#srry for the abrupt ending i just needed to get it out there

[sir-heichou-smith]

Imagine soap badgering ghost for YEARS to meet his family because he brought Simon to his family's farm over the holidays.

Cue Johnny not knowing everyone in Simon's family is 💀 and when he finally gives in, Johnny is just estatic/nervous/curious because he wanted to know where ghost came from since they met.

Ghost looks almost hesitant when he asks Johnny if he's really sure he wants to meet them.

Their next leave Simon takes Johnny on a walk through his neighborhood, stopping to buy yellow daffodils for his mother, stating they were her favorites.

What he doesn't expect is when their walk from the flower shop ends at a small graveyard on the edge of town. Johnny's heart breaks more and more with every step they take.

He watches Simon square his shoulders and take a deep breath, pointedly trying not to catch the other man's eye as he leads him through the rows.

They stop at the very end on the far left, under a great big oak tree where 4 small plaques have the Riley name stamped in marble.

Johnny watches Simon sit down in the grass and place the flowers in the little holder sticking out of the ground. He's still watching when Simon begins talking to them as if they can hear them, apologizing for how long it's been and how he brought someone along for them to meet.

The two men spend time there, Simon talking about the people he knew them to be, and sharing the censored stories of what he and Johnny do overseas.

As leave ends and they return to base, Johnny feels just that much closer to his lt having met his family.

[idabbleincrazy]

Secretly Submissive Ch. 1

<--- Previous Chapter

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Series Rating: E

Series Pairings: Liam/William (Angel/Spike), Liam/Lindsey, Spike/Lindsey, Spike/Lindsey/Angel

Series Characters: Angel (Liam Devlin), Spike (William Pratt), Lindsey McDonald, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, others tbd

Word Count: 1540

Chapter Warnings: drunk flirting, drunk!Liam, implied masturbation, revelation and self-denial, text-speak

Series Warnings: human au, fluff, angst, Dom/sub, smut, bondage...more to be added as series progresses

Series Summary: Liam Devlin, hardworking investor and businessman, receives an unexpected awakening in the form of William Pratt, the unassuming bookstore owner he met online.

Chapter Summary: Liam talks to Will after a few drinks, and Will starts to wonder just how dominant Liam really is...and finds himself (sexually) frustrated.

A/N: ok, the muse is really grooving with this fic so far, i guess, since i wrote this chapter within a couple hours. Sorry it's another short one, but once the boys get together, the chapters should start getting longer.

William flopped down onto his couch with a sigh, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his phone in the other. It had been three hours since his confusing conversation with the enigmatic brunette he’d felt drawn to the second he saw his profile, and he was still aggravated over Liam's abrupt departure.

And he still wasn't sure what to make of the guy. He was usually pretty good at reading people, and while Liam didn't outwardly seem all that submissive, neither did anything about him so far scream dominant. Yet, he seemed to have been hinting that he was indeed dominant, if his teasing about his 'specifics' and his thinking that William needed someone dominant to decide things for him was anything to go by. It wouldn't be the first time he'd hooked up with someone who thought they were one just to find out their preferences ran the other way. Hopefully their next conversation would shed some light on the matter. He definitely couldn't help but hope that Liam had at least some proclivity for submission; just the thought of that handsome face staring up at him as the brunette sank to his knees made his cock harden.

Letting his mind continue to wander down that line of thought, William set down his now empty glass and rubbed the palm of his hand over the growing bulge of his crotch, and let out a curse as his phone chirped. Turning on the screen, he noticed it was a message alert from Liam. With a low groan, he opened the app and read the waiting text.

L: I know it's a bit late, and u probably aren't on rn, but…hi Will

W: Hi Liam. And yeah, it is kinda late.

L: Hey!! Ur still up! :D srry. Just couldn't wait till morning to msg u.

W: It's fine, I guess. What's up, pet?

L: god why do I like it so much when u call me that? Shit! Ignore that.

William sat up straighter as he read Liam's inadvertent confession, his eyebrow quirking up in intrigue.

W: You ok?

He was tempted to call him pet again just to see how the man would react, but restrained himself, barely. He didn't exactly want to take the risk that Liam would cut the conversation short.

L: great actually! At a bar with my friends, celebrating. Just had a huuuge win in the market!!

W: So…that 'somewhere important' was a bar?

L: yea. It had a double purpose tho. But its important to celebrate the wins when they happen.

W: You sound a little off, mate. …Are you drunk? :/

L: noo! Yea…maybe? How bout u be the judge of that…

After a few seconds of inactivity from Liam's end, a picture popped up on the screen. William clicked it and let out a short bark of laughter. Liam may not have been compl hammered, but it was obvious he was well on the way. He was sitting at a bar with two other men, the counter in front of them littered with shot glasses and bottles of beer, and he had a sort of doofy grin on his face. His eyes were slightly glazed over from the booze, and his hair was slightly disheveled, far from the perfectly gelled coif that showed in his other pictures. His tie was loosened and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone, showing a teasing glimpse of his tan chest. William's cock twitched as he took in the image, and he had to force himself to close out the picture and turn his mind back to the chat.

W: Bloody hell, how do you still look so hot after so many drinks? I end up looking like a sodding mess.

L: don't kno. Just do. It's a gift.

W: Apparently. @.@

L: if its any consolation, i bet u look great after a couple drinks. Wait…shit. Meant that as a compliment! *facepalm*

W: Smooth one, Don Juan. XD

L: really! I just meant u probably hold ur liquor better. Im sure u always look great, even trashed.

W: Who are you and what have you done with the Liam I was talking to earlier? Where'd that cocky confidence go? That…domineering personality??

L: oh, trust me Will. I still got it. God. I'd love to show u how dominant i can b. As for confidence…this celebration *is* in my honor. Cocky enough for u? ;)

William found himself caught between a laugh and a groan of disbelief, unsure of just what to make of this side of the brunette.

W: Bordering on arrogant, even. You've outdone yourself, pet. So I guess even *you* take a break from all that hard work.

L: fuck

William smirked to himself.

W: You sure you're ok?

L: yeah fine. And nope, still working. ;)

W: Christ, you are dedicated, ain't you?

L: yup. My friend brought this guy with him, super $$ big in finance. We've been talking business.

W: Do you *ever* do anything just to relax?

L:...u sure ur ready to kno?

W: Was ready three hours ago, mate. You got busy.

L: ok well…im into some pretty intense stuff. Its not for everyone.

William groaned at the reply, his mind jumping ahead and conjuring up some 'pretty intense' images of its own.

W: Think I like where this is headed, mate. Care to elaborate?

L: stuff like leather, and ropes…and a strong hand.

W: Got two strong hands, right here ;)

L: 0.0 …i meant me.

W: Mmhmm…we'll see…

L: no…see, im *always* in charge.

W: So am I. Guess one of us will have to back down.

L: pretty sure u'll change ur mind once i take u out on a date.

W: Pretty sure you'll change yours, pet. >:) Wait, does this mean we're going out? Not sure I've agreed to that yet.

L: it does. Cmon…say yes, Will…u kno u want to.

W: *sigh* Okay, if I must ;) …but only to the date, *not* to you being in charge.

L: :( fine. I can wait a lil longer for that, :) but u'll have to wait a lil longer urself for the date. Too buzzd for what ive got planned.

W: Just don't leave it too long, Liam. I don't like to be kept waiting. Liam? Bloody hell!

*Liam has left the chat*

William tossed his phone on the couch with a curse and pinched the bridge of his nose. The man definitely liked to play the dominant, but there was something in Liam's reactions to William calling him pet that was just begging to be explored. He had better get back to him soon about their date or he was going to have to take matters into his own 'strong hands'.

With a hard-on threatening to burst the zipper of his trousers and thoughts of Liam bound in black leather and red silk ropes swimming through his head, William headed to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower and give some much needed attention to his aching cock. Thank God it was Friday and he had no orders or appointments scheduled for the weekend, he had a feeling his mind was going to be quite preoccupied for at least the next twenty-four hours.

****

Liam woke up the next morning with his head throbbing, a dry mouth, and the skin of his lower abdomen strangely itchy, groaning at his stupidity for taking to the celebration a little too heartily. Why was it that whenever he went out drinking with Lindsey, his self-control went out the window. He only hoped he hadn't said anything to Wesley to turn him off on the deal or done anything too embarrassing. Getting out of bed with a stretch, he pulled on his robe and headed to the kitchen. With his hand on the fridge, he froze, memory kicking in.

He dashed back into the bedroom and hurriedly pulled his phone from his pants and opened the WeChat app, pulling up his chat with William. Reading through the chat log, he felt his face flush. With a groan and a few choice curse words he sat heavily on the bed, growing equally confused and aroused by the conversation they'd had the night before. He remembered clearly, now, how he had come home from the bar with an erection that had refused to die down until he finally gave in and jerked himself off, the word pet sounding in his ear as he came under the sheets. That explained one thing, at least. But he still couldn't figure out why he was having such an unexpected reaction to the endearment, or why the realization that William was decidedly less submissive than he'd originally thought sent a fresh thrill of excitement down his spine.

~~~~~

Pushing it off as just the prospect of the challenge of guiding the blonde into submission, but unable to fully ignore the voice in his head that insisted he was blind if he thought he was fooling himself, Liam set his phone on its charger and got back up to start the day. Good thing he didn't work weekends; his mind was such a jumble, he doubted even he would have been able to get anything done at the office.

Next Chapter --->

All Things Spike: @leatafanfiction @captain-peroxid3

Other: @countblucas

[laserdog10]

Interests

Jaune: You sure you don't need any help?

Blossom (Lancaster kid #2): Nope! I got this project on lock! Garnet and Citrus already got there's done, Ashlyn's almost done, I think? And I'm getting there, so I'll be back down in about...an hour or two?

Ruby: You'll do great sweety. *kisses her on the forehead*

*Blossom heads back up stairs to the room she shared with her two siblings and cousin. Garnet, her older brother, Citrus, her younger sister, and Ashlyn, the older between all of them and their loving cousin*

Ruby: I'm surprised how mature she is for her age.

Jaune: Now if only her siblings could keep up. *They said to each other as they walked back to the living room, where Garnet and Citrus were playing Grimm Hunter World 2*

Garnet: Hey, not our fault your creativity wasn't passed down to us when we were born!

Citrus: Yeah! And my project is just a simple collapsible scythe, while you have a gun in yours mom!

Jaune: Garnet, your idea seems out of this world, even by Ruby's standards.

Ruby: And you should see Crocea Mors, simple yet intricate.

Ashlyn: Shhhhh, their just about to kill the Omega Beowulf! *their cousin exclaimed from the couch by her grandmother Raven, whom was reading a book.*

Ruby: *lowered voice* Sorry! Wanna watch?

Jaune: It'll pass the time.

*They said as they went to sit on the other couch, but a few minutes later, a knock on the door happened the moment the brother and sister slayed the Omega Beowulf, cheering triumphantly. Jaune gets up, goes to the door, opening it to see the odd sight of Weiss and Neptune's younger son, Nikolas, who was dressed in a black tux, jeans, and blue long-sleeve under shirt. Accompanied with his fancy ensemble was a little uklele.

Jaune: Oh boy...*gears click* What's your plan this time, Nik? *He said humoredly and amused*

Nikolas: *pulls the ukulele close, and begins strumming it* I wanna study with your daughter~! I know she don't think that I oughta~! But I'm not that bad I'm really friendly~! And I just thought I'd say-*before he continued with his song, a rapid flurry of footsteps rushed down the stairs, and with that Blossom her burst of speed Semblance to dart forward in "blink and you'd miss it" motion, swiftly grabbing the ukulele from Nikolas' hands, turning around and bashing it against the outside near the doorway a few times, finally throwing it to the ground, panting heavily*

Jaune, pulling out his scroll: Huh, 1 minute and 10 seconds.

Raven, not looking away from her book: That's a new record. *Ashlyn and her fist bump at the joke*

Blossom: I'm going to say this as clearly and concisely as possible...I don't want you, or your gestures and confessions of how you say you love me, END. OF. STORY.

*silence*

Nikolas: *still in his singing voice* So why don't you give me one more~-

*SLAM*

*On one side of the now shut door, a defeated Nikolas slumped his shoulders and hung his head (though he donned a slight scheming grin, for he would never give up), while on the other side Blossom's shoulders were rising and falling from taking deep breathes to calm down. She rises, turns to her family and says*

Blossom: If you excuse me, I'm going to go finish my project now. *walks off up the stairs*

Ashlyn: To contemplate on how to apologize to him later!

Blossom: SHUT UP!!! *slams the bedroom door, everyone downstairs laughing their asses off*

Blossom, sinking to the floor: *ATOMIC BLUSHING* Oh GOOOODS why did I do thaaaat?!?! *she cried rolling back and forth across the floor, hands covering her face* I didn't want to break his cute little ukulele, uuuugggggghhhhhhh I'm so freaking stupid!!! And his voice was so pretty and he looked so handso-*her scroll rings in her pocket, a text message on the lock screen, from Nikolas*

Snow White Bonehead: Yo srry about the abrupt arrival lololol! Figured you'd be up for studying the test nxt week

Bloss: Ik u wanted to come over and ask to be my boyfriend you bonehead -_-

Snow White Bonehead: U got me lol, nvr gonna give up either! XD

Bloss: Lol, but if you want, then yes we can study together

Snow White Bonehead: Rlly?! THNK U!!!!! U the best lmao!!!

Bloss: Yeah yeah whatever ya dummy, bye

Snow White Bonehead: Peace out!

*The texting ended as Blossom laid on her bunk below Citrus', laying with a satisfied look on her face*

Blossom: *internally* (Gods how what did I do to warrant his affection?)

...

...

...

*She pouted, and a bigger blush ran across her face*

Blossom:  I hate that stupid, dummy bonehead...

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Swept Away, Part 1

Characters: Dean Winchester (23 years old, so preseason 1), Reader. (future x reader) mentions of John, Sam and Reader’s family.

Warnings: ANGST, Dean’s self worth problems, severe injury, canon level violence. Mention of medications for pain and anxiety. Also, abuse of John Winchester’s parenting skills. This part is PG-13 but will be at least R in future parts. (Also credit to whoever made the gif, its not mine. I found it on Google.)

Summary: John sends Dean to the mountains of Agness, Oregon alone to track a possible werewolf. What he finds turns out to be a little more than he can handle. Dean is left wondering if his father set him up to fail.

A/N: So, this was written for @mamaredd123‘s Angst Appreciation Day Challenge, Shred All the Hearts. My prompt was to use the song ‘Listen to Your Heart’ by Roxette and to rip peoples hearts out. I hope I deliver on this request. I’m late as hell and I deeply apologize. This is only the first part, but there is plenty of angst here to enjoy.

I know there's something in the wake of your smile. I get a notion from the look in your eyes, yea. You've built a love but that love falls apart. Your little piece of heaven turns too dark.

 It was a sunny, warm day in Agness, Oregon, and you couldn’t get a Roxette song out of your head. You had no idea why it was stuck on replay, but it wasn’t unusual for your brain to taunt you in this way. Wisps of thin clouds that look like they've been painted on a bright blue sky float by on a cool breeze. A promise that the temperature will drop nearly thirty degrees when the sun goes down due to the proximity of the mountains. You like the feeling of freedom that the place gives you, but you could do without the dramatic drops in temperature.

 Your house sitting while your grandparents are spending the summer touring Europe. Being a junior in college, and accepting anything that would give decent pay, you are actually enjoying your alone time. Whether you are home in Seattle, Washington or at school at Washington State in Pullman, you are constantly surrounded by people.

 Out here, in your grandparent’s cabin on the bank of the Rogue River, it's peaceful. You found yourself sitting on the deck most days, typing away at the book you've been writing for a year now. But, you can't expect much else from an English major with aspirations of publishing your many adventures one day, can you?

 You don't really want for anything out here, except for maybe a Starbucks. You drive an hour out to buy a couple of weeks’ worth of groceries and that is your quota fill of socializing. If you are feeling extra adventurous, you stop at the Olive Garden on the route back home.

 Agness is a small town, filled with mostly retired couples and the occasional tourist. From your trips into the quaint downtown to get your Starbucks fix in the form of a glass bottled Frappuccino, you’d met pretty much everyone in the neighborhood.

 The residents all treat you like you are their own grandchild, dropping off meals and baked goods regularly. There is also Dr. Marjorie Foster, a divorcee who likes to pop by after crazy days at the hospital to share a bottle of wine and sarcastic banter. So, although you are technically alone, you feel rather safe and spoiled.

 Listen to your heart when he's calling for you. Listen to your heart there's nothing else you can do.

That's probably why you were drawn to the black Chevy Impala parked to the left of the small parking lot. It was parked beneath a copse of trees, like the big black beauty could ever be inconspicuous. Add that to the silver scratches all along its side and hood, plus the flat tire that was sitting on its rim, made it even harder to miss.

 Maybe it's your insatiable curiosity that makes you walk a little closer to the damaged vehicle? It does tend to get you into a lot of trouble. You'd probably never know for sure. But you won't forget your first look inside.

 The upholstery is slashed open, bits of yellow foam and tufts of heavy cotton are strewn about. But what catches your attention is the motionless heap in the back seat that you know, just by the sinking feeling in your gut, is a person who needs help.

 You won't remember how you closed the distance between you and the car so quickly. Or your train of thought when you try to open the door only to discover it locked. You wrap your over shirt over your arm and put your elbow through the window without hesitation. You'll question your strength later.

 By now Gregory, Matilda's husband (the one who makes incredible venison stew), stops pumping gas to see what all the commotion is about. You are already digging through the seat stuffing and blankets by the time he arrives behind you.

 You faintly hear him speaking to someone on the phone, reporting in a panicked yet succinct tone to emergency officials, when you finally find bloody, pale skin. Luckily, it's attached to a person who is unfortunately torn to shreds.

 “Hey!” You don't dare move him. Isn't that one of the basic rules in case of a back or neck injury? When the final blanket is pulled back you see the sharp jaw and hint of rose gold stubble. “Sir, can you hear me?” Your only response is a growled groan muffled by the seat where he has his face buried. But, at least it's something, right?

 You take a quick survey of the inside of the car, noting used bandage papers and an empty bottle of cheap whiskey. When you climb into the car and sit down, your foot kicks an old bottle of pills. Was the man suicidal? All of this blood loss, whisky and upon looking at the label you discover that it is Darvocet. That stuff had been pulled off the market for years now!

 “Hey, you with me?” He eases himself painfully slow into a sitting position, causing him to cry out hoarsely in pain. His voice already shredded like he had already done some screaming. He's panting in loud, painfully abrupt breaths through his open mouth. Everything about his boyish face is pinched with pain. Your heart squeezes with sympathy and absolute helplessness. You should've gone to med school like your dad wanted you to. Then you'd know exactly what to do.

 You note then that his front side doesn't look any better than his blood soaked back does. It also revealed how his left leg is mangled and twisted in unnatural directions. Some of the blood is dried, making his skin stick to the seat. There’s no telling how long he'd been in this car bleeding and in pain.

 “T’ll S- S’mmy, ‘m s-s’rry.” When you finally lock onto his ghost pale face, the expression there kicks you right in the stomach with a steel toed boot. His split bottom lip and chin are quivering with repressed emotion. His voice comes out shaky and raspy because he's vibrating with shivers that you know probably mean that he's in shock. He's probably been in shock for a while.

 I don't know where you're going and I don't know why, but listen to your heart before you tell him goodbye.

 This guy, because man seemed like a bit much since he couldn't be much older than you, may very well have been trying to end it all if the pain openly displayed on his face is anything to go by. Through the black, crusted blood you can tell with startling clarity the difference between the physical and emotional pain on his expressive face.

 You fight the urge to push his hair out of his eyes, which is obviously overgrown from a short haircut. It appears that way, anyway, judging by the shaggy and uneven ends. He looks like even his hair follicles hurt, caked in crusted and congealing blood, so you refrain.

 “You're gonna tell him yourself.” You answer firmly as you wrap the scratchy, stiff blanket back over his shoulders when he shivers again violently.

 Even that small movement prompts deeply hurt, wounded noises that get caught in the back of his throat, but you can tell that he's trying to hide just how much pain he’s in.

 It makes you briefly wonder how someone who should be going to college or discovering themselves learned to be that damned stoic. “Hang in there, helps on the way. Is there anyone I can call for you?” You plead, wishing that the ambulance would hurry so that there was a way to eventually rectify the abject misery on his face. He's looking at you through his pain filled gaze as he softy answers ‘no’ and it rips your heart out. You feel inept and helpless.

 Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile. The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yea. They're swept away and nothing is what it seems, the feeling of belonging to your dreams.

 “An’ m’dad, too. T-t’ll m’s-srry I c’dn’t f-finish th’ j’b.” Liquid that has been building up in his eyes soon gives way to fat tears that tracks strange patterns through the new and old blood when he can't hold them back anymore. As he confesses what he thinks are his last words through busted, numb lips, it makes an icy shiver skip down your spine. “…’ts m’ f-fault… p-people ‘r g’nna die ‘causa m-me…” Tears progress into hiccupping sobs that make him squeeze his eyes shut against what you feel he thinks of as weakness and pain.

 You look briefly for a wallet or phone, finding the latter on the floorboard. You get two seconds to feel victorious before you discover that there is a giant tooth mark in the middle, cracking the small screen into unusable pieces. “Shit.” Just what the hell had he gotten into that would cause so much damage? “What's your name?” You look for somewhere uninjured to rest a reassuring hand but can't find anywhere promising.

 “Dean W’nchester.” You'll realize later how profound it is that he gave you his real name. That it was because all of his layers and walls were stripped down to nothing.

 You know his bottomless green-hazel eyes will haunt you for the rest of your life if he doesn't make it. There was no other ending that you can bear to imagine for him. You know it sounds so naïve, but someone with this much soul can't just die such a horrific death all alone. You feel a small amount of relief when you can finally hear the sirens of the ambulance in the distance.

 “They'll be here any second.” As you say the words you're not sure who you're trying to console more.

 There's an hour drive to the nearest hospital in Gold Beach in his future. It's a small hospital that is the size of maybe two Costco warehouses shoved together. But surely, amongst their few floors of equipment and educated staff, they can fix the broken pieces?

 In the two seconds of silence you decide that you can be positive enough for the both of you.

 “Dean Winchester?” You rest your hand lightly over the one he isn't using to prop himself up. It startles you when his cold sweat covered hand grasps yours back painfully tight. The way he clings to you like you're a lifeline make tears pool in your eyes. “You're gonna make it. I promise.”

 Dean’s POV:

I wake up suddenly, claws and massive, drooling jowls snap viciously at me from behind deep, shifting shadows. It feels like the beast is sitting on my chest, making it cave in. It's putrid, hot breath on my face. My ribs barely put up a fight before they snap like twigs beneath its weight, white hot, stabbing pains through my belly.

 I try to struggle free but my arms and legs won't obey my commands for them to move. To fight back. So, all I can do is wait for him to consume me for dinner. All I hear are growls and distant shouting that are drowning out a strange, tinny beeping noise in the background. It reminds me of the sound of its claws digging into Baby’s quarter panel as it tried to peel her open and drag me back out into the dark of the mountain. Of the liquid heat of pain as it's claws raked through my skin like I was soft butter.

 But then I hear, “Dean.” It kind of sounds like Sammy before his voice changed, soft and kind, if a little static and warped. But that can't be right. I hope that it means that the past few years were a nightmare, but it's only a slight hope. Good things rarely happen to a Winchester.

 It's probably some newly created fresh hell conjured to torture and destroy me in my last seconds on earth. The thing I was hunting was a were wolf, I was sure of it. He looked normal, all wolfed out with gray, wiry hair. But when it found me… It was like his senses and strength were beyond what a normal were was capable of.

 But it's too tempting not to answer, even if it's not real, as the tinny noise gets louder and more frantic. I'd give anything to be able to talk to Sam and tell him how sorry I am. I'd kill to tell him that I would stand up to Dad more so that we don't have to move around so much. So he can go to college close by. Anything. I can be better so he wants to come back.

 The crushing weight of remembering that I'm alone nearly drowns out the relief of hearing Sam's voice. But I'm just that delirious to believe.

 “S’mmy?”

 I gag, choking on something that tastes a lot like old blood and cotton balls stuck in my throat. I finally get my arm to move so that I can remove whatever is clinging to my face. So that I can catch my breath but something heavy slams into my forehead.

 “Dean. Hey, Dean! Please stop, you're gonna hurt yourself.”

 And just like that all the fight drains out of me, envisioning a young Sammy with his stupid floppy hair and worry bright little kid eyes that are way too smart for his own good. “K, S’mmy. M’ s’rry.”

 “You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay.” I feel the softest pressure against my temple and fingers brushing through my hair before I tunnel into nothingness.

 When I wake up the second time the beeping doesn't sound so tinny. With the way my body and head aches, it actually sounds like its right in my ear. Fuck. I hope Sam got the license plate number off the damn truck that mowed me over. We were gonna sue the hell outta that bastard.

 But what if he ran over Sam or Dad?

 At that thought, my eyes shoot open and I'm moving before I even know what's weighing me down. I manage to drag my legs over the side of the bed just as a nurse comes running in.

 “Mr. Winchester, please! Stop-“

 However, I've already got the momentum going apparently and drop like a bag of damn rocks to the hard linoleum floor just as I realize my leg is encased in a large, heavy cast and incapable of holding my weight. Ugh. I didn't even want to know what kind of germs I was sitting in!

 Belatedly, like a flame starting as a tiny spark only to turn into licking blaze-like pain engulfed me for an undeterminable amount of time. Like it had fought through the pain killers just for the joy of kicking my ass. I made sure not to panic. I had been in this headspace before, and nothing could be gained by losing my shit.

 The first thing I vaguely noticed as the pained haze started to morph into a deep chasm of an entire body ache was a strange warmth crawling down my arm and thigh. Upon further investigation I discovered that I had managed to pull out both my iv catheter and my pee bag. Just fucking lovely.

 The nurse with the pretty milk chocolate skin and curves enough to make a grown man weep had a look of deep sympathy on her doe features. “Well, welcome back to the world Mr. Winchester. Let's get you cleaned up, huh?”

 I was beyond grateful that she didn't coo or fawn over me, saving what was left of my pride. However, there wasn't going to be much left for long.

 What’s more embarrassing than getting a sponge bath from a beautiful woman in a totally not sexy way? It's having those same color rich eyes look at you with pity when you tell her for the millionth time that you don't have anyone to call while reinserting a catheter. Into your dick.

 If I was hunting with Dad or Sam it would be up to me to sneak outta here and meet up at the first motel in the phone book. But that was why I was laid up in bed, wasn't it? Because Dad trusted me with a job and I'd gotten myself taken outta the game in the recon phase. Pathetic. It kinda makes a person unmotivated to move at all.

 Honestly, I can't even remember how I got my dumb ass back to the Impala. 23 years of following my Dad around and apparently I had learned nothing from him. Even my memory was shot to hell, fuzzy and useless.

 I drifted in and out as Octavia, who turned out not to be a nurse, but a third year intern, filled me in on my injuries. I lost count of how many stitches they'd done and how aggressively they'd had to treat my wounds with heavy iv antibiotics. She wasn't telling me anything I hadn't been through before, but I nodded along like I was concerned just the same.

 Which, to be honest, wasn't all that hard because the memory of how these injuries were given to me appeared in flashes of red and black.

 It wasn't too damning until she told me about my leg being broken. Which, hello! Cast! They'd been able to put a regular bone pin in my tibia, and she assured me that I'd be transitioning into a weight bearing boot in a couple of weeks.

 Then, there was my right arm. Ha! They had to reset my shoulder (but honestly the damn thing had been out of joint at least three times already. No big deal.) there was a single break in my fore arm, which alright, no big. But it was just my luck that my trigger finger and thumb had been heavily bruised and had tiny hairline fractures on both of them.

 Fuck.

 Where was I gonna go? What was I gonna do when they inevitably kicked my homeless ass out of here? I didn't have enough money for pain meds, much less heavy duty antibiotics! And I'd be damned before I called my Dad to tell him how epically I failed at the hunt. At being a human being in general.

 How was I gonna finish the hunt?

 And my trigger finger was fucked!

 Distantly I registered that stupid heart monitor beeping shrilly. God damnit, how could I have gotten myself into this mess?

 “Calm down, Mr. Winchester.” Octavia sounded infinitely patient but firm as she adjusted the drip rate on my iv bag. I instantly start to feel calmer and I couldn't drum up enough energy to be indignant, sure that I was being given a sedative. If anything, I'd embrace the big black nothing just to not have to feel.

 After a few moments I felt my heart rate slow, a cloud of comfort falling over me and making my problems a distant memory even though I knew they were right on the surface.

 “Well, sugar, you do have a visitor. Now that you're back to your handsome self, do you want me to bring her back?” Her tone of voice was warm as she regarded me with her hands on her hips. I so wanted to say something flirty, maybe flash her a grin like I'd done to win over many a witness. I just didn't have the energy.

 Sam had called it disgusting. I'd said flirting was my super power. Then Sam had said that ‘being a manwhore is not a super power.’

 Aside from that, I couldn't figure out what she meant by visitor. Was it possible that Dad or… or maybe even Sam? But he'd have to be damn psychic.

 She must've read the confusion all over my face. I could hear my father’s voice right in my ear, ‘Need to work on that poker face, son. You're gettin’ sloppy.’ Yeah, if he only knew.

 “I would make time in this busy schedule of yours. Another couple of hours in that car and you wouldn't have made it if it wasn't for Y/N.” She was somehow stern while maintaining a kind face that I was afraid to cross. At my nod of agreement, she smiled wide. “Good boy.”

 I vaguely remembered a girl climbing in Baby and helping me to sit up. Which had caused a whole hell of a lotta unnecessary pain if you asked me. But she had spoken in a soft voice and held my bloody hand. Maybe she'd even promised that I would live after I'd sat there and blubbered like an infant.

 Still, no matter how relaxed I was, I wasn't prepared for the amount of beautiful that breezed through that doorway behind Octavia. In fact, I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging open when Octavia spoke to me again in an amused tone.

 “You just use that call button if you need anything, okay?” And then she was backing out with a smile and leaving me alone with… God, it was juvenile to think, but how could she be so striking? I was all for appreciating natural beauty, but her features stood out as exotic. Like she belonged in the wild with her long, wavy hair flowing behind her.

 “Hey, Dean Winchester. You look a little better than you did a few days ago.” Her smile was warm and a little flirty as her lips formed the words and I struggled to comprehend them for a moment.

 “A few days?” I managed to get out through my scratchy throat.

 The smile fell as she bit her bottom lip when she nodded to confirm my fear. “It's actually been a couple of weeks. They were worried you wouldn't wake up again. That maybe you'd lost too much oxygen to your brain and caused some damage.”

 Ha, now Dad could officially call me brain damaged! If he ever managed to find out about this little accident. Which he wouldn't if I had any say in the matter. It's not like he checked in very often nowadays. He was still brooding over Sam leaving and being stuck with the stupid son.

 In fact, I wouldn’t put it past him to have sent me out on my own in hopes that I would get eaten. “Sorry to disappoint, Dad.” I muttered and felt the sardonic smile curl a side of my lip upward before I realized she was still here. “Sorry.” There was nothing left for me to do but close my eyes and feel my face flush in helpless embarrassment. Because that's just what I was. Helpless and in a medicated fog. I didn't even have the energy to pretend, not enough brain power to say ‘sorry, sweetheart’ with some kind of move to make her forget she ever saw me like this.

 “Well, anyway.” I heard her steps move closer and opened my eyes to watch her swap out some dying flowers for a fresh bundle of purple like she'd been doing this all week. Maybe she had? The renewed scent of lavender filling the room and blocking out some of the hospital antiseptic was familiar. “I'm glad you're awake and getting better.”

 She then sat down on the chair that was already perched close to the side of the bed with even more familiarity than the flowers. My mind immediately jumped to the Sammy-like voice that I'd heard before. “You were in here the first time I woke up.” I didn't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did, but I was horrified that this girl kept seeing me in a vulnerable position over and over.

 “Yes.” She didn't sound the least bit remorseful, maybe she was even a little defiant. “You were dreaming about being attacked. I felt so bad when they came in to sedate you, but you were gonna tear out your stitches.” She actually did look like she'd been worried and I couldn't figure out why she would be sitting at some strangers bedside wasting energy on worrying over them.

 “How are you allowed in here anyway? Isn't it family only or some crap like that?” I was clearly lashing out and defensive because I was uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean I could stop it.

 “Well, sorry to break it to you, but this place is smaller than Mayberry and I happen to have some connections.” She obviously meant that to be funny, but as the tone of my face didn't change, she straightened up in her seat. “I can go, if you want.” Why did she have to look so earnest and sweet, flashing puppy dog eyes so much like my little brothers? Only, they were the wrong shade of brown. “I actually used to volunteer here for a few summers. So, I kind of know everyone.” Her eyes brightened a little, “but that means I know where they stash the extra jello.”

 “Well, I guess you can stay then, sweetheart.” The meds were messing with me, but I did manage to flash her a grin. If I were a stronger person I would've turned her away, but just a little human contact couldn't hurt, right? My father already thought I was a failure, might as well go for broke.

 So, she stayed. Since I wasn't much for conversation, she mostly told me everything about herself. About college, what she was studying and summer break. (And didn't that hurt, thinking of Sam preferring to hang out with kids his own age instead of contacting me) About house sitting for her grandparents and what a ��lovely’ little town Agness was.

 Despite being on the knifes edge of explicit pain, I found her voice calming. I dozed off a few times, much to my embarrassment, but she didn't seem to mind. She only picked up where she left off.

 When my first meal since I couldn't even remember arrived in the form of cream of wheat and beef broth, she got up to leave. She patted the top of my head softly, a move I would've found irritating if it hadn't felt so good. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

 I even let her get close enough to kiss my cheek before she left and it was a pattern she continued to follow. I let her smooth down my hopeless hospital hair because it felt so damn good to be touched. I didn’t trust that I would see her again. But, I did.

 Every few days she would replace the flowers without question and smuggle in extra Jello in her bag. I got used to her coming and was horrified that I looked forward to listening to her banter on without asking me 20 (painful) questions about my life.

 The one day she didn't show up was actually a little devastating. The only thing that rectified the whole ordeal was that she'd texted Octavia to tell me she wouldn't be in. Octavia was the one to sneak in an extra pudding that night. I appreciated it, even though she brought the sugar free kind.

 On top of being denied what I'd started to affectionately call my ‘candy striper time’, I was bombarded by financial services. They were looking for identification and insurance. Which I had neither.

 The white haired, plump representative lady had left very disappointed. And I started to feel even more antsy. They were weaning me off of the iv pain killers onto pills with less strength. I could still feel the hum of muted pain through my body, but I couldn't bring myself to say a word.

 The lady returned with another clip board later that day and I felt my face flush red as my blood pressure sky rocketed. She must've seen how irritated (anxious) I was because she explained immediately.

 “Well, I had no idea you were a cousin of Y/N’s!” She paused for a moment, watching me expectantly for a reaction. When I gave her none, which what was I supposed to say? Yeah, being cousins is great! Did I even have real cousins?

 She handed over the clipboard and pen and pointed out what I needed to fill out and where I needed to sign. Ha, like my signature actually meant anything! When I was finished with that, she flipped the page over and instructed me to fill out the form beneath it.

 “The Y/L/N’s are very influential around here in the West Oregon and Washington areas. You're very lucky to be a part of that family, young man. All of your medical services will be covered. So, you make sure you keep those recheck appointments.”

 I gave her an attempt at a smile, but I'm sure it fell flat. The best thing about it was that she didn't stick around for long.

 After she left, I passed the rest of my time going between wondering how Sammy was doin and why Y/N had really picked me as a charity case. Which, come on, it wasn't like she picked me for my swollen face and sexual prowess. There had to be a catch.

 It was somewhere around day 21 when Y/N came wheeling in with a wheel chair and an expectant look on her face. The days had been slipping by in a blur of all manner of people poking and prodding. If it weren’t for the open blinds on the window, I wouldn’t have a clue.

 “I'm springing ya, Winchester.”

 I'd spent the entire day in fear of those words. Where was I supposed to go? The impala wasn't moving without a lot of tender loving care and she was parked right in the middle of town. I couldn't just stay there and wait it out until I could move again.

 “Already?” I managed, my voice was still scratched all to hell. It made me sound like I was going through freaking puberty again. Oh well, just add that to the list of shit happens. “I haven’t even called my ride yet.”

 She smiled brightly, like seriously, how were her teeth so white? “I’m your ride.”

 And how could I argue with that? ‘No, that’s okay, my Dad’ll show up. I promise?’ Or maybe, ‘Hey, my brother isn’t too far south from here. He could totally be here in a day…’

 So, against my better judgement and all of my instincts telling me that this was ridiculous… I let her lead the way for better or for worse.

Tagging: @mamaredd123, @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx , @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @tas898, @wheresthekillswitch, @glendagiggles, @mandymoiselle1970

If you would like to be on this list (or off), let me know! Also, I’d love if you took the time to let me know what you think so far. This story will have at least one more part, possibly two.

[17-imagines]

hii! if you have time could you do a scenario with dokyeom, you two have a fight but happy ending, if you can't that's okay! thank you

o mg im srry this is rlly short i have exams & grad stuff to do this week so this became a drabble ;; 

summary: seokmin eats ur cake and ur salty about it until the elevator stops working 

member: seokmin

genre: fluff (and if u dont like elevators skip!!) 

“Are you still mad at me?” Seokmin sighs, watching you exit the car and speed-walk past him, towards the apartment building elevators. He trails behind, hands in his pockets.

���No.”

You repeatedly press the ‘UP’ arrow, as if it’d make the elevator arrive faster, but it takes a full minute for it to reach the ground floor, and Seokmin stifles a laugh.

“You are,” he says, “I didn’t mean to eat it! It was like, 2 AM and I needed a snack!”

You step into the empty elevator and he follows, standing in the corner opposite of you. You press your floor button and shut your eyes, leaning your head against the cold elevator wall.

“You ate my cake.”

“Yeah, I did, and I’m sorry, okay?”

You open your eyes to look at him, and he leans against the railing, glancing you over. He smiles gently at you, and it slowly fades when the elevator comes to an abrupt stop on the wrong floor.

“Um…”

The lights go off, prompting the emergency lights to switch on, a dim white light flitting to life.

“Crap,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He presses the emergency call button, and it connects him to an operator who says they’re working on the electrical issue.

“I guess we’re stuck -” He pauses, because instead of standing you’re on the elevator floor, head in your knees. “Jagi? Hey, what’s wrong?”

He drops to the floor and touches your arm, and instead of tugging it away like you’d do when you were upset, you let him pull you into his arms.

“Seokmin-ah, I’m scared.”

In the faint light you can see his bright smile, the smile that keeps you from completely losing it. You lean into the crook of his neck and sigh, and he shivers at the warm breath on his neck.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, grabbing hold of your hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumb, “I’m here. We’re going to get out of here, and we’ll be safe.”

He kisses the side of your head, chuckling when you wiggle into him, whining.

“I’m still mad at you. Just a little less, though.”

“Okay, then… How about tomorrow we go to that bakery you like, and you can get a brand new cake?” He sees the hesitation on your face, so he follows up with, “My treat?”

“Deal,” you smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like that. It’s just… My cake,” you pout, “I was waiting all day to eat that!”

“You can still eat some,” he shrugs, “Here.”

He tilts your head up towards him, pressing a light kiss to your lips. He’s right though, there’s a faint taste of sweet strawberry on his lips, and when you pull away he chases after you, grinning.

“How is it?”

“I hate you, you know that?” You grumble, cheeks hot and lips swollen. You drop your head back into his chest and he chuckles, reaching up to rub your cheek affectionately.

“I love you too, jagiya.”

[avi-stella]

Hiya Im gonna attempt to make an interesting request lol so uh- please excuse my crappy English, srry will be long. I saw this post about a necklace with charms of the moon phases each person of a couple was born under and I was thinking/ what if there were couples who were destined to be together, as in one born under halfmoon and the other born on the other half (also works with crescent and others) also remember that texting chat w/ zen when he was drunk I think lol/ about fairies cont.

This is so late! I’m so sorry for the long delay! ;_; Your request was really interesting (I’m a sucker for fantasyyy), and I hope I was able to do justice with it. Thank you for requesting!

Everybody who was born on this earth possessed a strange mark on their left wrist: a phase of the moon. They say that there is somebody out there in the world who possesses the other half of your mark—your soulmate—and once the two of you touch, the marks will glow and change to that of a complete full moon.

Zen was confused; he already had the mark of a full moon on his wrist. Did that mean that he already found his soulmate? His other half, and that he just missed them? Or did it mean that he was his own soulmate? It wasn’t that farfetched and uncommon, and though the idea amused him, he couldn’t deny the aching need for love and attention from someone else. The actor put a lot of focus into his work, but even so, he still wanted to know what it was like to be his other half. To feel like a whole.

It was late at night when the young man finished up with rehearsals. He had ended up sticking around a bit, not yet ready to go back to his cold and lonely apartment. The actor walked slowly, burying his hands in his pockets while idly kicking a pebble down the street. The night was dimly lit with the light of the full moon hanging overhead in the sky. The same full moon as his mark. The same full moon as those who were complete, but Zen felt empty.

Breathing out a reluctant sigh of defeat, the young man continued on his way back home, trudging along as his heart ached with longing. The loneliness always seemed to become much more painful whenever there was a full moon. Sometimes, Zen would joke to himself that it was because he was a werewolf, but he knew himself better than anyone. He couldn’t lie to himself, no matter how hard he tried.

Zen decided to take a small detour from his usual route. The young man allowed his feet to take him wherever they wanted, not really paying attention to where he was going. Eventually, Zen found himself at a small creek. It was a beautiful sight, the greenery almost giving off an ethereal glow; the young man couldn’t believe his eyes.

There were…things, floating around and glowing. Zen almost thought of them as fireflies, but that wasn’t it. They were something else, but the actor couldn’t figure out what. They seemed almost…otherworldly.

Just then, the actor could hear light laughter sounding in his ears, the voice almost child-like and mischievous. Zen spun on his heel, but he was greeted with nothing but air. The laughter continued to surround him, carried by the wind. Usually, the actor would have found himself terrified with such a situation, but oddly enough, he felt…safe. He didn’t think that whoever or whatever these voices belonged to wouldn’t harm him.

Suddenly, there was a strong gust of wind that sent Zen’s hair flying all around him. His hands immediately shot out of his pocket to tame the long locks, and then everything stopped. A stillness passed over the creek, the wind gone and air eerily quiet. The laughing voices had hushed, and the atmosphere seemed to shift somehow.

Zen took a step back at the abrupt change, ready to turn on his heel to leave when several voices started to chime in the small breeze that started to pick up again. Whispered voices speaking amongst one another with a hopeful tinge.

“He possesses the full mark.”

“Perhaps he is the one.”

“And perhaps not. Why bring our princess further grief by giving her hope if it is nothing but false in the end?”

“The possibility still exists. She wanes with each cycle. It is worth a try.”

“…”

“Come.”

The voice abruptly directs itself towards Zen, catching him off guard. Following the voice’s command, all the glowing “things” form a straight line. It’s an entrancing sight, and Zen finds himself completely captivated. His eyelids slowly start to become heavy, and when the glowing line moves forward, Zen is tempted to take one step towards it.

He follows the trail without much thought, his mind in a blissful haze. It feels as though he would be promised something if he follows these things, and he can’t find the strength to resist. The voices continue to encourage him, urging him to keep moving.

“Our princess is waiting.”

“She will be so happy if you are the one.”

“Perhaps you will be happy too.”

“Maybe you will finally be complete.”

“Complete…” Zen repeats, finding the word to feel pleasant on his tongue.

The actor’s feet drags into the water; he isn’t too sure when that happened, but he doesn’t resist whatever hold he was currently in. The moon is reflected on the rippling surface of the water, and Zen can’t look away. He stares at it intently, finding the water’s surface to move closer and closer to his face before he is completely submerged.

Drowning, drowning. Zen is drowning, but it isn’t suffocating. His chest feels so light, his vision fading as he sinks further and further down in the deep blue.

When the young man’s eyes flutter open, he finds himself to be lying in the middle of a bed of flowers. He slowly sits up, pressing a hand to his head as he tries to remember what happened and how he got here…wherever “here” was, exactly. Crimson eyes glance around, trying to get an understanding of the surroundings.

It looked to be in the middle of a lush forest, the greenery vibrant and full of life. The open air felt so clean and light, and every time Zen breathed, it felt as though he was being cleansed. The young man stands up and sees a small trail. Seeing as he had no other idea on where to go, Zen starts to head down the trail.

Following the trail, the actor delves deeper into the forest. There was something about this place that made his heart leap in anticipation. It feels as though this was where Zen was supposed to be. Like this place was waiting for him. Like he was waiting for this place.

The actor is broken out of his thoughts when he hears the familiar voices from in the creek lingering in the air. They sound distant yet close, and so Zen decides to follow them. The volume increases with each step he takes, signalling that Zen is getting closer to the source. He comes across a curtain of vines, the voices coming from just behind it.

Not knowing why, Zen takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and excitement. He draws the vines back, and he’s greeted by the sight of a gorgeous young woman kneeling amongst the grass, head and arms resting on a tree stump. Delicate-looking wings protrude from her back, giving lazy flaps which sends leaves to dance with a gentle breeze.

Zen is mesmerized, unknowingly taking one step closer to get a better look and accidentally stepping on a twig. The snapping sound breaks you away from your thoughts, and your head shoots up, looking at the male before you with curiosity and wonder.

“Um, hello…” Zen awkwardly greets you with a nervous laugh. “I’m Zen.”

You stare at the newcomer warily before returning his introduction with your own name, standing up from your position and dusting yourself off as you give your wings one final flap. Zen nods, repeating your name in a whisper to get a feel for it, finding heat to rise to his cheeks when he does. “Are you…an angel?”

“Angel?” You repeat in surprise at the male’s impression of you before bursting into a fit of giggles. “No, not at all. I’m what you humans call a faerie.”

“A faerie…” Zen breathes out. “You’re beautiful.”

You’re taken aback by the blurted out compliment, and you bow your head, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. “How did you get here?” You try to change the subject.

“I’m not sure…” the actor responds. “I was at a creek, and I followed some voices, and…well, now I’m here.”

“Oh, I see…it must have been a full moon then,” you answer wistfully, tilting your head back to gaze at the sky. Sensing the young man’s confusion, you explain, “The line that separates the realms of the supernatural and humanity weakens with the full moon. My children must have guided you through one of the doors for you to enter this realm.”

“Children? Door…?”

You giggle at the male’s perplexed expression. “Those voices you heard. They most probably belonged to my children—the ones who serve me. They must have guided you here for a reason. Tell me, Zen, what is your reason for being here?”

Zen’s heart skips a beat when you say his name, and he scrambles to answer, “I-I’m not too sure, exactly. I just…felt…‘lonely’, I guess…?”

“Lonely… I see,” you respond idly, staring down at your hands that seem to flicker in transparency. “I can understand that. I’m lonely too…waiting.” Your eyes stare faraway, your fingers gingerly rubbing your inner wrist.

“What do you mean…?”

A sad smile crawls onto your lips. You don’t know why you continue talking, but you do. “I’m waiting. For my 'other half’.”

Zen seems to freeze at your words. Taking his silence as your cue to continue, you try to explain to the best of your abilities, wondering just how much information a mortal like him can hold. “Long ago, there was a faerie who was blessed by the moon spirit. She fell in love with one of the first humans to ever exist, but at some point, they were separated. They promised to find each other again—their other half.”

“The moon marking…” Zen realizes. His eyes widen with surprise, not having known that such a thing dated back so long ago and had such a magical root to it.

“Is it the same for you humans?” You ask, not having expected a mortal to be aware of the tradition amongst your kin.

The young man nods, stretching out his hand to show you his mark of the full moon on his inner wrist. “They say once you touch your soulmate who possesses the other half of your mark, it will glow with the mark changing to that of a full moon, but as you can see with mine… Well, maybe I just don’t have one.”

“I’m sure they exist somewhere. You just haven’t found them yet,” you attempt to cheer up the male, your heart clenching at his defeated expression. “…I should go. There are things I must tend to.”

Not quite understanding the strange feelings in your chest, you swiftly turn on your heel to leave, almost afraid. In your haste, you trip over your own feet. You brace yourself for the impact, but it never comes. You feel a warm hand clasp around your wrist, effectively stopping your fall. A faint glow shines from both your inner wrist and Zen’s, surprising the both of you.

You turn to look at Zen, your eyes wide with wonder. Slowly, the actor lets go, and you both glance down towards your marks. For Zen, it’s still the same mark of a full moon, but it seems different somehow. He can’t quite explain it, but there is one thing he’s certain of: he’s finally found you.

[• Commissions •]Masterlists: Imagines | Oneshots | MysMe Oneshots | Multi-part/Series | NSFW Oneshots | Browse by Tags

[h-eckers]

Confession

A/N: I strayed away from the request a bit just to follow a story line that I didn’t really plan, tbh (it just happened, I’m srry). I also switched up my style majorly for this just as an exercise, it’s in 3rd person and all but lemme know what you think and whether this is better, worse, or somewhere in between.

Request:  could you write about Jughead getting a call that the reader just got shitfaced at a party so he has to come get her and take care of her 

Word Count: 3,790 (whoops)

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing (lyk twice)

Confession. A single word somehow holding a million unspoken admissions. Everyone has something they want to confess, no matter if it be small and insignificant, or whether it be something so monumental and with such a great impact is shakes the world as you know it. No one is free of secrets, some they will never tell, and some they don’t want to keep.  Depending on who you were, it was either fortunate or dangerously unfortunate that in Riverdale, secrets weren’t secrets for long.

It was 2:13am, moments were passing by in seconds as he became absorbed in the latest information, the new instalment of his murder mystery. It was rendered all the more important now he had been called in as a suspect, and subsequently been lied for. It wasn’t just his neck on the line if this killer slipped by, Fred and Archie we’re in danger too, and that was unacceptable to him. So he sat in the dark, having commandeered Archie’s bed, typing out the words running through his mind at a speed almost faster than light, with laser focus.

Focus that was apparently dependant on lack of distraction, it shattered the moment his phone started buzzing against the bedside table, vibrating closer to the edge. He ignored it, let it ring out… The first time.

And the second.

And the third. 

On the first called, when the vibration started he stared at the three words he’d forced out since the first call had broken his concentration and growled. He reached over and snatched his mobile from the table top, pushing his laptop to the side.

4 missed calls  12 text messages  2 voicemails  All from Archie.

Jughead sighed in frustration, an evening spent crafting a novel wasn’t what his friends considered thrilling on a Saturday and so they’d all attended a party at Reggie’s house. As if the very term ‘party’ wasn’t enough of a turn off, the fact that it was at the home of his tormentor had been the final nail in the coffin for Jughead to decide he was, definitively, not going- much to the disdain of his friends.

Not that his concrete decision had deterred his friends from attempting to convince him into attendance, a plight that had continue even tonight, on the night of the party. They’d even pestered him a few hours into the parties commencement, but that had all stopped well before 11 and had only now re-emerged, with all 12 messages being some misspelled variation of “come to the party”. He assumed some high level of alcohol consumption had contributed to the sudden eagerness of his friend to force him out of the house. Still, with his concentration all but non-existent now, he played the first voice mail. 

“JUGGIEJUGGIEJUGGIE!!!” The deafening volume of the voice made him flinch, but what struck him most was that it wasn’t the voice of his childhood playmate Archie, so much as it was the drunken shrieking of someone he had never expected, “IT’S, UH, Y/N. YOU KNOW Y/N! I STOLE ARCHIEKIN’S PHONE BECAUSE HE WAS TRYING TO TEXT BETTY AND I SAID ‘NO, NO, NO’ BECAUSE I KNOW THAT’S A BAD IDEA BECAUSE I KNOW SHE USED TO BE IN LOOOOOVE WITH HIM!” she sung loudly into the receiver, her voice bubbling with intoxication. “SO HERE I AM, ON HIS PHONE, TALKING TO YOU MISTER JONES BECAUSE I WANTED TO AND YOUR NUMBER WAS FIRST!  BUT ANYWAY I WANTED TO TELL YOU THA-” The line went silent as the message timed out. Jughead sat in complete and unadulterated confusion as he tried to figure it out. Y/N hated him, as far as he could tell, and even a person as unobservant as Archie had pointed it out before. As far as the boy could remember, he’d done nothing to deserve her distaste but every interaction he’d had with her, however short, had ended in her rudeness and him walking away dumbfounded. So, why on earth had she called him, and what could she possibly have to tell him? And most importantly, when did she start calling him ‘Juggie’?

Both questions had him immediately playing the second messages for answers, “Juggie, can you please answer the phone.” Her voice had changed, the calls were two minutes apart and the tone of her voice had jumped from an elevated carelessness to something quiet and almost fearful. What prompted even further questioning was the fact that the message ended there, simple and enigmatic as this girl was mounting to be, when an hour ago he would believe that she simply hated him.

One thing was sure, no matter how she felt about him or how he felt about her, after the final message, he needed to make sure she was at least okay. He redialled the number, standing to pace the small room as he waited for an answer, and soon enough he received one. “JUG!” Archie’s voice was slurred and abrupt, again causing the raven haired boy to flinch away from his phone, “What’s up?!”

“Y/N called me from your phone.” He explained, slowing his words ever so slightly to be clear enough for his friend to understand through his inebriation, “She sounded upset, is she okay?”

“Y/N called you?” Archie snickered slightly, “That’s so weird because I was sure that she just hated you, like really really loathed you, like absolutely-”

“Yeah, I get it, Arch.” Jughead cut him off, sounding slightly frustrated by the red head.

“Right, well, she’s shitfaced, basically and now she’s dancing on a table singing Beyoncé, oh… Oh she took her shirt off.” He replied, slurring every word over a single syllable, “Can you come get her? I think she’s ready to go home.” He giggled quietly, he didn’t wait for a response from Jughead, and the line went dead as soon as he’d finished the question. 

“I guess so.” Jughead sighed heavily, staring at himself in the darkened screen of his phone, he was in his pyjamas, his hair was a mess from his fingers combing through it every five seconds to keep it from falling into his face, and he decided that he wouldn’t change however, she’d probably be too drunk to care anyway.

So at 2:45am Jughead Jones staggered downstairs and grabbed the keys to Fred’s truck from the counter, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in his back. It was freezing, it had been bleak weather at best for weeks and this night was no different, the cold mist that fell before rain stuck to his skin as soon as he walked outside and in the few steps it took to get to the truck he was already chilled to his bones. He started the engine and sat in the car for a while, breathing deeply as the heater kicked in and started to warm him, by the time he pulled out of the driveway he’d warmed up again but the tiredness that had been creeping up on him for hours was setting in with the warmth. 

The drive between Archie’s house and Reggie’s was surprisingly lengthy, or perhaps it was the late hour and the sleepy haze that was setting in on the writer, either way he arrived eventually and stopped outside. He could hear the music shaking the floor boards of the house, the sound flowing from what seemed to be an over excessive amount of speakers. There were a few drunken teenagers milling around on the front lawn, smoking, or talking, or emptying their stomachs after one to many shots.

Did he want to walk into the house right now? Definitely not.

Was he going to? Unfortunately yes.

And why? All for the sake of a girl he didn’t know and who didn’t like him.

As he approached, the music only get louder and louder, the smell of alcohol became near overpowering, and the heat of too many bodies crammed into one space washed over him as he opened the door to the crowded living room. Almost every person from the school that he could remember seeing was jammed into that space, dancing against each other, it might have looked fun if it didn’t look so depraved. He tried to locate Y/N before entering the crowd and when he did he couldn’t decide whether it was a good or bad thing, on one had she was easy to spot and she wasn’t dancing against anyone he’d have to pull her away from, on the other hand, she was dancing on a table in a shirt jersey that wasn’t hers. Great.

Weaving through the familiar bodies, he got halfway to her and got blocked by a couple who couldn’t seem to breathe without their lips attached, he stood idle in the sea of people, his eyes glued to her swaying figure so he didn’t lose her in the crowd. Or at least that was part of the reason. If he were to be entirely truthful (which he would admit he never really was), he would admit that he’d be observing her for a while now, if you asked him why he’d give the same reason he gave for observing anyone; Jason blossom, but that wouldn’t explain the way he’d always gravitated towards her before he ever disappeared. How unfortunate that the girl that had interested him for so long, also happened to be someone who despised him. Her treatment of him didn’t enter his mind now, however, as he watched her swing her hips to the beat of an unknown song that was playing too loud, her hair was wild and so were her eyes as she swayed and sang to the ceiling like the gods were listening. For anyone else he’d be certain they weren’t listening, but for her, they might.

He was removed from his little trance when someone pushed passed him, almost knocking him into several other people who honestly wouldn’t have cared, but it distracted him enough to allow him to keep pushing through people to get the edge of the table where she was dancing, “Y/N!” He was sure his voice was being drowned out by the music, he reached out and grabbed her hand gently as it moved by him, and she looked down and smiled so bright the room must have gotten three times brighter.

“Juggie!” She called over the music, getting down off the table rather ungracefully, stumbling as soon as her feet his the ground, her only stability coming from the boy in front of her, his arms around her waist to keep her upright, “You’re stronger than you look.” She complimented, tapping the end of his nose softly with one finger as he’d already started heading towards the door, his hand finding hers to pull her towards the exit.

There wasn’t a response from him, all his focus was on getting himself and her out of there uninjured and moderately unscathed, she seemed to be walking okay behind him but as soon as they were outside he turned to her, concerned eyes tracing every feature of her to make sure she was okay. “Are you alright?” He asked, lifting her arms to check she was okay.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was quiet and gentle now, away from the music and the people, he smiled involuntarily. Jughead had never heard her voice quite like that, he liked it on her.

“Come on, let’s go.” He mumbled, taking her hand again and leading her away towards Fred’s truck.

“Car theft,” she said simply, smirking a little as she climbed into the vehicle and snuggled comfortably into the seat, Jughead jumped in the other side, looking over at her drunk and tired eyes, “and all for me? What a gentleman you are.” She whispered, his breath caught slightly in his throat and his heart did something odd in his chest as he tried to respond. He didn’t. He simply started the car and pulled out on to the empty road.

“Where do you live?” He asked, shifting nervously in his seat.

“The next street over from Archie’s,” She responded, distant, in her own world, or, in other words, completely drunk, “all the way at the end of the street, in the white house with the big dark roof and the little red door.” She sung to herself, her attention focused out the window.

“Are you feeling alrig-“ He began, but she cut him off, speaking again in her distant gentle voice that he was beginning to really like.

“Everything goes so fast,” She hummed, tracing her name in the fog on the window, “nothing ever slows down to let you catch up, and you end up running so fast breathing feels like sandpaper in your lungs because you just want to catch up and you cant. So, you stop, and you try to breathe and you get swept away into something you never wanted, but the currents so strong you can’t fight it, even if it means letting go of something important.”

After her voice trailed off, silence settled in around them quickly, she kept staring at the road disappearing behind them quicker every moment, and he tried to adjust to her words. It was becoming increasingly difficult to see her as the girl who hated him, and easier to fall into how he’d always seen her; beautiful, hopeless, and endlessly fascinating. “I don’t hate you.” Her voice broke the silence and he looked over at her momentarily, this time she was looking back, a gentle smile on her face.

“You sure?” He chuckled, looking back at the road, “You really seem to, and I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation before this where you weren’t rude to me.”

“It’s because I like you.” She responded, genuinely.

“You have a weird way of showing it.” He pointed out, scoffing slightly. She only nodded in response, because it was true.

“That’s because I also hate you.” She mumbled, shuffling down in her seat.

“So we’re being confusing tonight, I see.”

“It’s the alcohol,” she argued, “I’m usually very concise, and generally secretive. If it weren’t for that last drink, I doubt I’d even have called you.”

“So, you like me but you hate me?” He inquired, glancing again to her with a raised eyebrow and a gentle smile, they spoke in hushed voices, as though being too loud would split the very earth in front of them.

“I do,” She confirmed, hiccupping softly, “I’ve had a crush on you since the second grade and it never went away, but you intimidate me.”

“Well, I’m an investigative writer,” he sighed again, his shoulders falling as he exhaled, “intimidating is in bold print at the top of the job description.”

“You mean your little blue and gold thing?” She giggled, “No, not that, I think that’s kinda sexy, you’re so demanding.” Jughead almost choked on the air he was breathing right there, but he managed to at least appear unaffected, “No, I meant just you, actually you, like your novel and all the things you are. I’m a bitch to you because if you think I hate you then you’ll leave me to wallow in my self-pity because I’m not good enough for you.”

You intimidate me because you’re smart, and you’re strong, and you’re so fucking gorgeous and I just- I forget how to function around you unless I’m off my face drunk apparently. I can promise I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I’d remember it in the morning. I won’t though, so it’s okay.“

He couldn’t speak, the words weren’t forming in his head the way they we’re meant to, the right sentence would appear and then vanish the moment he opened his mouth to utter it. “God, is this how you feel all the time.” He finally gushed, the words weren’t at all what he wanted to say but they we’re something, “Like stringing words into sentences is basically impossible? I’m a writer and I can’t find the words, I do this to you?”

“Worse.” She stated, simple and absolutely shattering, he couldn’t imagine being rendered this way by a person at all ten minutes ago but he sat bewildered and incompetent right now, wondering how she suffered this every single day. “I’m a photographer, and the best way I can describe it is that I’m pressing the button but the shutter won’t click and when it finally does the pictures blurry. I can hear the words in my head, but I can’t say them, something rude or defensive falls out instead. It sucks.”

It astounded him to find out that this woman beside him, spoke so eloquently and somehow only alcohol could calm her nerves enough for him to see that. Even now he could see the anxious lines forming on her face as the silence stretched between them, the doubt crept up on her even now and he was grasping for something to say yet again. It was a feeling he hated, words came so simply and lyrically to him that fighting for what to say just felt unnatural, and he was teetering the edge of saying what he wanted to, and saying what was appropriate. “I write about you sometimes.” He blurted out on an exhale, almost flinching at the sound of his own voice.

“You write about everyone,” she hummed, “enigmatic bitch is basically a stock character in murder mysteries. I’m just filling the character profile.”

“No, completely separate from that.” He admitted, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles drained of colour, this is one confession he’d never planned to come to light, but at least she wouldn’t remember it in the morning, “Early last year, before Jason, I looked at you and I realised I had seen you almost every single day of my life since I was five years old and somehow I knew nothing about you. So I tried to talk to you, but you weren’t exactly welcoming that idea.” He chuckled a little and she smiled at him. 

“So?” She prompted him to continue, and he did.

“So, I started writing about you, I started digging, investigating. I wanted to know who you we’re and I dug deeper and deeper.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing,” he sounded defeated even now, “everything down to your school records are clean. You were the first thing I couldn’t figure out, but the weird part was I didn’t mind, because it meant I could keep looking.” He paused, the blushing girl beside him was unable to still her heart that was almost pounding out of her chest, “Then everything happened with Jason and I got interested and it fell to the side, but I go back to you whenever I get stuck.”

“What will you do now?” She asked softly, “Now that I’ve told you, I’m not a mystery anymore. Where will you go when you get stuck?”

By the time she’d finished speaking they’d pulled up outside her house, the one with the red door exactly as she’d described and the conversation ended, ended without answer, not necessarily because either of them wanted it to end but simply because she was home, and he had no idea how to answer that question. Jughead pulled himself out of the car and walked around to her door, opening it for her and helping her out, they wandered up the path slowly, his arm around her waist to steady her as she staggered slightly. “Are your parents’ home?” he asked quietly, brushing her hair back out of her face as she nodded.

“Yup, right upstairs, probably dreaming of a less dysfunctional marriage.” She shrugged and he chuckled a little.

“You good to get to your room? Seems like you’ve sobered up a bit.” He added and she giggled.

“I am good to get to my room and I’m talking to you right now so, no, I’m not sober at all.” She deducted quickly, nodding once.

“Maybe you’re just getting comfortable around me.” He suggested and she shook her head.

“No, I’m not gonna remember this at all in the morning, I am drunk as a skunk and I can promise you that, Mister Jones.” She ran her hands through her dishevelled hair in an attempt to tame it.

“Do you promise?” his voice got low for a moment and he stepped forward, she didn’t move, let him get closer to her.

“I swear.” She nodded once.

“Good.” He whispered, leaning in and joining their lips softly. Her reaction was instant, her hands moved to the side of his neck, thumbs running softly along his jawline as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. It felt like the world stopped existing, just for a second, his entire world became her and hers became him and it was perfect. It felt perfect and it ended too quickly, she pulled away from him and smiled as she stepped back, leaning against her door.

“I wish I didn’t have to forget this.” She hummed, smiling pleasantly. His brow furrowed in a slight frustration and something close to concern. She unlocked the door after fumbling with the key for a moment and opened it slowly and as quietly as possible.

“I could always remind you.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as she sighed and wandered into the house a few steps, leaning against the door she was still holding.

“As much as I would love that, I would never believe you.” She mumbled, a humourless smirk crossing her face, “Thank you for coming to get me, and for the talk, and the kiss. I’ll miss you.” She hummed, blowing him a kiss and shutting the door so she could stagger up the stairs. He walked away from her house speechless again and smiling to himself.

Somehow this night had answered so many of his questions and yet it had raised a million new ones, his heart wouldn’t beat normally even if he tried to force it and all over a girl who wouldn’t even remember in the morning. As he got back into the truck, he sighed heavily and relaxed into the seat and just sat for a moment, thinking.

Secrets can be a dangerous thing, and confessions even more so. There are somethings that need to be said but can’t be, and there are other things that shouldn’t be revealed that are forced into the light. Now, Jughead Jones was plagued by another secret he’d never intended to have; if there was one thing in the world that he wanted, he wanted her to remember.

The next morning Y/N would awake to a new secret of her own; she did.