#like five of my coworkers came barreling around the corner

[lactosegremlin]

not the dunks 😭😭😭

ben affleck’s publicist gives him a call like once a year and it’s like “hey man can you just be, like, really tired and done with everything again? yeah yeah i know the smoking one is popular we just gotta release another one you know? yeah okay dropping your dunkin’ donuts sounds good january fourth okay with you?”

[burnedlegend-archive]

so like we all remember how in the lsat two seasons of legends, people had a tendency to treat mick like he was an animal/talk to him like he was a dog, etc.

well, a couple coworkers started doing that to me today, calling me an animal, giving me orders like i was a dog, etc. and like

ya know

if you experience this yourself

you really start to get why mick spends his life in a homicidal rage 

[gingeralepdf]

Walk On By - Part 2

A/N: yay!!!!!! another installment in the shroomrry cinematic universe is here!! i want to say a huge thank you to el ( @harrytheehottie​ ) and brailey ( @daydreamsofh​ ) for being excellent beta readers and supporters. <3 <3

and thank you to everyone who has shown my writing love. i truly appreciate it so much. i hope you like this part just as much as the first one. :-)

if you haven’t read part 1, catch up here!!

🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: just under 5k

**September 15th, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

The brakes on your car squeal as you pull into the last empty spot along the curb and shift into park. The music from your radio comes to an abrupt stop when you turn the key back to shut the engine off. Your head hits the headrest behind you before you empty your lungs into the silence.

Cars drive past on the street to your left. It’s just past five thirty, so all of the after work traffic is in full swing.

You’ve been avoiding this errand for two weeks now. There’s a record that you’ve been wanting to get your hands on ever since one of your coworkers played it at a work function. After looking through shelf after shelf in all of your favorite shops in L.A., and even making some calls to shops in surrounding areas, they’ve all come up short.

This seems to be your very last resort. Right across the street, sandwiched between a donut shop and a hair salon, is Jupiter House Records. From what you remember, this shop has a really good selection and variety, but the handful of unpleasant interactions you’ve had with the owner have been enough to make you look somewhere else. You’ve been stubbornly avoiding this place for years. Now you have a whole other reason for not wanting to spend hours in this store digging through to find your favorites or discover new ones.

Harry works here.

You haven’t seen him since he showed up on your doorstep to return your address book. The conversation you had with Jenny when she came home from work that evening plays through your mind again.

Both of you plop down on opposite sides of the couch in your living room. You sigh and take a big sip from your glass of wine before explaining the whole interaction to her, starting from the moment you opened the door to the moment you saw him drive away in his car.

Jenny grins. The only sound in the room comes from the ticking of the clock on the wall as you wait for her response. “I think he likes you.”

You squint. “That’s what you’re taking away from all of that?”

Her eyes widen and she springs forward, almost sloshing the wine out of her glass when she sets it on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re telling me he saw the ‘If lost please return to..’ in your address book and decided to make a trip to our house to return it to you in person, when he could have just sent it in the mail?”

You can feel a crease forming between your eyebrows and you take in a sharp breath, fully prepared to counter her point, but she barrels through.

“And he wanted to ‘make sure you were okay’. Out of all the dealers that we’ve met, how many have just shown up at our houses to check up on us? Zero.”

You press your lips together. You can’t argue the fact that this alone sets Harry apart. However, this doesn’t mean he likes you. Maybe it just means that he’s the kind of person that goes the extra mile for the people he does business with. He could have easily left you and Jen sitting on the sidewalk after the concert, but he decided to help, to do what any other good-natured person would do.

“And let’s not forget how he threw the paper on the doorstep so you wouldn’t have to walk all the way down the driveway.” Jenny clutches her chest and swoons.

Scoffing at the way she’s adding dramatics, you challenge, “How do you know he didn’t show up here to see you?”

“He didn’t ask about me, did he?”

“No,” you begrudgingly mumble into your glass.

She grabs her glass from the coffee table and gives you a knowing look. She’s made her point, and the more it lingers like the aftertaste of wine, the more conflicted you become.

You’ve spent more idle moments than you’d like to admit since then thinking about the night you were sitting outside of the Forum. Thinking about what possessed you to lean in and study his face so closely. Was it solely the effects of the drugs? If that’s the case, then why do you want to go back to that moment so badly? And why didn’t Harry pull away? Did he really blush when you were staring at him? Was his heart really racing when you gave him a hug, or was that just your wild imagination?

The honking of a car brings you out of your thoughts. You take a deep breath and trill your lips. There’s a slight break in traffic. If you don’t get out of your car and cross the street now, you fear you’ll stay here stuck in your thoughts all evening.

With a huff, you rip your keys from the ignition and push your door open. You cross the street, walking with a purpose, and make it to the sidewalk.

The full strength of your nerves doesn’t hit you until you’re just in front of the store and the glass door swings out with a simultaneous chime of a bell. Your heart drops from your chest to your stomach and you freeze on the sidewalk to avoid colliding with the man exiting the shop.

When he stops to hold the door open for you, it takes you a moment to gather yourself. You mutter a ‘thank you’ as your hand firmly grips the cool metal of the door handle. Almost like you’re using it as a crutch to get you through the threshold.

Your shoes meet the shaggy mustard yellow carpet, matted down by years of customer traffic.

A woman that looks about your age greets you from behind a counter to your right. You return her half smile and she goes back to flipping through the magazine on the counter in front of her. The nametag on her floral shirt reads ‘Nora’. Behind her is a door with a red ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign taped to it.

Underneath the counter that she’s leaning on is a glass case holding records and cassette tapes, all marked ‘deluxe’ or ‘limited edition’. Spread out next to them are a few t-shirts, buttons, and stickers with the store logo printed on them.

You weren’t expecting it to be so quiet. Right now it seems like you and Nora are the only people in the store. The coast is clear. You can relax a bit. The adrenaline rush you were feeling on the other side of the door has now been replaced by the whirring of the air vents and David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” playing over the speakers.

You turn to your left to take in the rest of the store, meandering into the first row of record shelves.

The large window taking up the entire front wall lets in plenty of evening sun that warms your skin through your shirt. More shelves, each one three tiers deep, line the rest of the walls and create aisles in the middle of the room.

Signs hanging from the ceiling above each section indicate the genre. The one you’re standing next to is labeled ‘new releases’ with a smaller font that reads ‘alpha by artist’. Other sections are labeled country, rock, disco, classical. Your eyes land on the back corner of the store where the funk, soul, and jazz sections are.

You make your way over while pulling your sleeves up to your elbows.

Unsure of which specific section the record you’re looking for will be in, you decide to start on one end of the corner and search all the way through to the other in hopes of finding it.

You fall into a familiar routine of searching through the first tier, then the second, leaning over to search through the top tier, and then taking a step over to start the whole process again.

Once you’re about halfway through the soul section, the bell on the door chimes again. You can’t be bothered to look, not wanting to lose your place.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Goddamnit. Your hands freeze their movements and your heart begins to race all over again. You know exactly who just walked through that door.

“Harry,” Nora admonishes, “I finally have a date after two months and you’re gonna make me late.”

Harry’s mumbled response is drowned out by the loud creak of the door behind the counter, but judging by Nora’s gasp and the unmistakable thwack of a magazine, maybe it’s better left between the two of them.

You begin to slowly file through records again, this time not paying much attention to what you’re doing. More-so to give your hands something to do and appear busy while trying to hear the rest of their conversation.

Nora sighs, “It’s been really slow today. Hopefully it’s a slow night for you.” All you hear is some shuffling before she adds, “Oh, boss wanted me to remind you not to play the music too loud.”

“Did he? Dunno what he’s talking about,” Harry says, feigning innocence.

Nora laughs, “Whatever.”

The next thing you hear is the jingling of keys and footsteps across the carpet.

Harry raises his voice from the back room, “Are you gonna punch out?”

“Will you do it for me? I’ve gotta go.”

“Sure.”

The bell on the door rings and Nora yells from the doorway, “I left three boxes in the back for you to restock!”

“Oh thanks,” Harry yells back with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Bye,” she sings as she walks out.

The door slams behind her. The bell’s high pitched ringing seems to hang in the air.

Silence falls on the room when the song playing over the speakers stops suddenly, making the room quiet enough to hear the traffic outside. You hear a needle drop and after a few seconds, the opening guitar notes of “Can You Get to That” by Funkadelic begin to play. The corners of your mouth turn down to fight a smile when the volume is promptly turned up much louder than what it was when you walked in.

You take a sharp breath in, realizing that you’re going to have to turn around at some point. Surely you can’t just stay in this corner and keep your back turned to him until the place closes. You don’t know what you’re going to say to him. Will he even recognize you after not seeing you for weeks?

There’s not much time to decide what to do when the sound of footsteps approaching on the carpet is getting closer to you.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you hear his voice.

“Finding everything alright?”

You turn your head to the left.

Harry is standing a few shelves apart from you with a box propped between the shelf and his hip. The sunlight from the window shines through the ends of his hair and the sleeves of his white t-shirt when he grabs a record from the box and reaches out to carefully wedge it back into the right place. You scan down to where his shirt is tucked into a pair of dark brown corduroy pants, and further down to see a pair of dirty white sneakers peeking out from the ends of the flares. When he turns his head to the box again, you notice that his mustache is significantly thinner from the last time you saw each other.

Heat rushes up your neck and onto your face when he glances up at you.

His hand pauses in the air and his eyebrows raise slightly before the corners of his mouth do the same, revealing just a hint of his dimples. His head tilts back and he blinks in surprise. “Oh… hi.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding when he addresses you by name. Mirroring his smile and turning your shoulders to face him, you reply, “Hi. I… didn’t know you worked here.”

A flat out lie, but thankfully he doesn’t seem too suspect about it.

He frowns and looks down at his shirt, pulling it out in front of him to reveal his nametag. “Hm. M’ afraid I do,” he says flatly.

A breathy chuckle leaves you, amused at the way he’s effortlessly making sarcastic remarks like this with you and his coworker. Quite different from the stiffly awkward interactions you’ve had with him. It’s like you’re seeing him in his natural environment. Him being at ease is having the same effect on you.

“Do you need help finding anything?” he asks, continuing his previous actions, this time with a soft smile.

“Actually, yes,” you clear your throat, “I’m looking for this specific record. I’ve looked all over for it by now. I’m pretty sure it should be in one of these sections if you have it, but...” you trail off as you cast a glance over your shoulder to the shelves you have yet to go through.

“I can take a look in our inventory. Save you some time?”

Of course. Why didn’t you just ask about that when you first walked in? “Sure. That would be great.”

Harry hoists the box into the crook of his arm with a faint grunt and you follow him over to the counter. After setting the box at the end of the countertop, he walks to the other end and reaches underneath the register, pulling out a large beat up binder with ‘inventory’ written on the spine.

It lands on the counter with a plop, probably due to the huge stack of paper inside, separated by multicolored tabs.

“What’s the artist’s name?” he asks after opening the binder to the first page.

“The Equatics.”

He pulls on the ‘A’ tab and folds it over.

“Oh, sorry, it’s Equatics with an ‘E’.”

He tuts and shakes his head before tracing his finger down and pulling on the ‘E’ tab. “Equatics with an ‘E’,” he mumbles.

You fold your lips between your teeth.

Now you’re thankful for the loud music filling the room as you’re standing wordlessly in front of the counter watching him flip through the pages of the inventory binder. Hair hangs in front of his face as his head is tilted down to scan over the pages, all filled with scribbles, arrows, and notes in the margins written in blue, black, and red ink. It all means nothing to you, especially looking at it upside down. You can only imagine how tedious it must be to keep up with.

With his left hand pressed flat against the counter, the expanse of his arm is right in front of you. Hopefully he can’t feel your eyes surveying his tattoos, at least the ones you can see from this angle. A small cross on his hand, an anchor on his wrist, the tail of a mermaid, a delicate rose near his elbow, a heart just beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

He inhales sharply and clears his throat into his fist, “Looks like we do have it. It’s actually in our as-is section.” As he’s speaking, he spins the binder in your direction and slides his finger almost to the bottom of the page to point out where it lists the artist, album title, and the section it’s in.

Despite the relief that comes with finally finding something you’ve been searching for, your face falls a bit. You know that ‘as-is’ is often just a nice way of saying that something is heavily used. “Does that mean it’s… damaged?”

Harry hums and tilts his head to the side, not meeting your eyes until he responds.

“Not always. Honestly we’re pretty much required to put stuff in that section even if it’s just the sleeve that’s messed up. Sometimes the record itself is still in great condition. You can still find some good stuff in there.”

“Okay. Where’s the as-is section?” You don’t remember seeing a sign for it when you walked in, unless you just overlooked it.

“Right. It's, uh, down this hallway here. Kind of hidden.”

Harry rounds the end of the counter and you follow him over to a doorway covered with a ruby red beaded curtain. Harry pulls it to the side and steps through first, pausing to hold the curtain back for you. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and step into a long hallway that extends to your right.

He releases the curtain, letting the beads crash together, before starting down the hallway.

Both walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of cassette tapes, with each row of shelving just tall enough to fit their size. There’s so much packed in this long stretch of narrow space, like a condensed, fluorescent-lit cornucopia.

“I had no idea all of this was back here,” you comment, slightly dumbfounded that you probably would have overlooked this hallway entirely if it hadn’t been pointed out to you.

“Yeah, lots of people think it’s off limits because of the curtain. I need to put some signs up or something.”

As you’re walking behind Harry, you realize you were too distracted before to see print on the back of his shirt, let alone make out what it said. Bold purple font reads ‘MY MIND IS UP ON THE MOUNTAINS’ with a smaller font at the bottom that reads ‘(and i didn’t even have to climb)’. The words are surrounded by a sun, a few flowers, a picture of a mountain, and two mushrooms on the bottom.

A smirk creeps onto the corner of your mouth at how incredibly on the nose it seems for him. It makes you wonder if anyone here knows about his other job, or if he’s hiding in plain sight.

Once you’re both about a third of the way down the hallway, there’s a gap in the shelves on the right filled by a nondescript doorway.

“Here we are.” Harry stops and reaches on the other side of the doorway to flip the light switch before stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in first.

You step into a small room. It only contains two long folding tables pushed against opposite walls. Rather than fancy, neat shelves, the records here are stored in milk crates and cardboard boxes lined up on the tops of the tables. It almost looks like you’ve come across a garage sale.

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips to the side as you walk up to the first box at the end of the table closest to the door. When you reach in, Harry speaks up.

“I could help you look for a bit, if you want.”

Harry’s now leaning against the doorframe, running a hand against his jaw. Do you see a slight tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks as well?

“I don’t really have anything better to do. Plus this section... isn’t really organized,” he continues.

You bring your attention back to the box in front of you, a sharp breath escaping your nose when you turn the Johnny Cash record back to reveal a Mozart one behind it. “I can see that.”

“But if you want to look around by yourself I understand, I can leave you to it,” he says, already slightly backing up into the hallway.

“No, I wouldn’t mind the company. You could take that table and I’ll take this one?” Your own words surprise you as you’re speaking them. Moments ago you had been dreading crossing paths with him again, but now that you’re having a moment that feels comfortable, you find yourself wanting him to stick around longer.

A curiosity is growing in your mind, wondering if Harry is feeling the same way, if that’s why he offered to help, if that’s why he slowly joins you in the room and mirrors your position at the table behind you so you’re not standing back to back.

You both search through the crates without a word, only the faint sound of the music from the front room coming down the hallway. Meanwhile, your thoughts are going back and forth between Jenny insisting that this man likes you and talking yourself out of that idea, insisting that he’s simply being nice, doing his job.

“How have you been?”

The question catches you off guard, taking a moment to realize that he’s actually said it out loud. “Um. I’ve been good. Nothing exciting going on, just working a lot. You?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’ve been working a lot too. Where do you work? Don’t think I’ve asked you.”

“Do you ever listen to KIIS-FM?”

“Yes?” He responds, possibly thinking that you’re trying to shift the subject.

You smile to yourself, “You’re welcome. I’m a sound engineer there.”

“Oh shit,” he says enthusiastically. “That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

Briefly turning to look at him, your smile grows wider when you read the interest and excitement on his face. An expression you’re seeing for the first time in him, and it's because of something about you. Your heart flutters and you turn back to your table.

“Most days, I do. It can be a real dick fest sometimes though. Not in a good way.”

Despite mumbling the last sentence, Harry seems to still pick it up.

He barks out a laugh. You turn, eyes wide, to see his shoulders shaking and him covering his mouth with his hand.

When he turns back to you, clearly making a lot of effort to compose himself, he places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh yeah, the way you laughed really convinced me,” you lightheartedly roll your eyes.

“No it’s just… the way you said it was really funny,” he says, chuckling through his words. He continues, “So you studied engineering at UCLA then?”

Your eyebrows crease as his words hang in the air. You guess it’s not wild to assume that people who live in L.A. have attended UCLA. However, since you’ve never mentioned any kind of schooling to Harry, you can only gather that he’s making that assumption from the UCLA t-shirt you were wearing when he showed up at your house.

“I thought I remembered Jenny mentioning that you both went there.” His tone is cautious now, hesitant even. Like he’s picked up on his own blunder.

You decide to brush over it and simply nod, “Yeah, that’s how we met, actually.”

You return to looking through the crate in front of you. You gasp when you see the familiar red cover of the album you’re looking for.

You feel Harry turn around behind you. “Find it?”

You pull it from the crate. The bold red cover with a blue-grey circle in the middle, running your finger over the lines and arrows creating rings around it with a few stars placed here and there. You turn to smile at Harry, holding up the record in place of an answer, too excited to form words. The paper dust liner crinkles as you slide the plastic disc from the sleeve. Holding it by the edges, you tilt it to the left, to the right, and hold it up closer to the light to inspect it. Your shoulders visibly fall when you spot a long scratch running from the middle to the edge.

“Oh no,” you whisper, bringing the record closer to your face. You lightly run your finger over the scratch. It doesn’t feel rough, you actually can’t feel it at all. A fraction of hope is restored knowing that the scratch isn’t too deep into the grooves. However, there’s no way to know if it’s unplayable unless you actually try to play it.

Harry seems to read your mind. “You could test it out on the player up front if you want.”

“Really?” You spin around, seeming to shock him judging by the way his upper body slightly jerks back. “I mean-- I would appreciate that. If it’s not too much--”

He shakes his head, “It’s not a problem.” He walks toward the door where he waits for you to gather everything up.

The front of the store quiet once you both emerge from the other side of the curtain.

“I liked your choice of work music, by the way,” you say once you’ve both made it back to the counter, hugging your record to your chest.

“Oh yeah, Maggot Brain. S’ a fun album.”

You lean forward to rest your forearms against the smooth wood of the counter, waiting while he takes the record off the player to make room for yours. “Do you listen to a lot of funk music?”

“I do. I’ve never really understood why some people aren’t into it. What’s not to love, right?”

“Exactly! My coworker showed me this album and I think it’s one of my favorites now. It was recorded by this group of high school students in seventy two. They won some studio time in a contest or something and they really made the most of it.”

“Hm. M’ excited to listen to it now.” He stretches his hand out, “I’ll take that.”

You hand over the album. “Could you start it on track two? I think that’s my favorite one.”

“Sure.” He places the record on the player and carefully moves the needle in place.

A warm feeling washes over you when you hear the familiar soft guitar and drum beat at the beginning of the song. You both stand in place as the bass line comes in and all of the instruments’ parts crescendo.

Once the beat drops and the main guitar comes in, Harry turns to you with raised eyebrows and an impressed smile.

“Amazing, right?” you ask through a chuckle.

“It’s really good.”

“I know! And I don’t notice the scratch at all. It sounds perfect.”

“S’ exciting. I’m glad you found it.”

He walks over to where you are and starts to inspect the sleeve, turning it over to read the back. He adopts a similar position as you, forearms resting on the counter as he taps his fingers on his bicep to the beat of the song.

“That guitar part is amazing.”

He’s leaning close enough now that you can see a hint of stubble along his jawline and his upper lip. His cologne, a swirl of vanilla and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. He looks up when you don’t respond and you avert your eyes immediately.

“I think so too,” you mumble.

“I find it crazy how something really amazing can be right in front of you for so long and you never notice it or you just keep missing it.” A pause. “This has been in the back room for… I don’t even know how long, and I probably never would have listened to it if you hadn’t been looking for it.” Another brief pause as he scratches at his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. He shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s weird, but I think about that kind of thing a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s weird. That can happen with… so many things, too.”

“Like people.”

His eyes quickly dance over your face. You swear they linger on your lips for a second  before returning to meet your eyes.

“Like people,” you repeat. “And I think it is good to think about that stuff from time to time but… it can get overwhelming. Sometimes it could even distract you from the things you’re enjoying now.”

Your eyes do the same motions, glancing all over his face, lingering on his lips, and then back to his eyes. This feels extremely reminiscent of the night you were sitting outside of the Forum, when you were practically nose to nose after you had taken a whiff of his hair. You had been telling yourself that the gravitational pull you felt that night was solely induced by the shrooms. However, you seem to be feeling it again now as your eyes trace over the plane of his cheek, the tip of his nose, the arch of his lip.

A slight crease between his eyebrows slightly contradicts the almost tender look in his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak.

Unfortunately he’s interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on the wall behind him.

You flinch at the sudden noise and Harry huffs in annoyance before clearing his throat into his fist.

He walks over to the player to turn the music down before answering the phone with a simple, clipped “Jupiter House.”

He covers the receiver with his hand and mouths ‘sorry’ to you before holding up a finger and going into the back room, closing the door until it's just cracked behind him.

You release a heavy sigh and rub your temples.

After a short conversation, Harry comes back and hangs up the phone.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, untangling the cord from his fingers. “Are you happy with this, then?” He asks, pointing to the record player.

“Uh- yes. Yes. I am.”

You go through the transaction in silence, watching the way Harry slides your record into a brown paper bag and the way he makes your change. At this moment, you’re wishing Harry came with a cartoon thought bubble over his head so you could know what he’s thinking right now. What exactly did he mean when he said ‘like people’? What was he about to say before he was interrupted?

He carefully folds and creases the paper, but instead of handing it over, he pauses, hands poised on the top of the bag.

“Sorry, I forgot something.” He opens the bag again and crouches down behind the counter.

“What--”

Before you can get your question out, his hand reaches into the glass case between you, hovering over the merchandise that you noticed when you first walked in. He picks out a button and a sticker. You hear them drop into the bag before he pops up from behind the counter.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I know.”

His smile and his voice are reassuring, absolving your confusion in a matter of seconds. 

“Thanks for your help. It was nice running into you,” you smile, taking the bag and holding the record to your chest once again.

“Take care. I’ll see you around.” He smiles.

You back away from the counter and push open the door. The bell rings in your ears one last time.

*********************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 2, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

-> STAY TUNED FOR PART 3 <-

[trashinaglass-archive]

Sensitive 2.0

Jealous waitress is jealous

A/n: I was reading a Bucky fic that I cannot find again of course that kind of inspired this? It was about Bucky taking reader to dinner and then getting upset bc she flirted with the waiter so he revenge flirted with a waitress. Idk it was messy but somewhere along the way came this.

This is the fic I wrote that became a Chris fic. I was gonna delete it but like fuck that. Here’s Tom.

Opening the door, Tom could barely get out I’m home before he was met by you barreling your way towards him, nearly tackling him with a hug. It had been five long months depending on phone calls, letters, and the few weekend visits. But they were never enough. Nothing could compare to having your boy home until further notice.

Tom laughed at your excitement, knowing it mirrored his own well, but plane rides never fail to suck the energy out of a person. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you gently. Each of you silently taking the other in; finally being together was just blissful.

Eventually, you pulled away, sniffing as you wipe your eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled, smiling as he reached up to wipe a stray tear that appeared at the corner of your eye.

“I just really missed you,” you whispered, Tom pressing his forehead against yours as you spoke.

“Yeah?” He asked, feeling bad for leaving as often and as long as he did. “I’m here. And I’m not leaving.”

. . .

The next day was spent at the Holland home, giving Tom time to see his parents and hang out with his younger brothers. “Any plans?” Nikki asked as she sat next to you. Everyone was outside, you and Nikki sitting on the deck while the boys played football in the garden.

You smiled at the question. “In what way,” you ask, turning to look at her.

She shrugged, “just since he’s home now.”

Nodding, “we have reservations for dinner tonight,” you tell her. Turning back to where the boys are before raising your voice a little higher, “which we should probably be getting ready for.”

Tom looked at you then looked at his watch, checking the time. “She’s right. I’ll see you guys later,” he told his brothers, leaving them to finish their game. He offered you a hand, helping you out of the chair. Both of you giving his mother thanks for lunch and having you over before leaving.

. . .

“I’m excited,” you tell Tom as he drives to the restaurant. You had dressed in your favorite outfit, not too formal but way past just casual. The last time you had date night was way too long ago.

“I am too,” Tom smiled, reaching his hand out to your thigh. You placed yours on top of his, appreciating the warm felling of his skin. “You deserve all the date nights.”

There was a hint of sadness in his tone, making you sigh. “I don’t mind missing out on a few, as long as I get you.” He looked over at you for a second before looking back at the road. Tom took your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. He parked the car, jogging to your side to open your door, offering you a hand as you step out. Your fingers intertwined as you walked into the restaurant, giving his name for your reservation.

You followed the hostess down the hall where she sat you at a small square table toward the back, thanking her as you both sat down. Not long after, a waitress approached. “How are you doing tonight?” She asked Tom, not bothering to look at you. He looked at you, knowing her intentions but not sure what to do about it. You shrugged, leaning back in your chair.

“We are doing wonderful, thank you,” he replied to her with a short nod. “Can we get a bottle of champagne?”

You noticed the girl purse her lips slightly before answering. “We actually don’t have any tonight. I can get you a beer though.”

Tom looked to you again. “Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” you said, having an idea of what the night would look like. “Go ahead and make two.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she wrote it down, turning abruptly. “So much for no champagne this evening,” you repeat, pointing out the couple across from you- the waiter popping the new bottle.

“I’m going to ask for a new server,” Tom said as he stood.

“No,” you rejected, grabbing his hand before he could pass you. “It’s fine- she just wants your attention. I’ve dealt with mean girls before. Just... it’s fine.”

He sighed, thinking about it. “I don’t want her ruin our night just because she’s trying to ‘get my attention’.”

“It won’t be ruined, Tom,” you assured him. “Unless she smashes my head in with a pan, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Tom’s jaw clinched as he looked ahead of him in the restaurant, noticing the girl obnoxiously laughing about something with her coworker. “Alright,” he said sitting back down. “But she does anything...”

“Then you can do whatever you think is necessary,” you finish for him. “I just want a nice dinner.” He looks at you sympathetically before being interrupted.

“Here’s your beer,” the waitress says kindly as she purposefully bends over to set the bottle down in front of Tom. You watch as she stands straight before turning toward you. “And, um,” her hand purposely hits the bottom of her tray, knocking the liquor all over you. “Oops.”

You stand trying to keep the damage minimal, but it was everywhere. “What the fuck is your problem?” Tom asks as he stands, unable to keep the anger contained. There was slight panic in the girl’s eyes, not expecting her favorite celebrity to yell at her.

“It- it was just an accident.”

“I’m not an idiot. I saw you do it on purpose,” he pointed out to her. “Make yourself useful, and get us a waiter that’ll actually do their job and not treat my girlfriend like trash.”

She nodded, small tears appearing in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she looked at you before walking away.

“I’m gonna go clean up in the restroom,” you tell Tom before walking away. He kept his eyes on you until you were out of sight. A few servers came to clean up the area as well as the manager to help diffuse the situation.

Returning with only slightly drier clothes, you saw Tom still standing as he spoke with the manager. They both turn as they hear you approaching.

“I apologize for the actions of our waitress,” he stated. “Your meal is on the house, and she will be fired immediately.”

Your brows furrowed in concern. “Don’t fire her,” you say, worried for her but moreso for yourself. Your biggest fear would be that she would run to twitter telling everyone that you caused her to lose her job.

The man looked slightly confused, looking to Tom once before turning back to you. “We’ll talk about it. Please enjoy the rest of your meal, and let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, sitting in the newly dried seat. Tom looked distraught as he messed with the watch around his wrist, shaking his head subtly. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he said quietly, pausing as the new waiter set your two fresh drinks down in front of you then leaving again. “I should’ve asked for a new waiter. I knew something stupid was gonna happen with that girl.” You sat silently for a few seconds, unsure what to say. You never expected her to actually do anything, just some looks and a few comments. “I hate that I can’t take you on a proper date without people trying to sabatoge it.”

“But I still get a date with a cute boy,” you offer, hoping it’ll make him feel better.

“Yeah, and you still got liquor all over your top,” he sighed, looking at the light brown stain covering the fabric.

You sigh in return, wondering what the hell you could say to make him happier. “It’s fine, I have plenty more. And a shopping addiction so it would’ve been forgotten soon anyways.” Tom didn’t reply, obviously starting to hold a grudge against the girl. You rolled your eyes and stood up, moving to where Tom sat, motioning for him to move his seat back. Once he did, you sat yourself in his lap and pressed your forehead to his.

“I love you. That girl doesn’t matter. What she did doesn’t matter. We’ll literally never see her again, so don’t be upset over it. I’d take a hundred drinks spilled on me if it means I get to kiss you and hug you and love you.”

Tom let out a breathy laugh. “Not if I get a say in it,” he joked, lifting his chin to meet your lips in a kiss. You smile, kissing him once more, before standing to get back to your seat, noticing the waiter standing awkwardly in the corner.

“Um,” he coughed. “Ready to order?”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Hey! I saw you were taking requests :3 would you mind writing (hcs, scenario, anything!) a thing where, shortly pre-OVW recall, McCree and his old teammate (f or neutral pronouns are fine but it’s up to u!!) accidentally meet again after he left without warning? Bonus points for “I thought u were dead/I was never gonna see you again” type stuff :p thanks! Sorry if this was confusing!

{This was, like, super fun to write? I did kinda flip part of the script, but it still fits what you asked for (hopefully). Minor warning for implied alcoholism though, oops. It can also be read as more of a ��bars exist for brawls” than “alcohol is my coping method” though, so maybe that’s not as bad??? IDK, at least the ending feels cute.} {-J}

After the fall of Overwatch and its subdivisions, there were certain things that you had been forced to accept: Dozens of your friends and coworkers had died, you were out of a job, and everything you had worked so hard for had crumbled into oblivion. So yeah, shit, you ended up drinking away your pain more than once. At this point you weren’t even sure how many places you were banned from. Still, you held onto the pride that came from never starting any fights, instead waiting for some asshole to decide he wanted to rumble with an ex-Blackwatch agent. It was messy, dangerous, and only added to your nasty reputation.

Few organizations would even think of hiring you. Did that make your drinking worse, or did your drinking make the job search harder?... It wasn’t something you wanted to dwell on, especially considering how desperately you were trying to change things. Mercenary work hadn’t suited you for long, as all your clients were faceless, mysterious forces pulling strings from the shadows. How could you trust that they weren’t like Talon?... Or like Blackwatch had become? In the end you had been forced to slink back into the shadows, praying to whatever gods may be that you could still do some good for the world.

That was a couple years ago. You had changed your name, traded out your old gear for something less suspicious, and set yourself up along the halfway point of Route 66. The area was known for its problems with gangs, violence, and a general lack of government intervention. Sure, the road itself spanned across eight different states, but most of it had been in a state of disrepair for a few decades now. The Omnic Crisis was the final push that sealed the region’s fate. Or, at least, it had been. Some people still cared.

Like you. Why else would you be here, now, scanning the horizon, a beer in one hand, binoculars in the other? There certainly weren’t any good birdwatching spots nearby. Just a rundown gas station perfect for staging ambushes, an old school diner with shitty coffee, and a dusty, dirty crevice up high, wonderful for keeping an eye on it all. You didn’t like it up here, but it was the only discreet place to perform surveillance on the local miscreants. 

Apparently a new gang was starting to harass people in the area, despite the proximity to Deadlock turf, and were trying to sell “insurance”. Understandably, that really pissed you off. Sweet-talking one of the locals had gotten you insight on the gang’s general daily routine. Nothing too specific, unfortunately. Now all you had to do was wait for the scum to show up so you could pound them into the dirt.

Taking a quick swig from your beer, you settled in a little, preparing to wait for who knows how long….

    Dust flew into the air like a trail of smoke, blurring your vision but not deterring you in the slightest. You slipped around your target, barely avoiding his second kick, before slamming your elbow into the back of his head. Sure enough he went crashing down with a thud. More dirt was kicked up in the process. At least it made it a little harder for the gang members still outside to target you. Another quick dash landed you behind cover, where you could finally take a moment to breathe.

    “Damn it,” you grumbled, hearing yet another bullet whiz past your hiding spot. There were still four or five gunmen outside. Truthfully, that was the total number of people you had expected to find, not just the backup boys. Sure, you had prepared for unforeseen hiccups, but apparently not enough. In over your head, stuck sitting like a duck, reminded more and more of the old days. Shit, you missed your teammates. Normally Jesse or Genji would have saved your ass by now.

    You missed them. So much, in fact, that you were pretty sure you just heard Jesse’s signature “high noon” line. It almost made you feel like you were a bit more tipsy than you had thought. When the sound of a revolver firing reached your ears, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had actually died; if so, this was the weirdest form of afterlife known to mankind. Curiosity ended up getting the best of you. Crawling to the side, you made sure not to reveal any part of yourself to your enemy, working your way towards the building’s secondary entrance. That was still within the gang’s line of sight, but you hoped it was far enough to the side that they wouldn’t immediately notice you poking around the corner.

    Sure enough, nobody shot at you when you turned the corner. Someone did, however, raise a silver revolver in your direction. Air got caught in your lungs as you stared down that ever-so-familiar barrel. Relief started to flood your chest… until you realized that the gunman wasn’t wavering in his stance. Your gaze follows up his arm, to his face, and you suddenly wish you weren’t wearing this stupid goddamn mask.

    “Hold it, buddy, unless you want to end up like your compadres back there,” Jesse McCree drawls, tipping his head back towards the fallen gang members. Evidently he hadn’t seen you beating the crap out of the ones inside. Still, you raised your hands slowly, showing your lack of weapons. “There we go. Now, take off that there lil’ mask, nice and easy, alright?” You complied, of course, tossing it to the side before throwing a grin in Jesse’s direction. His reaction made you really, really wish you had brought a camera. The normally smooth and put-together cowboy is now slack jawed, a sense of wonder (and something else…?) in his eyes. Soon your name drops from his lips, whispered like a sacred prayer.

    “It’s good to see you too, Jesse,” you manage to reply, still grinning like a fool. Hardly a moment passes before the wind is suddenly knocked out of you. Jesse had holstered his gun, closed the distance between the two of you, and pulled you into a hug in a matter of just a couple seconds. The action catches you by surprise, now making you the one to choke on the words caught in your throat. Still, you manage to hug him back, leaning in to gently rest your head against his chest.

    “Goddamnit, who gave you the right to surprise me like this?” He asks after a few moments of silence, his voice on the edge of breaking. His grip was tight, like a man desperate to keep his sanity clutching onto a lifetime of coping methods. Words failed you, barely managing a confused noise, as you pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. There was something you couldn’t comprehend in his gaze. Something you were missing, that required knowledge you didn’t have. Your head tipped to the side as you hoped for at least a little elaboration. Jesse seems to realize your cluelessness, and shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “I thought you were dead,” he murmurs, the words settling on his tongue with an all-too-familiar weight.

    Shit, you thought, eyes going wide for a moment. Thoughts raced through your head as you tried to process what he said, thinking back to what had happened after Blackwatch’s disbandment, wondering why he could possibly have thought that you were-

….

….

    Fuck.

    Yeah, that tracked. Going from constantly fighting in bars to fucking off to nowhere, changing your name, and turning to the vigilante lifestyle? No shit people thought you were dead. How had you ever thought that this was a good idea?... Sure, most of your old friends had done the same, scattering across the four winds without so much as a “lol bye” (or, you know, a proper farewell). However, that didn’t mean that there weren’t still people who cared, who you could have at least made the slightest effort to keep in touch with before disappearing. People like Jesse.

    “Now that you mention it, I realize I didn’t exactly leave much room for thinking anything else,” you replied, barely managing to speak through your embarrassment. A laugh tried to move past your teeth, even though you knew the timing was bad, but the sound died as soon as your gaze met Jesse’s.

    “That’s one hell of an understatement, old friend,” he said, hardly a trace of mirth to his name. Both of his arms were still around your frame, gently cradling you, as if a stiff breeze might sweep you away from him once more. You could feel his body shifting with every breath he took, slowly finding yourself matching the movements. One of Jesse’s hands moves to cup your cheek, fingers sliding so carefully that you almost didn’t feel it, but you lean it instinctively, finding your lips placing a whisper of a kiss against his wrist. “Darling,” he breathes, voice caught in his throat, blocked by joy and surprise alike.

    “I’m sorry for worrying you, Jesse. I swear I never meant to just vanish like that,” you plead, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Things were bad, and I… I just ran from that, I guess. But you didn’t deserve that, at all, and I swear to whatever passes for high heaven these days, if you give me a chance-....” Pulled in closer, you couldn’t help but squeak a little when Jesse plants a kiss on your forehead. One of his hands is rubbing gentle circles into your back. A reassurance, one you desperately needed. “I can make it up to you. We can do better this time, right?...”

    Jesse didn’t say anything, at least not at first, but the feeling of his hat settling down on your head gave you all the answers you’d ever need.

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 2394

today was a quiet day beginning with french toast and ending with pasta with d&d in the middle.

joel is watching videos next to me, occasionally grabbing my hand and kissing it, as i sit trying to decide how to write out what happened in d&d today.

okay. d&d from here on out.

------

okay so amber is our dwarf and she's wonderful and lovable and has a semi-satiable bloodlust. sebastian, the only other one in the group with a normal name, is a half-elf watch wizard and is hopelessly in love with amber.

we discovered that there are doppelgängers in waterdeep. that are causing crimes. so the rest of the party went to find gems and crystals and rings that will help us do our research. meanwhile, amber (i'll say "i" and "me") spent the week working.

amber's elf coworkers who make absolutely shit mead pushed over a giant vat of beer that amber had been working on all week and broke her equipment, meaning she had to spend her week's pay on repairs and cleaning. she begged her boss to get rid of them, pointing all the times where they've been antagonistic and hateful and racist towards her, but her boss rebecca said the contract they had was binding. going home amber cries to her friends about the incident and locks herself in her room with a bucket of cleric'ed beer. meanwhile, sebastian decides to White Knight™ this situation. he gets cherish (a pirate-raised teenager who's a fuckin riot) and they're going to Fuck Up Those Elves and get them to leave.

stay tuned for the next installment of Get Amber to Fall In Love with Sebastian! (i sent this to my sister.)

redemption, our red tiefling thief, hearing me crying, came in after a bit and asked me if i'd like to help him plan and commit grand larceny. i said sure.

meanwhile

sebastian and cherish go to the bar. which is a community center/temple of lliira, the temple of good cheer i think it's called. that's where amber works.

so. sebastian goes in and wants a beer. they obviously don't have any. the elves working say "try some mead," so he begrudgingly does so. it's fuckin nasty, of course, and he spits it out, saying as much. the elves behind the bar insult him, calling him a halfbreed and other insults, and one of them goes up to him, having taken offense to the "this is fuckin gross" comment and goes to punch him in the face. sebastian dodges, then grabs him by the chain maille and electrocutes him, sending him convulsing to the floor. then a Bitch vaults the bar, grabbing and snapping a broomstick on her way over, casts shillelagh on it, goes to smack him and misses, and then slips on the still-wet floor (they squeegeed the beer to amber's side of the bar). another vaults the bar toward sebastian and cherish goes and jumps the bar the OTHER way and grabs the cash box from their side. the dude that got zapped gets back up and goes to slug sebastian, missing. sebastian punches the guy in the nose, shocking him again, and blood starts pouring from his nose as he's almost down. the girl with the stick goes to smack and hits him, but before sebastian can attack again, cherish has destroyed the mead barrels (a la "this looks important!" *YOINK*) and yeets the wrench she used at the last and does THIRTY FIVE POINTS OF DAMAGE and she goes down like a sack of potatoes. the last of the three people attacking sebastian goes to punch and misses, sebastian goes to smack with the stick misses, and then the other dude casts sleep,which DOESNT FUCKING WORK BECAUSE i SEBASTIAN IS A HALF ELF AND CHERISH MADE THE SAVING THROW. cherish leaves, because her goal has been accomplished: to grab the cash box and take off. sebastian smacks the dudes kneecaps and then smacks him again and he goes down.

keep in mind there's a table of five regulars over in the corner, sho started chanting "fight! fight! fight! fight!" as soon as it looked like shit was about to hit the fan. three of them - a human and two dwarves - failed the sleep saving throw and the other two have fey ancestry so they can't be put to sleep.

anyway, rebecca, the owner of this fine establishment, comes down and yells "what the hell is happening here" just after the last dude goes down - there were two other elves, wood elves, that didn't get involved and yeeted themselves out the fuckin place as soon as they realized they were Not Getting Involved lmao. anyway, sebastian tells her what happened and she goes and gets her bard husband, who comes down in his pjs with a lute. rebecca casts zone of truth, and he tells the same story bc truth. for the first time in thirty years, the temple gets locked - but not after the husband beefs sebastian up and they drag the elves out into the street with their meadery shit and wakes up not leader and says "you tell your brother that you're not welcome back here. ever again. if i ever see you again, i'll tell me wife." and they get up and YEET themselves out of town. the husband THANKS SEBASTIAN, and he goes home.

amber went with redemption and caused a sobbing distraction with a bucket of beer, and redemption got in, robbed the place, and got out with zero problems. amber eventually stumbles home, sees everyone else around the dining room table, and sebastian tells her that she won't have to worry about the elves anymore. she dismisses it because she's drunk off her ass, ruffles sebastian's hair and goes upstairs and passes out.

when she goes to work the next day, she'll discover what happened. that conversation and the ensuing tension will commence next week.

------

i told this all to my sister. she said:

"Dope."

i love this game.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (One)

Words: 2262

A/N: Just an idea that popped in my head at three am. What is sleep haha. I might post a few oneshots that are related to this one, not sure if I want to make it into a proper series, given the other wips I have. Depends on how I feel, I guess. Let me know what you guys think.

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence, reader is also an assassin

-

Now teamed up with the Bowery King to take down the High Table, John Wick still needed allies that were willing to risk their lives to help their mission. There weren’t many that would want to oppose the High Table, so their options were limited. John took the time to heal up while they planned High Table’s downfall, using the Bowery King’s people to scout for other assassins.

“There is another option,” the Bowery King said, leaning back in his chair.

John took a swig of bourbon and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Persephone,” he grinned. John recognized that name, not just from the Greek mythology, but of the assassin that nickname belonged to. The Bowery King continued, “I’ve heard she’s in a tough situation right now, though. Wanna know why one of the most deadliest assassins in the world have been out of business this whole time?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me anyways,” John said, his pitbull having jumped on his lap.

“A puppet is useless when it realizes they no longer needs strings to move. She started asking questions and knowing what they’ve created, her people… restrained her. She’s constantly being monitored, none of my people had seen her alone. It seems that she’s lost her memory.” The Bowery King shook his head at the woman’s situation.

“Why not kill her?”

“They’ll probably want to use her again. It’d be a waste to throw away the skills they gave her. All they can do is have her forget she even has them until the time came to utilize her, have her dependent on those strings again.” He tilted his head and looked at John. “And you’re gonna have to be the one to cut those strings for her, John Wick.”

-

You could vaguely remember your family. At that point, you couldn’t even remember their faces, only the feeling that they gave you; warmth, love, comfort. You were raised along with other kids to be killers. With a cutthroat regime that mirrored ballet, the Instructor, a former student of The Director, would continuously run drills and eliminate those who couldn’t keep up.

You were one of the few that made it and it wasn’t simply through determination or strong work ethic. You were scared. No one knew what happened to those kids that were eliminated, maybe it was literal, but you didn’t want to find out. It was surviving through fear, until you were strong enough to overcome it. If they killed you, fine. If they didn’t, then what?

Execute the mission, no mistakes. Like a ballet recital.

The missions and the training were the only life you knew. The targets you were assigned to were only pieces to a massive puzzle to the world that you were raised in. Eventually, you had enough to make out an image. The Underworld where highly trained assassins were everywhere. There was a system, strict rules to follow.

You were familiar with the Continental, the hotel you and many others used while working, and the coins used to gain access to the serves that the Underworld provided. You eventually became familiar with the other faces at the Continental and around you.

One in particular stood out. The Boogeyman. The man, the myth, the legend. You ran into him a few times when he was still active, a tall man with a calm demeanor. It was like standing next to an ocean around him. Many respected him and even feared him due to his reputation of being Death himself. You couldn’t imagine the Underworld without John Wick.

Until he got out.

The night of his impossible task was the same night you made a difficult decision. For a long time, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to escape the hands of the Instructor until you were skilled enough to overpower her, so you waited.

Using your resources, you found out what happened to your family. They owed a debt to the Instructor and they paid it off with their daughter. If it had stopped there, you could move on, but it didn’t. The Instructor had them killed anyways, using the trainers and a few of the older trainees to do the job. They knew and they kept it from you.

Life under the Instructor was all you knew and you could continue as if you never knew your family’s demise or you could release yourself from her hold and make sure it never happens to anyone else.

John Wick stormed through the building looking for the Instructor, but there were already bodies scattered around the place, either unconscious or dead with their throats sliced open. You tried to avoid using loud weapons, preferring stealth so as to not alert everyone at once and especially the Instructor. Although it would have been considered sloppy to leave unconscious bodies on your part, you had no quarrel with everyone under the Instructor, only the ones ordered to kill your family. Besides, you knew of the ones that were reluctant to follow orders and killed off those who followed without question.

There was a trainer that you had been close with and took you under her wing. She’d push you to train harder and had faith that once you think you’ve reached your full potential, you could push even higher. And all that time, she hid that secret about your family. She was the leader of that mission, after all.

You saved her for last. It wasn’t as satisfying as you thought it would be. She knew the day was going to come when you find out and she was ready for it. With the blade she gave you for your initiation, you fought her until you had her pinned down, running the blade through her throat. She choked on her own blood, a smile on her face. A shiver would have ran down your spine you hadn’t known how much of a relief it might have been for her. Maybe she wanted out, too.

The door slammed open and the Boogeyman appeared, his gun raised. You stood up slowly, your hands in the air with your blade on the floor. He kept the barrel trained on you and you were glad he hadn’t shot on sight. It would have been over quickly, but you wanted to be the one to turn the Instructor in.

“The Instructor should be holding up in her office, fourth floor,” you said, slowly taking a golden coin from your pocket and holding it out to him,“just let me go. My other targets weren’t home. I need to go get them.”

He seemed to mull it over in his head and ultimately lowered his gun. He held out a hand as you tossed the coin to him. John nodded a thanks towards you and headed over to the fourth floor.

That was the last time you saw John Wick. Unfortunately, the others were ready and so was the Instructor. Her last mission was to wipe you clean, drug you until you can’t remember a thing. And while John Wick was able to finish his impossible task, the Instructor’s remaining people were able to finish their mission as well.

-

It was hard to believe that the young woman that he saw take down assassins from her former home was running a flower shop. Then again, he did the impossible and got out of the Underworld until he was forced back in again.

There was always another worker with you, even on your lunch breaks. Whoever took over for the Instructor was placing a tight hold on you.

John waited until the last customer walked out, five minutes before closing. He walked towards the shop and slipped in before the door closed. You were busy sorting out inventory to notice his presence, your coworker hovering close by you.

Ever since you woke up in a strange bedroom with people you didn’t recognize, they told you that you were in an accident and they were your found family after you ran away from home. In fact, the flower shop was theirs but they gave it to you to run. You were thankful that they took care of you while you recovered, but you would appreciate it if they gave you some space to figure yourself out alone. You haven’t even bothered telling them your strange dreams, either. They were cold and violent and worst of all, you were the one holding the blade.

“Mari, can you double check the boxes we have in the back so we could update the inventory list?” you asked your coworker. She pursed her lips then nodded, grabbing another clipboard with a copy of the list and headed towards the storage.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, already feeling lighter once she left the room. You walked to the front to close up when you jumped, seeing a tall man in a suit waiting.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the door,” you told him, putting your clipboard down and walking towards the counter, “Can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, the man’s brown eyes seemed tired but alert, his long black hair just above his shoulders. He was quite handsome that you could barely look him in the eye, and surely a man like that would have already been taken.

The corner of his lips turned up slightly. “I was looking for you, actually,” he said smoothly, pulling out an object from his suit jacket.

You watched him cautiously, inching closer to the counter where Marion kept the small handgun. You didn’t like to use guns, you didn’t like the sight of them for some reason, but Marion insisted on keeping one at the store.

He took out a golden coin and held it out. You grabbed it from his large hand and inspected it, the engraving feeling strangely familiar to you under your finger pads.

“Do it!” a voice hissed in your head, the image of a woman choking on blood, the strong iron stench hitting your nose and soaking into your hand that held some kind of dagger.

You dropped the coin, backing away from the man. “Who are you?” you demanded.

He held out his hands. “My name is John Wick,” he said, “And I’m here to help you, Persephone.”

“Persephone…”

“Persephone, again!” an older woman shouted. She stood in front of a wall of mirrors with her hands on her hips, staring down at you, your feet aching and sweat pouring down your face. “Get up!”

“You’re asking to be killed, Mr. Wick,” Marion spat, suddenly at your side with a gun in her hand. “There’s a heavy price for your head, it’d be a shame to have been hidden from the High Table for so long, only to be killed in a flower shop.”

“Mari, what are you doing?” you asked, shocked that she knew the man.

“I always knew the Instructor favored you, but to have kept you alive and have us babysit you even after she’s dead was too much.”

Marion gripped your forearm, nails digging into your skin. You gasped, a strong sense of betrayal taking over you as the flight or fight response kicked in. She had never treated you this way before and it didn’t take much to understand that something was wrong. More flashes of your past flew through your mind, particularly when Marion mentioned the Instructor.

Your hands shot out, twisting her arm and knocked the gun out of her hand. She stumbled on the crates on the floor, your surprise attack leaving her stunned. You used her momentary imbalance to grab her hair from the roots and slammed her forehead against the counter, knocking her unconscious. You dropped her and stepped back, your hands shaking as you start to sweat.

“What did I do, what did I do,” you began to mumble over and over.

John gave you a moment, locking the front door and flipping the sign, moving around you to turn the front lights off. You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, gripping the counter for support as the headache and nausea start to settle. John picked up the coin and carried Marion’s body to the back office then got a cup of water from the small breakroom. He set the paper cup in front of you and took the time to scan the area, pulling the blinds down. 

When you came to, you took a sip of water and shuffled yourself over to where John stood, your eyes stinging from the tears that didn’t seem to stop. You sniffed, quickly wiping them away, your head still sore from the occasional flash of an old memory in your head. Your phone had been buzzing during that time, several missed calls from your so-called family. You turned off your phone and stuffed it back in your pocket.

“Thank you,” your voice cracked as you spoke to him, “but why?”

John sighed, silently assessing your current state. “I need your help, but first, we need to leave. They’ll be coming after us soon.”

He held out a hand for you to take, letting you make the choice to go with him. You may not have all of your memories back, you recognized him enough to know that going with him would mean gaining your independence and actually finding out who you were. You grabbed his hand and he lead you through the back entrance and through the streets, all the way down below the city, back to the Bowery King.

You were back in the Underworld, but at least you were not alone.

[yukiwrites]

Morgan, Being Spied On

Thank you so much for commissioning me again, @xpegasusuniverse! Writing about Saizo being so serious it pisses him off it’s just so much fun aksdlkamsd I hope you like it!

Summary: Since the first day she arrived, Morgan has been under surveilance -- she’s always known that, and actually looked forward to meet her stalker. What she didn’t know, however, was that there was more than ONE person shadowing her. Someone closer than she might think...

Commission info HERE and HERE! 

A long time had passed since Ryoma had given Saizo the clearance to stop stalk- ahem, observing Linfan -- although the girl's story and the nohrian retainers' sloppy cover-ups felt oddly convenient and thought-up on the spot, Linfan had done nothing to spark their distrust.

And Saizo had been observing her every. Single. Move.

From the moment she woke up to the time she went to sleep, Saizo watched -- not once being spotted, though noticed someone else's presence looming around her more than a few times.

Ryoma had given him clearance to stop taking notes on the foreign girl, but Saizo wouldn't give up finding something (even more) suspicious about the girl: he would still follow her day and night until he himself came to the conclusion that she was a safe person to be included into their ragtag army.

During one such mornings, he once again felt another person's presence lurking around, so the ninja decided to be the lurker's lurker instead. He soundlessly jumped not five meters away from Linfan towards another tree, the sudden wind that lifted her hair not really bothering her as she took an unsuspicious afternoon stroll.

"Finally decided to say 'hi', handsome?" Niles' voice greeted Saizo once the ninja arrived at the tree behind the tent Niles was using as a hiding spot.

Saizo sputtered. "Here I was going to say that not all nohrians are trusting fools, but I stand corrected -- you are a fool, alright."

"Hah!" Niles scoffed, turning back to look up to the hovering ninja, still up over a branch. "Stuck-up AND too handsome to grace us with your grumpy face? That's a great impression you're giving there, yeah."

Saizo narrowed his eye to the nohrian retainer, deciding to ignore his remark. "Your Lord didn't order this, yet you follow her still. Do you nohrians have no trust in your coworker's kin?" He lifted his chin.

"Waaaait," Niles licked his lips, leaning on the tent's stretched cloth as he pointed up to the ninja. "One moment you're praising me for not being a trusting fool; in the the other, you're saying I should have had trusted her just 'cause her story is convenient? I think you're just finding an excuse to hate on little old me." He winked, the smirk never leaving his face.

"..." Saizo hardened his chin, though the movement was barely noticeable due to his mask.

That only made Niles' smirk grow. "Oooh, going for the silent treatment, now? I'm game."

"Be silent, you fool. She's coming this way." Saizo gestured with his chin to something beyond the tent Niles was hiding behind of, quickly making his way up to higher branches of the tree.

Startled, Niles held his breath, quickly climbing it as well.

"Don't come here! The tree will bend-" Saizo whispered gravely as Niles made his way to the very same branch the ninja was at.

"Why, such a cold reaction. Let's warm ourselves up, shall we?" The rogue held back a snort at the ninja's open disgust.

"Stay back-" Saizo put one hand over Niles' face, pushing him away as the rogue grabbed the ninja's shoulders closer, their struggle shaking branch and tree alike, making leaves fall right over Linfan's face.

"Huh?" The apprentice tactician looked up, though saw only branches for the tree was too intricate. "Is someone up there-" she started, but immediately gasped. "SAIZO?! IT'S YOU, RIGHT? Ohhhh I'm gonna catch you this time! I have the improved versions of a few masks to try on your face! Get down here!" She clumsily tried to climb, but the nearest branch was much taller than her short stature.

"Pffft!" Niles was about to laugh aloud, but Saizo covered his mouth with one hand. "What a fiasco of a ninja! Your target knows you're after her!" His voice sounded muffled.

"Can it!" Saizo gravely whispered, looking over his own shoulder for somewhere to land safely. "If you've been observing her for as long as I know you have; you know she's been after me from day one. She's got something wrong with her head."

Niles held his stomach, his face almost purple from holding back the laughter. "C-can't disagree, but- bwahaha!"

"Aha! I knew there was someone up there!" Linfan shot her head to the sound, holding the tree trunk with both hands as she lifted one foot towards the closest branch. "I'm getting up there, Saizo! You'll use a few of my masks yet!"

The ninja rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, muffled by Niles' laughter. "Be a failure in your tailing if you want, as for me..." he said in a low voice before jumping out of the tree towards the other side of the tent, landing safely and soundlessly on the ground before disappearing again.

"Hah! Coward!" Niles dried one tear from his eye, quickly following. The tree shook with their jumps, making Linfan fall on her behind.

"Ow ow ow... Huh?" Puzzled, she looked up. "Did he leave? HEEEY, SAIZOOO, DID YOU LEAVE?" She put one hand over her ear so as to listen to his reply, but there was obviously none. "Dang it! I'm gonna catch you yet!" The apprentice tactician sprung herself up, patted the dirt away from her coat and ran in the opposite direction Saizo and Niles gone.

"This is rich!" Niles hollered once Linfan was out of sight. "She has no idea where to look and you're still running away from her! Bwahah!" He bent down in laughter, slapping his own knee.

Saizo dragged one hand down his face, groaning before making his way out of Niles' presence.

But even while still laughing (chuckling or gurgling or whatever that nohrian rogue was doing with his throat), Niles followed Saizo closely, always pointing and bursting into laughter the moment they were within Linfan's earshot.

"You're very loud today, Saizo! With my legendary blood, I can always pinpoint where you are!" Linfan posed dramatically towards the opposite direction of where Saizo and Niles were, making the rogue laugh even louder. "Wait, over there!" She turned on her heel, quickly following the happy sound.

'Happy' was one word for it, alright. Saizo, on his part, was far from being happy. 'Miserable' would be a more suitable word.

"Hey, have you seen Saizo anywhere? I can hear him laughing at me, but I think I missed him around this corner..." Linfan asked left and right, making the people she came in contact with either bend down in laughter or judge the ninja silently.

"Saizo, laughing? Are you really sure you're looking for the right guy?" Someone said, making the ninja finally feel a bit of solace. His image was still intact, after all.

"I'm positive! He's been stalking me since day one!" Morgan would reply, making the person's image of Saizo crumble immediately.

"Oh, um, then, pfft... Have you looked over trees or behind alleys? That's where ninjas hide... uh, usually- pfft..."

"BWAHAHA!" Hearing everything and seeing Saizo's mortified face, Niles would, of course, burst into laughter, feeding even more misunderstandings.

"THERE, SEE?!" Linfan pointed to the general direction of the laughter, making whoever was with her slap their mouths so as not to break down laughing as well.

"This is not me!!" Saizo exploded from his hiding place, making Niles laugh even louder.

Linfan gasped, quickly hopping around, looking inside barrels and whatnot. "TWO SAIZOS?! A laughing one and a grumpy one- KAZE?!"

"GYAHAHA! THIS IS TOO GOOD!"

"Stop this madness, you!" Saizo punched in Niles direction, but although a jokester, Niles was still fast -- he dodged it with his smirk intact. "If you are not here to do your work properly, leave!"

"Why, but this is so much more fun than working! Besides, it's not like I've lost sight of our little bird, anyway -- she's been following us. You, specifically."

Saizo fumed, his forehead turning as red as his fiery hair. "Because of you!!" He pointed, almost piercing Niles' chest with his index finger.

"All the more fun!" Niles shrugged, ready to throw down hands if it came to it.

But the sound of steps approaching made both of them hold their breaths and disappear at the same time, leaving only a memory of the wind from their movements.

"Dang it! I thought I heard voices coming from here!" Linfan panted, quickly making the turn to where her stalkers had been a heartbeat ago. "But now I'm positive! I don't have only one shadow, but two! A grumpy and a happy one!"

Niles snorted from his hiding place, nudging Saizo's shoulder.

The ninja sighed deeply, ready to cut a throat or two at any moment now.

"That means... I need to carry another set of masks!" Morgan pumped herself up, puffing her chest. Niles' smile disappeared. "Get ready, second person shadowing me, I'm gonna have you in a mask yet!"

"Heh," Saizo smirked under his mask, this time pushing Niles away with his shoulder. "What's so funny now, nohrian?"

"... For the record, she still doesn't know it's me." Niles lifted his index, trying to defend himself. That only made Saizo's smirk grow, though invisible under his mask.

"We'll see about that."

Niles went almost pale in the face, though part of him still wanted to laugh at this stupid predicament he found himself into. "You're not planning on telling her-"

"Am I?" Saizo tilted his head to the side, quickly taking a turn and disappearing inside a smokescreen.

Niles quickly got up from his crouching position to follow the ninja, but -- he was nowhere to be seen. Was he allowing Niles to shadow him all this time? "Damn, you're good, handsome. I'll catch you again, just you wait."

"That's my line!" Linfan put her hands akimbo, her chest puffed with pride. "Hey there, Niles!"

"Oh, shit."

[blackleatherjacketz]

Words of Affirmation: Chapter 4

Negan x Reader (Single Mom)

Negan leaves after your confession and has you feeling a little uneasy, until...

Warnings: Angst City, Weapons Cleaning, Overthinking, Single Mom Stuff, Negan with Kids!, Spot the “Wicked” Reference

(Gif isn’t mine). Sorry it’s taken me so long to update! My life is a mess!

Read  Chapter 3

Tags: @annablack1102 @the-galaxy-collector @mblaqgi @negans-network @hana-song137 @ask-kakashihatake @collette04 @negansdirtygirll @negansviolentdelights @haleyea @jmb959 @myrabbitholetoneverland @jdm-is-my-happiness

“Why don’t we forget about the dress and that asshole for a while?” His words were kind in intention, dripping heavily from his lips. That didn’t seem to soften the blow any when they reached your ears though, reminding you of the last time you were rejected. Why should your love life in the apocalypse be any different than your love life in the old world?

You felt his absence more deeply than you had anticipated, your heart dropping into your stomach as he decided to go on a run the exact same day that you’d slept in his bed. He got you a clean shirt and jeans to change into at least, insisting on burning the clothes you had spent the past few years in. They were tattered and torn, not allowing any room to argue with him even if you tried.

Your mind raced the next day or so whether you wanted it to or not, distracting you from your work in the armory. Negan had taken five of his men and six guns with him on the run, making it over twenty-four hours since they had left the Sanctuary. Did your confession spook him and make him run away? Was he turned off by you entirely? Was he going to treat you differently now that you’ve opened up to him? Did you let him in too fast? Should you have played hard to get? Why did you have to be so goddamn eager to let someone touch you, to let someone treat you like that? You knew the whole situation was too good to be true; that shower, his mouth, those hands… and maybe this place was, too.

“So, how was your little date with the boss?” Jamen interrupted your thoughts, smiling as he cleaned a rifle in the back of the room. His face and fingertips were covered in carbon, signaling how long he’d been at it as he pushed through the barrel of the military weapon with a bristle brush.

“Date?” You signed out a rifle just like his and set up shop next to your coworker. “Do those even exist anymore?” You opened the drawer and pulled out a weapons cleaning kit, unzipping the black bag and pouring it onto the table. You needed to get back into the habit of keeping your guard up.

“According to Max they do. He told me Negan brought you by the other day and told him ‘not to wait up’ so he could spend time with you.” He sat the rifle down. “That sounds like a date to me.”

“Max isn’t my father, J.” You checked the chamber for any ammo and started taking it apart. “We just spent some time together, that’s it.”

You didn’t want to talk about this here, with Jamen of all people. The rumors about girls and gossip were true, but you knew that the same went for men as well. The apocalypse had left little room for entertainment, so gossiping about other people’s lives was the most entertaining thing to do in the Sanctuary besides killing walkers. You’d only been here a couple of weeks, and you already knew far too much about most of the people here. The things you’ve heard come out of Jamen’s mouth, well… you could only imagine what he’d say if you told him the truth.

“I see you got new clothes and a shower.” He winked at you, putting the pieces back together. “Negan help you with that?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” You put your eye to the barrel, looking for any flecks of carbon or obvious obstructions. “Why don’t we talk about how badly you need to shower, huh?” You nudged him with your shoulder and forced a smile, hoping to shift gears to another topic of conversation.

“Ha, touché, mama, touché.” He smiled and dropped the subject, picking up on the fact you didn’t want to keep talking about it. “Did you hear that they found another community to get resources from?”

Jamen spent the rest of your shift talking about what he’d heard from Simon on the new community they found the other day. They called it the Hilltop, and it was full of lush gardens and other crops they could use here at the Sanctuary. Maybe it wasn’t you that scared Negan off after all. Maybe he just needed to get more supplies from this new community. Maybe you should stop worrying about his motivations and finish the weapons log before second shift came in to relieve you. ——————— The air outside was hot and sticky, no oscillating fan in the corner to cool you down as you walked towards the soccer field to look for David. You put your hand above your eyes to shield them from the setting sun and saw him kicking the ball with a tall man in a white t-shirt. His laughter travelled across the air as he volleyed back and forth with him, missing the black and white ball as it rolled past him toward you.

“Uh oh, Mama’s here,” Negan trotted toward you and picked up the ball, holding it loosely against his abdomen. “Looks like we’re in trouble.” He winked at you and looked back at David, beckoning for him to come over.

Negan? Playing ball with David… your David? You’d never seen him like this, in just his t-shirt before. Sure, you’d seen him naked a few days ago, but this… this was different. He was sweating, no, glowing from his game with your son, tiny beads of perspiration dripping down his temples and into the salt and pepper of his beard. His skin wrinkled as he smiled at you, enveloping those droplets of sweat completely as those perfect teeth of his made your chest warm up.

“Back so soon?” You crossed your arms over your chest, debating whether or not to put your walls back up with brick and mortar, or just to leave the wooden planks as they were.

“Just got back.” He breathed in heavily, winded from his sprint as he tossed the ball to David. His hand inadvertently found its way into your son’s hair, ruffling his locks as he held onto the ball.

“Thanks, Mr. Negan.” David squinted as he looked up at him and smiled, the sun bringing out golden hues in his hair as Negan’s fingers playfully ran through it.

“Just call me Negan,” he told him, bending down to his height. “And you can keep that ball if you want.” His smile was electric, lighting up your son’s face for the first time since you arrived there.

David had never been this happy to spend time with anyone else in your group before, no matter how nice they were to him. Jim had tried to teach him fishing, Toni had cooked with him, but he never quite warmed up to them, not like this, and never this quickly. Maybe your attraction to Negan was genetic, and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“Thanks for the ball, Negan!” He smiled again and looked up at you, his dark eyes wide with joy and comfort. “Are you going to protect me?” David looked back at your bedfellow, the innocent question he asked everyone suddenly slipping out without warning.

“Of course I am, David! That’s what we do here! We save people!” Negan placed his hand on David’s shoulder, the sound of your son’s name in his mouth both exciting and scary. “As long as you’re at the Sanctuary, I will do everything, and I do mean everything,” he paused for effect, looking up at you and licking his lips, “To make sure you and your mom are safe.” He squeezed his shoulder, smiling at him before tapping his chin with the back of his knuckle.

“No more monsters?” David asked.

“No more monsters,” he promised. “Now, whaddya say I take your mom out for dinner, and you get to hang out with Aunt Sherry and Uncle Dwight for the night? I’ll have her back in time to read you your bedtime story.”

“I don’t need bedtime stories anymore. I’m a big boy.” David stood tall, puffing up his chest.

“Well alright then, I’ll have her home before you go to bed without your bedtime story. Sound good?”

“Sounds good!” David dropped the soccer ball and wrapped his arms around Negan, surprising all three of you.

You were beginning to think that the apocalypse had turned David into a sociopath, a boy with only a few emotions left that were key to his survival. He barely hugged you anymore now that you thought about it, barely kissed you or expressed joy until he walked through the gates of the Sanctuary. Now he was holding this man closer than he’s ever bothered to bring you in the five years of his existence.

You half expected Negan to pull back, to retract from the affection and shrug him off. Instead he chuckled and embraced your son’s tiny arms around his neck as he wrapped his big hands around his shoulders, patting him gently on the back.

An odd feeling came over you as you witnessed the man with romantic interest in you interact with your child. Butterflies in your stomach threatened to turn it over completely as a wave of heat washed over your entire body. What is this feeling, so sudden and new? This feeling was different from the attraction you felt when you were alone with Negan. It was different from the unadulterated love you had for your child. It was somewhere in between the two, and you weren’t exactly sure how to react to it. Was this what normal mothers felt like when their husbands spent time with their children? Is this what you’d been missing out on the entire time you were a single mom? Is this… happiness? Could something like this even be real?

Negan let go of David and stood up, his smile wide as he took your hand. “Whaddya say, mom? You hungry?”

[krissewrites]

À Triomphe - BTS AU

AU:  Art Thief!Bangtan

Description: You are a curator at one of the many museums in Paris, and have finally earned the bosses trust.  But after a strange meeting with a new coworker and his friends, you begin receiving messages from an unknown party.

Part: Thirteen / Twelve / Eleven / Ten / Nine / Eight / Seven / Six / Five / Four / Three / Two / One

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Suggestive Situations.

You jolted as a boney finger pressed into your cheek.  Opening you eyes, you looked up at Jin.  He had changed clothes and stood almost innocently before you.

Light blue checkered pajamas draped over his long legs and the waistband of his red briefs shown.  He now donned a pair of black, rimless glasses.  His shoulders were able to breathe as he lacked a tee shirt.  Jin’s face had a few new scratches, and a small bruise on the highlight of his cheek, similar to the wounds he had the day of your date. He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you slowly wake up, taking in your surroundings.  The collar hurt your neck.  

“Where’s the remote?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“You can stop acting coy.  I know you hid it.”

Jin sighed, turning on his heel as he walked towards his dresser drawer.  He tugged at the handle, pulling it out as he began to throw clothes over his shoulder.  The floor, already a mess, only became worse.  “I’m tired,” he began his speech, “I’m annoyed.”  He pulled out a small pocket knife, closing the drawer behind him.  “And now, I’m upset.”

You watched as he sauntered across the floor, stopping before you.  He twirled the knife in his hands.  “I just want an answer,” he groaned.  His voice had fallen an octave, and his eyes were narrow.

“I don’t know, Jin—maybe you misplaced it—“

Jin cackled, throwing his head back. His head rolled as he cocked it, glaring at you.  He stabbed the knife into the bedside table, causing you to flinch.  “Maybe you’re right, baby,”  he cooed.

He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, leading you to scoot into the corner of it.  He looked over his shoulder to glance at you.  “I’m a sensible man.”

Jin pulled a knee to his chest, the other foot planted on the floor as he turned to you.  He rested his chin on his knee.  “I’m also smart.”

You watched as a child-like grin covered his featured.  “Tell me, baby,” he began.  “Do I look dumb?” You glanced at him as he waited for an answer.  You gently shook your head, not wanting to make the wrong move.  “Well, then why are you acting like I am?”  He hissed.

In a split second, he had moved his position to kneel in front of you.  He had a death grip on your collar, pulling you towards him.  His eyes gleamed with sinister motives.  A chuckle rolled off his tongue as you whimpered, a lump forming in your dry throat.  “I know you hid it, baby,” he growled, licking his lips as his eyes washed over your figure.  His chest rose and fall as his free hand traced up and down your leg.  “Make it easy for daddy—“ his grip on your collar tightened, tugging you closer to him once more.  Every wince and whimper drove him crazy.  “Where did you hide it?”

You gritted your teeth, spitting in his direction.  Jin’s face contorted, the hand grazing your curves instantly reaching to wipe his cheek.  His gaze turned colder than before.  

Jin’s sizeable hands gripped your hair, hitting your head against the wall.  You yelped.  “I should give you to Jeongguk right now! He’ll tear you apart like the rest—“ he hissed.  

He pushed himself back, staggering off the bed as he panted in a fit of anger.  “You see this?” He growled, pointing to his cheek.  “I’m his fucking ragdoll.  You’re lucky to be in here with me!”  Jin’s temper reached a boiling point as his voice echoed through the house. He quickly rammed his fist against the wall, huffing as he turned back to you.  “Hoseok is itching to get his hands on you, you know?”  

Jin sauntered towards you, curling his fingers around the collar choking you.  He jerked you forward, off of the bed and towards the door as he held your wrist behind your back.  He pressed your cheek against the wood as he growled in your ear.  “Do you want to spend the night with Hoseok?”

You eagerly shook your head, begging to catch your breath from the sudden whiplash.  Your entire body hurt. Jin abruptly loosened his grip, walking back from you.  You gasped for air, slinking down the door as you came to a sitting position.  You pressed your shoulder against the wooden panel.  

“I want to be nice, baby, but you’re pushing my buttons.” He mewled, sitting beside his bed, leaning against the frame to stare at you.  He propped an elbow on his knee as he cocked his head, panting. Jin sighed, tossing his head back as he closed his eyes.  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  

Minutes passed before Jin situated on the bed, covering himself in a thin sheet and tossing his glasses to the bedside table.  Stars showed in the dark sky through the window behind you, weaving you into a deep sleep.

“You said you would be okay!”

“I need help! God damn it, please don’t leave me.”

“Help us! She’s dying!”

Jimin’s cowardly screams filled the night air, his lungs bursting with fury and woe. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were younger than before.  He didn’t look like the Jimin you’d come to know. He would turn to glance at you every so often, a whimper quaking from his lips as he held his palm against your cold cheek.  “Please,” He began to beg.

He called you by the wrong name.  Burying his head into your chest, his hands gripping yours as to squeeze life back into you, he called for the wrong woman.  It was the name on the lighter.  “Why’d he do this to you?”

The apartment space around you was cluttered; blood stained the carpet as books and furniture were strewn across the room.  You were looking outside yourself.  Your lifeless body laid on the floor between the couch and coffee table.  Sirens and footsteps clustered around the door as residents filled the halls.  Tires screeched down the block.  

Dear god, what is this.

Where am I?

You scanned the apartment for clues, for anything to give an alarm as to your position.  Foreign words filled the room as three paramedics entered the room.  They began to speak in their own tongue. Jimin returned his responses, weeping as he begged for them to help you in English; yet it wasn’t you.

Your eyes analyzed the body before you; a woman, taller than you, with long black hair and eyes similar to Jimin’s, laid lifeless on the floor.  Blood adorned her pale skin, scratches scarring her pristine body.  She had been fighting off something.

He had a sister.

You, disconnected from the scenario folding out before you, roamed around the room.  You were invisible as if you were cellophane.  No one knew, much less, saw you. You had the free will to pry into the woman’s possessions.

You stopped in front of a small desk hidden in the corner of the studio apartment, consumed by a portrait framed in a white, wooden frame.  The woman and Taehyung smiled, holding each other tightly as Taehyung’s arm extended in the picture. His smile sparkled with the same gleam he showed you. Picture after picture of the couple was strewn across the desk, every other frame smashed to pieces.

“Hey, brat,” a husky voice called.  Your eyes fluttered open, a throbbing pain coming from your neck as you repositioned yourself; you had fallen asleep against the wall.  

Jeongguk stood in front of you, his hands now free from captivity.  He had red rings around his wrist where the tape had been peeled off his bare skin.  Jeongguk wore a black, short sleeve shirt and blue skinny jeans.  He had a navy blue jacket folded over his forearm as he held out a hand to help you up.  “You need to wake up, you’re on duty.”

You took Jeongguk’s helping hand, stretching as he lifted you to your feet with ease.  He tossed the jacket in your direction.  “It’s cold outside, you need to put that on.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s game day.  Did you forget why Yoongi dropped you off?”

Jeongguk busied himself with Jin’s valuables atop his dresser.  You glanced around the room, noticing Jin wasn’t to be found.  “No,” you muttered, reluctantly tugging your arms through the sleeves of the jacket.  

You had been piled into a van among Jeongguk, Hoseok, and Namjoon.  Jin had driven himself to the Louvre, keeping a watchful eye.  It’d been hours since you had moved, parked three miles from the museum in a dusty, gut-wrenching alley. Dusk had coated the city streets of Paris, night-life dwindling.

Namjoon played with the air vents on the dash, sighing every so often as he had grown bored.  Hoseok sat across from you, tapping his foot as he held back his urge to dig his thumbs into your throat.  He was disgusted with you.

Jeongguk had given you an entire lesson on heist etiquette.  You were to follow only him.  You were not to leave his sight.  You were not to touch anything.

Granted, it would be hard to disobey.  Jeongguk had a pistol clutched in his grip, and didn’t shy from pointing the barrel your direction every time he barked an order.  You complied with everyone, regretfully.

A loud chirping sound filled the small van.  Namjoon quickly reached for his phone, sliding across the screen and pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah, we’re ready. Are you?”

“Did Jin give you the okay?”

You could hear Yoongi raise his voice on the other end of the phone, telling Namjoon that Jin didn’t “have shit to say about the okay.”  Although Namjoon controlled the group as a whole, Yoongi had the clear advantage over him. He dangled Namjoon by a string; what Yoongi says, goes.

Namjoon ended the call, throwing the phone into the passenger's seat. He removed the keys from the van and tucked them in his jacket pocket. He silently exited the van, closing the door behind him.

The doors adjacent to you were pried open, Namjoon standing between them.  He quickly moved to the side.  Without a word, Hoseok jumped from the back of the van, landing on the asphalt without a hitch.  Jeongguk followed behind him.  Both left you in the dust, leaving you to jump to the ground yourself. Their gentleman streaks had reached their course.

Namjoon shut the doors to the van, sauntering back to the driver's seat, opening the door quietly.  He bent over, reaching for various items. As he returned, he held two flashlights and handcuffs.  Namjoon distributed the flashlights to Hoseok and Jeongguk, turning to you with the remaining item dangling from his hooked finger.  He stared impatiently.  

“Is that really necessary?”

“You can walk out in these or with a bullet through your brain,”

“Is neither a choice?”

Hoseok growled, stepping forward just before Namjoon pressed his palm against Hoseok’s chest.  Namjoon glared at Hoseok, nodding for him to move back to his position.  Hoseok, shaking from anger stepped back to his stance beside Jeongguk, who gripped his shoulder.

Namjoon forcefully gripped your wrist, tugging you into him.  You were too close for either of your comforts.  “I hate snappy girls,” he growled.  He tightened the cuffs around your wrist, digging the metal into your skin.  You flinched.

Namjoon pushed you off of him, leading to you stumbling back in Jeongguk.  He held you up by the bends of your elbows. Jeongguk scoffed.  “Have you forgotten how to walk?”

Jeongguk lifted you to your feet, wiping off the front of his tee shirt.  You swallowed the lump in your throat as you realized you were left alone with a man who wanted you dead, and a man who had neurotic tendencies—Namjoon had vacated the scene along with the van.  You watched at Jeongguk and Hoseok began to trek to the destination, tucking their flashlights in between the waist of their jeans and their belts. Praying to keep your balance, you jogged to meet them.  Your hands were trapped in front of you.

After a few minutes, you stood yards from the front entrance to the Louvre.  Jeongguk pressed himself against a wall of an alley, peeking out every second as to watch for the nightguard pacing the entrance; he was built bulkier than Hoseok or Jeongguk, leaving it to Jin to take him out from the inside.

Without Taehyung or Jimin, the plan had become twisted—Jeongguk had taken Jimin’s job, and Jin had taken Taehyungs—which led for them to be overworked.  A mistake was bound to happen.  You prayed for one.

Yet, the scene unfolded before you without a hitch.  Jin had quickly taken the bulky guard into a chokehold.  Because Jin had such broad shoulders, the guard stood no chance.  You winced as you watched him fall limply to the floor.  Jin entered the building once more.

Jeongguk stood in front of the entrance to the Louvre, swallowing his pride as he turned to look at you.  

“Do you remember what I said?”

You nodded.

“Do you understand what will happen?”

You nodded.

“Do you understand the consequences if it doesn’t?”

You nodded, reluctantly.

Namjoon continuously hit bumps in the road, leading you to believe he did it simply for your discomfort.  Every bump made a small tingle in the collar strapped to your neck, causing you to whimper.  You could faintly hear Jeongguk chuckle.

He fiddled with his thumbs, bending over as he propped his elbows on his knees.  He began to lecture you. “Namjoon said you were bait, and only bait,” he began.  Hoseok sneered, rolling his head back as he groaned loudly.  “I hope this goes smoothly,” his head rolled back forward, cocked to the side with a sinister grin, “because then I can kill you.”

Jeongguk ignored Hoseok’s comment, continuing.  “If something goes wrong, we throw you out in exchange for us escaping.”  He turned his gaze to you.  It was the same disgusting look he had when he first met you.  You unknowingly began to rub your hand.  “If nothing goes wrong, Namjoon said we could do whatever we want.”  He grinned.  

“I have no interest in you, but Hoseok does.” 

You were lead down the familiar spiral staircase, Hoseok trailing behind you as Jeongguk led.  His fingers tugged at the chain between your wrists.  

The museum was silent, with the only noise being that of several footsteps.  Two more nightguards laid at the bottom of the staircase, Jin, following not far behind with a prideful smirk.  He was happy of his handiwork.  

The four of you stood at the end of the staircase, each of the boys barking orders at each other.  Jimin had obviously been the leader of the boys who carried out the robberies.  Without his intellect and leadership, it was an all-out brawl on who was correct.

“Something’s not right, Gguk.  I don’t trust this,”

“You say that about everything, shithead.”

“Shut up, Jin.  You’re only a fill in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t realize that I had to answer to the youngest twat.”

As they bickered, you zoned in on the ceiling.  Various camera surrounded the area.  Yoongi was right; they were dumb.

Red lights continued to flash indicating recording was in progress.

Yoongi sat in a swivel chair twice the size of him, his knees to his chin as an endless train of tortilla chips found their way into his mouth.  He wore loose black basketball shorts and an oversized, white, long-sleeved shirt.  He was the epitome of comfort. Yoongi chuckled as he saw your doe-like eyes stare into one of the cameras, a smile tracing over your features.

“I’m right here, baby.”

He shoved another handful into his mouth, stretching his arms.

[krissewrites]

À Triomphe - BTS AU

AU:  Art Thief!Bangtan

Description: You are a curator at one of the many museums in Paris, and have finally earned the bosses trust.  But after a strange meeting with a new coworker and his friends, you begin receiving messages from an unknown party.

Part: Twelve / Eleven / Ten / Nine / Eight / Seven / Six / Five / Four / Three /Two/One

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Electro-Play (use of shock collar), Descriptions of Death and the Deceased (gorey).

If you wish to skip the use of the shock collar, please watch for the triple asterisks. (***)

Jin stood at the door, eyes burning holes into you as you knelt before him.  Yoongi had your hair tangled in his fist.  “I found her sneaking around town,” He glared at Jin.  “I’m sure you can keep her around this time, right?”

Jin sneered, calling for Namjoon; his eyes never moved off of you.  He shifted the small pistol in his hand. You winced every time it pointed at you.

Jimin sat on his knees, holding your arms behind your back, unwillingly tying your wrists with a coarse rope Yoongi had pulled from the back of his car.  Had it not been for Yoongi staring daggers at him, and hovering a lit cigar over his neck, he wouldn’t be in this situation.  Yet, Yoongi was threatening him, and you had already told him it would be okay.  

He tugged on the knot, tightening the rope binding your wrists together.  A small moan rolled off your tongue involuntarily.  He rolled his eyes, huffing. “I’m not Tae, I don’t find pleasure in this shit—“  He slapped his hands against his thighs as he signaled he had finished the job. He stood up promptly.  “I can’t believe you like it, either.”

He walked around to face the front of you, watching you glare at him on your knees.  He squirmed in his hoodie, reluctantly pulling you up by your arm to meet his gaze.  “Please be careful. I can’t lose you.”

You grinned as he pouted, his eyes begging for you to stay.  He reminded you of a puppy.  “Why are you so nice to me, Jimin?” You quizzed.

Jimin placed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, cocking his head to the side to avoid your stare.  He loved the attention, however.  “You remind me of a friend I used to know.  Can’t a guy be nice to a damsel in distress?”

“I’m no damsel, Jimin. I’ll be fine.”  He watched as you writhed in the binding that constricted you.  He giggled, scratching the top of his head.  “You’re pretty stubborn, I’ll give you that.”

Yoongi sighed, breaking up the flirt fest.  “You know, it’s not like I’ve been waiting here for two hours. No! It’s fine, please keep on—“

Jimin laughed, turning his head to face Yoongi who had found a seat at the small wooden table.  He had a fresh cigarette.  “That’s your fourth one so far.”

Yoongi grinned, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette onto the wooden table.  “Sixth one today.  I’m wasteful.”  He took a deep drag, inhaling the harsh chemicals.

You grinned, furrowing your brows as you leaned up to meet Jimin’s ear.  “Why does he smoke?”

Jimin turned his head to face you, then took a double take, shifting from you, to Yoongi, back to you.  He smiled.  “Didn’t you hear him? He’s wasteful,” he looked back at Yoongi one more time before leaning down to meet your ear, covering his mouth obnoxiously with his hand. Yoongi grew suspicious.  “He’s really just trying to look like a badass—“

“Alright, that’s enough.” Yoongi pushed the fresh cigarette into the wood, pushing himself up by the palm.  “Time to go, say goodbye to your boyfriend.”

Yoongi grabbed you by the arm, dragging you behind him.  You squirmed, watching as Jimin laughed at you. His cheeks turned pink as he scolded Yoongi.  “Bring my girlfriend back!” He teased.

Yoongi closed the warehouse door behind him, locking the padlock at the bottom.  He stood up once more, sighing loudly.  “I’m tired.”

He was a waify, small man who always complained.  You hadn’t known him for more than twenty-four hours, and you seemed to know everything there was to know about Yoongi.  He was tired.  He was a chain smoker.  He had a goofy streak.  He was, all in all, a giant teddy bear who wore dark clothes. There was, virtually, nothing to fear about him, besides the fact that he had been watching your every move.

The two of you had situated yourself in the car he, thankfully, parked close to your hideout while Jimin bound you to save you humility.  He toyed with the functions in the car before tapping his hands on the steering wheel, looking around for something unknown to you.  You watched as he fidgeted in his seat, crawling across the small compartment between the two of you to reach the backseat. His gray and black briefs peeked out of his pants.  You sneered, turning your attention to the road as you fidgeted with your thumbs.  

Yoongi returned back to sitting position, holding a small earring.  He turned to you, holding it between his index finger and thumb.  It was a white diamond.

“I spent all night working on this,” he started.

You laughed, looking at him suspiciously. You assumed he was quirky, but you didn’t know whether he was pulling your leg or if he was serious.  You teased him, “you’re a diamond miner?”

He growled, pulling the back off the earring and gently pushing it through your pierced ear.  He capped it off.  “No, this is your emergency piece of sorts.”  He fumbled with his words.

“I don’t fucking know how to explain it… but I’ll hear everything. The audio will be much clearer on this than those shitty things in that house.  They’re outdated—“ he began to trail off, “—but if you say ‘help’, it triggers the nearest phone around you to call the authorities; I’ll be there, too,”

You looked at Yoongi sympathetically as he pressed his back against his seat, clutching the steering wheel in thought.  “Wouldn’t you get caught, Yoongi?”

He turned to look at you, matching your emotion.  A grin stretched the corners of his lips.  “I can’t let someone else get hurt. Don’t worry what will happen to me.”

Namjoon stood in front of the three of you, sighing as he stroke a conversation with Yoongi.  “Finally come out of hiding, huh? You’ve missed a lot.”

Jin twisted in his position, quickly squatting to meet your height.  A sadistic smile twitched across his lips.  “You’ve been acting up, baby girl,” he purred.  Jin pressed the barrel of the gun against your temple, chuckling as your breathing stopped.  “We’re going to have fun like I promised.”

“I’m sure I have. I heard about Taehyung—“

“It was misfortunate.  I thought he was loyal.”

“So did I.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing else.  I kept her sedated, most of the time.”

“Any word from Jimin?”

“I hacked the Prisons facility. He’s toast,”

Yoongi halted the conversation, looking down at Jin and you; watching him taunt you.  He felt a ping of regret in his heart.  “Will you use her as bait?”

“That’s not a bad idea, but Hoseok is pretty blood-thirsty.”

“Keep her away from him.”

“Why?”

“She’s ransom, Joon.  It’d be stupid to let go of this chance.”

Namjoon paused in his argument, taking a moment to listen to Yoongi.

“The cops have been searching for her for almost a month.  They’ve resorted to using awards, and her family is worried sick. You throw her around in front of the cops—if they were to make an appearance—and you’re free birds.”

“Why would the cops show up? You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t fucked up in twelve years. Of course, I am—“

“Then what are you getting at?”

“You’re wanting to hit the biggest museum in the fucking city, Joon.  This won’t be a cakewalk for any of us.”

Namjoon nodded, sighing as he looked down at you.  “Fine,” he muttered.

Yoongi smiled to himself, pushing you away from him as you fell against Jin.  “Have fun with her,” he cooed.

Jin dragged you into the living room of the house, causing you pain as he tugged on the rope.  You winced with everyone move, complaining about every inch.  “God, ease up a little.”

Hoseok sat on the couch, sliding his index finger across the screen of his phone.  Jeongguk sat below him, leather gloves taped around his wrists. Namjoon had moved from the door to the kitchen where he made continuous noise messing with dishes. The entire house reeked of decay.

“Hey,” Jin barked.  “Since when do you call the shots?”

Jin threw you to the floor.  You landed between Jeongguk’s legs, staring up at him.  He had bruises and scratches covering his once pretty face.  His eyes were swollen, and deeply embedded scratches ran up and down his torso.  He looks like he had been through hell.  Jeongguk stared down at you, furrowing his brows. “What is she doing here?”

The house was colder than before; everyone’s emotions had changed.  Jeongguk was more distant, cold.  More demented.  Hoseok hushed him, placing his hand on his Jeongguk’s shoulder and rubbing it gently, as not to startle him.  He wasn’t completely there anymore. “It’s fine, Gguk.  The mean girl will be gone soon.”

Gguk laughed to himself, beginning to ramble as he rolled his head around.  “Where’s my lamb, Hoseok?” he whispered.  He continued to giggle to himself as Hoseok’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “She went out, Gguk.  She’ll be back soon.”

Jin squatted beside you, knotting his finger in a fistful of your hair as he tugged your head up.  A loud pop rang through your ears as you yelped.  “Look what you did.”

Jin jerked your head forward, closer to Jeongguk’s lucid state. Jeongguk watched as all color drained from your face. Your mind began to race as Jeongguk reached for your cheek.

Help, Yoongi.

I don’t think I can do this.

His nimble fingers traced your skin, a small smile making an appearance.  “Didn’t I tell you you’d wear a shock collar next time?” You felt Jin’s grip on your hair loosened, letting your face wash over with relief from the pain as he let go, stomping around the corner. Jeongguk’s hand slowly fell from your cheeks, his touch lingering on your skin.  Goosebumps covered you all over. His smile faded as Jin came back around the corner.

Jin tucked the barrel of the pistol into the back of his pants before bending down, holding the shock collar against the front of your neck.  He enjoyed every twist and turn you performed under him, attempting to get away.  “Oh, come on princess, I won’t use it often.”

A small frequency filled your ear, masked by the sound of Jin grunting as he fought you to put your new dog collar on.  “God damn it, sit still!”

“You know I’m one word away, kid.”

Yoongi’s gentle whisper filled your ear, worry coating his husky voice.  You shook your head, knowing he could see you.

You sighed deeply as Jin tightened the collar around your neck, locking it in place.  He stepped back off of you, panting as he watched you submit underneath him.  You grew still, your head to the floor between Jeongguk’s feet.  

“See? That wasn’t bad, now was it?”

Jin moved his stance from standing on either side of your body to now being on your left.  He sneered, bending down to look at you.  “If you’re good for me, I’ll give the remote to Namjoon,”

You sneered at his tone of voice; as if Namjoon was better than him or Hoseok. Every single one of the boys in that house wanted you dead, and you knew it.  You choked back your own fears, coming to the realization that you were doomed either way.

“Eat shit.”

The frequency came over again.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you asking to be ki—“

*** warning ***

Yoongi’s warning was terminated by a jolt of electricity racing through your body.  You screamed, the muscles in your body tensing as you gritted your teeth, falling onto your side.  You stared at Jin, shaking uncontrollably.  He held the remote in his hand, his thumb hovering a small red button.  

“That’s your first warning.”

Jin bent down, quickly untying your bondage and slowly lifting your stiff body off the ground bridal style.  Your breath hitched as you slowly came back to consciousness.  He grinned, holding you close to his chest.  “Let’s get you to bed.”

Jin stopped in front of the door to his room, directly at the end of the hall.  On the opposite end was Namjoon’s room, where the odor contaminating the house was the strongest.  Through the crack of the door, you could still see the outline of Taehyung’s figure.  A thin black sheet was draped over him.

He slowly opened the door to his room, closing it promptly behind him with his foot.  Jin sauntered to his small bed where he gently laid you.  Your eyes were falling heavy from a sudden fatigue.  Your muscles were sore, and your throat burned.  Jin sighed, kneeling beside his bed to pet your short hair.  He combed his fingers through your bangs, watching your lip quiver in amusement. “I see Yoongi gave you new clothes,” he hummed, his hand playing with the hem of your sweatshirt.  “I know Yoongi though, and he’s too shy to get a lady what she needs—“

Jin’s fingers pulled at the hem of your skinny jeans.  You yearned to scream for Yoongi, to beg for Jimin. You were done, and you couldn’t play bait much longer.  But every muscle in your body was dead to the touch.

*** warning ***

He sighed removing his hand as he met your cold, hazy stare.  “You shouldn’t tease me like this, cutie.”

Jin stood abruptly, sighing as he tossed the remote onto the bed and turned back to his door.  “Because I’m a nice guy, I will find my baby some clothes—“ he purred.

He looked over his broad shoulders at you, smiling sweetly. “Don’t move,” he cooed, knowing you couldn’t.

Jin removed himself from the room, shutting the door behind him.  You heard his footsteps pace the hall, and eventually out of earshot.

You gathered what little strength was slowly coming back to you.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered.

The frequency pinged, but you heard nothing.  The electricity was too much for Yoongi’s do-it-yourself spyware. You sighed, closing your eyes as you waited for the next course of hell to return.

Yet, you were quickly awoken by the jarring static of Jin’s small box television.  His small Nintendo game turned on by itself. The familiar sound of Mario broke the silence.  

The quirky text of Super Mario 64 shown across the screen as a small Mario ran across a dirt path on loop, followed by shrooms.  

I didn’t know he’d do that

The entire device is fucked

Back to old methods

The words continued to dance across the screen, replacing each other with a new one every few seconds.

I will try to access the remote

It will be hard

Hide it

The screen turned black.

You groaned, swallowing your saliva in an attempt to soothe your dry throat.  Your arms were still disabled, forcing you to slowly inch your feet back to the small remote.  You gently gripped the remote, wary of where you applied pressure.

Another jolt of electricity.  You yelped, tears weaving down your cheeks as you jerked uncontrollably.  “Shit,” you spat.

You waited a few moments as your muscles calmed, using all your strength to one again push the remote towards your hands.

Minutes passed and you found the courage to slowly come to a sitting position, grasping the button by the tail end, avoiding the sensor.  You sighed, looking around.

Where the fuck do I hide it, Yoongi?

Your mind raced through the different opportunities.

The window.

You turned around.  No shrubbery.  It would be found in a heartbeat.

The drawers.

No, I’m not dumb. That’s the first place he’ll look.

Just as you had run through the entire list, a gruesome idea hovered in the back of your mind.

Taehyung.

You swallowed your pride, sighing as your face contorted in disgust at the thought of mutilating him.  It was wrong.  It was disgusting.  It was inhumane.  

But it was somewhere they’d never think to look.

You sighed, slowly coming to a stand with the remote in grasp.  You walked towards the door, staggering as you seemed to learn to walk all over again.  You stopped in front of the door, panting as you were drained of all energy.  You turned the knob slowly.

In a misfortunate turn of events, Jin’s door was within direct view of the living room, and you hadn’t heard any movement besides Jin leaving the house. You peeked out of the small crack in the door.

Hoseok was asleep.  Jeongguk was in a lucid trance, and Namjoon was busying himself at the counter like before.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was your only shot.

You opened the door wide enough to sneak through, careful not to make noise on the wooden floor.  

Successfully, you made it across the hall where none of the boys could see you, with only Hoseok stirring in his slumber and Namjoon pausing dishes momentarily, before quickly getting back to the job at hand.  

The smell made you gag, and the closer you got to Namjoon’s room, the worse it was.

You finally stopped in front of Namjoon’s door, taking in the picture of Taehyung’s composure as a whole.  They hadn’t moved him an inch. His blood still coated the wall, and various insects hovered around his open wound in the middle of his chest.  They didn’t even bother to shut his eyes.

Your heart stopped as you fell to your knees.  You held your hand against your nose and mouth as the stench consumed you.  It took every nerve in your body not to vomit.

Taehyung sat, slumped against the front of the window, his head slumped onto his shoulder. The black sheet covered only his waistline to his feet.  

You inched towards him, towards it, holding back your cry for help as you reach for his face.  You fingers gently pressed against his eyelids, shutting them slowly.  His skin was cold to the touch and drained of all caramel coloring he had before.  He was a shell of a man.

You groaned, holding back a gag as your hands trailed from his eyes down to his mouth—it was the only opening large enough for the small remote, and hidden enough to save you a majority of the pain.  You hands dug against his lips, pulling down his stiff jaw.  You dry heaved as you placed the small remote into his mouth, before shutting it promptly.

You were disgusted with yourself and had every right to be.  No decent human being does that to someone—to anything.  You quickly brought yourself to a stance, pressed your mouth against the crook of your elbow as you staggered out of the room, leaving the same amount of space in the cracked door as there was when you entered.

Eventually, you found yourself back in Jin’s room with ease, shutting the door quietly and crawling into the small bed.  You shuttered the memory of Taehyung sent chills against your skin.  

“I don’t think I can do this, Yoongi.”