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[jeonghan-yoons]

jeonghan : f*ck my life mv behind

[herherteartear]

blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

[lilith-little-world]

The Plague of Madness

The curse that the older generation always speaks of, has been going around lately. Maybe since we're reaching the fifty years mark. No one knows for sure if the curse is real or not. It's probably some sick person using it as an excuse.

I see someone standing outside my window. The woods are calling my name. I don't feel safe in my own home now. Am I being paranoid? No, the curse can't be real...

I just want to go back to my normal life again, before all this madness.

*Eyeless Jack x Reader*

The bright Blue Moon shines so brightly this night…

It lit up the whole night sky, bringing light to the dark cold world.

The woods seem to stretch on forever. Giving a home to monsters and demons. That hunts and prey on the small village of humans.

Yes, on this night… will be the start of a new tradition…

Every day and night the villagers fear the sea of trees. They were tired of the endless deaths and suffering.

So they all gathered together and…

For once they weren't scared, hope and determination filled them. They refuse to go out like this.

The whole village was there, including the small children. They gathered in two separate lines, making way for the person of the hour.

Screams were no longer filled the night, replaced by the villagers' chanting. They were about to escape their terrible fate.

The village's leader stood in the middle of the two lines, facing the woods.

Slowly, a person dressed in white robes came walking. The hooded figure could have sworn he seen an aura of white surrounding the villagers. A smile formed on his face.

It's working and it will all end soon.

The person in white walks up to the village's leader. They didn’t dare look at each other, facing at the thick line of trees.

This was for the greater good of the village.

The chanting got louder and louder.

It was the only way.

Two creatures walk out of the dark sea of trees.

A start of something new.

One a monster and a demon.

No turning back.

The white hooded figure went up to them.

H̸̭̓̔͆é̶͈̬̩̕h̶͈͔͐̓̐

F̶̡̦̬̤́̂̇ĩ̴͇n̶̖̹͊̚͜͜e̶̙͍̮͑̎̊,̴̻̍̒̊ ̶̨̠̭͒̿͗ŵ̸̼̏ë̴̻̖͔̦́'̵̮̭̟̎͂͝l̸͇͒͠l̶͓̟̙̀̀ ̷̢͔̭͈̍͊͋́a̶͙̋̈́ç̶͇͚̓͆͊̑ċ̶͜ḛ̷̺̌p̴͙̱̹̺͒t̸̹͉̙͌̎ ̴͓͚͙̤̓̏̽̏ẏ̸̟͔̹͗͌͜ȍ̵̪̐̎u̴͍̮̅̓͜͝ȓ̵̼̭̖̘͂̄ ̴̨̖̤̲̉̐o̴̫͗́͠f̵̞͂̎̐f̷̘̙͉͂̊̀͝ė̶̥r̴̡̢̦͛ͅ.̷̹̍̄͆͜

A new tradition was created this day.

Forgotten over the years, in pure bliss.

The dead are angry, of your ignorance.

All their sacrifice, go unrewarded, forgotten, rotting in the ground.

This will be the very last time this deal TRADITION will work.

They are tired of all this.

The new one doesn’t even know she's next.

How cruel is fate?

She'll be the last.

                                 •×•×•

This is a Creepypasta fanfic that I'm planning to write. I guess, you can call this the prologue. I was planning to make this more interactive. It's still in the workshop getting all polish up. Which means, coming out very soon! It would mean a lot if you share this so when I publish the first chapter I have an audience to respond to the interactive part of the fanfic.

Oh and since it's a Creepypasta fanfic, let alone an Eyeless Jack story. THERE WILL BE SOME SCENE THAT WOULD BE INTENSE FOR SOME VIEWERS.

It WILL include:

Violence (typical murder, death, and somewhat minimal gore)

Cussing (but not too much "colorful" language)

It wouldn't be a Creepypasta fanfic if there wasn't any... STALKING & MIND GAMES

Occasional fluff <3

Angst

May contain sexual content or smut (depends if the readers want to read that shit, again where you guys come in, will make polls)

So come join the ride and see what will happen to our dear, Y/n. Will you manage to find out what's happening? Will you guide her to make the right choices?

What do you say?

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels: SHORT SERIES PART 3

PART 1 / PART 2

Member: Juyeon

Genre: angst, drama, SOME smut ????

“you lie but i don’t let it define you.”

it is snowing when you reach your office, a team of stylists and make up artists running past you to the studio where you were scheduled to meet a guest for the next issue of your magazine.

being the editor and, occasionally, the chief photographer of such a renowned name placed more pressure on you that you liked. sometimes it put you off, the way it showed you the true colors of celebrities and people who were supposed to be respected in their fields of profession was never a job secret you could get used to.

“filming in three hours, y/n! guest’s coming in about an hour’s time,” the interviewer strides past you with a file in her arms, following closely behind another makeup artist.

“got it, will be in the studio in ten,” you pull off your scarf and get the door of your office open, ready to get your computer on so you could check who was in the studio for the interview and photo-shoot today.

but an interruption in the form of a knock on your door warrants your attention, and your boss pokes his head in without waiting for you to respond.

“can i get you into the studio right now? photographer’s having some trouble setting up the lighting.”

“but i--”

“our guest today’s easy-going and candid so he should be alright with waiting.”

a nod shakes your head before you could process his words, and he pulls back out into the hallways. you put your computer to sleep mode and pat down the creases of your clothes after pulling off your coat. 

the snow outside catches your attention for a few seconds, the large christmas tree sitting right at the entrance of the shopping mall opposite your office building makes you warm with nostalgia. 

white looked so pretty on green and red and gold decorations; people were leaving footprints in the snow on the pavement and couples were holding hands on the way to wherever they were. 

you remember the first year you saw snow with juyeon. he fell sick because he thought jumping into the snow and making a snow angel with no coat was a good idea.

the memory plants a small smile on your lips, and it that takes you awhile to notice. you look away from the world outside, hurriedly pressing your hands into your cheeks to rub the smile off your face.

you get the day’s schedule into a file and make your way to the studio in the basement of the building. the lift opens to a familiarly dark space surrounding the brightly lit studio area where all the lights were, the bustling in the area telling you that something was wrong and the photographer was panicking.

“okay, kevin,” you teasingly call out with a little impatience. “fill me in.” the file in your hand gets tossed onto the table where the screens connected to the camera. 

kevin has his hands in his hair with his eyes wide open.

“the left one isn’t responding with the same amount of sensitivity as the right one and the camera sends pictures back to the screen that look underexposed,” your instincts bring you to wherever he was pointing to, and you start fiddling with the equipment to check for any damages. 

“have you tried shutting them off and turning them on again?”

“three times.”

“hmm,” you hum to yourself, returning to the monitors and comparing the picture on the screen on the DSLR and the monitor. “we might need to use the other set then, send this one for repairing. can’t you use another camera?”

“i think we can replace the equipment but if our guest comes earlier or even on time, we’re going to start the photoshoot late.”

“huh,” you rub your chin, the makeup artists and stylists making a fuss in the dressing room while they set up the clothes and make up products. “i’ll give him a call--”

“good morning!”

kevin turns around first to the lift, and you follow suit only by instinct. the light coming from behind you must’ve turned you into a silhouette because you could see his face clearly.

lee juyeon was carrying a box of donuts, and he was walking in with someone else, presumably his agent or a manager.

“mr lee, you’re extremely early!” kevin reaches out to shake his hand, and your fingers curl up against the mouse connected to the monitor.

“i don’t like missing out,” he grins and hands kevin the box of donuts. “just call me juyeon. last i checked, we are the same age.”

then your back is turned on them, head hanging low and your eyes glued to the table. you reach for the file that belonged to kevin leaning on the CPU, and you flip it open with such aggression, the whole studio would’ve heard it had it not been bustling with activity.

GUEST: LEE JUYEON

OCCUPATION: CHOREOGRAPHER

DATE: DECEMBER ISSUE

INTERVIEW QUESTIONS: TO BE PREPARED AND VERIFIED -- VERIFIED

the flap of the file hides the name from your view, and you finally realise kevin’s been calling out to you for awhile now.

“y/n!”

your temples tighten and your jaws should’ve cracked under the pressure when you turn around. juyeon’s smile shrinks but never really disappears when he sees you again after about two weeks. 

his hair looks less stiff from when you saw him at the club, and he was in a striped top and jeans. 

“hi, it’s nice to meet you,” his voice is warm but fake. he extends a hand out to you, and your need to remain professional cues you to take it with grace. his grip on your hand was rough and tight, sending shocks of anxiety up your hand and into your lungs. 

“likewise.”

the sight of juyeon looking like he just got out of bed and thrown on some barely presentable clothes tugs you back in time, and you remember watching him change into less shabby clothes for school.

this strange feeling is filling your lungs like pneumonia, and you didn’t like it.

you notice kevin’s flitting eyes between the two of you and something inside tells you he was going to sit you down and interrogate you about this awkward encounter with the guest.

but he smiles and reaches over to pat juyeon on his shoulder.

“anyway, the makeup artists and the stylists are in that room,” kevin gently pushes juyeon into the respective direction after juyeon releases your hand. “we have a little trouble with the equipment now so we might start late.”

“oh, that’s fine,” juyeon is disappearing into the room, the view of his polite smile igniting a small flame of confusion in your stomach. 

the night at the strip club becomes a silent movie in your head, but the words you remember spitting in his face about him not doing anything related to his education rings in your ears like an mocking alarm. 

juyeon never denied it nor confirmed it, so you just assumed he wasn’t. 

choreographers design and create sequences and performances that most of the time, they don’t perform themselves. 

this was why he said he couldn’t perform in his day job. 

“take as much time as you need, we’ll need more time to set up the studio!” kevin calls behind him to the stylists and makeup artists as he exits the dressing room, strolling towards you.

your attention resumes to the equipment and you start dismantling the defective studio lights, carefully placing them into the large bags as someone else brings over a new set. 

“are we having this conversation now or later?” kevin queries with wide, curious eyes. 

“we’re not having this conversation ever,” you lift the tripod bag and hand it to one of the production crew members. 

“we’ll do it after he leaves. you’re not going anywhere without telling me what that was.”

kevin shoots you the kind of look that you’d gladly slap off his face, and you would, but you wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of your guest. 

the interviewer runs you through the questions, but your attention refused to sit itself down and absorb the words running off her tongue.

all you could think of how being in the same room as juyeon was so antagonising.

his scent was wafting about in the air like waffles to a child; his smile stuck itself in the retinal memory like someone pasted a sticker into your eyes -- god, those eyes.

the same eyes he used to look at you when he caught you half-naked in bed with sangyeon. 

something must’ve crushed your spirit and it is a reminder that you’re not the best at hiding your emotions when the interview abruptly stops.

“y/n,” she is looking at you like you were sick, and that wasn’t very far from the truth. “are you okay? you’re zoning out and you look a little pale.”

the low volume of commotion trailing from the dressing room forces you to realise your forehead was between your fingers, like you were having a migraine. it takes you awhile to process her question, but you sit back upright and suck in a deep breath, forcing a smile out at the interviewer.

“i’m alright. sorry, i just... thinking about something else unimportant. go on.”

whoever thought creating mankind with the capacity to feel so much love and pain for one person should’ve been banished from all eternity, for all eternity. 

the kinaesthetic memory of his touch on your chin when he first kissed you in the rain drives waves of nauseating nostalgia through you.

the flutters in your stomach because he loved to pull you closer by your waist when you stood too far away from him in a queue or on an escalator; they were always too difficult to ignore.

when he hummed melodies in your ear when you couldn’t sleep or when you cried from the stress you had to swallow in school. 

but you threw all that away when you lost to your need for affection and love; when juyeon chose work over you.

the guest exits the dressing room in the horrid, familiar costume he had on at the stripper club. under the studio lighting, it is more striking on his skin. the lights made him look whiter than snow and the shadows cast under his jaw and ears and face by his hair sharpens his every feature.

some of the production crew were already feasting their eyes on juyeon, and you couldn’t blame them, not when he was a physically fine man on his own.

juyeon notices your eyes widening when you process his costume for the interview and the first part of the filming portion, so he deliberately rubs his left collar bone, exposing the skin on his upper chest and lower neck with the intention of driving you into a corner in your own head. 

kevin watches on with slight entertainment, but also a pinch of concern when he is able to see how much discomfort you were in. there was a look of pain and loss in your eyes which he doesn’t recognise, which he has not seen before. 

usually his editor was professionally emotional, but right now, you were zoning out. you were letting the guest, someone whom you’ve obviously had some kind of history with, puppeteer your heart around in your chest like it didn’t belong to you. 

kevin grabs your attention by resting his warm palm on your shoulder, nodding his head backwards to where the camera monitor was. he was holding a DSLR in his free hand, and you could tell from his eyes that he was trying to understand you just by reading your face.

how you wished you paid attention to the interviewer when she was running through the questions with you.

she was about seven questions in when she popped that fateful query. you couldn’t decide if it was the way she asked the question with such genuine curiosity or if it was the way juyeon froze slightly that made you panic. 

“tell us more about your time in the most prestigious performing arts academy in the country? we heard you sacrificed a great deal of things to... reach your maximum potential. of course, same rule applies: if you’re uncomfortable, you’re very welcome to sound out to us.”

the monitor loses your attention because your eyes were now focused on juyeon straight. in the camera’s view, he was sitting on the left with his right profile angled towards the interviewer, and the monitor was just about a few feet from the interviewer.

so it is absolutely shattering when he looks dead straight at you, though he was under the beams of the studio lights and you were sitting in the dark behind the monitor.

please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfortable, please say you’re uncomfor--

“it was a very fulfilling four years, even for me. and yeah, you’re right, i did lose and sacrifice many things when i was a student there.”

kevin steals a quick glance at you after he lowers his camera, noticing that juyeon was also taking fleeting looks at you past the interviewer when he is answering. 

“i lost time that should’ve been spent with my famlly, and right now i’m trying to make up for the time i lost with them then. i also lost friends i made in the institution i was in prior to enrolling in the academy, and...”

oh, god. 

please... don’t.

“i lost someone i loved very much.”

there was an awkward, almost murderous silence in the air. the interviewer was taking a side-glance at kevin who had the camera angled at juyeon, and juyeon had this contorted, sad smile plastered on his face as he said that last line.

“is this a family member or a partner?”

juyeon looks up through his gelled hair and glances at you, the purple box he was sitting on making you feel like ripping your hair off your scalp and shoving it down your own throat.

“a partner.”

a hesitant pause. 

juyeon seems to be contemplating with himself if he should continue, and he loses the battle to himself.

“she was my everything, then i made a mistake by taking her for granted and choosing my work over her. the day i lost her was the day i realised that i was terrible at time management, that i needed to learn how to prioritise the things i needed in life.”

another pause. 

kevin looks at you, but your eyes were beginning to glisten with a layer of tears. tears of hurt, sadness, loss, grief, maybe even anger, you weren’t sure anymore.

was he just saying this now because you were in the room?

“i didn’t know i needed her until i lost her, and i lost her to another man. it was the biggest mistake then, and it’ll probably be the biggest mistake i’ll ever make.”

slightly stunned at the sudden emotional confession caught on film, she turns to kevin, who gestures for a time out.

“right, thank you for your honesty, mr lee. we’ll be taking a short break here and we’ll have you back here in five, is that alright?”

your feet shove the chair backwards, and you turn away from the monitor, hands flying up to your eyes and gently dabbing away the tears threatening to fall. 

“yes, five,” you hear juyeon respond, but your feet bring you to the equipment room and the automatic light flickers on when you step in, the heavy door shutting loudly behind you. 

the ghost staring back at you in one of the dry cabinets used to store the cameras begins to fish out all your emotions one by one, and you struggle to contain it. 

he’s a liar and he does not prioritise you. 

he is only saying this because you are in the room.

he does not love you anymore.

the door clicks open, and you immediately look up upon the realisation that kevin’s voice was ringing somewhere far away from the equipment room. 

you wouldn’t consider juyeon as threatening or intimidating, but you were scared of him. not because of his anger or hurt, but because he was capable of leaving scars on you in places that nobody else has ever been able to before. 

your soul, your heart, your belief in love. 

juyeon watches you back away with every step he takes towards you, the fluorescent light stuck on the ceiling making his eyes look darker in the shadows of his hair on his face. 

your hand flies up into the air unconsciously, and your palm is opened to him. it was trembling like you were out in the snow without a coat, and the tears return to your eyes as the sour in your nose gets harder to ignore. 

“stop.”

it sounds more like a plead than a command, because of how shaky and terribly heartbreaking it was.

“please, don’t come any closer.”

something cracks in juyeon, and the sight alone breaks you further.

“y/n--”

“no, don’t--”

“i just--”

“please, just stop talki--”

one large step was enough for him to reach you, and he completely disregards the palm you have in the air between you when he presses his lips into yours.

the impact jerks your tears over your lids and more dribble out when you shut your eyes instinctively, tasting the familiar sweetness on your tongue when he willingly parts his lips. 

your cheeks were cupped in his warm hands, and your hands were balled into fists against his chest.

the automatic light flickers off when there was a lack of movement, and the darkness only fuels this intoxicating moment. 

it was a still, long kiss, but your heart felt like it was being thrashed about in a cage. 

it feels like someone was driving the tip of a shoe into your muscles, stepping and shoving clenched fists into your bones and cracking them into pieces like twigs. 

his fingers were digging into the hair behind your ear as you feel yourself involuntarily melting into his hands, then this feeling of missing him overwhelms you like you were drowning in sorrow. 

juyeon pulls away, eyes frantically searching yours for any sign of hatred or anger or any loaded emotions.

but seeing him look at you with immeasurable amounts of detriment only reminds you of the second he realised you spent the night with another man.

guilt fills you like someone stuffed a pipe down your throat and your tears collect in the corners of your eyes when you manage to find the strength to writhe out of his hold.

“y/n--”

“no,” you shake your head and snap yourself away from him, backing yourself to the door so you could run.

run like you have for the last five years, because of mistakes you both made and neither of you refused to admit -- no, admitted but cannot forgive each other for.

“i still love you, and i don’t want to break you again... so please don’t break me anymore, juyeon.”

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

to be continued

[justimajin]

A Lone Wolf’s Howl ☾ Epilogue 

⇾ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇾ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Action

↳ Werewolf AU

⇾ Words: 4k

⇾ Warnings: spoilers for endgame 

⇾ Summary: Jungkook and you have been like two peas in a pod for the majority of your lives; whether it was going through the ups of downs of the horrid teenage change, to transitioning to the racing world of attempting to be adults. Simply put, you’ve been inseparable and glued to each other’s sides longer than you can remember. But one fateful day seems to completely change everything you had faith in and you begin to wonder if there was ever a time where you and your best friend even knew each other’s true colors.

⇾ A/N: Last part of the series!! Thank you for all for reading and I hope you enjoy ^.^ 

gif credit.

⇾ Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11(M) Part 12 Epilogue — in the making process

The dreary ash clouds begin to part, separating from each other when the sun peeks through the shadows. Its rays shine down on the six exhausted wolves, their forms immersed in a vicious bath of blood and sweat as they are surrounded with fallen forms, black eyed wolves and sword wielders alike.

Similar to a snap of fingers, the colour in Namjoon’s orbs slowly dissipates when they make contact with the brightening sky, the blue hue seeping away the gold in his eyes. Reverting back into their comfortable brown, they narrow into the far distance when hope begins to dwell in his eyes after so long.

The fog vanishes; a caramel brown wolf trudges its way as it limps over to the pack of wolves, which instantly peek up their heads and dash over. There’s an arm hanging over his side, the wolf holding the body in place with its canines until it completely collapses, its eyes finally fluttering shut when the six wolves around him are unharmed and most importantly, his family.

***

You wake up with a harsh gasp, body aching when it feels like someone has just drowsed you within scorching fire, the heat in your veins drawing hot tears to your eyes. Vision distorted; your ears are blocked when you can only catch onto the faintest of movements with mumbles in the background that you don’t have enough energy to decipher.

The pain only escalates, as if someone had pricked a thousand of needles through your skin, tugging at the opened flesh until a low scream is pulled out of you. Your whole body jerks from the movement, shoulder bumping into another when a familiar scent floods through you, granting you a desperate amount of relief when the throbbing doesn’t stop.

Fluttering your wet lids open for the briefest of moments, your vision focuses to view damp black locks, his eyes screwed shut as he breathes slowly next to you. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he’s completely bare from waist up, but your eyes catch onto a glimpse of crimson splayed all across his back and suddenly the need to shut your eyes soars up again.

Threading your hand slowly underneath the sheets, you take a deep breath when your hand touches his, letting your vision cloud completely once again.

***

“Y/N.”

A faint pressure is on your shoulder, pushing you back and forth, “Y/N. Wake up.”

You groan, turning in the opposite direction when you can hear an audible sigh, “I know you can hear me Y/N. It’s time for you to wake up.”

Both your mind and body are equally exhausted, the last thing you want being to awaken either of them. However, the next words the voice gives out has your lids tugging up right away.

“Don’t you want to see Jungkook?”

Your brows furrow, the bright light sharply meeting them when you blink a couple of times, the room finally coming into clear view. Your eyes dart over to the man standing in front of your bed, his arms crossed as he lets out a sigh.

“You’re alright now. There’s no need to worry.” He smiles, creases appearing near his lips when he rakes a hand through his blue hair.

“J-Jimin?” You croak, voice coming out low and hoarse. He wraps an arm around you instantly, assisting you in getting up when you take in the empty room, not recognizing it.

“W-Where am I?”

“This is a room where we treat injured wolves. After what happened at Crimson, we brought you and Jungkook here, as well as some of the others to get treated.” Jimin explains.

The word ‘Crimson’ brings icy chills to your warm body, a shiver cascading through every single fiber despite you fighting against it. You overlook the prickling sensation, mind desperate when it sparks at the sound of his name.

“J-Jungkook, where is he?”

“He’s fine.” He assures you, “We brought both of you here together, but he was moved to a different room to rest when your treatment was taking longer.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, eyes immediately enlarging when you take in your heavily bandaged arm, barely seeing an inch of skin beneath it.

“What happened?” You question, mind still feeling numb from everything that occurred, wondering if it was just a mere illusion or actually part of a fragment from your reality.

“After you and Jungkook left, the rest of us followed through with the plan and took care of the remaining slayers and rogue werewolves.” Jimin explains, “Although we were fine in the beginning, their numbers suddenly increased and Namjoon suspected they knew about our attack, but then Jungkook came and told us you were keeping their leader preoccupied.”

You nod, the events linking together with a steady line, “Thanks to him we manage to pull through, until he said he was having a bad feeling and get to you as soon as possible.”

“Right when we were getting closer to victory, Namjoon saw Jungkook and you come back, but before we could even ask what happened, he collapsed and both of you looked badly injured.”

He points to your arm, wincing, “It was cut open and there was blood spilling out everywhere. We managed to stop the bleeding for now, but I would be careful if I was you.”

Humming, you recall being close to winning before the Elder had slashed your arm, rendering you immobile. However, your mind only seems to hinge onto a particular set of words, especially those mentioning the person that managed to bring you back in one piece, despite also being heavily injured from your fight.

“Jungkook.” You whisper, eyes wide with surprise, “Can you take me to him?”

Jimin nods, kneeling down so you can loop your mobile arm around his neck as his hand rests on your waist, tugging you up and letting you put your weight on him. He slowly walks, meeting your pace when he opens the door and brings you into the hallway.

The volume inside your mind is raised, thoughts swirling around blank flashbacks you have from defeating the Elder to Jungkook bringing you back. You feel faint, recalling how enraged you had felt when the Elder had simply brushed off all she had conspired, her thoughts void when you couldn’t come to believe what she had done to you and your family.

You also feel sick, your body recoiling when thoughts surrounding her demise enter your mind. The scene flashes past your eyes like its on repeat, a wrangled image of you sprouting out the sword before plunging it into her form, watching her dissipate right in front of you.

Despite the room being warm, a shiver runs down you involuntarily. You keep your weight against Jimin, appreciating that he was letting you because you knew you would have fallen right then and there if he hadn’t. The door opens and you’re greeted to a similar room you had waken up in; brightly lit with white walls and lined with several beds.

Your eyes roam around until they freeze, landing on the individual currently slumped on a bed, his back facing you.

Jimin seats you down on the opposite bed, letting go of your weight when your eyes catch onto Jungkook’s form spurring, shifting underneath the sheets.

With a nod of his head, Jimin quietly closes the door on his way out. Your eyes remained glued to the person in front of you, a faint smile emerging on your lips when you hear a low yawn.

When his eyes come into contact with yours, an instant array of relief hits you, noticing that although they seemed more tired than ever, they were still alive and healthy.

“Y-Y/N?” Jungkook mumbles, shifting himself to sit up. The sheet falls down his torso and your eyes instantly latch onto the sheer number of bandages surrounding him, the bulk of it all attached to his back.

Moving your eyes up to say something, you notice he’s doing the same thing with you – eyes stuck on the way your arm is barely visible.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, recognizing the traces of concern leaking into his eyes. However, you do know his question is targeted towards more than just inquiring about your injuries.

“I followed through with the plan.” You blankly state, “Crimson is gone.”

You don’t realize Jungkook’s beside you until the bed dips, his hand reaching out for your own. “You saved us.”

His voice doesn’t waver, saying it more like a well-known fact. There’s a small smile on your lips, looking up to gaze at him when he gives you an approving nod. The door outside creaks, causing both of you to shift your sight to the man standing at the corner.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

You shake your head and Namjoon takes it as an answer for him to come him, however the smile on your features fade when there’s a shining blade on his side, the familiarity immediately flooding through all of your senses and leaving you paralyzed.

“What you did wasn’t easy Y/N.” Namjoon says, “The rest of us were fighting against something we’ve fought against before, but you had to fight against your own home. An essential part of you,” He reaches out to take your hands, placing them onto the crafted designs of the sword, “Which I don’t want you to ever leave behind.”

Drops of water begin to stain the metal, now cleaned and established before it was raised against you. It was a sword that welcomed you in with open arms, that steadily grew you in the person you were today and guided you up until this point. It’s not a vague or torturous memory, just a simple part of you now.

“It was retrieved afterwards, so all of us thought it would be best if you kept it.”

“Thank you Namjoon.”

Your voice comes out low, but it holds such a large amount of solace within it that Namjoon smiles, watching you clutch onto the sword as if your whole entire life depended on it.

***

The sword is perched up onto the wall, a faint smile on your lips when you take a couple of steps back to view it.

“You want this one?” She questions, turning to you puzzled.

You furiously nod, hands clasped in front of you, “You told me I need to choose a sword soon. I choose that one.”

She chuckles, shaking her head when you maintain your determined stance, “This sword belongs to me Y/N.” She explains, “You will need to find a new one to choose.”

“But there’s no other sword like yours!”

She sighs, her long robes following her when she examines the fine walls of lined sword, plucking one right after contemplating, “Here. This one will be your choice.”

You frown, taking the fine blade within the palms of your hands, “It is similar to the one I have.”

She raises her sword and your eyes spark, a huge grin lining your lips.

The Elder smiles, “We’ll match.”

There’s a similar grin on your lips the longer you stare at the sword, but it’s mixed in with tender reminiscence. With a heavy sigh, your sliver eyes shift, looking at the framed picture of two woman hanging right beside the sword.

A roaring fire is in the background, the living room filled with an irreplaceable glow when you stare up at two pairs of eyes. One of them has brown orbs, warm and gentle, hands moving closer to engulf you into a surprise hug.

Giggles tumble out from your lips, getting spun around with excitement as you wave your small arms around, before being placed onto the ground again. The brown orbs continue to watch you, until they are soon joined by another pair, tender eyes gazing at you.

Instead of brown however, these orbs radiate with a bright glow of silver.

A dreary sigh escapes you, eyes glued to the walls and thoughts being whisked away with pieces of memories, lost in your own world until a voice suddenly draws you out of it.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps up, eyes trailing over to a confused Jungkook staring at you from the door, dressed in a black hoodie as he munches down on the popcorn he pops into his mouth.

“Oh, Jungkook.” You grimace, “Sorry about that. Did you start the movie already?”

He shakes his head, walking over to you and offering you a piece of popcorn, “I was waiting for you, but it seems like you were somewhere else.”

He stares up at the wall, his eyes flickering over until they land on the picture frame.

“She has your eyes.”

“She was a slayer.” You lightly laugh, “We all have the same eyes.”

Jungkook follows you when you walk out of the room, closing the door behind you. “Except for you. You have that double colour thing going on.”

“Yeah, thanks to someone.”

You grin but Jungkook scoffs, “I already told you, it was wolf instincts!”

Walking over to the couch, you plant yourself down and Jungkook does as well, “Because of your instincts, I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life.”

Jungkook stops snacking, pouting as he whines, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“We’ll see, depends on if you can treat me right.” You lean over to grab some of his popcorn, cheekily shoving it in your mouth.

“You weren’t saying that when we spent our first night together.”

Your jaw drops and Jungkook snickers, causing you to snatch up a pillow and toss it over at him. Unfortunately, your aim is horrible compared to your sword wielding skills and you miss, causing it to hit his bag of popcorn which spills all over the ground.

“Y/N, my popcorn!” Jungkook exclaims when there’s a puddle of the snack all over the carpet. You plant a hand against your mouth, trying to conceal your giggles until Jungkook is suddenly lifting you up, causing you to squeal when he drags you over to the kitchen.

He plants you down onto a chair, crossing his arms.

“I lost my popcorn because of you, so you have to make me more now.”

“Oh come on.” You whine, yet still grab another bag to pop into the microwave, “Don’t you want to watch Endgame? It’s such a great movie, actually in one scene there was a part whe-“

His sleeve clamps over your mouth and he glares at you, “No spoilers!”

You frown, punching the numbers into the microwave, “You spoil everything for me anyways, why does it even matter now?”

“Because I waited to watch this since forever!” Jungkook protests, “You can’t go around watching movies if you’re in a pack and have to protect them.”

“You make it sound like I had all the time in the world too.” You grab the piping hot bag out, tossing it into his direction, “Which I actually did, because I managed to watch it.”

“Without me though.” Jungkook mumbles, opening the bag eagerly. You snicker when he takes a mouthful out, hurriedly stuffing it in his face.

Getting up, you’re about to tell him that you should probably start the movie right away before he whines about it again, but the doorbell rings and draws your thoughts away.

Furrowing your brows, you stare at the door before turning to Jungkook. He dons the same confused expression, hand paused halfway through his popcorn bag in silence. “Did you call someone over?”

“No, you?”

“No?” You question, carefully threading over as Jungkook puts the bag away, quickly shuffling after you. Light pulsates around your palms, slowly forming when you grab a familiar black umbrella near your door, gripping it tightly in your hands. A low growl is heard from behind you and your eyes catch onto Jungkook glaring at the door, canines on full display.

You both quickly stand on either side of the door and you throw him a silent look, to which he nods.

In an instant, the door is pulled open and both of you move within a flash, glowing umbrella raised and hands covered with brown fur.

However, the man before you is left in frantic wails, staring at the two of you as if the very sight paralyzed him. ���T-The pizza y-you ordered.”

A shaking box is handed over to you and immediately the two of you freeze, the umbrella drops flat onto the ground and canines retract when the man shuffles up, running down the hall as fast as he can.

You remain there frozen, until Jungkook moves to pick up the pizza from the ground and reads the tag, “Ordered by Y/N L/N…”

Uncomfortably shifting, you give him a sheepish look, “I knew you were coming over so I thought it’d be nice…”

Your voice grows small, realizing that perhaps if you had remembered your own order, the delivery guy wouldn’t have experienced the heart attack you were so close to unleashing onto him.

Jungkook just chuckles, amusement in his eyes, “I think it’s about time we realize that not everyone’s out to get us.”

You muse at that, a soft smile on your lips when he walks back into the apartment and you shut the door, “You can’t really blame that on us though.” A wistful sigh escapes you, watching Jungkook eagerly open the box to beaming when he realizes you’ve ordered his favourite, “Adjusting back will take its time.”

He nods, agreeing with you instantly but you laugh when you see a slice already settled in his mouth.

***

You reach over, straining your hand when the soft material meets your fingertips. Snatching one out quickly, you bring it over to Jungkook, who gratefully grabs it as tears continue to stream down his eyes, small sobs leaving him.

You softly smile, the credits running down the screen as you remain huddled up in a blanket together, watching him sniffle and wiping the tears away.

“I wasn’t expecting Tony Stark to make you cry so much.” You comment, but he sends you a saddened look with still wet eyes, as if the memory was too fresh to even be brought up.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” He questions in exasperation, dabbing furiously at the tears that don’t stop leaving his eyes.

“Because you said no spoilers.” You shrug, “I held up to my word on that and– are you okay?”

He suddenly jerks his head to the side, whisking all the tears away in an instant that only has you raising an eyebrow.

“There.” He firmly states, as if he was proud of getting rid of the excessive water even though his eyes and cheeks were still marked with red.

“Do you want some pizza?” You question, leaning over to the half empty box next to you but he shakes his head, blinking his now dry eyes.

“I can’t believe I missed out on this.” He sniffles, a small laugh leaving his lips, “I should have just watched it when it came out.”

“Fighting against slayers and wolves, remember?” There’s a knowing smile on your lips when you lift the box up, moving it to the kitchen and ruffling Jungkook’s hair as you walk by.

“Wait,” He frowns, “When did you watch it then?”

“When I was staying at the pack house,” You wave your hand around, “Aside from training, I wasn’t really given anything else to do.”

“You should have just invited me to join you! We could have cried together!”

You laugh at that, giving him an absurd look, “You wanted to cry together? And besides, finding out you were a werewolf didn’t really help that situation much.”

“Oh.” He sets his lips into a firm line, “That’s right, but I would have still kept you company either way. We could have–“

His vision narrows, eyes latching onto why that fear-stricken expression on your features looked so recognizable, until it flickers inside him, “Just ignore it, it won’t hurt you Y/N.”

Your head instantly snaps up, seeing him give you an impassable look when you attempt to explain yourself, “I-It’s near the popcorn.”

Jungkook’s eyes suddenly widen and soon he’s lurching off the couch, dashing over to your side. “Where?”

A trembling finger is pointed near the counter, “T-There.”

Right when Jungkook turns, it moves, jumping onto the ground and scurrying itself safely underneath the fridge. You immediately jolt, hands tightening around Jungkook’s hoodie and he lets out a groan.

“Y/N, you’re a slayer.” He side-eyes your shrunken form, “You can use a sword, but you can’t get rid of a mouse?”

“It’s scary Jungkook.” You protest, jolting again when you hear it scratch against the wood. You shift closer to him, desperation leaking into your voice, “Please, just do something about it.”

He sighs, eyes looking around your kitchen, “Do you have a bucket or something?”

You nod, hurriedly walking in the opposite direction of the mouse to find it. Jungkook meanwhile stares at the bottom of the fridge, securing his hands firmly against the frame.

You soon reappear, a white bucket in hand, “I’m going to shake the fridge and scare it out. When you see it, put the bucket over it so it can’t escape, okay?”

“W-What?” You frantically whisper, the instructions going over your head until Jungkook moves and suddenly your arms are outstretched, the bucket sticking out.

A small blur of brown scurries across the floor, causing a squeal to escape you when the bucket falls and you place a heavy hand over your racing heart.

“You did it!” Jungkook exclaims, a bright wide smile on his features as you remain as solid as a statue, staring at the bucket speechless.

“I-I did.” You’re as pale as a ghost, but his words bring you out of it and you’re filled up with confidence, “I did!”

You slip out of it though when Jungkook tosses the bucket to the side, grabbing the small creature with his fingers as you gasp in horror. “What? I need to get rid of it.”

He walks around aimlessly with it, stepping out for a few moments as you slowly register the shock. Returning back, he shakes his hands together and shuts the door. “It’s gone Y/N.”

 You exhale in relief, waiting for him on the couch. He settles himself in the blanket again, arms wrapping around you. “We really need to work on this if you’re still scared. Mice is the last thing a wolf should be scared of.”

“I’m technically half-wolf.” You mumble, eyes slowly fluttering shut and lulling into sleep now that he was back, “So the other half of me is allowed to be scared.”

Jungkook softly chuckles, head resting against yours as he lets out a gentle sigh. It’s in moments like this he truly wonders if any of this was ever going to be possible, to have you by his side, to have you see him more than a friend, to have his identity revealed to you and for you not to run away, only to accept him just as he is.

Although you also had your fair share of secrets tucked away, he knows that despite everything – the anguish that initially sparked in your eyes when you found out, the large ripples forming within the clear water when it felt like you had lost all of the remaining pieces left in your relationship, when you were so close to having that cord completely snap, at odds with each other as there was a deep line separating you – both of you managed to be okay, resting in each other’s arms as if you hadn’t even been pulled away to begin with.

The thought alone makes his dazed eyes flutter shut, a smile on his lips when you’re back to where you had first started, this time together and having no more secrets to hide. 

[nctzendreamz]

HOMECOMING — PART lll

Prologue / Part l / Part ll / Part 3

Summary: The year is 3030, and the divide between the rich and poor couldn’t be greater. Wildwood University is the most prestigious school in the entire world, but it isn’t only because of the impeccable flying cars that can be seen best during the fuchsia lit nights, or the dexterous education everyone receives. It has secrets. A lot of secrets—the biggest being that Taeyong is going to kill you.

Genre: Gang!AU, Futuristic!AU, Dystopian!AU

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of violence, abuse, foul language, drug use, and murder.

“Y/N?”

Kun was always so gentle when he spoke to you compared to the rough and hard exterior he possessed. Ever since you were children, he was seen as the bad boy and everyone was scared of him. Everyone but you, and that’s why he fell for you so hard even in his adolescence years when he wasn’t supposed to know what love was—or care. On the days where he would come outside to play, covered in bruises, the others would run away claiming they didn’t want his bad luck, but you would run to him in your dazzling yellow dress that you refused to take off and hug him. You would remind him everyday that he was important and protected him from his bullies even at the age of five. You never treated him like the damaged flower he was. You instead watered him and continued to do so until he sprouted into a college boy and ruined it all.

“Hey.” Your eyes are looking down, trying to find comfort in the laces of your boots. The wood flooring was shining so brightly at you—it was newly polished after all, but the scent of this room is engraved into your entire existence. It’s him, and it’s making you feel sick. “Excuse me.” You manage to utter, never forgetting your manners. You don’t even want to brush against his strong shoulder or touch him. You’re weaving through and walking through the door as it fogs from the motion.

Taeyong watched this whole thing go down, and if he didn’t know for sure that Kun was your ex boyfriend, he knows now. The man was mimicking your previous actions—eyes locked on his striped socks. He’s taking deep breaths in and out.

“Um...I’m your roommate.” He places his hand out, but Kun doesn’t move. “Lee.” He introduces. Just when he thought his mission would be slight work, this had to come up. Taeyong wasn’t stupid. He knows that this Kun guy is going to be watching him like a hawk, as well as you, and they live together. What would he be doing while Taeyong was in class? He clearly wasn’t stupid either just from first glance, and mistrust was thick in the atmosphere of their dorm.

“Kun baby!”

The voice is booming and deep, but Taeyong doesn’t jump from it. He’s used to constant yelling and unnecessary cat calling. Indigo may have blinded your senses, but it enhanced your hearing. He heard them coming seconds before Kun did and he could tell it was more than whoever was screaming at such a peaceful hour—the afternoon.

Taeyong expects Kun to take a moment to open the door after what just transpired, but he doesn’t have to. Taeyong can’t take his eyes off of him. It’s the same tall and diesel boy that dropped you off this morning. Johnny, followed by six other boys, all in athletic clothing or school paraphernalia meaning they must have just got out of practice.

He was able to get into this room with his finger print? Fuck! It had to be because he was the president’s son. Which means you can do it too. He didn’t like the way he was being set up—I mean, isn’t that something he should’ve known?

“Turn around—oh.” Johnny’s mouth follows the pronunciation of his words before his lips go fish and makes a spitty noise at the sight of the lanky. Even with the little steps he takes he has some pep in his step. He seemingly knows who he is, and he’s proud of it. The other boys behind him don’t seem to be far off, but the way their faces look flushed indicate they possibly didn’t want to be here. They are probably tired, although Taeyong couldn’t understand how driving cars could make you this exhausted. “Hey roomie.”

He’s speaking to him, and Taeyong determines that keeping it cool was the best approach. He sadly envisions his own boys’ faces into their unmatching bodies as he knows this is the only way he won’t combust. He really hadn’t lived a life outside of his place of stay if it wasn’t a murder and he didn’t want it to show.

“What’s up.” He decides on, and they don’t speak to him again. They obviously think he’s irrelevant—some skinny kid who has books shoved up his ass at all times.

“Why the long face?” One of them steps up. He’s quite short, but his eyes read menace. They’re cat-like, and so is his approach. His right side is in synch as his foot and hand moves simultaneously to Kun’s shoulder.

“Y/N was just here.”

Kun trusts them. He trusts them heavily. He didn’t hesitate in the slightest to tell them the truth even while he was standing right there.

“I’ll leave.” He prompts, but Kun’s arm is stopping him—his grip extremely rough.

“No, stay.” The gentle tone he used with you has completely washed away, and if looks could kill, and Taeyong wasn’t the invincible bastard he was, he’d be dead. “She was in here with him.” Kun tells, looking at his friends for guidance. If Taeyong didn’t know any better, he would assume they were in a gang. The sight infront of him was all too familiar—the solid stares trying to get him to crumble without even having to touch him, the eerie silence that was filling the room.

But then it all stops. They’re laughing now minus Kun who only let out a little chuckle, with Johnny being the loudest.

“He didn’t even flinch.” The cat-eyed one speaks.

“There was nothing to be scared of.” Taeyong says with his chest secretly out. If this was their definition of intimidating, he couldn’t imagine how they would survive in NEO. Everyday you got cornered into giving something up. The question was how well could you defend yourself? “I’m Lee.” He finished coolly.

“Ten.” He responds, putting his fist out. Taeyong bumps it.

“Johnny.”

“Hendery.”

“I go by YangYang.”

“Xiaojun.”

“Sicheng.”

“And Lucas.” Lucas is a big man, just like Johnny. His hands are large as he moves to shake his hand and he seems the most tired—actually, now that he can take a closer look at him, he recognizes this look. This Lucas guy is high as a kite. He seemingly notices Taeyong’s observations and lets out a little chuckle followed by a deep cough. His finger rests on his lips as he purses them to shh. “Snitches get stitches.” He lets out.

He’s joking, but at the same time he’s not.

“Don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I like him already.” He prompts, slapping him on the back with a loud slap. Taeyong winces from this.

Although Johnny was laughing the loudest when it came to their previous antics, anyone who had ever came across him knows he doesn’t play about his baby sister. He’s watching his brothers talk to this new kid, but he’s not listening. He’s instead looking all around the room trying to see if there’s anything abnormal. The main point of his arguments with you was that you were way too friendly with people who didn’t deserve it—you always tried to rush a process that would be much more easy to deal with had you gave them just a little more time to prove themselves.

He’s going to talk to you about this Lee, and he’s going to completely fry you for coming into his room so soon. You had known him for a measly three hours assuming that he was in your first class, and Johnny wouldn’t accept that. You could be so fucking naive sometimes, and it was him who always had to wipe your tears from your faults. The only one he couldn’t blame you for was your relationship with Kun.

“Well, Lee—we’re going to get out of your hair.” Johnny prompts, and although mentally all of his friends are questioning the sudden prompt to leave, they know better than to do it out loud.

“Oh...alright.” He says, but Johnny is a human lie detector. That tone is so fake and maybe this Lee is antisocial and doesn’t like to talk to this many people at the same time, but it was rare for a new student at Wildwood to not want to ride the crew. Everybody wanted to know them, and he wasn’t being cocky about it—it was just the facts.

The all step outside one by one, walking in a line of eight through the spreaded hallway.

“He’s a fucking weirdo.” Sicheng speaks as his hands in his pockets guide his legs to move forward. He’s also very high—probably more high than Lucas.

“Agreed.” Yangyang seethes. Recently he was trying his hardest to control it, but he was a smart mouthed little rascal, and anybody could get some.

“I wouldn’t say so.” The eight of them are out of the building and getting tingled by the stairs now as they return to the fresh air. The campus is what it always is—exciting and full of new adventure as the open space sets the scene perfectly. The baby blue sky adds onto its perfection, although they were all very accustomed to this. Outside of this dormitory is a statue of Lobos Smith. It’s a golden brown tint and it features him, as well as hovering light bulbs above his head. At night, water shoots from the bottom and the bulbs illuminate something beautiful—a combination of radiant colors that were created to inspire and soothe, as it reads on the plate. They all touch his enlarged hand as they pass by him.

Even when high, Lucas was still knowledgeable. “At the most I would give him emo, but weird? Didn’t get that vibe.”

Ten, Hendery, and Xiaojun seem to be neutral on this, always wanting to see more before they made such conclusions about people. They had met plenty of people on such a large campus that didn’t have the worst of the worst intentions for them, although it easily could’ve seemed that way on first glance.

“You’re not looking deep enough, Lucas. We talked about this.”

Kun wholeheartedly agreed with Johnny, Sicheng, and Yangyang. He was fully expecting to walk into his dorm room and be greeted by the typical Wildwood boy—either a rich dick, or a nerd, not that he believed this to be a negative adjective, that would stay out of his way and only ask did he want to hang out when he was extremely lonely and bored. Lee, on the other hand, seemed to be trying way too hard.

“But he barely spoke.” Ten speaks up now.

They’re walking past all of the different social groups as they continue their disagreement—the green grass providing means of peace between them. Regardless, they would never let things get out of control anyway. They were allowed to disagree, fight, they were even allowed to give a good punch sometimes too, but they would quickly be pulled apart. They were boys, and that’s what boys did.

The bench that is unofficially marked as theirs is open as it should be, and they take their normal positions. Half on the bench, and the other half sitting on the ground in front of them. Ten presses the button that was hovering beside him from the left, and an umbrella reveals itself to cover them from the yellow sun. It really was a beautiful day, but they had things to discuss and they weren’t asking for a tan.

“But notice how he said everything right.” Sicheng reveals. This seems to get his brothers thinking, and he can see their opinions changing just that quick. That was the effect he had on everyone. He was the quietest out of all of them unless they were together like this, and although Kun was labeled as the menace of the group, it was actually him. His thoughts could get absolutely deadly sometimes, and his facial expressions always read what he felt. His built figure didn’t help his case, but the ladies loved it. He never had a night where he couldn’t get someone in his bed.

“Exactly.” Kun finally speaks. “It was almost too perfect. And the way he reacted when Y/N ran out...it was almost as if he wasn’t that shocked.”

“You know how Y/N is.” Xiaojun says. Johnny immediately looks at him with sharp eyes from his spot on the grass. His legs—even through their long nature are tucked in his chest while his hands hold them in place. “Not saying that in a bad way, Johnny.” He hurries. “She just makes friends easily, and she can sometimes—

“Talk too much. I know.” Johnny finishes for him, eyes locking back to the ground now. The more and more they verbally observe this kid, the more eerie he feels about him. He usually didn’t mind when his boys talked about you either, as they never disrespected you. They just spoke facts, and regardless of how they felt about your decisions they would always protect you. “I’m sorry.” He says—and it’s not something he speaks often. “You said nothing wrong. I think we just need to eat.”

“Agreed.” They say in unison, Yangyang taking his phone out to hit up the campus delivery service, but haulting when he hears the same notification being recieved on all of their phones.

“Never mind.” Johnny sighs—him, as well as the rest of the boys rushing to get up and get on the move.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Johnny has friends? And why didn’t you tell me that Y/N has an ex boyfriend that is still madly in love with her? And that he is apart of Johnny’s friends. It’s your fucking job knit-wit.”

Taeyong is seething on the phone, although he does feel bad. Poor Jaemin didn’t have a clue as to why he was currently being scolded, as he did the research he was asked to do. Nothing more, nothing less. At this point he had been tuning the harsh words out—too high in this moment to give a fuck about anything his leader was saying.

“Look, I already told you what the deal is, hyung.”

Taeyong can picture him now, smoking his Indigo. The younger members seemingly preferred this method for whatever reason, and he finds himself to be correct when he can hear a cough erupting from the boy’s throat over the device.

That excuse is good enough for Taeyong, but he doesn’t want to stop this passion just yet. Even now he could tell his high was finally wearing off similar to how it did a few weeks back, and it’s scary, but it’s good. He’s feeling anger, nervousness, although he was sure the lather would wear off rather quickly. How would it feel to kill in such a state?

“Whatever.” He shooes. “Get Sooman on the phone please.”

“Sooman? You sure you don’t mean daddy?”

“Very fucking funny—put him on the phone.”

He sits on hold for about five minutes, and during that time he decides to finally lay down on his bed. He hadn’t had the opportunity to go shopping for something a little more his style, but then again was it even worth it? Once he killed you, he would be gone.

God, it’s so comfortable. The bed he was accustomed to was so hard and he would always wake up with back pain that would last for the majority of the day, although he would never really feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything in NEO. He could emphasize this fact all day long.

Around the room aren’t ripped and hole-punched walls. They’re clean and polished an angelic white color—clashing way too much with the seeming inside of him. He deserves this luxury, but at the same time he doesn’t, yet then again, that made him deserve it even more. Kun’s belongings are still ragged all over the room, but even with Taeyong’s clean freak nature he can’t freak out about it. He doesn’t care right now. He lifts his leg to observe his chosen clothing; all black just incase someone attempted to compliment him. He realizes while he sinks into the the bed that he hadn’t done this at all, even if he had only been here for less than a day. He takes a deep breath—the kind that rushes to your toes and comes back up your body with a magical touch. The kind where you feel every problem and obstacle in your life haulting even if for a short moment. A short moment it was indeed.

“Tell me everything.”

It’s Sooman, and all the stupid doodles he was currently having would have to be put to rest, at least for now.

Taeyong explains in detail everything that had went down in the past couple of hours—even him meeting Mackenzie.

“You can use her as a free kill if you want. If the urge is strong.”

“Oh, trust me when I say she’s already on my list.”

And then he continues. There’s actually only so much detail he can give considering he is only seeing black and white for now, but he describes you. He doesn’t know why or how, but he finds himself imagining you in a lot of different aspects. What would you be wearing tomorrow? Would you completely change and end up in sweatpants and a hoodie similar to your brother a few moments ago? Or did you dress like such a superstar all the time?

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“A pretty face only gets you so far.”

“But remember what I told you. She’s not just a face, boy. If she’s like anything I’ve experienced, she may rope you in without knowing. You won’t even see it coming. That girl is smart, and she’s something you’re not used to. Stay focused.” The man instructs, “Also, keep working on her. You also need to be gaining the trust of her family members as well.” He finished before hanging up.

Taeyong didn’t appreciate that exchange. He didn’t even get a chance to ask the real questions, obviously in a much more respectful way than he spoke to Jaemin. That was so unsual. He’s about to call back before he feels his phone vibrating in his hand. It’s Jaehyun, this time.

“He’s getting some right now.” Jaehyun confirms, his laugh erurupting from the predictable darkness of their side of town. He can picture the pretty boy now—perched up on his bunk as he always wanted the top anyway. He’s probably been having an amazing 48 hours all alone, free to blast as he pleased without interruption.

Taeyong doesn’t know why he didn’t put that together. As unfair as the rule was, it was a rule that stated only he—as he is the boss, could bring woman into the building. When it came to them and their rendezvous, it had to be in a dark corner, an alley, or if they got really lucky—the wife’s home while her husband was busting his ass to bring in some income, or for some members the husbands while the wife was begging the convience store to let her get dinner for the kids.

Good ole’ NEO.

“Fucking great.” Taeyong rolls over on his side, his black hair covering his eyes slightly. He doesn’t even try to move it away as he finds himself dozing off just a tad. He has never been this comfortable in his entire life.

“Tell me. I know you, brother. You need to get it out.”

“I don’t know. There’s just a lot of missing pieces of this puzzle that I don’t know. I’m sure Jaemin told you everything.”

“Mhm.” Jaehyun agrees, knowing his member would continue. He was always such a great listener, and he frequently had to deal with this. Never in such a setting, but even with his kills would Taeyong talk his head off about what he wanted to try next, and a lot of blabber. He listened because he cared about him.

“She has an ex boyfriend, and he doesn’t like me. They were all smiling and happy, but I could see how fake it was.”

“Well, you are trying to fuck, and then kill his love. And for the brother—his sister and his whole family.”

“But they don’t know that. They don’t know any of it.”

“Then they’re probably just being protective. I mean, how did you find out about the girl and Kun in the first place?”

“She was in my room.” He admits, silently slapping himself on the forehead. “And he’s my roommate. The shit was so dramatic, Jae. It looked like a soap-opera.

“I’m not saying don’t keep your eyes open. Trust me, me of all people would never be so stupid, but if you have your guard up openly, and so does he, how are you going to get close to them? Hm?” The indigo was talking, not Jaehyun. “I mean, you don’t have a choice but to switch it up.”

“You sound like me.” He chuckles.

Taeyong was the leader for many reasons, but truthfully more because he was incredibly scary. As he does a little crunch, he sees himself in the mirror and he doesn’t know the person he’s looking at. This isn’t the menacing, ruthless Taeyong that made his youngers practically pee their pants if they made a remote mistake. This was the boy that liked to explore, and he doesn’t like it. He feels sick, actually. He smile is wiped off, and he hits the bed again.

“Thanks for listening.”

“Of course.”

The hang up is quick from his side.

Taeyong needs to sleep. He needs to sleep a sleep better than any sleep he has ever experienced, and when he wakes up, he’ll have some of his real vision back.

“You’re home late, what happened?”

It’s your fathers voice, and as always it’s soft and comforting. Even at such a late hour. You always find it amusing that even when he should be sleeping, or perched up on his very expensive recliner channel surfing for sports, he’s instead in a suit ready for work. Usually you would make a joke about this, and he’s waiting for it—you can tell by the way his eyebrows that match yours are slightly raised; his mouth slightly agape in anticipation, but you’re not in the mood. 

“Just an interesting day. That’s all dad I promise.”

“Well, my ears are open. I was about to respond to some emails, but you know I always have time for you sweetheart.”

Your father, as well as your brother were the two men who you could never doubt. They loved you, and they meant everything they said. Others couldn’t necessarily relate.

Your home hasn’t changed much since you were born. Well, at least design wise. Of course coming from a family who was the lead cause of the new world we lived in, you had all of the new gadgets and furniture. You were always the taste test for practically every invention after the dangerous trial and error was over.

Your tan colored ceilings were practically in the sky. And similar to Wildwood, the ceiling was open, although it was better worded see-through. You also had the option of closing it, and your father hits the switch as you follow behind him to go into his office. You only see half of the pink night being closed before the door is clearing.

His office was surprisingly simple considering all the resources he had access to. There were two family portraits that rested above his desk—one of the four of you, and one of all of the boys and men your father had in his life. “Uncles” you had never met. Johnny and his friends. The sight of Kun in the photo; his smile is bright and you can actually remember the day that photo was taken. He was so nervous about the whole ordeal. He couldn’t understand why he was chosen to be in such a photo with so many great men, as well as his knucklehead friends, but Johnny really wanted it. Those were his brothers, and your father had always been a believer of sticking together. He was a mentor to so many, and Johnny, Sicheng, Ten, Yangyang, Lucas, Xiaojun, Hendery, and Kun had all been friends since birth. Your father had practically raised them. It was actually quite a weird ordeal, but it made sense to you all. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

There’s a loveseat on the side of the semi-large room, and you sit on it. You expect him to sit in his leather chair, but he nudges you over with his knee. He puts an arm around your shoulder, and kisses your forehead as you move to his shoulder. This was him telling you to speak.

“I saw Kun today.” You mumble. You didn’t want to be having this conversation with your father. Especially about someone you know he saw as such an ideal man for you.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Bad.”

You know he’s trying to scrounge up his thoughts. You told your father everything, and every night you found yourself thinking about his reaction that night. Barely a reaction, at first.

An alarm is blaring at Taeyong. He doesn’t understand why, because quite frankly, he wasn’t planning on going to class today. He wasn’t here to be educated in the slightest, although he was very much so looking forward to his futuristic science class where he heard you did a lot of cool experiments in. He unconsciously takes a deep breath, and he smells something. It’s not strong, but he can smell it. It smelt of something sweet. Like vanilla or something if that nature.

The alarm is still blaring, and with closed eyes, he’s beating around trying to locate the button to turn it off.

“You have to speak.” A voice whispers from the other side of the room. Kun decided to sleep here last night—quite a surprise.

“Okay.” Taeyong speaks.

Snoozing. The robot woman follows

“You have to say ‘I’m awake’.”

“I’m awake.” Taeyong rips out, very done with this whole ordeal. He had never been more annoyed in his life. He’s also very shocked that Kun even cared enough to help him, but then again it was interrupting whatever he was doing.

He slowly rises off the bed, looking quickly to see if he has on any pants. He settled in boxers last night he notices, so he throws the sheets off of him before taking one last deep breath and wiping his face before opening his eyes. It’s like a flash of light does he see the same pastel and dirty vision just as he did when he tried this the first time. His pupils are moving from side to side, trying to see the splurts again. They’re evident and he can also see now very clearly that Kun has black hair just like him. He’s also shirtless as he’s on his phone most likely scrolling through nothing. Kun must have changed his sheets while he was in a deep slumber. It screamed money. It was a mixture of black, red, and blue; striped. They seemed to be comfortable enough.

“Goodmorning to you too.” Kun says, removing his eyes from his phone to Taeyong’s pitiful look. “I would’ve thought you’d look less tired considering how long you’ve been asleep.”

“How do you know how long I’ve been asleep? You were gone.”

“Look up.”

And he does. Above his head is a clock that reads the exact time he put his head down to rest, the time he actually fell asleep—5 minutes later, and how long he stayed that way.

“What the—

“You can turn it off. I mean, they’ll still know, but I won’t.” Kun points to his own clock that read he only got two hours of sleep before he shuts it off.

“Thanks.” Is all Taeyong can fathom. Usually more words would flow from his mouth, but Kun is a stranger. But usually that wouldn’t matter? He doesn’t like to be awkward like this. He doesn’t even know what he needs to take a shower here, but he’ll figure it out he assumes. There’s a machine in the large release area that gives you the option of what soap you want to use unless you have your own, in which Taeyong doesn’t. He decides on the Sea Breeze soap, as it seemed to fit the mood he was trying to set.

When he gets out, Kun is still in the room, but he’s clothed now. He’s once again dressed in some sweatpants, and a Wildwood shirt. He did change up his shoes though, switching his slides for sneakers.

“Don’t know if you care or not, but we have a race tonight.” He speaks up. “We’re going against our rival school—the jets. Big game and a good way to make friends.”

It was sly shade, but Taeyong catches it. That was his polite way of saying to get the hell away from you, but he was awake now. He should’ve said that when he was still drowsy because Taeyong was about to play him like a guitar. He’s throwing his book bag over his shoulder as he talks.

“Oh yeah I’ll definitely be there. Me and Y/N are going together.” He pretends to feel bad at the mention of you—giving his eyes the innocent and awkward stare, but he sees the way Kun practically blows up from your name coming out of his filthy mouth.

“Cool.” Is all Kun can gather. He’s throwing his own belongings in a duffel bag that resembles the one Taeyong put his weapons in, except he’s throwing shorts and extra jackets in there. He’s doing it quick and fast indicating that Taeyong already got under his skin and all he had to do was say your name. Maybe it would be easier to get him out of the picture than he originally thought.

Taeyong was secretly super excited about the race. He had never seen anything like what it was described to be, but most importantly it was a great opportunity to talk your pretty little head off and try to get more answers out of you. And let’s not forget the fuchsia nights. He was so ready for that.

When he left his dorm, it wasn’t exactly light, but it wasn’t dark either. After a long day of classes he didn’t care about, and classes you didn’t show up to, he had eaten a little meal from the cafe that he got very lost in before heading back to his dorm to change. Since he got a little of his colored vision back, he decided on a blank orange shirt that had to be curtesy of Mark. Mark really was an angel, yet, that made all of them be even more of a dick to him because he could be so soft sometimes. I mean, to Wildwood’s standard of soft he would be a hell raiser, but back home he was a sweet little thing. His pants stayed the same—black cargo looking pants with his signature boots.

The track was indescribable. I mean, the open space was so beautiful; the grass seemed to be the original green he expected even if it was dirty and blurry to him. He looks up for sky, but half is gray, and half is a darkened blue. Almost navy. The sound of engines going off and reviving is white noise for him because he had never heard this. There’s already a big crowd of students from both schools with their faces painted, some with shirts off, but all ready to cheer on their schoolmates. The track is basically a smaller NASCAR track—it’s too bad they got rid of that decades ago.

“Taeyong!” He knows this voice. It’s tiny and squeaky and annoying and as he looks in her direction he can’t deny he’s impressed. She really did change her look. Her hair was still raging white, but it was curly and she actually sported an outfit similar to yours yesterday. She was surrounded by boys just as you predicted, but they seemed to push him to the side.

“What’s up, Mackenzie.” He smiles, but it’s so fake. And the fact that she doesn’t see it just proves she’s a fucking blonde. “You seen Y/N?”

“I saw her earlier. She was here with Johnny and they were talking, but not for too long. Johnny practically ignores everyone on race days. Any distraction can make them lose and Johnny doesn’t like to lose.”

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“We’re going to get married one day.” She dreams towards the sky.

“Right...” He whispers to himself, before turning around. As such awful story telling would do, you’re right there as he turns around. How long had you been standing there? God, he had to clutch his heart—something that he never had to do. Technically you just ran up on him and he didn’t hear you. He’s glad his boys didn’t witness that,

You look more beautiful than you did yesterday, not to say you didn’t look beautiful yesterday. You did change up your outfit a tad; a long sleeved v-neck crop top covering your chest, although he sees the cleavage. And you’re wearing high waisted mom jeans with some matching white sneaks on your feet. They’re giving you a little height. You have glasses on the top of your head, but he assumes you’re not in such a bad mood that you don’t want to see anything right now.

“Hey.” He smiles, and he doesn’t have to fake this one. It’s coming out naturally and it’s pissing him off. Yes, you were pretty, but you aren’t roping him in. He doesn’t feel things for people he only wants to hurt them.

“Hey.” You smile back, punching him in arm lightly. “I like your outfit. I was expecting you to be wearing all black again.”

“What? You thought I was some emo boy?”

“Well, I still think you are. I think you added a dash of color to impress me.”

Oh, you were good.

“Do you think you’re that special?” His tone is taunting, but not disrespectful.

“I know I am.” You turn around promptly, and he feels his feet running towards you to catch up.

It seems like you’re going to a more secluded area where there are less people who are prone to screaming and yelling inappropriate things to the opposing players. There’s a hologramed fence that seems to be where you’re headed, but you keep walking.

“Y/N you have to watch the race. Your brother is in it.”

“Oh, I’m watching the race.” He doesn’t even have to see you to know you’re smirking. It’s the sway in your hips. You’re walking to seemingly nothing, but as Wildwood does, there’s something hovering where you’re headed. It’s a button, but he doesn’t know what’s its for.

“You coming?” You tease.

“I—can I?”

You take his hand in yours—an unfamiliar feeling to him. Even so he doesn’t let go. You press the button and hologramed box is shielding the two of you before you’re shooting in the air.

“What the!” He screeches, unconsciously squeezing your hand too tight.

“Ow ow.” You laugh loudly. “Are you trying to break my hand?” He knows he hurt you, but even so you’re still laughing.

“I’m sorry. That just scared me.” He finds himself being shy now as the two of you are still holding hands. He slowly lets go, but not before caressing your mangled bones.

“It’s okay, newbie. When I was a little girl I almost had a panic attack the first time I did this.”

This, was the view. It was amazing, and it was secluded from the rattled teens and young adults who were passionate about their school. There were seats made for two, and Taeyong assumes that the box registers how many people it holds, and makes the seats according to that.

“There’s no one else that can do this, right?” He’s fascinated. You’re high up enough to where you can’t be seen unless someone was looking very hard, but at the same time you can see the track perfectly.

“Nope. Just my family.” You point to the other side of the track, and he can see another one hovering holding what seems to be a man and a woman—possibly some others behind him. Your father and mother although he can’t see their faces. “I’m a privileged girl.”

He’s trying to find something snarky to say back at you, but the confidence he had before is slipping away. He even finds himself shaking slightly, but he decides to just ignore it. “Nothing wrong with being that way.” He whispers. That’s all he can think of.

The two of you are sitting very close right now. He really had only known you for a measly 24 hours, but it felt like an eternity and he didn’t like that. He didn’t like the power you obviously held. And now you were scooting closer to him and his heart is slowly racing when that wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“How was your day today?” You question, but you’re not looking at him. Maybe he makes you nervous. You’re both watching as the cheerleaders are doing stunts to get the crowd pumped and the band is starting to warm up for the team. It almost seemed like football, but that was irrelevant these days.

He hadn’t had someone ask him that ever. It was so strange to him how every little thing you did was so original, even though back in the old days it was common curtesy. Back when the world wasn’t so split up.

“It was good.” Is all he can form. He relaxes back in the seemingly invisible chair, and it’s comfortable. “Finally made it to the cafe.”

“Do you always whisper when you talk.” You taunt him in his same tone.

You get a smile out of him. You were pretty funny. He could admit that.

There were a lot of things he could’ve said, but he remembers his orders “keep pushing it” or whatever Sooman said. He was trying so hard to keep his wall up, when his mission was to make you fall in love with him. He felt so guilty about it, but he didn’t have to. It was what he was instructed. “I’m just—you make me a little nervous.” He slips, knowing your heart beat is probably increasing.

“Me? Why?” And now your head is on his shoulder.

“Because you do things like that.” He speaks. He doesn’t know what to do with his body. Affection was something he had no idea how to handle or give back, and this was going to be his biggest weakness when it came to getting your head.

“My day wasn’t good.” You switch the subject, although your head stays in place. “Yesterday wasn’t good either.”

“Why?” He whispers. “Is it because of that Kun guy?”

“You catch on quickly.” You chuckle, making his shoulder vibrate. “But yeah. We have an interesting history. I was just so surprised to see him. It was so weird.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Taeyong needs to do something. He needs to touch you in a way that shows you he’s “interested”. He sees your hand dead on your lap, so he decides to interlock your fingers just as you did to him a few moments ago. He can’t lie—this feels nice. He knows it’s not supposed to, but no one else is here to tell on him. He could enjoy this, right?

“Nothing to say.” You mumble. “Just caught me off guard.”

There’s the wall. He was hoping you’d start venting, but he’s not surprised when you hault. I mean, the two of you had just met yesterday, although it wouldn’t seem like it based off your current position.

“I know we just met yesterday, but can we stay like this?” Your tone is hushed as you speak, and your voice is wavering just a tad. You probably feel stupid for even asking that.

“Of course we can.” He accepts, and he feels the way you lightly graze your thumb on his own at his acceptance. It relaxes him in an odd way, although it also triggered something weird in him. He had never felt it before, but he just assumes it’s the indigo shaking him up and begging him for more.

“Ladies and gentleman—introducing the one and only Wildwood Jaguars!” They’re running through the banner, funny enough the most non-futuristic thing here. The crowd is going wild and here you and Taeyong are, lost in your position.

Game on.

[imagineredwood]

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5    Part 6    Part 7    Part 8   Part 9       Part 10    Part 11  Part 12   Part 13   Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Camila (OC)

Warnings: None really

Word count: 2.1k 

***This one is a little shorter because there will be the first spat soon and I wanted to make sure it was just right. Rather than rushing it for this part, I decided to make this one a little shorter and give y’all a full scene in the next chapter 👀***

“So, which one do you like best?”

Camila stepped back and motioned to the outfits laid out on her bed, EZ stepping up and looking them over. The first was a blush-toned baby pink dress, long and flowing with a deep neckline and EZ nodded, already feeling drawn to that one.

“You know I love you in pink.”

Camila gave a nod and a smile, holding onto his bicep.

“I know you do.”

EZ returned her smile and leaned down to kiss her temple before standing back up and looked at the other two outfits. The second was a light beige dress that came mid-thigh, hanging off the shoulders with an empire waist and EZ loved that one too. The last was a simple black dress, nothing extravagant or flashy about it and EZ liked that. It had sleeves to the elbows and a high neckline. With a wince, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“This is hard, Cam. I can tell they’re all gonna look good on you. I can’t even pick.”

She laughed and shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder as she looked over the outfits herself.

“I know, that’s why I figured I’d ask you.”

EZ reached forward and ran a finger over the materials, his eyes still drawn to the pink one.

“I wish you had the beige dress, but in pink.”

“Now’s not the time to be picky, Ezekiel.”

EZ laughed and so did Camila, him turning towards her and grabbing her arms, pulling them to wrap around his neck and then wrapping his own around her waist.

“You could show up in a potato sack and you’re still going to be the most beautiful girl there.”

A roll of her eyes, a blush and a smile were what he got from her as she held onto him.

“Such as sweet talker.”

EZ’s smirk appeared as his hands made their way to her hips.  

“I gotta get my game back. I was around nothing but dudes for eight years.”

Camila shook her head before cocking it to the side.

“So, I’m the guinea pig?”

EZ shrugged and gave his panty dropping smile.

“I mean… how am I doing?”

Camila eyed him as she pulled her arms away from him, wearing a smirk of her own as she started walking away from him, looking at him over her shoulder.

“A+. Now come help me rinse off these tomatoes before your dad gets here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The two stood side by side working in tandem as they had done so many times before. Their process was down to a science now. Camila washed and rinsed the vegetables, placing them down onto the towel to dry some and wait for EZ who would pat them dry completely and then place them into the basket that sat atop her kitchen counter. They spent many nights or mornings this way when EZ was available, just enjoying her company.

Things had been running smoothly ever since he had told her the truth about Kevin and taking the deal two weeks ago, a certain harmony between them now that she felt he was letting her in, and he didn’t have the guilt of keeping her out. They spent as much time together as possible, her hanging out with Angel often as well, two peas in a pod. EZ had been in her home more than he had been in his trailer and had taken Angel’s advice, leaving some clothes at her place for those nights where their dates of movies and popcorn ran too late and she had him stay with her overnight.

Now here she was, drying off her harvest of tomatoes from this morning that she had picked especially for Felipe. She’s offered for him to come by her house and he’d accepted, telling her he would be by later in the afternoon. Now here she was, working feverishly to make sure Felipe had the brightest, cleanest, plumpest tomatoes of the bunch ready to go. EZ finished drying off the last one and rolled his shoulders.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom really quick.”

Camila nodded and pointed to the bathroom in her bedroom.

“Use mine. The guest one is a mess, I started painting it a different color finally.”

EZ nodded and reached for her, placing his hand softly on the back of her neck and pulling her forward so he could press a kiss to her forehead. She smiled as she always did and looked up at him with the same twinkle she always got. EZ prayed silently that she would never lose that sparkle when she looked at him. His goal was to make sure he did whatever he had to do to ensure that that look of love remained. He pulled away and headed toward her bathroom as Camila stayed, making sure that all of Felipe’s tomatoes looked perfect. He walked in and smiled as he saw the three dresses that she was still torn between, hanging on her mirror, no doubt after she had tried them all on and compared. One laying off to the side of her dresser caught his attention though and he walked over, gripping the hanger and lifting the dress so he could see it. It was a soft beige chiffon dress, flowing with draped sleeves and waist, a slit in the front where the fabric overlapped. It was simple yet elegant, sexy yet not too revealing for a vow renewal and EZ could immediately picture her in it, the golden hue of her skin a nice contrast to the lighter material, the slopes of her hips accentuated by the fabric and yet hidden by it as well, the material shifting as she walked.

EZ had never been a number one fan of heels in particular, not thrilled with the strain it put on the woman wearing them or the soreness that they often had after a night of being in them. Camila in heels was a weakness of his though, he had quickly realized the night that they had gone out for their first real date. He hadn’t seen her in any since and his eyes drifted over into the closet, locking on a pair that matched the color of the dress in his hands. Already he could see her in the outfit, and he furrowed his brows wondering why she hadn’t shown him this one.

“Cam, come here.”

She called out to him, telling him that she was coming, a smile on her face as she walked in holding a particularly large tomato.

“This is the best one that I have. Your dad will like it.”

Her smile fell some as she looked at him holding the dress though.

“Oh, I didn’t take that one out for you to pick, I was just out.”

EZ nodded and turned toward her, holding it up higher as he looked it over.

“Why not? This is my favorite, more than the ones that you showed me. I mean, you would look beautiful in all of them but this,”

He trailed off and she blushed, putting her hands down to her sides as she walked up to him.

“I don’t know. I feel like it’s too much.”

The prospect shook his head and looked back at her, his smile bright as he placed it down onto her bed gently.

“It’s not. That’s the one.”

Camila arched her eyebrows and ran her finger over the fabric, taking hold of the still attached tag.

“I bought it like, two years ago and I’ve still never worn it. I thought it was gorgeous, but I never really felt like I had a place to wear it.”

EZ walked up closer to her and rested his hand on her back, looking down at her.

“Well, now you do. It’s not too much, it’s perfect. Wear it.”

She beamed and nodded softly, grabbing the dress to hang it up by the mirror and put the others back in the closet, happy that she had finally gotten to a decision with the event only two days away. Camila turned back around to face EZ and they shared a smile, her doorbell ringing in the background. EZ laughed as her eyes lit up, Camila hurrying out of the room with her tomato in hand to answer the door for Felipe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Felipe looked around, his head tilted back some as he took in a deep breath of the fresh air. The sun shone brightly, casting down in warm beams on his skin. There was a slight breeze, Camila’s bigger fruit trees blowing gently in the wind. His eyes roamed around, and he kept walking around slowly his shoes padding on the steppingstones. He walked through the garden by himself, Camila and EZ back in the house. Felipe’s eyes fell on a separate pot over to the corner by the bench and he walked over to it, sitting down. It was a baby, the soil fresh and still messy around the edge, Camila having just planted it this morning. It was small, only the beginning of the budding white flower but Felipe smiled with both sadness and nostalgia as he looked at it, recalling the time that Marisol had bought the seeds for the very same flower and had planted it as her first one.

He recalled the smile that was on her face the day she went out and saw the beginning of the green leaves starting to sprout from the soil. He’d thought her happiness was unmatched, until the day that the petals bloomed. She had taken care of that flower and had then gotten into gardening even more, flowers everywhere as a result of her green thumb. She kept various flowers outside in the garden and always had something on the counter, changing them out every week, but that orchid stayed in their bedroom and never moved. She kept it alive and well, but when she died, it died along with her and it was then that Felipe had thrown it away with a heavy heart, the brown withered petals a sick metaphor for how his life was also falling apart.

He reached over and ran the tip of his finger over the petal of the orchid, giving a smile as he stared at it unaware of the eyes that were watching him from inside. EZ was in the kitchen getting something to drink but Camila was there at the sliding door that led to the garden, watching her boyfriend's father stare at her new plant. She turned away as she saw him wipe at his eye, feeling like she was intruding and thought to herself knowing that she already had an idea of what she might suggest to EZ about getting him for Christmas.

Walking away from the window, she went into the kitchen and saw EZ at the fridge, bent over and looking inside. She smiled to herself and quietly sidled up, slapping his ass playfully and letting out a laugh as he jerked, looking back at her and shaking his head. He grabbed the beer her was eyeing and stood back up straight, turning to eye her.

“That’s inappropriate.”

She scoffed and leaned her head back incredulously.

“Oh, so you can cop a feel, but I can’t?”

“Your butt is nicer than mine.”

At that Camila shook her head, a playful grin on her face as she looked up at him.

“I beg to differ.”

Within seconds, it turned into an ass slapping contest, both turning around in circles trying to get the other, laughter filling the house so much so that neither heard the sliding glass door opening as Felipe made his way back into the house. He looked over at the sound and couldn’t help but smile, seeing his son happy and in love, much like he had once been. He stayed quiet in the corner, simply observing as Camila caught up to EZ, landing a particularly harsh spank that had EZ hissing slightly and rubbing the seat of his jeans all while her joy-filled laugh bounced off the walls. They both noticed Felipe’s presence then, a blush coming over Camila as she realized he had been there the whole time. She apologized with a hand on her chest, out of breath slightly from the horseplay.

“Sorry about that.”

The oldest Reyes shook his head and stepped forward with a genuine smile, wrapping both of his arms around their shoulders and pulling them in, leaving a kiss to both of their foreheads one after the other.

“No need to be sorry, mija. This keeps an old man like me young.”

Both she and EZ smiled at that as Felipe released them, looking at the pile of vegetables Camila had on the counter, a very familial vibe in the house.

Tag list: @caramara3   @lostgirl219 @mrsjaxtellerfan   @actuallyazriel   @vannabanana1995   @unnecessarypineapplesstuff @thegreat-annamaria @negansdirtygirl22 @svintsandghosts @piccasoe @tobesurroundedbysplendidthings

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

California

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x OC

Warnings: PTSD

A/N:  We’re coming out of the angst mood and this will be the last wholly flashback chapter.  We return to present day in Part 8.  Doesn’t mean there won’t be flashbacks, but the action is now moving forward!

And I can’t believe the number of people who have followed this blog in the last week or so (has it only been that long?) and the people who are liking the posts.  Y’all know how to make a girl feel good. :)

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5] [PART 6]

Part 7 

Road to Recovery

It was the sharp yelp and half sob that startled nurse Cider at her desk. Looking up she realized the sound came from her only occupied bay.  She got up and walked into the room to find Sirah laying awkwardly in the bed, tears trickling down her face.

“You tried to move again, didn’t you?” the nurse asked.  She didn’t need an answer, she already knew it.  She was just being polite.  Sirah gave a slight nod.  She’d been fully conscious for only forty-eight hours, but every moment of it was a cycle of pain and then calmness as the drugs kicked in.  She was in the pain portion of the cycle.

“It’s so hard to breathe, Cider.  I just can’t seem to breathe.”

“I know, honey. Let me get you more comfortable and see if that helps a bit.” Cider stepped out and waved over another nurse.  They came into the room and each grabbed Sirah under her arms to pull her gently up. But something about the way they held her made their patient go rigid with fear.

“NO!” She cried out.  “NO, don’t take me!”

For a moment, she wasn’t in the med bay, instead her mind was suddenly back in California and trapped in the fear she felt while captured.  She started shaking violently and both nurses dropped their hands.  Cider reached out and touched Sirah’s forehead gently, calling to her.

“Sirah, honey, it’s okay.  It’s okay. It’s just me and Tea.  We’re here to help you, it’s okay.”  Cider rubbed her palm on the woman’s forehead while grasping her hand with the other.  After a moment, Sirah’s eyes looked over at the nurse and seemed to refocus.

“Good, honey.  Good.” She kept her voice calm and even. “Tea and I are going to help you move, remember?  We’re going to put our hands back under your arms and under your legs.  And you’re going to be more comfortable.  Yeah?”

Sirah nodded and this time, while keeping her eyes focused on Cider, she let the nurses move her.  Soon she was shifted higher and suddenly she felt as if she could breathe again.  The nurses tucked her back in, took a few vitals, and patted her hand before they left.  While they worked, in the shadows outside the room stood Champ.  As the nurses passed him, he paused before entering the room.  Looking at the ceiling, he took a deep breath and willed the tears from his eyes before walking in.

Normally, the man was larger than life, standing taller than most of his agents physically and bigger than everyone else through his personality. But when Sirah laid eyes on him, she noted he looked smaller, older even.  He sat down next to her bed and took her hand, cradling it to his cheek.  She let the tears stream down her own as his warmth seeped into her hand and then into her heart.  She was home again.

---***---

She had been in a coma for several weeks as the med team worked to fix what they could, but once she woke up, the reality of what happened to her began to set in for the team.  The trauma of her experience wasn’t something she had been trained to handle and she spiraled deeply into this scary new world as the days passed.  Soon the personality that inspired Tequila’s Shirley Temple nickname was gone and in its place was a woman full of fear.

One day after Ginger had visited for some time, Sirah cried pitifully when her friend left.  She curled into herself the best she could, thinking her friend was never coming back.  The abandonment compounded everything.  

Champ and Dr. Licuados consulted daily with the in-house therapy center about the situation.  A therapist was assigned to her, code named Orange, but in the early days there wasn’t much either doctor could do to ease the pain and fear.  The three watch as Sirah nearly become a ghost of herself.

Her friends were sick to their stomachs at the change and tried to do whatever they could within their power to help her through it.  After the event with Ginger, the four of them agreed to take turns being with her.  Just being in the same room was often enough for Sirah most days, so they’d bring work or field reports or even just books to pass the time.  

Ginger took the mornings, Tequila took the afternoon shift, and Champ stayed by her side in the early evenings.  But Jack was the one to stay with her at night.  Seeing his sleeping form on the couch next to her brought her immense comfort and often, she would reach out and touch his hand with hers.  Every time, even dead asleep, he grasped hers in return and never let go.

---***---

A month after she woke from the coma, the doctors agreed to move her to a private therapy bay to continue her recovery.  Her cuts had scarred over, her burns were stable, and the breaks and fractures were just about healed.  She was able to begin the next phase of her healing and the days took on more structure. 

Physical therapy in the morning with Tequila there as her own personal cheerleader and sometimes Ginger when he was out on assignment. Regular therapy with Dr. Orange in the afternoons, and in the evenings, Jack came “home” to stay with her.  Champ made it a special order to have lunch with her daily and sometimes his wife would join them.

Her recovery probably wouldn’t had gone as well as it had were it not for her friends.  The love and support they provided guided her through the dark moments.  One night, after she had been cleared to take a shower, Sirah stood beneath the water, relishing the feeling of being clean. Without thinking, she turned her face upwards into the spray and immediately her brain was flooded with the memory of her water boarding.  

She pulled back, gasping and cried out before she fell against the shower wall in terror.  Immediately, Jack rushed into the bathroom, calling her name.  He pulled back the shower curtain and found her sitting on the floor, crying and shaking with the memory.  He turned off the water and dropped to his knees.  He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him. Nothing he could say could reach through to her, so instead he rocked her body as she cried.  It cut him to the core and broke his heart into a million pieces. Soon she quieted down, and her arms snaked around his waist.

“Moonshine, let’s get you cleaned up.”  She nodded and was patient while he soaped up a rag and gently cleaned her.  He rinsed and dried her off before helping her dress.  When he got her settled in bed, he texted Tequila to come take his place. When he arrived, Jack outlined what had happened and said he needed to step out.  Tequila clapped a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on the couch. If Jack needed a minute, then dammit, he was getting one.

Jack ran down to the training room and turned on the lights.  He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles as he walked over to the punching bag.  He took a deep breath and threw out his right arm.  The contact stung but it didn’t stop him.  He took the rest of his anger and grief out on the bag.  He eventually collapsed against it, exhausted, but calmer.

---***---

“Orange. . . can I talk about that night?”  Sirah sounded hesitant, but the therapist gave her a reassuring smile. Half a year had passed since California and Sirah now found herself curled on the end of her couch, wrapped in a blanket. The therapist sat at the other end, leg drawn up and facing her.

“Needles.”  Sirah looked out the window.  “I could smell the needles of the redwoods as I laid there. . .”  Their talk continued and several times, Sirah broke down.  She cried for Malbec and Sherry, the agents who were her friends.  She cried for herself.  She just cried all the tears she couldn’t while captured.  And then she talked some more.  

After nearly three hours, she felt exhausted, but lighter.  Facing California was hard, but each day seemed to get easier.  Dr. Orange told her to sleep a bit and left the apartment.  But for the first time in weeks she didn’t dream of pain or of fire or even of a dead woman’s eyes.  Instead she dreamed of New York City.

“Jack, are we sure this is correct?” Sirah looked at the notes sent from HQ regarding the case.  They sat in his New York office reviewing files and she scribbled notes in the margins.

“I’m sure moonshine, I don’t think Tequila would send us incorrect notes.”  Jack flipped through the file in front of him before turning back to the computer.  He updated a few things and went back to the file. Sirah picked up the notes she made and gathered a few more items.

“I’ll be right back. . . .” her voice faltered as she looked out the window.  He turned to see what captured her attention.  Blocks away from where they were at, fireworks lit up the sky.  She walked over to the window in a sort of trance, mesmerized by the beauty of the scene – the brightly colored fireworks against the dark sky and the surrounding glow of the city.  Jack walked up behind her to watch, too.

Without thinking about it, he laid his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her head.  She sighed and leaned back into him, eyes still on the display.  He dragged his hands down her arms and wrapped her close against him.  She melted into him and they stood in comfortable repose until the display ended. The sky darkened again, and the sounds of the city were no longer muffled.

She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest.  Her arms came up around his waist and she clung to him.  He shifted and kissed the top of her head.  She smiled into his chest and sighed again, this one even more contented than before.  She eventually moved out of his arms, dragging her hand across his chest as she walked around him.  He caught the smile on her face, and one grew on his own.

“I’ll be in the library for a bit.  I want to check up on some things.  Can you wait a few hours until I have more information?”  She looked at him.

“Moonshine, I’ll always wait for you.”  She beamed at him and slightly nodded her head before taking her items and walking out the door.

He’d wait a lifetime for her if he needed to.

---***---

She woke up from the dream with a contented smile on her face, an event that hadn’t happened since before California.  As she became more alert, she realized she was alone.  Everyone worked to keep a similar schedule as before even after she moved back into her home and when she looked at the clock, she noticed it was close to dinner time.  She asked Champ to come to dinner and as if her mind conjured him, he walked through the door, knocking as he entered.

She smiled as he sat down and laid out the dinner his wife made.  He also handed her a lumpy package that had her name scrawled across it.  She opened it and while he went to get plates, she pulled out a beautifully thick navy sweater.  It was oversized and the sleeves were longer than normal.  

Once she was cleared to wear regular clothing, Sirah had taken to completely covering herself.  She was self-conscious about the scars all over her body and while the logical part of her brain said no one would care, she still did it anyway.  Champ’s wife was a quiet woman, but she was observant and smart as hell.  Champ wouldn’t have married her if she wasn’t.  The sweater was something that would give Sirah the cover she wanted with much comfort.

“Champ, can we talk for a moment?”  She sounded serious as he returned and sat down next to her.

“Of course, honey.  What do you need?”  The voice was kind and she found herself feeling ever grateful she had such love around her.  It’s why she knew she’d get passed this.

“Don’t call me Sirah anymore.”

[soldierstark]

The Art of Resistance | TOM HIDDLESTON X READER

Description: Tom has mastered the art of resistance. In other words, the story about the three time he wanted to kiss the reader but didn't and the time he finally did.

Author's Note: If anyone of ya'll know where the dialogue from the first scene came from I <3 you! This is my first attempt at a 3 + 1 fic and I enjoyed writing so let me know if you'd like more :) As always, let me know what you think.

Word Count: 2146

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

The first time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was when they decided to rehearse lines together.

It was late enough that the sun was barely peaking over the horizon while they had had enough time to down a few glasses of wine. Not enough to get them drunk, but enough that it wouldn’t be a good idea to drive anywhere.

They were scheduled to film a scene the next day that would be the turning point in their characters relationship. Throughout the movie, (Y/N)’s character was put in charge of keeping a close eye on Loki, causing them to inevitably fall in love though neither would admit it.

Loki however, didn’t know that (Y/N)’s character had begun to spend time with him because she was told too. When he finds this out, he begins to question the whole foundation of their relationship leading to a huge fight.

Tom really wanted to nail the scene so when (Y/N) came up to him between takes and asked if he’d like to practice, he agreed.

And that’s how they ended up in a screaming match, though it was all fake, (Y/N)’s temporary neighbors didn’t know that.

“Because I love you, Loki,” (Y/N) burst out pleadingly, trying to get the god of mischief to stay.

Tom rolled his eyes and let out indignant scoff, stepping forward towards (Y/N) slightly. “Are kidding me? You’re actually bringing this up now?” he asked in frustration with disbelief. “After you told me that you just betrayed me?”

(Y/N) walked closer to Tom shaking her head desperately. “If you would just listen to me-“

“Listen to you?” Tom interrupted sarcastically, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Why should I listen to you? How am I even supposed to trust anything that you say right now?”

“Because of everything we’ve been through together!” (Y/N) said raising her voice, starting to get frustrated as well. “For 2 years I’ve been right here. 2 years Loki. Most of that time was spent just waiting for you to open your eyes and see that I’m more than just some mortal girl.”

(Y/N) took another look at Tom who didn’t say anything in return, as instructed in the script. She began to pace the living room carpet, going into to more of a rant. “Every morning  I- I bring you a cup of coffee just so that I can see a smile on your face because I think you are the most remarkable-“

She stopped pacing and turned towards Tom with a look of very mixed emotion. “Maddening,” (Y/N) continued, taking another step forward. “Challenging.” Another step. “Frustrating person, well god, I have ever met,” she finished, stopping about 3 feet away from Tom.

“And I love you, Loki,” she repeated, looking up at Tom with slightly watery eyes. “And if that means anything to you, if you care about me at all, please just stay. Please believe me.”

They were so close that Tom could see every fleck of color that adorned (Y/N)’s (Y/E/C) eyes.  Her full, rosy pink lips were parted slightly as (Y/N) took in breathes. A piece of her (Y/H/C) hair fell into her face and for some odd reason, Tom felt the urge to push it behind her ear.

How had he not noticed how beautiful she was before?

The second time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was at an Avengers cast and crew Christmas party.

“Alright this gift is for…” Mark trailed off, reading the tag on the gift he pulled out from under the fake Christmas tree. “Reindeer Games from your Secret Santa.”

A laugh erupted around the room as Taika threw the box over to Tom who began to unwrap it immediately out of curiosity. “It’s a….. box of organic earl grey tea,” Tom announced, examining the gift for clues as to who gave it to him.

“Why thank you to whomever this came from,” Tom added, making sure to emphasize his British accent. This only led to more laughter.

After all the gifts had been handed out, the cast and crew members began to disperse, going their separate ways. Tom stood up out of his seat and walked through the doorway that lead into the kitchen until a hand grabbed his wrist, halting the movement.

He turned around only to see (Y/N) smiling up at him, leaning against the door frame casually. She was wearing a black sweater with snowflakes, jeans, and a headband that had lit up Christmas lights.  

“How’d you like your gift,” she asked with a mischievous smile, wiggling her eyebrows slightly.

Tom let out a deep chuckle as the realization of who his Secret Santa was dawned on him. “It was perfect,” he replied honestly, looking down at the box in his hand. “Thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me yet Hiddleston,” (Y/N) said, crossing her arms over her chest. “That box is part of a subscription service so from now on you’ll be sent some very fancy tea every 2 weeks.”

“You really didn’t have to do that (Y/N),” Tom stated, shaking his head back and forth gently. “Honestly.”

(Y/N) giggled and stood up straight off the wall, turning so that she and Tom were facing each other directly. “Oh but I did. If I had a dime for every time you complained about how bad the craft services table tea was, I’d be so rich I’d never need to act again. So yes this gift was needed for you and for me because I was getting close to duct taping your mouth shut.”

Suddenly, a high pitched wolf whistle echoed through the air causing everyone to turn their attention to Chris Evans who was pointing at Tom and (Y/N). “Look who’s standing under mistletoe,” he drawled out excitedly.

Tom’s gaze shifted upwards and sure enough, hanging from the doorway, a tuft of green sprouted from a piece of string.

He looked down at (Y/N) with a questioning glance just as she looked up at him. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she chewed her bottom lip nervously, drawing his attention directly towards it.

(Y/N) let out a slight laugh before nodded her head slowly. “Alright Hiddleston, lay it on me,” she said, taking a step closer to him.

Tom raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?” he asked, trying to calm his beating heart which was hammering against his ribcage like machine gun.  “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she replied, rolling her eyes in a joking manner.

Now, Tom couldn’t explain why he was suddenly filled with excitement. And it only seemed to increase as (Y/N) put a hand on his shoulder and began to lean up towards him. Her eyes fluttering shut as her lips parted in anticipation.

Tom began lowering his head and put a hand on her waist. Their faces were so close that Tom could feel (Y/N)’s breath fan against his face.

And right at their lips were about to meet, a voice yelled from the kitchen, “You guys look! I found a beer bong,” causing them to spring apart quickly.

The third time Tom wanted to kiss (Y/N) was at 11:57 pm on December 31st.

It might’ve been all the alcohol he was consuming, or maybe the fact that she looked down right irresistible in the skin tight black dress she was wearing. But when everyone in the room started pairing up for their midnight kisses, Tom’s mind went straight to the (Y/H/C) hair (Y/E/C) eyed beauty.

She was over by the refreshments table talking to Jeremy about something she clearly cared about as she was using hand gestures vehemently. Tom strolled over to her trying to seem nonchalant but he was feeling anything but.

Jeremy let out a low whistle at the sight. “Dam Hiddleston, how much have you had to drink?”

(Y/N) turned around to face him and smiled brightly. She threw her head back with laughter, her hair bouncing with the movement.

Tom cleared his throat and let out a hiccup. “Like 3 I swear.”

Jeremy nodded his head slowly. “Uh huh,” he muttered sarcastically. “Sure dude,” he chortled before walking off.

Tom attempted to lean against the refreshment table casually before turning his attention back to (Y/N). “So, you have anyone to kiss at midnight yet?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow in amusement and took a sip from her punch. “No. Why?”

“No way me too!” he exclaimed, his words slurring together. “Hey! How about we kiss?”

“Wow,” (Y/N) giggled. “Drunk Tom is very bold.”

“So is that a yes?” he asked, ignoring her earlier statement.

(Y/N) put down her cup and patted him on the back. “Maybe when you’ve had less to drink Hiddleston. Then we’ll see.”

Tom finally kissed (Y/N) the day her stunt double stayed home sick and she almost died.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tom mumbled as he walked onto set.

His gaze fell upon (Y/N) who was standing on very high ledge that was supposed to be the top of the Avengers Tower. She was strapped into a harness and talking to a man he recognized as the stunt director.

“What the hell is she doing up there?” he asked walking up to Chris, not once taking his eyes off of her.

Chris looked over at Tom for a split second and followed his gaze. “Oh (Y/N)? Yea, her stunt double is out sick today so she decided to do the scene herself.”

“Well why doesn’t she just wait until she comes back?” Tom asked confused.

“We’ve rescheduled the shooting of this scene for weeks now and (Y/N) wanted to get it over with I guess,” Chris replied shrugging his shoulders. He took note of the worried expression that overtook Tom’s face as the director yelled action.

“Hey,” Chris whispered patting him on the back. “She’ll be fine. Stunts like this are done all the time.”

Tom couldn’t tear his gaze away from (Y/N) who was walking backwards towards the ledge. Backing away from a monster that would edited in later. “Still,” he muttered under his breath.

She backed up until one foot slid off like the script instructed and wobbled slightly before regaining her balance. Her (Y/H/C) hair blew behind her as a fan was directed towards her, making it seem as though it was very windy.

With one last look of fear at the invisible monster and the hard pavement that once edited would be hundreds of feet below her, (Y/N) stepped off the ledge and began to free fall three stories.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion.

It started off according to plan but after a split second of falling, a loud snap along with a screech from (Y/N) echoed throughout the sound stage.

Tom sucked in a breath as everyone around him let out a gasp at the sight. The harness was still on (Y/N) but the rope attached to it had snapped, making it useless.

For a moment, Tom swore his heart stopped as (Y/N) hit the mat with very loud thud. He along with a few other crew member, rushed over to her side as quickly as possible.

He slid down onto the floor by her side and looked over her frantically. “Oh my god (Y/N) are you okay?”

She sat up taking in a deep breath and rubbed her head, blinking widely. “Yea I think so,” she mumbled looking him in the eye. “I’m fine but this mat sucks ya’ll should really replace it.”

The cast and crew members gathered around her all let out a sigh of relief and laughed at the joke she cracked. “But don’t put this on the blooper reel please,” she continued. “My parents will flip shit if they saw this.”

Tom sighed in relief, the fear in his chest disappearing at the sight of her smiling. “Oh thank god,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “For a second there I thought…”

(Y/N) put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine Tom, really. It’ll take a lot more than a 3 story fall to take me out.”

It might’ve been the adrenaline running through his veins or the fact that Tom finally realized he needed to act on his feelings before it was too late. But in that moment, he couldn’t resist (Y/N) any longer.

Tom reached a hand behind (Y/N)’s neck and pulled her lips down to his, trying to convey every emotion he was feeling into the kiss.

She tensed up slightly but responded almost immediately, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull Tom closer. He smiled into the kiss as the people surrounding them let out whistles and clapped.

The kiss was short and sweet, but it was amazing none the less. Though the circumstances were less than ideal, the person he shared it with was perfect.

Tom couldn’t imagine his first kiss with (Y/N) going any other way.

[royal-duality]

Corruption

Warnings: Cancer mentions, death

Pairings: Moxiety it’s up to you whether it’s platonic or romantic

Summary:  Life and Death AU! Life and Death work as a team despite never having interacted. However, even Death hates his job and goes against fate's choices.

The world is full of miracles of all sorts. There are good miracles such as birth, someone surviving a near death situation, or two people coming together. However, there are also bad miracles. Ones like sudden deaths or someone losing a sense or gaining a disability.

There are two deities that watch over this world. The God of Life, who is often known as the “father” or “Patton”. Then, there is the God of Death, commonly known as Death, but also known as “Anxiety” or “Virgil”.

These two work together to give and take life from the world as well as other things. Life gives people the ability to overcome obstacles or gain senses that they were not given during birth. Virgil takes from others, he takes people’s lives from them and he takes senses from those that fate has said do not deserve it.

While Patton can be unnecessarily kind at times it is ruled that death is rarely ever kind or forgiving. Such is the way of life.

Today, on September 17th Death has set out to reap a boy riddled with sickness. Sadly, though the boy had made sure to take care of his body, he had become sick with the same disease that killed his mother.

So it was, that Death himself, stood by the boy who lay in the hospital bed. His skin was a sickly pale color, still the boy held a bright smile on his faces his friend sat in a chair beside him, reading aloud a fantasy book. The scene left a clenching feeling in the deity’s stomach.

Virgil approached the sickly boy observing closely as the boy’s heart rate sped up. Hospital staff flooded the room as the boy’s friend was rushed out of the room. None of this mattered to him, there was no way for humans to stop fate’s plans. There only existed two beings that could change the route of this boy’s life, and right now it was Death who chose this boy’s path.

The staff rushed around shouting orders as though they could stop the boy from dying. The brown-haired boy watched in confusion as Death’s figure loomed over him. He was about to die, yet he spoke with such confidence, “No. I’m not ready to die yet!”

Virgil stared at the boy with no enthusiasm. “Nobody ever is kid. Sorry to say you got the short stick in life.” His tone was cold as his words were clipped. The deity reached out his hand only to flinch as the boy slapped it away.

“No. You’re going to let me live my life. I’m going to grow up with my best friend by my side and I’m going to become a Prince! I won’t let you say otherwise.” Wide eyes stared in awe as the kid radiated confidence and determination.

Virgil felt his lips tug into a small smile as he stared at the kid. He reached his hand out again before ruffling the boy’s hair. “You know, you’re a pretty alright kid, Roman.” Roman’s eyes widened as he looked at the deity in awe.

“You know my name?” Words spoken with surprise left Virgil chuckling in amusement.

“Sure do, how else would I find the boy, fate had sent me to reap?” He saw the boy’s face drop as the subject of his death was once again brought to the front. “Too bad I like you too much.” Death watched as Roman’s face lit up with joy.

His voice was loud with glee as he stared up at the looming figure, “Really! You’re gonna let me live? Oh my goodness, I’m so happy! Wait till I tell Logan! I’m gonna kick this stupid disease in the butt!” Roman’s eyes lit up as he danced around happily.

Death smiled fondly at the scene before stopping the boy. “Hold up there Princey,” The boy’s confused expression lightened at the nickname, “I won’t be able to leave without taking something.” The boy’s face fell as though he knew what was coming.

“You’re not gonna, like, take someone else’s soul because of me or something, right?” Oh jeez, this boy was too pure.

Death chuckled and shook his head, “No…But I am going to take your cancer away. Fair trade, right?” Roman’s jaw dropped as he stared at the deity. Tears welled in his eyes before he launched himself at the looming figure in front of him, warping his arms around the figure’s waist in a hug.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” The deity rubbed the boy’s back awkwardly before gently shoving the boy away.

“Okay, time to go little one. You’ve spent long enough here, it’s time to go back and start your journey.” Hand reaching out, Death was ready to send the boy back but froze as Roman yelled at him to stop.

“What’s your name? You can’t just be death!” Roman’s tone was incredulous as he looked at the deity with skepticism.

Smiling fondly Death placed his hand on the boy’s head before speaking up, “Virgil.” With that, Roman was sent back to the real world where his body heaved as the sickness left his body.

However, every action comes with a consequence. This was true even for a deity such as himself. Which is why as soon as he knew Roman was alright, Virgil had collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain as the infection tainting his pale skin spread farther slipping past his elbow and almost reaching his hand.

You see fate is supposed to be set in stone, only meant to be changed in cases of importance, and though Virgil wished he was as heartless as everyone believed him to be, he had a heart that yearned to save others from the cards fate had dealt them. He wished that he could save everyone the pain of death altogether. It was never fun for anyone. Not even for Death himself.

And so, Virgil saved as many as he dared to, allowing the taint to spread across his skin as punishment for disobeying fate’s orders. Someone had to suffer, and if it wasn’t the families or those meant to pass, then it was only fair that the person defying fate be dealt the pain in turn.

The Deity struggled to his feet, tears springing from his eyes as the pain tore through him. As soon as he stood tall again, he walked forward only to disappear a moment later.

Through the entire ordeal, he failed to notice a pair of eyes watching him in awe. Life had never before seen Death, much less Death at such an emotional moment.

His curiosity was peaked as he began to arrange a plan in his mind to speak to his darker counterpart. Life was going to talk to Death.

And talk to Death he did. He confronted the deity, while he had been walking around Germany.

“Death!” Patton’s voice was bright as he called out to the other deity who seemed to tense at the sound of his name. Life walked up to stand beside the darker deity and looked at him with bright, shining eyes. A stunning contrast to the dark and tired expression Death himself wore.

“It’s so nice to finally talk to you! I always wondered what you were like, I mean we’ve never met before, so I figured it was a good time to talk a bit!” Life smiled brightly at his counterpart, waiting patiently for the other to talk.

The minutes ticked by as Patton stared at the other deity with unrelenting glee while the other scowled at his bright counterpart. “Okay, well, I’m Life! You can call me Patton if you want though! I’m also known as dad!”

The boisterous deity waited once again for the other male to speak up and nearly squealed with glee once he did. “Death, aka Anxiety. Now leave me alone, I’ve got places to be, souls to reap.”

Patton moved to the side as Death moved forward, presumably on his way to collect souls. “Have a good day, kiddo!” Death growled and whipped around only to find that Life was gone. Letting out a sigh, Death turned and continued on his way.

It had been 3 weeks since their last encounter, and Death had been hoping it was the last one they would have. Sadly, that was not to be. Patton had found the deity’s relaxation spot and decided to join the god in his adventure to gain peace.

Which was also ruined by the bright god.

Death, despite being perturbed by his counterpart’s presence, ignore the other in favor of trying to enjoy the peaceful moment. That was until he heard Life begin to shuffle around, unable to sit still. A growl rose from the dark deity’s eyes as he opened one eye to glare at the other male. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, just wondering what you were doing!” The deity’s voice was bright and cheery, too much so in Death’s opinion, but who was he to judge?

Scowling at the other, Death replied, “I was relaxing. Until someone came along and ruined it.” He huffed and began trying to relax his form against the tree.

“Oh, sorry kiddo. I guess you could say I was just, pine-ing for your attention.” Death’s eyes snapped open as he stared at Patton in surprise.

“That was horrible.” Despite his words, Death could feel a small pang of joy inside him.

Patton’s grin widened at Death’s response before he once again spoke with his buoyant voice, “I don’t know, I thought it was pretty Oak-y!” The dark god felt a small smile grow on his face as he bit his lip to keep it from growing any wider.

“Alright, I’ll stop. I know my puns can be pretty over-elm-ing!” Death forced a groan from his throat as he hid his face in his hand.

“Whoa there, kiddo, no need to face palm. They’re not that bad!” That was the last straw. The dark deity froze as a small laugh slipped past his lips. Eyes wide he turned to stare at his counterpart, who looked at him in awe.

“That was so adorable…” Life’s voice was soft and full of surprise as he continued to stare at Death. Virgil felt his face heat up and pulled his hood over his head in embarrassment.

“S-Shut up!”

That day was the start of a friendship between the two deities. As unlikely as it would seem, Life and Death were like two peas in a pod. They were complete opposites, but as many say, opposites attract.

Life had been on a stroll when he ran into Death, who was collecting a soul. He watched with curiosity as the woman screamed curses at the deity. Calling him horrible names and telling him how he was a curse that only brought pain.

Through it all, Death kept a straight face as though this was a common occurrence. From the tired and guilty look on the deity’s face, Life was beginning to think it was.

The woman seemed to soon get over her anger before devolving into a sobbing mess. Life watched as Death hugged the woman, who soon faded into a glowing ball of light that the deity cupped in his hands. Death seemed to stare at the ball of light for a moment before bringing it to his lips, a kiss was planted on the soul before it began to fade away into nothing.

Moments passed before Death turned to face Life with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It must hurt to watch one of your creations be recycled.”

Life stared at the other in sadness before walking to stand in front of his counterpart. “Why…?” Life’s voice was soft and broken as he stared at his feet.

Death flinched at the question and turned his head as he felt tears well in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s my job to-” His sentence was cut off by Patton.

“No! I- Why do people love me so, but hate you?” Patton’s gaze was filled with curiosity as he stared at Death.

Death could feel a laugh bubble from his lips as a sad smile stretched across his lips. “Because Patton,” He started and looked at his friend sadly, “You are a beautiful lie that gives and creates, while I am a painful truth that takes your creations apart and eventually take them away.”

The two stood in tense silence, the atmosphere thick with sadness and guilt. The scene beyond them went on as people mourned the life of the girl Death had reaped.

Patton was the first to break the silence, his voice broken and filled with sadness, “What about Roman…?”

Death felt himself tense at the question as he glared at his feet. “Roman Prince was a mistake. Fate had sent me to reap his soul and I made the mistake of letting him live.” Death’s words were harsh and unnecessarily cruel, but all he could remember was how he was not supposed to disobey fate.

Patton flinched back at his words and stared at the deity with tears in his eyes. He waited for his friend to tell him he was joking or anything to make his statement less cruel and cold.

Death stayed silent. Patton bit his lips before turning and running away, disappearing from view as he transported himself to someplace where Death did not exist.

And so, it stayed that way for 5 years. Not much time compared to eternity. Death had expected Patton to finally decide he was not worth it. However, on September 17th, Life had shown up in front of Death, a curious expression on his face.

Though his face was curious, his tone was hardened as he asked, “Where do the souls go?” The question took Death by surprise as he stared at Life in shock.

Despite his initial surprise, Death fulfills his friend’s request and tells him the journey a soul takes. “When I reap a human, I pass their soul back to you so that you can create new life. When I reap a soul after too many times of being recycled, the soul bursts and the pieces and energy inside link to other burst souls. From there it is up to you to mold them together and shape a new life with a fresh soul.” Death had seemed so animated as he spoke of the souls that Patton was stunned. He had never seen his friend smile or talk this way.

Patton smiled before launching himself at his friend. “I missed you.”  Despite Patton’s intentions, Death winced in pain and tensed at the sensation of someone being too close to the infection running through him.

Patton pulled back and looked at his friend with worry having felt him wince. “Are you okay!? Are you hurt?” Patton began to inspect Virgil’s form and gasped at the dark cracks running along his counterpart’s skin. “What happened!?”

Death pulled his arm away and held it protectively to his chest. Patton looked at his friend and noticed the look he held on his face. Death was going to lie to him. “Death, please. Let me help you, don’t lie to me this time.” He watched as Death’s face crumpled into a look of defeat

“I’m Death. I’m made to do my job, to reap lives and souls. When I disobey fate…When I let someone live when they’re supposed to die, the corruption spreads. I have no doubt that if you ever tried to reap someone, that it would happen to you as well.” Death’s eyes were downcast as he spoke. His tone morose as he struggled not to cry.

Patton’s eyes widened in realization. “Roman...” Death clenched at the reminder.

“He was the 108th person I let live when they were supposed to die….” Patton’s brows scrunched together in worry as he thought about how bad the corruption must be.

Patton’s thoughts focused on a single thought, though he hesitated in asking, “Who was the first?”

Death’s eyes opened as a peaceful expression came across his face. Thomas. “His name was Thomas Sanders. That boy was something else. He didn’t cry when he saw me, he looked at me and told me that I looked tired. Said I should take care of myself. The day he was supposed to be reaped I sent him back to his reality. That’s when the corruption started.” Virgil’s eyes closed as he recounted the memories of his past.

“I messed up somewhere along the way because Thomas saw me even when I was hidden to everyone else. He became my friend, and as he grew older he shared tales of me. It’s funny, he gave me the name Anxiety because I always fussed over him even though if it came down to it and he was hurt or dying, I wouldn’t hesitate to heal or save him.” Paton smiled at this. He knew Death was actually a sweetheart.

“Then he continued to grow up. He grew old and refused to let me save him. He had said that he was never meant to live so long. I cried and mourned as I watched him die. I never left his side and I watched as he slowly rotted away in front of me.” Tears appeared in the deity’s eyes as he recalled the time he really felt something heartbreaking.

“I watched as he asked me to kill him. So, I did as he asked. However, I was unstable and as I went to reap him, his soul was damaged, and I was unable to fix it. I ran from the soul even as it floated towards me. To this day, I run from it if I even sense something close to it. Or at least, until I met Roman. He was so much like Thomas. I couldn’t let him die. Not after how I hurt Thomas.” The deity broke off into sobs, his body shaking with violent tremors.

He felt warm, comforting arms embrace him as he was pulled into a hug by the deity of Life. He cried out as Patton pulled Death’s jacket over his shoulders before pulling his shirt off, revealing the corruption that tainted his pale skin. “Virgil.” Patton had spoken his friend’s true name, successfully making the other freeze in his struggles.

Paton looked at the corruption that seemed to be pulsing. The darkest spot laid right over Virgil’s heart. That was where it had begun, at the heart of a being that cared too much for beings he was supposed to kill.

Patton’s face hardened in determination as he set his hand over the spot. Over time, Life had begun to fall in love with the dark deity, with his opposite. And though it may not be the love that humans share, he believed it was closer. The love he felt for his counterpart was neither romantic nor platonic. It was so much more than that.

And so, Patton pushed his love into the center of the corruption. Light engulfed his hand as he willed away the disease that tainted his partner’s life. He heard screams echo in his ears and immediately knew that it was Virgil who was screaming. Nonetheless, Patton pushed on, forcing more and more emotion into the light that began to bleach the darkness from Death’s skin.

It felt like years passed before the corruption finally gave way and retreated from Virgil’s form. Though it was visibly gone, they both knew that it would all come back again as soon as Virgil decided to change fate’s plans again.

The only difference was that this time, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

[milstrim]

Mutant in the Mirror

Chapter 3: Reckless

Nervousness thrummed in Penny's chest, as rapid and loud as the crowd on the other side of the door. She clenched her jaw, wishing for the millionth time that she was back home in New York, that she'd made her way home. But wishing would do nothing. It wouldn't get her home, and it certainly wouldn't get her through the fight ahead.

With a lack of anything to do while she waited, Penny observed the room anxiously. It was glaringly bright, with a multitude of guards carrying guns the size of a mammoth. A few even had some alien powered ones, and she had to look away from the purple glow to keep herself even slightly calm. There were other chained mutants or enhanced or whatever in the room with her, the number of them overpowering the guards, yet no one dared to make a move against them. And neither did Penny.

Trying to distract herself, the teenager pondered on the different suits given. She, among many others, wore a mottled gray one-piece that clung to her skin obsessively in some places, bagging and wrinkling in others. It was thicker than her actual suit, with protective padding around her shoulders and chest, though much less comfortable. It was scratchy, bothering her sensitive skin. But that wasn't what interested her about the suits.

Among the twenty people waiting to fight, about six wore brightly colored suits, clearly tailored and made for them, if the way they fit snuggly was any indication. They also wore symbols on their shoulders and chests--in contrast to the number stitched onto her suit--like some sick imitation of the Avengers suits. She couldn't deny that it unnerved her. And the suits made her wonder how long these people had been here. Surely the customized suits were a privilege, maybe for being a good fighter or something.

By now, Penny had discerned at least a little of what was going on--superhearing was both a blessing and a curse--and had connected it to something similar to dog fights. Or like...underground boxing. She was trying to grunge up information from shows and movies she'd watched, and Mr. Rogers hadn't really told her much while they'd been sitting in their shared cell. To be fair, she hadn't really asked. So, she was currently kidnapped in what she thought was an underground mutant fighting ring. Overall, she was having a  great time.

Distracted by her own pondering thoughts, Penny didn't notice as a number was called. She was forced to notice when her cuffs were tugged harshly, and the number was called again, this time angrily.

"103! Step forward!" the man closest to the door called, his face already red with anger from her daring to accidentally ignore her once. She'd found the people here were short-tempered, to say the least.

Penny did take a step forward, though not of her own volition. The guard that had loosely been holding the chain attached to her new and thick cuffs pulled harshly. Her senses spiked dully in response, and she kept herself upright easily even as she stumbled. Nervousness rattled her chest at the movement, and she swallowed thickly as she was pulled forward farther.

She guessed it was her turn.

Penny's head swiveled as she tried to find Steve from where he'd been waiting in the room with her. She made eye contact with him for a brief second, his blue eyes piercing and concerned, but she was pulled forward again and forced to turn.

That was fine. She'd be fine. She was a great fighter! She'd fought the Avengers, and the flying vulture guy, and she dealt with criminals everyday. Sure, they weren't superpowered, but it had to count for something, right? And she'd taken on Captain America and the Winter Soldier and the Falcon with no problem. Suddenly, Mr. Stark's words flooded her ears at the thought.

'If Cap had wanted to lay you out, he would have.'

Well, shit. She was not prepared for this. She was a good fighter; she was strong and quick. But she wouldn't be strong and quick enough for whatever awaited her on the other side of the door. It wasn't like she had a choice though, as was made apparent once again by the tug on her handcuffs. The small teenager forced in a gasping breath as the nondescript gray door was opened, revealing the crowd she'd been listening to all night.

The room was warmly lit, a red glow bathing everything as though she were looking through a ruby. The patrons in the room chattered, their words muddled and indistinct, but no less nerve-wracking. Mostly men made up the crowd, and it almost looked like a formal event thanks to the blazers and suit jackets paired with nice dress shoes. Though she guessed by the police officer still in their uniform, there was no formal attire.

More eye catching than the darkly lit room or the chattering patrons, was the cage that sat in the middle of the room. It was raised a few feet off of the ground on polished wood, both the wood and the metal chain links of the cage glinting in the light. The cage itself didn't really have bars, save for the four corners, and instead was made up of chain links that had about the same spacing of a soccer goal, the chain reaching all the way up to the ceiling in a tent-like fashion. On the same height as the cage was raised, were two catwalks leading towards the chained confine, narrow and without bars.

Penny gaped slightly at the scene in front of her, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make sense of the situation. There was honestly just a lot going on, all overwhelming and slightly terrifying. Well, a lot terrifying, but she was pretty good at pushing through. Still, this was all amazingly confusing.

The purpose of the catwalks became more clear when she caught sight of the figure on the opposite narrow. They studied her intensely as she stepped onto the platform. She guessed this was who she was fighting, and, looking the woman up and down, she couldn't say she was excited.

The woman was tall, with broad, muscular shoulders. She had an intimidating face, with high cheekbones and slanted eyes, and unlike many of the other prisoners she'd seen so far, this woman looked relatively well cared for. Sure, her face was thin and her eyes gaunt, but she was clean and kempt, and Penny guessed it had something to do with the burgundy suit she was wearing.

Penny swallowed. This woman obviously knew how to hold her own in a fight, and she could only be grateful for the fact that they weren't fights to the death. Well, she was pretty sure of that anyway. She didn't think it'd be sustainable business if it was...she wasn't going to like, die, right now, right? Right?

She wasn't allowed to think about it much more, as the man holding her chain began marching forward. The chattering below her ceased for a tense moment, but only a moment, before starting back up again with excitement. The noise was oppressive, surrounding her like a brick wall, clinging to her skin so hard it left bruises. But she kept walking, because what else could she do? The room was much too busy, with way too many guards to escape. Besides, if she left now, who would she be helping other than herself? Mr. Rogers had a plan, and she could help him and everyone else escape!

She just had to live through this fight first.

The cage door was opened, her cuffs removed, and she was shoved in, the metal clanging shut behind her resoundingly. The other woman stepped into the cage, Penny noted with much less force, and the door was locked behind them. The teenager immediately tensed into a defensive position, watching the woman warily. She gave her a wry smile.

"Please welcome back to the ring, The Bounder!" called a man over the crowd in excitement, gesturing to the woman in burgundy. There were several cheers and claps, along with wolf whistles that made Penny nervous. Then, gesturing to her, he announced, "And the newcomer, the Spinneret of New York, Spider-Woman!"

The calling of her own name was met with boos instead. Clearly she wasn't that popular. The wolf whistles were still there though, much to her  great  delight.

"Get ready for this cat fight, and pray you've placed your bet on the better woman!" the announcer said, and her face twitched in annoyance. The Bounder readied herself in anticipation, holding her fists out defensively and tensing her legs. Penny copied her hesitantly, glancing out at the crowd, "Three, two, one. FIGHT!"

Nobody moved at first. The Bounder was clearly waiting for her to make a move, beginning to circle around defensively. Penny took a step in a circle as well, biting her lip and trying not to stumble from the eyes all glued to her.

"Um, hi," she greeted, still circling but giving a little wave. No response, but it didn't stop Penny from still trying to make peace, "I don't really want to hurt you. If--"

A fist swung her way.

Penny dodged out of the way, sidestepping easily as a leg came towards her own, and repositioning herself. The Bounder drew her arms back at her unsuccessful attack, circling around once again. Well, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

"Anyway. As I was saying, I was more hoping that we  wouldn't start hitting each other. It's generally what you don't want to do for women supporting other wo--" She barreled forward, and this time Penny had to jump out of the way, bounding over her head and landing nimbly on the opposite side of where she'd just been, landing in a spread out crouch, "Okay, never mind. I don't think talking's really your thing."

The Bounder ran at her again, her eyes alight with fury and a desperate kind of hunger that sent a shiver down her spine, or maybe it was her sixth sense. Either way, Penny was reduced to leaping around. Jump after jump after jump. The Bounder wasn't exceedingly fast, and Penny moved too quickly for the woman to really come close, until she did.

Growing too comfortable with how little fighting was being done in this fight, Penny didn't notice the Bounder's fake-pass, letting out a cry of pain as a fist met her nose. Immediately her eyes watered, but she managed to catch herself as she was flung backwards with the force, grasping onto the chains of the cage and resisting the urge to rub at her nose or stare at the red that was surely now dripping down her chin. The woman in front of her was much more interesting anyway.

The woman in the burgundy suit's skin was no longer rich and dark, but instead shiny and glinting silver, as though she were now made out of metal. Which...was she? She must be, or else that punch wouldn't have hurt so much, and ever since her powers it'd been a lot harder to get a bloody nose out of her.

Well, now she knew the Bounder's powers, and she supposed it could be worse.

Glancing at her blood on the ground, the teenager's gaze grew resolute, a grim acceptance swimming in her eyes. There was no way to avoid a fight, at least not now. She was going to have to go on the offensive if she wanted to get through any of this, and especially a woman who could turn her whole body to steel.

Swiftly, Penny leaped off of the chain wall she'd been clinging to, aiming a kick at the Bounder's face. The woman ducked, but she wasn't quick enough, and still got nicked on the forehead. Due to her still-metal-state, she didn't stumble as much as a normal person might have, instead just grunting and stepping back. There was a resounding  clang! from her boot against their iron head.

Penny grasped onto the other chain wall, twisting around and attacking again, this time ducking towards the legs with as much force as she could possibly muster for how tired she was. The Bouncer didn't turn fast enough to avoid her all together at Penny's attempt to unbalance her, but the woman wasn't all out of moves.

As Penny hit her legs, expecting the same strength and durability as she had hit earlier, but instead her opponent's legs wobbled, quavering as they completely absorbed the blow. Shocked, Penny glanced up at the woman, gaping at her now pinkish-red skin. The woman smiled.

"Try again."

Her face turned gold, and a solid metal leg kicked her in the stomach.

Penny gasped out as the blow propelled her a few feet forward. Flying with the motion, she managed to turn it into a messy tumble and spring back onto her feet just in time to move out of the way of the Bounder's next attack. The golden woman's fist missed her by a hair.

Spider-Woman twisted on her feet, her stickiness keeping her slipping, and, quick as a whip, she leaped at the Bounder. The woman barely had a moment to tense into a different material, her skin half-way between pinkish red and a deep bronze as her thighs wrapped around her opponent's neck. The woman was flung to the ground, and, dizzy, it was all Penny could do to make the Bounder land before she did.

The few seconds she'd bided herself were fruitless. She jumped up, intending to leap back onto the ceiling, but a grasp of fingers clasped around her ankle, biting into her skin and she was pulled out of the air. She slammed onto the ground, grunting as a puff of air left her chest, but she wasn't allowed to rest on the concrete.

She was slammed into the other wall, her body connecting with chains, but she managed to loop a few fingers into the chains. Her strength was leaving her, however, and she was unable to escape the Bounder. Punch after punch after punch rained down on her face, metal against hot bloody skin. She could faintly hear cheers from around her, shouts of joy for her opponent.

Penny felt her nose crack! and she tensed. Her heart raced, fear flowed through her veins in a way that made her feel cold, and on instinct, she pulled up her legs and kicked as hard as she could.

The woman's body flew, and when she hit the ground, she didn't get back up.

Penny gasped in heavy breaths, the blood dripping from her nose and the cut on her cheek was salty as it trickled into her mouth. She sniffled, wiping away what felt like lava on her skin and straightened up, letting go of the heavy chains she'd been clinging to. All at once, she became aware.

The crowd was roaring, crazed and confused. She heard swears, from lost bets no doubt, surprised gawks and cries making themselves heard by their sheer intensity. Wolf whistles cut through the air in a way that made her flinch, the only movement she could achieve now that all eyes were on her, and she was left frozen in terror.

Over the howl of the crowd, came the same voice from earlier, announcing, "Let's welcome our new winner, the Spinneret! Beginner's luck, or a possible new crowd favorite? You'll decide on your bets tomorrow night!"

Tomorrow night.

The haggard teenager glanced at the unconscious woman and then back at the crowd. She needed to get out of here. She wanted to be at home, anywhere-- anywhere-- but here. But guards were already coming to collect their beaten quarry, and she knew there was no escape. Not now, and not without everyone else.

With one last decisive look at the knocked out woman, Penny dropped down from the top of the cage, flipping with a dramatic flair. They wanted a performance, they'd get a performance. She got the feeling that favorites got preferential treatment, and her flip excited more gasps and cheers from the crowd. It was all she could do to keep from flinching at their howling, and all she could do to swallow down sick when metal clamped back around her wrists.

 ----

 Penny Parker was a curious person.

There were a number of reasons that had led Steve to this very obvious conclusion. The first, and most glaring, being that she was Spider-Woman. Now, Steve had seen so many strange things in his life that, for the most part, it didn't affect him that a fifteen year-old was a spider themed vigilante. The fifteen year-old part definitely still upset him, but after seeing her fight in Germany, and after seeing her be kidnapped and not only survive but win her first fight, he had managed to get over it. At least for now.

After first meeting the girl, Steve didn't quite get why Tony, out of the plenty of vigilantes and enhanceds in New York alone, had chosen her, but now he kind've got it. Despite having been practically pummeled for others' entertainment, she was calm and focused. Tired and shaken for sure, but calm nonetheless.

Once the super soldier had finished his own fight, a rather quick brawl with a failed replica of his own serum, he'd been dumped back into his and the kid's little closet they called home. The teenager had been gifted a thin peanut butter sandwich for her earlier efforts, and he guessed by the trails of blood dried to her face, that it had been a tough one.

The door had slammed shut behind him, and the girl had finally spoken up, "Hey, Mr. Rogers. How was your day?"

The childishness of the question had dragged a smile to his lips and a light from his eyes, "Pretty good. I got my workout in and everything."

"Same! But I could've taken a lazy day if I'm being honest."

"You and me both, kid."

She'd offered half of her sandwich, and he'd only managed to fend off her pestering by agreeing to a bite and leaving the rest of the meager meal to the starved teenager. That had been about a week ago now, and Steve had never been more ready for a mission to end. Yet, slow and steady wins the race, or in this case, saves the most lives. Though he wasn't quite sure if Penny was going to make it for another two weeks.

Not only did all the guards despise her by now, but so did a lot of the other inmates. She was too forward for both of their likings, and it was all Steve could do to keep her from talking whenever they were around other people, and believe him, it was a  struggle. Despite her small frame and lingering strength, the teenager was as strong and bright as when he'd met her in Germany, and he just couldn't understand how Tony could've ever gotten into a fight with the small bundle of joy that had recently taken to dozing off on his shoulder.

And then he did.

He should've been paying more attention, but he couldn't deny that the lack of nutrition had been wearing him down, so he'd taken to dozing while waiting to be led to his fight. He usually had multiple a night, and needed any extra energy he could gain. He wished he'd trusted Tony's judgement more, because when he finally saw how brash Penny could be, he would've preferred to be prepared.

An angry scream jostled him awake, and before he could even begin to regain his bearings, yells and screams were already resounding around the walls. He was on his feet in an instant, taking in the boisterous crowd chanting excitedly in front of him. And no Penny to be found.

After being here for a week, they'd relaxed on the chains, allowing them to be like the rest of the people in the room. Tired, lost, and unwilling to fight back. At least, that was how they perceived Steve at the moment, and Penny too, who often stuck to his side like glue. So waking up, confused and jostled, with Penny nowhere in sight, it was frightening beyond words.

"BREAK IT UP!! OUT OF THE WAY!!" screamed a guard, attempting to muscle his way through the crowd, and keeping his head low be damned, Steve followed suit. He had a gut wrenching feeling about this.

The throng of bodies were hot and frantic, a wall of energy that felt like swimming through lava, almost impossible to break through. Almost.

Tall and wide-shouldered, Steve managed to make his way through the crowd, eyes widening as he caught sight of what was the source of the upheaval. Despite not having fought yet, Penny already had a bloody nose, and her eyes were furious in a way he hadn't seen on the girl, she was practically snarling. A glance at a woman sprawled on the ground behind her, scrambling to get up and away told him why.

The man across from the teenager, though more armored and obviously much healthier than the kidnapped girl in front of him, was looking much worse for wear. Then again, that was generally what happened when someone ended up in a fight with someone that could lift a bus without breaking a sweat.

The guard's face was turning red with rage, beginning to match with the bright scarlet dripping down his temple. The two circled around each other like they were in the ring, but this wasn't the ring, because this person had a weapon. This person looked ready to kill. This person could kill the girl in front of him and get away with it as though nothing had happened. And he wasn't going to let that happen.

Continuing to push his way forward, the super soldier watched in horror as the guard drew his cattle prod. And Penny had nowhere to escape to, not with the crowd closing in, not with the guards outside the ring drawing guns. As quick as he could, he rushed through the last of the crowd and grabbed Penny. Looking back on it, he shouldn't have done it. If he hadn't been there, maybe she would've been quick enough to move, prepared instead of surprised. As it was, they couldn't avoid the agony.

Just as his hand connected with her arm, so did the cattle prod, and that's when he realized this wasn't some normal cattle prod. He'd expected a strong jolt to hit  Penny,  for her to be in pain if it touched her, her screams accompanied with the sound of a buzzing vibration. What he didn't expect was for him to be affected too, and just how much it would  hurt.

The pain was scorching, despite the fact that the cattle prod hadn't even touched him and was instead latched onto Penny's collar. The cattle prod itself created a screeching noise that blurred with Penny's shrieks of pain and his own gagged grunts. He wasn't sure how long the cattle prod was held to the kid's neck, but when it was finally removed, it was all Steve could do to not fall over.

His knees wobbled, but he stood steady, managing to catch the teenager as she collapsed into his arms with a sob of pain.

"Freak," the guard spat, and as the hysteria died down the crowd dispersed, allowing the rest of the guards to run to their friend's side and glower at the superheroes with haughty and disgusted expressions.

Penny managed to get back to her feet, and despite her shakiness, raised her chin defiantly. Steve just wished she'd sit down.

"Get back to your corner, and stay there until it's your turn," an older guard ordered, a threat clear in his voice, "We'll deal with you later."

Steve began to lead Penny back to their corner, thinking of everything he would say to scold her; about fighting, about leaving his side, about being so unbelievably  reckless--

"102! 102 in the ring! Now!"

He let out a distressed sigh, but reluctantly let go of Penny's shoulder. She looked up at him with wide eyes, a plea, but he was already gone, reluctantly leaving the shaking girl behind.

 ---

 When Steve saw Penny again later that night, after all the patrons had left, her face was so bloody and bruised he barely recognized her.

Previous /// Next

[coffee-for-himchan]

Trust You With My Whole Heart (Himchan mafia/gang AU pt.2)

Word count: 7.8 k+ (wow, I sure got carried away)

Genre/warnings: Mafia/gang AU (May contain a swear word or two. Contains more violence and less smart talk than part one of the AU, but in my opinion, nothing too vivid or too excessive, even despite the described near-death experience and fight scenes)

Summary: He’d caught you, and you’d stayed simply because you didn’t have another choice. But all of the recent attention you’d been getting from him and all of the late night adventures outside the apartment he took you on made life more exciting and bearable, even to the point you found yourself wondering at the fact that you actually enjoyed it. All seemingly went uphill, that is, until one faithful night, when the person walking into the apartment to meet you late at night wasn’t Himchan, and when you weren’t the one who needed to be saved, having to be the savior yourself this time around.

(IMPORTANT A/N) First and foremost of, this is part two of this mafia AU I’d written recently. Since people asked for part two, and I had some ideas up my sleeve, I wrote it while I still had some inspiration to do so. I believe part two is still readable and understandable without knowing the events of part one, but some of the dialogue might seem weird, especially the talks that are based on previous events, so reading part one first would be advised. Also, even thought I’m still no medical expert, big thanks to my friend Aleksa who managed to answer to all of my very stupid questions about wounds, chances of survival in different cases of getting injured and what not else. I’m very glad I have smart friends who can prevent me from making stupid mistakes while writing, because I know none of this medicine stuff.

THIS IS PART 2 // PART 1 CAN BE FOUND HERE // PART 3 IS HERE // PART 4 IS HERE

His hand was holding yours tightly as you were walking down a small, dimly lit street, his fingers intertwined with yours. It had always amazed you how cold his hands were, and how you could never warm them up even if just a little bit. After all, he was a cold-hearted and cold-blooded gang leader, so maybe everything about him had to scream out "cold", even his hands. There were only few people who didn't view him according to this description, and you knew better than to be a fool just like many others who thought Kim Himchan was nothing but a tactical, intelligent bad guy, just like the ones always shown in the movies. Heartless and reckless, thinking about nothing but money and saving his own skin and bones. Yeah.. None of that was him.

He glanced over at you, barely turning his head so you wouldn't notice his sneaky stares. He'd bought you another dress, this time getting absolutely everything right - the color, the shape, the size. He was amazed by how well it suited you, and how only you managed to make the dress look better than it was before and not vice verse as it usually happened to other girls. Your necklace reflected light from the street lamps, shining brightly against your baby soft skin, and he had to try his hardest in order not to pull you into his arms in the middle if the street and bury his face in your chest, telling you how beautiful you were and how glad he was he had you. Your head was tilted up to face the sky, and recently you'd been gifting him with his favorite sight in the world, a sight he used to see only occasionally, but nowadays was able to witness more often than ever before - your smile. "What's so special about her anyways?" Jongup's words kept echoing through his head at moments like these, and he always ignored them because he really didn't know the answer. For some reason, from when he first saw you, his perception of women suddenly changed from what it used to be. They'd always been beautiful creatures to him that he never gave in to, and never thought of getting in business or contact with because his work made it hard and challenging to do so. But from your first encounter on he started dividing them into two groups. There were you, and then there was everyone else. Everyone else could go away and continue living their own lives, but he had to have you, because you were different. You'd caught his eye, and since no one's ever done it prior to you, you had to be special. You had to be his. "You seem rather happy today," you heard him say, and saw him smiling down at you as you both took a right turn, walking down another street, "In fact, you seem rather happy in the past time as a whole..." "You know, since you started taking me out more often, I'm kind of getting used to this new life.. Don't get me wrong, I still don't like it," his face shifted a bit as you said that right to his face, but he understood and respected your point of view, "But.. It's become... Bearable..." "I'm glad, (Y/N). I want you to be happy," he said, and continued walking, only to add to himself after a second, "Together with me." He was messed up in the head, but not messed up enough to have forgotten how to love. He shut the apartment door, making sure it was safe and locked, turning to you right after. You'd taken off your shoes already at that point, and he, being the gentleman he was, helped you to take off your coat. "We skipped learning today, but don't worry, we'll do it tomorrow. Tonight just relax, we've been walking a lot. You must be tired," he said, going into the living room and making himself comfortable on the couch. "Channie, I still don't understand. Why are you so eager to teach me first aid and the basics of treating all types of wounds in first place?" you walked into the room and stood in front of him, a questioning look in your eyes. He was leaning against the pillows with his arms resting on them, like the true king of this place that he was. A smirk escaped him as he eyed you up and down, and you suddenly recalled how uncomfortable that used to make you feel in the past. Now you'd gotten used to the fact he couldn't tear his eyes off of you at most times, and you'd learned to tolerate all types of stares, even thought you preferred the loving ones to the hungry ones. "Oh, baby. Are you scared something bad might happen to your man?" he asked, chuckling a little. You snapped back to reality, realizing that was literally what was going inside your head ever since he told you to learn the very basics of medicine, but you weren’t going to admit it. Not to him, and even less to yourself. "I mean, why else would you want me to learn how to properly clean off cuts and even how to treat bullet wounds?" you asked, surprised at how nervous your voice came out, "If it wasn't for the fact something bad might happen soon, you'd rather want me to learn how to dance, or how to play an instrument or something, right? I bet your sick, twisted mind would love to see me putting a show on, just for you and your entertainment..." You made him chuckle with that statement, and within seconds he gestured for you to sit next to him. You did as told, leaning your body against his as he lazily adjusted you into the position he wanted you to be in with one swift move of his hand. "You're learning just in case, don't worry. I have my ties and people who could stitch me or one of the guys up if there really was the need to, and you know that, but I like making sure we always have a plan B by hand if things don't go as planned," he mumbled into your ear, and you felt his nose brushing against the side of your head. "Don't the guys know first aid?" "I know a little, and Yongguk used to know too, but he hadn't done it in so long that I'm afraid he wouldn't be able to do it now if it really came down to that. If you only knew how much time I've spent with him.. If I think about it now, I've probably known him for the biggest part of my life.." he paused a bit, the memories seemingly fading back to him. You rested your head somewhere on his shoulder, and patiently waited for the story he was about to tell, as if there was one thing you liked to hear him talking about, it was his past, as that was another way to get to know him better and understand what had lead him to be in the position he was in nowadays. "He only looks reckless and fearless. In fact, when he sees blood that isn't the enemy's, he starts completely flipping out and worrying too much. I remember the old days, oh God. Just me and him, trying to survive in this cold, unfair world that showed no mercy to such little scums and lost kids like us. I barely knew how to hold a gun when I was forced into my first assignment, and I had to do it all alone because Yongguk refused to use a gun at all at first. He was too nice of a guy, too peaceful and too against violence, and it took me to get majorly hurt for him to start acting. God, that was the only time I'd ever seen him cry too, because he really thought I'd die on the spot, right in front of him, simply because he couldn't bring himself to shoot when I needed backup..." Silence filled the room for a bit, and as he wanted to say something, you spoke up instead, cutting him off. "Is that what the scar on your left side is from...?" "I never knew you were so observant," he smirked, his tone indicating he was a little proud and more than pleased that you'd noticed, "Say, babe, how many more of my scars have you seen out of plain curiosity?" What did he think you were supposed to do when on hot summer nights he refused to sleep with a blanket on, lying in bed with only a pair of boxer shorts to cover him? Yes, you were curious, and you had to admit you'd seen and even traced some of his scars with your fingers, thinking of possibilities how he could've gotten them or how much it hurt when the object came into contact with his body, leaving nothing but a mark as a sign that it's been there at some point behind. "I don't know how many, you have a lot of them. Please don't get any more," you quietly said, burying your face in his shoulder. One of your hands was placed on his chest this whole time, and you clearly felt his heartbeat increasing a bit. "I sadly can't promise that, baby, but I'm glad to see you're worried about me.." he said, letting silence hang over your heads, accompanied by your quiet breathing.  "Hey, (Y/N)?" he suddenly asked, not really waiting for a response in order to continue, "what would you do if at some point I simply wouldn't come back home?" You froze on the spot, and he immediately noticed, letting his hand caress your arm gently.  "Just in theory," he added, more than certain that didn't lighten the situation, but at least made his statement a little clearer. To be honest, you had no clue. What would you do if he died and never came back? He left home every morning, telling you he'd be back soon and that you shouldn't miss him too much or worry about him, because he knew what he was doing. You remember that early on you were too scared to literally think anything about that statement. He was still a stranger, and you knew less than nothing about him, so only being able to judge by his lifestyle you were simply scared. Then came a point when you silently wished he wouldn't come back. You didn't necessarily want him dead, but his presence, his sweet words and good treatment, was something that bothered you, something that irritated you and made your blood boil, because you had to tolerate him against your own will, if you wanted it or not. In the past time though, when you were forced to face the fact that you couldn't possibly escape him, especially after an unsuccessful attempt to leave him and the country a little less than half a year ago, you started getting used to this life you were leading along his side. He'd successfully made himself king of your universe, and, as days passed, you felt yourself becoming more and more attached to him, not only requiring the physical protection he could offer you, but wanting his attention when it came to being his lover. You were... falling for him completely. What if he died? Where would you go, and who would keep you safe? Even if Himchan would be dead, maybe the others wouldn't, and you knew details the enemies could use against them. What if you got caught by somebody and tortured to death, because you'd definitely refuse to spill details? Or even worse.. What if the others, instead of taking you in like Himchan did long ago, would turn their backs to you, not sparing a single thought on the fact you were practically one of them now, setting a bullet in your head because of trust issues? "That was the only time I ever saw Yongguk cry, because at that point, he had no one but me in his life. I was his only friend, and he couldn't stand two facts - the fact he'd have to do this on his own from then on, but over that, the fact that a person as good as me would pass a such a young age, not having lived life properly yet..." "... Would you cry, babe?" he asked silently, feeling you slightly moving in your position. Reflexes made you snuggle a little closer to his side and grip on his shirt, tensing your muscles. "Don't talk like this, please-" "I think you would," he interrupted, tilting his head and trying to look at your face, "Question is, would you cry from sadness and devastation because your lover passed away, or would you shed happy tears because you'd finally be free?" "Channie, no, don't say that..." But apparently he didn't want to hear anything anymore. He got off the couch, gently holding your frame and placing you back down in a lying position as he threw you a last loving but slightly pained stare and exited the room, seemingly heading to the study. You stayed there, speechless and without emotion at first, until a lone tear finally escaped you and fell on the couch. Why was it him who always made you cry? He'd flipped your whole world upside down, making strict rules and having everything go his way for such a long time already. You had your reasons to be mad and to have a desire to disobey, but.. Why is it that he made you so conflicted between wanting to love him and wanting to hate him? Why did he say such things when he clearly saw you were giving into your feelings for him more and more with every passing day? In the past, even just a few months ago.. Even then you wouldn't be able to shed happy tears because of his death. Why did he talk about it so calmly, and why did he make you feel so bad about him, yourself, and your relationship, whatever it may be, as a whole? Why on earth did he make it out to be like you didn't care, even though you did? "Hey, are you still-.... a-awake...?" he walked back into the room after half an hour, just to see you curled up on the sofa, with tears straining your cheeks and your eyes blankly staring into the distance. "Hey.. Baby, I didn't mean it.." he said, cautiously taking a few steps into your direction. "You sure sounded like you meant it.." you simply said, sniffing and letting another tear drop down on the sofa. He picked you up, and held you close to his chest, carrying you into the bedroom and putting you down on the bed. You let him take off your shirt, and were surprised when he put one of his older t-shirts on you instead of your sleeping shirt. You changed into a pair of shorts as he undressed for bed himself, and soon you felt him pulling you back by your waist and under the covers, turning you to face him as his arms were loosely hanging around you. "I'm sorry for what I said, I didn't mean to make you cry..." he pierced through you with his gaze, searching for forgiveness in the stare you directed at him. "Just don't dare say anything like this again, or I might actually consider shedding happy tears when you die," you told him, wanting to sound dead serious but sounding hurt instead. "Don't worry, it won't come to that, someone has to take care of you, so I'll stay around," he leaned it, teasing you a little with his closeness before carefully and gracefully capturing your mouth with his, proving once again he always knew how to leave a deep, long-lasting tingling and sensation on your lips after one of his kisses, "Because I love you. And I'm still waiting for you to fully love me back..." ".. We could buy a piano, actually, if you want to. I used to play it long ago, and could maybe even remember a few easy melodies. What do you think about playing duets with me, hmm?" he said after a while and smiled a bit, remembering that part of your previous conversation. He made himself comfortable, nuzzling his head against yours, and you simply nodded in response. "I'd love to, Channie..." "In that case, let me see what I can do about it, but tomorrow. Today's been a long day, and I want to sleep before doing anything else. Goodnight, babe..." "Good night, Channie..." Everything continued just the same way it's always been. Well.. The way it's been since your attempt to leave not too long ago, at least. Himchan knew how it felt being locked away from the whole world, as in his short lifetime he's experienced more things than possibly imaginable, and being locked away in a cell for a certain amount of time was one of them. He knew that a four wall environment could drive a person insane, especially if the view behind the windows was as lovely as it was in his apartment, so he started taking you out more in the evenings. "It's not safe for you to go alone, so we'll go together," he'd always tell you, causing you to feel a mixture of gratefulness and disgust. You were glad he finally took a look at the situation from your perspective, but you were still annoyed and disgusted you couldn't go anywhere on you own. "I'm not a dog that you have to walk out on a leash every now and then, you know?" you'd scoff sometimes, spitting it right into his face, and he'd always just casually laugh it away, putting a hand under your chin and saying, "I know. You're my one and only lady who needs to be protected from a few cold-blooded bastards at every cost, so, in case you really don't want to view our nightly adventures as dates, imagine I'm your security guard or something, if that makes it any better..."

You did at first, until he started putting thought into where to take you out to. He'd surprise you with new places every other night, and you had to admit that you'd sit around at home for the whole day, waiting for him to be back in case he'd planned something for the evening. He saw you loosening up with every trip you took, and when you started repaying all of his hard work with genuine smiles, it fueled his desire to see you like that again. These trips were helping you and your emotional well-being a lot, and soon he found out you both even managed to act like an actual couple on some days, without sarcastic commentary or coldness in each other's words. You'd get a hold of his arm sometimes, or find him sitting somewhere just to snuggle close to him in order to talk, and every time something like this happened, he'd feel like he just won the lottery. You didn't really notice the change, but he did, so he stayed quiet in order to keep it this way, because there was just one thing in the whole world he was completely certain of - if you'd notice, you'd be back to acting cold, even if your heart told you to do the opposite. That's just who you were - a freedom-loving, stubborn person, who still had a hard time trying to forgive him for having locked you up in an apartment for most of your days for so, so long already.  One day, just around two months ago, he came back home with a guest. The lad looked rather young, and was a few inches taller than him, as well as skinnier. Introduced to you as simply Jihoon, he was invited into the dining room to eat dinner together with both of you. "You know, there's a reason I wanted to introduce you both to each other," Himchan said after taking a last bite, about to grab a bottle of wine and pour some for all of you. The alcohol of choice at home was always wine, as that was his favorite beverage of all alcoholic and non-acloholic ones... Right after coffee. "And that would be..?" you questioned, seeing how they looked at each other and nodded in unison. "I may not look like it, but I've been studying medicine for the astonishing amount of seven years at this point in my life already," Jihoon said, giving Himchan another look before he continued, "If you ever see a healed wound or a stitch on this guy, know that I've most likely been the one to fix that up. We've known each other since long ago, and if it wouldn't be for him, I'd probably be resting in peace somewhere deep underground instead of eating delicious homemade dinner in a nice company, place and environment tonight..." "O-okay, a doctor then. That's amazing, but I still don't understand how I could possibly be involved in.. whatever you're thinking about, I didn't quite catch on..." you looked at them, a puzzled expression on your face. "I want him to teach you a few basics," Himchan said, leaning over the table to get your glass and fill it up with the claret liquid, "You've done a good job with fixing up minimal damage in the past, and, the more successful B.A.P is getting and the higher we're rising in ranks, the higher the possibility of something bad happening gets. I know my friend Jihoon here will always be there to help, and he's got a few more people on the line who would do the same too. But I need a plan B just in case, and since you could master that easily with a bit of work, I'd be really thankful if you tried it and helped us out.." Help them out... Yeah, you could do that. But the sight of open wounds and blood pouring out of them was something you'd rather leave for someone else to see, so you flinched at the thought, making Himchan throw you a concerned glance. "(Y/N), is everything fine?" "Yeah, sure.." you said, staring at the table for a little before letting your eyes meet with Jihoon's. "I'm all in for learning, it's just that... How do you prevent yourself from fainting at the sight of a nasty looking open wound..?" A moment of silence hung over the room, and two loud, ear-piercing laughs filled the place soon enough. "Don't worry about that for now," Jihoon said after he'd calmed down, "We'll take care of that later. After a while you'll get used to it, believe me..." He'd come over with Himchan in the evenings sometimes, and would sit with you in the living room, teaching you all kinds of things while Himchan was in the study, doing some research on other things the group would need for their upcoming missions. On evenings when Jihoon didn't join you, Himchan took the responsibility of helping you with your studies. His skills were a bit rusty, but he still managed to spot most of your mistakes and help you with correcting them. The only thing you were worried about was that if it actually came to the worst case scenario and you would have to give a helping hand in order to make sure one of the members stayed alive, you wouldn't be able to act properly because you'd never done it in real life. You knew the theory, but had never done a practice round. Himchan always calmed you down, reassuring you that you were only backup and probably wouldn't ever have to use any of your knowledge anyways, and said that it if really mattered to you, you'd know what to do the moment you saw the situation. "It all suddenly changes when you see the actual situation if front of your eyes," he said while sitting next to you on the floor and giving you a glance, "I didn't know what I was doing when one of my squad members got injured for the first time long ago either, but we had a guy who knew what to do, and he told me to help. I said to him that I had knowledge, but no experience, and he just laughed, passed me some bandages and told me this would be my first experience of probably many more to come..." "He survived, by the way," Himchan added as he saw the trust issues in your eyes after he'd ended his little speech, causing you to burst out laughing. "I trust you, you know," he looked into your eyes and reached for your hand, making you go silent immediately, "And if my life was hanging on a thin thread, I'd be more than a hundred percent sure you wouldn't let me down.." "Himchan, but what if-" "No what-if's, I believe in you," he said, getting up and heading out of the room, "Let's hope I won't be your first experience and your practice subject though-" "Or any of my experiences at all.." He laughed, and stopped right in the doorway, giving you a loving look. "You care, after all. For your own safety, or for me, I don't know yet. But you care..." he disappeared, his heavy footsteps audible through the whole hallway. Today was two weeks from when he'd asked you if you'd cry in case he died, and you were standing in front of the windows, not finding any peace as the clock kept ticking and the minutes kept passing, but despite all of his earlier promises to be back on time he was nowhere to be seen.  "He's just late... I'll scold him so bad for making me worry... Oh God, Channie, where are you?" you mumbled to yourself as you stood there, toying around with the curtains and trying to hold in the tension and nervousness that was building up inside of you at an alarming rate. Loud noise snapped you out of your thoughts, and you immediately turned around, facing the living room doorway. Himchan was home, and he'd just opened the entrance door a bit too fast and too harsh, slamming it into the wall. Thank God he was here, and you had nothing to worry about anymore. "Channie, I-" you were about to give him a piece of your mind, but were cut off by the sight in front of you. "Don't question, just come with me and get in the car," Junhong said, and as you were finally able to tear away your gaze from his dirt and tears-strained face, you noticed his wounded knee and how he was dripping mud and blood all over the floor. "Junghong-ah! Calm down at first, let me help you and bandage you up at least before we head anywhere-" "Just do as I say, you don't know the whole story!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, making you flinch in fear. His anger faded away in seconds when he understood that his getup, paired up with his body build and his height, made him quite scary and intimidating, and he softened his voice as best as he could, looking you right in the eyes and breaking your heart apart with a sentence you never wanted to hear. "I wasn't the one who took two to the chest, you know... " "Junhong-ah, why are you so fucking slow, just run already!!?" you cried out in despair as tears kept streaming down your face and you were standing by his car, waiting for him as he was staying behind. "It's not like half my kneecap isn't coated with flesh anymore like it should be, you know," you heard him say through clenched teeth as he sprinted to the car, unlocking the door and getting in, barely waiting for you to close the door so he could hit the gas pedal full-force. "Junhong-ah.. I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean it, i-it's just that-" "Oh, spare it, I know more than well you didn't mean it," he said, turning the steering wheel violently and driving down the road twice the speed limit, "I was hyperbolising anyways..." "W-what happened thought, do you care to explain?" you tried to wipe your tears and stay calm, but just the thought of the scenery you'd have to face and witness soon enough made you want to pass out. "Long story short, or, well, as short as possible," he said, taking a deep breath. You could see it in his eyes - how much he was hurting, but how he pulled himself together like the young professional that he was, thinking about his friend and leader's life that could fade away at every given moment rather than his much easier treatable wound. "We were done with it for the day, we had them pinned down on their knees. We thought they were bluffing when they said that there were still members left who would take revenge, up until coordinates of one of them were sent to us. (Y/N), they were heading to get you. They knew about you, and knew where you were living. They must've spied on you and Himchan when you were out one night, and they kept coming back there until they were sure this was your home-" another sharp turn caused him to stay quiet for a bit, and you sat there, tying not to get your head smashed into the windshield and trying to cope with the knot in your chest. "I've never seen Himchan go havoc, not until today. Eveyone who wasn't in our gang was dead on the spot, and before any of us could blink he was in the car, turning on the ignition and swearing for us to get there in seconds or he'd handle it on his own. Long story short, there were eight of them, and they'd made it far enough already as we approached. One was hit by our car, and another one shot on the spot by Himchan before any of us could blink. It got.. ugly, to say the least... and all seemed to go just a little bit more in our favor than theirs, until Daehyun got in the way..." "... And Himchan always puts our lives before his own.." Silence hung over the car, and Junhong looked over to the passenger's seat to make sure you were as alright as you could be in this situation. "(Y/N)-" "That was one to the chest. Where did the other one come from?" he heard your barely audible voice, and thought hard if he should answer.  "(Y/N).... (Y/N), I'm sorry, I thought I could help him by at least getting him away from the middle of the gunfight, and I almost did, but..." "You missed a bullet..." "... And he moved just in time to take it for me..." Your silent cries filled the car, your shaky breaths and the squeaking sound of tires on the asphalt being the only things audible in the otherwise silent environment. "Listen, I won't lie. It doesn't look good, but.. He's strong, and he should manage. I'm taking you to Jihoon hyung's place now, a.k.a. B.A.P's little private clinic we've unfortunately been forced to visit a few times in the past already. Jihoon knows what he's doing, but if he does it on his own, he might not be quick enough and might not make it in time. With another pair of helping hands though, you might just make it.. " It took another few chaotic turns and two more minutes of Junhong's already-not-good-in-everyday-situations-and-even-worse-at-moments-like-these driving to get to the final destination, and you got out of the car in milliseconds, this time around remembering he was wounded and needed some help. Junhong was holding on as brave as ever, and didn't waste any time, gladly accepting your help and support and leading you into the right direction as you ran into the building, taking three steps up the staircase at a time. You froze in the doorway, with a panting Junhong running up just seconds later behind you.  "Jihoon hyung, we're here!" Junhong called just to trigger a "Here!" from a room that was located all the way down the hallway and to the right. You left Junhong alone in the hallway, spotting the rest of the guys in another room to your left as you passed by.  There he was. Laid down on the bed, his eyes directed at the ceiling. His face displayed just how much he was hurting, but despite the pain he was still fully conscious, even mumbling something under his breath through clenched teeth. "Channie.." his eyes widened at the oh so familiar, barely audible voice, and he tried to look your way, but couldn't move in order to do that, instead furrowing his brows and clenching his teeth in pain. "Himchan, are you stupid? I know you're glad your last hope is here but I told you to stay still and stop moving, didn't I?!" Jihoon angrily snapped at him, and gestured for you to come closer to him. Your stare abandoned Himchan and his wounded body, and, trying to hold back your tears, you ran forwards to Jihoon, clearly listening to his further instructions of what you had to do and obeying everything he had to say and told you to do. "Okay, mister too-tuff-to-fall-unconscious-already. Any last words before I make you drift off to sleep, hopefully for just a few hours?" Jihoon checked the needle, ready to inject some much needed medication into Himchan's vein. Himchan turned his head lightly to face you, and gave you a broken smile. "I guess this is practice round, baby, right? Don't mess up.." "Stop grinning, you idiot! I swear, I'll kill you if you die!" you cried out, still unable to fully take in the horrible sight in front of you, but trying to pull yourself together in order to be able to give a hundred percent of your work and knowledge to keep him alive. "Baby, that's not how death works," he chuckled a little, wincing in pain as he felt his consciousness slowly fading and drifting away. "Kim Himchan, I swear I'll join her to kill you if you don't shut up now," Jihoon said as apparently Himchan was testing his nerves. You wondered how the hell they managed to stay this calm in a life-and-death situation like this, and Himchan's last words before he drifted off to sleep were the only thing that snapped you back to reality. "I trust you, (Y/N), with all of my heart... " Good thing that the heart he was talking about just minutes ago wasn't damaged, nor were any arteries or anything that would send him straight into the heavens or rather the hell in just a few minutes. You watched Jihoon's professionalism and calmness as he casually performed an operation that was already quite hard to do in the hospital at home, on the bed he probably slept in every night, unless he was stitching up his unfortunate friends on it. He acted fast and his facial expression showed no stress or fear of doing wrong. His instructions were clear and short, in fact, he didn't speak much. You watched the job getting done, passing the guy who didn't look like much but was actually a skilled doctor all of the needed things back and forth, obeying every single one of his commands and trying your best to do everything just like it had to be done and like he told you to do. When the two damned bullets lied somewhere nearby in a crystal white bowl and all of the blood was wiped away from Himchan's pale, soft skin, the bruises he'd gotten just recently bandaged up tightly and neatly, you let out a shaky breath, glancing at the clock and finding it to be half past two AM already. You'd spent a solid two and a half hours here, maybe even more than that, and you hadn't even noticed.  It was... over. Finally... "(Y/N)?!" you heard Jihoon call as your knees slowly gave up on you and you slid to the ground, taking off your gloves that still had some blood on them and throwing them somewhere nearby on the ground. "Hold on for a bit, I'll get the rubbing alcohol.. Just don't faint, there's still five other idiots in the other room with less serious wounds, but still requiring medical attention nonetheless-" "He'll be fine, right?" you looked up at Jihoon with a dazed stare, the look in your eyes pleading for a positive answer, "Himchan will be fine.." "(Y/N)-" “I still have his blood on my arms, even though I wore gloves,” you said as you noticed you indeed had some splatters of it near your elbow, “His blood, Jihoon, do you hear? It’s not supposed to be on my skin, it’s supposed to be in his veins...” “(Y/N), listen-” 

“I remember flinching back then when he came to me more than a year ago with a rather small cut on his arm, asking me to bandage it up. I never thought I’d be pulling bullets out of his chest at two AM with my glass heart and no medical knowledge whatsoever-” 

“(Y/N),” he stepped a little closer, looking you right in the eyes and finally catching your attention, "If there's one person who will never leave this apartment in a dead state, it is Kim Himchan. He's got too much potential, responsibilities and ambitions to let himself fade away, and since he took you in, I've never seen him clinging onto life more than he's doing it now. He’s got a reason to live now, you know.. " Yongguk and Youngjae were the one who helped you to get Himchan back home, as they'd suffered the least injuries - only a few cuts and bruises. Junhong's knee was the second nastiest injury, and, as you'd helped everyone else by following Jihoon's instructions as closely as possible and treating their wounds with extra care, and as you were leaving to get back home, Jihoon was still working to fix it up. "Junhong-ah.. Sorry for screaming at you previously and making you run around that much.." "No worries," he smiled at you a little, "I'll be back on my feet in no time." "On your foot," Jihoon quickly corrected, "At least for the next few weeks." It was mid-night, so you didn't have to worry about anyone seeing you. Himchan was brought into the bedroom and carefully placed on the bed. You escorted Youngjae and Yongguk back to the entrance door, saying your goodbyes to both of them and thanking them for their help when Yongguk suddenly placed a hand on your arm. "Thank you," he simply said, and, knowing him and how quiet he usually was, this was the biggest compliment anyone could receive from him - his gratitude in the form of those two words. You stayed by Himchan's for side the whole night, lying beside him and gently stroking his unconscious frame. It was going to be hard and painful, but.. Jihoon said he'd manage, and all you could do at that point was hope he wasn't wrong. Himchan had to manage, because without him, you weren't too sure you'd manage yourself.. You found yourself shedding tears again, and cursed under your breath. He was the reason you felt bad and cried again, and you hated yourself for loving him. Loving him.. At this point it was undeniable, wasn’t it? If you didn't love him, you wouldn't have gone to such extents. You wouldn't have pulled yourself together enough to help him, and you wouldn't have even tried in first place. You wouldn't be here crying hard over the fact he was hurt, you simply wouldn't care. But you were here, by his side, not like he told you to do, but like you decided you wanted to do. You were here not because he forced you to, but because you wanted to. The keys to the door were on the commode now, and no one would be able to stop you if you walked out of the apartment and never came back. It would be weeks until he'd be capable of moving again, and by then you could be far away already. The other's wouldn't act at all, or, even if they would, they simply wouldn't be quick enough. Tonight was your chance if you still wanted to leave, as nothing was holding you back. You had the money, the ability, the freedom.. Thing is... you didn't want to leave. Not while the person who saved you was in this state, and not while you loved him as much as he loved you. His eyes slowly opened early in the morning, and you immediately called up Jihoon to know exactly how to take care of him. He tried to joke around, and tried to do smart talk, but there was nothing but clear exhaustion in his voice, so instead of listening and answering you simply shut him up, making him rest as much as possible. The whole next week he spent in bed, cuddled up by blankets and your never ending attention. Because of the horrible pain he was rather asleep than awake most of the times, and the only time you found him to be fully awake and ready for conversation was a week after the faithful incident had happened. You'd gone out the house together with Jongup to go and get some much needed supply of medication that was running low in your apartment, when you heard him say. "I think I finally figured out what was so special about you that he was ready to throw his life away on the spot back then when he first saw you..." You were already used to this manner of speech that Jongup used, and took it as a compliment, waiting for his conclusion. "It did take you long enough, but you were actually crazy enough to be locked away by him and despite all of that fall in love with him.." "You make it sound like prison, don't do that, Yup," you told him as he escorted you to your door, proud at how this harmless nickname you'd given him irritated him slightly more and more every time you used it. "I'm glad, to be honest," he said, stopping when you'd reached the door, "Keep an eye on him, as we still need him not only as a member and leader, but as a friend. He can get weirder than me at times, so beware." "I doubt that's a thing, but I sure will. Thanks for your help," you said, and made your way into the apartment, taking off your outerwear and heading straight to the bedroom. You made it to the doorway, and stopped. "Channie, are you stupid?! Lie back down!!" you screamed at him and ran towards the bed. "(Y/N), don't worry, I feel much better today than any previous day," he was sitting up straight on the edge of the bed, smiling up at you. You relaxed a bit, and slowed down, gently sitting down on the bed beside him. "For real?" "Have I ever lied to you?" he tilted his head, and you chuckled. For a mafia leader he sure could look hella cute if he wanted to. "If I think about it now.. Yes, yes you have. You told me you'd have to get rid of me if I ever tried to escape you... But you didn't..." You almost hadn't noticed how his hand that was previously next to yours gently slid on top of your hand, his touch, as cold as always, sending shivers up you arm. "You're not the one to complain here. You were lying for a total of one and half years to me, telling me you loved me every single day even thought you never truly did." "I was lying, or I have been lying?" you raised a brow at him, "What makes you think you have the right to talk about the situation in a past tense? Do you really think things have changed-" "Haven't they?" he cut you off and gave you a genuine, challenging look as nothing but silence followed. He looked so pure. Smiling at you with a picture perfect smile, his pale skin seemingly filling the dimly lit room with a faint, unusual glow. He wasn't nowhere near bad, no matter how many bad things he'd done in life, you were certain of it. He only fought for his own survival since a very young age, and, even more than that, the survival and well-being of the people he cared about and loved the most. Including you. "Stop staring and just kiss me already," he chuckled and snapped you back to reality, making you realize that this whole time you were looking at his lips. "Like you told me to?" you tilted you head a little, "Or like I want to?" "The latter, please," he said, letting you place a hand on his cheek and pull his face a little closer. You'd kissed many times before, too many to count, and even though in the past months your relationship's only been going up, this was the first time you truly felt it. The desire to capture all of him, and the refusal of letting him go. It suddenly made sense, how well your lips clipped together and how his kissing style and intensity was just the way you liked it. How soft his hair felt when you tangled your hand in it, and how much you wanted him to simply stay where he was for as long as possible, not only because you couldn't deny how well-shaped and desirable his body was when it moved against yours, but because you'd completely fallen for him and his caring personality. "Why is it that I always have to get severely hurt in order to make someone realize they need me in their lives?" he said when you pulled away, biting his lip lightly and smiling at you, his eyelids heavy and his stare as dreamy as ever. "At least I admit it now, be glad, and be happy that the people you love feel the same way about you, always having your back when you need it the most," you made him chuckle, and he tilted his head down for a second. "Babe?" he looked back at you, surprised at your way of calling him, as you never called him anything other that “Channie”. "When you get better... " you bit your lip, gathering enough courage to look straight into his eyes, "How about I fulfill that promise I made back then?" He smiled, and instead of telling you anything really, leaned in to kiss you again. "I can't believe it... You love me.." he said in between kisses, making you laugh lightly and chuckle. He sounded like a kid who saw snow for the first time and couldn't believe it was a real thing, and only now you truly realized how this was the moment he's been working so hard to experience for the past one and a half years. "Enough is enough, Channie. Get back in bed if you want to experience more of my true, genuine love, or otherwise I'll give you the silent treatment," you said, helping him get back into a lying position and giving him the regular everyday treatment he got from you every single day now. "As you wish, baby. I'll do it, just like you told me to," he teased, falling asleep soon enough again because of the side effects of his medicine that made him sleep in order to mend the pain.  Kim Himchan, the fearless leader of B.A.P, or Kim Himchan, the pitiful leader who was forced to stay in bed for quite a while now? Who cared? He knew he didn’t, and he knew you didn’t either. B.A.P, for the nearest future, had Yongguk, who unwillingly agreed to lead until Himchan was capable of taking over again, so they wouldn’t get lost anytime soon. And Himchan? He had you - his very, very soon-to-be wife, and the person who he’d saved once just to be saved by less than two years later in return. 

He knew exactly what he wanted to do now while he was forced to spend his days home in order to recover. He’d buy a piano, and he’d teach you a few things about music so you could play duets with him. He’d spend time being cuddled up in your arms, and he’d make sure he savored every bit of your love and affection he could, as apparently he’d managed to get it all now.

And right after that, when the holes in his chest turn into nothing but scars, he’ll take you down the aisle and finally marry you, since, even though it took you one and a half years, an attempt to run away and a near-death experience of his to realize it, you finally loved him just the same way he loved you, and that was all that mattered.

[waywaydowninside]

The Robert and Linda story continues.  Finally!  I’m experimenting with story length.  This one is much shorter than the previous two.  Hope you like it.

A Rock and Roll Affair

Chapter 3

38 Malibu Colony Road

October

1976

There's somebody waiting alone in the street For someone to walk up and greet Here you are all alone in the city Where's the love that you took to your side Lonely faces will stare through your eyes in the night

Number 38 sat at the end of a winding road in Malibu Colony. It was an exclusive West Coast zip code for the rich and famous.  Streisand, Redford, Nicholson, Beatty--members of the Hollywood establishment--had long made this haven their home.  But during the 1970s, Malibu had attracted a new group of celebrities from the music industry.  The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Diana Ross, Cher, and, most recently, Led Zeppelin, had all resided, at one time or another, along the legendary California coast, just over an hour’s drive from Los Angeles.

Linda purchased 38 Malibu Colony Road after her album, “Heart Like a Wheel,” went double platinum in 1974.  Songs like “You’re No Good” and “When Will I Be Loved” made her a multi-millionaire.  It was her first real home after living in and around Los Angeles since the late 1960s when she moved from Tucson, Arizona to pursue her dream of being a singer. In those early years, she lived a mostly communal life, surrounding herself with other young music artists and it was a wonderfully creative and collaborative time for her.  But success had taken members of the California rock scene in different directions, and she found herself wanting to put down roots. Malibu’s secluded oceanfront provided her with that opportunity.

Robert followed Linda through the patio entrance into the house.  The sweet scent of honeysuckle from the garden wafted in the air.  When she turned on the light, he saw her Steinway in the middle of an expansive living room.  It was covered with sheet music and notebooks, and he enjoyed imagining her playing piano and singing throughout the night.  Her house felt comfortable and safe, unlike the cold, unfamiliarity of the bungalow just a few miles down the beach where he lived the previous year while recuperating from his near-fatal car accident—if one could call hosting nightly parties with a room full of women waiting to get fucked by a rock star, “recuperating.”  It seemed nothing could stop Robert from getting his fill—especially after the crash. Wheelchair.  Crutches.  It didn’t matter.  He was lucky to be alive.  And he was determined to live.

“Welcome to my home,” Linda said.  She took his hand.  “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

They walked up a dimly lit stairwell situated just beyond the open kitchen.  When they reached the top, Robert’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at Linda and grinned.  “This is spectacular,” he said.  He was standing on the roof of her house overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  The roof had been redesigned into a private, open room with a balcony extending slightly beyond the main structure of the house.  It was tastefully furnished in the rattan style and filled with an assortment of brightly colored pillows and blankets, vases of white orchids, candles, a stereo, several acoustic guitars, more sheet music, and a mini-bar.  A firepit stood at the center of the room.  “I’m impressed.  How long did this take to build?” Robert asked.

“About a year, I think.  It’s my little sanctuary.”  She walked over to the bar.  “I have it fully stocked.  My girlfriends like to drink,” she laughed.  “What can I get you?  I have imported beer, wine, tequila.”

“Beer.  And, uh, can you point me towards the bathroom?  Is it downstairs?”  She pointed to a door behind the bar.  Robert walked over to Linda and kissed her on the cheek.  “Be right back,” he said.

Inside the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror and rubbed his eyes. They were bloodshot.  The cold water he splashed on his face revived him.  As he reached for the small vial in his pocket, he thought about Linda. She didn’t drink or use drugs. All the women he fucked liked to party. Some of them liked to party too much. He hated it when girls got sick and threw up all over him.  And it happened far too many times.  This would be a welcome reprieve from that shit.  The coke vial was a gift from Jimmy who had it specially made of solid gold for him on his twenty-first birthday.  Robert unscrewed the top, scooped out the coke, snorted it through both nostrils, and wiped his nose with his hand.  His throat numbed instantly.  As he swallowed the bitter tasting powder, he unbuttoned his jeans to piss, and when he was done, he washed and dried his hands, took one last look at himself in the mirror, lit a cigarette, and went back out.

Linda had built a fire and lit several candles and they washed the room with a warm glow.  She stood at the balcony looking at the moonlit ocean.  Robert walked over beside her.  She handed him his beer, and he took a long swig. Looking back towards the room, she said, “I designed this because I wanted someplace special to escape to when I needed solitude.  I fall asleep here sometimes just listening to the waves.”

“Do you often need solitude?”  He asked, gently touching her hair.

“It helps me think.  I’m not going to lie.  I love this business we’re in, but sometimes it can be overwhelming.  So, I take a few steps back for a little while.  I’ll listen to music, read, or write in my journal. Or take a nap,” she giggled.

“In your sanctuary.”

“Yes.  In my sanctuary.”

“You know, I was your neighbor for a while last year.  I watched the waves from a wheelchair.”

“Your car accident?”

“Yeah. I could have used a sanctuary like this at the time. But I would have needed somebody to carry my ass up the stairs.  Ha!” They both laughed.  “At least now I can walk without my crutches.  My leg was shattered.  I had a broken ankle.  A broken elbow.  Doctors told me I might not walk again, but I wasn’t going to have that.  We cancelled plans to record the new material, and I came to sunny California to convalesce.”

“And you still managed to record an album.”

“In a wheelchair, mind you,” he batted his eyes, opened his arms wide, then bowed, comically congratulating himself, feeling pleased that he made her laugh out loud again.

“That’s called perseverance.  You’re a fighter, Robert.  And a comedian.”

“Yes.  And you’re beautiful and sexy when you laugh.”

The connection between them was electric.  They certainly weren’t the first two famous people in Hollywood to take their relationship from casual to intimate within a matter of hours.  But the intimacy developing between Robert Plant and Linda Ronstadt was far from typical. And they both felt it.  Neither of them had to wade through exhausting layers of the façade that enshrouds those who rise to the level of international superstar.  That was clear from the moment they met. The nervous anticipation of meeting each other vanished with that first handshake and smile.  Trust. Honesty.  Foundations for relationships that take years to build were established instantly.  Neither of them could explain it.  And if they could explain it, would it matter?  They were together in this moment. That’s all that mattered.

© waywaydowninside

[smallgeneration]

what we didn’t write down

Non, rien de rien

Non, je ne regrette rien

Car ma vie, car me joies

Aujourd’hui, ça commence avec toi

 - Edith Piaf

We wrote a lot of poetry about Paris then. We wanted to capture everything, like the afternoon sunlight and rose pink sunsets that flooded through the apartment’s one window, or the way the cigarette smoke curled through the air and mingled with the steam of pasta boiling on the stove. There was Lou’s cat, Sanska, a slinking black thing whose growth had been stunted a year earlier when she’d accidentally ingested some rat poison laid out by another tenant and would consequently remain kitten-sized the rest of her life. She had a habit of leaping from the floor onto our backs to drape herself over our shoulders as we were cooking, and when we left the bedroom skylight open, she would fall from the roof into the bed, waking us up in the mornings. I remember using the word “cinematic” a lot during those months.

I had a notebook, a little 1 euro legal pad of graph paper, where I tried to write it all down. On one page is a list, scribbled in my sloppy handwriting, titled “details to remember” and it looks like this:

dried lavender in an empty jack daniel’s bottle window light, 3:45pm

red wine stains on lou’s lace blanket               made tacos, 2am

harry named one plant ed dunkle             anneli named the basil plant emmanuel

ashtrays: wooden egg cup, baby food tin, bonne maman jam jar

pink teapot full of weed and the cocaine no one wanted to try  

       in france they call frosted flakes frosties

pays d’hearault = second cheapest wine at carrefour, tastes better than 3rd cheapest wine

111 stairs to lou’s apartment (eleventy-one!)

There were many moments so heart-stoppingly beautiful, details so small and yet imbued with such a powerful sense of perfection I could hardly believe their reality. We saved them all, taped every receipt and metro ticket and museum pass into our journals. We even kept our empty cigarette cartons, because the hundreds of polaroids we took with Jess’s camera fit perfectly inside them in neat little stacks of ten or twenty. By October we filled a shoebox with them. All this was evidence that the lifestyle we never hoped to dream of truly did exist, and many of our conversations were rehashed stories of the days we met, jokes from past parties repeated until we knew them all by heart.

This was the Paris we wanted to remember. But there were times we didn’t speak of, stories we chose not to retell in hopes that they would fall to the cutting room floor of our memories, mental edits to our so-called cinematic experience. In our silent way, we tried to forget, unable to admit the chaos that haunted the city beyond our brightly lit apartment.

In the fall of 2016, Paris was in the midst of the refugee crisis. When the New York Times released an article titled “Paris is the New Calais, with Scores of Migrants Arriving Daily,” I opened it on my laptop but couldn’t bring myself to read. But the numbers were there, and I had seen them in person. Over one hundred migrants were arriving in the city each day, the result of war and political unrest in Africa and the Middle east, and the demolition of what France called “The Jungle,” an unofficial refugee camp at the port of Calais. Consequently, thousands of migrants from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, Nigeria, and Iraq were living in the streets of Paris. They camped in tents below the Stalingrad metro station, under bridges down the Canal St. Martin, and roamed the tourist areas asking for money. I remember families with young children clustered together on the Pont des Artes and the Pont Saint-Louis, watched their formations change as they fanned themselves with newspapers in the heat of early September and gathered blankets and scraps of cardboard when the cold began to settle. There was one family I saw several times stationed on the quai beside Notre Dame with a colorful set of blankets and a handwritten sign asking for help. There were two young girls, no more than nine or ten, and an older woman who might have been their mother or grandmother, I couldn’t tell. But what struck me were the bunnies. They had three of them, two brown and one black, and I often saw them cradled in the girl’s arms, wrapped up in the blankets, or hopping around the sidewalk, kept close by a makeshift shoestring leash. One September afternoon on my way to the bookshop, I saw the woman kneeling on the ground, head bowed in prayer as the girls fed the bunnies bits of grass and old vegetables. They were smiling, and I was struck by the resilience and generosity of those young girls who fed and sheltered their pets in spite of their own dispossession. But as the weeks wore on and the warm days of late summer disappeared, their inspiring resilience became much more devastating. By late October, Paris had shed its golden hour afternoons for dense cloaks of fog and drizzle, and though the small family remained, the bunnies disappeared. And then, one day, the family was gone.

The day I first noticed their absence, Harry and I found ourselves meeting Jess, Lou, and Anneli in front of Notre Dame at midnight with a bag of limes and a bottle of cheap tequila. We thought it would be “cinematic” to take shots in the empty courtyard in front of the cathedral. But as we passed the bottle around, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the empty sidewalk on the quai where that family had been only days earlier. When Anneli asked me what was wrong, I blamed my tears on the liquor. I sucked the lime and tried to forget.

Less than a year before I arrived in Paris, 130 people were killed in a coordinated suicide bombing attack claimed by ISIS that hit several locations across the city. This attack followed several others in Paris and across France in 2015, but November 14th stands out in devastating horror as the bloodiest terror attack in the country’s history. The Bataclan theater, where three men open fired on the crowd of over a thousand music fans, is a five minute walk from Lou’s apartment. She heard the guns, the screams and police sirens.

We rarely talked about the attacks, and never discussed the looming possibilities of another. But there was a quiet fear throughout the city. Gendarmes patrolled the tourist areas and major metro stations, and we often saw them on the streets harassing refugees and migrant families. Flowers and candles still adorned the various locations of mass shootings, and every anonymous white van was surveyed with silent but intense apprehension. Crowds would hush in the wake of sirens that were often followed by streams of six or seven police cars, and we would check our phones for the bad news we feared was about to break. A man working at Shakespeare and Company once told us how he very well could have been in Nice, one of the crowd in the Bastille Day celebrations run down by a lorry leaving 84 dead. He just missed his train.

We were heading home to Lou’s apartment after a morning at Sacre-Coeur, and for one reason or another everyone was in a bad mood, though we dared not admit it. We were probably cold, unaccustomed to the chill that blew into the city in mid-October, and disappointed that the view from the top Paris’s tallest hill was overshadowed by a rainy gloom that didn’t fit with our aspirations of the day. But as we trudged our descent into the Anvers metro station, a woman’s shrill and terrifying scream jerked us from our temporary disenchantment.

Several people stood frozen in the underground, staring at the nightmarish scene before them. A young woman was being held against the wall of the station by two men who were shouting at her in a language I didn’t understand. She tried to get away, but was pushed to the floor where she let out another terrible scream. The woman yelled at the onlookers, begging for help, demanding we call the police while the two men continued to harass and restrain her. People shuffled awkwardly around the chaos as they entered and exited the metro. All the while, sitting behind the plexiglass window of the ticketing booth, was the station worker, another young woman who seemed only mildly disturbed at what was happening three feet away.

Harry broke our panicked trance and ran up to the ticket counter, and asked the woman if she’d called the police yet. They exchanged a few words, and for a moment we had hope that the abuse would be justly resolved. But Harry returned to where Anneli and I stood, his anger scarcely concealed the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

“She told me there’s nothing she can do,” he said. “Says the men are undercover police and that the girl stole some drugs or something.”

The woman moaned as the men heaved the woman up from the floor and shoved her once again into the wall.

“They don’t seem like police,” Anneli whispered.

The train ride home was hauntingly quiet. I felt sick. Harry was saying something about what he should have done, how he could have fought those guys or asked to see a badge or gotten some kind of answer. We left the scene of the struggle before its resolution, if it ever had one, nauseous and afraid and shamefully embarrassed that we had witnessed a violent assault and done nothing. We didn’t try to stop those men, and we didn’t search for any additional help above the station where there was more than likely a gendarme nearby. We hadn’t called the police, and our excuses felt limp and meaningless. What could we have done if the men really were undercover cops? Besides, mine and Anneli’s phones weren’t on an international data plan, and Harry’s was dead. Our French wasn’t good enough to communicate with a police officer. But we were struck silent by the poisonous doubt that even if our phones had been working, we might not have chosen the path of heroism we thought ourselves capable of. Our confidence was shaken, the cinematic bubble had burst. We weren’t the protagonists of our own living movie as we’d come to believe, only delusional cowards in a world of common chaos.

Everyone took naps when we made it home. We wanted to distance ourselves from the morning as swiftly as possible, and when we woke with that hollow dread still seething in our stomachs, we bought some wine and and walked to the jazz club. By the next morning, we had resumed our movie. I never wrote anything down about that day, never saved my metro ticket. Weeks later we returned to Sacre-Coeur on a sunnier afternoon, and the view was breathtaking. We transposed our memories of the assault with a walk around Montmartre and tried to let ourselves forget.

But I still think about that woman and what I could have done to help her, just like I still think of the young girls and their bunnies and the many sirens in the streets of Paris. There were other times we couldn’t romanticize, disagreements between friends that went unresolved, drunken nights that left lovers fighting in the apartment hallways and friends sleeping on the bathroom floor to avoid confrontation. And even though we did our best to idealize everything, reality spread its sticky mess through our stories, and the golden sunlight that beamed through the window didn’t always augur a perfect day. We wrote a lot of poetry about Paris then, about the black cat and the pink sunsets and drunken nights spent climbing eleventy-one stairs to Lou’s apartment, but we never did forget, and those memories remain undocumented but indelible in my memory.