#keep it pg keep it pg keep it pg :repeated like a mantra:

[last-answer]

i love this offical artwork

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Is It Casual Now? (Part 1) - Jennifer Jareau

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader overhears a conversation between JJ and Morgan and wonders what she is to JJ.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I’ve been listening to Casual by Chappell Roan too much lately and this is what happens when I do that. This is an AU where JJ and and Will are divorced, no cheating occurs.

TW: established relationship, angst, fem reader, typical cm case description, proposal

Rating: PG

——

“Yeah it’s nothing serious, we’re just keeping things casual.” It slipped so easily off her tongue, like there were never truer words said.

“I think I might be rubbing off on you JJ.” Morgan shot her an approving smirk.

Static filled your ears, completely muffling whatever crossword hint Spencer had been going on about.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, standing from your desk and walking quickly to the bathroom as you fought back tears. You know she wanted to keep things between the two of you quiet but you still couldn’t believe what you had just heard.

The door shut loudly behind you and the dam broke, tears rolling down your red cheeks.

You held your face in your hands for a moment, drawing deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down, but the mix of anger and sadness grew into a pit in your stomach.

After a few minutes you pulled yourself together, wiping your tears before looking in the mirror, bloodshot eyes staring back.

How could she say something like that? You knew when you started this that Jennifer wasn’t the most open to commitment, and you was okay with that in the beginning, but month after month she invited you deeper and deeper into her life. You know things that she’s never told anyone else, she built that trust between you without you asking for it.

You did what you could to touch up your makeup before returning to the bullpen, just as Garcia called the team in to brief you on the new case. You trailed behind the group, nervously straightening your skirt to distract yourself until JJ took her seat. You took one on the opposite side of the table, across from your usual spot next to her. She glanced at you, her puzzled look turning to one of concern when she presumably noticed the redness around your eyes. You broke eye contact, turning to face Penelope as she started introducing the details of the case. Truthfully you hadn’t been able to pay too much attention, you caught something about a double homicide, unsub targeting unmarried couples, staging their bodies as if in an embrace. It all felt a little too on the nose.

“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch repeated his usual mantra, dismissing the group to get ready for our flight.

You walked quickly out of the room, focusing on not tripping in your heels while hoping to avoid having to discuss anything with JJ right now. Her hand met your shoulder and you knew your escape plan had failed.

“What is up with you?” She asked, just above a whisper. You could hear the stress in her voice but you were having a hard time cutting her slack right now.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Y/N, I know you, what’s wrong?” She grew slightly more agitated, eyes scanning yours. She could read you like a book, but you were not going to discuss this here.

“I’ll tell you when we land.” You were short with her, abruptly turning to break from her grasp, leaving to grab your go bag out of your car.

20 minutes later the team boarded the jet, and you took a seat at the table with Emily and Derek.

“Listen sugar, you know I like to see your pretty face anytime I can, but I have to know, what is going on between you and J?” Morgan joked, getting straight to his point.

“Nothing, we’re good.” You tried to lie, but with a team full of profilers, that’s not exactly easy.

“Really? The two of you are usually attached at the hip.” Emily added, her and Morgan exchanging a glance.

“Yeah, I just wanted a change of pace.” You smiled at the two of them reassuringly, pulling out the book you were reading before settling further into my seat and losing yourself in the pages.

When we landed you felt yourself shift into autopilot, going through the motions of setting up at the local precinct and pairing up with Prentiss to interview the witnesses and family members.

When the day was through the team headed to the hotel, Hotch handing out the room assignments. You knew this was coming, JJ and you always roomed together even before you started seeing each other, you were best friends before all of this and it was just routine at this point. You unlocked the door to the room, dropping your bag on the dresser and hurrying to undress and get in the shower as quickly as possible, partially to wash the grime of the day off, and partially to avoid JJ who you knew was only a couple minutes behind you.

As the warm water rushed over your skin you heard the door open and shut, followed by her footsteps nearing the bathroom door. Knock knock.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” Her voice rang from the other side of the door. You ignored her, taking your time scrubbing yourself down before rinsing off and wrapping a towel around your frame. You braced yourself for a moment before finally exiting the bathroom. Your footsteps stopped right outside the door, leaving ample space between the two of you. JJ sat on the edge of her bed, sending a text before tossing the phone onto the nightstand beside her.

“You said you’d tell me what was wrong when we landed, you’ve avoided me the whole day. Please tell me what is going on.” She seemed genuinely concerned, that gloss over her eyes that only appeared when she was on the verge of tears starting to form. Seeing her like that had you choked up before you could even open your mouth. You thought you wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine, but now you were regretting that more than ever. You never wanted to hurt her, even if the uncertainty was killing you.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You blurted out, the words catching in your throat as tears threatened your waterline.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, panic in her voice.

“I know we agreed to keep things casual but I can’t do it anymore, I’m in love with you.” Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek as your hands anxiously gripped at the edge of the towel wrapped around you.

“Babe, where is this coming from?” Your confession caught her off guard but not for the reasons you thought.

“The conversation you had with Derek this morning, you told him what we have was just casual.” You choked out, your body practically vibrating with emotion.

“That’s what this is about? You have to know I wasn’t serious, I was just trying to stop Morgan from prying any further.” She stood, taking quick steps to close the space between you two.

“I didn’t know if you’d want the rest of the team to know about us, I didn’t even know if you’d want there to be an official ‘us’ considering how this started, this is my fault.” Her tone grew more frantic, you rarely saw her this panicked.

“Stop.” Your voice was still shaky but you tried to be as firm as possible to snap her out of it. It worked, her expression going blank as she waited for you to speak.

“I need to know if you’re serious.” You finally calmed yourself, the rational part of your brain taking over.

“I am, I promise. This whole time I thought I’d never be able to commit to one person, but you have changed everything I thought I knew about myself. I love you.” She slowly wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Her tone was soft, almost breathy as she brought her face closer to yours, your lips almost brushing.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest, you’d waited years to hear her say those words whether you were conscious of it or not, and now that it was happening you felt love-drunk.

“Marry Me.” You whispered, almost too afraid to say it.

“You mean it?” She asked, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt.

“Yes.” You were never more sure of anything you’d ever said in your life.

“Of course I will.” Her lips crashed into yours in a blur of passion and pain and years of built up tension finally being released. You could hardly breathe, having to remind yourself to do so in the heat of the moment.

——

Part 2 can be found here

Tag List: @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Jennifer Jareau or general taglist :)

[lost-technology]

Survivor’s Guilt Ch. 1

Trigun fanfiction Trigun Stampede universe (with some Trigun Maximum elements) Rated T / PG-13 for graphic descriptions, canon-typical violence Gen, unless pairings come into it later Multichaptered, unknown stopping point, chapter 1. Main characters: Vash, Luida, Brad, Rem, Nai / Millions Knives and the horrible lingering memory of Tesla. Summary: The stars fell from the sky upon a lonely desert planet. The world was made of blood, sand and broken glass - and later on, gunsmoke. What could have been a paradise had become a violent world, one of hard-bitten, traumatized survivors...Including... the most unexpected. Rem Saverem survives the apocalypse.   Also found here - Chapter 1 on AO3 Chapter 1: Restless Dreams (read below or link above)

Survivor’s Guilt Chapter 1:  Restless Dreams She wore a halo of fire.  The wind of the back-draft rattled the little shuttle as Ship 5 screamed its death-throes.  The noise of breaking machinery, whipping fire and echoing human cries died off to noiseless space for a moment before heat enveloped the shuttle in a stifling cocoon and the turbulence of atmosphere-entry greeted the child and his brother.  Burning flak greeted his vision from the windows and the sunset sky of where they were landing on this planet was blood red.  The landing was none too gentle – a slam and skid into sand.  Nai laughed the entire time.   Half-melted sands and broken glass were all around him when the shuttle’s doors had cooled off enough to unlatch.  The atmosphere was breathable.  Ah, yes…This world was what Rem had called a “Goldilocks Zone” planet after a fairy tale about an obnoxious little girl and some bears she’d told them where the girl stole “just right” things from the bears, because it was in the “just right” zone to favor organic life (at least the only type that people from Earth had ever known of).  It had been deemed as “barely habitable,” however, and only a prospect if the long-range scanner hadn’t picked up a world more favorable that successive decades or centuries of cold-sleep could keep settlers fresh for. Nai had decided that “any planet will do,” he’d supposed. It was not like he had human needs – or Vash’s needs.   He danced and laughed in the flames, among cold-sleep tubes holding subjects mercifully not awake enough to realize they were burning alive. They would die before they felt anything, at least. There were procedures for bringing someone out of cold-sleep. Quick-thaw was catastrophic and killed instantly.   Vash gaped in abject horror as he was certain that he saw a few men twitch in their caskets.  He screamed when he saw a child – a little boy not much younger-looking than him and Nai – thrashing.     ______________ Vash twitched and reached out, his fingers greeted by a thin sheet on a flat bed.  Nai was not there, cuddled against him.  (Vash required food, water and sleep.  Nai required no “input” to remain healthy and rarely slept, but occasionally indulged in it to keep Vash company). “I was dreaming, Rem,” Vash mumbled, but as he blinked his eyes and suddenly became aware of his surroundings, he realized that she was not there, either.   He got his bearings and tried to tell himself that, no, he had not seen anyone twitching or thrashing…when he’d seen… the actual source of his nightmare. The dead had died in silence and stillness. The universe, it seemed, still held small mercies. Vash sat up and repeated what had become his daily mantra, breathing deep.  “I am on Ship 3.  It is in the sand-sea left behind by an ancient ocean on a recently-charted, single-biome desert planet with no name.”  He tried to remember the chart number and the system, but they’d been blown out of his head. There hadn’t been a single day he’d been here that he’d remembered it.  He was pretty sure he’d hit his head upon the impact of his and Nai’s shuttle – either that or the sheer trauma he’d experienced recently kept him from remembering little details.   “The ship’s crew activated their gravity-well before impact and most of the ship was left intact.  Most of the crew and passengers survived.  I was discovered in the desert and brought here.  I am locked in a small cell because I am an independent Plant and they don’t know what to do with me.”   He noted the temperature of the room. “It is stifling in here.  I do not know where Nai is.  I am alone.”   Just as he assessed his situation, the recitation of where he was and what had happened was something he reminded himself of every day to keep himself aware of reality.  It was tempting to think that he was dreaming.  Patched-up wounds from the crash and subsequent wandering in the jagged metal and broken glass of ship-remains as well as the rocks of the desert asserted themselves when he was in a waking state – and so, pain helped, too.  He was often in pain when he was asleep, but nothing was as keen as when he was fully aware and actually put weight on a leg or wandered over to a wall.  He’d started carving markings into it, counting days to keep his reality-record.  He did not know how much longer he’d be doing this.   One of the guards had already slipped a tray of breakfast through his door.  It sat there and got cold.  He was getting skinner and felt fairly weak.  Vash’s stomach asserted its existence, along with his wounds.  It didn’t matter.  He was not going to give them the satisfaction of simply keeping himself sleek for slaughter… This was a dark line of thinking… like that of Nai. There was a small, annoyingly persistent part of him that thought that maybe Nai was right.  Vash expected that Brad or one of the guards was going to drag him out of this cell any day now to pronounce “a needless drain of resources” or “a mercy” or “a need for scientific study” and shoot him in the back of the head with a SEEDS service-revolver.   That… was if he was lucky.  A certain stark image he was desperate to forget kept swirling in his mind.  It was good for putting him off his breakfast.  If he kept on this way, there’d definitely be less of him to flay and study.  Maybe he’d even be well and fully dead.   Vash knew that this thread of thought would have made Rem cry, but she wasn’t here.  She’d been haloed in flames, determined to avert disaster – and she had wanted him and Nai to survive.   “Let’s just do it already!” – Brad’s voice, arguing outside his cell.  “He is a clear and present danger to us all!  He doesn’t even produce anything!  The little brat isn’t even bothering to eat what we feed him…just a waste!” “He is a child, Brad!” – Luida’s voice. “I can’t believe you!  Not only the greatest scientific discovery in our lifetimes – “  (Vash cringed at that), but, “he speaks, he feels!  He is a person!”   “He’s a glorified cow!”  Brad huffed.  “And a defective one, at that!  You know what the old cattle farms would do with bull-calves they couldn’t use…” “Why are you so afraid?”   “You know as well as I do how much potential energy is stored in Plants.  There’s this one just walking around… You see a kid; I see a walking nuclear bomb. Diffuse, dismantle before it causes a problem, is what I say.”   “You looked into his eyes, Brad, same as me. You cannot tell me that you didn’t see a soul there.”   “I’m afraid I didn’t see anything at all - Nothin’ but trouble.  Not that it matters…if somethin’s a danger, I don’t care if it feels and thinks and talks. We’ve got a ship full of people and even more to take care of – actual human beings -our kind.”   Vash tried to go back to bed.  He wound up curled on his cot listening to tangents about rouge AI and the history of slave-revolts and the fear of the oppressed by their oppressors that kept certain bigotries alive for centuries until the remaining people of Earth had no choice but to work together to attempt to become a multi-planet species to scrap for survival.   Luida was pulling for him, but maybe, he thought, she should just let Brad end it already.  Brad was… afraid.  Vash didn’t think his hatred toward him was born from malice so much as it was terror – and Brad was right to be afraid of him.   He had given Nai the ship’s codes that he’d hacked into.  He’d thought it was for a prank – just another one of their ultimately harmless episodes of the ongoing prank war with Rem.  Nai…had used them….he was at fault – and the stars fell from the sky, wormwood…Chernobyl… Hundreds of thousands were dead and the number was rising.   Every day Ship 3’s search parties combed the wreckage of nearby ships and discovered the injured and those dying of exposure, clinging to life.  People were brought in to the hospital here. Lights and sirens sounded at least once a day when a search had returned, it’s human findings trickling in from the carriers. The population of Ship 3 was growing slowly, but not everyone made it.  Most of those coming in died on the operating tables or a few days later in bed – too drained, too wounded.   There were two demolished ships within range of search and rescue.   One of them was Ship 5.   Luida had told Vash yesterday that she was sorry. They had found no sign of Rem either alive, or any part of her body, uniform or other identifiers.  There were records from parts of the ship’s computer that were recovered that testified that Rem had held her post to the end and was, indeed, the one who relayed the signal to alert the other crews on the other ships of impending disaster. She reversed thrust, ensuring that even some of Ship 5 had survived.  The survival of Ship 3 was credited to her as well as well as the fact that ANY of the human-colony-carriers had time to respond and avert worse damage. Luida thought it strange that the glitch that had caused this hadn’t affected Plant-only carriers.   Vash could not tell her the truth, ever. He could stand the fear of him in Brad’s eyes.  He would not be able to withstand the same fear in hers.  After all, Luida’s delicate features, her dark hair (albeit short) and her kind eyes reminded Vash of Rem – enough that he wondered, sometimes, if she might actually be a relative of some fashion, a cousin, perhaps. If so, Luida gave no indication of this. _________________ Night came like a cloak.  Even within the bowels of a spaceship with no window to the world of nature outside, Vash knew the hours.  Everything dimmed beyond his window into the interior of the ship as unnecessary lights and machines were turned off for the sleep-curfew. The only light source in his room went off, plunging the room into near total blackness. A bluish-gray haze shone through the window like the static of a distant television.  It was a cold light that Vash did not like.  It felt like noise, even in the silence.   Only a few of the crew held night-time working hours.  Most of the crew and all of the settler-class had Lights Out strictly at 10 pm.   Of course, Ship 3 operated on Earth-time, just as the ships had in space.  A time-system had not yet been devised to match that of the planet they were on.  From what Vash could hear of discussions beyond his door, this planet was very close to Earth in terms of both rotation and orbit around its binary host-stars in terms of time-cycles.  It was not exact.  There was already some debate as to whether the people should re-work a calendar and their measurement for the length of a day or keep on with “Earth-time” because it was what everyone was accustomed to.   It had been another day of shock, accepting a grim reality, not-eating and overhearing arguments about his personhood, welfare and general existence.  Luida had not even come to talk with him today, as she usually did.  There were days when she was busy or otherwise restricted. Today had been a terrible day.   Vash had gotten settled on his cot and had just begun to fall into drowsiness at around 11 pm.  That’s when the light through his window shone red in alternating flashes and a loud siren blared.  He heard gurneys clattering past in the hallway.   Incoming wounded.  The last set had happened five days ago and none of those brought in had survived.  As time and exposure worsened initial injuries, fewer and fewer survivors were even found by the search parties and of those that came to Ship 3’s hospital, a vanishingly small number continued to survive.   This was on him… all of these slowly-dying. Vash hugged his knees as best as he was able in his tethered shackles and tried to ignore the siren.  It stopped after several minutes.  It was close to midnight before drowsiness began taking him again. Exhaustion took him into a realm without any remembered dreams.   ______________ Someone was shaking his shoulder.  He was being bounced around fairly violently on his bed before he snorted and blinked his eyes open.  The day-lights were up in the ship and Luida was staring down at him. “Huh? What?” Vash mumbled.   “I’m sorry to wake you up so rudely,” she announced.   Brad leaned on the frame of the open door, his arms crossed.  He gave a “Hmmph.”   “Is there something wrong?” Vash asked, seeing how pale Luida’s face was.  Sweat lay in beads on her forehead at her hairline.   “You need to get up and come with me,” she said gently.  “I mean, I’ll let you go to the toilet first, if you need it, or take a drink of water, but this is urgent.  There is someone you should see.”   “Someone..?”  Vash questioned.  A shock ran through his bones.  Had they found Nai?  Was Nai asking about him?  Was he hurt? Was Nai imprisoned like he was? Had Nai killed anyone else? Any of the Ship 3 people?  What were they going to do, knowing there were two of them now?  What would they do knowing that he’d lied about thinking his twin was dead?   He stood up.  “I don’t need anything,” he answered.  Vash was eager and also afraid.  What was he going to say staring into those cold eyes again?   Luida took him by the left wrist, just above the shackle and led him down the wall.  Brad followed closely behind, watching them carefully.  They turned down more hallways, headed toward the hospital wing of the ship.   “ICU?” Vash read on one of the signs as they entered the warren.   “You should brace yourself,” Luida said, her tone soft.  “And keep very quiet no matter what you see.  We have many patients in need of rest.  She needs it, as well.”   “She?”   Luida brought Vash into a room filled with all of the beeping machines, computer-equipment, suspended bags and tubes and medical-Plant connection equipment of a hospital room with patient hovering between life and death.   He felt every organ in him clench and the color and warmth drain from every inch of his skin.   A woman lay in the bed.  Her right arm was bandaged, down to the hand and the individual fingers.  Blooms of red seeped through the dressing.  The right side of her face from her cheek and her eye were bandaged and the hair on that side of her head and been burned off.  What remained on her left side was scraggly and midnight-black. Equipment-lines snaked beneath the sheet covering her up to her mid-chest and, by the shape of its drape, her right leg ended at the knee.  

She was thin – much thinner than when he’d last seen her.  She looked very small, like that day on their ship after he’d gotten her into a medical-bed, himself… after having stabbed her.  Vash’s rage at being denied his momentary suicidal-impulse and his fear of their kind had ultimately been pitiful in terms of not driving the paring-knife hard-in enough to cause immediately fatal damage.  The blade had not hit any major organs, although it had come dangerously close and she had bled a lot.  An interrupted suicide-attempt and utterly borked and half-hearted attempted murder were not what Vash wanted to be thinking about right now, but the came to his mind unbidden.  How could they not when the image he was looking at reminded him of what he’d seen then?

She was worse off now, much, much worse.

“R…Rem?” he said, voice cracking.  He approached the bed, reaching out.  

“Careful!” Luida warned.  

Brad was watching this from a stiff stance in the doorway, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest.  “So, this is that lady from the pictures?”  he asked.  He then spoke low, and cautiously, a sudden reverence seeping in.  “Is she the one who saved all our butts?  Is she…the Hero of SEEDS?”  

“Rem!” Vash cried, tears and globs of snot running freely down his face.  “I’m so sorry!  You’re… you’re alive?  You’re still alive?”  

Vash reached out and brushed her left cheek very lightly.  He took her hand, mindful of the IV in the back of it.  Luida pulled a chair from against the wall and pushed it under him so he could sit down.  Vash curled in on himself, sobbing next to the bed.  

“It would seem so,” Luida confirmed for Brad. “He recognizes her.”  

“She doesn’t look long for this world,” Brad whispered.  In spite of his suspicions about the “Plant-brat,” he hoped that he had not heard him.  Brad still feared Vash, but this was a moment in time in which the young one had shifted from the status of “walking potential nuclear bomb” to “overwhelmed child.”

Perhaps it was the touch on her hand, the gentle and rhythmic rubbing that Vash was doing with his thumb on the back of it, clear of her IV and over her knuckles… Rem’s nose twitched.  Her left eye slivered open as she turned her face. One of the machines registered a sharp BEEP! to her change in status.  

“Vash?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and full of smoke.  

Vash shot upright in his chair. “Rem!  Rem, it’s me!  You’re alive! You… you didn’t die! You’re here!  I thought you were..!  Oh, Rem, I, I, I, I…”  

“Slow…down…” she breathed out.  “Deep breaths…sweetheart…”  

Taking care of him – even in the state she was in.  Vash immediately calmed, to Luida’s wonderment.  He took a deep breath and snucked up some snot.  He carelessly tried to wipe what he couldn’t take care of on a wrist, bringing up his shackle and tether into Rem’s view.

Machines sprung to life in a loud cacophony as Rem suddenly tried to wriggle herself upright in bed.  Vash jumped back in alarm and two nurses and one of the doctors rushed in.  

“Why is he in shackles?” Rem demanded. Her voice was a rasp and she struggled to make it loud enough to be well-heard.  Her un-bandaged eye held fury.  “Get him out of those right now!”  

She shivered and clawed at the edge of her bed as the nurses held her by the shoulders, the equipment screamed and the lines on the monitors jumped.  “You can’t get up right now!” one of the demanded.  

“She’s gonna kill herself!”

“Easy! Easy!”  

Vash backed up into Luida, his eyes “like a deer caught in headlights” (from stories of old Earth and some of its few remaining majestic wild animals, the last time the world was known).  

The doctor quickly unhooked the drip to Rem’s saline-IV and plunged a clear fluid from a syringe into the tube.  She suddenly arched her back and looked skyward, the eyelids of her uncovered eye fluttering.  The nurses guided her gently back into bed. “V…Vaaaaasssshu…” she slurred before the sedation took full-effect and she fell into a nearly instant sleep, her mouth parted, her hair left in a graceless mess.  

Vash felt Luida’s arms around him, gently hugging him from behind.  

Brad and a pair of guards that were waiting outside took Vash back to his cell.  

The door shut loudly.  The sound of the lock was extra metallic, sharp and cold.

[sparklingchim]

long way home 24 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: dilf jungkook, angst, friends to lovers

rating: pg

warnings: sleepy nabi on an adventure w uncle joonie 💅🏼, jaykay going thru the 5 stages of grief, soft nabi x jungkook moments <3

summary: the one where jungkook regrets everything.

a/n: nabi is honestly a mood in this one 🫂

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08| 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |

masterlist | long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jungkook has never felt his mind inundated with so many emotions, feelings and an unbearable tide of conflicting thoughts.

What did he do? Why did he do it? At some point in his life, the truth would have come out anyway, so better now than when it's far too late.

At least that's what Jungkook keeps repeating in his head like a mantra to calm his anxiously beating heart, which was foolish enough to be carried away by the blow-up of emotions that hurled out of Jungkook.

He didn't mean to say it. It slipped out. He had no control over it. Not the slightest. It was as if his body forced him to say it.

But what Jungkook had control over was how he handled the situation after the three unlucky words slipped out.

You didn't believe him. And instead of going along with your assumption, he continued to allow his heart to pour out all the secret truths and details about his love for you that he had holed up in the deepest recesses of himself.

He revealed to you his most vulnerable secrets, which he has been hiding for years. And you didn't even bat an eyelid when you told him to leave.

Jungkook is frustrated. Sad. Angry. Disappointed.

There is only one place he wants to be right now.

Jungkook turns the key in the lock and enters the large room. He switches on the light. It's already shortly after closing time.

It is always an odd sight when the boxing training centre is empty, but at this moment Jungkook has never been happier not to have members of the training centre around him He welcomes the silence and emptiness.

Moments like these are rare. Jungkook's shoulders sag and a long exhale passes his lips. He cherishes the quietude. He tries to relax and sort out the chaos of thoughts in his head, but it doesn't work.

He needs to do something to take his mind off things.

Jungkook snatches a pair of boxing gloves. He skips preparing his hands with handwraps – it's contradicts a bit what he advises and teaches the members of the boxing gym, but Jungkook couldn’t care less about injured knuckles and aching hands. He wants to feel pain. He is bearing too much of it in him already – Jungkook needs to let it out.

Before putting on the gloves, Jungkook pulls his sweater off from his body and tosses it somewhere behind him. Then, with the boxing gloves around his hands, he begins to  pour out all the bitter feelings that scurry around his body like an annoying insect.

The punching bag lurches with every punch that Jungkook strikes at it. The deep frustration fuels his consuming emotions, but the longer he stands there and hits the bag, the easier it is for Jungkook to breathe clear his mind.

Having boxing as an outlet for Jungkook’s feelings has helped him a lot in his life. Whenever he doesn't know what the next step should be, whether he has made the right decision or is unsure about his future – his legs bring him here. Lately not so often and only during his shifts when he works here because he has to take care of Nabi at home. Jungkook owns a punching bag at home, but with a baby who is almost always napping, it's impossible to work out at home.

The anger is pouring out of him like lava. It's the bajillionth time he watches his reflection perform in the mirrored wall and wonders if the man looking back at him will ever be good enough. It's the fear that maybe he never will be.

Jungkook’s hands are in flames. With every punch they ignite further – like a magnet they absorb all the seething glints and hurl them into the world.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about that he has lost you. That he destroyed the last remnants of the friendship that was only hanging by a loose thread between the two of you.

When Jungkook drove to you, he didn't know what to expect. But he didn't imagine that the situation could get any worse than it already was.

He just wanted you back in his life again. Jungkook didn't want to lose you forever.

The last dazzle of hope has thus been extinguished.

Maybe it was Jungkook’s fault – why was he harbouring hope when is love was already, assuredly, doomed for? Why did he try to convince himself that there was faith? He only brought disaster upon himself.

His furious blows slow down, the punches are weak and without any determination. Jungkook lets his head hang, his forehead touches the punching bag and he closes his eyes. He’s tired. Exhausted.

Jungkook feels beads of sweat running down his face and neck. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, but he has completely wore himself out.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook flinches. He turns around with wide eyes.

Namjoon stands there. Nabi pressed against his chest, his arm securely around her, keys dangling in his other hand. A confused expression contorts his features. “What the hell are you doing here?” His eyes wander down to Jungkook’s bare chest.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook retorts. He tears open the velcro of the boxing gloves with his mouth. His knuckles are a bit scuffed and burn but he couldn’t care less. “With my baby?” At the sound of Jungkook’s voice Nabi’s tiny legs start kicking against Namjoon’s tummy and she tries to turn her head around.

“I asked first.” Namjoon gives Nabi a helping hand, so she can look at Jungkook.

Jungkook drops the gloves to the ground. “I’m just letting off steam.” He levels Namjoon with a prompting glance and strides towards Nabi’s grabby hands.

“We’re on a little adventure.” Namjoon laughs uncomfortably as Jungkook takes Nabi in his arms.

“Couldn’t do that before her bedtime?” Jungkook alertly observes Nabi. She’s searching for something to grasp because Jungkook isn’t wearing anything on top. Her little hand settles on his shoulder and closes her fist tightly around his skin.

Nabi is watching him with teary eyes and small sniffles coming from her nose. Jungkook’s eyebrows draw together in pity. “You’re so sleepy, aren’t you?” Jungkook mutters. “Namjoon, why are you dragging my baby around town when she should be sleeping? I told you to take good care of her.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at him.

“In my defence, Nabi was sleeping the entire time till we came here. She only woke up when I carried her up here." He has a nervous glint shimmering in his eyes.

“You just woke up from your sleep?” Jungkook eyes trace down to Nabi again. No wonder she is all sulky. “My poor baby,” Jungkook coos, pushing back Nabi’s soft strands of hair from her face. Her lips are twisted into the tiniest pout. Forcing his attention back to Namjoon, he asks again, “Why are you here?”

“I forgot my phone somewhere here,” Namjoon answers. “At least I hope so.” He takes a swift look around. “I think I left it in the office. Or the changing rooms?” Namjoon walks closer towards Jungkook. “But before I go looking for it,” – he picks up the boxing gloves – “We’re gonna talk about why you have to break into the boxing centre to let off steam.” He points the gloves accusingly in Jungkook's direction.

“I just needed a place where I could get rid of pent-up energy.”

“And you really had to break in here for that?”

“I didn’t break in,” Jungkook grumps. “I have keys.”

“What got you throwing a tantrum like five-year-old?” A subtle smirk curls Namjoon’s lips and Jungkook briefly considers introducing him to his fist.

Jungkook dabs his neck with his hand to get rid of the sweat. He could beat around the bush, lie or not answer at all, but he decides that maybe he could use a friend to talk to right now.

“I confessed to y/n that I love her and she told me to leave”

“You said what?”

“She made me leave right after.”

“You confessed?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s tongue pokes his cheek. “And I regret it.”

“But – but that’s amazing! That you confessed, I mean.” Namjoon’s previous taunting smirk grows to a genuine smile.

Jungkook is stumped. “Are you not listening to me? She kicked me out. Right after my confession.”

“I’m just glad that one of you finally had the guts to say it.”

Jungkook pushes his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Namjoon,” he says. “She doesn’t have feelings for me.” He pauses, cocks his head. “How did you know I loved her?”

Namjoon emits a humorous laugh. “You think I’m blind?” When Jungkook doesn’t reply he adds, “Everyone knows, Jungkook. It’s obvious to everyone but you and y/n.”

While carefully trying to lift his jumper off the floor without disturbing Nabi, Jungkook pauses. “I’ve never told you about my feelings for y/n.”

Namjoon shrugs. “You didn’t have to.” He puts the boxing gloves away and offers his hands to Jungkook. Jungkook slowly transfers Nabi into his arms. She fusses, eyes filling with tears.

“Shh, I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Jungkook soothes her.

Nabi's whimpering abates and she watches him pull his pullover over his head. “It doesn’t matter, Namjoon,” Jungkook takes up the conversation again. “She doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.”

“Tell me what happened. You just told her that you love her?” 

“I visited her. We talked. I apologised. And then…” Jungkook’s teeth play with his lip piercing. “Somehow I let slip that I love her.” He feels his tummy churn with discomfort. Maybe it was a mistake to open up to Namjoon.

“How did the conversation go?”

“Okay? I guess. We kinda argued at the end. And right after I confessed.”

“You confessed while you two were arguing?” Namjoon's mouth parts in disbelief. “How did you think she was going to react?” Namjoon shakes his head. "All those years of friendship with her and you decide that was the right moment to tell her?"

“I didn’t mean to say it,” Jungkook defends himself. “It just happened.”

“Give her some time,” Namjoon says. “It was probably a lot to take for her.”

“Maybe she was confused,” Jungkook agrees. “But it still doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t love me. She could’ve said something, Namjoon. Anything. I was pouring out my feelings in front of her. I’ve never been this honest about my feelings and she just- “ Jungkook closes his eyes. He’s getting angry again. “And she just tells me to leave?” Jungkook walks towards a supply cabinet where they store bottles of water. “Y/n gave up on me, on our friendship a long time ago.”

Namjoon slowly follows him. Nabi feel asleep in the midst of it all and he doesn’t want her to wake up again. "Don’t say that.”

Jungkook pushes the cabinet’s door shut. “She didn’t want to talk for nearly three weeks.” He flicks the lid off the bottle. “She is done with me.” Jungkook tips his head back and chugs the water.

That's what he was afraid of. That you wouldn’t give him another chance. That you listen to his apologies and explanations and still decide that you don’t want him in your life anymore. And that’s exactly what happened.

Jungkook believes that dreams coming true is a hoax created by adults to entertain the children's imagination, because so far Jungkook has experienced nothing but tales of misfortune.

Maybe he was just born unlucky.

“Y/n is better off without me, though,” Jungkook concludes his spiraling thoughts. “I know she is.”

Namjoon stares at him with a deep look. “Jungkook,” he calls. He sounds defeated.

Jungkook doesn’t look at him. “Just this once, I go against what my insecurities are telling me and I fuck up. Again.” A maelstrom of annoyance at naively reckoning his insecurities as trivial stirs up within him. What was he thinking? “And I’m really fucking trying my hardest to please everyone, but so far all I’ve only hurt people, and it’s exhausting to keep everything under control when I have so much going on.” Jungkook rubs his hand over his face. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”

Sometimes, at rare occasions like these, when Jungkook becomes a concept of his emotional situation, he wishes for a moment to feel purely nothing at all – just a split second of serenity, that’s what he wants. Just once he wants to know how it feels not to have to carry a load on his shoulders.

He longs for the inconspicuous, yet fundamental feeling that comes shortly afterwards when you have overcome all obstacles and arrive at your destination. It’s just that Jungkook runs and runs but despite every hurdle he goes through, he doesn’t get there. And he has the fear that he will never get to experience that feeling.

Life falls apart and you try to get a grip on it, but then you realise you have nothing to hold it together.

“I know that you’re trying your best. I’m proud of you for facing what you’re going through.”

Jungkook raises his eyes at Namjoon’s words. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” He closes the bottle cap with a drained sigh.

“You did everything you could do,” Namjoon answers. “I think you need to give yourself a break. A lot has happened lately and I think it would be best for you to take things a little easier. Things that are meant to happen, will happen. Don't stress yourself over these things." He pats Jungkook’s shoulder. “You can call anytime. I’ll babysit Nabi if you want.” Namjoon eyes are downcast as a smile naturally spreads across his face at the sight of Nabi sleeping peacefully within his hold. “Or we’ll reschedule your shifts, whatever you need.”

Jungkook nods absentmindedly. “Thanks, Namjoon.”

“Daaa,” Nabi whines in a squeak.

Namjoon winces a little at the unexpected loud noise coming from the tiny girl in his embrace.

Jungkook arms intuitively reach for Nabi. Her tiny hand makes a fist around the fabric of Jungkook’s pullover.

“Shh, I’m right here, baby,” he coos, gently rocking her in his arms. With her big eyes she’s staring up at him, a few displeased gurgles bubbling from her. “I know you’re tired.” Jungkook gingerly swipes the pad of his thumb over Nabi’s soft cheek. “Namjoon uncle must’ve forgotten that your bedtime started 2 hours ago.” Jungkook shoots a scowl his way. The soft smile on Namjoon's face as he watched Jungkook being so gentle with Nabi fades.

Namjoon grimaces apologetically. “I’ll quickly search my phone and then we can leave, yeah?” He dashes down the corridor and disappears into another room.

Jungkook looks down at Nabi in his grasp. Her eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep, but her lower lip is still quivering in grumpiness. “It’s okay little butterfly. We’ll be home soon.”

He walks around and rocks Nabi to get her to sleep again.

Jungkook and Nabi are on their own again.

Maybe they are meant to be like this – at least that’s how it all began.

When Sora announced that she was leaving again, Jungkook react much. He wasn’t surprised. It made him realise, that in the back of his mind he always had a suspicion that she might leave Nabi. He ignored it, after all she was the one who wanted to try again. And Jungkook wanted to believe that she came back with good intentions, that she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. For Nabi’s sake. But he was proved wrong.

The past days had been difficult. He had to come accustomed to being alone with Nabi again. Sora hadn't been with them for a long time, but having someone to rely on as a constant in life was a great help, and now that she's gone, it has shaken Jungkook’s routine up.

But he’ll make this work. He’ll figure it out. Somehow. Jungkook always finds a way.

He would do anything to give his baby a happy life. No doubt.

Jungkook bends down and tenderly pecks Nabi’s forehead.

“You’ll never leave me, right?”

[fanfic-cave]

The Reveal Pt. 1

Rating: SFW/PG-13

Word Count: 1.3k

Pairing: Hunter x Fem Jedi!OC

Warnings: Swearing (im too lazy to write the star wars swear words so its our kind of swears), trauma/fear situation, suspense build up, hints to romance

Summary: You've exposed yourself as a Jedi to the Bad Batch, and not intentionally. You're trying to avoid them on the Havoc Marauder, worried that they may be out for your blood, the same way the clones were when they executed the Jedi.

Authors note: I'd recommend reading a few other fics I posted that kinda help lay the ground work for this story/the OC. Ill link them below. This is kinda dramatic, but I had to write it out. Ill post part 2 pretty quickly itll be linked below as well. I have more fluff stuff coming I promiseeee

Migraine

Injured Pt. 1, Pt 2.

Part 2 of The Reveal here

@mangoberry99

The environment on the Havoc Marauder had been tense the whole ride. You had decided to try and avoid everyone as much as possible, and you’ve been on the far side of the ship in the small medical supply closet since the journey began.

Shit.

You had slipped up. You prayed to the force that they didn’t notice, but who were you kidding. Hunter had enhanced sense, Tech was enough of a genius to put two and two together. They saw you make a 40ft jump.

You and the ship were under heavy fire. They were trying to bring the ship closer, but they weren’t making progress quickly enough. You had to jump, or take blaster shots to the face. Now you exposed yourself by making an impossible jump.

Maybe they’ve never seen a Jedi before…

You shook your head. Idiot. Of course they’ve seen Jedi, they were in the Grand Army of the Republic, the same army that had thousands of Jedi as commanders and generals.

You used to be a part of that same army. You fought the war.

And you ran away before it was even over. The battle on Umbara… you shivered from the thought of it. That was your last fight.

That’s when I stopped being a Jedi.

You dispelled the thought, just for another unpleasant one to come. What if they know I am- or was, a Jedi? What if they try to kill me like the other clones did to the Jedi? You squeezed your eyes tight. Their faces flashed through your mind. Memories too- challenging wrecker to a drinking contest, teaching Tech the proper pronunciations in Togruti, spending time with Echo in the cockpit on a night of shared insomnia, cutting Crosshairs toothpick while still in his mouth on a day where he was giving you too much sass, and Hunter.

Hunter. You sucked in a deep breath, a swell of emotions filling in your chest. You always wondered about him. His relationship with you was different from everyone else. You could call the boys your friend, but you weren't sure if friend was the right word for him. You noticed how he would keep his eyes on you, how he kept close to you when things got dangerous. You remembered moments when you tended to each other's wounds, or walked past each other on the ship. The longing glances, lingering touches. You could almost feel the electricity you had felt just from being beside him, for some reason craving to reach out to him. You trusted him, you had vulnerable moments with him.

And now he might try to kill me. And I might kill him.

The galaxy really knew how to be cruel, and it looked like you were being given the cruelest fate it could think of.

The door opened and you saw a small figure slip in. Omega. You sighed. She liked you, maybe too much, now that the shit was about to hit the fan. Or you would run and hide as soon as you could, and never see them again.

“Sera! I was looking for you!” She smiled and turned on the lights. She seemed happy to have found you.

“Hey kid.” You looked down at her, and you couldn’t help smiling. Omega was your first friend after a long time of solitude. She wandered over to your home a lot, which led to your eventual friendship with the bad batch.

“Do you mind if I sit in here with you? Or maybe you can come out with me?”

You felt your stomach sink. You weren’t going to enjoy letting her down.

“Omega… maybe it’s best you go stay near the boys. They’re probably wondering where you are right now.”

“I don’t think so, they know I’m on the ship.” She brushed off your concerns quickly. “Tell me about one of the planets you’ve visited! Or-”

“Omega, Sera, we’re about to land, strap in.” You heard Hunters voice down the hall. You felt knots twist in your stomach. You used the force to sense your lightsaber. Still hidden in your bag, a secret pocket you made to effectively hide it. You didn’t make any movements.

“Sera? You coming?”

You looked to see Omega waiting expectantly, concern showing on her face. “Sera…” an expression you couldn’t quite understand crossed her face as she stared at you. Was it worry? Understanding? “You’re safe here.” She reached out to touch your arm. “I promise, you’re safe.” She squeezed your arm and smiled.

If only you knew.

You won’t kill them. You’ll do whatever you can to disarm, and run. You decided this with confidence now. You couldn’t hurt Omega like that, kill the only family she knows. And if it comes down to it… you’ll take the knife in the back, the blaster shot, the beating, whatever happens.

“Thanks Omega.” You smiled, but it was fake, and you were sure it probably looked wrong. “You head up now. I’ll be fine back here.”

She looked unsure and you nodded your head, urging her on. She exited and you released a breath you held. You closed the door and shut off the light.

You heard footsteps, your name being called, but you stayed hidden. Eventually you felt the ship jolt around a bit, and you could tell you’d just exited hyper space and were flying through the atmosphere. Another couple minutes later, a soft thud confirming that you’d landed. You felt adrenaline start pulsing through your body, your fingertips felt like they were being zapped with electricity.

Here we go.

You slipped your mask on, a memento of the clone wars you fought in. You used to always wear it, that was until you befriended the misfit clones. You felt protected when you wore it though, and you needed as much protection as you could get right now.

You shook your head a few times. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe they don’t know. You kept repeating it in your head. Almost like a mantra. You grabbed your bag and exited the room.

“Sera! There you are!” Wreckers loud voice boomed down the hall. You flinched a little. He didn’t charge at you. He smiled his big goofy grin, swaggering down the hall. He didn’t look like he was going to pummel you. You waited expectantly. “Here I am…” you forced a laugh.

“Where were you?” Hunter spoke and emerged from behind Wrecker. His eyes tried to meet yours, but you avoided direct contact. You didn’t walk up to approach either of them. You watched Hunter now. He didn’t look like he wanted to hurt you either.

This could be a trick. The clones killed the Jedi by tricking them, it had to be the only way. You stayed on guard. You answered Hunter, “Just around. Felt like being alone.”

“Okay then...” His eyebrows knit together, and his arms folded across his chest. You couldn’t tell if he believed you. Hunter was always difficult to read. The boys knew you coveted alone time, so you thought your excuse was believable. Technically it was partially true.

“Well I’m here, we’re back, and we can get off the ship now, right Tech? Echo?” You hollered down the hall. Hunter had an eyebrow raised, analyzing your behavior. You tried to ignore him.

“Yes, we’re opening the doors now.” You heard Tech reply. Right on queue, the ship's exit ramp opened.

You rushed out quickly, managing to get past Wrecker. You breathed the fresh air in. Almost out of this. Then it’s time to disappear. You still had your old Jedi cruiser hidden. Now it was time to put it to use, hopefully you didn’t get gunned down by an Imperial ship.

“Sera, wait up!” You heard Wrecker barrel down. You held your breath, hairs standing up. “How did you make that jump earlier? It was so far!” His hands made a motion to exaggerate it. “Did something explode??” He said excitedly. You didn’t think about how that logic made no sense. You only stood frozen.

“Explosives couldn’t have done that Wrecker.” Tech chimed in. “And isn’t it obvious?” He was standing at the exit door of the Havoc, looking at his data pad. “Sera is a Jedi.”

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter seven: mornings are for coffee and sexual tension

part eight of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / six / masterlist

synopsis: the morning after.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: the briefest and vaguest implications of sex (about as pg as it gets honestly), mutual pining (they’re oblivious idiots what do you expect from them at this point?), not beta’d

author’s note: i’ve not been in a good headspace lately and deleted my twitter app the other day to try and clear my head (✨a great move for someone who’s being crushed under crippling loneliness✨) so i feel like this really isn’t my best work, by a long shot, but writing this was the only thing that seemed to cheer me up, so we’re rolling with it! enough about me here’s the good stuff!

Some mornings beat her down. She’ll wake with a terrible wait on her chest and her head in a haze, and the day will stretch on in slow motion. Sadness and pain and upset stretching the hours for miles and miles. Those days, she hates to leave her bed. Her body feels too heavy to move from the mattress. But those days come far less frequent than they used to; every couple of months, when the rain lashes heavy against the window panes and the fog rolls over the river. Melancholia lingers like the smell after it rains and hoodies keep her together and the gazes away.

Others are rosy, honeysuckle sweet and tipped in golden sunshine. She’ll wake to the familiar smell of roses and fresh cotton, of cinnamon and citrus and the candles she’d burned the night before. She’s weightless as she rises, breezy dresses and peach lipgloss, and it’s like a never-ending summer, even when the weather turns frigid and she’s freezing in dresses made for the heat. Those mornings are mornings made for Marcus and syrupy sweet coffee in tiny coffee shops.

But some mornings exist alone; those mornings when anticipating hangs in the air, when change still has yet to set in. Mornings she doesn’t know how to feel when she wakes surrounded by her duvet. Mornings that can become the best or the worst of her life.

Mornings with Marcus over coffee in the sunshine are usually the best.

They’re filled with familiar laughter.

Coraline wakes to the sun streaming into her bedroom, bright, golden and insistent. The curtains are cracked open a little - disturbed and out-of-line, no longer drawn together like they had been when she’d fallen asleep - and the gap lets the warm morning sunlight in. A chill pulls through her; even as she tugs her duvet up underneath her chin for a moment. It’s thicker than it normally is, the weather proving to be much harsher than she’d ever anticipated it could be as Spring edges closer, and it’s even worse when she feels the bed beside her empty and cold. Coraline stretches an arm out over the sparse half of the bed, the sheets there cool, neat and frustratingly unoccupied.

Her heart sinks a little at the realisation. 

Even if she isn’t entirely sure what she would have done if she’d woken up with Marcus by her side.

Marcus is a morning person, only allowing himself to sleep in on weekends . But Coraline is usually always the first one of them awake; the one who wakes him up with a text or coffee at his front door. He normally claims her to be ridiculously - and, she’s sure, annoyingly - springly in the early mornings, no matter what time she wakes, no matter how many hours of sleep she’s managed. It takes a while, and far too many cups of coffee, and she usually crashes in the late evening when things catch up on her with ferocity. She knows, this morning, Marcus has done the gentlemanly thing and left her to sleep in those precious few hours, before she has to wake up and head to the heavy load of interviews she has peppered throughout the day. But she really wishes he’d woken her, even just to say goodbye, before he’d left for work. 

Coraline knows he’d never intended on staying the night. It wasn’t that kind of arrangement, they both knew that, but it had just happened. And, honestly, neither of them had been entirely made about it, either. He'd made a joke about how her bed was so much comfier than his and she’d giggled and yawned and tucked herself into the warmth of his side, without a second thought. Neither of them had complained about the closeness. Her eyes had grown heavy with sleep and her words quiet, and Marcus had traced patterns into her lower back until she’d fallen asleep a few moments later. 

She digs a knuckled into her eyes to rub away the sleep that weighs down her eyelids and groans as she stretches out her aching limbs. Everything aches - even places she didn’t know could ache - especially her back as she lifts her head to glance over at the alarm clock. She’s utterly exhausted, the late night catching up with her, but she’s too worried she’s overslept to even think about going back to sleep. 8:04 blinks back at her in glaring white fluorescent.

Blinking up at the ceiling, laying flat on her aching back, blinking away the weariness that clouds her eyes, Coraline finally finds it within herself to climb out of bed. Some mornings, she can rarely leave the comfort of her blankets. The weight of something always seems to press down on her; sometimes, she doesn’t even know what that weight is. This morning is one of them. She groans when she stands and her feet touch the wooden floor. She stretches her limbs out, every joint in her body seeming to crack as she moves, and yawns so wide that she’s glad no one is around to see it. She’s sure she looks ridiculous on a morning - with wild hair and watery eyes and bright flushed cheeks - but, now, with no one around to see, she doesn’t care.

Coraline slips her glasses onto the bridge of her nose and shuffles her way out of the bedroom. Her father’s old Eagles shirt - the one she’d stolen from his drawers when she’d left for LA; the one that reminded her of her childhood and smelt so reminiscent of him - brushes the middle of her thighs as she moves. It was the first thing she’d grabbed the night before, still balled up at the foot of her bed. 

She’s greeted by a sight she hadn’t expected to see when she steps into the kitchen.

The low, slow bubble of the coffee machine, followed by the rich smell of coffee beans. Marcus Pike stands, leant against the counter without a care in the world, with two mugs perched in front of him; one is Cora’s favourite — her Death Cab For Cutie mug — and the other is the old one with the chip in the rim Marcus had accidentally made when he visited her apartment the first time. She’d meant to throw it out, but it reminded her of him, and she’d always reach for her mug whenever he made coffee at hers. 

She wishes she’d made an effort to make herself look presentable for him; he’s never seen her look so rough, and she hopes to god that her early morning appearance doesn’t scare him away. But it’s like she’s stepped into an entirely new world where it’s only the two of them left; no one else matters because they don’t exist. Coraline and Marcus are the only two people left in this world.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he calls cheerily at the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut behind her. 

He doesn’t turn, just continues pushing the buttons on the coffee machine as he places her mug beneath, but she can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. She’s struck by how relaxed he looks. The whole sight seems familiar, somehow; he’s relaxed against the counter, his suit jacket and tie slung over the back of one of her chairs, and he’s humming some indiscernible tune quietly as she steps through the space.

“Good morning.” Coraline returns his greeting and leans her elbows against the island behind him. She watches him with a fond smile on her face. She can’t help it. Everything just seems gentle and wonderful, and she wouldn’t be against this becoming a weekly sight. But it wouldn’t - it couldn’t - and maybe that was for the best.

She’s staring.

She can’t help it. Her heart aches along with the rest of her body; she can feel it skipping in that awkward rhythm, fluttering like butterflies trapped between her ribs, along to the tune of the song he’s singing. A little out of tune but endearing, nonetheless. It’s a little embarrassing that she’s feeling this way over a friendship, of all things, and she knows better than to kindle that little fire within her that she knows will reach out and swallow her whole. She’s been burned by it in the past - so has he, more than she, unjustly and unfairly, and in ways no one should ever have to be burned - and maybe it’s better that they keep their distance from feelings that aren’t entirely platonic.

“I was going to wake you before I left,” Marcus calls back to her before he turns and offers her out the mug of coffee. “Didn’t seem right to leave without saying goodbye.” He leans back against the counter and he’s looking at her like he always does, like a best friend does, with a small smile and sparkling eyes and a friendly fondness that makes her feel appreciated each day. She’s glad last night hasn’t changed anything; if he’d been looking at her any differently, she thinks it might have broken her.

She’d expected things to be awkward and heavy. She’d fallen asleep hoping they wouldn’t, that things would be as normal as they are now, a repeated mantra in her head to remind herself that things don’t have to bear a terrible weight, but she’d expected inescapable tension in the air between them when they saw each other for the first time after what they’d done the night before. The terrible consequence of their agreement and how it would fall flat instantly when the realisation of their terrible idea sets in. Instead, the only thing that hangs between them is that easy informality that comes so easy to them, that her brother had joked about the night before. Maybe what they were doing was a terrible, ill-conceived idea - an idea that anyone else would think was utterly insane - but she’s glad it hasn’t tarnished the friendship that she holds so dear and is too scared to lose. Because he’s here, a gentle look on his face, making her coffee in her favourite mug. She doesn’t think she could ever get tired of seeing that damn smile. The smile that makes her feel so appreciated, so grounded, it’s so familiar and welcome and if she ever goes too long without seeing it she’s sure she would feel cold and brutally alone. He makes her feel at ease and, even despite her wild hair and sleep-kissed cheeks and the shirt that’s too baggy and slides off her shoulder, she doesn’t feel like so much of a mess. She’s forgotten the chill that had swept through her when her feet touched the freezing floorboards. 

She’s staring at him again, staring like she’s trying to figure him out, a puzzle to her eyes, staring at the fond smile on his face that tugs gentle at his lips, and blinking back at him without a reply.

But his smile only grows at the sight of it.

“You didn’t have to make me coffee,” Coraline insists after a moment, placing the mug onto the kitchen island and letting her chin drop into her hands where they’re propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to the side when he grins and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m serious, you’re my guest. I should be the one making you coffee.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m a great friend.”

Friend. He really is a great friend. 

Her best friend, the one person she really would dare to tell all her secrets to. 

They’ve become so used to joking with each other, the lighthearted jabs and sarcastic comments, that it comes as second nature. But she still can’t help but roll her eyes as she chuckles and takes another sip of her coffee; it’s sweet and just how she likes it. She knows that an inevitable sugar crash will come in the late afternoon but it seems worth it. 

Coraline runs her thumb around the rim of her mug idly, a distraction, she supposes. Manicured nails tinker against the cheap but long-loved ceramic. She’s half-sure Marcus is going to mention something about the night before — about what they did or what it meant to the feelings between them, or even when they were going to do … it again — but he never does. He just makes idle conversation from opposite her, too far away for her to touch but close enough for her to smell the lingering remnants of his cologne from the night before. It clings to the fabric of his shirt, to the curve of his neck. She’d recognise that smell a while away; sweet and strong and comforting, just like him. 

“I should be heading back to my apartment,” Marcus announces suddenly. He places his empty mug into the sink and reaches for his jacket and tie.

Coraline can’t help but frown. “You’re not staying for breakfast?” She doesn’t know why she asks; not long ago, she’d accepted the fact that he’d left for work without waking her, now she wanted him to stay longer.

She thinks Marcus sighs, but it’s too quiet to hear, if he does. “As much as I would love that.” His eyes are soft - that surely unintentional puppy-dog look of apology that melts her heart and softens her soul - when he turns back to her, looping his tie around his neck. “I think people might notice if I show up in the same clothes as yesterday.” His shirt and jacket are wrinkled from where they lay on her bedroom floor all night. There’s an especially deep crease, stark grey against the crisp white fabric, that runs from the collar to the waistband of his pants. 

Coraline sets her mug down and rounds the island towards Marcus. She smooths her hands down the creases in his shirt, trying to brush the wrinkles from his usually-pristine cotton before she bats his hands away from his tie. She can feel his gaze burning into the top of her head as she fiddles with the silken material, out-of-practice hands working the material like she does this everyday. She loves the simple domesticity of it all. It gives them both a moment to breathe.

“Cora-” His voice hangs low in his throat. “-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Marcus exhales deeply out of his nose and runs his hands up her arms. “You don’t have to,” he hums. “I can do it myself.”

“What can I say?” She smooths down the back of his collar and the knot of his tie. She tilts her head to look up at him. “I’m a great friend.”

She thinks for a moment he’s going to kiss her. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes; it’s intense and searching, and his brows are furrowed yet he’s smiling still. He holds her gaze for so long that she’s almost sure of it. That he’s going to kiss her despite their agreement that they’re just friends, nothing more and nothing less, and it’s still going to mean nothing because of the night before. Because they’re just friends and they know that. 

But Coraline wouldn’t mind if he did kiss her.

“So handsome.” She smiles, after a moment of soft silence, patting his shoulders once she finishes knotting up his tie. So damn handsome it’s painful. The smile is sweet and saccharine, welcoming yet still dismissive of any romantic intentions. She really wouldn’t mind if he kissed her, but he can’t. She really wouldn’t mind if this was a daily thing, if every morning she could wake up to him and his gentle smiles, but she can’t. Coraline wonders if the timing was different - if they’d met some other time, some other place, before their heartbreaks or when the reluctance of moving on had waned - would it be more than a friendship? Cora knows that friendships like this are hard to find amongst the fickle fire of Hollywood relationships, and she’d be damned if she ever let him slip between her fingers.

She hears Marcus hum low in his throat when she turns to drop her empty mug into the sink. The water runs and the heater hums, and Coraline pays no mind to the way his gaze lingers.

Marcus watches her; even in her early morning muddle - shirt far too baggy, slipping from her shoulders, drowning her slightness in it’s black, worn material; hair a near-tangled beautiful mess, twisted against the nape of her neck and mussed up on the side where she’d curled up against his chest; rosy red cheeks, pink-flushed like the sky during the sunset; the smile on her lips, soft and lazy with sleep - he still think she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He’d let himself drown in her beauty if he could, if there weren’t a life-preserver of past holding him above the calming waves. His brain placates his desire in the form of a platonic friendship and he keeps her close enough to quell the unintentional desire. Marcus rushed in headfirst and headstrong; somehow, this ill-thought out arrangement makes more sense than figuring what exactly it is that lingers between them.

They assume it’s friendship. That makes the most sense.

But he’ll remember this when it’s over - when the sleepless nights and exhausted days come and there’s this small, delicate thing that relies on them both just to get by - because how could he ever forget. He’ll remember her kitchen in the soft morning sunlight as the sun continues to rise and spills through the window, mellow unlike he’d ever seen it before, and he’ll remember the feel of her warmth at her side as she sleeps. Every fleeting moment he spends with her - between work and happenstance and everything that keeps them mindlessly busy for weeks on end - feels like a lifetime of teenage summers when friendship and sunshine are the only things that matter. 

“Thank you,” he hums again. He pulls on his shirt jacket; it’s wrinkled, like his shirt, from a night spent crumpled on the floor. He’s glad his apartment is within walking distance and he doesn’t have to take the Metro looking as disheveled as he does. Anyone awake enough would realise why he looks the way he does.

When she turns back to him, she’s smiling wider than before. The coffee has cut through the sleepy haze she’s worn since she’d woken and the Coraline he’s used to - the Coraline with the sunshine smile, golden and bright, and the enthusiasm that sparkles in her eyes - is back. Though he realises he’s just as fond as both versions of her: the drowsy woman in the morning light, blissful and comfortable when pulled from her dreams and the one who’s bright and vibrant and whose smile lights up his entire day. 

Marcus mirrors her smile and leans over towards her. He kisses the corner of her mouth; so close, yet so far away. Her eyebrows pinch together at the feeling, the gentle brush of his plush lips over her skin, barely an inch touching the curve of her lips, but settle before he pulls back and notices the pull on her expression. “See you around, Sunshine.” He bids her farewell before he sweeps from her apartment and she’s left to sigh and slump back against the kitchen counter.

Damn that man and the effect he has on her.

taglist: @wheresthewater @ah-callie @its--fandom--darling

[argylemnwrites]

Romantic Dreams Must Die

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Book 1, chapter 18)

Word Count: ~2100

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: “So close to reaching that famous happy end. Almost believing this one’s not pretend.” ~So Close; written by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz

Author’s Note: Written for the @choicesmonthlychallenge for August 5 - let go. Set during the dance between MC and either Hana, Maxwell, or Drake at the Coronation Ball. Inspired by the song “So Close” performed by Jon McLaughlin in the movie “Enchanted.”

Drake didn’t dance. Not since Savannah’s first few balls at least, when she’d begged him to not let her look like a loser by not having a partner. Back then, he’d grudgingly stumbled through a couple of dances with her leading him around, sure of all the steps while he tried not to let her down by tripping over his own feet. He hadn’t danced in over a decade, since they were both teenagers.

Hell, it had been years since anyone had really tried to get him to dance. Every so often, a crown chaser would approach him at the bar and fish for an invite, but most of them had done their research by this point and focused on trying to chat him up over a drink. It had certainly been a long time since Liam had attempted introducing him to daughters of diplomats or industry leaders at a ball or gala, and even Maxwell had stopped trying to force him onto the dance floor a few years back.

But here he was, dancing with Riley Liu. He’d dressed up in a frickin suit for her already tonight, so really this was just the next natural step in his journey into self-delusion. It was still unnerving. She shouldn’t have this sort of effect on him. For many reasons. Yet here he was, shuffling along as he tried not to make an even bigger fool of himself. He just couldn’t say no to her.

The trouble was, he realized, that she made it too easy to forget why she was here. When she sat on the floor, legs twisted like a pretzel in a pair of skin-tight jeans, an eyebrow raised in a silent challenge as he attempted to figure out whether to match her ante or fold during a late-night poker game, she didn’t seem like a future queen. When she swiped his flask and took a swig, giving him a middle finger as he protested, she also seemed like a total outsider at court. And now, with her body pressed gently against his, the scent of her peach perfume or lotion or whatever she used all he could smell, she didn’t seem like she was in love with Liam.

If only he could stay in a little bubble with just her, no one else, he could almost imagine a life with her. Where she was his, where he was… happy. But that wasn’t how the world worked. There was Liam and other nobles and a kingdom. And then there was him. And unlike him, she could fit in with all those other people. She had very nearly found a steady place among them already, and when Liam proposed to her tonight, her acceptance would be complete. No matter how much she insisted that wasn’t the case.

Her words were going to haunt him for the coming weeks. I promise, I’m still the same Riley. She made it so easy to believe that it was true. That she would still be a vision of snark and sarcasm who gave zero fucks. Hell, she probably thought that was the case. But Drake knew this place well enough to realize that he would have to be a damn fool to believe that was possible. Because when Liam got down on one knee, she was going to say yes. It would be nothing short of a foolish fantasy to imagine any other response.

Within months, she would be Queen of Cordonia. The wife of his best friend, living a fairy tale come to life. And he wasn’t going to have any part in it. Not in any way that mattered. Sure, he’d see her around. But she wasn’t going to find him in the lounge for drinks and poker. She wasn’t going to hold his hand as he told her about how much he missed Savannah. She certainly wasn’t going to hold him or kiss him again. And it was selfish for him to want to cling to those moments in between when she would be getting so much more. When he knew Liam and her could have a lifetime of happiness together.

Tonight was the end of any semblance of closeness between them, all of which was likely just a side effect of her initial confusion and irritation with the other members of court and her need to talk to the only other person around who understood her anger and frustration anyway. But he worried it would be the end of so many other things - her humor, her temper, her aggressively competitive spirit. Slowly but surely, all those things, everything that made her so fucking fantastic, would get shoved away, able to be a part of her less and less often. Diplomacy and negotiations, not sarcasm and fire, would be all she was allowed. And it would change her, maybe slowly at first. But years from now, she would look back and wonder how she had ever dropped an f-bomb in public, marvel at the fact that she ever told Olivia to shut her damn mouth.

It was just the way things would be, the inevitable future. And he needed to remember that. Not get swept up in this moment, not let himself believe things could ever work out. But he wasn’t ready to let go of Riley. This Riley, the way she was right now. So he held her as he tried to keep up with the steps of the waltz. Just for a moment letting himself feel like maybe, just maybe, this time, it would be different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Drake didn’t dance. She’d learned this fact very early on. At first, she thought he was just being a fucking dick when he refused to teach her the Cordonian Waltz, but it became rapidly clear that Drake, in all his years hanging around the palace, had never picked up any ballroom dancing. And as the months ticked by, as she actually got to know him, befriended him, and felt drawn to him over and over again, she wondered how she had ever suspected that Drake would have been able to teach her any formal dancing. He wore denim to formal galas and events, for fuck’s sake. He might as well have tattooed “I hate all this shit” across his forehead - the message would have been the same.

But tonight… tonight he wore a suit. She didn’t know what it meant. He’d made it sound like Liam had basically demanded his presence, so she wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to dress up when he clearly didn’t actually want to be here. It was throwing her and everything she thought she knew. The fact that he looked damn handsome in his suit wasn’t helping matters either.

She knew her feelings for Drake were a problem. She finally had a chance at happiness with a prince who seemed straight out of a fairy tale, and she had to go and complicate everything by liking his best friend way too much, and in ways she definitely shouldn’t. The first time in years she’d let herself embrace anything more than something physical with a guy, and she found herself in some mad love triangle between best friends. 

Except for it wasn’t a love triangle. It was one guy who was the clear and obvious choice and one who had heartbreak and emotional unavailability written all over him. Being with Liam should make everyone happy, including her with her cargo load of baggage and abandonment issues. Being with Drake would probably cost her Maxwell’s friendship, Liam’s kindness, and her own sanity as Drake undoubtedly continued to run hot and cold with her. This shouldn’t even be a fucking choice.

This had to be her mantra. She needed to repeat it over and over to herself, somehow make herself believe it. She’d thought she was almost there, almost on board with a future with Liam, but then Drake wore a suit and told her he liked her just as she always had been. And it was making her question her decision all over again.

It felt like something out of a fairy tale or rom com, that one person who saw you exactly as you were, saw all your flaws, and who didn’t want to change a damn thing. And when he’d been trying to tell her something, she felt her hopes soaring all over again. When Hana and Maxwell had joined them, and the fragile moment crumbled to pieces in front of her, she was yanked back to reality yet again. But something about tonight felt different, something about Drake felt different tonight. Wanting to chase it, bring back that feeling of potential, that maybe all those nights filled with jokes and cards and whiskey actually had been building to something, she’d done the first thing she could think of to get him to herself again - she asked him to dance.

To her surprise, he’d taken her offered hand right away and only put up a token resistance before letting her tug him onto the dance floor without any grumbling or complaining. It was enough to send her heart soaring to foolish places. Sure, he was unsure and uncomfortable waltzing, but dancing with him at least felt natural. With everyone else, she always had to pretend to be more polite, more poised, more controlled. She would take her toes getting stepped on over having to put on her customer service personality every single time.

Sometimes, it felt like if she could get Drake alone, really and truly alone, without reminders of the court and the palace and Liam around every corner, that maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t shove her away anytime they got closer. It could be sarcasm and comfort and flirting all the time. But there was no way to erase everything, to feel like it was just the two of them with no one else that mattered.

Hell, he’d just reminded her tonight that fairy tales were best left for children. She knew she was being stupid here, setting herself up for devastation. She should be putting some distance between them and focusing on building a deeper connection with Liam. Indulging in fantasies when it came to Drake was only going to make it harder for her to feel something more than a crush with Liam.

She knew she needed to give that relationship a real chance, but it was hard to let go. How was she supposed to give up the one person here who she didn’t ever have to pretend around? How was it fair that when she finally found someone who could swap stories about neglectful mothers, it was with a guy she was attracted to that she shouldn’t be? It almost felt like a giant middle finger from the universe, to tease her with something that felt so right but that would end up being a mistake in the long run.

Maybe if Drake had really been the asshole he’d started off as, maybe then she would be happier. Because then she wouldn’t have to face the feeling that she was losing something special, this man that seemed to just get her, who she just got in return. She would just be blissfully ignorant, letting things with Liam, someone who was far too gentle and adoring for her judgemental, brash, broken self, progress without her mind and heart wandering to someone else far too often.

But that wasn’t the reality here, and she needed to accept that. It was time to move on from the potential of Drake she’d constructed in her mind. It was just hard to do that when his arm was wrapped around her, his hand resting on her back, holding her close. So for one song, she decided to indulge in the fantasy, that there was a man who wanted her, warts and all. One that really saw her and still somehow decided to stick around. She couldn’t keep pretending forever, but for just this moment, she let herself imagine a different future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The music changed. The moment was over. It was time to face the harsh truth. So Drake took a slow step back. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t ready for this all to end. Liam was going to propose to her. She wasn’t his. It was time to let her go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He slowly pulled away from her almost as soon as the song ended. The spell of the moment was broken. Riley didn’t know if she was ready for the rest of the night, but she didn’t have much of a choice, so she dropped his hand, plastering on a smile as he awkwardly thanked her for the dance before she threw a quip back about making a gentleman out of him. It was time to let him go.

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @no-one-u-know @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99​

[def-initely-soul]

Burn The Witch {3}

pairing:  yoongi x reader (f.)

genre: supernatural; angst; mystery; magical society AU; magicals!AU

rating: PG-15

warnings: violence; emotional abuse; blood; bullying; mentions of murder; mature language; panic attack

words: 6k

summary:

↠ {a boy who keeps running away, a girl who can’t seem to no matter how much she tries and a series of murders caught all in between of the cracks spread through what appears as a quiet little town…} ↞

or alternatively, not everything is always what it seems

previous part: {2}

.

.

You swear everyone stops breathing as soon as the word “fire” leaves Baekhyun’s lips. 

There’s a collective stillness spreading through the crevices of the otherwise lively pub as every single pair of eyes is on you. Judging, assuming, glaring with something a little more intense than malice.

You fidget in your spot, unable to leave, hands sweating, eyes unsure of where to land because everywhere you look there’s a glance filled with loathing meant for you.

And for some reason, you’re stuck. Your legs are immobile, glued to the floor as if their stares are clawing at your feet, swallowing you further into the wooden boards, holding you in place as if you deserve all this unwarranted attention.

As if you deserve to be stared at like a murderer.

Alistair, your familiar, stirs in the corner of your mind, sensing the fresh wave of fear and despair running through you, and even in your panic, you can still feel his concern.

“Wait, who are the Kims, again?” a deep voice cuts through the overwhelming tension and when you search for the owner of said voice, you find that boy, Yoongi, looking at Baekhyun, hands crossed over his chest as he waits for the demon boy’s answer.

His eyes are the only pair that isn’t piercing holes through you and for a really long second, you’re terrified everyone is gonna ignore him to instead lynch at you like you’re a biblical figure.

But then, everyone slowly follows his example. You feel their stares abandoning you, lifting a heavy weight out of your shoulders as they all try to fill the new boy in.

And when you feel like you can breathe again, you turn around, away from the commotion to get a chance to collect yourself.

.

.

Once you reach the break room, you head straight to the toilet, grabbing a bottle of water and locking the door behind you as if someone is after you.

No, not now, you think, slowly feeling your mind descending into chaos, while Alistair tries to talk you through it.

It’s okay, I’m here, just listen to my voice.

Your breaths are coming out sharp, a sudden wave of nausea hitting you even though your stomach is almost empty. You rest your hands against the locked door and your back hunches as you try to control your breathing.

It’s okay, it’s fine. You’re fine. They can’t hurt you. You did nothing wrong.

Tears begin gathering in the corner of your eyes as you repeat the same mantra in your head but they don't spill. They stay there, clouding your vision, making your perception of reality even hazier as Alistair still tries to calm you down. You almost choke by how fast you’re trying to breathe, while your arms and legs are trembling and your fingers grasp at the door so tightly, you’re sure your nails are gonna leave an imprint.

Y/N, listen to me. Just focus on your hands, okay? Can you do that?

Your whole body trembles as you try to listen to Alistair’s suggestion, one he used one too many times to help you through this.

Your focus slowly shifts to your fingertips as you begin clenching them one by one and counting.

One finger.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

A hum of approval coming from Alistair echoes in your mind as the sounds from outside almost fade away. Your breaths finally start to even out, longer, deeper as more oxygen fills your lungs and the chaos slowly disappears.

You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not your fault.

One finger.

Two. 

Three.

Four.

Five.

And with one last deep breath, the tears dissipate, the trembling subsides and you’re only left with ten imprints in the shape of your nails on the worn-out wooden door.

You stare at them for a moment, wiping away any tears left on your eyes and then you fix your clothes.

Alistair takes this opportunity to speak up again.

Do you want me to stay? I’m sure it’ll be fine by Mona if you stay for another few minutes.

You shake your head in your confusion, not realising Alistair can’t actually see you. No, I’ll be fine Ali. Thank you.

You sense he’s not exactly convinced but nonetheless, he respects your wishes and his presence in your mind fades away.

You take a large inhale of air before opening the bottle of water and taking a sip to wash down the remnants of your panic. Before walking out of the bathroom.

.

.

The door closes softly behind you as you re-enter the empty break room, putting your bottle aside and fixing your apron.

And that is the moment a pair of your coworkers decide to come in.

It’s Bobby, a werewolf one year younger than you and Lisa, the only human who wasn’t weirded out enough to reject a job at “Selkie’s Place”.

You catch glimpses of their conversation before they realize you’re there and promptly rush to shut up.

Your shoulders tense as they look at you like they’ve been caught at the act but you refuse to look away from them. After all, stubbornness is one of your greatest characteristics.

Their previous words echo in your head, like a death sentence

{“... but you know it’s kinda impossible for her to be in two places at the same time, right?”

“I’m just saying! The Kims were killed in a fire. The first accident was also a fire incident. I just connected the dots!”}

When their eyes don't move away from you, unsure of what to say or do, you cross your arms across your chest defensively. That speck of pity in their eyes only manages to enrage you. You don’t need their pity. Pity is a useless emotion that helps no one because most of the time whoever feels pity chooses to do nothing about it. It’s not like their pity will comfort you or help you in any way. It only makes them feel good about themselves. Feeling pity for the most hated person in town gives them a sense of superiority and you’d rather shit all over that than pretend you’re grateful for it.

“What?” you spit out sharply, venom dripping from your tongue as you try to hide the fact you almost had a panic attack just a minute ago with an aggressive facade.

Their stares instantly move away, Bobby running his fingers through his hair as a sigh escapes him and Lisa rolls her eyes as she whispers a now-guiltless “nothing”. Huh, isn’t it ironic how, once you stood up for yourself their pity just vanished? As if you don’t deserve any sympathy once you choose to not let them affect you.

After all, you’re the witch.

You let your hands hang to your sides, glare still as strong as ever before moving past them to re-enter the pub.

.

.

Your steps have a newly-found vigour as you march over to the public area. Thunder booms outside the pub, but you pay it no mind as if it’s not even there as the rage and feeling of injustice grow inside you.

Amidst your fit of anger, you take a sharp turn to enter the crowd area, only to bump into someone who was clearly heading towards the toilets.

You crush into them with a grunt, barely managing to not stumble down to the floor before anger flashes through your mind once more.

“Can’t you see where you’re going?!” you bark at them, eyes wide with irritation, only for them to widen even more once you realize who you’ve bumped into.

Kittenish eyes look back at you stunned into silence at your sudden outburst and you’re equally as stunned at yourself for yelling at the one normal person towards you. Fucking magnificent.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell…” you sigh exasperatedly at yourself before you give him what tries to come across as an apologetic smile.

The vampire boy visibly relaxes before his lips stretch out in a soft smile as he shakes his head.

“It’s fine. Could happen to anyone…” you’ve heard him talk before but still the depth of his voice takes you by surprise. You catch yourself gawking at him once more before realizing what you’re doing and quickly look away.

Great, not only did you yell at him but also proceeded to make a complete fool of yourself by staring at him as if he’s some kind of dessert. You just hope he didn't notice.

“Right…” you nod, somewhat unsure of what to do now and the boy, Yoongi you recall, simply smiles at you.

“So, uhm… bye,” you respond awkwardly, desperate to escape from what seems like an uneasy situation, no matter how cute the vampire boy seems to be, but then his voice re-emerges.

“So… tough crowd, huh?”

What?

His words seem weird and almost nervous as if he’s not sure he should have said them. You turn around to look at him with one cocked eyebrow ever-present as you regard him with perplexion.

“...I’m sorry?”

Yoongi chuckles, somewhat stiffly before his eyes fall to the floor. “Ugh… I meant them…” he says, absentmindedly pointing towards the crowd area, “With the Kims and everything… Really tough to please’ em right?”

Your confusion only grows, as you stare at him, unsure of how to reply. “... I guess…?”

Yoongi’s eyes suddenly glint in realization and he exhales with a small, self-aware chuckle. “Ah, sorry, I’m being weird, aren’t I?” he exclaims, rubbing the back of his neck with an adorable half-smile as he steals a glance at you. “I just thought, well…” he stops, taking a breath, “This must have been real shitty for you, so I guess I wanted to check if you’re okay…?” he reveals, not really sure if it’s something he should’ve said to a complete stranger.

That feeling amplifies when he sees the look of utter puzzlement on your face. The boy’s smile falters for a few seconds and he’s left looking at you as if waiting to be scolded.

It makes you stifle a giggle.

The boy is left staring at you wide-eyed as if standing in front of a wild animal and waiting for the moment it attacks.

“So let me get this straight…” you begin, curiosity overwhelming you over this boy’s intentions, “you don’t even know my name and yet you still wanted to check on me?” you cross your hands over your chest as Yoongi visibly fidgets under your interrogative stare.

“Y/N, table number seven asked for the check!” Mona yells from the front and you instinctively yell “Got it!” before realizing that now the boy looks at you with a victorious smile. 

It’s like his demeanour suddenly changes. Gone is the shy, awkward boy of a few seconds ago. Instead in his place lies a man, confident, with cockiness in his steps and self-assurance in his eyes, that has your confidence wavering.

“I do now,” he claims with a cocky glint in his eyes and that smirk on his lips growing.

You stare for a second before you remember your predicament and proceed to roll your eyes to hide any sign of weakness. 

“I’m Yoongi by the way,” the man introduces himself and before you can think better, you respond with “I know.”

And his smirk only grows.

You internally curse yourself and your tendency to talk before thinking. “I mean everyone talks about you…” you try to salvage whatever you can.

But he takes a step closer instead, eyes narrowing with a curious glint. “Do you?”

You bite your lip, resisting the small smile that tries to make its way onto your lips.

“No…” you reply after a second of recollection, knowing full well that that’s because the only person who you talk to is Namjoon, and he doesn’t really care about stuff like that.

That, for some reason, seems to take Yoongi by surprise.

As if he was waiting for you to actually want to meet him, like everyone else at uni seemed to want.

You roll your eyes at how obviously his fifteen minutes have fed into his ego before moving around him, to finally go and do your job.

Although Yoongi’s voice halts your step.

“Actually, I wanted to help you.”

Once more, you’re caught off guard. You don’t know what it is that has you on your toes every time he talks to you; is it what he says or is his mere presence enough to make you hyper-aware of everything you say and do?

It feels unprecedented. You don’t like it.

Or the way he keeps thinking you need help.

And you realise he’s the only person to actually treat you nice because he’s got himself caught up in some kind of hero complex to prove his worth.

“Help me?”

“Yeah, I mean everyone already has kinda decided what the truth about you should be and I gotta admit I don't agree. So I want to help you prove them wrong,” he announces, entirely too sure in himself and quite nonchalant, as if he’s already certain you’ll drop at his feet for his immeasurable kindness.

It infuriates you, tongue poking at your cheek in anger.

“What makes you think I need your help?” you snap back, voice sharp and colourless as you cross your arms on your chest once more.

When will people stop thinking you need anyone’s help or pity? You’ve done fine without them for a little more over a decade, there’s no need for them now.

The boy’s eyes widen once he realises his mistakes and he rushes to make amends. “Ah, no, I didn’t mean-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” you interrupt him, not in the fucking mood to put up with anyone’s shit. “You think just because you just arrived here and everyone treats you like a fucking celebrity or something, that I’d be oh so grateful for your noble assistance and actually fall to your feet in gratitude! Well, I got some news for you, it ain’t gonna be like that. I don’t need a saviour, so thanks, but no thanks,” you finally say, already mentally done with the conversation but it seems the boy across from you thinks otherwise.

He huffs in tiredness before, “I didn’t mean it like that I swear! I just know you’re innocent and I want to help you!”

His reasoning leaves you unimpressed. “How?”

Yoongi looks at you confused. “How what?”

“How do you know I’m innocent? You’ve been in this town for what? Two days? And you already have an opinion about me without even knowing me. For all you know, I could actually be the killer and I just never got caught. Even better, I might be crazy or worse cursed and your involvement with me might actually pass the curse to you as well,” you retaliate, getting more irritated each second passes and he’s still here.

He chuckles at that, shaking his head lightly. “You’re not cursed.”

At that, you scoff. “How could you know? Have you actually ever seen a cursed person?” you doubt he has, curses tend to be very rare and only a handful of witches have seen cursed people, never mind other magicals.

But his eyes are fiery and serious when he responds with a steady “Yes.”

This takes you by surprise. You stare at him in shock for a second before, “Oh.”

That couldn’t have been a pleasant experience.

You swallow your words and the sudden wave of guilt washing through you as you carefully choose your next words.

You berated him for not knowing anything about you but the truth is you don’t know anything about him either. You should’ve known better than jumping to conclusions.

“Why do you wanna help me anyway? You don’t know me so you don’t owe me anything and you won’t gain anything from this either. For what is worth, it might actually ruin your reputation and you might end up like me,” you try to persuade him with a strong voice but Yoongi doesn’t deter.

“I don’t mind my reputation being tarnished… I’ve had worse…” he says with a small smile and for once you wonder if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

“Plus,” he rushes to redirect the conversation, “I saw your little interaction with Jimin earlier. Returning his jacket? That boy is seriously terrified of you!” he comments and you fidget in your spot as you recall the earlier scene, “I mean you scare the shit out of him for some reason-”

“I think I get the gist,” you interrupt him, as you feel worse about the reminder.

Yoongi quickly realises his mistake and rushes to fix it. “What I meant was… No one would have bothered to be kind to him with that kind of attitude towards them.”

An uneasiness takes over you at his words, suddenly feeling as if you’re under the microscope. “Well, it’s not like he bullies me or something-”

“My point is,” he interrupts you, “You’re a good person. And you don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

His words manage to erase your previous anger at the boy and instead they send a wave of overwhelming emotion through your bones. There are only two other people who ever said that to you and one of them is currently behind the counter, counting today’s profit. You don’t really get to hear them out loud that often, and you have trouble believing them most of the time.

Hearing these words coming from someone that’s not Mona nor Namjoon take you completely by surprise. He doesn’t even know you and yet there was such certainty in his voice as if anything else would be preposterous to believe.

That says a lot about him when almost everyone else has a completely different opinion.

Maybe it just says that he’s an idiot.

“You know…” you finally respond, carefully choosing your words, now that you know you were quick to judge him at first. “...uhm, thanks. I guess…” you reply self-consciously, rubbing your neck shamefully, already regretting yelling at him. “...But I’m gonna be okay without your help.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath but he doesn’t respond as you keep talking.

“I mean, yeah, everyone already suspects it was me ‘cause I’m the town’s resident serial killer but there’s no actual evidence it was me so… What can they do?” you shrug, “Make my life a living hell? Already going through that and I’m still alive so…” you admit with a nervous chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. Then you liven up, fixing your apron once more and turning around towards the crowd area.

Before you halt and turn to Yoongi again. “So, yeah, thank you but I can manage…” you finally say with a smile, the first you’ve shown him before going back to your tables.

Yoongi’s eyes are indecipherable as he watches you with a tilt of his head and a thoughtful bite of his lip.

.

.

It’s been a week since Yoongi offered to help you and already you’re reconsidering your answer.

You don’t know how on earth it is actually possible but things are even worse now. What used to be a couple of incidents spread throughout the course of a week, now became more than a couple spread throughout the course of a day. Or as Namjoon skillfully observed: “you got a little day in your bullying.”

Honestly, if it weren’t for him you wouldn’t even step foot in school anymore.

He tried to cheer you up so many times, more than you can count, making jokes, sharing any latest gossip that preferably didn’t involve you, or being his usual funny and clumsy self. And it really helped.

But there’s only so much a person can do when the rest of the town treats you as if you’re a murderer.

Even Jimin’s harmless fear has changed. He doesn’t avoid your gaze anymore as he used to do, due to the uneasiness covering him around you. No, now that fear has subsided, giving its place to plain judgement as you catch him staring at you with a critical gaze as if being able to throw daggers at you just with his eyes.

Honestly, it’s getting tiring, annoying and difficult as time passes by. But still, you try to not let it get to you. You’re certain it’ll pass, just like everything else till now. When they’ll find the real killer it’ll be over and you can go by to your normal life.

This too will pass.

And you still catch Yoongi looking at you.

He doesn’t approach you though. You suppose it’s because he doesn’t want to pressure you into anything, not after you almost bit his head off when he first offered his help.

You can’t quite figure him out. Why would he want to help someone he’s never met, someone who has the whole world against them? It is very… altruistic of him and you haven’t met a lot of people like him. It makes you think maybe there’s a catch. Something you overlooked, something that would finally reveal that no one ever acts just from the goodness of their heart, not even him. And honestly, such revelation would make you feel… relieved.

You’re not used to strangers helping you. It’s unsettling and you admit you’d feel more comfortable with someone helping you because they want something from you than helping you simply for the sake of it. Everyone always hides something, always wants something, there’s no such thing as a selfless good deed. That’s why you find yourself feeling uncomfortable with the notion of help from someone with seemingly no ulterior motive.

It’s an unusual feeling, not knowing if you can trust Yoongi but already feeling like you do.

Which shouldn’t happen, even if he means well.

It’s times like this when things look a little brighter when you have to remind yourself of the reality you’re currently in.

This is a small, closed in town. Things don’t change. Not for him and certainly not for you.

So what, they’ll hate you a little more for the next couple of weeks but it will blow off. It’s not worth the risk of trusting him or of him getting involved and possibly ending up like you.

You’re bad news, everyone knows that. It doesn’t matter if you did it or not. All that matters is that you’re the one left behind to bear the weight of everything.

He’s better off.

That’s what you repeat to yourself over and over as you walk through the cafeteria and Yoongi waves at you for the first time. So you choose to ignore him.

It’s better this way.

You pay no mind to the feeling of his eyes following you as you sit on your designated seat, placing your tray down gently and fishing out your phone. Pretending something very interesting caught your attention from the screen.

“Still alive I see?”

The sound of the familiar voice makes you lift your eyes from the screen only to watch Namjoon sit across from you with a friendly smile.

You poke your tongue at him. “Well, yeah, no one tried lynching me yet so I count that as a win!” you joke back and Namjoon chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Go, Y/N.”

“Thank you very much,” you say, raising your cup of coffee towards him as if making a toast.

With one last giggle from Namjoon, he goes quiet and you find him looking a tad bit more serious than before.

“Seriously, though, this shit must be nerve-wracking. I don’t get how you’re so calm…” he mumbles softly before unwrapping his homemade special: a sandwich made from elven bread that supposedly keeps you full for one whole day.

You’re sure you’ve watched him at some point practically inhale four in the span of one hour.

You simply shrug as you rest your chin on your palm and turn to look outside the window where the small patter of the rain calms you down.

Namjoon regards you with a careful gaze. “You know you can talk to me right?” he relays gently, eyes softly looking at you with concern and you find yourself smiling at him.

“Thank you, joonie, but I’m okay. Really,” you reply calmly to appease him, not really in the mood to tell him the actual truth.

When being calm is the only way to stay sane, you don’t really have much of a choice.

Namjoon seems to pick on the dishonesty in your words but he doesn’t push you. Instead, he hums as he proceeds to munch on his lunch before you redirect the conversation elsewhere. You ask him about his day and the cute guy he had a date with last Sunday.

It’s easier like this, to pretend everything’s normal, just having lunch with your friend instead of remembering how the whole world hates you.

And then is when shit hits the fan once more.

It’s chaos when news of the second murder reach the school.

This time it’s a shapeshifter girl, Wheein, delivering the news. Another fae family, one of the most prestigious ones too, has been murdered in their own home.

Wheein’s friend, Hwasa, a vampire girl asks “Was there a fire?” and your mind immediately goes blank as you feel hundreds of gazes on you.

You stare at your meal, acting like you’re not listening as Namjoon casts you a cautious glance. You’re too afraid, too anxious to listen to the answer.

Wheein speaks up again. “No, no, there wasn’t any fire…” and you feel like you can breathe again.

“But there were traces of magic found…”

Oh no. Please don’t say what I think you’ll say.

Magic in the world of Magicals can be sorted into three types: Practical Magic, the one manifesting through spells, commonly used by Vampires, Werewolves and Shapeshifters, Natural Magic, the one manifesting through inherent powers, found in Fae, Merfolk, Elves and Demonae, and The Third type of magic which combines both Practical and Natural magic, only found in Sirens (also known as Lyreic Magic) and Witches.

“Casting Magic.”

Also known as Casting Magic.

Again you don’t have to look to know that everyone is staring at you.

Your throat constricts awfully, a terrible taste of bile accompanying the nausea in your stomach and you quickly pick up your bag and rise up before anyone gets the chance to tear through you.

You know it looks bad, you know it makes you look guilty but if you don’t get out of this place right now, you swear you’re gonna barf.

“Y/N…” Namjoon whispers only for you to hear, concern swimming in his eyes as he begins standing up as well.

But you raise a hand, signalling him to stop. You can’t find your voice to tell him not to follow you but you know he understands by the way you avoid looking at him. 

Then you almost bolt out of the cafeteria, not fast enough to block the names thrown at you as you retreat away from the chaos.

.

.

Your body shakes slightly from your crying as you curl into yourself on the floor of the old Casting 101 classroom. The room has been unused after the incident when all kinds of practical magic became somewhat of a taboo. While the class itself didn’t get cancelled, not a lot of people enrolled in it after the events so inevitably the course got shut down.

So now you find yourself crying along beneath the windows, just barely concealing yourself from the outside world. Traces of tears mark your cheeks as you try to stop yourself from crying with not much success.

You don’t understand. How were there traces of casting magic when you’re the only witch in town? Did a stranger just pop by, decided to kill a bunch of people and then fled the town? Actually, that might be worse. A guaranteed way to incriminate you without even trying. Hell, how are you gonna get out of this?! There’s no way to tell if it was or wasn’t you. Sure, you have an alibi for both nights, but in this town, no one goes by alibis anymore. If they want you to be the culprit then you are. There’s no other way.

Or maybe, just maybe, you’re going insane. Maybe somehow you’ve managed to manifest your powers in a way you can’t begin to understand and began killing people like you’re that guy from Split. Maybe trying to keep control of your emotions for so long resulted in the exact opposite and now you’re doing things you can’t even remember.

Or maybe you’re cursed. Cursed to affect anyone close to you and cursed to take the blame for everything that goes wrong in this town for the rest of your life.

You try to wipe your tears away when you see some movement with the corner of your eyes. You freeze, hand still resting on your cheek to wipe the excess liquid, as you stare at the space across from you where you swear you saw something move.

But there’s nothing there. Just the wooden door closed shut.

You let out a huff, trying to sniffle back your tears. Maybe you are going insane.

But then you see it again.

It’s so subtle, you could have missed it, but the slight change in the air, as if it vibrates has your eyes widen and the hair on the back of your neck rises. And then the movement gets more definition in what seems to be an almost transparent shapeless form that quickly disappears

Was that-?

And then you hear the echoing sound of steps out in the hallway. A chill runs down your spine in the silent classroom as you stare at the door wide-eyed when the last steps sound from right outside. You take a shaky breath, ready for the worst and the door slowly creaks open.

Only for surprise to take over you when you see Yoongi peeking inside carefully. You stare at him for a moment, too shocked before hastily wiping your eyes.

You sniff before your coarse voice makes your throat itch. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi stares at you with an intense gaze as he pierces his lips as if he’s trying to keep his mouth closed. He takes a breath but he says nothing.

Instead, he takes a step forward, and another, and another until he’s crouching down next to you to rest his back on the wall beneath the window.

He stares forward instead of you and for some weird reason, you can't keep your curious eyes away from him.

Then he takes another breath.

“I’d figured you’d need some company…” is the only thing he says.

You blink, feeling your cheeks go red before you look forward and scoff. “You’ve thought wrong.”

Yoongi bends one knee towards his chest as his joined hands land on top of it as if he hasn’t heard a word you said. “We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

You fume, groaning as you feel the strain in your voice, cringing by how awful it must sound.

“Why are you here Yoongi?”

He still doesn’t look at you, “I already told you-” he begins, so nonchalantly but his kind calmness infuriates you even more and you don’t know what else to do but yell.

“No! Why are you here?! Why are you so hellbent in helping me?! Why do you just have to be around and make sure I’m okay?! I don’t need it, I don’t want it!” you protest, indignant with everything; with his constant need to act as your personal bodyguard, with his calm demeanour that manages to enrage you instead of soothe you, with this fucking despair that overwhelms you because you can’t tell if you did something wrong or not anymore, because you now come to realise that that’s how the rest of your life is gonna be! “Don’t you get it?! I’m everything they say I am! Violent, bitter, broken! I don’t deserve your sympathy, because no matter what I do I’ll always be the cursed witch that harmed so many people! I don’t deserve your kindness nor your help because it probably was my fault either way. So just leave me alone, just like everyone else does!”

Your chest heaves with laboured breaths, eyes watery but no tear escapes as you stare at Yoongi with mad eyes.

That’s right. I’m as bad as they say I am. Run off while you still can.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he abandons his previous position to turn towards you. And there’s a fire in his eyes, a sense of determination you haven’t seen in the short time you know him, one that makes you anxious for what’s about to come.

“Was it you though?”

His question takes you by surprise and you blink at him at a loss of words. “W-What? I just told you it was my fault!” you snap back, defensiveness spilling all over your voice but Yoongi doesn’t deter.

“And I’m asking again, was it actually you who killed those people?” he repeats again, his voice steadier, eyes ablaze as he waits for an answer.

You’re still left unable to form a coherent sentence with the way his eyes burn into you, but you still try. “I… I thought I wasn’t but maybe I’m just going crazy and don’t remember it so-”

“Stop,” his booming voice cuts you off and you have no choice but to comply. “You’re not…” he stops himself, struggling to shimmer down his anger before he goes on. “You’re not crazy, Y/N. It’s just this hellhole of a town that has you convinced you are because they can’t do better than that,” he says sternly, eyes focused on your own as if he’s talking to a child. Trying with all his might to have you see what he sees instead. “They choose to blame an innocent kid for everything instead of actually putting any effort in finding the real culprit. And that’s not your fault,” he says, with a calmer voice this time around as his eyes turn gentle, “It’s theirs and you have no obligation towards them to make them feel okay with all of this. It’s not your fault…” he repeats once more and you feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs.

You can’t believe he’s real. You can’t believe that even after you yelled at him two times now, he chose to stay, he chose to help you even if he has nothing to gain from this. You can’t believe he’s so certain of good in you without even knowing you and yet your eyes water again.

He’s the first person to ever hear about you doubting yourself and the first person to tell you it’s not true. That you're not crazy. That it’s not your fault.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but you don’t know how to answer him. Instead, you just stare back, eyes connected as if there’s nothing else outside this classroom, just the two of you. Just you and him, trying his best to comfort you in whichever way he can.

When the silence gets too overbearing, Yoongi coughs awkwardly as if only now remembering his surroundings and he resumes his previous position with his back on the wall. “Just because people have you convinced you’re nothing but a burden, doesn't mean you are,” he repeats, with almost a whisper as his eyes rest on the ceiling and you feel your heart beat a little lighter.

A shaky exhale leaves your lips as you play with the hem of your shirt.

“And I want to help you because I’m tired of watching people using a scapegoat for every little thing that goes wrong,” he reveals and you watch with mild interest as his knuckles turn white.

You take another deep breath but bracing yourself for what you’re about to say.

“So will you?”

Yoongi’s soft gaze returns to you. “Will I what?”

You take another breath, steadying your voice as you level your gaze at him. 

“Help me?”

His eyes lighten and a small smile takes over his lips.

next part: {4}

[justasparkwritings]

River: Don’t It Make You Sad?

Previous: Till I Reach You 

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Rating: PG 13

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Swearing! Cheating! 

Listening: Cry Me a River - Justin Timberlake 

Master List

           Namjoon could’ve sworn it was you at the restaurant, flipping your hair off your shoulder, laughing heartily at the man across from you. The curve of your jaw, the rings on your fingers, the laugh. He was almost positive it was you, certain enough that he called you to see if you’d answer.

           You answered, the woman at the table didn’t. He put his phone away and refocused on the people around him, their concerned glances not breaking through to him. His friends took notice of how he stared at the stranger, unsure what he was thinking about.

           Namjoon repeated the mantra: I trust her. I trust her. I trust her.

           He repeated the phrase throughout the night, as he stole obvious glances at your look a like. He couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut, this hint at insecurity, unfaithfulness. He’d never experienced it before, not once in your years together. But here he sat, drinking with his friends, repeating to himself that he trusted you.

           He went home to you that night, making love to you in a hushed and hurried fashion, bruising your hips, sucking and biting your neck, inadvertently leaving marks so whomever was around you knew, you were his. He hated himself, the possessive jealousy he felt toward you. He’d never been this insecure. He didn’t know how to tell you, or how to talk about it with anyone. So, he kept it, locked inside himself.

           BTS watched as what seemed like typical jealousy, turned into anxious paranoia.

           A month later, Namjoon was mystified by the striking resemblance a woman stepping into a black sedan had with you. The rings, the dress looked like something in your closet, the laugh. The gnawing feeling in his stomach hadn’t subsided in the last four weeks, only grown. He called your name, once, twice… The woman didn’t bat an eye or turn around, just got into the car and drove off with a man that looked like the last guy, if Namjoon could remember what the other man had looked like.

          “Namjoon, just ask her,” Yoongi suggested. After calling your name at the strange woman, Namjoon had followed his bandmates into the restaurant.

          “I can’t ask her,” Namjoon said, eyeing his bandmate. They were adorned in fancy dress, sport coats and slacks, waiting patiently to be seated at the new it restaurant. The restaurant craved a boon, and BTS eating would give them the fame they needed to ensure they weren’t in the red, hemorrhaging money. No one needed another noodle place, but Seokjin was certain this place would be special. His brother, Seok-Jung, had eaten there the week previously and raved.

          “Yes, you can. You ask and then you have the answer, no more of this, paranoid always looking over your shoulder, double checking she’s not stepping out,” Yoongi responded.

          “What’s worse, being anxious about it, always wondering, not sleeping because of stress, being a really big pain in the ass, or asking and knowing?” Jin offered.

          “Knowing is so much worse,” Jimin said. He adjusted his glasses and tossed his bangs.

          “So much, but if your relationship is built on lies, then living in denial is equally as painful,” Yoongi added.

          “Or, she could not be unfaithful and just love Namjoon like she always has,” Taehyung offered.

          “Yeah, you could just be thinking about her so much that you’re seeing her everywhere,” Jimin said.

          “Maybe,” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck, feeling unsure about the advice. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll just wait it out.”

          “Suit yourself, but you need to take something so you can sleep because no one can cover the bags under your eyes,” Yoongi eyed Namjoon up and down, shaking his head. He was starting to look pathetic.

          “Oh, be nice, he’s struggling,” Ho-Seok said draping an arm around his hyung’s shoulders.

          “Why would she cheat? You’ve been together for a while, it doesn’t make sense,” Jungkook said. He tried to keep to himself when his hyungs discussed their personal lives, as the youngest he never had much to add, and they were always better suited at giving advice than he.

           I trust her. I trust her. I trust her.

The familiar mantra had taken a permanent space in his head. Every thought was laced with the phrase. He trusts you. It became so common that he didn’t realize he was thinking it. They were right, you love him, why would you cheat? You were building a life together. Why would you throw it away? You spent so much time together, you came on tour, you were living together most of the time. Weren’t you happy?

          Namjoon wasn’t sure if he felt gaslighted by his bandmates, or by you. All he knew was the gnawing feeling wasn’t subsiding but continuing to grow rampantly.  

           The third time he swore it was you in the club, dancing with some guy who looked like a cross between Namjoon and Seokjin, tall with shoulders, an upturned nose and pouty lips. He shook it from his head as he turned to order a drink. And then another.

           Minutes passed like days, and soon Namjoon turned to see the man that was dancing with your look alike, to his left, flagging down the bartender.

           “Looks like you’re having a good night,” Namjoon said.

           “Oh yeah, she’s a freak,” He said wagging his eyebrows. Namjoon couldn’t tell if he recognized him, but hoped the alcohol was enough to mask him.  

           “You’ve been together long?” Namjoon asked.

           “A few months, but she’s shacking up with some Idol, real hush hush, won’t say who he is,” The man smirked. If she was fucking around with him, the Idol couldn’t be worth much.

           “Does she have a sister? I know someone who looks like her,” Namjoon offered, trying to find any inconspicuous questions he could ask to determine if it was you on the floor or not.

           “No, Y/N, no sisters,” He said. He paid for his drinks and gave Namjoon a head nod before turning back into the crowd, back to you. It took every ounce of Namjoon’s strength not to go up to you, not to slam his drink down, not to make a scene. He took out his phone, and hastily texted you.

           “We need to talk.”

Namjoon didn’t care what the implications of his text were. He trusts you… Trusted.

           You arrived the next morning, two coffees in hand. As you rode the elevator to Namjoon’s apartment, you sipped slowly on your latte.

           “Morning, babe,” You said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Namjoon was cold, lips not moving to mimic the gesture.

           “Morning,” He replied.

           “I got you coffee, you were up late last night,” You said, slipping off your shoes and tucking your sunglasses into your Chanel purse, a birthday present from Namjoon.

           “The weirdest thing happened last night,” Namjoon started, sipping on his coffee.

           “Do tell!” You said, smiling.

           “I was at this club, in Itaewon, and I swore I saw you,” Namjoon said. He watched for a flinch, a crack, a movement in your face, anything.

           “Why were you out? I thought you were staying in for game night,” You questioned.

           “We decided to go out, can’t I change my mind?” His tone was more biting than he intended, and he watched your expression change.

           “Of course you can,” You said, eyes narrowing.

           “I could’ve sworn I saw you, in that black sequin dress you wore to New Years a year or two ago, dancing with some guy,” Namjoon’s voice was steady, his nerves absorbing the caffeine he was drinking, mixing with adrenaline, making him feel fucking invincible.

           “Huh, they say everyone has a doppelganger, so maybe that’s who you saw.” You responded, tone matching Namjoon’s.

           “Mm, that’s what I thought. It’s happened before, I’ve seen a woman out that looked like you with another guy.”          

           “But it hasn’t been me,”

           “No, it hasn’t. I keep telling myself, trust her, Namjoon. Trust her.”

           “I trust you,”

           “I trust you,” Namjoon held your gaze.

          “Why are we having this conversation if you trust me?”

          You’d both dug your heels in. That was the problem with you and Namjoon, your birth charts aligned in so many of the right places, but your unrelenting stubbornness always offset them.

          “The guys told me to just, ask you. They said that if it was nothing, you’d tell me. If it was something, wasn’t it better to know? Then, over the last few weeks, I’ve been racking my brain for why I feel this way,”

          “What way?” You whispered.

          “Like you’ve been gaslighting me,” Namjoon said.

          “I haven’t been,”

          “See, that!” He set his coffee down. “That’s it, making my feelings seem small or unwarranted.”

          “Namjoon,”

          “So I go out last night, think I’ll have a few drinks, maybe clear my head, come home and we’d figure it out.”

          “So that’s what we’re doing?” You questioned, unsure where his tangent was taking you.

          “But then, I spoke to the man dancing with you.”

           You swallowed, cocking your head to the side, jaw setting as you watched your boyfriend take you down.

           “And? Who was he with?” You said, forced calm resonating in your voice.

           “At first, he didn’t say. He mentioned you’d been together long, eluded to some wild sex life, you know, standard drunk guy rambling.”

           “Sounds like a charmer,” You scoffed.

           “I asked if the woman he was dancing with had a sister, maybe yours was in town.”

           “Mmm, and?”

           “He said Y/N, no sisters,” Namjoon was towering over you, his height and moral superiority entangling with your indignation.

           “My name is pretty common,” You said nodding, “You know at least two other people with it.”

           “I trust you.” Namjoon’s voice was low, a register he didn’t use often.

           “Then why are we having this conversation?” You countered.

           “Because when I texted you last night, I was still in the club.” The shot had been fired.

           “And?” Your resolve was intact.

           “And I could see you, sipping on your drink, dancing with him. When I texted, you looked at your phone, then smiled and kissed him.”

           “How do you know it wasn’t a coincidence?” You wondered, unwilling to concede.

           “Your phone case,” His voice is measured, a sign that he’d practiced what he was going to accuse you of. It hung in the air. The second shot, fatal.

           “Namjoon, listen,” You said.

           “Months? You’ve been fucking him for months?” Namjoon’s nostrils flared, anger starting to get the best of him.

           “I-

           “Who is he? Where did you meet him? Is he just some guy you found off the –

           “Namjoon, I know him from university,” You said, voice rising to meet the guilt and stress washing over you.

           “And you’ve been sleeping with him for fucking months?” He yelled.

           “We-

           “You know what, save it. He already told me.”

           “That’s not fair,” You snapped, temper flaring.

           “You’ve been sleeping with some guy from university on the side when we’ve been together for years.”

           “I-

           “Did you think about me, at all?” Namjoon inquired. He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer, or if he’d be better off never knowing.  

           “Joonie, please let me,” You were crying. He’d never yelled at you before. He’d never been this angry at you, not when you washed a dry clean only shirt, or forgot your anniversary, or spilt red wine at his parents’ house. He’d always forgiven you.

           “You fuck around with this guy, you tell him you’re dating an Idol… Did you think he wouldn’t find out? Did you think he wouldn’t use you as leverage to get whatever he wants from me?”

           “Joon,” You pleaded.

           “Get out.” He demanded.

           “Will you fucking let me talk?” You yelled, trying anything to get him to just give you a chance.

           “No,” Namjoon stood, striding to the door. He opened it and waited impatiently for you to gather your things and leave.

           “I’m so sorry,” You said, sobs crashing through you.

           Namjoon slammed the door. There was no chance he would let you explain. No chance you had anything to say to him that would make any of this better. No chance he could forgive you for what you’d done, the danger and embarrassment you’d offered up to the karmic gods. He was fucked.

           It was arranged through Namjoon’s assistant that you’d pick up your belongings from his apartment the following week. It’d taken Namjoon time to disseminate what belonged to you, what belonged to him, and what of your collective possessions he could part with. At the end of it, he had four boxes full, taped, labeled. He had tried to schedule a time for his assistant to get the boxes to you, but you became elusive, unwilling to cooperate with the separation of you and Namjoon. You had one demand, that Namjoon speak with you in person, then you would take your things and go. He refused… Then a week turned into two, which turned into three, and the members began complaining about the intrusion of the belongings, and their concern that Yoongi was going to burn them if Namjoon didn’t dispose of them immediately.  

           He caved. Jin said Namjoon could never stand up to you. In the years you’d been together, Namjoon had surely let you walk all over him. Pressuring him into vacation destinations that you preferred, forcing him to choose which holidays you spent with his family or yours, ensuring your favorite holidays were with your parents… Some were basic disagreements every couple had, but the spell you had on Namjoon made it hard for him to see if it was normal, or unhealthy. You had him wrapped around your finger since the first time he saw you, and he’d been loving you every day since then.  

           “You’ve got twenty minutes, then I’m calling security,” Namjoon said as he let you into the apartment. He led you to the kitchen where you took a seat at the counter, him standing across from you.

           “I want to say that I’m sorry,” You started, eyes already full of tears. “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I was unfaithful.” Namjoon stood with his arms crossed. Nothing you were going to say was going to change the fact that you’d burned every bridge between you. “I broke your trust, and my actions are unforgivable. I’m sorry, but you hurt me too.”

           Namjoon scoffed as he rolled his eyes.

           “Please, enlighten me,” He said.

           “You didn’t want to be around me. You were looking for problems in our relationship, trying to find any crack. We’ve been together for years and never once have we spoken about marriage. You’re always surrounded by other women. You-

           “I don’t know how what I did or didn’t do has anything to do with you fucking some guy behind my back. This isn’t about me; this is about what you did.” Namjoon’s words were harsh, in your mind, designed to break you.

           Namjoon watched as your tears began to fall, a sob breaking through. You quickly covered your face with your hands, snot collecting between your fingers.

           Namjoon just stared, unmoving, as you ran out the clock. A timer on his phone went off, and he moved towards your boxes.

           “Times up, take your shit,” Namjoon told the security guard tasked with moving your boxes to your car that he was done with you.

           Moving slowly, you walked toward your stuff, and looked Namjoon in the eye.

           “I’m really –

           “Save it, bridges already burned.”

           “Namjoon,”

           “We were something, and you tossed it away,” Namjoon shook his head, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

           “I know,” You said, breaking eye contact.

           “Doesn’t it make you sad?” Namjoon didn’t wait for your response. Instead he turned and moved to his room, slamming the door behind him. You were escorted out, boxes leading the way, access to the dorms, to Namjoon, dissolved.

          Namjoon didn’t shed a single tear over you. But you? You’d cry a river over him.

Next:   

[magioftheseas]

Start of Consumption

Summary: She shouldn’t expect anything from this bright-faced girl with soft pink cheeks.

Rating: PG

Warnings: None.

Notes: The title is similar to the last jshk fic I wrote, whoops. They’re not related at all unless you want them to be. But, yeah, I just wanted more AoiNene. Thus, AoiNene. It’s pine-y, but it’s not as angsty as last time. It’s more bittersweet.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

When Yashiro joined the club, she knew better than to expect anything different. Another person to smile and keep their distance, another gaze that shifts from admiration to apprehension. The only significance was that—

“Please!” Yashiro exclaimed, practically flinging her body into a bow. “T-Take good care of me, Akane-san!”

Even with zero expectations, there was no denying that Yashiro Nene was cute. Bright-faced and alit with excitement and enthusiasm—clearly naïve. Simple-minded, but unquestionably sweet. As Aoi’s stare ran down the newest recruit, she noticed Yashiro’s knees buck towards each other. Yashiro was avoiding her gaze now, her expression transparently pained and embarrassed. Anxious because Aoi had clearly gotten an eyeful of her thicker than average legs.

There wasn’t any reason to expect anything. Yashiro was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve.

When she takes Yashiro’s hands in her own, it’s with a squeeze that’s only a notch tighter than it should be.

“Let’s do our best to get along, Yashiro-san,” she chirps, the usual gaudy sentiment flowing off her tongue like water at this point. “Don’t hesitate to turn to me if you ever need help, okay?”

“O-Okay...”

She doesn’t expect anything. Obviously not, even from a sweet, bright-faced girl with soft pink cheeks.

--

Somehow, she’s still disappointed to learn the reason why Yashiro joined the gardening club.

“T-There’s this boy,” she’s stammering, all flustered and adorable if not for the insipid words that drop from her lips like gunk from pipes. “He’s really cool and handsome... But the kind of girl he likes is, well...”

“You’ve liked him for a long time?” Aoi asks cheerfully, as if she doesn’t already know more than just the shallow answer. As if it isn’t annoying how Yashiro frantically nods and gets even squirmier as she thinks about her feelings. “You should just talk to him, then, Yashiro-san.”

“N-No way!” she exclaimed. “Not until I’m the kind of girl he likes!”

His kind of girl is even shallower than your crush on him, Yashiro.

“Best of luck, Yashiro-san!” she instead chirps, pumping her fists. “I’m here to support you!”

“T-Thank you, Akane-san,” Yashiro blubbers and then sniffles. “Y-You’re so nice...”

With how pitiful you are, how can I not be? That and...

Yashiro has been sweet and bright-faced for the past week. Yashiro has also been more focused on tilling the garden than she has been shooting Aoi looks when she thinks Aoi won’t notice. Yashiro really is fixated on this guy, and...

He’s not even a great person. Akane hates him, as he does every guy, but even without that, Aoi knows he’s terrible. He’s a playboy who is fickle and easily bored, and he’s made a good number of girls cry. It won’t be long before Yashiro’s tears of gratitude towards Aoi become tears of shame and despair at the whole situation.

“U-Um, what about you, Akane-san?”

For now, Yashiro is looking at her with sparkling eyes.

“Is there a guy you like?” she asks, and when Aoi doesn’t immediately answer, she lets out a gasp. “Oh! Right! There’s Aoi...kun? Uh. T-That guy with the glasses, I mean.”

“We’re just childhood friends,” Aoi said, all too used to this exchange. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, you don’t like him? He’s so devoted to you, though.”

Who is he devoted to? She wonders bitterly. Certainly not me.

“It’s romantic,” Yashiro went on. “When someone is so taken by you that they’re just consumed. Like nothing else matters...”

Are you just saying that because you’re the same way? And with some guy who is awful? Just like Akane-kun, then. You two would make a good pair. Such a wonderful pair. So taken with each other that no one else even needs to exist.

“You and Akane-kun would be a good match,” she said. Yashiro gets so adorably flustered, denies it, and the day goes on.

Aoi does not attend school for the rest of the week.

(“I-I’m sorry! I’m not ever going to go near Aoi-kun!” Yashiro exclaims to her while sobbing. “Please don’t ever disappear like that again, Akane-san!”

Aoi laughs it off easily, and says just as easily that she was just sick.)

--

“But, it’s weird to hear you call him Aoi-kun. How about you just use Aoi for me?”

“A-Aoi? Ah, okay. Okay, okay, Aoi.”

“Just like that, Nene-chan.”

--

Yashiro Nene has been clingy with her lately. Likely worried that Aoi will disappear again if she’s not. God, she really is a lot like Akane. Except Yashiro Nene only ever says that she’s nice. Nice and—

“A good friend! We’re like, best friends!” She’s even bragging about it to one of the other girls. “Aoi’s really, really sweet when you get to know her!”

“Ehhh, really?” one of the other faceless nobodies laughs. “Akane-san always seems so unapproachable. Well. She is the most beautiful girl in the school. Not to mention the guys she has trailing after her...”

Aoi cringes because no one’s noticed her hiding from the corner. She cringes severely.

“She’s really nice!” Yashiro insists. “And Akane-kun is her childhood friend!”

“Aren’t you worried about your crush liking her, too, Yashiro-san?”

Yashiro does stiffen and—ah. There it is. It’s a good thing it’s happened now and not later. She was getting tired of Yashiro trailing after her so desperately. She really was.

“Nene-chan,” she murmurs to herself,  just to feel the syllables on her tongue and no other reason. It’s just because it’s a cute name. A nice name. One she isn’t going to say again, because Yashiro’s not going to like her anymore. “Nene-chan, Nene-chan...”

“I-If it’s Aoi, it’s okay,” Yashiro says, so quietly that Aoi almost doesn’t hear it at first. “Aoi is...really, really nice. Who wouldn’t like her?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” the other girl says. “Akane-san rejects everyone. Cheer up, Yashiro-san, we’re just teasing.”

“T-That’s mean,” Yashiro whimpers. “Are you this mean to Aoi, too?!”

Aoi blinks.

“A-Ah, what? H-Haha, Yashiro-san, you don’t need to get so...”

“If you’re mean to Aoi, that’s wrong!” Yashiro is shouting now. “Aoi’s a sweet girl! Just because guys like her doesn’t mean that girls shouldn’t! She’s really, really nice!”

“C-Calm down, Yashiro-san...!”

“She’s the nicest!! I won’t have you bully her!”

“Please, calm down!!”

Calm down, Aoi thinks to herself, thinks especially to her now racing heart. Calm down, calm down. Nene-chan is just passionate. Overzealous. You knew this when you heard about all the things she did just to be that guy’s ideal type. She’s just—

“I won’t let anyone bully my best friend...!”

She’s—

--

“Nene-chan. Nene-chan...”

“Aoi!” Nene greats her so brightly, so adorably. “Look, look! The tomatoes are sprouting!”

“You’ve taken such great care of them!” she gushes, and she still can’t stop her heart from pounding. Just looking at Nene grin with such pride makes her almost disgustingly giddy. “How about I treat you for doing such great work? How does ice cream sound?”

“I’m almost done watering everything,” Nene rambles on. “I need to buy groceries, too. I have dinner to cook and I want to try a new recipe...”

It’s for that guy’s sake. She’s learning to garden and cook for that guy. What else is there to expect?

“Do you mind if I join you for that?”

You shouldn’t expect anything at all. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t...

“A-Ah, I’m not that good at cooking yet...” Nene’s so flustered. So adorably flustered. “But, if you want to, Aoi... I don’t mind... Would you have any advice?”

“A pinch, maybe.” It should be easy to smile as per usual, but Aoi has to struggle in fighting off a grimace this time. “Since it’s for your crush, you should just think of me like...mmm, a husband, maybe?”

“Y-You’re too pretty to be a husband, Aoi,” Nene points out, but she laughs. She laughs so easily. “But, okay. I’ll try my best!”

“I’m here to support you, Nene-chan.” It’s a mantra she needs to repeat. Over and over.

She shouldn’t expect anything.

Haah.

She shouldn’t expect anything from this bright-faced girl with soft pink cheeks.

I want to kiss her.

[bi-outta-cordonia]

In Another World, Part I

It’s @rodappreciationweek and I decided I’d do something! I’m still kinda mystified by the idea that Colt and MC could’ve had a completely different relationship if they had met under different circumstances so I’d like to explore it.

This is going to be a multipart story with a ton of words for each chapter, so forgive me for the length. Colt x MC is going to be the focal point. 

Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance. Colt Kaneko x f!MC (Deidre Wheeler). PG-13, with some warnings in regards to alcohol usage. ~5k words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’s been over it sixteen—no, seventeen times. Check-in three weeks prior to the start of classes, RAs are all going to be at the front desk, and keys will be distributed in alphabetical order starting with last name. Ingrid is already set up and, for once, there’s no need to be rankled at the idea of her being first. They’ve already moved on from the bitter academic war they waged between each other.

“Valedictorian” goes to Deidre Wheeler, all around genius and undisputed number one hailing from Mar Vista Prep. Her dad thought it was absolutely hilarious but he always did say he’d rather see young brown girls fighting over achievements rather than stupid stuff. He’s given her the speech about a thousand times, “work twice as hard for half as much,” and work she has.

Burning through courses is almost a hobby more than a necessity. How many honors and pre-college credits are under her belt? Twenty? It’s a rush like no other and almost induces a high of the most unusual sense. “Better than yesterday’s Deidre”—it’s the mindset that keeps her going and the mantra that plays in her head on repeat. She conquered high school doing twice as much, three times as hard, and ten times better than the previous day’s version of herself. Ingrid is very similar and it’s partially the reason why they were able to turn a rivalry into mutual respect within the past few months.

In hindsight, it’s a good thing she managed to quash that thing with Ingrid. High school is one thing and she can’t afford to be all on her own in college. The online facilities tours make it clear she’s made it someplace well above her dad’s humble salary—Langston University. The most prestigious university on the east coast and full of alumni all running in elite circles who most certainly have been afforded educations that far exceed what she’s been given in her life.

These are vacation homes in multiple countries types—kids that have gotten pretty far on the most expensive schooling money can buy and parents that occasionally rub elbows with admissions officers and deans. Mostly wealthy white kids are stomping all over the campus on top of that, so of course that’s an even bigger hurdle to jump. Allegedly, it’s the money they’ll judge her for the most but Mar Vista wasn’t much different as far as the atmosphere is concerned. They underestimated her there too and she’ll roll right over these Langston kids. She doesn’t know any other way to be.

“There it is.”

Deidre lifts her head and peers out the window as the lush campus of her dream school passes by. Groups of kids wander the campus, likely visiting friends or heading to their summer classes. A few cars traverse the tiny winding streets and she thinks of the online facility tour again.

“State of the art buildings, each dedicated to the campus through the network of alumni and donors who are proud to call themselves ‘Drakes!’”

“Ingrid keeps talking about how big the room is,” she says. “Still have to share showers though, so hopefully the other girls won’t be gross.”

Her dad smiles.

“I’m real glad you two became friends.” She makes a noise and he rolls his eyes. “I’m real glad you two became acquaintances. It won’t feel as lonely out here when there’s someone you know and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Knows what she wants and goes after it–like you.”

She dips her head and her braids fall around her face. Her father shoots a quick look at her but doesn’t say anything just yet. He’d tell her to keep an eye on the landscape passing in the background. All sixty years of academic prestige—prestige she’s dreamed of delving into—surrounds her on all sides. It’s Langston.

Her father shifts and gently squeezes her shoulder.

“You remember seven years ago? When mom drew that portrait of me?” Deidre asks.

She can almost see it again: kitchen floor covered in white tarp yet streaks of paint still stain the linoleum. Her mother’s back always faced the door because the natural light always spills in on one particular side. Orange, yellow, and blue cans of paint fill the room with a chemical smell but she found she never minded it so long as she could watch her mother work. Deft hands glide along the canvas in total silence filling in color and smoothing out rough edges.

She remembers the little moments when her breath would hitch and her body leaned forward as her mother utilized some other form of artistic witchcraft to make her already stunning art into a masterpiece. She remembers watching her mother’s tongue retract back into her mouth as she put the finishing touches of brown in her subject’s eyes. She remembers the wide smile that broke across her mother’s when the work was finally completed.

Her father sniffs and clears his throat. Of course he remembers—how could he ever forget his wife?

“Packed it in the back for you,” he says. “A lot of her old stuff is still at home but that painting had to come with you to school. She never…” He pulls the car to a stop at her residence hall—her new home for the next four months. Ray Wheeler is a man that’s seen every type of tragic story imaginable and felt it in spades when Death came for his wife. Her father reaches across and caresses Deidre’s cheek, choking on tears dangerously close to falling as he stares into eyes that haunt him. “I know she’s proud of you. I’m proud of you, baby girl. And no matter what happens from this day forward, I need you to know you earned this. You busted your ass and you made this dream into your own reality. You are capable—more capable than anyone I have ever known.”

She wipes her own tears. Five years ago, she lost her mother yet every day it feels like she’s still watching. Deidre looks up at the dorm in front of her—all square and looking more spacious than it has the right to be. Twice as hard to get half as much and she’ll keep pushing, not because there are eyes on her but because she sees it and wants it for herself. Success, sure, but endless possibility above it all.

Deidre steels herself and shares a determined look with her father. They both slide out of the car and every step she takes towards the building makes her tremble. She soldiers through it with her head up and her heart slamming in her chest.  

~

It takes an hour to fight through the throngs of students jockeying for their keys to their rooms. RAs and parents alike scream, most of the students are chatting incessantly or on their phones. It’s pure chaos and she almost loves it. The sight of a tall blonde in a cute blue dress has Deidre squinting at first until said blonde turns her head and she’s met with Ingrid’s picture perfect smile.

Ingrid wraps her up in a hug tighter than the one she gave at graduation. It is warm like peak hours on a beach and smells like a brand of perfume that costs money just to name out loud. When Ingrid pulls back, her make up is impeccable and her smile is brighter than the sun. She has to rise to her full height because she has to lean down to reach Deidre and it suddenly makes little sense why Deidre even disliked her for all those years.

“Hi Mr. Wheeler!” Ingrid exclaims, peering over Deidre’s shoulder and waving enthusiastically.

Her father gives a small wave back. “How’s your summer been?”

“Oh, so-so,” Ingrid responds, still smiling. “I guess I’m just anxious. Most of the time, I’m wandering around campus trying to wrap my head around this and then other times I’m just hanging out. So you know,” she absently waves a hand, “just your average young adult on the verge of being a real adult. Oh!” Deidre startles when Ingrid whirls on her. “Most of your stuff is here!”

Deidre tosses a glance at the packed lobby. “I still need my keys first.”

Ingrid snorts. “I got this.”

She barely manages to usher out a strangled sound of protest as Ingrid pulls her along through the lobby. The RA, Danny, quirks a brow at both of them. It takes less than ten minutes for Ingrid to weasel Deidre’s keys from Danny despite her name being dead last on the list. A couple of parents and students toss annoyed looks at them but all they get in return is Ingrid’s signature hair flip backed by Ray’s own intense glare.

Langston isn’t much different from the average ivy league. She can’t wrap her head around how much cash probably flows into this place but she can appreciate what some of that money does. Ingrid leads the Wheelers through rather straightforward halls until they reach the room. She watches anxiously as Deidre uses her key on the door and slowly opens it.

It’s a room almost as wide as the kitchen and living room at her dad’s house back in LA—two beds pushed on opposite sides with enough space in the middle to put two more if they wanted. Ingrid told her she wanted a bunk set up and has already finagled her desk and dresser beneath the gap. Various items decorate the space from fairy lights to the delicate lace framing the bed.

Natural light pours in from two rather large windows and exposes a view of the winding campus walkways. More students traverse these paths, shoving and laughing at each other as they shuffle to their next destination. Deidre peers out the window, takes it all in through two blinks and a breath. When she looks back at Ingrid, she’s gesturing towards the pile of essentials sitting on the other side of the room still waiting to be removed from the packaging.

She can already see it—dawn cresting just beyond the bend of trees framing the opposite side of the walkways as birds gleefully sing. Her heavy eyelids slowly open as she feels around for her water bottle and she removes her thick rimmed glasses so she can properly greet the morning sun. Her bed is pushed against the other wall much like Ingrid’s and sits on four pillars that raise the whole construct off the ground by a comfortable margin. Owls decorate her pillows and covers, muted blue and soft mint green the most prominent color theme, and she stretches sitting cross-legged at her desk while a full night’s worth of work covers her computer screen from top to bottom…

“You’re already thinking about writing a paper or something, aren’t you?”

Deidre shoots an annoyed look at Ingrid.

Deidre’s father whistles and turns slowly, taking in all aspects of the spacious room. “You girls should be cozy enough in here.” He shakes his head and mutters, “…all this damn money…”

“You want to start putting your stuff together?” Ingrid asks, poking at the boxes still patiently waiting by the bed. “I mean, no rush or anything!”

Deidre shares a look with her father and the two smile warmly. It’s almost like old times again.

Strange thinking of it as old times like it wasn’t just three days ago that she played the last game of Conqueror with her dad on a quiet Friday night. He was somber then, still anxious and afraid of sending his only child off into the world. Every night it feels like he’s telling her a new story about a girl that got caught up in a mess she didn’t belong in or a boy that never had a fair shot at life. Cop parents are weird about the dangers of the world but she didn’t want him to feel bad so she just nodded and acted like she was listening.

Cracking open the packages is making it more real by the minute. Her father lifts one side of the bed while both girls slide the platforms under each leg. Ingrid helps Deidre push her desk up against the wall underneath the windows and her father hefts the back portion onto it. The rhythm is far too familiar—Deidre pulls her weight but her father shoulders most of the burden. He took care of her for five years after her mother passed and it frightens her to think of what he’s going to do now that she’s no longer in his reach.

The rest of the day goes by in a terrible blur and she can’t stop thinking about her father. Fairy lights wrap around the legs of the bed and stretch across the headboard. More are carefully woven in a delicate pattern above the wall that now holds a distinct picture of a younger version of herself. Muted blue and soft mint green sheets, pillows, and comforter bring a pop to the room that perfectly pairs with the soft pink and white of Ingrid’s side. Owls in various adorable depictions stare back at her.

It unfolds slowly and becomes the image she pictures it to be. When they all finish, she realizes her father is leaving tomorrow morning.

She starts crying as soon as his hand gently squeezes her shoulder and Ingrid quietly excuses herself from the room, tossing a sympathetic look towards the two Wheelers finally coming to grips with their rapidly shifting reality. Her brain almost tries to get her to remember the last time she cried but she stops it before it even starts.

“You’re gonna do just fine, baby girl,” her father says, choking up on the very assurance. They both know she will. They’ll both be fine once things get going in this new world. He pulls her back and wipes at her freefalling tears. “It doesn’t matter how far away I am, I’m only a phone call away, you understand?”

Deidre nods. “I’ll—”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says and nods proudly.

The world is changing. They are changing. But they’ll be here. She has to believe it.

“I’ll see you soon,” she repeats.

He stays until the evening and buys the girls dinner. The food is good and the right amount of greasy (salad for Ingrid though; Deidre never knew she was a vegetarian). Once he leaves, she is somber once more. Night encroaches quickly and she tucks herself into bed rather early. As Ingrid removes her makeup, she tosses a question over her shoulder.

“Anything in particular you doing tomorrow?”

Deidre shifts quietly. “No? What’s up?”

~

Within less than 24 hours, she breaks all the rules again.

There’s a list of them she always knew sat at the back of her head. All four years of high school revolve around them—she is Ray Wheeler’s daughter, she will conduct herself appropriately in his house. As long as he’s paying for her food and he’s paying for the clothes on her back, he expects discipline. No partying, no drinking, no smoking of any kind, and she responds with “yes sir” and “no, ma’am.”

“Ooh, yes. Dark lippies are so you.”

Ingrid, who is much sweeter than Deidre ever gave her credit for, seems genuinely interested in befriending her despite their previous drama. She’s a bit too tall to share clothes but it just so happens that she’s an expert in making outfits when she puts her mind to it. A pair of scissors lies abandoned on Ingrid’s desk and strips of cloth lay equally forgotten upon the floor. Makeup cakes Deidre’s face (thanks to a quick trip to a local Sephora) and her body squirms in the newly made outfit that adorns her body.

She looks…different. Almost as different as the first time she went to a “high school” party. She remembers a few things from then—copious drinking and a lot of dancing, maybe a stray couple or two making out in the corners. Her face heats at the memory but she pushes it down.

College is different. A fresh start. Ray Wheeler isn’t here and he doesn’t need to know.

Deidre pulls at the short skirt clinging to her hips and fiddles with the crop top that is definitely slipping down (it isn’t—she just can’t help  feeling like it is). Ingrid gently pushes her hands away so she can finish applying makeup, her tongue peeking between her lips and her brow drawn tight as she concentrates. It takes another hour before Ingrid steps back with a bright smile plastered on her face.

“Observe,” she says, stepping to the side and gesturing at the mirror.

When Deidre looks at the glass, she knows the face that stares back at her well. It’s her, makeup won’t change the bookish air she carries or the obvious awkward tension in her. Dark liner won’t change the inquisitive look in her brown eyes. Shiny eyeshadow and shimmery lippies won’t erase that strange pout, as if she’s chewing her lip trying to decipher some mystery she can’t quite put her finger on.

She looks the same but also different. This is going to be different.

“I’m insanely jealous of your makeup skills,” Deidre says, staring wide eyed at her reflection.

Ingrid beams. “You should be.”

~

Turns out Ingrid has made a lot of friends in the time she’s spent on her own out here.

“They’re not really friends friends,” she clarifies. They approach the frat house at a fast pace due to the length of Ingrid’s bold strides. Deidre keeps up as best she can although the journey is a little harder in heels. Ingrid’s lips purse. “One of the guys here is the son of the head of the biochem department. Allegedly, it’s a real boys club here and the only women that really get passes are…you know…”

Her brows raise and Deidre sighs.

“Legacy,” they both sigh.

People start appearing around the bends and corners, each one of them dressed to the nines for a frat party. A few boys shout the Greek letters of the frat and pointedly show off their dates. Deidre looks back at Ingrid and notes the determination flaring in the taller girl’s eyes.

“There’s only two women in that department but they both teach upper levels. I won’t be able to take their classes this year.” Ingrid levels a serious look at Deidre. “We’re smart as hell. Smarter than most of these other people but they won’t act like it.”

She’s heard this conversation a million times.

“Work twice as hard for half as much,” Deidre mutters.

“I’m not gonna do anything with the guy. I just need to milk him for a bit,” Ingrid says.

The frat house is…a scene.

Gold and blue flags drape from windows down the side of the house. People spill out the door onto the porch and spread across the lawn. Loud music blares from speakers on the inside of the house and the beat vibrates through every muscle in her body.

Every step forward has her more nervous than the last. Ingrid takes her hand and leads her through the throng of people crowding the door. Eyes land on them instantly—curious, heated, suspicious, accusatory, and every emotion in between. She sees the stray looks raking over her braids and the sneers that follow. Those ones she actually does make eye contact with and musters the most indignant look she can manage. They look away soon enough but not before sharing cruel snickers amongst each other.

The further in Ingrid leads her, the more prominently the bass thrums. She can barely recognize the latest Raleigh Carrera single. It seems like it’s been slowed.

“I see the guy!” Ingrid shouts. Deidre leans closer and follows her gaze towards him. He looks about what she expects—tall, brunette, and wearing a lot of things that probably cost more than her life. Ingrid shares a sheepish smile. “He’s not that bad, I promise. His friends are kinda gross though, so don’t be afraid to stand your ground. One of his buddies—that guy?” Ingrid points at a boy with glasses. “He’s a sophomore—mechanical engineering. Have a chat with him!”

They get close enough to Ingrid’s guy that he practically jumps up when he sees them.

“Hey, you!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around Ingrid. She returns his hug but Deidre doesn’t miss the way she squeezes her hand. When he pulls back, he flashes a dopey grin. His hands don’t come off Ingrid’s shoulders. “I was wondering when you’d show up! You look really good.”

Ingrid flips her hair and smiles a bit. She nods at Deidre. “This is my friend, Deidre. Deidre—this is Tatum.”

Tatum gives a two finger salute and Deidre returns a small smile. “Any friend of Ingrid’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to the frat! Come here, let’s get you girls some drinks.”

The girls jerk to an immediate halt. Or rather, Deidre tugs Ingrid’s hand hard. There’s a wild and panicky look in her eye, she knows it. Ingrid, bless her heart, immediately remembers that between the two of them, one of them has an incredibly loving father who is also a police officer.

“Um, so like—” Ingrid whips her head around and Tatum looks up from the punch bowl. “Can you make one nonalcoholic? It’s…um…”

Deidre’s face heats up. “I’m not…I’m not much of a drinker…”

Tatum’s friends share a laugh between each other and throw glances at him, expecting him to laugh along it seems. Ingrid’s body tenses next to Deidre but she’s too nervous to say anything further. It’s not like she didn’t want to have these experiences. Ray Wheeler is caring but he wouldn’t tolerate a daughter that was less than perfect. Perfect angel with perfect grades and a perfect attitude—she wants to try different but doing that is easier said than done.

Tatum’s friends nudge each other but Tatum nods earnestly.

“Oh, sure!” he answers. He pours some unholy blend of expensive alcohol and mixer in one cup, then makes a mocktail in another cup. He hands off their drinks with a flourish. “So how’s the east coast treating you both?” He shoots a quick look to his friends and gestures at the girls. “I mentioned Ingrid’s from LA, yeah?”

One of his friends looks up. “I bet everyone ask if you’ve met famous people all the time.”

Ingrid shrugs “It’s not a big deal. You all have probably met more of them than me.”

“I hung out with Nathan Sterling and Poppy Min-Sinclair on my dad’s yacht earlier this year,” Tatum’s glasses wearing friend says. He shrugs nonchalantly. “You know he’s trying to get in here? Kind of a lame move after everything he pulled at that other school but it’s whatever.” He nods towards Tatum. “Didn’t your mom have Bianca Sandoval over?”

“Er, yeah.” Tatum laughs a bit. “Poppy Sinclair though? How’d you make it out of that one?”

His friend shakes his head. “She wasn’t really interested in talking and I wasn’t really big on listening. Anyway what’s up with you, Deidre? You meet anyone cool in LA?”

“Uh, not really…” She takes a small sip of her drink.

The guys remain silent for a beat before Tatum jumps in. “So…uh… You been anywhere fun this summer?”

“Mostly bouncing between my parents’ vacation homes,” Ingrid answers. She offers a sweet smile to Tatum, who perks up immediately. “Nothing too exciting though. Been to Monaco once, you’ve been a million times.”

It’s a conversation that drones on, quite literally dragging its feet across the marble floors. At first, Deidre thought Ingrid would flash a pretty smile, maybe flirt a little. It takes a moment but she starts piecing it together soon enough.

One of the boys asks a question and Ingrid gives a nonchalant answer. Instead of elaborating, she reroutes the conversation back to the boys, essentially handing them the next subject and the floor while she takes ginger sips of her drink.

Suddenly it makes far too much sense how Ingrid knew so much about the kids at Mar Vista. Give them an inch and they’ll run six miles with it. She learns about them and they learn what they think they know about Ingrid. Keeping up with the conversation gets increasingly difficult for Deidre but Ingrid always finds a way to swerve it back around to the guys so they can yammer on about their dads’ possessions and their mothers’ niche businesses.

It’s so drab despite the affluence dripping from their words and gleaming in the low light of the house. Deidre looks around at the many faces slowly rocking and grooving to the beat, or rather what they think is the beat. Couples sway together and drunken kisses are swapped. She downs the rest of her drink and turns, freezing on the spot.

Tatum’s friend—Brandon—the boy with the glasses and one year of experience with the mechanical engineering program under his belt—looks directly at her with something in his gaze she’s sure she doesn’t like. Like he clearly wants something from her that she’s not ready to give.

“Excuse me,” she says, squeezing past Ingrid.

She’s not too proud to admit she’s running. She’s certainly not too proud to admit that she’s out of her element here. It’s hot and starting to get a little rank. Someone is definitely smoking weed, or maybe a lot of people are smoking weed. Alcohol, too much expensive perfume and cologne—

A boy wretches in the corner of the kitchen and her face twists in disgust. All over the floor, completely missing the garbage can and it…it’s covering his shoes…

Deidre pushes past a couple of girls crowding the back door and ignores their moaning.

Outside smells good. Outside feels good. Fresh air and plenty of space to move around. There are chairs strewn across the patio as if they’ve been haphazardly thrust to the side save for one. A boy sits in it, head bowed and broad back facing the door. He doesn’t move for a while though the muted light of his phone shines bright in the night.

Deidre takes a step forward, head tilting and arms wrapping around herself in the cold. The wood must creak underneath her feet because the boy turns around and hits her with a look that almost scares her. It isn’t that he is scary looking—he just seems unapproachable. Thick brows draw tight and dark eyes linger on her cautiously like he’s trying to figure her out before she can figure him.

“Uh…” she stammers. She takes a few more steps forward and doesn’t take her eyes off him as he follows her. “Sorry, I’m just—I just needed some air for a second.”

She meekly drags one of the chairs away from its plastic brethren and sits down in it. There’s a good few feet of space between her and the boy.

He shrugs and returns to whatever is on his phone.

A few minutes of silence pass between them and she knows she’s blown her chance at making new friends. Tatum and Brandon seem like alright people but she knew Langston was going to be a test of all kinds. Wealth oozes from every corner of this place. Prestige and ladder climbing is not just about who you know, it’s who your parents know and have Tuesday brunch with. Ingrid chases a dream of being a doctor and all Deidre ever wanted was to bury her head into mechanics, taking things apart and putting them together again. She’s lost count of how many small appliances she’s broken and fixed. Her father hated it but he never stopped her either. She was smart and he refused to stifle her.

It’s why he always stressed twice as hard for half as much. People have been underestimating her since the day she was born but she never let that stop her from pushing herself. Being STEM and Black and female—she’s a nightmare and she’s been ready to haunt some prestigious minds for a minute.

But first, she’ll have to survive her first frat party and she’s already desperate to go home.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Deidre glances at the boy and he’s looking at her out the corner of his eye. “You keep sighing like you don’t want to be here.”

Part of her deflates.

“It’s not my crowd,” she answers. Her eyes rake over him again—dark shirt and regular blue jeans, there’s a jacket hanging on the back of his chair and she’s almost certain that it’s leather. “How long have you been out here? You don’t seem too keen on being here either.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and she wonders if he’s lost interest in the conversation that quickly. Eventually, he sighs. “I’m here because my roommate is an asshole.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further.

“He’s inside?” she asks.

“She’s at home. There’s a chick she’s been talking to all summer.” He puts his phone to sleep and crosses his arms. “I’m just waiting for her to text me.”

It takes a long few minutes for her to understand it and then her face heats. She hadn’t gotten around to discussing roommate etiquette with Ingrid. There’s so much shit she’s already forgetting.

Deidre fiddles with the edge of her skirt and looks away.

“So if you don’t want to be here, why stay?” she asks.

“Why do you?”

She rolls her eyes.

“My friend’s inside.” She hopes it doesn’t sound weird coming out of her mouth. Twenty-four hours and she’s still in disbelief that Ingrid Tran Delaney is now her friend. “She’s talking to a guy, I guess.”

“You guess? Seems like that kinda thing would be pretty straight forward,” he says. Slowly she’s starting to feel like coming out here was a bad idea. Still better than being inside with Tatum and his friends, but not by much.

“She’s making connections, so she says,” Deidre corrects. “And I’m pretty sure I blew my chance at doing the same.”

She looks back at the boy and he’s just staring at her—

Through her, actually. She lets her eyes roam his face a bit—kind of boyish despite his height with the only sharp angles on him sitting prominently in his cheeks. The lights from inside the house shine on golden skin but doesn’t quite reach those piercing eyes. She opens her mouth looking to chew on her lip but remembers the dark lippie sitting there. He starts looking at her—really looking and it occurs to her that he’s not seeing her the same way Brandon did.

The boy seems cautious. Almost like he can’t trust that she’s just an awkward girl having an awkward but normal conversation. He leans back in his seat.

“Something worth having is something you have to take for yourself,” he says. “You can’t wait on some silver spoon toting douchebag’s go ahead. Most of these types will walk all over you without hesitation.”

The corners of her lips quirk. “Basically Mar Vista all over again.”

“Hey, you made it this far. Langston doesn’t even throw a backwards glance at average students so don’t knock what you’ve got,” he says, turning back to his phone.

“Thanks, um…” She looks pointedly at him and he just stares back. After a moment, he rises to his feet and grabs the jacket hanging on the back of his chair.

“Nope.”

The silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut.

“No…?” she slowly says.

“No need for it.” He slips the jacket on and zips it up. When he glances back at her, she slightly shifts away. “Go find your friend. I’m getting out of here.”

Before she can call out, he turns heel and walks off the porch into the night. People dodge out of his way pretty quickly on approach and she realizes that he walks tall, undeterred.

A few long minutes pass before she makes her way back through the house and back at Ingrid’s side. She shares a small smile and grabs Ingrid’s hand. Tatum regales another story of something his parents did but he had nothing to do with and all Deidre can think about is that weird boy with the leather jacket.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

Some ECW Raven hurt/comfort headcanons would be really rad if you don't mind writing them? 😳👉👈

Time for full disclosure here, nonnie mouse. I ABSOLUTELY fucking ADORE you for this. I love,love,love,love Raven. And I don’t think I can say it enough. I gotta admit, i was not expecting anyone to indulge me on my desire to write hc’s for wrestlers like Raven or edge or Jeff or anyone like that.. SO I AM WEEPING FOR JOY RN. These are all over the place. I tried to focus on strictly hurt comfort.. But some others snuck their way in too.

Warnings: none. We’re keeping it PG in this christian household on this Tuesday. Or we’re gonna die trying.

Tag Squad:

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif

@cabotcoves

@unabashedwrestlefics

@adampage

@cowboyshit

@missjenniferb

@wrestlingthot

@wardl0w

[ tag list doc - masterlist - send me more. these are fun. but read this first.]

┎ Raven is a soft hearted guy, despite all outward appearances and claims to the otherwise. Also very empathetic. I firmly believe he’d sense a change in your mood the second it occurred. And he’d go into deep thought mode. First he’d analyze himself to make sure he hadn’t done anything to cause the hurt. Then he’d start to extend the web of deep thought outward. To others. God help any person who may be responsible, RIP. 

--for reference, see his Clockwork Orange matches. While not brutal, they do illustrate that the man knows his way around weapons and toys and... He will become sadistic enough over those he allows close to him to put his brutal knowledge in the ways of fucking rocking someone’s entire shit to use. So if anyone hurts you? They’re about to wish they died.

-- if he is the one responsible, he immediately owns up to his actions. Because he’s not afraid to admit when he’s being a stubborn, bull headed jackass. Because honestly? It’s often. And he takes extra care of you preceding his apology. He goes above and beyond to do his utmost best NOT to do whatever it was that he did to hurt you, again.

┎ If it’s an internal thing, he’ll just kind of pull you close, rest his chin on the top of your head while his fingers smooth over your hair. “Deep breaths. Eyes on me, sweetheart. C’mon, talk to Raven. I’m right here. I got you.” is repeated over and over in the softest gravel rasp like a mantra until you’re calm and you can relay the cause of the issue. After you’ve told him what’s going on, he will hold you more. Or pull you down onto his lap while he’s sitting on the stair. “What am I doin’ to fix this?” he looks at you, an earnest look in his eyes because he honest to god is determined to fix whatever’s wrong. 

┎  The man is your biggest supporter. And he is your personal bodyguard. You literally go NOWHERE without Raven present... Even if he’s scowling a little because he utterly hates crowded malls or theaters, etc. If you’re there, he’s going to be there too. Because it’s something you’re into, and he’s into you. 

┎ Is not a good patient at all when he’s the one who is ill. Gets downright testy and hates medicine. Especially that licorice flavored cough syrup shit. BUT BUT.. If you’re the one whose sick? Man is quick to call the nearest doctor and get detailed instructions... He’s written down ALL your symptoms and he checks your temperature religiously and has those at the ready, as well as his own googled diagnosis... While keeping a bit of a distance, of course. If you’re throwing up, he’s there with a cool damp cloth against the back of your neck. If you want cuddles, he will provide, however, it’s kind of those ginger careful cuddles. Like “Ayooo, I love you a lot but I’m not out here tryna get this shit too.”

┎ Sends clever little riddles in meme form when he knows you’re having a bad day. The downside to this is the man is a literal genius IRL, so.. Sometimes, that cute little joke takes 4 goddamn hours to hit you and make you laugh. But you love him for it.

┎ Once felt so bad that he forgot an anniversary that he made up for it in clutch by booking an entire week in a cabin, just the two of you. He bought you your favorite flowers every single day too. And he did all the cooking. TBF.. he does about 75 percent of it anyway? Because his love language is taking care of the people he loves as opposed to the words...

[brain-rott]

A Crushed Crush pt.2

Paring: Midoriya x Reader/Bakugo x Reader

Description: Slowly starting to recover from your heart break you look forward to another antics filled lunch only to be caught off guard and alone in the hall by a worried Midoriya. Old wounds torn open once again you aren’t sure how to react and things are only made worse when a furious Bakugo joins the fray. 

Word Count: 2455

Tag list: @wifunozomi @mrsreina​ @silentwhispofhope​ @http-bakugo​ 

[If you would like to be added to the tag list just mention it in a comment <3] 

Rating: PG

Part 1 Part 3 

Sometime had passed since that fateful morning, while it still hurt when you thought about it you at least weren’t thrown into tears over it any longer. 

Though this was entirely thanks to the support from your new friends and shockingly enough Bakugo, who was the driving force behind your recovery from your heartbreak. While he came off as mean and rude to others, you could see how he would soften around you and that his words held no real bite to them. You were hardly alone as someone was always asking to hang out with you or just inviting themselves into your room to show you some stupid video they had found. 

So immersed in this new life you had found, with people that two weeks ago you would have never thought to find yourself interacting with, was surprising to say the least. 

You found yourself lost in thought reminiscing how it was Bakugo who was the one to take you in and everyone has simply accepted you so open heartedly. 

You couldn't help the happy smile on your face as you ducked your head to hide your excited laugh. When you looked back up Sero was giving you a look from over his shoulder which made you flush in embarrassment. Guess your chuckle was a bit too loud huh?

Class flew by that day mostly on account of your day dreaming. So when Ashido was suddenly leaning into your space you almost jumped out of your seat in surprise. 

“Well? You coming to lunch or not?” She said as you glanced around seeing that almost everyone else in the class was already gone. 

“Oh sorry I zoned out there, you go on ahead and I’ll catch up!” You announced waving her off as she shrugged and skipped out the door, leaving you to pick up your books.  

You let out a sigh as you headed off to the cafeteria smiling to yourself thinking of what antics the group would get up to today. Though things had seemed too good to be true. You didn't notice him until it was too late. As you were walking up to the cafeteria doors Midoriya was waiting stood outside, clearly having been waiting for you after noticing you had fallen behind the others. 

“[y/n]!” He called out to you snapping you out of your thoughts as your heart clenched in your chest. A bolt of genuine fear shot through you as you came to a stop in the middle of the hall clutching your books to your chest unable to react as Midoriya jogged up to you. 

“I-I want to talk to you.” He announced rather confidently despite his stuttering as he stared at you with those deep green eyes of his. 

Memories from what felt like ages ago returned to you, dreaming about his eyes, running your fingers through his fluffy green hair, holding his hand as you walked to class. You scrunched up your face as you turned away from him making him reach out to place his hand on your upper arm. 

“[y/n] what’s wrong? Did something happen? Why did you just leave all of a sudden?” Midoriya questioned as he held you before him. You knew if you wanted to you could shake him off but the way his warm hands rested so carefully on you made your heart flutter then clench as reality returned to you. 

Had any one ever cared to inform you that liking someone would be so painful you would have never allowed this to happen to begin with though here you were stood speechless before the guy you had once cared for deeply. Maybe even still cared for despite knowing it was unrequited. 

“Nothings wrong, Like I’ve said I just wanted some spa-”

“[y/n] Please we are all so worried about you, this isn’t like you. Something must have happened to make you unhappy, please talk to me so I can help fix this.” Midoriya almost pleaded with you as he now had both of his hands on your shoulders squeezing you slightly.

‘If only things were so simple.’ You thought bitterly unable to meet his gaze as you tighten your grip on your books the slight tremble in your frame evident to even the most oblivious on looker. 

“I care about you so much please just let me help you. If I did something wrong please, please tell me so I can fix it or apologize. I miss seeing you and getting to spend time with you. You’re my best friend [y/n]” His words drove the final nail in your coffin as you felt the tears start up. 

A lump formed in your throat as those last few words echoed in your head like some kind of mantra. ‘Just a friend, he only sees you as a friend’. You repeated to yourself trying not to let it overwhelm you any more than it already was but it was far too late as a hard sob slipped from you. Midoriya now realizing that you were on the verge of full on bawling only stepped closer to you in an attempt to comfort you mumbling something you didn't quite catch as he started to pull you into a hug. 

Midorya didn’t even have his arms around you when the cafeteria doors flung open with so much force they cracked against the walls startling both of you. 

Bakugo stood there his rage evident by the fire burning in his eyes as he took in the scene before him. His gaze lingered on Midoriya for a moment the irritation and anger evident but as soon as his eyes locked with yours and he saw you were crying his entire demeanor seemed to shift. 

“What did you do!” Bakugo snapped as he stalked over, not even bothering to give Midoriya a passing glance as he headed straight to you, reaching out to you as he approached. 

“I’m trying to ask what has them so upset!” Midoriya shot back moving to stand between you and Bakugo. The two locked eyes and the soft crackle of explosions sounded as Bakugo had to restrain himself from just blowing Midoriya aside to get to you. Midoriya refused to back down as he held his position between you and Bakugo. 

With the attention off of you and already having had enough emotional stress for one day. You turned on your heel and sprinted down the hall letting your books clatter loudly to the floor. Your pencil case seemed to explode on contact with the ground sending colorful erasers and pens skittering in every direction as both of the boys stared after you in surprise. 

“How can you be so dense to not see that you’re what's upsetting them!” Bakugo snapped the venom seeming to drip from his words shoving Midoriya out of his way for emphasis as he raced after you. 

Midoriya was left behind standing there in the hallway staring after you both stunned as he quietly began to pick up your scattered belongings thinking long and hard on everything he had ever said or done to you. 

You didn't know where you were going in all honesty. Initially you had thought to run to the nearest bathroom but the thought of someone walking in on you crying made you immediately decide against it. Slowing for a moment you found you had subconsciously ran all the way back to your class room the large door looming before you. Since it was lunch you knew no one was inside giving you the perfect hideaway for the time being. 

Pushing open the door you slipped inside keeping the lights off as you trudged to the back of the class and slipped into your desk rubbing at your eyes aggressively trying to wipe away your tears. 

You aren’t sure what you did in your life to end up in a mess like this. Though you were sure it must have been pretty bad to have to have to suffer like this on such a regular basis. You didn't even know what to do with yourself, you tried to think over what had just happened, what Midoriya had just said, but it was just tearing open old wounds. You knew you had to get over this though you had no idea how and no number of google searches or sad songs seemed to have helped. 

Your heart ached and made your body go numb as if it was trying to protect itself from having to go through anything else. 

Blinded by tears and deafened by your heart, still racing in your ears. You failed to notice the classroom’s door slowly slide open and then close as someone quietly joined you. You only noticed them when they pulled up a chair to sit across from you, their hand resting on your knee as they rubbed soothing circles against your leg. 

Bakugo avoided your gaze at first, though when he noticed your lull in sobs he glanced up to see your tear filled eyes and almost flinched at the sight. Slowly, in case you would ask him to stop, he lifted his arm using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the tears from your cheeks and from below your eyes being as soft and gentle as he could as to not hurt you. 

“I hate seeing you like this…” He admitted his voice soft and low as he let his thumb brush over the soft skin below your eye, now red and puffy from crying. 

“I-I’m sorry” You spluttered out and he shook his head with a huff. 

“Don’t apologize it's all that damn nerds fault. He says he cares about you then goes and makes you cry.” Bakugo grumbled his hand warm against your face as he had still yet to pull away. You let a sniffle escape as you tried to hold in any more tears that threatened to escape and Bakugo almost winced at the sight. His red eyes now holding a soft honey amber hue. 

“I care about you a lot [y/n]. I hate seeing you like this…” He admitted once again, his voice barely above a whisper. Had you not been watching him you wouldn't have even known he had spoken. 

You were still so numb from your run in with Midoriya you had no idea how to process this new information. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything so you just brought your hand up to cover his as you smiled at him weakly. His seemingly eternal scowl faded all for an instance as it turned into what could resemble a smile. Though it lasted all for a second as he moved his hand to cover your nose with his jacket his normal scowl back. 

“Blow your nose and lets get out of here.” He instructed and you were so taken aback you let out a squeak of surprise. 

“W-Wha? No Bakugo that's so gross!-”

“Just blow your nose already! I’m not letting you go out there all snot nosed! And don’t even think I would let you go without eating all cause of some asshole!” He snapped jumping up from his seat and shoving his jacket’s sleeve back in your face. You relented and did as he asked though made it quite known how gross you thought it was.

“Come on, I had kirishima grab you your usual.” He explained as he pulled you up from your chair with his non-snotty hand leading you to the door as you both headed back towards the cafeteria. 

At the same time as this had been happening. Midoriya had slunk back to his seat in the cafeteria all your items stacked into a neat pile as he set them down at the place you had used to sit, with him at your side. Iida who had been unable to see the somber expression on Midoriya’s face as he sat down beamed at the sight of your items. 

“So how did your talk with [y/n] go? Good I presume seeing as they will be joining us again-”

“I made them cry.” Midoriya announced his head hanging in shame as his friends looked at him in shock. 

“You what?” Uraraka finally chimed in after Midoriya did not continue. 

“I tried to ask them what was wrong but they started crying as soon as they saw me.” Midoriya explained, the sight of you stood before him trembling in his hands made his heart twist in agony. 

He cared about you. He really did. He cared so much that he could feel his own tears starting to rise but he frantically blinked them away before they could consume him. His friends now pressing him for details as to what exactly had happened in the hallway. 

The air hung heavy as the three of them all seemed to take in and ponder to themselves what Midoriya was saying. Todoroki was, surprisingly, the first to speak up as he gathered his lunch tray sharing a look with his green haired friend. 

“I don’t have a clue as to what you may have done that could have upset them this greatly Midoriya. Though it is clear that whatever may have happened, whether its a misunderstanding or something you just simply don't recall, it has affected them gravely and if you ever want to salvage your relationship with them you are going to have to let them come to you on their own terms. Maybe all they really need is some space.” Todoroki offered as he rose from his seat going to dispose of his tray, leaving Midoriya to think over what he would do. 

“I still think you should try to talk to them... “ Uraraka muttered as she looked across the cafeteria to where you now sat huddled in the center of your new group of friends, who were all focused on you most likely doing the same as they were now. 

Midoriya followed her gaze and felt a pang in his heart as he saw you there, eyes still red from crying, though a smile was slowly returning to your features as your friends comforted you. Bakugo was sat next to you his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in to speak to you. You nodded, your hair bouncing with each shake of you head. 

Midoriya knew he was staring for far too long though he couldn’t pull himself away just yet. The way his heart had burned when he saw you upset, his instincts had told him to comfort you. Though now that he thought about it he couldn't tell why that had been. He let out a sigh as he gave you a finally parting glance. When it finally hits him. 

He was in love with you. 

A/N: Thank you all so much for the warm reception on the first part. I hope you enjoy this part just as much <3 Lemme know what you all think so far I love hearing your feedback! 

A/N**: I should mention that while most of this is pre-plotted who the reader ends up with hasn’t been decided yet so lemme know who you are all routing for. 

[jade4813]

Timeless

Title: Timeless

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Once again, Barry and Iris must make the decision to sacrifice everything they hold dear to save the world - and in the aftermath of Crisis on Infinite Earths, they remember everything that they have lost. My gift to @sunshinehappier on Twitter for her contribution to the 2019 Westallen Sock Drive!

Chapters: 1/1

Five months Post-Crisis

Iris. Remember Iris.

He was in the heart of the speed force, further than any speedster had ever traveled before. Where time itself lost meaning. Occasionally, figures appeared in flickering scenes around him, but they had no significance to him. A man with dark, shoulder-length hair a lopsided smile. An older man with short-cut hair and glasses, sitting in a wheelchair. A redheaded woman standing next to a man with blonde hair. A woman with long, wavy brown hair and a syringe in her hand. A blonde in glasses, then one without, then with again. A tall man with short blonde hair and a scowl.

The faces meant nothing to him. Were they supposed to?

Iris. Remember Iris. Remember Iris.

He repeated the words to himself like a mantra. When he felt the last of his memories slip away, he closed his eyes and whispered them to himself. A prayer that, after all the things the speed force had taken from him, it would leave him this.

Remember Iris…remember…remember her. Remember…who?

Her name slipped away from him, like water between his fingers, and he slowed imperceptibly. He could no longer recall why he’d been running so long. He no longer remembered why he’d had to.

His muscles seized, every muscle in his body begging him to stop running. The pain would stop if he did, he knew. He would find peace here, in the heart of the speed force. But, still, he fought desperately to keep going, knowing that all would be lost if he stopped. Not having the first idea of what that would be.

In the end, his body couldn’t take anymore. More tired than he’d ever been, Barry fell to his knees with a tortured sob. He’d forgotten something. Something important. Something he’d sworn never to forget. He pressed his palms against his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath, trying to remember.

There was someone he loved, more than anything in the world. More than life itself. And he’d lost her, bit by bit, until the speed force had even taken her name from him. Who was she? Why did she mean so much to him? And how could he feel the ache of her loss when he couldn’t even remember her name? Could barely even remember his own?

“Bring her back to me,” he begged the speed force swirling around him. “Please. Bring her back to me.”

“Come back to me, Barry,” a voice whispered as his mind tried to cling to whatever memories of his life that remained. “Promise me that, whatever happens, you won’t stop running until you come home to me. Promise!”

Faces continued to flicker around him, but none of them had any meaning. A man with short, dark hair kissing a brunette in a wedding dress. A man wearing sunglasses, with some sort of light emanating from his palm. A blonde woman with tears running down her cheeks as she reached for him. An older man with sadness behind his smile as he pressed his palm against a pane of glass standing between them.

The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, wrapping her hand around his neck and pulling his head down onto her shoulder. He didn’t remember who she was, but the sight of her face caused something to ache inside his chest. When her image disappeared again, he could swear he felt his heart break all over again.

“Bring her back to me. Please. Please! Let me see her again,” he begged the speed force as more and more images flickered around him. “The pretty woman from before. Please… I’ll do anything. Just show her to me again.”

And then she was before him, so beautiful it hurt. Though her eyes shone with tears, she looked determined as she reached her hand. “Come home to me, Barry.”

He didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know what was a dream, what was the speed force itself, and what was real. But maybe it didn’t even matter anymore. If this was a dream, then perhaps this fantasy would bring him a measure of peace, in this place outside of reality.

Tilting his head to the side, he considered the figure in front of him. He didn’t remember her, but something in his heart longed for her anyway. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he would follow her anywhere. “I…I think I dreamt of you,” he murmured, reached out his hand toward her.

Four months post-Crisis

She dreamt of the day Barry had left her to go into the speed force. In her dreams, Barry begged her to ask him to stay. He would, she knew it. All she had to do was ask. Stay with me. Three little words, and he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for the good of the world. Three little words, and they would find another way.

But in her dreams, as in reality, she didn’t speak those words. The caught in her throat, choking her with the force of her need. She’d thought she was being so brave, letting him go. Again. Losing him, as she had so many times before. In her dreams she wondered, as she hadn’t dared consider that day…had he known how much it hurt her to let him go? Or did part of him think she didn’t ask him to stay because she didn’t care? She loved him, and in the light of day, she knew he knew how much. But in the lonely solitude of her dreams, her fears mocked her. Making her wonder if, deep down, he’d gone to his death thinking perhaps she didn’t.

Had she even told him she loved him, before he left? Had she even spoken the words?

When she awoke, her face was wet with tears, and she curled her legs against her chest and rocked back and forth. Seeking the comfort he could no longer provide. “Barry, come back to me,” she whispered into the dark. As she had so many times, so many years before. Sitting by his hospital bed, holding his limp hand in her own. “Come back to me.”

And like back then, her plea received no response. She was alone.

~~~

“Don’t take her from me. Please,” he whispered as he closed his eyes and tried to picture her face in his mind. But try as he might, he couldn’t quite remember the curve of her cheek or the exact color of her eyes. Then, a moment or an eternity later, he couldn’t picture her face at all.

He had lost her.

No. He wouldn’t allow it. He had given up so much already in his self-appointed quest to save the world. His love for Iris was the one thing he had resolved never to sacrifice. Not for this world. Not even for all of them.

As long as I’ll remember Iris, I’ll be all right, he promised himself. Remember Iris. Remember Iris.

Three months post-Crisis

“Again,” she yelled, coming to a stop on the treadmill. She bent over grabbed the stitch in her side as she sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to ready herself for another attempt. Without his powers as Vibe, Cisco had been working on some technology that would help Iris access the speed force, but she had to run as fast as she could to attempt the breach. Thus far, however, their efforts had met nothing but failure. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, but she refused to stop trying.

“Iris, you’ve been at this for hours,” Caitlin offered gently. “You need to take a break. Maybe try to get some sleep.”

She gave her head a sharp shake. “I’ll rest when Barry’s back,” she replied firmly. Then, softening her tone at Ralph’s look of surprise, she tried to explain, “I just…when I think about what he might be going through in there…how can I sleep until I know he’s okay?” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I know everyone’s tired, but can we try it again? Just one more time. And then I’ll rest, I promise.”

Not that it would do any good. When she tried to sleep, she remembered what it felt like to lie next to Barry. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The weight of his arm around her shoulders. The warmth of his kiss. Every time the memory came flooding back, she felt like it tore another piece out of her heart. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She focused on the strength of her resolve to drown out the ache in her muscles as she started to run again.

She had to get him back. She had to.

~~~

Remember her. Remember Iris.

She was slowly slipping away from him. He could feel it. Each moment in this place stretched like an eternity, and it felt like the harder he tried to hold on to her memory, he faster it slipped away.

The speed force shifted around him, taking shape. When it stepped forward, it wore a face he knew had once had meaning for him, but he could no longer remember why. “You’re starting to forget, Barry. You have to hold onto her. It’s your only hope. Remember her. Remember Iris,” it whispered, watching him sadly as he raced away, further and further into the speed force’s depths.

He closed his eyes and summoned her face. The light in her eyes when she laughed. The warmth of her hand against his cheek.

Remember Iris, and you’ll be all right. Remember her. Remember Iris.

Try as he might, he could no longer recall the day they met.

Two months post-Crisis

She sat at the desk, typing furiously away at her computer. She had been in the same position for hours, hardly noticing the passage of time as day faded into night.

“Cisco, do you have any other notes about, um…what about the time Barry went into the speed force looking for the meta human cure? Can you bring them to me?”

His face was sad and resigned as he looked over at her. “Iris, don’t you think you should take a break? You’re exhausted. You can’t help Barry if you can’t keep your eyes open.”

Her mouth twisted. “I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. Her voice softening slightly, she added, “Thank you. I appreciate your concern, Cisco. Really. But I have to do this. If we compile everything we know about the speed force, maybe…maybe we can find something…anything. Anything that can help Barry.”

Her gaze implored him to understand, and he nodded. She didn’t understand the scientific intricacies of the speed force, but she knew how to do this. How to conduct research, to pull facts together. To create a full picture from scraps of information.

As he turned to his computer to find the notes she requested, she let her eyes stray to the place she had stood by Barry’s side as they announced their engagement. She had been so happy that day. It had seemed that nothing could ever diminish their happiness.

They didn’t know then how rare those moments of unsullied joy would be, when they could bask in their love for each other without the rest of the world intervening. Without having to bear the many losses that would diminish their happiness.

~~~

Barry was growing tired, but he forced himself to run even harder. He couldn’t give in to weariness. The anti-matter bomb followed close behind him, and he had to make sure he took it to the heart of the speed force, where the shifting nexus of potential realities would hold it forever in stasis. He ached to stop running, but the thought of Iris kept him going.

Images appeared in the speed force as he raced by. Joe, laughing as he picked up his newborn daughter. Cisco, smirking as one of his inventions proved to be a success. Caitlin, her eyes going frosty blue as she transformed into Killer Frost.

But most of all, Iris. Iris, jumping up and down excitedly when her first article made the front page. Iris, a little crinkle forming in her brow as she stared at her computer in concentration. Iris, her eyes filled with love as she rolled over in bed and curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh.

But he had forgotten the exact sound of her voice. And though he tried, he couldn’t remember the sound of her laughter.

One month post-Crisis

Iris sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes. She was so tired, her weariness sinking into her very bones. And yet she found herself unable to sleep. She couldn’t even lie in the bed she’d once shared with Barry. But that was no surprise. She’d been unable to do so the last time he’d disappeared into the speed force, with no expectation he would ever return. Why should this time be any different?

Her gaze traveled to the television, which she had taken to running on low volume twenty-four hours a day. Unable to bear the silence that fell around through the apartment in Barry’s absence, stifling her ability to breathe. The reporter’s tone was grave as she stood next to a wallpapered with homemade missing persons signs and said into the camera, “Today marks one month since Central City’s own superhero, the Flash, disappeared in the battle that shook the city. But hundreds of others are still missing, their loved ones posting their names and pictures across buildings downtown, desperate for any news…”

The world publicly mourned for the Flash, but Iris’s grief for her lost husband was private. Barry Allen’s name was listed among the missing, but unlike the families of the others who had been lost in the battle, Iris didn’t even have false hope to hold on to, that he might still be found injured but alive. That perhaps he was trapped on another world in the multiverse but might one day find his way home. That he might one day return to her.

Though she tried to rally against it, in her heart, she remembered the warning that had been carried to her from the future. Team Flash often tried to defy fate, but this one time, fate might win. Barry might be lost to her forever.

Biting back a cry of despair, she reached for the remote, desperate to change the channel. As she reached across the coffee table, her arm brushed against a picture frame, sending it toppling to the floor. It seemed almost more than she could bear to bend down and retrieve it, but she knew what she would see, even before she turned it over.

It was a photo she’d taken with Barry on their wedding day, before doppelgängers from another dimension had invaded and attempted to kill them all. Prior to the ceremony, Barry and Iris had stolen a few moments together. The photographer had captured the moment that the two of them had caught sight of each other for the first time.

The picture reminded her of the love he’d had on his face that day, when he caught sight of her in her white wedding dress. The memory speared through her chest, straight into her heart. But she didn’t need a picture to remember the love in Barry’s eyes when he looked at her. He’d looked at her like that for almost their entire lives.

Oh, what she’d give to see that look in his eyes once more.

~~~

Remember Iris. Remember her.

Inside the speed force, Barry closed his eyes and remembered the time he’d raced past the coffee house, just in time to see Iris laugh at something someone had said. She had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. He held the memory of that smile in his heart, knowing that, as long as he remembered Iris, he would find his way out of the heart of the speed force. She was his lightning rod, and the love they shared would always find a way to bring him home.

He could no longer remember the smell of her perfume.

“I-I have to do this,” Barry said firmly, staring at the devastation around them. “I have to go.”

“Barry, it’s a suicide mission!” Ralph protested.

Cisco nodded. “You were the one who told us about the dangers of going that far into the speed force!”

Barry nodded. He knew the risks. Taking the anti-matter bomb into the heart of the speed force might be the only way to save the multiverse, but no speedster had ever gone that far in before. There was no guarantee that he would ever find his way out. Or that his mind would remain intact if he did. Time worked differently within the speed force. What would be a month for Iris and the rest of the world might feel like a thousand years for him. There was a good chance he’d go mad long before he found his way back.

But it was a chance he had to take – perhaps the only chance any of them had to save the multiverse. And so he explained desperately, “I know, but I’m the only one who can do this. You know it, too.” There had already been casualties in this battle to save endless worlds, with heroes either fallen or trapped in other universes. Without Vibe’s powers, it was unclear when – or if – they would ever be able to return.

When Iris stepped forward, the rest of the group exchanged glances and stepped away, letting the two of them have a moment alone. But the two of them didn’t even notice. Their eyes were solely on each other as she reached up and cupped her hands around the back of his neck. Tears were streaming down her face as she pressed her forehead against his own. Without saying a word, he increased his speed, bringing her into Flashtime with him. It was perhaps foolish of him to waste his energy like this, but if this was the last moment they would ever share, he wanted to make it last as long as he could.

If only he could make it last forever.

“You told me once that you were scared that if I told you to stay, you wouldn’t be able to do what you needed to do,” she whispered.

Feeling his heart rending in two, he held her tightly to him. “I remember.” And he’d meant it. Even through his resolve, he knew that if she begged him to stay right now, he wouldn’t be able to find the strength to leave her. “But, Iris, it’s the only way to save the multiverse. The only way to save you.” Lifting one hand to her cheek, her brushed her tears away with his thumb.

“I just…I can’t keep losing you like this. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together.” He could hear the pain in her voice, echoing the ache in his own heart, and for a moment, he was tempted to stay. It was only the thought of all that would be lost that helped him retain his resolve. He could lose everything else in the world, but losing her would break him. He would sacrifice anything – including his life – if it would keep Iris safe.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she clutched him desperately as she blurted, “Let me go in instead. Let me do this. I-I know I’m not a speedster, but I’ve been in the speed force before. Maybe I could do it. Let me try, please! Then you-you could come in and save me. Y-you could bring me back. I know you could.” He didn’t even have to say anything; he could see that she recognized the hopelessness of her request even as she spoke the words. “Please, Barry,” she whispered. “You’ve seen the newspaper. If you go in there…I could lose you forever. I can’t go through that again.

Pulling her hard against him, Barry cupped his hand around her neck and drew her to him for a kiss. Full of desperation and hope, he poured everything he felt for Iris into this kiss – quite possibly the last kiss they would ever share. Closing his eyes, he tried to etch this moment indelibly into his memory – the sound of her voice, the taste of her kiss, the press of her lips against his.

“I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. I have to do this, Iris. There’s no other choice.” he told her in an urgent tone as he released her and stepped away, slowing time to let it pass as it would. Each passing second stealing away the future they had dreamt of sharing. Every part of him longed to hold onto her forever, and so he knew he had to let her go in order to find the strength to do what needed to be done. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I always will.”

She shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “Don’t say it like that. That sounds like a goodbye. Just…come back to me, Barry. Promise me that whatever happens, you won’t stop running until you come home to me. Promise!”

“I promise, Iris.”

Every part of him wanted to stay there with her, and so he had to remind himself of what was at stake in order to pull himself away. If he didn’t go, he would lose her anyway. Their entire world would be gone. As he turned, however, he heard the defeat and despair in her voice as she whispered, “I’ve always loved you, too. And I always will.”

Her words almost shattered his resolve, and he shook with the need to turn around. To pull her into his arms and hold her until she stopped crying. Focusing on the anti-matter bomb and all it could do, all that it could erase from existence, he forced himself to race forward, knowing the bomb would be drawn to the energy of endless possible worlds that he carried with him through his connection to the speed force and follow him inside.

Pushing himself faster than he’d ever run before, he closed his eyes and thought about the woman he loved. She was the love of his life. His lightning rod. As long as he remembered her, he could get through this. As long as he remembered her, everything would be all right.

Remember Iris, he told himself as he pushed himself harder than he ever had before, running deeper and deeper into the speed force. He just had to remember her. Her face, her touch. The smell of her shampoo and the sound of her laugh. Above all, his love for her. As long as he remembered her, everything would be all right.

Iris. Remember Iris. Remember her…

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 25 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating:  PG?

Warnings:  some adult language, angst.

Characters/Pairings:  Carol/Daryl, Sophia, OC, Lily Chambler, Meghan Chambler, Michonne, mentions of Aaron, Tara Chambler, Andrea Harrison, Andre, others. 

Author's Note:  so sorry for the delay on this story.  I've been blocked so horribly and just down in general about my writing.  This isn't my best chapter by any means, and not quite what I envisioned when I first drew it up, but words have been so hard for me to come by lately that it's a relief just to put it out there.  Enjoy anyway? 

  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

  Seven years after Vegas.  Middle of March.  The immediate aftermath of Daryl seeing Sophia again. 

      “Coming to the game, Mr. Dixon?” 

  Daryl’s still reeling.  Trapped inside one of them kaleidoscopes, inside a jumbled rainbow of colors and shifting emotions that only gets more and more distorted with each twist so he don’t answer.  Isn’t capable of it really.  Just lets the drone of the boy’s words go in one ear and out the other while he grips his steering wheel with blanched fingers. 

  “Zach.  Leave the man alone.” 

  “Yeah, Zach.  He look like he wants to watch us get our asses beat?” 

  “Who says we’re going to get our asses beat?” 

  “Coach.” 

  “Coach wouldn’t say that.” 

  “He put it in different words.  But he definitely said it.” 

  “Shut up, Jimmy.  Nobody asked you anyway.” 

  The boys argue back and forth, but it’s white noise to Daryl.  He’s lost inside his own head, struggling to put together the pieces of a long-shelved puzzle.  Just when he feels like he almost has it, has the elusive lynchpin within his grasp, the last bell rings and kids spill out of the school in every direction like ants scurrying to collect crumbs, jolting him rudely back into the moment.  “Game’s near Woodbury?” 

  “Yeah, Man.  You coming?” 

  “Dude looks like death, Gage.  Leave him alone.” 

  “Pfft.  Whatever.  Just forget it.  We’re running late as it is.” 

  Their voices fade the further they get away but his little girl’s rings loud and clear in Daryl’s recent memory.  Carol’s joins it and another small voice, a voice he doesn’t recognize but somehow knows all the same.      

  “I thought you were dead.  I thought you were dead ‘cause no way would my daddy leave me.”   

  “Sophia.  Sweetheart.  Not here.  Not now.  Your brother…” 

  Carol had frozen at his sharp intake of breath, her blue sky eyes stormy as she’d taken the small boy by the shoulders and tried to steer him away.  Tried to distract him from the train wreck unfolding before him, the screech and ear-splitting crash of their past colliding with the painful, harsh reality of their present. 

  “Nobody.” 

  That single word, cloaked in ‘Phia’s tears as it had been, still feels like a knife lodged deep in Daryl’s floundering heart.  Still echoes in his ears.  Haunts him.  But it’d been Carol’s softly uttered addition that’d twisted the knife and even now has his life’s blood flowing out of him in a painful torrent.  Has him all out of sorts and all but oblivious to the rest of the still moving world around him. 

  “Nobody that you know, Baby.  C’mon.  Let’s get you home okay?  You and Sis both.  Sophia?” 

  “Mr. Dixon?” 

  “I didn’t…” 

  “Mr. Dixon?  Can you hear me?” 

  Cool fingers circle his wrist, discreetly checking his pulse before moving to calmly loosen his death grip on the steering wheel, and the fog finally lifts enough for Daryl to focus.  Clarity sharpens his mind but also heightens the grief—and budding anger—that he feels and he turns his gaze to the woman eyeing him with muted concern.  He recognizes her as the school nurse.  Has had to send more than one of his dumbass students her way in the short time he’s been at this gig.  Seen her be friendly with Carol and knows where her sympathies lie.  Still.  He feels the overwhelming need to explain himself.  “I didn’t know.  I thought…” 

  Lily cuts him off with a subtle shake of her head and a suggestion for the young daughter that lingers uncertainly behind her.  “Meghan, why don’t you run back inside?  Grab something to drink for Mr. Dixon?  You were right.  He doesn’t look so good.”  When the little girl has scampered away and the bus carrying the baseball team is gone along with most of the cars in the parking lot, she finally speaks again.  “My sister Tara babysits for Carol.  Our daughters are friends, Mr. Dixon.  Sophia’s older, but they tell each other everything.  Any explanations you think you have for abandoning your family?  Sophia and Carol deserve to hear them from you.  Understood?”   

  A ragged sigh whistles past Daryl’s lips and he blinks against the sting in his eyes.  “’Phia ain’t in the place to hear nothing I say.” 

  Lily’s expression softens but she holds her tongue. 

  Daryl nods to himself and drums still nerveless fingertips against his steering wheel as he gazes straight ahead.  “Tell your girl thanks for me, but I got somewhere I have to be.”   

  Lily stops him with a hand on his arm and an inherent plea in the way she says his name.  “Mr. Dixon.” 

  Daryl ducks his head shamefully.  “Mr. Dixon was a man didn’t deserve to be called Daddy.  Guess I’m more like the old man than I thought.  Don’t worry.  I ain’t gonna bother them.  Got more sense than that.”  He doesn’t meet her eyes again, afraid of the pity that renders her voice a quiet murmur. 

  “Maybe she’s not ready to hear you now, but if I know Sophia at all?  Someday she will be.” 

  “Someday.  Yeah, maybe.” 

  Turning his key in the ignition, Daryl brings his old truck to life and its cantankerous rumble is so loud Lily almost has to shout to be heard. 

  “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

  “Gotta be.” 

  “At least stay until Meghan gets back with your drink.”

  “Done told you…”  

  “You got somewhere to be.  I know.  I heard you.  Just.  I know it doesn’t mean much coming from somebody you barely know.  But don’t hurt them even more by doing something stupid.”    

  Daryl mulls over her words.  Tries desperately to take them to heart as the truck eats up the miles between King County and Woodbury.  To push the building anger he feels away with middling results.  Welcome distraction comes when he passes an athletic complex halfway there.  Sees the King County baseball coach running practice drills with the boys before the big game and winces because he’s gotten to know the man somewhat.  Aaron’s a good guy.  Another one of Carol’s friends and coworkers.  Earnest.  Hard working.  Friendly and welcoming to a fault.  Ill-suited to coaching but out there anyway, determined to turn lemons into lemonade, to make something positive out of something negative when Daryl aches for nothing more in that moment than a confrontation and some answers.

  “Sophia.  Sweetheart.  Not here.  Not now.  Your brother…” 

  He repeats Lily’s sensible words as a mantra, even as the puzzle pieces start to fall into place.  The harder the fist around his heart squeezes, the hotter his blood starts to boil.  Her brother?  But Andrea…    

  “Nobody that you know, Baby.  C’mon.  Let’s get you home okay?  You and Sis both.  Sophia?” 

  By the time he pulls into the Woodbury parking lot, he’s at fever pitch again.  The truck has barely lurched to a stop before he’s jumping out of it and slamming the door, striding to the front entrance and a security guard that immediately diagnoses him a threat, abandoning his post to prevent Daryl from going any further.

  “Sir.  Do you have an appointment?” 

  Daryl blatantly ignores his question.  Indignantly huffs a half-truth as he deftly sidesteps the man.  Woman had been quick to shove those divorce papers under his nose. “I’m here to see my lawyer.  We go way back.  Don’t need no appointment.” 

  “Sir,” the man repeats calmly.  “I’m going to need you to stop where you’re at and show me your hands.  Keep them where I can see them while I verify a few things.  Do that and if your lawyer’s receptive to seeing you without an appointment, we’ll go from there.” 

  Sighing in resignation, Daryl agrees and holds his hands out to his sides.  “Fine.  What you need to know?” 

  “You can start by giving me your name and who you’re here to see.” 

  Some fifteen minutes later, when his anger’s cooled considerably and the pain and devastation of all he’s missed has begun to sink back in deep, Daryl looks up from the weary study of his worn boots when he hears a familiar voice.  It doesn’t belong to the person he expected or wanted to see.  Instead, it belongs to Michonne, and one look at the grave expression the woman wears has him swallowing hard because she knows.  He doesn’t know how much she knows or when she found it out, but betrayal hangs low and heavy around her shoulders too.  “She too much a coward to face me herself?”

  Michonne’s lips pinch into a trembling, disappointed frown before she sucks in a shaky breath.  Her eyes never straying from his, she addresses the guard that waits patiently nearby.  “It’s okay, DJ.  Daryl’s good people.  He’s just been hit with a bit of upsetting news today.” 

  “Sorry, Man,” DJ apologizes.  “Hope you know I was just doing my job.” 

     As soon as they’re alone, Michonne allows Daryl only a brief glimpse of the disappointed tears in her eyes before straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat.  “I understand…” 

  “No,” Daryl instantly interjects through gritted teeth.  “You don’t.” 

  Nodding to concede his point, she begins again.  “I know you’ve just been blindsided.  It’s not exactly the same, but I have too.  Be that as it may, there’s a little boy behind those doors, my little boy, and I know none of us right now understand this whole mess, but Andre?  Daryl, it makes even less sense to him.  Do you get that?  One minute his mama and Aunt Andrea were happy and laughing.  The next?  The next they’re…they’re not.”

  “I’m sorry, ’Chonne.  But…” 

  “But nothing, Daryl.”  Impassioned now, Michonne defends Andrea.  On one count at least.  “Andrea wanted to come out here.  She wanted to talk to you herself.  I convinced her not to.  Me.  Because she was the only one that could console my son.  So please.  Remember that.  Think of him before you storm in there dead set on getting your pound of flesh.  Okay?  Think of him and treat him the same way you’d treat the son you just found out about.” 

  Daryl’s throat grows tight again and the tears that had stung his eyes earlier return with a vengeance, streaming unnoticed down his cheeks.  Hoarsely, he pleads with Michonne to understand.  “My boy, ‘Chonne.  I didn’t know.  She told me, no, she let me think he died.  Even worse…I want some answers, goddammit.” 

  Michonne grabs his hand, offers herself up as an anchor of sorts.  Something steady to hang on to in the onslaught of emotion.  “And if they don’t satisfy you?  We can’t go back, Daryl.  Only forward.  What then?” 

  “Got no fuckin’ clue, but don’t I deserve the chance to figure that out for myself?  And to do that, I need to talk to Andrea.” 

  “Okay.  Follow me.  We’ll get you your answers.”