with the bottle—how dare he? Keeps his voice at the same level, because fuck this. “I’ll talk to you how I damn well please. You are in my house. You are putting my arse on the line here.”

“I’m getting it sorted,” he says with a pointed glare, phone to ear. 

Cassius laughs again, eyes wide and furious. “Cutting it kind of close, don’t you think?”

Lev swears under breath as the phone clearly hits voicemail, starts to redial. 

“Perfect,” Cassius scoffs, taking another swig. “Fucking perfect.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“You have the fucking murder weapon sitting on my bench, Lev,” he says, swinging his arms wide. “Are you trying to get this pinned on me?”

“I said, I’ll handle it.”

Cassius doesn’t let up. “Is this what you get off on is it? Getting friends in high places dragged down to low ones?”

“Of course not.” Lev spits, real fire in his eyes.

“Well fuck knows you don’t seem to be getting off on anything else.”

Lev’s feet hit the floor as he surges forward, and the next thing Cassius knows are two hands curled in his shirt and his back hitting the wall, vodka splashing up out of the glass neck on impact. He opens his mouth to command Lev away, but hesitates on the thought of meeting the business end of that knife—he’s already right on him, and could likely pull and engage it in a split-second, before he could even name him and finish the words. 

Cassius searches the eyes of the man pinning him to the wall and for the first time since their meeting, Cassius is certain Lev Viklund-Reid could kill him.

So when Lev rushes forward all at once, Cassius can’t help the gasp that leaves him. He’d almost be embarrassed by the shocked sound of it if the noise wasn’t stolen from his lips in half a second by Lev’s own.

Lev kisses him hard. Hungry and desperate. Like he’s trying to tell him something words aren’t enough for. Cassius feels like he’s stuck a beat behind just trying to decipher it. And then just as he starts to melt forward into it, just as he brings his hands up to touch, Lev’s gone again, the weight of his body disappearing as completely as if he’d turned to smoke while Cassius’ eyes were closed.

“What-” Cassius blinks his eyes open, hand almost reaching for a man who isn’t there anymore.

Lev’s standing a few feet away, wide-eyed and halfway horrified. “Shit, I’m so sorry. You- I’m- I’m an idiot. ”

“No, it’s-” Cassius brings his hand up and back to his lips, silences himself, stops the words that want to come out. The kiss still feels trapped there, just beneath his fingertips. “It’s fine.”

“Shit,” Lev repeats. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Lev, just-” come back here. Do that again. “Calm down, a sec.”

“Jesus, I- I’m losing it,” Lev says, and alright well that stings just a little. Cassius keeps his place on the wall, tucks his hands behind his back and presses them flat against the plaster.

“I’m fucked.” And there’s that mad laugh again. A torn out, twisted thing that hardly suits him but still seems to fit. “I’ve fucked this.”

“Lev…”

“No, I’m-“ he makes a pained expression, like shame and apology all wrapped up in one scrunch of the nose. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have come here, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking-“

“Probably that you need an alibi,” Cassius says evenly, shrugging a shoulder as he pushes forward, risks a step or two closer. “I’m a good one. And the staff all love you. They’d vouch for you even if I don’t threaten them.”

He doesn’t get too close—who’d approach a wild animal with its hackles still raised? But still makes himself available. Approachable. He could be the lantern in the distance if the man needed it, but he knew it wasn’t wise to press, even after Lev had initiated. Maybe especially so.

This time when Lev crashes forward, head landing heavy against Cassius’ chest, Cassius manages to catch his gasp before it betrays him.  The aftershock runs through him like a thrill and settles alongside his heart, pounding like a bass drum right beneath where Lev’s head is pressed. He wonders if Lev can hear it. If he does, he doesn’t mention. Cassius, in turn, doesn’t mention the way Lev is shaking.

"St. Clair was right. I'm too… too…"

Unbidden, Cassius brings his hand up, resting it gingerly on the back of Lev’s head, bottle of vodka still hanging from the fingers of his other hand. “Shut your mouth.”

It falls quiet around them. Between them. The echo of the sink dripping, the sound of the clock from the hall, Lev’s breathing as he steadies himself. That’s all. Cassius keeps expecting Viklund-Reid to shove him off. For the feeling of a blade pressed to his gut. It never comes.

It feels strange, dangerous even, holding a man who barely an hour before had killed another for daring to do less. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t feel good as well. And that’s wrong, maybe, after the night that Lev’s had. To enjoy holding him like this. To feel soothed by it.

Cassius closes his eyes ever so briefly. Maybe he’s the one who’s fucked. Oh well.

"Look,” Lev says, after a minute or two. “I know we're probably even now, but just in case... if you tell anyone about this, I'll gut you. And all that."

Cassius blinks and laughs, feeling the sound reverberate along his own ribcage and out through Lev’s back. “Sure. As long as you call your cleaner up after.”

And he has no idea where the fuck the impulse comes from, even less so why he listens to it, but he turns his head, presses a kiss to Lev’s hair. 

Both men tense. Breath caught. Moment frozen.

Lev pulls back to look at him, expression indecipherable, and Cassius opens his mouth to say something – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, please don’t stab me – he’s not sure what, and then Lev’s phone rings. Like a spell’s been broken, they both flinch away. 

“That’s my-”

“Yeah.”

The air feels electrically charged and all at once Cassius can’t figure out how to hold himself in the room, ends up pressed back against the wall where Lev had left him a few minutes earlier as Lev walks from the room, phone pressed to his ear.

“Winters. Sorry to bother you this late—yeah, it’s alright. Would you mind crunching some numbers for me?”

Cassius tips his head back against the wall and exhales through his teeth, blowing his cheeks out, fingers tapping against the plaster.

It took a lot to get him unsettled. And this wasn’t that, he wasn’t unsettled exactly but he was… something.

He closes his eyes, takes another swig and wipes his mouth clean with a rough hand. Shakes his head at nobody but himself. This is stupid. Three hundred and sixty degrees of stupid. Dangerous. That’s what it is.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

When exactly had he developed a crush on a mobster? On the untouchable, inimitable Lev Viklund-Reid?

He lets out a laugh, wild and bubbling, hopes that Lev can’t hear it from the other room.

Oh, Jesus. Alrighty then. So. He’s fucked.

[teriwrites]

Swindler of Fortune

The coin wells were empty.

I stared dumbly into the cash register. They’d been full that morning, that much I was certain of. I myself had blindly emptied several rolls in my mad dash to open the store on time. 

What can I say? Even wizards sleep in sometimes.

But business had been slow, and even on heavy days, we usually didn’t get enough cash transactions to clear out the whole register. 

“Natalie?” I called, hoping she hadn’t left for the night.

I didn’t suspect her of stealing, of course, but she usually handled the front during weekdays. Thankfully, she was still in the back. I watched the doors swing open, and her bun bobbed just over the tops of shelves as she made her way over. 

“What’s up?” she asked as she reached the front, leaning down onto the counter to meet me at eye level. I rolled my eyes at the gesture.

“Did somebody exchange a large bill for coins?” I motioned towards the empty wells. “Because we’re all out.”

Natalie frowned as she pushed herself upright. “No. I actually had to empty a roll of quarters about an hour before closing. Why, have we been robbed?”

“If we were, it was by the dumbest thief alive.” As Natalie cocked an eyebrow, I went on. “All the bills are accounted for.”

For several moments, we puzzled over it, but it was late, and I think we both knew no questions were going to be answered without effort. And that wasn’t happening after closing. This was a problem for another day.

So I dumped a couple new rolls into the register and decided to call it a night.

The next day was a Friday, which meant more business. After a quick check to confirm that the coins were still in their place, I flipped the sign on the door to ‘Open’ and welcomed the start of a new day. 

Natalie was working inventory, so she hung in the back while I held down the front of the store. Rolling up the sleeves of my cardigan, I took in a deep breath and channeled my Manager alter ego - a mix of Customer Service feigned cheer with enough of an edge to hold some of the more entitled customers at bay. 

Our first customer rolled in around 9:30. My back was turned as the bell rang out, but the excitement emanating from Nathaniel as he ran laps around my back clued me into their identity.

I spun on my heel to see an old man wrapped up in dark furs and a matching cap step over the threshold. A green parrot sat on his shoulder, wearing its own tiny hat.

“Mike!” My Customer Service smile eased into a genuine grin as I greeted one of my favorite regulars.

“Ms. Kim, hello!” When Mike spoke, it was with his familiar, thick Russian accent. I wasn’t sure exactly when he had immigrated to Canada, but he’d been coming into the store as long as I could remember, back when I was just a kid helping my dad restock shelves. Even back then, he’d struck me as remarkably old. 

“I haven’t heard from you in awhile. I was beginning to fear the worst.” It was a half-joke, but before the mood could darken, I shook my head dramatically. “I thought you might’ve decided to turn to one of our competitors.”

Mike chuckled as he pulled his hat from his head, but his parrot cut in before he could protest. “Enough with the pleasantries! We’re here on business!”

Nathaniel had run down the length of my sleeve and was tugging it down my arm to press closer to the bird. I leaned forward onto the counter, and the parrot eyed my embroidered dragon cautiously.

“That’s a cute hat you got there, Charon.” I shot the parrot a wink and pushed myself back up. “What is it I can get for you today, Mike?”

“Do you have any tongue of frog in stock?” he asked as he brushed snow from his hat. 

I wasn’t sure, but I promised to check in with Natalie. As I made my way back to the storage room, I found her crouched in one of the aisles, gathering some nonalcoholic liquid courage to restock.

“Hey, do you have any tongue of frog marked up on there?”

The face Natalie made answered my question. “You actually stock frog tongues?”

“Spells, enchanted items, charms - ”

“Whatever your wandering, wayfaring wizard may need, I know,” she finished, nodding along dramatically. “But frog tongues?”

“If you heard all of the ingredients that go into those bottles” - I nudged my chin towards the liquid courage - “it’d make your hair curl. Not that it needs the help.”

Natalie smacked me with her clipboard before jutting her hand out for some help up. 

I had been working alongside Natalie for a few months now, but there were still areas of the store that I hadn’t acquainted her with. Some wizards would’ve scrunched up their noses at my more repellent products, so I was not keen to show them off to an unprepared Typic. 

Most potion ingredients sat in a medicine cabinet towards the front of the store, but it could hardly fit everything. The rest was tucked away into a side room - a pantry, really - hiding in the back corner. Pulling my keyring from my pocket, I shuffled through several before I landed on the right one.

Dust had collected on most of the shelves in the pantry. I had no excuse for its state; there simply wasn’t enough of a reason to come back here unless someone requested it. A single, flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling dimly lit the small space. 

I turned away from Natalie to fetch the jar labeled ‘tongue of frog’. After I’d snatched it up, I looked back to see her curiously scanning the shelves. Before I could say anything, her hand darted out and grabbed something. 

Holding it out to me, I could barely make out its label: newt eyes.

“Other friends of yours?” she joked.

I brushed past her as she replaced the jar on the shelf. “Of yours, actually.”

Carrying the jar back to the front, I watched as Mike perused some of the inventory up front with vague amusement. Charon was whispering something in his ear. Evidently it was something rude; Mike reprimanded the bird harshly in Russian.

“One tongue of frog,” I announced as I stepped behind the counter. 

“You have new merchandise, Ms. Kim,” Mike pointed out as he dug through his pockets. “I didn’t even know there were spells for maintaining battery life.”

“Yeah, well, some companies intentionally provide weak batteries to make you replace your phone after a couple years. This cheat seems the lesser of the two evils.” I rested my elbows on the top of the register as I watched Mike stack the contents of his pocket onto the countertop. Books, empty potion bottles, a pair of gloves. After withdrawing a black notebook with an engraved monogram and a full-sized human skull, he finally pulled out his wallet.

I had to ask him what spell he used to get that kind of pocket space. 

“Working another case?” I nodded at the notebook as I rang up his order. “I thought you’d retired, Mike.”

“I owed an old colleague a favor,” Mike admitted gruffly. “The police asked him for assistance on a case, and he referred them to me.”

He sounded none too happy about it. 

Mike passed me cash, and I opened the register. As soon as the drawer sprung open, I realized with a jolt that the change was missing again. Surely, nobody could’ve snatched it up without being seen. I could’ve trusted Mike with the entire store while I was in the back, and Natalie had been with me the entire time. 

“Is there a problem?” Mike asked, straightening up to peer over the counter.

I unlocked the cupboard with extra change and fished out a roll of loonies. “No problem, just ran out of change.”

I handed over his change and the jar without a bag, knowing he wouldn’t need one. When he’d taken both from me, he simply slid them into his pockets. With a quick nod and a small lift of his cap, Mike stepped back out into the cold. 

Only after Mike had left did I notice Natalie crouching by the first row of shelves. She clutched her clipboard to her chest, staring in horror at the door the old man had just left through.

“Was that man carrying a human skull?”

I dismissed her concern with a wave of my hand. “Mike’s a necromancer. That’s pretty normal for him.”

My reassurance might’ve eased Natalie’s nerves, but they simply shifted from fear into disgust. “Aren’t those people supposed to raise the dead and all that? Gross.”

“It’s a little more delicate than that. There’s a whole structure of ethical guidelines in that field. Full revival is prohibited, so usually it’s just gathering details on how the person died. I don’t know the ins and outs of it, though. I’ve never had the stomach for that stuff.”

“So you’re telling me there’s a whole slew of magical careers out there, and I got stuck working for the shopkeep?” 

I rolled my eyes as I walked away, leaving Natalie laughing on the floor. 

Saturday morning, I arrived extra early at the store. I told myself it was to make up for the fact that Natalie only worked weekdays and I would be running everything myself. But really, the first thing I did when I arrived was beeline for the cash register.

Everything had been in place the night before. After Mike’s incident, nothing had gone missing, and the rest of the day ran smoothly. I was secretly hoping that the problem would go away on its own if I just refused to acknowledge it. But I could only lose so many more rolls before making another trip to the bank, and I’m pretty sure the teller I always ran into was a vampire. Either that or there was some other reason he always stared at my neck when I was making deposits. 

Either way, not an experience I was eager to have again.

My key slid into the lock for the register, and I made a silent wish as I twisted it open.

The coin wells were empty.

I let out a frustrated shout as I tore the key out of the lock. This couldn’t keep happening. My store did well - my spot in downtown Trelis earned me good foot traffic, and our regulars were loyal - but I couldn’t afford the constant losses. 

There was only one answer. I would have to investigate. If I kept a careful eye on the full register, the thief would have to reveal themselves eventually. 

To refill the coins, I opened up the cupboard, only to find that it, too, had been ransacked. Every roll of coins had been torn to shreds, with scraps of paper left littering the cabinet. 

I felt bad for texting Natalie on her day off, but I had no other choice. I couldn’t both look into a robbery and ring up transactions. So, whipping out my phone, I shot her a text asking if she’d be able to make it down the store, preferably before it opened.

Fifteen minutes later, Natalie was at the front door, rapping against the glass. I unlocked it for her.

“More was taken?” she asked, pulling her mittens from her hands.

“Both the register and the cupboard are empty.” I groaned, draping myself over the front counter. “I’m at a loss.”

What kind of thief was this, who would ignore the higher-value bills and waste time tearing through paper to get at the coins? Who could somehow get around the store without being seen? Were we dealing with an advanced invisibility spell? Some pocket portal that could reach directly into the register? A clever magpie?

I dragged myself over the counter, nearly hitting my head against the back cabinet as I clambered ungracefully down. Landing in a heap on the ground, I found myself staring closeup at a pencil shaving. I frowned; the only pencils we kept in the front were mechanical. 

Sitting up, I pinched the tiny shaving from the ground and ran it between my fingers. It was then that I realized my mistake. The scrap wasn’t a pencil shaving, it was one of the shreds of torn paper from the cabinet. 

Natalie yelped as I threw myself back to the ground, eyes close to the floor. A moment passed in silence as I scanned for more shreds of paper. Though Natalie kept quiet, I could feel her piecing together what I’d found. 

She found the next scrap, pointing to it with her foot. As we began to follow a small trail of torn paper, I scurried along at a crawl. Less inclined to make a fool of herself, Natalie chose to walk.

The paper led to the back of the store, into a small hole in the wall that I’d never noticed, half-hidden behind a shelf. I didn’t dare reach into it, but shining the flashlight from my phone revealed only a long tunnel. Something glinted from a distance, but it was too far to make anything out. Whatever was back there was hidden somewhere in the wall of the potion pantry. 

It took a minute to find the key for the pantry, and another several to scan along the wall. But I finally found what I was looking for. Really, I shouldn’t take the credit. Natalie found it, helping me push aside a cabinet to reveal the door to a crawl space I’d never seen before. 

It was easy to overlook, a tiny door tucked away into the back corner of a room I rarely entered. But I immediately recognized with some satisfaction that its lock seemed to match a key on my keyring. The only key I’d never found a use for. It had always been there, since my father had wielded the ring, but I’d never thought to ask him what it was for. 

Now, with certainty, I tugged the key loose and shoved it into the lock.

Sure enough, the key turned, and, with Natalie flashing her phone towards the crawl space, I tugged the door open.

Sitting inside, on a veritable mountain of spare change, was a dragon the size of a coffee mug. 

I froze, not exactly sure how to react. Behind me, Natalie dropped her phone, and the dim lighting in the room was only enough to catch a glimpse of its sleek scales. After a second to recover from the shock, I began to move.

I’ve faced my fair share of house pests, and this was no different. Throwing my arm behind me, I latched onto the handle of a broom that had collected more dust sitting in its corner than it had ever swept in its life. Keeping my eyes trained on the dragon, I brought it forwards and prodded lightly at the small reptile.

The dragon snapped at the broom, as I’d expected. Natalie was apparently less prepared; I could hear the jars clinking lightly as she backed into a cabinet. As the little pest’s jaw clenched down, I carefully lifted it from its hoard. 

“Get me an empty jar,” I whispered over my shoulder.

Natalie fetched one, and hurried out of the room as soon as I’d taken it. The jug was large enough to fit the dragon snugly, but it would hold the thing until I could find a place to let it loose.

Out in the light of the store, I inspected the little pest. He had dark, reddish-brown scales and golden eyes that shone with what I could’ve mistaken for intelligence. As I studied him, he seemed to be sizing me up as well.

Natalie, having overcome her shock and seeing that the dragon was contained, ran over. With wide eyes, she reached out and tapped a finger against the glass. The dragon turned to her, staring up with what I swear was feigned innocence.

“We should keep him!” 

It was just about the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth.

“You want to keep a dragon?” I needed to get my hearing checked. Wasn’t this the woman that had nearly screamed on spotting the little guy only a minute ago?

“He’s adorable!” she insisted, reaching out to take the jar from me. “I’ve never seen a real dragon before. I was always told they don’t exist.”

What else didn’t Typics know existed? Did they think pigeons were fake, too?

“We could keep him in the shop, and he could help guard the door!” Natalie suggested, beaming like she was holding a newborn puppy. She was already tenderly cradling the jar. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Guard us from what?” I demanded. “The only thief I’ve had since I took over this store is him.”

But I knew from Natalie’s enraptured expression that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

I had heard of dragons being domesticated before. They were said to make excellent pets, given proper care. But there was no telling which breed this one was. Knowing my luck, he’d grow into a five-meter beast that’d fill up a whole aisle. 

“I’m calling him Midas,” Natalie announced.

And I knew any arguing was hopeless.

We now had a guard dragon.

[justasparkwritings]

Peace: As My Brothers

Previous: Loves for Show

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, Redemption, Mentions of Past Abuse

Summary: Apologies and forgiveness aren’t for the faint of heart.  

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift 

Peace Master List

           You swung the door open as far as its hinges would allow and screamed “You’re here!” before barreling down the path that led to your two-bedroom home, a small bungalow in West Hollywood. You’d rented it for years, the owners telling you that if they ever decided to sell, you’d be their first pick. You were honored, but a two bedroom wouldn’t fit your future plans.

           As you jumped up and down, you watched Jimin, Taehyung and Ho-Seok climbed out of the chauffeured car. They ran to you, Tae being first to wrap his arms around you. They were beaming. In the year since your first visit to Korea, the four of you had become best friends, facetime calls, game nights, watch parties and heartfelt discussions had transpired. Your life had become consumed by them, and you were grateful. It was easier to miss Jungkook when the other men were constantly seeking you out. You loved them endlessly, and they you.

           “We made it!” Ho-Seok yelled, pulling you from Tae to wrap his arms around you.

           “Your house is so cute!” Jimin said, admiring the mid-century modern exterior.

           “Come in, Jungkook’s making something, unsure what,” You said, guiding them into your home.

           “Wow,” They chorused, taking in your entryway and living room.

           “It’s so cozy!” Jimin declared.

           “No wonder Kook never wants to leave,” Taehyung said.

           “Oh my gosh, look at that picture!” Ho-Seok had spotted the one photo you displayed of you and Jungkook, taken on your first anniversary, six months ago.

           “You guys are so cute,” Jimin said.

           “Hi,” Jungkook called, coming out of the kitchen to hug his bandmates. He’d come to LA two weeks early to spend time with you and discuss what you wanted to do about the hyung line. You’d spent the last year avoiding the dorms in Korea and avoiding the three men who had shattered your heart. Jungkook had forgiven them and had gotten management on your side. They no longer wished you to break up but acknowledged that you were becoming an integral part of Jungkook’s life. If they wanted Jungkook to stay with BTS, they needed to respect your relationship and your boundaries. Big Hit did everything in their power to ensure your privacy and were slowly becoming more open to the idea of you being around long term.

           “Do you want a tour?” You asked, staring at the three men. They nodded eagerly, excited to see your home in person. Numerous Facetime calls had given them glimpses but seeing where you lived in person was thrilling. They could see where Jungkook had carved space for himself, part of a drawer in the bathroom, a few items of clothing in the closet, a handful of books in Korean on your bookshelf. In the kitchen, they were pleasantly surprised to see your pantry stocked with Korean goodies. Your time with Jungkook had opened your palate, and in his absence, you often made recipes that you knew he loved, partially in an attempt to be closer to him, and partially to strengthen your skills to impress his mother. She liked you, but she wasn’t in love with the idea of her son being with a non-Asian, American. You hoped, both in secret and aloud, that making these recipes would win her approval. Your next trip to Korea, to really spend time with the Jeon clan, was at the end of the year… Maybe you’d be better by then.

           “This whole place is amazing,” Jimin commented, taking a seat on the couch.

           “Thank you, I love living here,” You smiled.

           “So, you know they’re on their way, right?” Ho-Seok said, eyes concerned as he glanced between you and Jungkook.

           “Yes,” You said.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           In the past year, you were adamant that you wanted nothing to do with Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon. You didn’t respond to their texts or failed attempts at apologizing. When at their concerts in London, Dubai, and various places in the states, you didn’t speak to them and preferred to watch from a seat in the crowd and not backstage for fear that you would have to interact. Your short trip to Korea was for the purpose of meeting the Jeon family and seeing Jimin, Tae and Ho-Seok, who met you at the hotel for dinner and drinks your last night there. The three days you spent in Korea were at the Jeon house, Jungkook’s family surrounding you. Then, Jungkook whisked you to Beijing and Tokyo and bid you adieu.

           After their fateful conversation a year prior, Jungkook had told the three eldest members that he would speak to them after you had flown home. Before then wasn’t an option, he hadn’t had time to process, he hadn’t the emotion to give. His only focus was you. Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon were hesitant to wait five days to speak with Jungkook but gave him the grace to spend those days with you.

           Jungkook came home from taking you to the airport, tears cascading down his face. Jin had been in the kitchen, and caught his shoulders shaking as he walked through the room.

           “Jungkook,” He said, turning the heat down on the stove and walking over to the maknae. “What happened?”

           “She’s gone,” Jungkook responded, wiping his snot on the back of his shirt.

           “For good?” Jin was immediately panicked.

           “For, a while. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again,” Jungkook looked up at Jin, his eyes saucers. He knew Jungkook was falling in love, but he hadn’t expected him to be this heartbroken at your departure.

           “It’ll be okay,” Jin said, reaching to pull Jungkook into a hug. Namjoon entered and noticed the embrace.

           “JK, you alright?” He asked, moving towards the stove top to peak at what Jin was making.

           “I’ll be fine,” He said, pulling away from Jin.

           “When are you going to talk to us?” Namjoon wondered.

           “Not today. I need to talk to management first,” Jungkook went to the fridge to grab a beer and started heading towards his bedroom.

           “I’m making your favorite,” Jin called.

           “I’m not hungry,” Jungkook said.

           Jin and Namjoon glanced at each other, they knew he was lying. They knew he’d be lying to them until he had sorted out his emotions. Pushing off their conversation was a stalling tactic, and the older men hated to wait to apologize. But it gave Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi more time to sort their own feelings and try to build trust with Jungkook again.

           As the six members sat to dinner, Jungkook’s absence noticeable, Yoongi took a plate to his door and knocked gently.

           “Kookie, you don’t have to talk to me, but here’s dinner. You need to eat, and drink water. Losing all those tears will dehydrate you,” Yoongi placed the plate and bottle of water outside his door and went back to the dining room.

           “Why is he so upset?” Jimin asked.

           “We uh, we had a chat and it didn’t go well,” Namjoon, ever the politician, responded.

           “You made her cry,” Taehyung said.

           “No,” Ho-Seok looked from Jin to Namjoon, “You did?”

           “Management asked us to speak to her and, it didn’t go well,” Jin told them.

           “Of course not! You don’t even know her! You broke her heart!” Taehyung was angry. Both you and Jungkook had texted him, telling him parts of what had happened. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe management had been so blatantly cruel, or that his hyungs, his brothers, had done it. Not to Jungkook, not to you, his new best friend. He hadn’t had the words to tell Ho-Seok or Jimin, and he realized it wasn’t his place. Jungkook needed to tell them. And as you had reached out to Taehyung, asking him to keep an eye on your love, he knew they were in for their biggest fight to date.

           “Taehyung, this isn’t a group conversation,” Yoongi snapped.

           “It is! We talk when we’re upset with each other, we work it out,” Jimin countered.

           “Jungkook isn’t speaking to us,” Yoongi said, resuming his place between Jimin and Ho-Seok.

           “He isn’t?” Ho-Seok asked, trying to piece the puzzle together.

           “No, and I don’t know when he will,” Namjoon said.

           “You really fucked up, didn’t you?” Taehyung snapped.

           “How will we fix this?” Ho-Seok asked.

           “I don’t know,” Jin said.

           “You’re his hyung, can’t you make him talk?” Jimin asked.

           “No,” Jin said, “My charms are no help, we betrayed him.”

           They’d left it like that. The maknae line only understood the depths of the betrayal when they’d gone to practice and seen Jungkook ice them out. He didn’t look at them, he didn’t speak to them. To Taehyung, Jimin and Ho-Seok, Jungkook was his usual self, laughing, bantering through their practice, like nothing had happened.

           After speaking with management, Jungkook had called a house meeting. The seven men sat around their living room, sun setting, and stared at one another.

           “So, we’re here to talk about what happened between myself, Jin and Yoongi, and Jungkook’s girlfriend, Y/N.” Namjoon started.

           “How did it happen?” Jungkook asked.

           “Management scheduled a few meetings with us and told us we needed to speak to you about your relationship,” Yoongi said.

           “Why did you do it?” Jimin asked.

           “We tried to get out of it, we tried to put it back on them… They insisted we do it,” Jin answered.

           “You were so cruel,” Jungkook looked from Namjoon to Yoongi, eyes boring into him. “You were trying to hurt her. She was right. There were a hundred nicer ways you could’ve spoken to her and you chose to be vicious.”

           “I’m sorry,” Yoongi said. “I, I was the worst, I was shooting to kill. I figured it would be easier to rip off the band aid than to dance around it.”

           “The things you said, Yoongi,” Jungkook shook his head. Hearing the words second hand from you was far worse than hearing them from Yoongi. How could you repeat the horrors that he’d said?

           “I’m sorry, Jungkook,”

           “Management gave us that list… We tried, Jungkook, we tried to stop it, we tried to take all the items off the list, we tried to put an end to it,” Namjoon’s eyes were pleading.

           “They didn’t care, they wanted answers, and they thought we could find out.” Jin added.

           “I’ve had words with management. What I can’t wrap my head around is how you thought you could speak to her like that, and then come to me like nothing happened. Or how you thought that speaking to her, in such deplorable ways would ever benefit our relationship, as brothers or members. I have been working so fucking hard to trust you, and now,” Jungkook looked to Namjoon, anger seething from his lips. He dared Joon to answer.

           Instead, the men sat in silence, not having a solution.

           “I do not know if I will ever trust you,” Jungkook said standing. “You need to apologize to Y/N. She’s not coming back, not here, not for a long time. She will not speak to the three of you or have any contact with you from here forward. You destroyed her on such a deep level, and I don’t know if she’ll forgive you.”

           “You guys fucked up,” Taehyung said, “She’s the fucking coolest person.”

           “Did she send you that playlist before she took off?” Jimin asked, looking at Ho-Seok and Taehyung.

           “Oh yeah, I’ll send it to you,” Taehyung reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

           “So, we’re done?” Seokjin asked, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

           “I don’t have anything else to say,” Jungkook responded.

           “You two still haven’t apologized,” Ho-Seok pointed out.

           “I want to speak to Jungkook in private,” Namjoon said, glancing at the maknae. He nodded and guided him to his room.  

           Namjoon looked around, it hadn’t changed in the week since he’d last been in there. Except there was a new piece of art on the wall, a small embroidered hoop with the front of a restaurant, hanging on his wall. Namjoon guessed it was the restaurant where you two had met.

           “What?” Jungkook stood, his posture strong in an attempt to level the playing field.

           “I’m so sorry,” Namjoon broke down, tears streaming down his face. “I know I fucked up, I know that I hurt you and Y/N. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

           Jungkook wasn’t a cold man. He was a little petty but in the year since treatment, he was rarely spiteful. He was angry, disgusted, horrified, but he understood the precarious position management had put Yoongi, Namjoon and Seokjin in. He was sorry they had to do it, and sorry it had caused a rift between you and his hyungs. He was primarily sorry that your already tainted relationship with them was nearing the point of never recovering.

           Jungkook didn’t buckle, he didn’t pull his hyung to him or held him as he cried.

           “I don’t forgive you, Joon.” Jungkook said before leaving Namjoon a weeping mess in his room.

           Seokjin and Jungkook shared a similar conversation, and in their usual fashion, it was over noodles. Jin apologized for his role, saying that he was pressured into doing it, and sorry that Jungkook had to be the first of them to go through this, that it wasn’t fair Namjoon’s significant other didn’t have to undergo this, him being older and the leader. He had operated under stricter measures, but not being the Golden Maknae gave Namjoon a leg up. Regardless, it wasn’t fair, Seokjin was the eldest, it should’ve been him.

           Though Jungkook accepted Yoongi and Seokjin’s apologies, he remained distant, and the three hyungs had to respect his decision. They’d betrayed him again and they’d insulted you. They would give Jungkook all the time he needed to regain any amount of trust in them.

           “What are you going to say to them?” Jimin asked.

           “Well, you’ll be here too so you’ll hear it,” You responded, shrugging.

          You heard a car door close and looked out the window to see Namjoon leading the charge.

           Jungkook turned to you, cupping your cheek and placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. The other men cooed, loving how tender their golden maknae was with you.

           “It’s going to be okay,” He said, holding you close.

           ���I hope so,” You stood as you heard a knock on the door. Taehyung and Jimin raced to it, opening it and loudly yelling, “Welcome to our crib!”

           You laughed as the three men walked into your home, careful to slip their shoes off.

           “Welcome,” You said, staring the three men down.

           “Thank you for having us,” Jin responded. He was excited to speak to you, and to see Jungkook. The times he’d been able to watch his brother with you had been brief, which was hurtful to Jin, but protected you. He’d seen the glimmer in Jungkook’s eye, the blush that was present on his cheeks, the smile that never seemed to fade when you were on his mind. Jin wanted to know what that kind of love felt like, he wanted to watch the man he’d raised shine as a partner. He was tired of being iced out.

           “Why don’t you have a seat?” You suggested, guiding them through the entryway and into the living room. The men took a seat, and soon you all sat staring at one another.

           “Do you want to start?” Jungkook sat with a hand resting on your thigh, slowly moving up and down, trying to give you comfort.

           “Sure,” You looked at him, his gaze giving you a sense of calm as you took a deep breath. “So, Jungkook says that when there’s a problem in BTS, the seven of you sit down and talk it out. That’s what I would like to do today,” You took another breath, deciding you were going to be stoic, honorable, not weak or timid. You would have courage in your convictions, nerves be damned.

          “When Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon sat me down, I had hoped it would be to bond or set up a time to hang out, the four of us. I hoped you’d heard I like rap music or was interested in some of the things you were… I hoped it was to create a semblance of friendship with the three men Jungkook regards so highly. I was already becoming friends with Tae, Hobi and Jimin. I thought maybe you wanted to be friends too, which was contrary to your behavior, and honestly, contrary to the fear I had about engaging with you three,” Your voice cracked, remembering the way they’d iced you out, the ways they’d broken Jungkook. “The moment I arrived, you didn’t speak to me, you didn’t try to get to know me, you were cool, barely cordial… I didn’t know why you disliked me. I didn’t know what I had done or said to make you so…” You shook your head, the tears starting to form. “Then you sat me down and you said those things, those awful, disgusting things, and I never once used what you did to him against you, I never once raised my voice, or spoke of how he was when I met him… all because of you. Instead, I realized that even though Jungkook loved you, you were never going to accept me. Nothing I did was going to help you see me differently, except staying by Jungkook’s side and proving that what I said was true.

          “So that’s what I did, and I had to grapple with the knowledge that even if you did it because of management, and even if it was their words, you still chose to hurt me. For the past year, I’ve been working through what happened, I’ve been trying to understand the precarious situation you were put in, and how Jungkook and I were going to move forward. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve cried, the number of events I haven’t gone to, to support Jungkook, because I would have to interact with the three of you. I can’t tell you the number of texts and calls I’ve received from the maknae, trying to help me reach a place where I can forgive you for what you did to me. I don’t know if what I’ve done this year was the best, I know it hurt you, it hurt Jungkook, but it protected me. It’s taken me a long fucking time to get to this point, with a lot of really bitchy interactions with management, like a lot,” You laughed, Jungkook let out a relieved chuckle. “All this to say that, I accept your apologies, and that I do want to be your friend in some capacity, and I do want to trust you… I don’t know if I can, with everything that’s happened, but I want to try.”

           You looked at Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon, and watched the relief wash over their faces. They’d been starving, and you were offering mana from the heavens.

           “Y/N, we are so sorry, we behaved horribly, we disrespected you and Jungkook. We belittled your relationship, and we lost out on almost two years of friendship with you,” Yoongi said.

           “She’s the fucking best!” Taehyung interjected. “Sorry, but it’s true,”

           “Did you hear the new Kim Petras track?” You asked, turning to look at Ho-Seok.

           “I’m already obsessed,” Jimin added.

           “I’m thinking we need to choreograph something because, obvi,” You said, excitement brimming.

           “I’m sorry,” Yoongi said, pulling your attention back to him, “I was cruel, and I said things to wound you. They were nasty, unthinkable things… I am sorry.”

           “I forgive you Yoongi,” You held his stare.

           “You know, I’ve always wanted a little sister,” Seokjin said.

           “Is that an apology?” You asked.

           “I’m sorry,” Jin said bowing.

           “I forgive you,” You placed a hand on his knee, a soft smile on your lips.

           “I am eternally sorry, for all the pain we, I, caused,” Namjoon said. You could tell he was near tears.

           “I forgive you too, Joon,” You said.

           “All is forgiven,” Jungkook said, squeezing your thigh.

           “On one condition,” You said.

           “Oh no,” Taehyung said.

           “After your show tomorrow, I know you don’t have plans the next day, we play drinking games and get absolutely obliterated,” You said laughing.

           “Fuck yes!” Ho-Seok called.

           “Alcohol brings people together,” Jimin added.

           “And dancing!” Taehyung suggested.

           “Alright, lets rage!” Namjoon said laughing.

           You stood, relieved that after a year, you were finally able to feel like a full part of BTS. You hugged each of them, lingering with Yoongi.

           “He’s going to marry you someday,” Yoongi whispered in your ear. You pulled away, staring at him. “But he wants us to be on good terms… He wants his family to be whole. We’ll be making it up to you for, ever.”

           “You’re his chosen family,” You said, hugging Namjoon who had overheard what Yoongi said.

           “If we’re his chosen family, you’re ours too,” Namjoon held you close. You pulled away, eyes narrow as you looked at him, the uncomfortableness of the situation lingering.

           Relief swept the palpable awkwardness away as you spent the evening learning about the three men, and they you. You gave them the full tour, and they too giggled at the pieces of Jungkook strung throughout the house. They knew he wanted his forever to be intertwined with yours, and as you sat around a table at the restaurant you and Jungkook had met at, the six members of BTS were elated that you finally saw Jungkook’s brothers as your own.

Next: In Secret