#the amount of coat flying around and the floor being the same colour makes this so hard to read as a pic LOL

[akkivee]

REI NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[maybcnksgf]

like i do

a/n welcome to my first liam dunbar fic :)

pairing: liam dunbar x reader

warnings: swearing, season 6 spoilers, the fight scene in 6x14, blood, mentions of death.

word count: 2.2k

check out my masterlist!

liam dunbar. the school’s ‘monster’.

he looked around the hallway frantically, listening carefully to make sure the rumours spreading through the school weren’t too apparent. he was so focused that he jumped when you placed your had comfortingly on his shoulder. 

“just remember what we talked about. they don’t know you like i do,” you whispered against his ear, smiling softly when he turned around to face you with a nervous expression painted across his features. 

mason approached the two of you with a relieved sigh. “okay,” he breathed out, facing his best friend with a reassuring nod, “not bad so far. this might be easier than we thought.”

“maybe,” he nodded in reluctant agreement, clearly not convinced. as the three of you began to walk, you looped your fingers through liam’s. 

well, that was short lived.

the minute you turned the corner, everyone turned to look at him. glares and dirty looks were thrown towards the boy in between you and mason, and you saw his shoulders slump in defeat in your peripheral vision. 

the looks he could handle. not that he was happy about them, because he was far from it. they made him feel like a freak, like a monster. but, they were manageable. it was only when you reached his locker that the whispers started. whispers that he could hear all too well. 

liam tensed up beside you, and though you couldn’t hear the voices like he could, you could only assume the nasty words rolling off of their tongues. he turned to the source of voices, facing them with a hurt expression before frantically looking around as the sound of them built up. 

“hey,” you spoke softly, snapping him out of his panic, “just block them out. don’t listen to them.”

“they know...” he whispered, voice strained in worry. 

“they’re just rumours,” mason reassured, trying to calm down the anxious boy in front of him, “they don’t know anything.”

corey was then by mason’s side in an instant, bearing bad news. “they know everything.” 

you shot him a pointed look, squeezing liam’s hand tightly in your own to calm him down before the anxiety began to bubble up again. 

“two sophomores on the lacrosse team were there last night,” corey continued, referring to liam’s shift in front of the public the night before. 

mason lightly shoved his boyfriend with his elbow as a warning, and scrambled with his words. “yeah, but it was late! it was pitch black out, and there was fog on the road-”

“it was a clear night. full moon, and a well-lit intersection,” corey interrupted, once again ruining the attempts to console him. 

liam inhaled a sharp breath. “i have to get out of here.”

“no. if you leave, these rumours never stop. you need to convince them that you’re a regular kid, that you’re not the monster they think you are.” your words were hushed, bringing your other hand up to rub liam’s shoulder in a comforting manner. 

“i’m not a regular kid,” he countered, voice shaky and cracking. 

“remember what scott said?” mason added, “be clark kent!” 

“clark kent turns into a guy with a red and blue outfit and a cape. i turn into a monster with claws and fangs!”

“you’re not a monster,” you replied calmly. 

“just get through the day without shifting,” corey suggested, and liam nodded with a deep breath. he lifted an arm to drape it around your shoulders while yours found home around his waist. 

“okay. get through the day without shifting. easy enough, right?”

-

wrong. 

you watched helplessly as liam was thrown through the doorway of your biology classroom and hit the floor with a thud. a group of kids were gathered around, eager to watch a fight break out and potentially see the other side to liam dunbar. 

you struggled against the grip of an older boy, huge hands latching onto your upper arms and keeping you from running to your boyfriend. it seemed as though mason was in the same predicament, judging by his protesting shout. 

liam’s eyes flashed yellow for a moment, as his heavy breathing briefly sounded like a growl. 

“get up,” nolan demanded, “get up!”

he managed to push himself up to a kneeling position before gabe’s foot made harsh contact with his lower back, kicking him straight back to the ground.

“gabe, you sick little bitch! leave him alone!” you shouted through the crowd’s commotion, and the boy on the ground struggled to contain his shift. “your eyes, liam. c’mon, you can do this,” you whispered, voice so hushed you were sure that nobody could hear apart from him. 

this seemed to calm him down momentarily before gabe tugged him back to his feet by his shoulders. “what are you trying to hide, liam? your eyes?” he taunted, shoving his back into the chalkboard with a sickening crunch. “open your eyes.”

the room burst out into reactions and a cruel grin painted itself across gabe’s face. when liam slowly let his eyelids rise, you couldn’t help but let the corners of your lips turn up in a proud smile as the normal baby blue colour of his eyes shined through. 

the boys, however, were clearly not too happy with this, because nolan immediately reeled his fist back and let it smash straight into liam’s nose. 

your face fell as you thrashed around in the student‘s grip, furious grunts leaving your throat. 

your boyfriend’s head fell back against the chalkboard with a pained breath, hand lifting up to wipe the crimson liquid from his nose. 

“hey! let him go!” mason screamed, struggling against the crowd. 

“leave him alone, you sick freaks!” you added. 

“are you just going to let us do this to you?!” nolan continued, ignoring your protests as gabe landed another punch to liam’s face, this time hitting both his cheekbone and his nose. he dropped to the ground from the impact with a deep, painful groan. 

nolan grabbed the boy by his face and dragged him back up to look at him. 

liam’s nose was covered in blood, hair falling messily across his forehead as he screwed his eyes shut. 

“you know you can take us. all you have to do is change,” nolan spoke lowly, his grip on liam’s head strong as he shook it with every word. “does your little girlfriend know that you’re a freak? that you’re a monster?”

you felt the rage inside of your chest building every second. “nolan, you bastard! i’m going to kill you-!”

liam choked back a cough, blood rising from his throat and coating his teeth as he opened his mouth to speak his first words while being in their hands. “the sun...” he sputtered out. 

“what?” nolan looked taken aback, furrowing his eyebrows at the ‘freak’ in front of him. 

“the sun,” liam repeated, peeling his eyes open and staring back at nolan threateningly. “the moon, the truth...”

the mantra seemed to gain him a slight amount of control. “come on, li. you can do this,” you whispered, the sound evident in his ears and his ears only. 

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“who cares?” gabe responded nonchalantly, shoving nolan out of the way and sending another violent punch to liam’s face. 

this sent him flying to the ground, coughing and shaking in both pain and anger. his eyes glowed yellow for a split second before his head hung low and a guttural growl of agony burnt through his throat.  

that was the moment you decided, you wanted to break every single bone in both gabe and nolan’s bodies.

“can’t you see how badly you’re hurting him?! he’s in agony! let him go!” you screamed, the student holding you seeming unfazed to the thrashing around. 

“you’re fighting it,” nolan stated, ignoring you completely. the pained grunts and groans tearing through liam’s throat left the boys unaffected, and your eyes welled up in fury at the sight of your boyfriend withstanding such a beating. “but you can’t hold back forever!”

at that moment, your biology teacher, ms finch, pushed her way through the crowd, and all eyes turned to her as gabe and nolan halted their movements.

 “do something!” mason shouted. she took one look at liam’s quivering form on his knees, covered in his own blood and shaking from the pain, and looked away. 

“sometimes it’s best to let them work things out on their own,” she spoke, raising her hands in mock defeat. 

liam’s head snapped up to her, eyes filled with disbelief before sending you a pleading glance. 

“what is wrong with you?! you’re a teacher! he’s being beaten to a pulp and you’re just going to walk away?!” you screamed at her, gesturing to liam on the ground with a cock of your head. 

ms finch looked at you for a split second before making her way out of the classroom. “you bitch!” you shouted after her. she froze in her place for a single moment, and you almost believed she would turn around and stop the fight, but she continued on her way without a second glance. 

the moment she left, gabe grabbed liam by the hair, forcing his head upwards. his breathing was shallow, loud and forceful and agonising as gabe sent his knee flying into liam’s chin. 

he fell onto his back and coughed loudly, blood spluttering out of his mouth like a fountain as he choked on it, though the boys didn’t stop there. they slammed their feet down against his ribs, taunting him and laughing while doing so, allowing his bones to break under their weight. you let out a broken and angry sob at the sight, watching as gabe grabbed liam by his shirt and pulled his head up. 

liam’s face was completely covered in his own blood, tears were staining his eyelashes as he tried his hardest not to fight back. 

something clicked within you at that moment. you sent your foot flying back into your holder’s crotch, and as you felt him release you and double over in pain, you bolted into the centre of the fight. 

gabe’s fist was reeled back, about to land another punch to your boyfriend’s face before you grabbed his arm, effectively spinning him around. he still sent the punch, but this time, it was at you. 

you let his fist connect with your jaw, and felt the impact of another hit as his second punch landed on your nose with a crunch. 

“y/n!” liam croaked out, too weak to jump to your rescue. 

he clearly didn’t need to, however, because suddenly the coach was there, shoving people out of the way with corey right behind him. 

“what the hell is going on?!” he screamed, grabbing gabe and nolan by the shirts and shoving them towards the door. “back off! hey, get to the principles office now!”

your face throbbed in pain as you wiped the blood away from your nose with your sleeve, but you ignored it as you fell to your knees by liam’s form. his body heaved, and his hands gripped onto his (very clearly broken) ribs. 

“what the hell is this? get out, all of you! i can’t stand to look at your faces!” the coach boomed, clearing out the crowd. 

all that was background noise to you as you combed liam’s hair away from the fresh blood on his face with your fingers. he was still grunting in pain when the coach kneeled by his other side, a look of disbelief and sorrow evident in his eyes, which was a rare look for the man. 

mason and corey softly grabbed liam by the arms and hauled him up to a standing position, coughs tearing through his throat. 

you followed suit, lightly gripping his shoulders to help him stand. “oh my goodness, liam,” you muttered quietly, placing a hand on the back of his head as he caught his breath. 

“i can’t believe you did that...” mason sighed, holding onto his back to steady him. 

“clark kent, right?” liam breathed out, forcing a slight nod as a smile ghosted your lips. 

“yeah, clark kent,” mason agreed. 

liam’s head fell against your shoulder in exhaustion, and your hand laced itself into his hair as you silently cried with him in your arms. 

-

“feeling any better?” you asked him quietly, sitting down next to him on your bed. he had an ice pack against his cheekbone and he was clutching his ribs protectively. he was mostly healed by now, but his body still hurt like hell. liam nodded. 

“yeah. still hurts, though.”

you wrapped an arm around him, carefully avoiding his aching bones, and he let out a deep sigh before letting his head fall against your shoulder.

”i know you think you deserved that, but you didn’t. brett and lori’s murder wasn’t your fault.”

he shrugged, clenching his jaw at the mention of their death and shutting his eyes when you let your hand run through his hair comfortingly. a few moments of comfortable silence passed by before he spoke up again.

“you didn’t have to do that, you know. get punched for me,” he said softly.

you chuckled at that, causing him to look at you quizzically. 

“you literally got beaten to a pulp and you’re worried about the two punches i got to the face?”

liam breathed out a slight laugh. “obviously. you can’t heal like i can.”

continuing playing with his hair, you grinned at him. “i’d take a punch to the face for you any day.”

[hellsenthero]

Sweet Cherry Gloss

Written by: hellsenthero

Bucky X FemReader

He could still taste Y/N’s sweet cherry gloss. Aka - It’s important to cherish the little moments in life, because you never know when it will all come to a crashing end. 

Warnings/themes: Fluff, ANGST, violence, death. (2K Words.)

**********

Being with Bucky wasn’t easy by a long shot, but damn it if it wasn’t the best thing Y/N has ever experienced. 

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N mumbled out. She lay propped up with her back to Bucky’s chest in bed, his metal hand wrapped around her waist delicately while his other played with her hair. Her eyes remained closed as she bathed in Bucky’s soft caresses. 

“I know, I don’t either. But if we don’t go to the meeting Tony will kill us.” 

“Fine then,” Y/N turned around in her lover’s arms, her eyes opening up to peer at Bucky’s baby blues, “but I want a treat for it after.” Bucky let out a loud laugh, his hands squeezing her just a touch tighter as he lowered his head to lightly nip at her lips. 

“You’re insatiable, but I can’t exactly say no to this pretty little face now, can I?” Y/N shook her head, her lips turned up into a playful smile. 

“Nope, you can’t.” She answered with a laugh. Bucky pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s lips, the taste of her sweet cherry gloss coating his mouth. 

“Come on, let’s go to the meeting. Then I got some plans for us afterwards.” Hoping off of the bed Bucky left their room, making his way towards the meeting room with Y/N right behind him. 

“What plans?” She asked as she came up to his side. Bucky turned his head, a playful smirk gracing his face. 

“I’m not telling you, it’s a surprise.” Y/N pouted her lips, her eyes widening in an attempt  to get Bucky to spill his secrets at her puppy dog look. Bucky laughed, his head shaking at her as they finally reached the glass door to the meeting room. 

“That look won’t work this time, Y/N. My lips are sealed.” Y/N narrowed her eyes as her boyfriend opened up the door for her. 

“I’ll get the information from you after Barnes, I have my ways.” She said with a wink. 

“Finally, everyone’s here.” Tony said as the couple walked into the room. 

“What’s this about, Tony?” Nat called out from where she sat, legs crossed lazily as she picked at her nails.

“We got a mission.” Tony answers back coolly. Grumbles and groans sound through the room, everyone disappointed that their day off is cut short. “Listen,” Tony began, waving a hand at the wide screen behind him, a map popping up on it, “we got word that there’s a Hydra base nearby, we believe there’s civilians inside. We need to get in, get them out. There shouldn’t be too many Hydra operatives inside from what we can tell but Fury still wants most of the team on for this mission. Any questions?” Silence answered back at Tony’s words and he gave a nod. “Good. Suit up, we leave in five.” A groan slipped past Bucky’s lips, the sound catching Y/N’s attention as they walked back out of the meeting to go suit up. 

“You upset about your surprise plans?” She asked. Bucky shrugged his shoulders at her. 

“A little, but I think it should still be alright, it’s still early.” Y/N gave a wide, beaming smile at him. 

“I can’t want to see, Buck.”

Everyone remained seated on the quinjet, feet tapping against the floor quietly, hands fisting at their sides as they mentally prepared for the mission. Given Bucky’s past with Hydra, any missions evolving them were always stressful for Bucky and his girlfriend. 

“I’ll stay close.” Y/N said softly as she leaned over to speak into Bucky’s ear. She knew he didn’t like going into any of their bases, that these missions brought up horrible memories for him. She also knew he stressed about her when they weren’t paired up for missions together, the same way she stressed about him. 

“Good.” He answers back coolly. His tone a touch harsher, his posture stiff, his metal hand flexing at his side. It was all a way for him to prepare mentally for the mission ahead. As though he were putting on a suit of armor. 

“We’re here.” Tony called out from the front of the jet. 

“Right,” Steve speaks up as he stands from his seat, everyone following after him, “Tony and Sam, I want you in the sky. Look out for any trouble and take out who you can. Wanda and Clint, you guys take the South entrance of the base. Y/N and Bucky take North. Nat and I will cover the rest. Bruce-” 

“Stay on the jet unless you need the big guy,” he says for Steve. Steve nods his head before walking out of the jet just as it touches down. 

Y/N steps out onto green grass, Bucky at her side as they make their way over to the North side of the base. A great, wide metal door greeting them, no guards to be found. 

“I don’t like this, it’s too quiet.” Y/N says to Bucky. The brunette nods his head, the hand holding his gun gripping it just a touch tighter. 

“It’s pretty quiet on the North side,” Bucky says into his comms, “something’s up.” Y/N expects to hear some of her teammates voices sound through her comm, but all she’s met with is silence. She shares another warning look with her boyfriend before they open up the metal door and creep inside the base quietly. 

It’s eerie, Y/N thinks as she walks through the dimly lit hallway. It’s all so quiet, the only sound that can be heard is the quiet tapping of her and Bucky’s walk. She’d almost believe that the base was abandoned, if it wasn’t for the skin crawling sensation she had of being watched. She knows Bucky feels it too by the way he walks beside her, so close his arm touches hers with each sway of it, a silent reminder to him that she’s there at his side, that she’s safe. 

It doesn’t last long though, as they walk into an open room to their right the other shoe finally drops. 

It’s a trap. 

Men come out from the darkness, so many that it’s a wonder Y/N and Bucky hadn’t caught on before now. Guns in hand they approach, a sea of black in the dimly lit room. 

“Soldat, welcome.” A chilling voice croons. Bucky’s eyes widen, his shoulders stiffen, colour draining from his face. He turns around, grabbing your arm as he takes a step towards the door, a need to get you to safety before it all goes bad. But more men walk in through the open door, blocking their only way out. “I told you we’d meet again, Soldat. Did you not believe me?” Slyly, Y/N presses the zipper on her jacket, a small tracker Tony had placed on her uniform when she joined the team. “I’m so happy to see you’ve come home, Soldat, and that you brought a friend.” 

“The girl has nothing to do with this, let her go and I’ll stay.” Bucky calls out into the dark room. He can’t see the man speaking to him, but he knows exactly who it is. It’s a voice that haunts his nightmares, chilling, cold, cruel, pain. Y/N shakes her head furiously, looking up at Bucky as she grasps onto his arm tightly. 

“No,” she whispers. 

“Y/N, this is the only way I can-” Bucky’s cut off by the same man as before. 

“This is all very touching, but the girl stays. After all, she’s really the one we’re after.” 

“What?” Bucky chokes out. If Y/N thought Bucky looked frightened before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now. A dark chuckle echoes through the room making a shiver crawl up Y/N’s spine at the haunting sound.

“We know about Wakanda, Soldat. About the procedure you had, undoing all the fine work we’d done on you. We know that the triggers don’t work anymore.” A pause, the air so thick with tension that it chokes Y/N. “Didn’t we tell you Soldat, that we punish for insubordination? I thought you would have learned that by now.” 

Men fly forward, too fast and too many for Bucky and Y/N to fight. Their weapons drop to the floor, rough hands grabbing onto them tightly, separating them. The pair of them fight the grip the men have on them, their arms twisting, legs kicking, but it’s no use. The man steps forward, into the low light of the room and Bucky’s forced to look into the face of the man that haunts his dreams and waking hours. He pulls a gun from his side, a lazy grip on it as he waves it around. His lips turn up into a cruel smile, his head turned in a way that’s almost playful. He knows he holds all the power, that he has the Winter Soldier right where he wants him. “It’s time you’re punished, Soldat.”

 A single gunshot rings through the room, echoing for all to hear. It’s funny, almost, the amount of times Bucky’s been shot and yet now, it’s just one, single bullet. A single bullet is all it takes for his world to come to a crashing end. His heart stops, his blood turning ice cold, tears welling up in his eyes that spill down his cheeks. Blood is already staining the floor, deep scarlet dripping onto grey concrete. 

No. No. No. No. This is a nightmare. I’ll wake up. This isn’t real. She’s still alive.

But it is real. It’s all so painfully real to Bucky as Y/N’s body slumps forward, the men holding her up let go and she falls to the floor, unmoving, unconscious, dead.  

It’s then that the rest of the Avengers burst into the room. Guns drawn, bullets flying, shouts of pain and anger filling up the room. But Bucky doesn’t notice any of it. He doesn’t notice the bullets flying over his dead as he slumps to the floor, crawling over to his lover’s dead body. He doesn’t notice the calls of his name from his comrades as he lifts Y/N’s limp body into his lap, her blood quickly staining his hands and legs. It’s all a blur as he stares down at her, her skin drained of colour, blood seeping from the wound in her chest. The world is all a pointless, dark, soundless blur to him as he gazes at her. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Please come back, please. I need you.”

But she doesn’t come back, the girl’s chest remains still, her eyes remaining closed. 

Bucky doesn’t remember leaving the base, or the jet ride back. He doesn’t remember the silent, slow walk back to his room, Y/N’s room. He just sits there, on the edge of the bed. Gazing at the blank wall before him, blinds closed and door locked.

Bucky had plans for tonight. He made a reservation at Y/N’s favourite restaurant for dinner. There they’d sip bubbly champagne over warm food and burning candles as they laughed and talked. The drive home would be quiet, comfortable, soft touches and gentle looks shared. Back home he’d run her a bath, lavender scented bubbles filling the tub just how she liked. And then, as she soaked in the warm water he’d get down on one knee, reciting the speech he had prepared as he pulled out the little black box from his pocket. Opening it up in the palm of his hand he would have asked you the question that’s been burning in his mind since the day he realized he’d fallen so deeply and helplessly in love with you. 

Will you marry me, Y/N?

It was a question he’d never receive an answer to, he realized as he sat alone in his darkened room. His hand slid into his pocket, pulling out the little black box he’d been carrying around for weeks now. Even in the dark room, he could see the glittering diamond as he opened the box up. 

Heavy tears poured down Bucky’s cheeks, even through the salt of them he could still taste Y/N’s sweet cherry gloss on his lips. 

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He whispered out into the darkness. 

Silence echoed back at him. 

[theevangelion]

Red Bottom: Red Kryptonite D/S Supercorp Story (Complete)

Prompt Fill for Gabs: Redk!Kara wanting it fast and hard and lena fucking her gently until she's in tears? With lots of praise kink pls

*OR*

Under the effects of Red Kryptonite, Kara has to be kept somewhere secure. The L-Corp Laboratory is about the only location with enough lead lining to hide her heat signature while the DEO worries about bigger threats. Kara’s frustrated arousal and darkened mood is nothing compared to her girlfriend, Lena Luthor’s.

There’s a dark and evil side lurking inside Lena too. Always there, always out of sight. With Kara under the influence of the Red Kryptonite, Lena finds herself indulging in her own primal dark side in order to quell Kara’s own.

“Again?” Lena’s eyes fly wide open at the DEO circus.

“The red kryptonite particles went up with the explosion last week,” Alex says, overseeing the transfer of her sedated sister to the secure L-Corp laboratory. “And what goes up must come down. Jesus, I can’t believe we didn’t account for the rain.”

“Wouldn’t she be safer at DEO headquarters? It’s just, her safety should be the priority.” Lena doesn’t want to seem too eager to palm off her girlfriend.

“If the DEO headquarters were still secret, sure.” Alex rubs her temple, now suddenly thinking of other problems.

Her hazel eyes find Lena with a sense of exhaustion, as though there are too many things being juggled in the air and she needs someone to take Kara out of the equation.

Alex continues, “The League caught intel about our security protocols. Ironically, the one place Lex will probably not look is the place right beneath his nose. The building has enough lead-lining to hide her heat signature?”

“More than enough,” Lena confirms.

“Well,” Alex pats the chief executive’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll leave her in your capable hands for a few days.”

Lena laughs suddenly, the uncomfortable noise barely escaping through her tight teeth. “Please don’t.” She eyes Alex cautiously. “Just maybe let’s workshop this idea—”

“It will be fine,” Alex promises. “Just don’t listen to her, put your headphones in, think of it as babysitting duty. I’ll owe you one, big time.” Alex stares as though she means it regardless of the complications it might cause later down the line.

An unconditional favour from one of the higher-ups in the chain of command at the Department of Extranormal Operations… That could certainly come in handy one day.

“Not the holding cell. Put her in the observation suite, the glass is resistant to her heat vision.” Lena points to the clear glass room opposite the laboratory. “Extra restraints, green kryptonite lamps—”

“Green kryptonite could kill her,” Alex balks.

“In larger quantities, sure.” Lena nods. “In a smaller, medicinal dosage it nullifies her power for a short time. Like the small amount emitted by the kryptonite lamps your tech team developed last year in the event of…” Lena pauses, quirking her crimson lips as she searches for the right word. “Something unexpected.” Alex instantly closes her eyes. “Bring them, bring all of the equipment. And extra restraints too, please.”

“Why extra restraints?” Alex lifts her brow, confused.

Lena rolls her eyes, then turns to her personal assistant. “Jesse, clear my entire schedule from now until Tuesday. Alex, trust me, I’m doing you a favour, but I need the restraints and the kryptonite lamps. For my safety, you understand?” She glances at her girlfriend’s sister.

“Whatever you need, Lena.” Alex doesn’t ask further.

***

Kara awakes slowly and feels the tension in her arms. They’re captured around her ribcage, as though she is trapped in a suffocating hug. She shifts her shoulders, wiggling, unable to get herself loose from the poor, rough excuse for a blanket that has entwined her.

“You’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Lena says through the speaker. “It’s for your safety, mostly.”

Kara opens her eyes and simultaneously rolls them when she sees the applied restraints. Her arms are secured in a white strait-jacket, the tan leather straps buckled tightly, with another strap of leather secured between her nude legs to stop her wiggling out of it.

“For my safety or yours?” Kara flexes against the strait-jacket.

“Alright,” Lena levels seriously over the speaker. “For mine then.”

The strait-jacket isn’t torn to pieces when Kara flexes a second time, which strikes her as strange. She wiggles again, harder, flexing, stretching her arms as far as she can against the secured sleeves.

“Sorry baby,” Lena says, walking in to view as she stops in front of the glass door that separates them. “Another precaution. I can survive your bad mood, but only when we level the playing field.” Her emerald eyes glance to the industrial spotlights that emanate a low, dark green colour over the observation suite.

Green Kryptonite.

“If you think there’s such a big bad monster lurking inside of me—” Kara stops, heaving furious breaths. “Why risk it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days a year? Am I not capable of tearing you apart then, if I wanted to?”

“There is always a monster lurking inside of you, baby.” Lena folds her arms over her black cashmere sweater. “But you are the strongest, most level-headed woman I know. You would never let it hurt anyone.” Her eyes flicker with love. “The other days of the year, of course.” She pushes a small smile, but then it disappears as she dips her head.

Kara narrows her eyes. “Oh, you want to talk about monsters, Lena?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you know the one that claws inside of your ribcage is so much more violent and hungry than mine.”

“Don’t do this, please,” Lena pleads. “I know you can’t help it, but could you… try and help it?”

“Sad, poor, angry little girl—lost and unlovable,” Kara scoffs, her lips forming an angry smirk. “How does it feel knowing that I am the only one capable of loving a creature as tortured as you?”

Lena’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

Her face is beautiful and smooth like porcelain, but her eyes are utterly empty and her jaw flexes with the tiniest slip of anger. To Kara, she is still beautiful, still the finest human she has ever met, a bride to be made fit for House of El yet.

It’s simply a case of subjugating her first, Kara thinks. To teach Lena who exactly her better half is, metaphorically and literally speaking.

“You’re still pretty when you want to cry,” Kara says coldly, unbothered and unconcerned. “You should know that.”

“Funny,” Lena doesn’t skip a beat, her tone equally cold. “I’ve always thought the same of you.”

There’s a flash, a tiny strike of lightning. It hits Kara right in her belly and sends her flying backwards. The pain is the least of her concerns. She doesn’t understand what it was. Kara pants and opens her eyes, curled in the corner of the glass cage with a tight grimace.

“For my safety,” Lena explains, lifting the remote that controls the shock pulses. “In case I feel threatened.” She smirks slightly.

“You always feel threatened,” Kara laughs despite the painful ripples in her body from the electric shock. “Always threatened by other powerful women, always worried you’re too small, too unimportant, too weak to compete—”

“Whoops.” The powerful shock hits Kara again and makes her whimper. It leaves her crumpled and curling, sweating and gritting her teeth. “My finger slipped,” Lena says, unamused.

Despite the red kryptonite, despite the hubris it imbues her with, she is completely defenseless and that only compounds her anger. Kara wrangles as hard as she can, until she nearly dislocates her shoulder trying to get free from the pathetic little strait-jacket that on any ordinary day could be ripped apart with a sneeze.

The door alarm rings out. Lena steps inside the lion’s den, her Blahnik heels clicking quickly over the cold hard floor. Kara refuses to look at her, she tucks her sweaty head away as the pencil skirt gracefully bends at the knees to appraise her closer, as though she is some kind of small animal.

“See,” Lena whispers quietly, moving the damp blonde hair off her face. “Still so pretty when you want to cry, baby, I told you.”

“Don’t start a war you cannot win, Lena,” Kara growls with gravel in her throat. “I will still have my power and might when the weekend is out, and you—”

“Will still have mine, too.” Lena slips her hand over Kara’s bottom, pulling the curled up little monster close like a pet to be made tame. “Why don’t you be a good girl and let that nasty tongue of yours rest. I don’t want to sedate you. There is so much more productive fun to be had when you’re awake.”

Kara’s ears lift at that.

“Fun?” She looks at Lena with a craned eyebrow.

Lena looks different. Kara isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the red kryptonite, or whether her girlfriend has always had that air of cruel arrogance and she’s only just noticing it now. But Lena’s eyes glean her as though she’s a wolfish little whore, a thing to conquer. Her crimson lips pull into a small smirk.

“Fun for me, yes.” Lena pets her damp, long blonde hair softly. “The way I see it, Kara Danvers, is that I’m going to marry you one day. That means for better or worse. And, if I can’t find a way to handle you at your worst—” Kara hisses when slender fingers yank her hair tight in a tight fistful. “Then what business do I have enjoying you at your best?” Their eyes lock seriously.

“You think this is me at my worst?” Kara’s eyes grow wide with indignation. “Oh just you wait. The Hell I will reign down upon you—” Material is quickly stuffed inside her open mouth as gag, stifling the threats.

The material is slightly damp, heady almost, the feminine taste that is so distinctly Lena Luthor coats Kara’s tongue… Kara realises that this isn’t a traditional gag.

“Hold my panties for me like a good girl,” Lena whispers and stuffs them a little deeper into her mouth. “Don’t spit them out, otherwise I’m going to push them in another hole. And believe me, I have such better, bigger plans for your pretty tight holes…” Her manicured fingers slipped over the tanned leather strap between Kara’s sweating thighs.

When Kara’s blue eyes fly open in surprise, the question doesn’t even need to be uttered. Lena can practically read her mind. The executive peers down at her with a loving smile, her palms gently taking each side of her face and cradling it close to her own.

“The red kryptonite cannot be chemically neutralised. That means I need to find another way to control you when you’re… under the influence of dangerous substances.” Lena trails her hand through Kara’s long hair, her nails dragging and gathering it neatly. “That means I need to condition you to see me as your handler, to prevent my brother ever using the red kryptonite compound as a weapon.”

“My handler?” Kara scoffs through the panties between her teeth, laughing. “You couldn’t handle a guinea pig without help—” The sentence is slapped out of her mouth, hard.

“Your ears work, how reassuring.” Lena remains blank-faced. “Now, come with me, let’s see how reward-motivated you can be, little one.”

The fingers entwined in the back of her scalp tug, pull, coax her to follow on her knees across the glass room towards a desk with a laptop on top of it in the corner. There’s a soft, plush cushion beside the chair. Kara realises too late what exactly her girlfriend has planned.

“No, no.” Lena stops when Kara stops, glancing down at the ravenous little creature digging her feet into the floor. “Wouldn’t you rather feel good, sweetheart?” She swiftly takes the panties out of her mouth.

Kara thinks, too optimistically, that it’s so she can reply clearly.

Instantaneously, Kara feels all of her muscles tighten at once. Something has started vibrating inside of her—quite literally, vibrating inside of her—it’s pressed deep inside of her folds, right behind her clit against that perfect spot that made her cunt feel tight and hot. The panties were removed from her mouth so they weren’t a choking hazard, she realises.

Then, it dwindles away to nothing.

“I am going to hurt you in ways you cannot fathom,” Kara growls furiously at the denial of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not.” Lena cranes down and pecks her temple. “Because I will crush you before you ever get the chance, little girl,” her soft voice becomes a stern tone against the ear, the responsive slither of crimson red kryptonite emanating from Kara’s temple not going unnoticed.

The moment Kara snatches at Lena’s throat with her teeth—she is made to learn the hard way around why it’s a regrettable idea.

A sudden shock of electricity hits her, but not externally, this time it’s deep inside of her cunt, attacking the back of her clit with needle-like precision. It hits her so hard that Kara squeals and releases Lena’s throat before the slightest amount of pressure can be applied with her teeth.

Unlike the earlier electric shock, this one is prolonged and hateful almost. Kara curls on her side and cries, clenching her thighs, yelping like a wounded little animal. Lena stands over her calmly, hands clasped in front of her neat black pencil skirt while her thumb continues to press the remote control.

“Please!” Kara squeals. “Please make it stop!”

“Good girl,” Lena whispers and lifts her thumb off the trigger. “Manners will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I would advise that you don’t ever try to hurt me, otherwise I will have to rectify the situation with some sense of equalism. You understand?”

“Yes,” Kara spits the affirmation between her clenching teeth.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lena insists.

“You have lost your soft little fucking mind if you think—” Kara wails a sharp sob that cuts her off, squirming her thighs together again as a small jolt hits her deep in the back of the cunt.

“When you’re like this, Kara, I don’t see my girlfriend,” Lena says firm. “My sweet, gentle, strong Supergirl... She would never try to hurt me, would never hurt a fly even. But you?” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You are not my Kara. You are the monster that lurks beneath the surface, and you will kneel and be made tame or you will be crushed into dust. I’m not your girlfriend, your little human, or your subordinate. I am the only authority in your tiny fucking insular world and you will obey me.” It isn’t posed as a question, simply posited as fact.

“We’ll see about that, Ma’am,” Kara growls sarcastically.

“Good girl,” Lena’s tone is suddenly praising, her eyes narrowing with pleased surprise. “You don’t have to enjoy saying it, baby, you just have to do as you’re told.”

Instinctively, Kara wants to protest and be difficult. But whatever Lena has buried deep inside of her cunt…it begins to strangely swell, filling her, vibrating and pulsing against her slick hot folds in a way that is entirely pleasurable. Kara understands too late what game they’re playing. Lena is operantly conditioning her. A game of punishment and reward.

The corner of Kara’s vision glitters, almost. The red kryptonite heightens everything, her emotions, her mood, her aggression, and apparently her arousal too. The wolfish creature can’t help but gasp, closing her eyes and unable to form coherent words.

“I think that’s enough baby,” Lena whispers softly.

Slowly, the strange new toy inside of her cunt recedes in size and slows its vibrations. It feels like a knot growing smaller, then a love egg, then it’s too small to be descriptively felt any more. Kara can still tell something is inside of her but it’s the smallest, most inoffensive intrusion. There, but not there, like a tiny pill-sized probe of sorts.

Kara glances down to the  leather strap buckled tight over her slit. She had assumed it was there to stop her slipping out of the strait-jacket, but Kara now understood it was also there to keep something buried inside of her.

Kara shifts slowly on the floor, twisting her hips, trying to feel out the sensations in her body that no longer seemed to exist without Lena deciding they should. It makes the chief executive smile this wolfish, chipper grin that looks strange on her usually dour face. Her beaming white teeth are on display with the breadth of her smile.

She looks beautiful, Kara can’t help but notice.

“What-” Kara blinks, completely confused. “What did you put inside of me?”

“A very, very special toy.” Lena gently takes her by the chin, guiding her shying face to meet her authoritative eyes. “I made it especially for you, though the punishment features were certainly a last-minute revision. If you’re a very, very good girl I’ll show you just how nice it feels when I decide that it should.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?” Kara lifts her brow defiantly. “If I don’t want to be your unconsenting little fucking pet slave?”

At that Lena’s eyes widen slightly.

“Baby,” Lena whispers with a knitted brow, her voice slow and loving. “I’m trying to help you here. The green kryptonite—” She nods at the deep green spotlights that cast the room in dark shadows. “I don’t know how much exposure is lethal, but I know that if you ever posed a risk to the general public then the DEO would ask questions later after they had put you down like a feral animal.” The theoretical possibility seems to make Lena tight with worry. “You don’t have to like this. It’s non-lethal, it’s for your own good, and my Kara would perfectly understand why it was necessary.”

“Then your Kara is a submissive little whore, and you probably know as much.” Kara glares at the unshakeable human she had underestimated.

Lena tucks a long weft of blonde hair behind Kara’s ear.

“Come along,” Lena instructs, turning on her heels to walk to the desk in the corner of the room. “You can either come willingly or I will give you a damn good reason to regret being so difficult.”

***

To Lena’s surprise, Kara did as she was told. Lena sat down in the chair and opened the laptop, her thumb on the shock button, ready to hit her girlfriend where it hurt once she reached zero on her mental countdown from ten.

But Kara crawls forward as best she can like a wounded little animal, her arms secured by the strait-jacket, her cheek pressed to the floor as she pushes forward indignantly on her knees.

The miracle happened. The pigs flew over the sky. The chickens had come home to roost. Lena felt her smile widen proudly, her fingers slipping around Kara’s neck and tickling the nape.

“Good girl,” Lena hushes, then she slips her hand around Kara’s jaw and brings her cheek to her lap. “There you go, just kneel there and show me you can be good.”

Lena rewards her in tangible, felt ways. The bullet-like toy inside of her cunt was activated with the remote, Lena’s thumb slipping over the control trigger to increase the swell in size, then the vibrations too.

Lena kept it on the minimal settings, flexing her thumb back and forth, giving her girlfriend just enough to coax her submission. She imagined that it probably felt like a pulse inside of her tight slick cunt, a pressure that grew and pressed into the back of her g-spot with delicious accuracy, then receded into nothing.

“Say thank you, princess.” Lena idly traces her fingertips on the panting jaw pressing to her thigh.

“Go fuck yourself you arrogant, precious little cunt.”

Lena just closes her eyes and presses the button.

Tense and tight and squealing, the wolfish little creature slumps to the floor and wrestles against the strait-jackets straps. Lena opens her eyes and peers down at her, guilty, curious, aroused beyond words and not ready to take her thumb off the trigger yet.

“Please!” Kara yelps with tears streaming down her red cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?” Lena lifts her eyebrow, waiting for the appellation.

“Oh go fuck yourself—” Kara regrets it instantly.

It was thrilling to bring a god to her squealing, tightly curled-up kneels. Lena knows it’s wrong, that it’s villainous in all the ways she holds herself to be morally higher than. But all Kara has to do is be polite, it really isn’t that hard. She increases the electricity until it feels like a thousand tiny needles digging and prodding, Lena has no doubts about it.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am!” Kara sobs. “Please make it stop, I’m sorry!”

“Good girl,” Lena hushes and takes her thumb off the trigger. “There’s a good, good girl.” She pets her long damp hair. “See, it isn’t that hard baby. You just have to do as you’re told, you just have to be a good girl.”

Lena replaces the pain with a flood of pleasure. It takes her girlfriend off her centre of gravity. Kara slumps again, her toes flexing and curling, her belly tightening until she is curling like a little kitten. Lena makes sure to show the submission an abundance of reward, her thumb flies upward on the control trigger and gives Kara a brief taste of how good obedience can truly feel.

The toy swells so big and wide inside of Kara that her weeping baby blues fly open, entire constellations mapped in the whites of her eyes. The vibrations are so powerful that Lena can hear them — thrumming, pulsing, mechanically growling away like a revving engine. She brings Kara down slowly, gently, backing her away from the cliff edge of a quick hard orgasm.

“Please!” Kara whines and brings her cheek back to Lena’s lap, kissing and digging her nose into the top of the chief executive’s thigh. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please just let me cum.”

“I think I’ll leave you right here.” Lena settles on a low, gentle vibration setting — enough that Kara can feel it stirring her orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge. “If you’re still being a good girl by the time I’ve finished my ordinance paperwork, we can revisit things.”

“Please,” Kara whimpers, her voice barely a choking whisper. “Please, please, please—” She buries her face into Lena’s lap.

Lena ignores it and gets on with her tasks. It takes longer than it usually does, she’s more aware of the ticking time. The panting little mouth pressing to her thigh whimpers and moans, but Kara’s face is entirely slack and resting on the leg as though she has no energy to hold it up of her own volition.

“Please Ma’am,” Kara whimpers, “Please, Ma’am, make it feel good.”

Lena says nothing, offers nothing in response, but she pushes the trigger upwards and increases the vibrations and swelling size of the toy, incrementally and almost procedural. Then, she clicks into her emails for a quick update on the minute notes from the meeting she missed.

Ten minutes pass, if that.

“I need to cum,” Kara pants. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please Ma’am!”

“I said no—ow!” Lena glances down to where Kara had nipped her with teeth, hard. “What did I tell you?” Lena asks calmly, her fingers catching the shying chin. “I was fair, I warned you Kara, all you have to do is be a good girl and do as I tell you to.”

“Please no more shocks, I’m sorry—I didn’t, I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not going to shock you,” Lena says reassuringly, closing the laptop lid. “You want to be fucked? You want to be pleasured? I’m going to show you exactly why you wait for my freely-given permission. You think this is degrading? Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Kara cries so hard it makes the veins in her throat bulge and stick out. Her legs thrash and kick, her arms wrangling desperately against the tight, taut sleeves of the jacket. Externally, it looked as though she might be in the worst pain one woman could possibly experience. Lena almost felt guilty. But, Kara wasn’t in pain.

She was in terminal pleasure.

“Spread your legs,” Lena only has to whisper the instruction.

Kara does as she’s told instantly, as best she can, opening her shaking legs as far and wide as she possibly can. Her cunt is pink and swollen against the wet leather strap, bucking desperately for an orgasm she isn’t permitted to have.

Whenever she gets too close, Lena dials the toy down—or gives her a tiny shock—depending on whichever is necessary to keep her an obedient and well-behaved girl.

“What a pretty girl,” Lena croons, brow furrowing deeply as she leaned against her chair and crossed her leg. “Tell me again, what are the rules baby?”

“I do as I’m told,” Kara pants. “That’s all I have to do, exactly as I’m told to do.”

“You’re such a good, obedient little girl.” Lena dials up her vibrations almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to break you in gently, Kara, but if you need to be brought under the thumb with ruthless efficiency then that works for me too. Come, hump my foot like a good pet.”

The red kryptonite glows and ebbs under her skin, everywhere, pulsing, from her temples to her toes, the slithers of red slip and glide beneath her skin and then reappear a moment later somewhere else. Lena surmises that her body, her primal aggression, it’s fighting her from the inside out and telling her this is wrong.

Kara ignores it and does as she’s told.

“What a good girl!” Lena cranes down and kisses her temple as the slick leather strap begins to work the top of her bare foot. “What do good girls get, Kara?”

“Rewards, Ma’am,” Kara whimpers.

“And what does the good girl want?”

“For you to fuck me hard, Ma’am,” Kara breaks into a sob and grinds her hips harder. “Please, please, it’s too gentle.” She dissolves into hiccuping tears.

“You’re sure you want a big hard orgasm?” Lena furrows her brow, as though she doesn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice, soft, gentle little orgasm that just takes you over the edge—”

“Please let me cum hard,” Kara squeals, her face dipped down and cradled between her handler’s thighs. “Please, Ma’am! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“No baby,” Lena says calmly. “Just a tiny soft orgasm tonight. If you are good, I’ll let you have a big one tomorrow.”

“Ma’am please!” Kara yelps as though agonised, her fingers digging tight into Lena’s kneecaps. “Please, please—”

It’s important that Kara learns the size and depth of a reward is Lena’s to call. She won’t get her own way all of the time, that’s Lena’s rationale with denying her. Lena dials down the vibrations incrementally, then makes the swell of the toy just a little bit smaller. Responsively, Kara sobs and bucks harder as she loses the pressure on her g-spot.

“The more you push the more pressure I’m going to take away,” Lena is stern because she feels that she has to be. “Are we going to be a good girl or a ruined girl?”

“Good girl,” Kara whimpers and bucks. “Can I cum, please? I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be obedient.”

“Chase it. I’ll cut you off when you’ve had enough baby, don’t you worry.” Lena cruelly smiles.

Kara bucks and grows silent for a moment, her pained expression slackening as the orgasm creeps up gently—nowhere near as forceful as the wolfish little thing desires it to be—but that will come in time, Lena thinks. She cups Kara’s chin and stares down at her, appraising, judging perfectly, grinning when the wild little thing comes undone with a sob and clutches at her leg like a humping little pet.

“There we go,” Lena whispers, turning the toy off suddenly just as Kara hit the peek. “What a very, very good girl. I’m pleased, Kara.” She cranes and pecks her temple, her tear-stained cheek, then her panting lips. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara stutters.

“Good, good girl.” Lena cradles her cheeks. “Let’s get you comfortable in bed. You’re not going to give me problems, are you?” Lena teases her thumb over the shock trigger.

“No Ma’am!” Kara shakes her head frantically. “No problems!”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” Lena kisses her more fervently this time.

It was a gamble with her life that paid off, Lena thinks with relief.

The green kryptonite lamps had died hours ago, the room was completely dim and dark save the backlight from the row of monitors opposite the other side of the glass. Unbeknownst to Kara, she had slowly regained her powers, or certainly enough of them to beat Lena in a fight if she so wished. But, she had been such a very good girl.

Lena had no concerns now that her little wolfish pet could be brought to heel.

FIND MORE STORIES/SUBMIT ME YOUR IDEAS HERE!

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not… Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: none that I can think of

Word Count: 2.8+k

Author's note: hi, hi, hi! I bring you a new chapter after what... 1 and a half months of not uploading anything? My apologies are probably not enough, but I have been working on chapters, I promise! And, drum roll, please, I might have some art in store for this series. It isn't done, yet, but I'm trying to work on it, guys!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 4: Forming Friendship

As the sun starts off the next day, you and Nick depart from your home in search of more resources. He throws in a suggestion that you should spread out, so you could cover more ground, and you agree- not like you have anything else to do for the meantime. Unless you want to be stuck at home playing some card games Nick had found while searching for the paint buckets.

You search the places south, just outside the town. All the buildings look the same to your wondering eyes, nothing valuable piquing your interest that much, so you rather opt for wandering further. Through the greenery until a clearing reveals itself before you.

A beautiful and elegant meadow stretches across the horizon. As if a page was torn from a fairy-tale book, and rightfully so. The only thing missing is a royal castle or fairies' houses. Pollen flies in the air and swirls around you enchantingly and a surge of calmness goes through your being. An accommodation in your body along with the feeling of delight.

The nature has truly taken over most of the world.

It's not like you can complain, really. Colours, textures and elements flow with each other in a beautiful harmony, creating an almost painting-like picture that you can marvel at.

Deep down, you were always a fan of the quietness Mother nature has offered you at times in need. Whenever you felt down, really.

You slightly remember how it helped you with your anxiety, shyness and depression when you used to be socially awkward and unwilling to do something about it. It felt peaceful compared to the continuous pressure many people used to put on you. Not many people were harsh on you, but your social battery could take so much until all you were ready to do was just lie down, put on a playlist of your favourite songs and chill. They denied your want to be left alone when the only thing you needed was space and your own time. Their faces are now blurry images of faces you once used to know, but you don't know if you'll ever get back to your life or how long it might take.

I should throw away my pessimistic thoughts…

That was a part of the old you, though. You'd like to think that you're better now, but your pessimism has stayed with you nonetheless. It's about time you started working on it and who knows? You might get to form plenty friendships here who will be willing to help you.

With a shake of your messy hair, you focus back to the beauty in front of you, pushing the vines away and walking towards the flowery meadow.

Yellow grains contrast gorgeously with the sparse greenery the field has to offer here and there.

You bent down and pluck one of the many Dahlias near your feet, putting the pistil close to your nose.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

The flower alone doesn't smell alluring or sweet, like anything. The stem and leaves, on another note, smell bitter with a slight flowery undertone. It strikes a sense of serenity in you as you inspect the innocent white petals be carried away from you by the wind, flying off to the clear sky to join the fine powdery substance.

You let go of the stem and watch it be snatched, following its trace until it falls between the loads of flowers.

Just then, a gentler breeze begins and takes a handful of leaves of the ground, aiming just below a small hill to your left as if it had a mind of its own. You realize that it might actually do as it points you to a lone building sitting at the base, overflown with the finest flora you've ever faced.

A mere bookshop from what you can see from the distance. The walls are built from brick and it still seems in a decent shape, except the nature, but that gives it a special charm. A great place to get away from all this chaotic and death-threating events for even a while.

You carefully move through the grass and blossoms, trekking your way up to it.

• • •

Meanwhile, somewhere far away from you, a deer curiously, yet cautiously, examines you from a cliffside looking over the whole meadow. Its doe eyes flick from you to a small fawn by its side.

It huffs, shakes its head and turns, departing into the forest.

• • •

The inside is wondrous, despite your expectations of it being completely trashed.

Bookshelves line the walls and are all filed with all styles of literature. Slightly used, torn and unkept. It gives you an idea how no one surely visits this place. The place looks great, so it doesn't make much sense to you. You cannot help but be a little happy over the fact at that despite the telling signs of its abandonment.

Your hand automatically lifts up to slide over the spines of the books, keeping your touch light as you advance further inside. The rough, yet extremely soothing, texture extracts a small smile from you and you close your eyes. You begin dragging your other appendage across the parallel shelf until a thud makes you shoot your eyes open in alert, whipping your head behind you, but finding nothing out of ordinary.

With your now unsure footsteps, you slowly walk to the end of the aisle in front of you, peeking around the corner.

You catch sight of a short boy sitting in front of a shelf, or rather a stand, with comic books. He's sat down near the middle where the wooden stand is, flipping through each comic with haste.

A messy brown nest of hair sits atop his head while a flower crown with some scarce plastic bees thrown in reasts atop and a long green scarf messily wrapped around his neck. It strangely compliments his look that is styled with green, golden and black and despite the apocalyptic surroundings and lack of proper resources, you're surprised he's styled it very prettily.

A black stylish coat with golden accents is thrown on the floor near him along with his messenger bag, its contents peeking out. Especially the thick book with a pack of pencils. You wonder what the book contains, but maybe you'll get a chance to see it sometime.

You cautiously and carefully lean against a counter near you, observing the young boy as he shuffles through numerous comics. He huffs out a long sigh, throwing another book aside. It comes tumbling down back to him due to the amount he has already piled on top of each other. His nimble fingers pick up another one, swiping through it with precision.

He mumbles something quietly, softly putting the comic onto another pile beside him that is neat compared to the other one.

This demeanour continues for a long minute, basically choosing a book in a ratio that one is kept and twelve are thrown away. He never seems too happy with his decision, frowning at some in sadness despite having to give up on them. You don't understand why he doesn't put them onto the obvious piles of his favourites, but you stand in your place.

Having enough of watching, you whistle too loudly to get his attention.

Only to see the guy jump up in the air and slip on a paper he has previously abandoned on the ground. He pointlessly flails his arms around until his elbow hits the ground first, followed by his hip and the rest of his body.

You wince.

As if caught in the headlights, he spins his head to you. The previously left out paper now present on his head. You see confusion, fear and surprise fight against who will persevere on his face, so you lower your shoulders back down and give him an awkward smile, “Uh, sorry?”

He unsurely stumbles to his feet and dusts his clothes off, tightening the scarf around his neck with tense movement. His eyes widen and he makes a quick, though awkward, show of pulling out a stick?

He fumbles around with it for a bit before it extends into a normal looking sword, posing heroically, “I'll- uh, stab you! Yeah! I'll use this sword to stab you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at his choice of words, and at the adorable stutter he did, “Do you even know how to wield a sword?”

“Of course, I do! Wait- do I? No, no, no, you're just trying to make me look silly. I do know-”

Cue an uncoordinated swing of the sharpened weapon at his own leg, but at least his reaction time seems to be fast and he slides his foot out of harm's way just in time. One he created, and he watches as the sword penetrates the wooden boards and he struggles to pull it out.

His action makes you doubt his abilities further and a you can't help the small giggle that escapes you, raising your arms in mock defence when he sends you a defensive glare, “You- you cannot be serious. Quit the child's play, I'm not here to hurt you.”

He stays quiet, still pulling on the handle of the sword with unfortunate outcomes. It slips out of his fists multiple times and he sighs before flopping down onto the floor, defeated, “I guess I really don't know.”

You choose not to retort any sassy comeback to his gloomy self, rather analysing his figure and approaching the weapon. Arms still held above your head to show you don't plan on attacking, your features soft, “Mind me getting the weapon for you? I won't use it against you, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” he gives you an absent wave of his hand and only stares as you grip the handle.

At first, you tug and nothing happens, so you try holding it at a specific place and are delighted when you feel a small button press against your palm, giving it one more tug along with a squeeze of the switch.

An imaginary lightbulb blinks above his head as he sees the sword retract from the ground and you're left gripping the stick in your hand, “See? It isn't as hard, is it now?”

“I admit, you're right,” he accepts the handle from your outstretched hand, storing it into his hoodie pocket.

No wonder you didn't notice it before. He's had it hidden there and he had to have pulled it out when you whistled. Although you personally wouldn't own a weapon like that, it probably comes in handy for situations like these. You aren't sure if it'd be beneficial in an actual fight against a stronger and better crafted weapon, though.

A switchblade would do a better job, surely. From what you've seen, they're a lighter object, more portable and friendlier to beginners. Might even suit his style of fighting better, even if you haven't seen it in action yet, to be truthful, “I do believe I'm right.”

“I would beat you if I had my hatchet!”

You chuckle, “Well, we can always engage in hand-to-hand combat, if you're that confident in getting me. Why use weapons?”

His eyes widen and all his courage dissipates, waving his hands crazily and shaking his head, “When you say it like that, I'll pass you on that offer, thank you. Why didn't you attack me, by the way? Oh, and also, I'm Tubbo, since we seem to be okay with each other.”

Refraining from telling him your name back, you swing your arm at his head and watch him yelp, shut his eyes and flinch from you in humorous satisfaction. You stop it inches from his face, lowering it and stepping away from him, “You should've seen your face, Mr. Tubbo. I'd say we are okay, but I had to pull that on you and to answer your question of my peace towards you… You just seemed harmless.”

He stands up and looks at you in feign anger, jabbing an accusing finger into your chest “You're so cruel, what? I can't trust you now.”

Tubbo crosses his arms, turning away from you. You turn away from him and spot his collection of comics. His previous actions coming to the forefront of your mind, “Hey, why were you browsing through so many comics?”

“I was looking for something,” he shrugs, walking past you and picking up quite a big amount of comic books. He catches the incredulous glance you give the items in his hands and nods his head at them, “They aren't for me.”

“You looked quite sad when you couldn't grab one for yourself, why can't you?”

He's surprised you picked up on that, but he just shrugs, “I would. If my bag allowed me to carry so much at once and I just want to surprise my friends.”

You give a small 'aww', making his ears flush pink and cower away, “I could help you carry them. Where is your camp?”

“I don't think I should be revealing that to strangers, but I've never been the smartest with decisions and I'm sure you'd notice either way,” Tubbo stuffs the books inside his bag, barely closing it, “I could just act like I abducted you.”

“Won't that be suspicious? You actually seem like a person who's too nice to do that.”

The bee boy lightly grins at that while putting his coat on, throwing the messenger bag on his shoulder, “I'm bad at acting, too, so they'd surely notice.”

“Are any of them keeping guard on this place, by the way?”

“No,” his answer is straight-forward, without any hesitation, “It might be very shocking, but none of my friends know about this place. Although I visit quite often than not. It gets quite harsh out there, y'know?”

You hum, choosing to drop the subject and return back to an airier topic, “Which ones do you like?”

Tubbo's quick to light up at the change, dropping to his knees and shuffling through the messy mountain of comics once again. He carelessly throws ten of them at you in happiness and leaves you grasping them to your chest. You laugh at his enthusiasm, reading off few of the titles and shaking your head as he keeps on searching for more.

This was probably a crazy idea, but whatever. Tubbo seems like an adorable person to be around.

Not long after you get ready to leave, keeping the conversation loose and it's almost effortless how you get along. The themes get intertwined between you with ease, pointing to some aspects around you if you want to make a point.

He is a strange guy to get a hold of, but you can say that you like how easy-going talking is with him. The male has visibly suffered some of his own stuff, but he still has this bubbly personality around him that you can't wrap your mind around. Though, you enjoy that little perk he has.

At one point, you lose sight of the boy, looking around you in confusion only to have him appear behind you and throw a freshly made flower crown on top of your head. The question of where he got it from is lost to his ears as he babbles on how he needs to teach you the crafting of one, so you could be 'flower crown buddies'. His own words. Your reaction is to bump your shoulder with his, joking how he is too goofy for you to even want to learn. A look of betrayal is thrown at you and you chuckle.

He proceeds to skip at certain intervals during your trek through the forest, too, visibly being excited to earn a new friend who is close to his wave-length. You don't even notice when you get close, having too much fun getting to know each other and goof around, but Tubbo increasingly slows his steps near an old-looking house.

He turns to you, “Well, this is my stop. I shouldn't take you further or I'll get spanked for not listening to my peers.”

“Uh, I won't respond to that, though I hope everything's alright back at your base. You shouldn't go through child abuse anywhere,” you awkwardly scratch at your neck, handing him the comic books meant for him.

Tubbo light-heartedly laughs at your perplexed self, a jokester-like glint appearing in his eyes as he accepts the papers, “I hope we can meet again.”

“I do, too, and hey. The library can be our place, if you're comfortable enough to call it that,” you heartily smile at him, ruffling his hair and receiving a pouty 'hey! my hair, not yours!'.

He shakes his head to fix your doings, throwing a lop-sided grin, “I can allow that.”

“Well, I should go,” you look up to the sky, seeing the sun brightly shining more to the west side now. It shouldn't be that long before you'll have to get ready for the night and report your findings with Nick. Not like you have much to say to him, but there are some things worth mentioning to him, “I have a friend possibly waiting for me already. It was incredible meeting you, Tubbo!”

“Likewise.”

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER THREE

"The Gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent, and easy is the way..." - Aeneid, Virgil

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.17k words

Warning: Swearing, gun violence, car chase, full on action, cool dudes, anxiety and fluff in case you forget to blink ;)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

A/N: The amount of time I waste on making these moodboards-- (I literally coloured the black and white pictures 💀 )

<< TWO [ MASTERLIST ] FOUR >>

A moment passed.

A shallow gust of wind tickled Harrison's left ear, making him squirm. He leaned back, pulling his rolled up sleeves down and buttoning them at his wrist followed by pressing the creases on his shirt—a habit of his, a ritual he can't seem to put away even when there was a sniper aimed at his head.

Worse. All this could be a trick.

Worst. It wasn't.

All in all, time wasn't the currency, Harrison had at his disposal. Yet, he found himself shoving a penny straight into the slot machine.

He cleared his throat in a failed attempt at clearing his foggy mind, "Don't you think, you shouldn't have let go of Tom?"

The more men, the better chances of survival. It worked this way, right?

Sandhya sighed, exasperated, the flicker of the candle animating a dance on her face was seemingly more lively than her at the moment.

"We suspect, at least one of your men were involved in Clarke's murder. Also," She paused, chuckling nervously, "I won't lie, I was expecting something like this to happen but not today, not right now." She referred to the rifle aimed at them.

"I am seriously...uh... ugh..." Harrison didn't know if there were proper words in the vernacular to reply to this. All he could do was grit his teeth.

How long will this day go, anyway? What was it? The solstice? Do solstice last this long?

In his prognosis, if he had one more revelation this day, especially if it had something or anything to do with the dead man, his brain would melt and leak out of his ears. On the non-fictitious scale: He would rip off his hair or empty a loaded .44 magnum into the head of the person closest to him.

But there were his men involved in Clarke's murder? His men?

And their respectable leader, Harrison Osterfield was trapped in a life and death situation, waiting for a can of smoke to allow him to escape? And on top of that, he was taking orders from one of their enemies?

What if it was her plan? What if she killed the old man? She had inherited his fortune— it was enough of evidence for Harrison to draw that conclusion even in its scant or flimsy state. He won't be surprised if she wanted him dead as much as he wanted her to be. Or that the sniper was one of her men. Or everything happening was a part of her bigger plan.

He had a pistol tucked away in his sock, maybe he could catch her at gunpoint?

The instant he glanced at the mirror of her flapjack, she had placed between them, he discarded the idea. No avail. The sniper could easily target him.

He was fucked up.

He could hear his life ticking away.

A click of tin hitting the floor ignited the dying flame in his heart. He felt Sandhya's hand slip over his, delicate fingers tapping against the back of his hand, gliding over his square signet ring that was sitting on his middle finger for ages now, moving further away to feel his rough, wounded knuckles, he never seemed to care about.

She appeared as afraid as him. Or maybe it was part of her plan. Harrison wasn't sure if it was the mutual fear they felt or the gesture, the little ministrations she drew over the back of his hand that had managed to ease his nerves, at least for the time being. His eyes swerved up, locking with hers again, her lips forming the words he was waiting to hear.

"Now!" She screamed on the top of her voice, retracting her hand as the smoke leaked out of the can, suspending itself into the air.

Harrison leapt on cue, ducking below the table. A single shot hits the wood of the chair, he was previously sitting on.

He tried to make the best use of the blindness that the grey smoke offered, pulling the table cloth in a swift motion. The wine and the lit candles fell over the fabric, igniting a fire. The flames and the smoke rose quickly, fanned by the stiff breeze, consuming the Pinterest worthy setting in a matter of seconds as he watched Sandhya's shadowy figure hopping off from the other side of the balcony, her red heels discarded by the decorated flower pots.

In a heartbeat, the fire alarm goes off followed by another shot. The people eating in the restaurant shrieked almost simultaneously as the second shot is wasted, their screams never subsiding as they run around, knocking over things, trying to get the hell out of the building.

Amidst the mist, Harrison grabbed the railing of the balcony, hopping off it, climbing down as promptly as he could, hearing more bullets fire on the place he just abandoned.

His planned smooth landing on the freshly mowed grass goes awry as he stumbles, falling over his knee in an attempt at dodging a shot that went over right his head, almost touching his hair.

There were more gunmen. His expressions were that of horror.

He quickly rose to his feet, pulling the pistol tucked in his sock out, looking around and over his shoulder before squeezing the trigger twice.

A man dressed in the waiter's attire fell from the first floor along with his rifle, hitting the ground, crumbling next to Harrison's feet, presumably dead.

Harrison didn't check. He was sure.

Aim. He was good at it. Way too good.

He paced his way with the pistol pointed downrange, pulling the slide back with his thumb and forefinger to the street full of chaos with people running in all directions, fire alarms blaring in the background. A maroon sedan stopped abruptly in front of him, a quarter of an inch away from hitting him and transporting him directly to hell.

He opened his mouth to swear but the driver was the first to flung the door open. He had red-brown shaggy hair, probably a result of the wind and was dressed in a grey trench coat with the belt undone. His eyes were hidden behind black wraparound mirror shades, hiding most of his face.

The only thing that sparked Harrison's interest was the shotgun poorly concealed inside his coat.

"Get in." Two words, another order. The driver was definitely way older than him, he could tell by his deep, rusty voice. The driver pushed the long barrelled gun in his direction.

Harrison groaned, shoving himself into the passenger seat, accepting the new weapon, discarding the smaller gun and shutting the door behind him.

"Where is she? Where is Sandhya?" Harrison demanded, looking over at the back seat, his frown deepening into a scowl but the driver popped the car into reverse and stormed the accelerator, hard, sending him flying backwards, his back hitting against the backrest.

"She'll meet us halfway." The driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road. Harrison settled himself on the polyester seat, taking a breath before the car took a sharp turn, almost knocking his head against the window.

"Watch out!" The driver warned and Harrison peeked at the rear view mirror.

A black Escalade SUV lunged towards them at a speed higher than theirs. At least four passengers were sitting in it, two of them pushed their heads out of the windows, hands holding shotguns, aiming a shot at the vehicle he was sitting in.

They ducked down, both Harrison and the driver evading the bullets fired at them. The rear windshield blew out with a boom and a crash, spraying glass over the unoccupied backseat.

Enough.

Harrison slid his window down, ducking again when more bullets were shot at them, before aiming straight to the front tire.

He fired one— two— three shots, one followed by the other. The third one successfully hits the wheel. He watched with a triumphant grin pasted over his face as the attacker's car tumbled, crashing against the telephone pole, now motionless.

But his grin didn't last long when they crossed the intersection. Two more cars emerged from the two sides, the same model as the one he had just shot down.

The panic was real this time. He could even hear police sirens.

What the actual fuck?

"We need to hurry!" Harrison instructed, restless in his seat, watching the black SUVs and the white police cruisers, red sirens blazing on their head, racing behind them.

It was a real chase.

They zoomed through the street, feeling alternately light and heavy as they shifted in their seats, leaning right and left as the roads forked as they sailed through the busy traffic, ignoring the honking cars, even honking themselves. The buildings, streets and the traffic began to blur as they raced down, veering frantically to avoid their pursuers.

A ray of hope: Another intersection. The signal was three seconds into turning red.

Perfect.

"You can do this..." Harrison whispered like a prayer, eyes glimmering with hope, focusing more on the road than the man operating the steering he knew nothing about, except for his remarkable prowess as a getaway driver.

You can do this!

The driver panted, breathing with his mouth as he puts the car into the sixth gear, pressing the accelerator as hard as he could, flooring the sedan through the blinking signal, it turning red the exact moment they tear through it.

The pedestrian cars came to a halt upon the red signal, breaking hard, forming a chain, successfully blocking the way of both the attackers and the cops.

The driver barked out a laugh, the type falling more into the category of a chortle than an actual laugh (not that Harrison cared), taking off his shades, shoving them inside his coat, a proud smile plastered on his face as he weaves from lane to lane, disappearing under a bridge, finally stepping on to the much calmer highway.

"Kevin." The driver muttered.

"Huh?" Harrison responded with a questioning look. The guy was at least fifty-five years old, Harrison could tell now. His natural grey hair stood in contrast with his dyed copper ones, adding to his overall charm. His adventurous demeanour has previously mistaken him for being any younger.

Stretching a left hand, "My name is Kevin," the driver clarified, his light brown eyes meeting momentarily with Harrison's blue ones.

Harrison nodded, putting away his gun, wiping the sweat on his palm over his pants, before taking his hand for a brief shake.

"Harrison," He offered his own name.

"I know," Kevin replied nonchalantly, shifting his focus back to the road.

The blond turned to the other side, head leading against the headrest, glancing out of the window, watching the scenery move backwards, carefree as a lark for once, until the driver slowed the vehicle down, parking at the side, near a divergence where a 91' Accord waited for them.

He leapt out of the car. Harrison followed suit.

Taking the back seat of the switch car, alongside a woman that wasn't Sandhya, Kevin slumped into the cushions, stretching his hands over his head, shutting his eyes, probably tired (of course), taking the much needed break. The woman, on the other hand, was busy typing away on her laptop, wired headphones tucked into her ears.

Another man emerged from the passenger seat, passing Harrison on the way, his face invisible in the dim highway lights, taking the maroon sedan. Harrison replaced him, getting into the switch car, sitting on the front, the only seat that was left unoccupied.

"Welcome back." The voice on the driver's seat greeted him.

Sandhya.

Harrison snorted, choosing not to turn his neck to meet her face and rather settling on passing a mere glance at her with a side eye.

She was back to wearing her coat, raven hair whipped by the wind, loose strands sticking over her face, her makeup no longer intact and slightly greasy, except for her bold red lipstick, sitting over her smiling mouth, complimenting her smooth dusky skin.

She pulled the gear, pressing on the pedal, putting the car in motion, its engine roaring for a full minute, her right hand on the wheel, left hand ceaselessly turning the dial of the radio back and forth, till Blinding Lights echoed from the speakers. She kept the volume low, possibly because of the other woman busy on her laptop, definitely because of the man dozing off, sitting behind them. But that didn't stop her from mouthing the lyrics or sway her body with the tunes.

Harrison looked away, outside the window, head slightly out, chin pressed against one of his hands he had kept over the window edge, feeling the cold air hit his face harder when she shifted the gear, speeding off the vehicle.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his lips, the upbeat music filling his ears.

He had different plans...

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

>> Send me an ask or just reblog/comment this post with ‘Tag me’ or fill this NEW TAGLIST to get added to the taglist of AGODAH.

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[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

I'm sorry to hear you've had a bad day. I hope this makes you feel a bit better 💜

Part 20 of Jimercury Kid series

‘I’m going to die.’ Freddie whined dramatically from the sofa, arching his back as Jim walked through the door with a tray of tea and biscuits, carefully setting it on the coffee table in front of the singer. ‘I’m not sure how much more of this pain I can take, darling.’

‘I know, love.’ Jim replied softly, placing another pillow under Freddie’s head. ‘But that’s what happens when you decide to do acrobatics on stage when there are wires lying around.’

‘It was entirely Roger’s fault.’ Freddie huffed. ‘He could have warned me that his drumkit was a danger zone.’

Jim chuckled and kissed his husband’s forehead. ‘The doctor said you’ll be right as rain in a few weeks, so long as you get plenty of rest and keep up the physio.’

The Persian grumbled, ‘I hate rest.’ Then he looked up at Jim with an accusatory glare. ‘And I can’t believe you’re abandoning me to galivant off and cut people’s hair! The audacity.’

Freddie hadn’t been all that pleased when Jim announced that he had accepted a weekend job at the barber shop down the road. The Irishman had befriended the owner, Carl Pritchard, in a bar a few months ago and while he had declined the offer of a full-time job (he still had the garden to think about and Khaleel to look after when Freddie was at the studio,) he was more than happy to lend Carl a hand every Saturday, when the shop was at its busiest.

Khaleel hadn’t been too happy about it either; he was used to Jim being around 24/7 and the sudden change of routine caused him a great amount of stress. Jim was almost late on his first day of the job because his son had cried and refused to let go of his leg. But eventually, the boy begrudgingly accepted it and Jim was able to pacify his separation anxiety with the promise of bringing home a treat when he was finished at work.

‘You’re just saying that because you’re jealous.’ Jim teased, dodging as Freddie attempted to swat his backside. ‘You think I’m going to fall head over heels for Carl’s dashing good looks and run off into the sunset with him.’

Freddie pouted like a child and crossed his arms. ‘So, you do think he’s good looking.’

Jim chuckled and dropped a kiss into his husband’s dark head of hair. ‘I’m old enough to be his dad, sweetheart. Besides, he’s really not my type.’

‘I wasn’t your type either and you still went for me.’

‘Well, how could I possibly resist? Have you seenyour arse?’

He roared with laughter as Freddie attempted to swat him again, but this time the singer grabbed his hand and pulled him down to kiss his lips.

‘Do you love me?’ he whispered once they had parted, brown eyes staring into Jim’s own almost fearfully. They had been together for almost ten years now, and yet he still needed that reassurance.

‘To the moon and back.’ Jim replied, leaning down for a much deeper kiss. He could have stayed like that all day, but a quick glance at his watch told him that he was already pushing it for time.

‘I’ll be back about six.’ He placed one final kiss against Freddie’s forehead before heading to the hallway to grab his coat. ‘I’ve left the shop’s number by the phone in case there’s an emergency. Try not to have too much fun without me.’

‘Very funny.’ Freddie sniggered as Jim blew him a kiss and turned the keys in the door. ‘Have a good day, darling. Don’t snip any ears off.’

The last thing he heard was Jim shouting goodbye to Khaleel up the stairs – which was quickly followed with a cheerful, ‘bye Daddy!’ – before the door was pulled shut. Freddie sighed and stretched his sore back, wishing he could at least hobble over to the piano and belt out a few show tunes to take his mind off the pain. He hated being alone; Phoebe was in town with friends and Khaleel had been colouring upstairs for most of the afternoon. He knew that colouring was one of the ways his bijou coped with Jim’s absence, so he didn’t want to disturb him.

Well, since he was bedbound (or in this case, sofa bound) he might as well catch forty winks. After finishing his tea and munching on a biscuit, he plumped up his pillows, propped his feet up on the armrest and did his best to ignore the constant throbbing in his lower back as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

--

Freddie was awoken by the sound of the phone ringing in the hallway, and he groggily rose from the sofa to go and answer it.

‘It’s Bernie, Bernie Morris.’ Said the voice on the other end of the line. ‘I know you usually have your physio on Sundays, but my 2 o’clock just cancelled and I don’t have any other appointments today. Would you like to take the slot?’

‘Oh darling, that would be wonderful.’ Freddie sighed in relief, rubbing his back as he spoke. ‘It’s really acting up today. I could use your magic hands.’

Bernie chucked jovially. ‘Alright then, see you in twenty.’

Bernard Morris was a tall, broad, cheerful man, recommended to Freddie by Doctor Atkinson after he had his accident. The vocalist had been apprehensive at first, thinking he could simply deal with the pain on his own; but he eventually relented when it became unbearable and had agreed to six weeks’ worth of sessions, so long as he could do it in the comfort of his own home. So far, Bernie’s methods had proved remarkably effective; Freddie’s back still hurt like hell, but he always felt slightly more relieved once he had been stretched and bent over a few times by a handsome looking man.

‘Thank you so much for this, darling.’ Said Freddie, as Bernie laid the exercise mat out on the floor and shifted the coffee table over to give them more space. ‘I was doing well for a couple of days but last night it started hurting like a bastard. I made the mistake of lifting Khaleel up too quickly during playtime.’

‘It’s no bother at all.’ Replied Bernie. ‘How’s the family? I still have yet to meet your little man.’

‘He’s very shy, our Kenny.’ Freddie chuckled fondly. ‘He’s been a bit clingy lately because of this new job Jim has taken up. He’s not used to him being away and he’s finding it hard to understand.’

‘Poor thing.’ Said Bernie sympathetically. ‘My little girl was the same when I started working full-time. But they get used to it eventually. Now,’ he cracked his knuckles, ‘shall we get started?’

‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’ Freddie said with a laugh and carefully laid himself down on the mat.

--

Khaleel let out a soft yawn as he finally finished colouring in Goliath’s bright yellow eyes and carefully added the picture to the pile of cat drawings he had been working on all afternoon. He didn’t like it when Daddy went to work; he was used to Baba being away, even though he missed him, but Daddy was always there and suddenly not having him around all day made Khaleel confused and scared.

His tummy began to rumble, so he hopped off his bed and carefully climbed down the staircases to tell his Baba that he would like a snack. But when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a strange noise coming from the lounge. The door was open a crack, so Khaleel peeped through curiously.

Baba was lying on the floor and a strange man was sitting on top of him, pulling on his leg. Baba was moaning in pain, his arm flying up to cover his eyes as the strange man continued to push on his leg until his knee reached his chest, before stopping and doing the same with the other one. Baba started to cry a little, and the man said something, though Khaleel couldn’t hear what it was. The boy felt his tiny heart racing. There was a strange man in the house, and he was hurting his Baba. Daddy and Uncle Phoebe weren’t here to protect them. He wanted to run into the lounge and jump on the horrible man, but his feet were frozen to the floor, unable to move.

Then he remembered the phone. Daddy and Baba had taught him how to use it, though he was only supposed to use it in emergencies, and he was never to call 999 unless he really needed to. Daddy had left his work number beside the telephone in the hall, so Khaleel quickly hurried to it and stood up on his tiptoes to grab the handset. He stared hard at the numbers on the little piece of paper and slowly began pressing the buttons. (1/2)

Jim had to admit that it felt good cutting hair again.

Pritchard & Sons was nothing like the Savoy; it was small and intimate, with a far more welcoming atmosphere and friendly regulars who were always happy to make conversation. He instantly felt at home in the place and found himself actually looking forward to working on a Saturday; despite his full-time commitment to the garden, he had been longing for a change of scenery as of late, and this job offer was exactly what he needed.

He was busy brushing away the stray hairs from the shop floor when the telephone at the front desk began to ring. Carl was nowhere to be seen and his two co-workers, Simon and Neil, were busy with clients, so he set his broom against the wall and crossed over to the desk, picking up the handset before it could ring off.

‘Pritchard & Sons, how can I help you?’

‘Daddy?’ Came a small voice from the other end of the line.

Jim was taken back a second, as if he was hearing things. ‘Kenny? Is that you? Kenny, you shouldn’t be calling Daddy at work, he’s very busy.’

‘Daddy, I need help.’ The little boy whimpered in response.

‘Sweetheart, if you need help with something, ask your Baba-’

‘There’s a strange man in the house.’ Khaleel started to sob, his voice a terrified whisper, as if he was worried about being heard. ‘There’s a strange man and he’s hurting Baba.’

Jim felt his blood run cold. ‘W-what do you mean? Where’s Baba, Kenny?’

‘In the lounge. The man is on top of him, and Baba is crying.’

Oh Jesus. Jim began to shake, sweat beading his forehead as a million images flashed before his eyes. He knew he couldn’t let Khaleel hear the fear in his voice, otherwise it would just panic the little boy further. ‘Sweetheart, listen to me. I need you to go upstairs into your bedroom and hide under your bed, okay? Daddy’s coming, everything’s going to be okay.’

Khaleel continued to sob. ‘Daddy, please hurry.’‘

‘Please, Kenny, do as I say. Hang up the phone and go upstairs as quietly as you can. I promise I’ll be home soon.’

There was a loud sniff, before Khaleel mumbled, ‘hurry, Daddy,’ and the line went dead.

‘Tell Carl there’s been an emergency!’ Jim yelled over the counter to Simon, as he raced to the hat stand and grabbed his coat, racing through the door before he even got a response. He cursed as he fumbled with his car keys, almost dropping them into the gutter as his hands trembled violently; as soon as he was in the driver’s seat, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the road.

-----

As soon as he reached Garden Lodge, Jim immediately went around the back entrance, not wanting to alert the intruder by ringing the bell. As soon as he had turned the key in the back door, he immediately called for Freddie, feeling his heart sink when he didn’t receive a response. He slowly walked down the hallway, glancing into every room in case someone leapt out and attacked him, until he reached the kitchen and quickly armed himself with a large knife that had been left sitting on the counter. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to use it.

‘Freddie!’ he cried out again, almost in tears, the hand holding the knife shaking so hard it was a miracle he didn’t drop it.

The kitchen door suddenly swung open behind him, and he yelled in surprise, whipping round, knife clasped in both hands and pointed straight at his would-be assailant.

There was a high-pitched shriek and a crash, and only then did Jim realise it was Freddie, clad in one of his silk kimonos and surrounded by broken teacups. They both stood there, frozen, as Jim looked his husband up and down; Freddie appeared unhurt, though shell-shocked, the tray he had been carrying now lying at his feet amongst shards of china.

‘Jim!’ Freddie screamed, once he had overcome his initial shock. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?!’

Jim didn’t respond. He dropped the knife immediately, letting it clatter against the kitchen tiles as he ran to Freddie and scooped him into his arms, hugging him fiercely. His husband let out a surprised squeak as he was suddenly lifted off the floor and he quickly wound his legs around Jim’s hips before the younger man dropped him on his arse. It felt like Jim stood there forever, holding onto Freddie tightly, swaying back and forth like he did when soothing Khaleel to sleep.

‘Darling?’ Freddie finally whispered into Jim’s flushed ear. ‘Darling, what’s going on? What was all that about?’

Jim finally released his husband, brushing away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks as he cupped Freddie’s face and looked desperately into his eyes. ‘Are you alright? Are you hurt?’

Freddie looked baffled. ‘Hurt? Of course not! Why would I be hurt? And what are you even doing here? I thought you didn’t finish work until six.’

The Irishman’s heart finally began to relax as he took a moment to process this information. ‘Khaleel called the shop. He said there was a man in here and he was hurting you. I got here as fast as I could.’

Freddie stared at him with wide eyes, looking like a deer in headlights. ‘Oh my God…Jim, that was Bernie. Bernie Morris, my physiotherapist. He’s in the conservatory, I was just about to make us some more tea.’

Jim looked like he was about to collapse to the floor. He leaned back against the counter, colour finally returning to his face as he realised that Freddie and Khaleel had never been in any danger. All the horrifying scenarios that had been playing in his mind finally ceased to be.

‘Oh God…’ he covered his eyes with his hands, taking deep, uneven breaths, ‘I thought some psycho had broken in, I thought…’ He cut off, not wanting to even consider what could have happened.

Freddie carefully stepped over the mess on the floor, careful not to cut his bare feet as he approached him and put his arms around Jim’s neck, gently kissing his forehead. ‘You really would have killed a man just to protect me?’

Jim removed his hands from his eyes and replied without any hesitation. ‘Absolutely. The bastard wouldn’t have known what hit him.’

Freddie chucked softly, ‘my knight in shining armour.’ Then suddenly his eyes went wide. ‘Kenny! Where’s Kenny?’

‘I told him to go upstairs and hide under his bed.’ Replied Jim. ‘Come on, let’s go and get him. He’s scared out of his wits.’

-----

It had taken a while to coax Khaleel out from underneath his bed. But his parents eventually managed to convince him that the mean man downstairs was actually a very nice man, who was helping Baba get better, and the only reason Baba had been crying in the lounge was because his back hurt so much. They praised him for being such a brave boy and using the phone to call for help when he thought it was needed. Khaleel eventually crawled out and let Freddie carry him downstairs.

He hid in face in Freddie’s shoulder when he saw Bernie, his body trembling in fear. But he gradually looked up when Bernie started chatting to him, realising this strange man wasn’t really that scary up close. By the time Phoebe arrived home from town, Kenny was sitting on Bernie’s lap, giggling as the man held one of his soft toys, pretending to make it talk in a deep gruff voice.

‘What happened here?’ Phoebe asked as he walked into the kitchen to see Jim sweeping up the broken china into a dustpan.

‘Long story.’ Was all the Irishman said in reply. (2/2)

--------------------------------------------------

Aww an extra long update! I loved it😊 It was exactly what I needed after the exhausting day I've had, thank you for making me smile with this part (and all your stories everyday).

I was happy to see Jim take up a part time job of a hairdresser. I've often wondered about that in Freddie!lives scenarios. I think one of the reasons why Jim took up the job of the gardener at GL is to be close to Freddie who had received his diagnosis by that time, if I'm not wrong.

And aww, baby Khaleel being so smart and calling up his father when he saw that his baba was in danger. And ofc, Jim being ready to do absolutely anything to keep his family safe... my heart.

And lol, I can see Phoebe rolling his eyes in the kitchen like, "I take one day off..."

(More drabbles by writer anon)

[miastideclock]

Day6 Kissing Their Crush

Could you do a Day6 reaction where they lean in to kiss their crush? Whether or not the kiss is accepted can be up to you!

Word Count: 1781 Summary: What happens when the individual members of Day6 leans in for a kiss with you, their crush.

Sungjin (Park Sungjin) :

The cold breeze ruffled your hair and kissed your skin as it blew past, making chills run down your spine. You shivered at the sudden cold, your date immediately noticing. Sungjin was quick to act, because before you knew it, his coat was draped over your shoulders to keep you warm. You turned to him and gave him a smile of appreciation, to which he smiled back and the moved his gaze to the ground, still smiling.

This was the third date you had been on, and you found yourself falling hard for the man to your left. He was everything you dreamed of, kind, smart and warm hearted. So when you finally reached the front door to your apartment complex, you felt your mood falter. You didn’t want the date to end.

You stopped at the door and turned to look at him yet again. Even though there had been a minimal amount of words spoken on the walk home it was nice. It was more than a comfortable silence, it was the feeling as if you had just gotten the heaviest of bricks off of your chest and shoulders, but without saying anything.

“So this is me.” You spoke in a tone just above a whisper. There was no need for you to speak any louder as Sungjin was right there. You were standing on the first step of the small staircase that lead into the lobby, making you the same height as him.

You nor Sungjin knows what happened in that moment, as he found the confidence of a few hundred Gods and grabbed your hand to then lean in and kiss you. Meeting his lips felt as if you had been drowning and finally caught a breath of fresh air. Both you and Sungjin felt sparks flying from your lips and electricity streaming through your bodies as you pulled apart, looking at each other with massive smiles.

“Thank you for tonight. We should do this again sometime.”

“I can’t wait.”

Jae (Park Jaehyung) :

“Now that, that is a bad movie.” You chuckled as the credits started rolling, slamming your laptop shut. The boy next to you seemed to agree as he chuckled with you. You and your friend Jae had watched a movie, as you did every single Thursday night for a few months now.

You dropped the laptop to the ground and shifted around so you were laying against his chest, again, like you always did. The night would typically start with you and Jae making something to eat, like nachos or pizza. You would then eat it all way too fast and wobble over to your bedroom where you would lie on your bed in a food-coma while watching a bad movie. After that you would cuddle and talk about your day, your future, funny moments in the past, or whatever crossed your mind.

“Hey, Y/N. Can I ask you something?” Jae suddenly asked before you could start a proper conversation. You nodded your head and let him know he could always ask you something, serious or not. “This might come out of nothing, and for that I’m sorry, but,” he hesitated, taking a deep breath before looking right at you. “Can I kiss you?”

To say you were caught off guard was an understatement. You had to admit that you had been thinking of Jae differently lately, but it was just very recent that you saw him as potentially more than a friend.

“Jae, I-“ You said in a sigh, but you were cut off by a very embarrassed Jae, mumbling and fumbling around, coming with about a million excuses of why he had to leave, not even finishing one sentence before he began another.

“Jae!” You tried again, finally gaining his attention as he shut up and stopped moving around. “At least take me on a date first, then you can ask me again.” You smiled, the boy lighting up like a Christmas-tree.

“I’ll do that.”

Young K (Brian Kang) :

It was a quiet afternoon, and you were sitting in the kitchen area of your dorm studying. You knew that if you were in your room you would just pick up your phone and either watch stupid tiktoks, or text your best friend Brian. And if you did that, you wouldn’t get anything done, especially if you were talking to Brian. TikTok you could be able to put down, but not Brian, not in a million years. You and him had been friends for a few months, meeting when you tried to flirt with him at a bar. It had gone terribly wrong though as he had picked up your flirting and general friendliness, and had quickly put you in the friend-zone. You weren’t too bothered by it as he didn’t owe you anything, but you of course wished he felt the same way you did.

The song in your earphones changed, and as there was a split second of silence, you heard someone enter the room. You looked up and saw your kitchen-senior standing there looking at you and waiting for you to notice him. You quickly ripped your earphones out and greeted him.

“Hey, I tried calling you and but I guess your phone is in your room or something, but there is a guy outside with flowers looking for you. You want me to buzz him in?” The kitchen-senior asked, and you let him, your mind ranking through all the potential people it could be, but none of them made any sense.

Before you knew it, none other than Brian was standing in the kitchen with you, looking nervous. “Hey, what are you doing here?” You asked as you slowly rose from your seat by the kitchen table. He took a deep breath before answering. “I like you. I really like you, I’m like borderline in love with you. I’m really sorry if this ruins things between us, but I couldn’t live another day not telling you.” He rushed, catching you off guard. He then reached out the flowers he had in his hand, wanting you to take them. You stepped closer to him and gently grabbed the flowers, looking at the gorgeous display of colours in them. You then looked back up at Brian who was standing there, nervously waiting for your reply.

Your heart raced as you took one more step towards him and cupped his face with your free hand, guiding his face to yours, crashing your lips together. He immediately followed, melting your lips together in a long awaited kiss. After a while you pulled away, grinning like a mad-man.

“I’ll take that as a yes to the question I didn’t ask.”

“Yes I’ll be your girlfriend, you dumdum!”

Wonpil (Kim Wonpil) :

You were out on a blind date your friend had set up, and so far it was going pretty good. The boy was cute and easy to talk to, so you immediately grew interested in getting to know him better, maybe even going on more dates.

You had gone out for coffee, so it was a pretty simple date, making it easier to really talk and get to know each other. You had been sitting there for a few hours, and it was now time to part ways. You walked out together and after he held the door open for you, you turned to bid him goodbye.

You guess you had given him the wrong signals, because as you leaned in to give him a hug, he leaned in for a kiss. You were quick to turn away, his face meeting your hair rather than your lips. You awkwardly pulled away and saw how red he was, embarrassed that he read the room wrong.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He apologised once he realised his mistake. You were quick to assure him that it was fine.

“Don’t think about it. It was an honest mistake. But maybe you can try again after our next date.” You smiled, also very smoothly asking him for a second date in the process. He smiled genuinely and nodded, agreeing.

Dowoon (Yoon Dowoon) :

You were sat at a table, stirring the straw in your watered down drink, looking out into the air. You were never a fan of parties like these, you had to admit. Being dressed up in fancy dresses and high heels wasn’t the problem, the people were. They always acted so much better than everyone else even though they were equals, at least in your eyes. But when your best friend Dowoon begged you to come with him to a party his company was throwing, as his plus one, you had to agree. You owed him a favour after all, he did come with you to that one baby-shower you really didn’t want to go to, and not stopping there- he actually made it fun.

“Here, sorry, there was a line.” Dowoon said as he sat down, handing you the new drink, one that wasn’t watered down and room temperature. You quickly thanked him and took a sip of the refreshments.

You sat there talking for a while before you suggested you two would dance. Dowoon quickly agreed as he needed to stretch his legs. You got to the floor and danced away, him twirling you around and messing about to the rhythm, all until the song changed, opting for a slower beat. You stood there for a second before Dowoon reached his arm out for you, which you playfully grabbed. He pulled you close and placed one hand on your hip and the other in your hand, you doing the same, but on his shoulder instead.

You danced slowly around, just looking at each other. For a moment, it felt like the world around you vanished as you looked deeply into his eyes.

The past few weeks, things hadn’t been the same between you two, not necessarily in a bad way. There had been more touching, and cuddling even. For a while you didn’t think much of it, but one day when he pulled you in for a hug, you felt your heart skip a beat.

The world continued to disappear around you slowly, until you saw him glimpse down on your lips, you finding yourself doing the same. Before you knew it, he was leaning in, you meeting him in the middle. Your lips met softly, sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t know this was something you craved this much. Not until you found yourself deepening the kiss, Dowoon gladly following suit.

I apologize for any grammatical errors!

Hope you liked it!! Feel free to request more x

-bentley

[lezliefaithwade]

Thin Ice

Before I read “Harriet The Spy” I used to carry around a small notebook into which I wrote little tidbits about people I saw on street corners or at the mall. I was, and still am, obsessed with watching people. I’ve always been curious about their lives and how they tick.  City buses were particularly good hunting grounds for quirky characters. Every day on my way to school I would wait to see what group of misfits the bus would collect and then in detail I’d write things like:

Friday -

The lady with the strange hat gets on at Ferry Street with her large mesh bag and shuffles to her regular seat behind the driver. Even though she’s four seats away from me, I can smell garlic and rose petals. She wears stockings that sag at her ankles and reminds me of elephants. I wish I could follow her. I wonder where she goes and what she puts inside that large mesh bag. 

This habit of documenting events and people soon found its way into everyday life. It was, I see now, the equivalent of the cell phone. As long as I was engaged in my little book, I was safe from being noticed. Inherently introverted, I was never comfortable in large groups of people. High school parties were just painful reminders that I wasn’t pretty enough, or funny enough, or tall enough, or skinny enough and so I learned to hide. My notebook and pen became my shield of armour protecting me from engaging with the world.  But even Superman has his kryptonite and mine was a boy named Richard. 

Richard figure skated every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at the same arena where I took lessons. Inspired by the artistry of Toller Cranston, and Oksana Baiul I was obsessed with the idea of speed and grace on ice. I wasn’t a great figure skater, but I was good enough to manage basic skills. No one paid much attention to me as I attempted camel spins and axels and spread eagles.  The arena divas who shouted at you to “MOVE!” as they came flying into the corners got all the attention and I was just fine with that. I didn’t skate for anyone but myself. 

My father, who paid for classes from his small paycheck, told me that I could only take lessons if I agreed to pass the CFSA (Canadian Figure Skating Association) tests. He figured that the acquisition of badges justified the expenditure. Perhaps he also thought that failing to achieve the badges might convince me that I didn’t have a future in skating. Either way, that was the deal. So, along with three lessons a week on jumps, spins and flips, I spent an hour every Wednesday on what was known in the skating world as compulsory figures practiced on a piece of clean and shiny ice called a Patch. I hated patch. It was dull, boring, useless work trying to trace circles and curly cues going forward and backward using the different edges of your skate blade. I was horrible at it. Impatient and bored I counted the minutes until it was over; and so it was that on one particular Wednesday, while attempting to trace a circle…I fell. It’s one thing to fall attempting a lutz or an axel. That signals a certain amount of intestinal fortitude.  Falling on patch is practically unheard of. Imagine a stack of books falling in a library? Or a tin pot crashing onto the floor in a monastery where the monks have taken a vow of silence? That is what my crash landing was like at patch. Everyone stopped, stared and laughed. This was the ultimate humiliation for someone who did not want to be noticed. What was I to do but pick myself up and continue.

The rest of my session was agony. I couldn’t go home. Wasting hard earned cash was unheard of in my family. But I didn’t have the heart to skate. All my confidence had been sucked out of me. I imagined everyone wondering what I was doing at the rink. I didn’t belong. I set a bad example for the club. I didn’t even have a mother who could help me stake my claim on the ice, like all the other girls. Even in the change room, I only took up as much space as was absolutely necessary. Without my notebook to hide behind, I was vulnerable and afraid.  As I shoved my skates into my bag and grabbed my coat for the long walk home, Richard stopped me. 

“Nice fall on patch,” he said, not unkindly.

“Whatever,” I mumbled attempting to squeeze past him to the door.

“No,” he said, “I mean it. I hate patch. I always think I’m going to fall and now, I don’t have to worry. You’ve broken the stigma. Thanks.”

“Glad to be of service,” I smirked.

Richard was an excellent skater. He was strong and lean and his lines on the ice were lovely. Being only one of three male skaters at our club, it was hard not to notice him. He had ginger coloured hair, not unlike mine, and freckles. He had that boy next door look that reminded me of a less popular Ron Howard.  I was not in his league. 

“Listen,” he added, “I was wondering if you would be interested in going with me to my grade 12 formal?”

To this day I will never quite understand what Richard saw in me or why my disastrous fall inspired a guy I didn’t know to ask me out for the first time in my life. I was so in shock that before I knew it, I had said “yes.” Later I would come to realize that Richard had actually seen me before. The only female chess member in the Niagara region, I had beat my male opponent during a match at his school.  

As the formal grew closer and closer, I began to have second thoughts. I’d never been on a date in my life but I had some idea of what might be expected, especially at a formal. I didn’t go to his school. I barely knew him. What if he tried to hold my hand? What if he tried to kiss me? What about dancing? What about slow dancing? I was overwhelmed with fear. This would not be the first time in my life that I said “yes” when I wanted to say “no”. It would take me many years to gain that kind of courage. 

As the formal grew closer and closer it began to consume me. I took up an entire English class with my dilemma, soliciting the advice of my teacher and fellow students. I summoned up the courage to call Richard on the phone with the plan to cancel, but he insisted he’d spent a lot of money and guilted me into going through with it. With each passing day, I found myself disliking him more and more. At one point he called to make sure I was still going. 

“Do I have a choice?” I asked him.

“Not really,” he said. And that was that.

Back at my own high school, I was becoming the centre of unwanted attention as everyone started to weigh in on my dilemma. One classmate took it upon himself to warn me of all the things Richard might try to do. 

“If he reaches over to do up your seat belt, look out,” he warned. “If he locks your door, be careful.”

My head was spinning. 

On the day of the formal I got dressed and was ready by 6:30. Richard picked me up at 8:00. In my journal I wrote: He brought me a corsage of roses. I don’t really like roses, but of course if he’d taken the time to get to know me, he would have discovered that. The moment I got into his car he did up my seat belt and locked my door. I swallowed hard, held my housekeys in my fist and girded my loins.

There was a dance, and dinner and more dancing. Richard was not particularly popular but he was respected. I don’t remember a lot of kids talking to him. Mostly he was just congratulated for winning every award at his school and a scholarship to McMaster. We did have one thing hugely in common – we were both nerds. 

The thing I dislike about parties is that I never get to do what I really want, which is to talk. School dances were always an excuse to test sexual waters under half lit gymnasiums with mirror balls.  If Richard and I had gone off to a stairwell to discuss current events, I think the evening might have been a huge success. But the pressure to be romantic was palpable.  At one point he tried to hold my hand and I said I needed it to hold up my dress. I wrote in my journal that he danced so close to me that I could feel his knee in my stomach. THAT is how naïve I was. He tried to kiss me but I wouldn’t let him and eventually, finally, the night came to an end and he drove me home. I was almost out of the car when to my utter amazement he asked me out again. In so many words, I said, “No.” Not an actual “no” but one in so many words.

Richard wasn’t a bad guy. He just hadn’t paid attention to the fact that we were better suited as friends than something more. I would have liked it if we could have occasionally competed at chess. Intellectually matched, we could have discussed Turgenev or world religion or shared our adolescent poems in the park or songs on the guitar sitting cross-legged in a family room. And if I’d been better adjusted, more confident, I might have been able to suggest this alternative. But I wasn’t. I spent a long time feeling very guilty about how I’d behaved. I felt mean and selfish for having ruined his prom. I wondered if at any point he understood how terrified I had been?

The following Monday as I boarded the city bus, relieved that the ordeal of dating was over, I pulled out my little notebook ready to remark on the misfits on the bus when I realized that I was one of them. I wasn’t like everyone else, but then again – who is? Sooner or later I would have to face the music and dance and notebooks, skating lessons and chess club, no matter how solitary was not going to protect me forever from being noticed. This was not a bad thing, just something new to consider.

[theflashdriver]

Making Merry

Here’s a late festive fic, focusing on Silver and the toys from a destroyed future! There’s some light Silvaze within but it’s not the focus, I hope you enjoy!

---

The world was cold and silent, devoid of even the whistling of wind and crashing of snowflakes. A figure was pacing his way forward without leaving the faintest of crunches. Behind him, an equally muted sleigh was pulled; its golden bells kept quiet by a stabilizing aura. Cyan light flared from both the individual and his toboggan, they did not mingle with the snow but instead hang just above it. Though that coating hid their festive appearance; hanging bells, a stocking cap and a giant sack could be discerned by all zero of the people watching.

A prickly figure, with a stuffed belly and a long beard, was gently gliding through candle lit streets; bringing his hands gesticulate through the air as he conducted tonight's business. His yellow eyes crossed from one building to the other, with every movement his light would shift, and a fairy-tale would become just a little more tangible. Windows were commanded open with no more than a gesture, hearth fires would snuff themselves with the wave of a hand and it took little more than a thought to unlock doors. Boxes, wrapped in shining green and red paper, emerged from his giant bag to slip beyond glass panes and down chutes, sneaking their way into houses by whatever means possible, before their entryways resealed themselves.

Of course, beyond even those presents, there was evidence of his endeavour. The charitable figure could not relight fires he'd snuffed; icicles and snow tumbled out of place as a result of his movements, no matter how he tried to subdue them. Fortunately, the night was bright; moonlight and starlight lit his path better than streetlamps ever could. Not only that, but they obscured and rationalized the bright glow that emanated from his person rather than contrasting it.

Or, well, the glow that had been emanating from him.

A laboured breath smoked into the cold air as the figure's cyan trappings left his person, they barely clung on the trolley behind him. Silver the hedgehog, age seventeen, had stumbled free from his own telekinetic hold. As his boots crunched against the snow covered ground his ears spiked high and his eyes began to scan; he took in both windows and streets, looking for the slightest of movements or the flicking of light-switches. His paranoia proved to be for naught, no movement came.

A wispy sigh slipped from his mouth.

Despite the cold, sweat drenched the hedgehog's brow. As if this overuse of his power wasn't enough to tire him, the hedgehog was wearing a most bizarre outfit; red-green woollen gloves protected his hands and boots with golden ornaments covered his feet but those were the most regular additions. A Santa hat sat securely sat behind his fanned quills, a false white beard hid his muzzle and a red overcoat with golden trestles, while not too bizarre on its own, hid a pillow he'd stuffed over his core in an attempt to emulate a jollier body type.

These factors combined were exhausting him, but he felt the need to keep them up. Allowing his feet to remain on the ground, he tiptoed forward and waved his great sleigh to follow. Sighting another latched window, he willed it to open and sent another present from his Santa-sack to brighten the morning of whoever lived inside. Naturally, he couldn't entirely see what he was doing. Silver tried to set his gifts atop the nearest table or counter, whatever was in reach but, naturally, some had surely landed on the floor. His presents were meant for children, just as Santa's were. Within the boxes were toys that had no hope of ever being sold. They came from another world, just as his outfit and sleigh did. That planet was not dissimilar to the one he now walked but it'd been brought to ruin by a lack of the very force that had just pulled him towards the ground; gravity.

The current state of his world was a most bizarre one indeed, not particularly festive either. Doctor Eggman had created a device that would weaken the earth's gravitational field and activated it from the sanctity of the space colony ark. This had resulted in global devastation; oceans had escaped into the sky and unsecured objects did the same. This, eventually, resulted in the loss of all life; no one was prepared for the change.

By the time Silver had arrived, almost 200 years after the apocalypse, the world had been reclaimed by plants. Reaching vines coated the ground and traced up buildings, giant tubers had been granted time to take form and the only thing still living to feast upon them were gigantic slugs and snails. Those creatures having undergone accelerated evolution as a result of a lack of predation but, fortunately, hadn't become carnivorous. Being able to fly and sustain himself on the plants, Silver had a relatively easy time uncovering the cause of the apocalypse and figuring out how he would solve it, but that hadn't been his only goal.

His world had no people, it had no children to play with toys. Shopping malls and charity shops had been left long abandoned; their goods left to gather dust in a world where no dust could gather. Naturally, Silver wasn't going to grave rob to fulfil his plan, but those items had been left without owners; were it not for him, they'd see no use. He'd managed to find a Santa suit in his size, pulled an oversized sleigh from a display and sewn together a ridiculously large bag to house his stash. In truth, the most time consuming of his endeavours had been wrapping all of the goods. After some debate, he'd settle on gifting one shoebox filled with toys to each household across the Sol dimension's scattered islands. Naturally, even with his powers to aid him, this resulted in a ludicrous amount of packaging; despite how much smaller the Sol dimension's population was than that of his own world's prime, it still meant over a hundred thousand gifts.

He'd completed his journey around all but one of the islands; he was now, steadily, working his way through the capital city of Southern Island. There couldn't be more than a couple hundred presents to go, the end was within sight! Gritting his teeth and waving with his hands, Silver strode forward with what vigour his body would afford him. A list of doorbells informed him of a series of flats, with a swish of his hand the door was unlocked, and he dove inside; waving five boxes to chase up the stairwell and land outside each occupant's door. As the door relocked behind, the psychic sighted a row of homes; their latch windows all shared the same design. Rushing as fast as he could, dragging his haul behind him, he pried each one open with ease and forced a present through every window.

As he began to pant, struggling to endure the heat, the hedgehog finally snatched the pillow from beneath his shirt and stashed it into a garden hedge. Quickly sending parcels in ludicrous directions, he managed to trudge his way into the city centre. The space was marked by a grand Christmas tree, three stories tall and lit by a rainbow of red, gold and silver fairy lights. A marvellous thought managed to slink its way into Silver's head, a method of quickly dispersing what few packages remained. The sleigh was made to park in front of the tree, its red and brown oaken form was freed of garish cyan, before that very colour reclaimed Silver's body. He threw himself into the air, tracing along the trunk until he arrived at the tree's ginormous, crowning, star. Grasping it with his left hand, holding on with what might he had, psychic energy pulled in his right palm.

Squinting to look into the dark, he identified the windows and chimineas of houses he had yet to visit. One house at a time, Silver made openings he could take advantage of. He knew the districts he hadn't visited; he'd charted them before gathering his gifts, but it still took time to make his various manoeuvres. These shifts couldn't have been silent, not in every single case, but soon all of the destined paths had been made available. This was going to be exhausting, but not as exhausting as doing it all on foot.

He gestured down to his sleigh before, in one swift motion, pointing his finger to the sky. Almost instantly, a halo of gifts came to top the festive tree; only one step was left. Heaving a great breath, Silver resumed his conducting. Present after present raced beyond arm's reach, no postal service in any reality was capable of the feat he was performing. Gifts landed on windowsills, on workbenches, on tables and in unlit hearths; joy began to scatter itself across a half mile, ducking and dodging and diving its way into various homes. He gritted his teeth, brought his toes to curl and gripped tighter on the star; giving this task his total mental focus.

His false beard, unfortunately, was swept up in the maelstrom of presents and sent flying into the cyan breeze; luckily, it rushed skyward rather than into one of the houses. Silver continued his gestures, throwing out all manner of points and prods in an attempt to control the very chaos he was whipping up. Eventually though, gradually, the surrounding sky darkened again; his efforts were nearly completed! A bead of sweat slid down his nose and he felt his grip weaken but, using all his waving might, Silver managed to deliver those last presents.

Well, not the last presents but the last of those he'd felt obliged to give.

Heaving a deep breath, shutting his eyes tight, Silver stretched his aura to grasp windowpanes across the entire city. With a thrust of his hand and a smothered roar, he saved all those homes from the creeping of the night's cold; hundreds of entrances were forced to close. Satisfied but thoroughly drained, he draped himself in cyan aura and allowed himself to drop from the peak; it wasn't flying, instead he fell like a feather discarded by a bird. Reacquainting himself with the ground, he stumbled his way over to the sleigh. Between colossal yawns, he could make out the rough shape of the last two boxes within his sack.

Silver found himself unable to move the sleigh but, honestly, its final resting place suited it fine. Abandoned at the centre of the capital city, a great empty sack left flopping over its edge; it could mysteriously vanish tomorrow night. He figured that'd add to the wonder. Fighting his way into the sack, the hedgehog retrieved the two final presents and bundled them beneath his arms. Abandoning his vehicle, taking off on foot, Silver headed towards the home of the final resting child; a youth he knew all too well.

Boots left snow prints until snow gave way to sand, soon he was by the sea; the smell of salt and sound of waves polluted his senses, the lowlight was made darker still by his own lack of power. He could see a hut in the distance, crafted of old driftwood and wrought iron; an orange glow still lit the window. It was both a beacon and a worrying oddity, the girl within should have been long asleep. Another yawn threatened to tear through his throat, but Silver fought it off, changing his approach to avoid entering the house through its front door.

The garage entrance proved easy enough to break into anyway; by peering through its frosted window, Silver managed to grasp the pulley that the sliding panel door utilised and fold back its entirety. As ever, the garage floor was littered with raw materials, rusted tools and half-finished projects but he'd long learned to weave and avoid stepping on anything. But, when he arrived at the home's entrance, the hedgehog took pause. He pressed his ear against the great driftwood slab, listening for anything stirring within. Yellow light spilled from beneath the door, but he couldn't hear anything, no footsteps or speech or even tinkering. Well, the home's occupant wasn't known for sitting in silence.

As gently as he could, Silver turned the doorknob and pushed inside; the home's warmth immediately assaulted his cold fur. A festive interior lay before him; tinsel wrapped around every rafter, bobbles hung from nails crudely hammered into walls and splashes of red and green paint coated the walls. Well, she'd certainly given it her best effort. Slowly scanning the small hut, finding its hammock empty, Silver quickly discovered the occupant; sat in a chair of her own making, directly facing the door.

Marine the Raccoon, age ten, had fallen asleep waiting for Santa. She wasn't bundled in a blanket and she hadn't even changed out of her pyjamas, instead she sat in her usual bright green dress, gloves and boots included. Her arms were folded, and her head slumped, a clear sign that she'd lost a battle with sleep.

Looking past her, Silver was very glad that he hadn't entered through the front door. While she hadn't laid a dangerous trap, Marine had clearly wanted to know when Santa had arrived. She'd attached a bell to the door, set to ring as the door swung open; guaranteeing that she'd notice the arrival of any jolly intruder. If she'd rigged the back door too, Silver had no idea what he'd have done.

Gently creeping past her, Silver took the present from beneath his right arm and set it upright against the door. Ever so carefully, the psychic made sure to flip the present's tag such that it was visible; "To Marine, Merry Christmas, From Santa." Naturally, the other gifts had gone unnamed. Well, save for one other. When the raccoon did awaken, this would be the first thing she saw.

Turning back, he got one good look at the sleeping shipwright. By the occasional twitch of her foot and the odd flickering of her ear, Silver could tell she was dreaming about something. Given that and her uncomfortable position, it was unlikely she'd make it through the night without waking. Smothering another yawn, the faux Santa creeped his way back behind the raccoon and towards her hammock bed. He pulled down her blanket before quickly returning to her side, gently wrapping it across her shoulders in an attempt to provide some additional comfort. He figured she'd probably see it as some extra care on the part of Santa, maybe it'd even make up for missing the old fella.

Well, that and he had got her something she wanted, unlike the random gifts the other children had received. Marine's tools had been in disrepair for a while now, saltwater tended to corrode metal quickly and the raccoon had put her equipment through more than thorough use. Thus, he had packaged her a new toolset and drill; not typical gifts Christmas gifts per say, but what he knew she really wanted. Besides, Silver had got her some more typical presents; Santa was supposed to know better.

As he pulled away, Silver fought to smother another yawn, by this point his head was almost spinning; he'd spent so much energy, but he still had one gift left to go. Unfortunately, this last box was to be delivered on the other side of city. This gift was supposed to arrive at the palace and sunrise couldn't have been far away. He managed to make it halfway across the room before catching sight of something he'd both missed and forgotten, a small collection left on the countertop. A tall glass of milk and a small platter of cookies.

Cookies he'd helped make.

Around a week ago, Silver had made a mistake that he was now atoning for. Marine had asked for his help in preparing some chocolate chip cookies, insisting that they had to be the best they were capable of making. The hedgehog had helped her without really questioning, he'd figured they were just meant to be part of a gift, but towards the end Marine's excitement had spilled over. She'd talked about how Santa was going to love them and that he'd surely bring her a good gift this year. This had made Silver curious, having researched the fairy tale figure before, he'd asked various questions… some of which the shipwright hadn't been able to answer.

Silver had also admitted a couple of things that hindsight and research told him he shouldn't have. He'd told her that Santa had never visited the future, that he'd read stories about him, but they all seemed to derive from children's books and that he wasn't certain that the miraculous figure even existed. These points combined to cause the young raccoon a great deal of confusion and what amounted to disappointment. Questioning her own belief; she'd gotten angry and insisted that she'd stay up to meet Santa, proving to Silver that he existed.

Later that day, Blaze had explained to him why Marine had gotten so angry and consoled him that he'd had no way of knowing any better, but that didn't stop him from feeling bad. He'd left for the other world, promising them both that he was leaving to gather presents in secret and would return on Christmas, only to make this ludicrous plan a reality. He'd made Santa real, even if only in this smaller world.

Swearing that he heard something shift behind him, shaking away his daydream, Silver quickly scoffed the entire platter. Cleaning his muzzle with the back of his wrist, feeling both consciousness and energy return to him as blood rushed towards his stomach, the hedgehog slid his way to the door and quickly out through the garage. As he physically pulled the sheet door down, he noticed that some of the brightness had already returned to his psychic symbols. He had enough juice for this last flight, there was one more person he desperately wanted Santa to visit.

Wrapping himself in cyan light, the hedgehog took to the skies and rocketed himself above the clouds. The sky was still dark, the sun wasn't rising yet, but, given that it was Winter, people would surely awaken soon. He lingered among the cloud layer, obscuring his vision but guaranteeing that he wouldn't be seen, if even a single figure saw him this morning then this illusion was at risk of cracking. Fortunately, even with minimal view of the ground, this was a path Silver knew well enough to perform practically blind.

He broke free from the white cover just a hundred metres from the palace, its recently restored stonework made clear. Dodging between the castle turrets and around its backside, he came to hover above the royal garden before coming to land at a certain balcony. Its glass double doors were shut, the curtains pulled closed, but as he went to psychically create an entrance, the hedgehog found the doors unlocked. He poked his head through the drapes, attempting to quietly make sure the coast was clear, only for a set of amber eyes to rise from a book and ensnare him.

Almost reflexively, he stumbled back and clattered to the ground; quickly pulling the feline's present to his chest in an attempt to avoid crushing it. It was only as he lay there, back throbbing, that he noticed the decorations she'd clearly put up for his arrival. Red ribbons with golden trim lined the entryway and a pair of golden bells hung above its centre. Looking behind himself, he found that holly had been brought to rap around the balcony's guardrail. She'd waited for his return; she'd set all this up.

Before he could get to his feet, Blaze had stepped beyond the curtains and into the cold. Naturally, being pyrokinetic, the change temperature didn't shake her, but great plumes of steam were erupting with each of her breaths. The situation had surprised him, his heart was still pounding, but the combination of the ornaments and a smile on her face managed to subdue him.

"And what time would you call this?" She'd brought her arms to fold across her chest, looking down at him. Unlike Marine, she'd made it into her pyjamas; a button up purple night shirt and a set of baggy, grey, pyjama bottoms.

He couldn't bring himself to rise, a sigh escaped his throat and he broke from her eyes, "I-I don't know if it's early or late by this point…"

"You're coming to bed, so I suppose we should call it late," She mused, reaching down to him, "Where have you been? You look exhausted."

He looked down at himself and realised that, without the stuffed gut and beard, he merely looked festive rather than Santa like. Already though, her eyes had drifted to the box in his hands. As he glanced to check the tag, he found it exposed. By the time he looked back to her Blaze had already followed his gaze. She threw him a curious look, shifting from leading him inside to facing him directly again.

"W-Well, um," She wanted some kind of explanation and if she didn't get it now, she'd figure it out tomorrow when the world was abuzz with talk of mysterious gifts, "After what I said to Marine, an idea came to me. I know Santa doesn't really exis,t but if getting a gift from him would make her happy I thought it was only right to get her one," For some reason, either embarrassment or tiredness or some combination of the two, he was struggling to admit his actions, "The future had lots of abandoned toys, all in good condition, so I boxed them all up and… uhm… delivered them to all of the houses."

Her eyes had gone wide, he felt her grasp tighten, "Silver, what do you mean by all of the houses?"

"At first, I thought just Marine would be enough, then I realised I could do more so I…" The concern on her face was palpable, whether it was at the foolishness of his actions, or the toll they might have taken on his body, Silver was no sure. Regardless, he struggled to give further justification, "I also figured that, since Santa missed you during our years together, he ought to make up for it. It's not the only thing I've got you, I stashed another somewhere in the palace but…" He held the present out to her, "We didn't get to experience the wonder and mystery that's tied to this season, so I made certain that Santa got you something special this year. It's not like all the gifts were hand-picked, outside yours and Marine's they were random, but… it only felt right to…"

She took a step closer, pushing past the red wrapped box and into his soggy form. It was only with her warm touch that he realised quite how cold he was. Wandering through slush and soaring through the clouds had soaked him rather thoroughly. Her warmth almost immediately ate away at that cold, he brought his arm to wrap around her back.

"You're so naïve," The coffee on her breath was blatant, she'd stayed up waiting for him, "People are going to be so confused. I doubt they'll panic, but I'll send out a memo; make it clear that that Santa has actually visited, not some other large man in red."

Silver grimaced, "I'm sorry, I thought-

"Silver," She pulled back a little, still holding him but looking him squarely in the eyes. Her gaze was softer than he'd expected, "You did something good for my world, something ludicrous but ultimately good. Don't you dare apologise," Her hand slipped from his back to the top of her head, prying off his soggy Santa hat before dragging through his quills, "Just, next time, let's do it together. That way it won't come as such a surprise and you won't be run ragged. Honestly, look at you."

"Next time?" As he questioned, she finally tugged him inside.

"This isn't the kind of trick you can pull just once, Silver. People are going to expect it now," The princess flatly explained, "You've put yourself in Santa's shoes."

As Blaze left him, walking to her bedside and drawing up her phone, thoughts overwhelmed him. He hadn't really considered that. Silver had always thought of this as bringing the miracle of Santa Clause to life, not actually becoming him, but Blaze was right. If the miracle happened once, people would expect it again; he hadn't made Santa real, but he'd become a Santa. He'd travelled across this island nation in a single night (albeit, utilising time travel to make the long-distance movements far easier) and delivered presents into each of the houses.

Blaze's voice pulled him from his stupor, "Well, Gardon's already awake and he dared to open his. The news has already started to spread, we can relax," She was smiling at him again, he quickly turned and closed the balcony doors, "I'm sure Marine will run in and wake us up in a handful of hours, we should try to get some sleep at least," She suggested before gesturing across the room and behind him, "If you want, you can put that under the tree with yours, we'll open them when morning properly arrives."

Turning, Silver came face-to-face with a small, very decorated, Christmas tree; a sizeable bundle of parcels piled beneath it. Some of them were addressed to Blaze herself, likely gifts from political figures or castle staff, but the bulk of them were addressed to both him and Marine. One parcel in particular, near the front of the pile, caught his eye. It wasn't addressed to or from Blaze, not like the others. It was to him, from Santa. She'd had the same idea as him, she'd wanted to make up for lost time. This was his first Christmas in the Sol dimension, let alone civilised society; his first opportunity for this kind of thing. While he'd been away, she'd surely been planning for tomorrow.

Not tomorrow, today. He had to be his best for later, both so that Marine wouldn't suspect a thing and so that he could embrace Blaze's efforts to the fullest.

His present set down, a plan in mind to quickly nip out and gather the others that were stashed in the castle, he'd headed towards the door and prepared to wave goodnight only for her hand to catch his again. His brow raised and his head tilted but she just rolled her eyes, unleashing a yawn that was soon echoed by him. He hadn't noticed that the heat rippling off of her had brought him to fully dry, his quills and fluff had frizzed to their maximum. Boots were fought off, he escaped his jacket, and soon the two of them were lying together. Her head found his chest, his chin found her ear and sleep found them both before they could realise it. They were in for an early awakening and a busy day, but they'd managed to spend the first hours of this charitable holiday together, giving the other their whole to make them merry.

[megalony]

Don’t leave us.

Roger x Reader x Ben idea.

This is very angsty and has warnings of attempted suicide, please be warned.

Enjoy.

Part 2

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

The sound of her heels clashing against the wooden flooring clattered around the corridor as her body stumbled, hands reaching out to plant on the wall to her left to stop herself from crashing down into a heap on the floor at her feet. Breathing soon becoming erratic as her eyes trained on the door at the very end of the corridor that seemed to be getting longer the further she got to her destination. Nothing could be heard but the blood that was rushing through her ears at an ungodly speed as it felt like her lungs were closing up. She could feel the burning sensation that pressed harshly against her sternum from the force of each breath pushing through her windpipe causing it to rub against the bone that held her chest out. A strangled sound leaving her lips that she couldn't hear either, unsure if it was a cry or some kind of plea to make this situation turn out to be so different than to what she knew she would be running into once she entered the flat she eas now dreading.

Blinking furiously her eyelids pushed the tears from the corners of her eyes that kept swelling there as if telling them there was no room at the inn, forcing them out into the open to run down her face in fear. The heels of her feet were on fire from how harshly her feet were hitting the ground, her walking was uneven at the best of times and now that was amplified to the maximum. Skin burning on her feet as the shoes rubbed against her heels uncomfortably as her legs were working rapidly to take her down the corridor she could have sworn was only a few feet long. Looking an inch in front of him he kept his gaze on the girl who had stolen his heart along with the man they were trying to get to. Wondering what was happening yet knowing the outcome at the same time. His hand reached out, planting on her shoulder but she barely felt the touch, his fingers digging into her skin as his feet forced him to go quicker. Legs feeling like their muscles were going to shrivel up at any given moment from the amount of running and the steps they had taken just to get to the right floor. His face now turning red from the blood pumping through his veins to the point they felt like they were going to burst. His cheeks reddened dramatically and becoming drenched with salt water from his eyes. Vision blurring but being stable just enough for him to see her body turn sharply to the left, foot slipping from beneath her causing his hands to grab her waist. Steadying the both of them as he practically leaned against her to stop himself from going further into the wall where the corridor finally met its end. Watching as her shoulder slumped against the wood of the door, hands shaking as they tried to put the key into the lock. A task that had once been something her mind had never had to think about doing, being in this position thousands of times where she simply needed to twist and hear the chime of the lock signalling her passage inside was allowed. This time realising her hands were shaking too much for the key to be able to find the entrance to the locking system keeping them out. Her head colliding with the door when the key finally entered the lock, her hand almost breaking from the pressure it applied to the small piece of thin metal that was close to snapping. Holding the power to allow them to get into the apartment that held all of the terrors they were yet to face. Both bodies almost collapsing inside when the door swung open from their added weight. Neither bothering or thinking to even try and take the key from the lock or even to shut the door behind them. His body fell into the door as hers collapsed down, knees coming so close to landing on the floor to prey to the apartment for allowing them inside. Her arms stretching out in front of her as her feet continued to move though her knees so clearly buckled under the pressure and shock. Left hand managing to grasp the corner of the counter and propell her roundto the left as if it had hold of her and was playing with her. Watching as she stumbled trying to keep herself from hugging the floor, knees never straightening as her ankles were under pressure at such wrong angles but it didn't seem to matter. As her body was propelled by the corner his was given a push by the door that hit against his back and came to a sudden stop against him. His breath being caught in the split second he stopped moving as he threw himself forward over the threshold of the apartment. Following in suit of one of his lovers, ears picking up the choking sound she made sounding like a hasty attempt to gain a breath and let out the emotions that were penting up inside of her. His mind screamed for this to be some kind of sick and twisted joke, knowing he would be too relieved and shocked to even think about shouting at such pain and panic they had been put through. His heartstrings becoming cut and allowing his heart to drop to his stomach as he knew that this thought was simply too much to ask for. No one could grant him this and knowing was tearing him apart because of what he was surely going to face. A tortured sound left the girls lips as she slammed all her weight against the next door she faced that came to stand in her way. Daring to provoke her and stop her in her search for the one they needed to help. It seemed like a pebble in the road compared to her will and force, body launching into the wood and successfully breaking the feeble lock that was trying to keep her out in the hallway forever. The most gut wrenching scream he had ever heard filtered through his ears although she never heard the sound that tore from her lips and shredded her throat to pieces. A buzzing noise filling up her eardrums when her eyes landed on a sight she knew was coming but at the same time still didn't expect to see. Body finally welcoming the comforting embrace of the floor that was coated in water, her hands gripping the edge of the tub that was tainted and stained. Her head pressing against her arm as she could feel her lungs deflating like balloons in her chest that completely stopped working, wanting her to suffer and shut down. The overwhelming scent of iron flooded through his nostrils as he felt his stomach twisting and pushing up the contents into his throat. Body having to lean against the doorframe for support before he lurched down toards the floor to his right, the contents of his stomach spewing from his lips and onto the floor soiling it as he felt himself becoming lightheaded. A sob escaping his lips as his knees caved in as if something had hit into the back of them to send him down like a pile of bricks. Body crashing against the side of the bathtub and the floor. Feeling himself becoming immobile as the realisation that the phone call they had recieved had been the real deal. The voice on the end of the line had not in fact been some impersanator like he had so wished, nor had it been their lover trying his best to worry them or trick them for some unknown reason. His body was turning to stone as he felt himself unable to do anything about it, not feeling the energy or the power to do anything at all except scream. Eyes watching the girl as she seemed to steal all the strength from his body immediately as soon as he crash landed behind her. Watching as she dragged her nails alongside the bath to pull herself to a kneeling position before throwing herself into the tub on top of the person already lying there. Water that had once been calm and unmoving suddenly burst to life, flowing from one end of the tub to the other before spilling over the side like a glass that had been poured too full. The water coating the other immobile man's body though he didn't seem to notice at all. His eyes however did pick up that the colour of the water was not a clear crystal like one would normally associate with bath water. Nor was it tinged with blue or even a grey colour from muck or grime. It was as if blackcurrent juice had been weakened too much by water, turning it a dusty pink in places especially where it overflowed from the bath. But surrounding the two people harbouring in the tub it was a darkened crimson that was ever so slightly faded like it had been in the sun for too long. "No, no no. Stop it... no no no." The words tumbled from her lips in a loop that just would not stop and he had no will to tell her to either. Her hands flying to the pulse point on her other lovers neck to try and tell if they had arrived too late. The luke warm water clinging to her clothes and pulling them down trying to tug her into the deep recesses of the tub as she wa sonly scratching the surface of the water. Her left leg hanging over the side of the tub at an awkward angle that at any other time could have caused her pain or in the least some discomfort but now she felt nothing but numbness. "Help me!!" Her voice screeched making him think he was sitting in a room with a banshee that had screeched a war cry at him. His heart rocketing in his chest at the realisation that there must be a pulse- however faint, pushing against her nimble fingers or else she wouldn't be shouting for help. He had already taken the initiative of calling for the emergancy services as soon as the phone call from the one lying practically dead had happened. Sending help straight to the apartment they were now in, seeing it had not yet arrived meaning they should be helped sooner or later. Her face was blotched like a work of art that was simply uncared for, dots and splotches of red ink tainted her cheeks and surrounding her eyes which were pulsing with promenant veins grasping around them like vines. Hands both resting on the side of the other blonde man's neck keeping his head turned towards her as she sobbed over him. He felt himself thawing out like a block of ice, his feet getting their movement back as he managed to hold onto the tub to move himself from his immobile state on the floor. Stomach tensing and feeling queasy at the movement but he paid it no mind, needing to help his lovers before he lost one of them forever. Hands dipping into the tub like blocks of ice plunging into steaming water so much he could almost see the steam flying around in the air above their heads. Calloused fingers grasping around the wrist of the other man who was unmoving. digging his fingers into the flesh he let go with one hand to graspa  towel lying nearby, forcing it onto the slash mark that rested over a promenant vein that was spewing the red liquid like a hose pipe. Tying the fabric in such a tight knot nothing should have been able to break through its implied force. Yanking on the other arm that had the same mark resting over it and doing the same with another towel that went from crystal to crimson much the same as the water they were lying in. His legs shaking so much he almost fell on top of her when he leant over to try and grasp the chain connecting to the plug, pulling that until he heard the satisfying sound of the water beginning to swirl around the drain. Mind screaming as he held the light blue sponge in his hand before holding it under the cold tap of the sink before transferring the dripping water over the other man's arms very close to the towels he had wrapped around his wrists. Trying his best to make his veins and arteries become too cold so they would disappear beneath the surface of his skin instead of flying to the surface in hopes it would stop the leaking of blood just a little. His body only losing the slightest bit of tension when rasied voices reached his ears as he managed to pick out the important words of help and paramedics to tell him that his call had done the trick in supplying them with the much needed assistance. Hands dropping the sponge into the bath discarding the item that had done little in helping him before his fingers wrapped around the shoulders of the girl laying on the other man trying to wake him up and bring him back to them. Pulling her to her feet and steadying her body though he wasn't very stable himself, feeling his legs shaking with adrenaline and fear that he didn't want nor need in his system. Arms tightening around her frame as he coccooned her to his chest as if she was going to disappear if he let her go. He wasn't willing to lose her as well. "Don't leave us Rog."

[areluctantsblog]

Music AU - part 3

Au where Tony Stark is a music producer & the owner of Avengers Entertainment, Peter is a multi-instrumentalist British jazz musician and War Machine is a progmetal band. In other words the starker fic in which Peter smirks a lot and Tony remains astonishingly oblivious for a long time.

PART1       PART2

Evening

Two hours and two thousand pounds later Tony is back in front of the mirror in his room and is finally satisfied. Well, the suit is not bespoke, that would have been impossible in such a limited amount of time. But it feels the best he owns, a sensation which may have more to do with why he bought it rather than where. He finishes his second drink, smooths down the front of his jacket and revels in the soft touch of the fabric. Unbidden, his mind conjures up the image of Peter’s long fingers and the way his pale skin would look against the dark charcoal of the suit.

Snapping out of his reveries, Tony feels the need of grounding himself and decides to have dinner before the concert. His desire of getting around the exhausting search for a suitable place wins out over his habit of avoiding hotel restaurants and he calls room service. The food arrives soon, and he decides to eat on the balcony despite the chilly breeze. The lights of the city are beckoning him, and the noises melt together in an excited buzzing. Tony feels anticipation course through him, the prickling of adrenaline in his veins pushing him forward despite the anxiety coiling at the pit of his stomach.

Tony watches the taxi drive away before turning around and taking the ship in. It looks just as cool as on the website and he’s not surprised to see a small queue at the entrance. He walks down the steep dock and joins the line. He wishes away the uneasy feeling settling in his chest, but his efforts are in vain. He has nothing to occupy his mind as he waits, and he starts wondering when the last time was that he had gone to a concert not for business. Then Tony reminds himself that this is business. But he can’t deny that this is something else, too and it makes him nervous.

He barely notices when he’s up. He gets his ticket, enters and puts his coat in the cloak-room without paying any attention. The exposed, naked feeling he got from Peter’s gaze that morning is back. Entering the concert hall, Tony walks straight to the bar. The velvety taste of his Islay whiskey brings him back to the present for a minute, but the smoky aroma reminds him of the chilly morning air and Peter. Shaking his head, Tony takes another sip, leans against the bar and takes in the venue.

The windows of what seems to have been originally the dining room are closed off. Tony suspects that it’s been done to achieve better acoustics. The walls, along with the old panelled ceiling are painted matte black. The copper wall lamps appear to be genuine and they create a steampunk vibe without trying too hard. Tony makes a mental note to consider this venue for Avengers’ gigs in the future. He can just imagine young Londoners going crazy for Loki’s dark post metal here. Although steampunk doesn’t really suit heavy metal, the lightning visuals of the God of Thunder would go excellently with the Steamer’s all-black interior.

His musings are interrupted when he catches Peter’s name in the conversation of a small group at the bar. A youth with their back to Tony says how much they wait to see what Peter comes up with next. Tony can’t suppress a grin, but the excitement in his chest soon turns into something more unpleasant. There may be a hundred people there already, mostly Peter’s age. Tony wonders how many of them are his friends and acquaintances. He’s surprised to recognise the emotion clawing into him as jealousy.

Not wanting to dwell on this, he finishes his drink in one swallow and starts towards the stage. Being so close to the excited crowd forming the first few lines doesn’t help changing his earlier train of thought, so Tony turns his attention to the instruments that have already been brought out to the stage. The grand piano occupies almost half of the place. The drums are set up in the back and to the right there is a beautiful reddish double bass and a stool for the player. At the centre of the stage Tony sees an alto and a soprano saxophone. He can’t help but feel a little awe-struck again, when he remembers that Peter can play all these instruments. Tony wants to see it all, but he suspects that Peter will only play one tonight. Before he can decide if he’d preferred the sight of Peter hugging the double-bass to that of his delicious fingers flying over the keys of the piano, the lights are dimmed.

Tony hasn’t noticed so many people arrive, but the cheering that erupts suggests a nice crowd. He doesn’t join in, not so much out of professionalism, but because the realisation that any second now he’s going to see Peter again hits him hard. Before he can even wonder how to prepare himself, however, Peter walks out on stage and Tony’s breath hitches. Impossibly, he looks more beautiful than Tony remembered, his expression determined, dark eyes glowing in the blue light. He wears a long white shirt reaching almost to the knees. The way it envelops his slim figure sends a shiver down Tony’s spine – a sensation that has nothing to do with professional appreciation of Peter’s sense of style.

When Peter picks up the saxophone, Tony feels something hot coil in the pit of his stomach. He tries to focus on how Peter’s holding the instrument, if it is the proper way, but when he starts to play, the last of Tony’s pretences are swept away. His usual cool and collected professionalism stands no chance in Peter’s presence. He’s immediately transported by the vibrant tune.

It feels like spring and sunlight, like being caught up in the turmoil of a busy town square, surrounded by colours, sounds, touches that fit together seamlessly, all part of one pulsating flow of life. Then the saxophone opens new paths and Tony finds himself removed from the centre of things, relaxed, breathing in the dust and the lazy afternoon sunshine as he wanders down empty streets. The sea is glistening like a myriad of diamonds at the end of the road, and Tony kneels in the sand, letting the foamy waves wash over him, cooling him, bringing him back.

Opening his eyes is like waking from a deep slumber. He has no idea how much time has passed, whether the cheering and clapping indicates the end of the first song or the whole concert. When Peter speaks, greeting the audience, Tony’s relieved to find out that it’s only the beginning. Before he signals the band to start playing again, Peter’s eyes find Tony and for the briefest moment they lock gazes. For a second the rest of the crowd disappears, and they are alone, just the two of them in their connection. Tony’s never been affected like this before.

He barely has time to recover before the first notes of the second song begin, and he’s drawn back into that dreamlike state. His eyes fall shut and after god knows how long, Tony Stark begins to dance. His whole body is attuned to the music. Every note resonates in his chest and each note flies around him, teasing him, making the soft swinging movement feel irresistible. Tony revels in the new sensations awoken by Peter.

Where he usually feels cool and empty, gentle flames now sparkle into life, warming him, dancing in his chest like fairy lights. He feels young, careless in a way he’s never been, chasing his lover around white walls in a vivid green garden, the sunlight playing tricks on his eyes, until he finally reaches him. They kiss and Tony feels tears well up in his chest, but he laughs, because it’s the most delicious thing he ever felt, almost unreal, magical.  

Each song takes him to a new place. The colours, perfumes and sensations evoked by the tunes seem familiar, yet dazzlingly new, as if coming from a long-forgotten part of his soul that Peter's music somehow manages to reach. It's like breathing freely again.

By the end of the concert, Tony feels both exhausted and energised. He can't wait to find Peter. As his brain starts to function normally again, he comes up with one argument after the other to convince Peter to sign with the Avengers. He can't let him go. Peter is incredible, his compositions, his playing, his presence, all of it. All of him. Tony needs him. As the crowd slowly starts dispersing, he walks back to the bar. It doesn't take long for Peter to join him. Tony hears the congratulations he gets as he walks across the dance floor. He doesn’t turn around, but he lifts his glass in celebration as Peter slides on a stool next to him.

When he turns to face the young man, Tony aims for an appreciative expression, but he can feel that he misses by a mile. Peter’s face is flushed, his forehead covered in shining drops of sweat and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. The sight sends a wave of arousal through Tony’s body and he knows that it shows. He wets his lips and clears his throat, but it takes a second try to actually get any words out.

“You are amazing,” Tony says, wishing he wouldn’t sound so much like he was in a post-orgasmic bliss.

The playful twinkle in Peter’s eyes suggests that he knows full well what is going on inside him. He holds Tony’s gaze for a long moment before he thanks him with a genuine smile. Then, he takes a sip of his club soda. When a drop starts running down the side of the glass, he flicks out his tongue and licks it off. Tony can’t look away and Peter’s smirk tells him that the young man knows it. Tony gulps.

“Peter,” Tony begins trying to keep the raspy edge of arousal out of his voice, “I need you to understand..." Peter frowns at that and lifts his gaze, so Tony's looking him straight in the eyes when he speaks his next words. "You've made me feel things I've never felt before. Fuck, I know I sound cheap, but you see, I'm quite old for new emotions," he adds jokingly, but at the same time it hits him how painfully true it is.

"My point is that you–, your music," he corrects himself, "is incredible and the way you own the stage…” Shit. He can't make it about how sexy Peter is. He is, god yes, he is, otherwise Tony wouldn't be getting hard from those dark, attentive eyes boring into his, but Peter is not the type to be flattered into a deal. And yet... “You are perfect,” Tony finishes after a moment’s pause, getting his voice back under control. Try as he might, he couldn't sum it up any better.

Peter tilts his head slightly, bright eyes searching Tony’s face and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Tony wants so much to lean in and kiss him, it hurts. But he can't. For one thing, it would be utterly unprofessional and for another, Peter surely wouldn't want him. It really shouldn't hurt as much as it does. And Tony certainly shouldn't dwell on it for such a long time.

“So,” Tony starts, the exact moment he sees Peter move. His heartbeat quickens with excitement, but by the time he blinks, Peter is completely still again, looking at him expectantly. Tony’s chest tightens. He’s never been so nervous about business. He swallows hard and continues. “What would you say about a deal with the Avengers?”

The change in Peter’s expression tells Tony instantly that he said something wrong.

“What?” he asks, confused. “Surely, my offer can’t be wholly unexpected…”

Shit. He hasn’t made it better.

“Well, Mr. Stark, I can assure you that your offer took me entirely by surprise.”

Peter’s mocking him, but why? What has Tony done to offend him?

“Peter?” When he hears how weak his voice sounds, Tony clears his throat. “Mr. Parker, I’m sorry if my offer doesn’t seem appealing to you. If you would let me explain, I’m sure we can agree on more satisfying terms.”

A hollow laugh is all the answer Tony gets before Peter excuses himself in a colourless tone and walks away. Tony is dumbstruck. He can’t fathom what went wrong. One minute, Peter’s gaze was open and interested, the next he looked hurt and he shut Tony out so fast, he had no chance of figuring out his mistake. Tony stares down at his hands. He has no idea what to do. If he gave up, it would be the right time to leave. But has he given up?

At least the ‘no’ in answer to that question comes without hesitation. No, he still wants Peter.

Tony stays like this for a long time, his mind foggy, his whole body numb. He tries to think but can’t come up with anything helpful. Then it hits him. He hears his own words again, as if he spoke them out loud. He wants Peter. He wants Peter, period. Tony feels his face flush in embarrassment, but he can’t fight off the grin spreading on his face, either. Shit. How could he have denied it even for a minute? How could he have said ‘Yes, he’s beautiful, but– ‘? How could he have convinced himself that it was all professional?

Well, Tony know why he felt he needed to convince himself. He would have never believed that Peter can be interested in him. His reputation is one thing, his age is quite another. He was horrified to be seen as a creepy old man thirsting over young people, abusing his power to get them and using them to make him feel young again. No, Tony’s not like that. He doesn’t need young lovers to make him forget, because he simply doesn’t mind his age.

And, apparently, Peter doesn’t mind it either. Tony tries hard to come up with an alternative explanation, but there’s no other way to see this. He recalls his own words, how he as good as confessed all his admiration and desire to Peter. And he welcomed it. The memory of his smiles makes Tony’s heart clench. It’s obvious now, what he did to offend Peter. Foolish as he is, Tony Stark practically turned down Peter Parker. He told him he was perfect and that he made him feel in a way he never had before – then went on and offered him a fucking contract. How utterly humiliating that must have felt, especially if Peter expected something else…

Tony buries his face in his hands. He must make things right.

He can’t.

Can he?

Tony has no idea, but if there’s ever a time to take a risk, then it’s now. He stands and starts walking purposefully towards the VIP entrance.

“Did you name-drop yourself to get in here?” Peter asks, half exasperated, half teasing, when he notices Tony.

“No,” he replies, taking a seat next to Peter, turning towards the young man, abashed. “I actually name-dropped you.”

Peter bows is head in mock surprise, but he seems to relent. Relieved and embarrassed at the same time Tony laughs, and his heart starts beating faster when he hears Peter chuckle too.

“So, you’re still interested, even though you can’t own my music?”

“Peter,” Tony begins for the second time that night. He pauses searching desperately for the right words to deliver his feelings. “In the last two hours you took me through space and time and showed me some magical places. And yes, it would be a dream to work with you, because you are ridiculously talented and you create true art. But when you stopped playing, I opened my eyes and I realised that it wasn't the music. It was you. It was you that I…” he pauses. He needs to get it right, to prove himself, to make up for his blindness and stupidity. “It was you that got me spellbound and I would very much wish to be with you.”

“Well then,” Peter smiles, eyes bright, voice like honey, “when is your flight back, Tony Stark?”

Tony frowns. Is that what this is going to be? A quickie before his flight? He wasn’t prepared for this answer, but what can he expect after making such a fool of himself? He swallows past the lump in his throat and answers. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“No,” Peter corrects, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling with some new emotion. He slides off his stool and steps closer. “I meant your flight back here.”

Tony’s chest suddenly feels too tight. He laughs in relief and beams at Peter as the young man leans in to kiss him.

[comebackseasonisamess]

When He Comes Back

Mark Lee x Reader | ft Lee Taeyong as the adjuvant | angst, slight horror

Word Count: almost 2k words

Summary: It’s been two years since Mark vanished, and you haven’t been ok since.

Sequel to Waves And Adventures

A/N Finally. This fic has been the bane of my existence. I swear I wanted it to be normal but I guess my stressed brain didn't like that idea... Not edited, so if there are any plot inconsistencies feel free to tell me.

A golden hue lights up the inside of your room. The birds chirp outside like they do when the weather's clear.

You pull the sheets up, over your ears and block out the signs of the morning. You open your eyes and all you see is muted colours, fading into the obscure.

It's the two year anniversary of Mark leaving. Two years since you last saw him, huddled under the broken stairwell, a look of pure terror across his face. Two years since anyone saw him, since you've actually smiled, since you've been able to pass a day without thinking about him.

As your mom pounds against the door, yelling at you to get up, that it's a new morning and your little sister needs a ride to school, you sink deeper into the safety of your bed. You can't stay there forever, you know, but a few extra minutes won't hurt.

When you can finally force your muscles to lift you off the bed, you place the least amount of care in your appearance. Sweats, a t-shirt that used to be, no, is, Mark's, and a pair of scuffed runners that before you used to garden in find their way on your body. You sweep past the desk where you kept your makeup and jewelry. The desk was gathering dust, and everything had passed the expiry date.

You walk out the door, gently closing it and walking quietly down the hallway to the kitchen, where your sister sat at the island, eating cereal. She had a habit of taking too much cereal, and leaving the stuff she didn’t eat as well as the milk in the bowl.

“Come on, let’s go,” you told her, pulling the car keys from the hook nailed in the wall. You gesture to the main door, turning slowly on your heels as you ambled towards it, head tucked down and shoulders slumped to the front.

You slide into the car, adjusting the seat of the family car to fit your size, and turn the key in the ignition. Your sister slithers into the shotgun, slamming the door behind her and clicking in her seatbelt before turning her attention to her phone.

You drive in silence. Silence is good. Silence leaves you alone in your thoughts, to think about times when you were happy and with Mark. Silence leaves you to think about the coming day, about what you’re going to do, what you’re going to see, who you’re going to meet.

You pull up to the front of your sister’s high school. She jumps out of the car, thanking you and running up the stairs to get into the entrance.

You drive the car back home, and within minutes your mom runs out to go to her job, and you’re left alone in the house.

You decide to take a shower. You strip out of your clothes, and twist the knob to the spout until the water comes out scalding hot. You step into the water, scrubbing at your skin with blunt fingernails. You open the shampoo bottle, and pour out a dollop of it. You run it through your hair, then rinse and repeat with your conditioner. You close your eyes and lean against the shower wall, feeling drowsy as time seems to go by faster.

When you’re dried off and dressed up again, you put on a pair of hiking shoes, before commencing a journey to the last place you saw Mark: the abandoned red house by the cliff.

A year and a half ago, while trying to find Mark, you ended up wandering from the house and into the neighbouring community, which was situated maybe a half a kilometer away. That was how you found out there was a way to get to the house without crossing by the raging ocean and risking falling in.

Plugging in your headphones to make the journey seem to go by quicker, you stick to the side of the road with your entire body slouched forward.

As if the day could get any worse, the sky had been grey for a while, and it had opened up to let rain pour down on you.

You’re wearing a windbreaker with no hood, so you hope to get there sooner rather than later. A cold during the springtime is never appreciated.

Pressing on, you avoid all puddles and before you know it you reach the house.

The house looks the same as it did last year. An eary, ominous sense surrounding it the red paint still as bright. The lights look as if they had just been changed and the door was opened by an inch.

You suck in a breath, realizing that this entire year you had been preparing for this. He promised you, after all. You push open the door, releasing a timid ‘hello’ from your chest.

“Hello, darling,” a voice purrs from the darkness. Eyes glowing like a cat’s, Taeyong prowls towards you. “It’s been a while. You look good.” His eyes seem to glow even brighter.

Your heart pounds louder, and your breathing picks up. “Two months, I think.”

Taeyong’s malicious smile slinks up his face. He can tell you’re nervous and don’t want to be around him. “Precisely darling. I’m sure you want to see him, don’t you?” His voice is like velvet to your ears.

You nod, trying to hold eye contact with him. You don’t want to back down from him, holding his gaze a non verbal way of stating that you were equal to him, that you would not submit to him.

He slides in closer to you, wrapping a cool arm around your waist, while playing with the zipper of your coat. “He’ll be here soon… Maybe he’ll let me have a taste of you…”

“Taeyong…” you commence, “While we may have known each other for a year now, I’m not giving anything to you.” You place a hand on his arm, pushing it lightly off of you.

Taeyong’s eyes gleam. “Are you ready to face Mark?”

You swallow thickly. You wonder if he will still like you, even if you’ve changed so much in two years. What had been your strengths, had long since been sapped from you, leaving an empty husk of a human being with nothing but sadness in them.

You think back to that day, two years ago. The house had seemed normal, well, as normal as an abandoned house could be. There was dust in the corners, a musty scent in the air, and an emptiness of all things personal. There were furnishings, a sofa, armchairs, chairs, a table for eating and faded ultramarine drapes.

You walked through the house, flashing your phone light in all the dark corners of the rooms. All the while, Mark had told you he had a funny feeling about the house, and stuck close to you, sometimes gripping your hand to steer you closer to the entrance.

There had been a creaking from upstairs, and the clicking of fingernails against plaster. You had looked at Mark, and the two of you had slowly backed out of the house, only to find the exit blocked, and nowhere to go.

The being that eased its way down the stairs turned out to be something out of a horror novel. A creature romanticized in present-day pop culture, represented with sparkling skin or a strong sexual appetite, or under the radar beings with magical powers. A vampire. A real vampire, with wickedly sharp fangs, and vermillion coloured eyes, its fingers more like claws than nail and blood and bone and skin. Its mouth twisted grotesquely, and it lunged for the both of you, flying forward in the blink of an eye.

So Mark held off the devilish creature, sacrificing himself for you, breaking open a window so you could escape and leading the vampire through the house. The last time you saw him, he was curled up into himself, under the stairs, eyes wide with fear but also something else, maybe a promise to see each other in the next life.

You had run out after that, calling the police, telling them that you and Mark had gone exploring the abandoned red house by the coast, and that there was something in there that had tried to kill you, and if they didn’t come quick it might just kill him. When the police arrived, they did find traces of Mark’s blood everywhere. Splattered around the stairs, spotted on the floor leading to the sea, but after that they lost all trace of him. There were no leads, just you, a traumatized victim. So the case became cold quick and they gave up.

The following year, as a promise to yourself, you went to visit the red house again. This time, you had searched up everything possible about vampires, any and every weakness according the many cultures that featured them in their myths.

But this time, no demonic entity came. Instead, there was Taeyong, who presented his apologies for the insanity of that crazed beast. “Not one of ours,” he had said. “A new one, a fledgling, never been taught how to control himself. Or how to respect others.”

And so you came to know that Mark was alive, or at least, still present and walking and talking on this planet. But as a vampire.

Taeyong was not someone who you could just trust. Yes, he was a general help to you, and you later found out that not all vampires spent spring break hiding in an abandoned building. Some of them, the in control ones, could go out, could spend time with humans, could pass off as them. So you and Taeyong would meet up in the park, the playground, the library, the bookstore, wherever, to discuss Mark’s progress and whether or not you could meet him. But he was still a vampire. He lived off of human blood, though he told you he hadn’t killed anyone in over four hundred years by draining them. There were times where he could act downright creepy, calling you ‘delectable’ and that ‘It is a shame that Mark has set his attention on you.’ The way he sometimes touched you sent shivers up your spine.

And as it was, just shy of two months ago, Taeyong told you that Mark could meet you, and he wouldn’t jump on you and drain your blood the instant he saw you. So you spent many a sleepless night, thinking about this day.

You look at Taeyong, who has released his grip on your waist. You look at your nails, bitten to the quick, and your mismatched socks.

Suddenly, Taeyong perks up. “He’s here…” he hisses.

A fluttering is heard through the open windows, and the gentle thud of the window being pushed into the wall. There’s the sound of footsteps above you, and then the gentle ease of stairs.

You turn around, glancing at the stairwell, see the the red Converse, and nearly stop breathing.

Mark comes into view, full bodied, skin a tad fairer than the last time you saw him. He smiles. “Hey.”

[isaac-lacey]

Chapter 7 of my current WIP

Don’t worry it doesn’t have spoilers or anything I’m just quite happy with the fight scene in it. This is also a first draft so it more than likely will be changed at some point. ___________________________________ Elder Barrett walked through the white door to his house, he had designed his house in much the same way he had designed the remodeling of the Ferncul college of Witchcraft which meant that most of the walls and furniture were white, the only colour coming a few books and in his case the plates and cups that you would find in various cupboards. His house was all ordered and symmetrical, he didn’t remember why. The last time he had remodeled his house was well over one hundred years ago and now he simply didn’t have the time to remodel again to fit his tastes again. He had his duties as the elder representing the magic school of conjuration after all. Not only that but he had his duties as Dean to the college to attend to as well. He walked up the stairs of his house, moving quickly towards his bedroom. The whiteness of the room made the five people that waited within stand out more. Well people was a vague analysis, looking closer he could see three people who he presumed were Witches, one Werewolf and one person who looked to be a Vampire. One of the Witches was first to talk, he spoke confidently making sure he was heard. “You Barrett?” He ignored the question and took his coat off slowly, making sure not to crease it. Usually he was one for efficiency and would remove anything quickly however now that there were five, likely trained, fighters in front of him he didn’t want to startle any of them. More because he liked this coat, it was his favourite shade of white and he didn’t have the time to go and replace it any time soon, nor did he have the time to mend it, this was one of the few things in his house he had not enchanted to mend itself with the activation of the right rune. “We been ‘ired to kill you we have.” He recognized the guys accent, it was from the Te island, the Southern half. He walked calmly over to his wardrobe and hung his coat on one of the spectral hangers within, they too were white. Next he removed his pants. “Ey the fuck you think you’re doin?” He ignored the question and changed into a pair of shorts making sure they were high enough that they didn’t go below his knees. “You even listenin’ to me?” He was, he had just decided that the man was a fool and elected not to answer. In his experience the loudest ones were the first to fall. He heard the man walking towards him and felt a hand on his shoulder, finally he decided to answer.

“I never understood why you people insist on informing me of your intentions. It’s a waste of time and to be perfectly frank a foolish thing to do.”

“Huh?” The word had barely left the assassins mouth as Barrett twisted, quickly pressing two runes on his knuckles before swinging. The loudmouthed assassin went to block but wasn’t fast enough and Barrett’s fist made contact with his jaw, followed by the satisfying crunch of bone as his head snapped to the side and his jaw shattered upon impact. He fell and Barrett stepped over him, ignoring the cries of pain as two of the other assassins jumped into action. One was moving towards Barrett while the other stayed back summoning fire, the two Witches. He bent down and pressed two fingers against the invisible runes on his knees, before the closest one could get any closer Barrett leapt towards the wall and bounced off flipping over the two, he ignored them for the moment and kicked the vampire, she smashed into the werewolf and the two flew through his bedroom door and skidded along the floor along with the various splinters of wood. He ducked under a fireball and span only to be met by a fist to the nose. He took a step back, grunting as pain ran through his head and his eyes began to water. He pressed an invisible rune on his neck and it healed just as quickly as it had broken, the next punch he moved around, darting to the side. He took hold of the Witches arm and snapped his other hand up into his extended elbow. The blow was met with a loud cry as the bone snapped, Barrett threw him to the floor and weaved around another fireball, he dodged around a few more before coming up close to the assassin, this one tried to jump back but Barrett followed and punched him in the ribs, there was a loud crack and they screamed. He caught them as they fell and activating one of the invisible runes on his bicep threw them through his window. These assassins had clearly not done their research, if they had they would know that he had also been offered the position of the elder representing runic magic. He had denied the position as he already had enough duties but still. If they had known that they would have come up with suitable counters for his magic. Suddenly he was thrown through one of his walls, and crashed through his banisters falling onto his stairs. He grunted as a sharp pain shot through his body and promised to curse himself later for making the foolish mistake of assuming that a vampire would be taken out so easily. He pressed the rune on his neck again and as his broken ribs healed the vampire appeared in front of him, she shoved him but this time he was ready and as he went flying flipped himself in the air so that rather than his back hitting his wall his legs did. He leapt back towards her and kicked, he heard her neck snap as she slammed into the wall but she got up anyway, her bones already resetting. Before she could fully recover he jumped down the stairs to give himself more room to maneuver, as he did so the werewolf followed. Before the beast could attack he threw three white spectral knives that all exploded with a flash of blinding light, the beast howled and Barrett moved quickly delivering three punches and a magically enhanced kick to the beasts abdomen, it rolled along the floor but started to stand. Barrett barely managed to duck under the vampires first swing, she was holding a knife now and the blade let out a light hum as it sliced at the air. It was probably enchanted. He jumped backwards and pressed two runes on his elbows as he did, flinging his arms wide both the vampire and the werewolf were hit with a large wave of white energy that sent them flying. The vampire slammed into the stairs and the werewolf flew through his kitchen and broke through the wall, they lay outside but Barrett knew they would be back fairly soon. He leapt towards the vampire and pressed a finger to her neck, when he did black ink flooded through her skin and formed a rune. For a regular Witch, even those well versed in runic magic, this technique was impossible due to the vast amount of mana it required but for an elder such as himself it was easy. This would suppress her natural abilities, she would be slower and her healing would slow down as well which meant now he could break her bones and she wouldn’t get back up. It wouldn’t kill her but then he never intended to kill any of them. She swung and he stepped out of the way, she swung again evidently confused as to why she wasn’t moving at superhuman speeds anymore. Barrett couldn’t help the smile that cut across his face as he kicked the side of her knee, it broke with a loud snap and the bone broke skin. Thankfully there was no blood given that she had none in her body. She screamed as she fell and he punched her in the jaw, it shattered beneath his fist and the vampire fell.  “I’LL KILL YOU!” Barrett weaved around the werewolves claws and each time gave a blow of his own, the only difference being that his were actually making contact. The werewolf went for a grab and he ducked under their arms, sweeping his leg. They fell and he kicked them, they slid along the floor and Barrett followed, before they could recover he kicked them in the face, the back of their head hit the wall with a loud crack, knowing that this wasn’t enough to take them down he punched them a few more times before finally placing his finger on their chest. He couldn’t see it but he knew the rune was there, this time as the werewolf went to stand blue lightning shot through their body, they howled and fell to the floor unconscious. That was all five of them, he had to admit they weren’t very good assassins though he had to admit he hadn’t done such a great job himself. A hundred years ago they would have been dispatched within moments but now he was old and out of practice this had taken too long and now he would have to make adjustments to his schedule. Adjustments he could not really afford to make. He couldn’t help but sigh as he made his way back upstairs to retrieve his clothes, he ran his finger on one of the runes on his forearm and a loud ringing surrounded the house. Guards would be on their way soon.

[silvertonguedslavicwitch]

Πειρασμός | Peirasmós

Chapter 14 : Home Sweet Home?

A/N : So sorry for the late update, my laptop went psycho on me for the past two days. But here you go, another update x)

Like a mouse following the cheese into a trap. That’s exactly the definition she would use, seeing the soldiers pouring inside the town’s walls. Unbeknownst to them, they were actually baiting them. But after seeing Aethelred and Alfred, her whole mind went dark and had only one thing certain in it. Protect the two princes. The cubs to the lion that led the powerful army charging through the small town. Even if she had to spill blood to do it, then so be it. There was nothing she would not do; to protect the ones she love and care about.

Keeping her eyes fixated on the two young males, she rushed to her checkpoint as fast as her legs could take her and perched on top of the highest floor from one of the buildings; waiting for the soldiers to come pouring into the west wing of the town. There were about 7 people stationed there, all 7 of them being her own soldiers, Ivar knowing fully well she has not yet trusted his kinsmen. That was highly considerate of him but the cripple told his brothers that it was to make sure the plan will be carried out instead of having a melodramatic season of delay due to trust issues.

Erika took out the bow she left in the room, and loaded one arrow, placing it gently as she makes her aim. Her breathing slowed down until she could only hear her heartbeat pumping from inside, and the bowstring was pulled slowly. The footsteps coming from the Saxon soldiers made the tension rise up gradually and it was only time telling her when to give the first strike; the sign to attack. Across her, two more soldiers were ready with a barrel of oil, just waiting for her command. But just when she was about to let the arrow fly its way into either one of the Saxons, she caught a glimpse of Alfred walking into the west wing; the wing they were targeting. She loosened her grip on the bowstring and cursed. “Damnit Alfred, get out of there.” Deciding it wasn’t worth risking it, she got up from her leaning position and aimed the arrow somewhere near the youngest prince instead.

The sound of the bowstring being loosened made itself known to the princess as the arrow made its mark at the poor unlucky soldier’s chest, who just so happened to stand beside Alfred. The boy dropped dead and it was a warning shot from the foreign princess, for Alfred to notice the impending danger and flee from there. When the first shot came down, it was sign for the others to carry out the other sets of plans. The wooden planks were let down from every corner and exit of the town, successfully barricading the soldiers with nowhere to go. A single hand gesture from the raven haired woman was all it took for her soldiers to pour the oil down.

The heavy crude lubricating oil greeted the Saxons face first and the grossed out groans were heard alongside a string of complaints. Of course, the complaints would not last long because they’re going to be running wild with flames. Literally. With the barricades sealing their sides, rendering them useless trying to escape, Erika notched yet another arrow and let Irena, who stood next to her, light it up with fire before pulling it. Making her aim by also slightly applying a stronger pressure to it and let the string go swiftly, the arrow hits the pavement that was also coated with oil; letting the fire erupt ardently. Soon, most of the soldiers in the west section had already burned themselves.

The first part of the plan was carried out prominently, so she made her way downstairs quickly to join the fight. Not so she could slaughter the Saxons, more to actually keeping a close eye on Aethelwulf’s cubs. She passed through a checkpoint at the south west corner of the alley, and the barricades were slowly being lifted as the archers took their aim and plucked them off one by one. It almost frustrated her to the point’s end when she could not manage to pinpoint their exact location. She had lost track of where Alfred fled to. Successfully dodging the other soldiers who were fighting against the Northmen with all their might despite being cornered, she wasn’t keeping an eye in front of her when she evidently crashed into a figure and both of them rolled down the pavement. The wet blood that coloured the road made her gag briefly before struggling to get back up and face whomever it was that she bumped into.

It was Alfred.

Secretly thanking God, she pulled him with her to a much more closeted and secluded alley. The reaction displayed across his face was enough to tell her than he did not expect to see her. “I thought you were captured and held against your will--” Sparing the younger prince a nonchalant look, she scrunched up her nose at the manner of melodramatic self he was trying to say she exuded.

“Excuse me, what? Captured and held against my own will? Who told you that,” she scoffed, still dragging him with her through the alley with all the dark walls surrounding them. There were a few soldiers fighting but they had more pressing matters to attend to; like surviving the end of the axe. So they didn’t exactly notice the new bride of one of the Viking princes were dragging their Saxon prince. “Don’t answer that, of course Aethelwulf would try to dramatize things over. He’s always been a drama queen.” She then rolled her eyes at the thought of the petulant King’s behavior. “No Alfred, I wasn’t tied or gagged up like some prisoner princess. This isn’t exactly a fairytale land, love. If you are captured, they’ll either kill you or maybe sacrifice you which isn’t any better than the first really, or they would offer you for ransom. You see, the second option is not really viable seeing as my brother was the one who offered me into the part of an alliance agreement. Brother of the year, I know.” Poor cub was struggling to keep in the same pace as she does, while also dodging the other people raining on them from all sides. To which Erika had surprisingly fend off very easily as she either hit their heads with the stick she took randomly at the corner, or kicked them off.

“Then, how are you here now? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Oh Alfred, always the sweet compassionate exuberant caring pup. She grinned widely at his question which made the prince to positively wonder whether his remark was a questionable one.

“Physically, they wish. Mentally, possibly every second I spent,” she shrugged and halted on her steps, letting the two vikings crash into each other within the narrow space, before jumping over them to resume her ‘fleeing’. “I married them, not bought them, Alfred. Pretty sure they actually have an amount of decent respect towards their women, seeing as they have shieldmaidens everywhere. Killing me off would be such a stupid move for them to do, especially when I’m basically the token of the ‘good will’ between the Russians and Northmen-” Right before she could finish her whole sentence, a random viking just so happened to strike at her, which she almost did not succeed in ducking.

Pushing Alfred away as he met the walls of the alley, she spinned around and slashed the viking’s left ankle, leaving him to grunt in pain as he fell down to his knees. Taking out her sword, she hits him with her hilt and kneed him to the face before making a clean swipe over his chest. She then beckoned for the prince to follow her as he was still struck by the nonchalant manner she had exuded earlier as she killed a fellow viking who tried to take on her. When Alfred didn’t move from his position, she took his hand and dragged him away with her. “-doesn’t mean they could not try and say my death was resulted in an ‘unlucky’ battle. That was the first attempt. Huh, I’m surprised they took this long to try and carry that idea out. Guess they’re not so bright after all.” It was almost shocking to see the infamous Erikaterina to chortle in such situation, but knowing her well, he shouldn’t be surprised.

When they finally made it out from the horrendous alley, she lets out a relieved sigh before offering the latter a soft smile. “Amiable people are affable. They are kind, warm, and friendly. There are not a lot of those people these days; making them to be such a short supply. But you know who’s amiable? You, Alfred. You’re the most amiable person I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet in all my life.” Her hazel hues softened as she embraced the younger prince, who returned the gesture. He has been growing very well and she knew this might be their last time meeting each other that is not under the grounds of hostility, so she was sure to bask in every single moment of it. “I missed you terribly. You and your brother, Aethelred. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this, this is definitely not the manner I want you to see me in.” A chuckle followed shortly after.

“Armor, or dress, crown or not, you’re still Erikaterina of Novgorod, Rika. You will still be her despite everything.” His statement had made the princess bit her bottom lip before trying very hard not to smile.

“That made me feel like I actually do have an identity.”

“And you do. You are your own person, not even marrying a Pagan would change that. One day, you’ll see that.” While the two converse, she told him to find someone trustworthy to guide him back to his father perhaps. Bidding the prince off, she hoisted herself on top of the rooftops as she climbed up. Her eyes caught the sight of Aethelred fending the vikings off. His fighting manner was much like his father, but still, he is new to it making him to be an easy target. She needed to get him out of there soon, forcing Aethelwulf to get out and she knew exactly where to hit.

Just one hit that is too close to home.

Grabbing her bow from her quiver, she notched an arrow before aiming it at Aethelred. She needed to be very precise and careful while doing it or she might end up hating herself even more for failing. Aethelwulf was ignorant when it comes to wars and battles, given that he is a great warrior. But he loves his sons more than anything, making him to be a good father. It was an idea she could trust. Her nimble fingers found itself tugging on the bowstring, pulling it slowly to her cheek level, as she lets out a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry, Aethelred.”

With that, the grip on the string were loosened and the arrow flew straight towards the eldest son, piercing his shoulder, just below his left shoulder. The prince staggered and Aethelwulf saw his son being vulnerable and went out his way to get his cub to safety, forcing the Saxon King to intervene. “Fall back! Retreat!” Hoisting his son’s arm around him, he dragged him away. Watching the scene unfold before her eyes, she sighed.

Mission accomplished.

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The Vikings emerged victoriously once again. While they were busy shoving the celebratory event to themselves, Erika took the other option; perching herself on the rooftop, staring into the distance while rethinking of Alfred’s words. She could hear the cheers coming from the people below, their loud mannerisms being colloquial to the raven haired princess. No doubt that Ivar boasted over his victory and condescending his two older brothers. Not wanting to be a part of a conversation that was likely to go south, she opted to spend the day to herself, relishing in the solace and comfort it gives.

But, little did she know, the very plan that Ivar had devised in order to win over his brothers, had gone south in the end. It was giving the older ones more doubt on the youngest brother. It was starting to break their strings. While she was too occupied with her thoughts, Hvitserk poked his head up and climbed to join her, taking a seat next to her. “Are you waiting for prince charming, ravnprinsesse?” Recognizing the timbre in his tone and the nickname, a small smile crept up, as she still did not avert her gaze.

“I got a prince. I guess you could say he’s charming in his own way.”

“Any possibility that he could be beaten by anyone? Maybe a formidable opponent?” His random question made her chuckle, which was a boost to his ego. Making the Russian princess laugh was not a normal occurrence and it’s something they actually take in consideration. An achievement to the flaxen haired prince. She hummed and shrugged casually, dismissing the light joke.

“Did you two fight with Ivar again?”

That had automatically strike Hvitserk to go into a full on defense mode, following the accusatory tone lacing his wife. “What is that supposed to mean. If anything, it’s Ivar who’s relentlessly picking fights with his older brothers,” he scoffed, crossing his arms as he huffed in the cold air.

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything, Hvitserk. I was just asking. Ubbe and him are tense these days. Ever since the first attack on York. I’m guessing it’s because of Sigurd’s death. It doesn’t help the manner of death placated on him too. Axed by his own brother.” Her tone was all too calming, it was one of the things Ivar was actually worried over. No one really knew what goes into her head. “He’s being impartial.”

“Ivar flaunts over his victory and I’ll be frank, it’s not really something we like seeing. Ubbe suggested that we should go ahead the road of peace. He wanted to make a deal with the Saxons.” Erika, who was highly intrigued by what he was saying, turned her face around to meet him.

“What do you mean?”

“Ubbe wants us to stop fighting and go claim the lands that were given to us by King Ecbert.” The Russian only nodded in response and stared at the space again. Silence ensued over them and she tilted her head to the side, questioning the prince what he was going to ask her. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I’m probably biased, as Ivar would say.”

“That’s Ivar. I don’t care, you’re my wife. I want to hear your opinion, and so does Ubbe. You’re experienced, Erika. You know things in some ways others don’t. That’s why the Saxons treasured you.”

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she scowled at the prince. “They like me because I’m actually a decent likable person to be around. They treat me like a person, instead of a thing.” Briefly apologizing for her sudden outburst, she resumed her talk. “But, if it was up to me, I do think Ubbe is wise to want all the fightings to stop and propose peace. That’s a high road into the new world you have to be willing to take. Co-existing is a thing every people needed to learn. Even the Saxons. However, it’s also likely that Ubbe will be rebuked by Aethelwulf. He’s a prideful person. Especially given their defeat today. It probably scratched his ego. But it is still possible if Ubbe is willing to risk it.”

“Things are so difficult,” he mumbled and she snickered lightly before taking his hand into hers.

“Nothing is meant to be easy, love. Surely, someone’s taught you that.” Within seconds, she was engulfed with a back hug from Hvitserk, who placed his chin above her head. It was comfortable. He only hummed and tightened his embrace around her, to which she gladly returned by caressing his hands as she leaned against him.

The two stared at the sky, both filled with questions differing from each other. But they don’t know that, neither do they need to. One thing was sure, the married couple was investing everything into making the said relationship work and it has been progressing splendidly over the period. She would never admit it, but Erika grew to like and hold a mutual attraction towards Hvitserk. Hvitserk, the same. Given, the two divulged in each other’s presence every night ever since, but they were married, so it wasn’t really an abnormal thing. What’s important, was that the gesture was sincere.

---------------------------------------

Following Ubbe and Ivar's untimely fallout, she sided with Ubbe when it comes to peace and solidarity. She wanted the bloodshed to stop, more than anyone. Especially, since it was against her now former friend. It's also a hit close to home. She was sleeping just across Hvitserk, on the floor, when she could feel her body being shook awake by someone. Groaning slightly, she almost cut Hvitserk. Taking the dagger from her hold, he placed it down aside and told her to get up. With no other explanation given, the flaxen haired prince took his vest and sword with him as he followed Ubbe out. Mumbling a few incoherent words to herself, she got up and dragged her sword and outerwear with her as she trailed behind her husband.

Once she got outside, she saw Ubbe with horses ready. Still not understanding the situation, she wondered what the elder Ragnarsson was planning but went along with it. It wasn't her place to question, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to anyways. Hvitserk helped her mount her horse as he got up his. The gates were opened and a small party was led by Ubbe.

Halfway into their journey, she glanced over to Hvitserk, who was riding next to her. “Where are we going? Where is your brother taking us to,” she mumbled groggily. Her conspicuous self has not yet resurface due to her sleepiness. She was actually quite tired today. If it wasn't due to the tight grip she had on the reins, she probably would've fell after the first two minutes mounting her horse.

“He wanted to propose peace, remember.” And suddenly all that sleepiness was washed off and replaced with uncertainty.

“Are you sure? Is that where we're going then? The Saxons’ camp?” Gone was the sleepy princess. What's left is the uncertain and nervous princess. Given her current predicament on things, it was probably not the best reunion she would hope for.

Soon, they arrived just outside the perimeter of the camp. They left the rest of the party in the woods while only the three of them advanced. At first, Erika wasn't sure if she wanted to meet them but she figured she was their best chance and shot at securing any deals made between the two parties. That is, considering Ecbert was right, and that Aethelwulf would forgive her any day, no matter how high and deep her betrayal and treachery went. She got off her horse and made her way to the tent, trailing behind the two brothers.

There, Aethelwulf, Bishop Heahmund and Alfred was present to oversee their ‘deal’. Taking a reluctant seat next to Ubbe, she tried her best not to look Aethelwulf in the face. She couldn't bear it. She didn't have the courage to do so. “Why are you here.” The King's booming voice made itself known to their companion.

The entire time, they spoke of possibilities and chances to reach an accord where both parties can be at peace finally. With her facing the table and fiddling with her fingers. “And why should we accept such offer from you? You attacked us.” The room was tense and the raven haired princess could take it no more.

“He has every reason to do so. It was his right. Your father handed Ragnar over to Aelle to be executed. Therefore, he aided and abetted in his death, despite it being indirect. If your father was murdered with brutality, would you not wish revenge over the perpetrators?” The sudden question from the princess made the Saxon King silent. “With that being said, it is said and done. It has happened. The sons of Ragnar have exacted their revenge as planned and both Kings are dead. But let us not dwell in the past. Their actions had resulted their ends. Let us not be another example of that. We are better than this. We are a new generation birthed to shape the world into a better place than before. We should not stretch our standards like our predecessors. Prince Ubbe came with a sincere heart, hoping for peace. Should you not be the better person and take it? They have nothing to lose. But you, you have everything to lose. You've lived in exile after your defeat the first time, Aethelwulf. Do not burden your people with another. Do this for your sons, by the very least,” she exclaimed. The desperation for solidarity was evident in her voice.

Alfred was smiling at her. Hvitserk had a proud look on his face, to see how well-spoken his wife truly is, living up to her status and reputation. Bishop Heahmund had a certain air to him that offered her respect. Then, there's Aethelwulf, who was in the mix of being proud of how far she's become, and the tense tides on actually accepting the said offer. “I think we should be the better one and accept their offer.” Alfred spoke up.

“They have no legality. My father had no rights to give the lands of East Anglia. He was no longer King-”

“Yes, but you are now King aren't you? Show them how generous you are, father.”

The start of Alfred's statesmanship flickered and Erika couldn't help but to notice the dimming light that was slowly kindling in him. Proud was an understatement. “Alright then..one condition.” Looking up to finally meet his eyes, she saw her friend looking back to her. “She stays here.” That was enough for Hvitserk to start retaliating. Seeing how it could render their deal useless if this kept going, she stood up.

“I will stay, per your bidding.” Hvitserk came to her side and told her she didn't have to, for they cannot make her since she is her own person with her own degree of status. Smiling softly at her caring spouse, she took a hold of his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I am doing it out of my free will, Hvitserk. It's better this way. Don't worry, I'll find you again somehow,” she reassured and he sighed in defeat, knowing he cannot truly convince her otherwise. When Erika has made her mind up, it was almost impossible to change it. He kissed her forehead and hugged her.

The scene before him made the Saxon King felt like there was a bile on the way up to his throat. He was glad Erika was back now, but he never thought she was starting to even like her ‘husband'. Either that, or she was one hell of an actress. He hoped the latter. “Alfred, take her with you..” With that, she left the two princes to deal with the King and Bishop Heahmund, as she followed the younger prince out of the tent.

Alfred led her to a tent, to which when she entered, was his own. He shared the tent with Aethelred, who was laid on his bed place. He tried to get up but she told him it was no need. Making her way to him, she took a seat at the side before examining his injury. “My aim has improved by a mile, so much your father would be proud. Though I can't say he'll be much of that proud when he finds out I tested the aiming theory on his own firstborn son.” Her fingers ghosted over Aethelred's shoulder.

“You were the one who shot me?” The disbelief colouring him was truly hilarious, it made the princess bit her lip and gave him an impish grin.

“So sorry about that. It was the only way I know your father would intervene and pull you out. You needed to retreat. Better a defeat than a death.” She shrugged and brushed over his hair.

While she spent her time talking to the two princes, they were interrupted by a presence gracing the tent. It was their father, Aethelwulf. Standing from her spot, she tilted her head to the side slightly as a questionable reaction was derived from her. “How did it go?” When Aethelwulf did not answer her, she squinted her eyes in response. Something was wrong. “Aethelwulf.. What did you do.” Once again, she received no answer from the Saxon King. She went out her way to go outside and search for the two brothers when Aethelwulf tried to stop her. “You let go of me this instance!”

The last thing she saw was the sight of soldiers laughing towards one direction, where Hvitserk and Ubbe were running off in distance. “Where are they going? Why are they leaving me?” Her long time friend came from behind, standing next to her.

“They didn't leave you.. I forced them to do it. There is no deal. And Heahmund humiliated them per say.” That had caused the princess to fume in anger as she flailed her arms around in distress, a sight to which Alfred, Aethelred, Judith, Heahmund and the other soldiers bear witness to.

“This is why I should have never left you to deal with them alone. You cannot keep me here forever, Aethelwulf! I am Hvitserk's wife. Legally and lawfully right. Even you cannot undo that,” she stressed her words and Aethelwulf who looked down said nothing, leaving her to vent her frustrations elsewhere as she left him.

---------------------------------------

[rohobi]

Pulse 04 | (m)

Kim Taehyung | Medical AU |  Smut | Angst | Trauma | Patient death | Medical Jargon | Medical Inaccuracies | Mature Content | Multi-fandom Medical Team |  Warning: Mentions of anxiety, violence, trauma and blood, death, dying, cardiac arrests. Do not read this if you are triggered by those. Look after you. 

Wordcount: 9k; I got ahead of myself editing. Shout out to my eternal love @blushoseoks for being my beta and biggest supporter. I’ll do shout outs every chapter from now on :)  LISTEN ▶

CHAPTER SUMMARY: ❝ Save me, I need your love before I fall. Love at first emergency trauma.❞

↳ INDEX → CHAPTER 5

↣ Hour 1-2 | Post-Explosion

“This is your Emergency Department speaking. There has been a mass casualty event with a total number of expected casualties exceeding current support levels. We are requesting urgent assistance from the following departments: neurosurgery, thoracics, burns and plastics, renal and urology, paediatrics, vascular and orthopaedics, to accommodate the demand for critical care. The first 48 hours are critical, please present to ED immediately and assist, thank you.”

“Taehyung, we need to go!” Yoongi shouts, pulling Taehyung by the lapel of his coat and pushing him through the stairwell doors like a doll. “Get off your fucking phone!”

“They’re saying it’s a terrorist attack?” Taehyung stammers, letting Yoongi pull him into the stairwell. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

His voice echoes off the walls, as Yoongi shouts. “Shut the fuck up Taehyung, we don’t have time for this. Put your phone away and get your fucking stupid fucking head in the game.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Now’s not the time to think about anything else but our hospital, okay?”

“Fine.”

Taehyung takes a deep breath. Yoongi was right. It wasn’t the time to talk about this, they needed to move. He shoves his phone back into his pocket but the pictures of fire and smoke tattoo themselves on the back of his eyelids, regardless. And, he moves just that little bit quicker knowing that you might be downstairs right now.

“Have you had something to eat?” Yoongi asks, pulling him down the stairs. “You’re going to need your energy.”

He shakes his head. “I have thankfully, you?”

Yoongi hums his response as he rushes down the stairs. “I’m fine for now, I don’t think we’ll get much time to replenish ourselves so make sure you’re okay and look after yourself. I suspect patients are beginning to roll in downstairs.”

Taehyung nods, following behind Yoongi. “Let’s go.”

They both rush without speaking to each other. Which was easier for Yoongi, his mind was in a dizzying state of panic, he could barely think straight.  He was worried for you, knowing how heroic you try to be sometimes. He was worried for the patients, the ones you’ll no doubt be flooding his department and he was worried the most for Jimin, who had called him briefly in the back of an ambulance.

His phone had cut off mid sentence.

Yoongi’s heart had dropped and he was left screaming into the phone for a response and Sana, Taehyung’s Emergency Nurse nearby, had heard the broken sounds he made while she had packed her dressing table with bandages and saline. It was a moment of weakness for Yoongi, one he wasn't prepared to show anybody.

One that Sana had a front row seat in.

Everybody loses someone and something during these types of ordeals but you’re all in this together, no one will be left alone.

Taehyung begins to run, faster than he’s ever run before. He pants wildly next to Yoongi as they fly down staircases together, pushing through the ground floor white stairwell doors. It’s a sinking feeling of panic and responsibility, one that feels like tar at the bottom of his stomach.  

Yoongi shoves his ID against the wall, they wait until the light turns green before barging through the staff only doors and down the glass walled corridor towards the Emergency Room.

They don’t speak.

They don’t even look at each other.

The pair run again panic running through their blood as it intoxicates and fuels their wildest imaginations. Scenarios flash through his mind, all full of death. He sees it, no matter how hard he tries not to, beneath the starlight, your body charred from fire, broken on impact-

-he clenches his eyes closed tightly, not wanting to think of it, not believing that could ever be  the case. It was impossible, things like that don’t happen in real life.

Not to him.

There were so many things he hadn’t said.

So many things he wanted to explain.  

But the unmistakable sound of an explosion tears through the night sky, and his blood runs cold sparked by the realisation that he might not get the opportunity to tell you them because things that shouldn’t happen in Seoul, are happening.

And fuck, was that a big explosion.

They come to a halt outside the windows as the unmistakable orange light in the distance boils up from the forest.

Another loud sound of the blast follows.

A shiver runs down Taehyung's body.

They stop where they are to look at each other. Eyes full of terror, unspoken panic and worry, both unsure of what to do next. Yoongi is trembling as he looks down at his phone, was Jimin safe? Please be safe.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung says watching his bottom lip quiver as Yoongi looks up at him, sad eyes glistening underneath the bright light. Have they both just lost someone they loved? because at this point in time as the city is pulled apart by fire and smoke, anything was possible.

“Are you okay Yoongi?”

“I’m fine. We’ll be fine. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay,” Yoongi gulps, trying to convince himself, more-or-less him. Taehyung watches him take off his thin black tie before dumping it into his coat pocket. “I don’t ...I can’t talk about whatever the hell is going on right now. Let’s just follow protocol and try to survive the next 24 hours without hurting someone or worse, ourselves.”

Taehyung says nothing in return. Somehow he’s not so convinced that this will roll over smoothly and resolve within 24 hours, let alone the next 2 hours when patients start crashing into ED.

And he was right.

Everything had happened far too quickly for any ritualized plan to accommodate when the first wave of casualties poured into the emergency department lobby. Oxygen dependent patients were transported first, sent straight to the high dependency unit, rushed down hallways and straight into the General Med ward.

Intubated patients with severe wounds compatible with life were thrown straight into ICU. Orthopaedic patients with broken hips were sent straight up to Taehyung’s ward. It was an organised mess, an artform in itself until the very second it wasn’t.

Because the second wave came in with wounds related to the explosion.

And everything turned to shit.  

All they had to go by now as the ER flooded with injured people, were coloured ribbons triaging people on who were likely to live the most from the injuries they sustained and who clearly, would not.

Across the hall, a nurse screams desperately out for help. “Dr. Taehyung, we need you over here. Vitals are crashing, we need orders!”

And so, he begins to run.

Taehyung has worked long enough in this industry to realise that life is a series of choices. Left or right? Up or down? Should you do this or should you do that? Should I give up happiness for the health of another? Should I stay or should I go?

Life is a series of choices strung together or pulled apart by either good or bad intentions, but for a doctor it’s much more abstruse. Their lives are about making the choices that affect the life and death of others. And, no matter how hard he tries to be omniscient and resilient in emergencies like this, he is still human. And no amount of normalizing the trauma he’s looking at right now, will ever make it not traumatic.

Because for the first time in a long time, Kim Taehyung is so fucking scared and nervous that he doesn’t know what to do.

“Dr. Taehyung!”

“H-he’s unresponsive,” he wipes the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead with the back of his hand. “What's his BP?” he exhales, watching Mena connect another bag of fluids to the patient.  

The nurses rush around him.

“BPs 90/50. Heart rates 110, resps are 26,” she says, pointing down the patient’s body, “Chest has abnormal movement, he looks like a thoracic case.”

Taehyung can’t think straight for multiple reasons but he perseveres, even when he hears the scream from the same nurse earlier rattling his brain. “Dr. Taehyung we need you over here! Please! For God sake, we need your help!”

“Shit,” He nods at her, biting his bottom lip before letting it go. “Grab Dr. Han, he’s the doctor in your team right? because this is definitely a thoracic case and I need to attend to that orthopaedic emergency. Monitor him every 5 minutes, oxygen, pain relief and antibiotics please.”

Mena nods, running over to the nearest thoracic surgeon, Dr. Han. They both rush back over, Dr. Han pats Taehyung’s back. “Where's your team?” he asks and Taehyung shakes his head.

“Sana is suturing. Em’s in redzone. The others are with a hip fracture.”

Dr. Han smirks, “Well, stick to your team Taehyung. I can’t have you in my space all the damn time, I already get too much of it at Mina’s.”

“Convince her to divorce me then. And, I would stick to my own team, if you even tried to stick to yours,” There's a bitter taste swelling in his mouth as he looks at the surgeon in front of him. He was such a fucking jerk. “Look after your team so I don’t have to.”

Rolling his eyes, Taehyung walks away and down the hallway towards the red zone, where he should’ve been earlier and where he’s being called to now.

“Over here Tae!”

“I’m coming!” he shouts back, now running towards the agressively loud cardiac monitors as they alert to deterioration in status. “What's the issue-

“He’s arresting!” Nurse Em  shouts, immediately jumping on his bed and initiating chest compressions. “Starting CPR.”

Rolling up his sleeves, Taehyung kicks the CPR break at the bottom of the bed, pulling the bed out from the wall while delegating advanced cardiac support roles to each member of staff. “Adrenaline, 10 ml IV go. I’ll intubate, defib now please!”

Taehyung runs to the head of the bed, looking at the empty basket hanging off the wall by the oxygen as everyone rushes around him.

“Fuck,” he shouts, prompting the interest of one of his students, who had been following him. “Younggi, I need an endotracheal tube and a laryngoscope.”

She nods, running as fast as she can to the storage room. Arriving less than a minute later with the intubation equipment box. He smiles at her, as she puts the box on the bedside dresser. “Watch closely because you’ll be doing this for the next one, I am tilting the head back to extend the atlanto-occipital joint. This will align the axes of the mouth, pharynx and trachea.”

The bed dips as a nurse continues chest compressions.

“Alright,” She passes laryngoscope to his gloved hands but he shakes his head, lifting his hand as in to stop. “Suction, please.”

Reaching over to the wall, she turns the unit on, handing him the long suction catheter. “Patients can vomit during resuscitation,” Taehyung sweeps it into his mouth, sucking up vomit before giving it back to Younggi. “Be mindful of that.”

He grabs the laryngoscope, inserting the tip of it into the right side of his mouth before fixing it straight into the vallecula. “And it goes right between the base of his tongue and the epiglottis.”

Taehyung looks down into his mouth, elevating the mandible and visualising the cords. Was it in the right place? Opening his other hand to her, he says without looking at her. “Endotracheal tube, please.”

She passes it to him, slapping it in his open palm.

Taehyung inserts the tube down his throat, and to the right side of the oropharynx before pushing the cuff past his vocal cords. The staff around him, prepare the patient for defibrillation.

Removing the laryngoscope, he hands it back to Younggi. Taemin, another student, hands Taehyung the paddles of the defibrillator while nodding to everyone in the team. The nurse gets off the patient's bed, panting from the CPR she just did.

“Administering shock, everyone get back!” Taehyung shouts, prompting everyone to stand back from the bed. Putting the paddles onto his chest, he shouts out louder. “Shoot!”

They all look back to the cardiac monitor for a change in rhythm before Taehyung leans forward to shock the patient again, and again until his rhythm comes back. Taehyung doesn't know how he does it, he blacks out every time he needs to do CPR but here he is, clear minded. The time calls for it, he assumes.

“He’s back in rhythm doctor, blood pressure is increasing ...he’s responding!” Taemin shouts out happily.

Taehyung sags in relief when he does. “Stabilize him please, monitor vitals, insert an indwelling catheter and take him upstairs to the cath lab stat.”  

The students nod as do the other staff. “On it.”

Medical emergencies can happen at anytime and with little to no warning in the hospital but it’s the perfect place to have one. Taehyung hasn’t had many hands on experiences with cardiac arrests being in orthopaedics but he’s always loved the thrill of matters pertaining to the heart.

“Taehyung! I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU EVERYWHERE YOU BIG IDIOT! I’m really confused and I need you!” Sana shouts, pulling him to her bedside. “This patient came in without assistance, I literally know nothing about him. I think he might be one of the first patients from the second wave and I don't know what to do.”

“He’s unresponsive too?” he wipes the sweat dripping down his forehead with the back of his hand as he reaches over to look into his pupils. How many more pupils will he look at tonight? “What are his vitals looking like? ” he exhales, watching Sana connect another bag of fluids to the patient.

“Not too good at all doc. His haemoglobin is low, I questioned whether we should give him blood but then again ...I don't really know,” she says. Nodding, he grabs his stethoscope, looking over the patient. “You weren’t told anything about his history or anything but where’s he bleeding from then?” he says, looking at the blood seeping into the sheets.

“Here,” ripping open his shirt, bandages cover a hole in his chest. “His chest. I don’t think it’s an arterial bleed but I have a feeling it went straight through an organ.”

“Shit, why didn’t you tell me that first?” He laments, biting his bottom lip before letting it go.

Sana announces beside him as he turns up the volume on the cardiac monitor. “He’s dying, I’m putting a red ribbon on his bed.”  

“Good idea,” Taehyung says, holding his stethoscope over the patient's heart. “Jugular vein distention due to impaired venous return to the heart and I hear muffled heart sounds probably due to fluid buildup inside the pericardium.”

Shit.

Fuck.

Looking at the monitor, he shouts out for a surgical trauma team. “Dr. Yoongi, we have a surgical emergency over here.”

“What?” Yoongi runs over immediately, perspiration dripping down his face. “What is it Tae?”

“It’s pericardial tamponade,” he nods, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck again. “Build up of blood in the pericardium, he’s got all the signs. No other notes on him. We came in knowing nothing.”

“Fucking hell,” he snaps, waving his hand, a trauma team run over, immediately taking the patient out of the yellow zone and straight into theatre. “We’ve got it from here.”

Taehyung and Sana stand side-by-side watching them rush the patient away. It was as if the entire thing happened in less than 5 seconds. “Thanks for that Taehyung. I nearly cried when Dr. Minho left me alone, never leave me like that, you asshole.”

“Stop running away then, you’re my nursing person, how can I possibly save people without you,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Plus, he probably got pulled into theatre so don’t be rude.”

“Communication is key,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t excuse abandoning your team.”

“You’re right, communication is key. I’ll have a word with him when I see him.”

He closes the cubicle curtains as he leaves. It’s hot, Taehyung feels like a roast potato and he’s sweating, really badly sweating through his scrubs and he feels disgusting. He’s about to head into Yoongi’s office to steal his other coat but the shrivelled sound of his name being shouted across the floor, stops him.  

“Dr. Taehyung, we need you!”

He groans, pouting as he reluctantly rushes over to the cubical. “What’s the problem now?” Looking at the patient, he swings straight into action.

Tears were beginning to sting his eyes as he moved from patient to patient. As he sutured, as he assessed as he touched abdomens and legs, assessed fractures and looked at x-rays. He was a machine, running on adrenaline and pure concern for your safety.

Where were you?

Why weren’t you here?

Were you hurt?

Are you alive?

And it all happens too quickly to process how one can simply walk back into ones life as if nothing had even happened at all.  It all happens so quickly that Taehyung is caught completely off guard, shocked at your sudden arrival back into his life. He’s struck by the memories as they flood into his pounding heart and every corner of his brain, and for a long moment of time, he forgets where he even is. 

But for you? the experience is vastly different. The wounds you sustained in your heart have scabbed over into a hard wall protecting you from peoples bullshit, you aren’t the same soft bitch you were back then. Taehyung lied to you and your brain had processed the dishonesty as a painful reminder that you were not worth the truth to him. It was an ugly thought that festered into your soul, gnawed it’s teeth into your memories and killed the sunflowers blooming in your heart.

But who really needs sunflowers anyway when you’ve already got the sun.

Lifting your bottom off the patients lap, you put all your weight onto your knees as you continue chest compressions while they pull you out of the back of the ambulance. Jungkook moves out of the way, holding his broken arm as Seokjin and a pair of medical students push the stretcher out of the bay and through the automatic emergency department doors.

It’s tense.

Every inch they move you, the buzzing in your ear gets painfully louder. As a result, your counting out loudly, practically shouting to your team as Jimin runs beside the stretcher. “14, 15, 16….” 

“To the right!” a student says, enabling Jin to push you down the right white hallways. “How many people will we need for this?” he asks.

“As many as you want,” you shout, sweat dripping down your face. “Anyone who will help, I feel faint so let’s do this quickly please.”

“We’re almost there,” he reassures you, pushing you a little quicker on the stretcher. Patients with green ribbons wrapped around their arms, sitting on each side of the hallway, look up, moving out of the way for you, whispering among themselves.

People hold up phones, filming your ascent into the hospital.

Others simply gasp, following your every movement.

You are not surprised.

Nurses look startled as you pass and you can’t blame them. Your face is covered in soot and blood, and you’re doing CPR on a man with an entourage of 9 in your wake. The lights get brighter as you reach the hub of the Emergency Department but you have no time to look at the scenery because he’s still coding and as the minutes go by and no other doctor approaches, so does his chances of survival.

You look around the room for anyone running to your aid, no one does, so you scream. “I NEED HELP OVER HERE!”

Taehyung looks up to the sound of your voice, panicked and strained as he trips over a dressing table while staring at you. It’s contents spill across the floor but he can’t keep his eyes off of you enough to care.

You’re alive and it’s so like you to make an incredibly dramatic entrance.            

“Taehyung,” Sana waves her hand in front of his face as she helps him up. “Are you on crack or something, why are you so out of it?”

“Where do we go?” you shout.  Doctors look up from their clipboards, nurses begin their hustle to run towards you.  The entire department watches you, patients suddenly transfixed by your entrance. “We need a bed!” you shout impossibly louder, a small brunette runs over, pointing to an empty cubicle.

Yoongi runs out from his office. “Over there, go, we have doctors waiting to assist. Are you hurt?” 

You don’t answer.

Sweat drips through the dirt on your face.  

“She is,” Jungkook offers from behind you. “We were too close for comfort back there, all of us have some kind of injury.”

Yoongi immediately looks over Jimin. “Thanks for letting me know, you should go and get treated Jungkook. Anyone with fucking eyes knows your dumbass did something noble again and got your arm broken. 

“What?” Jungkook says, you can feel an argument about to perspire between the two again. “What did you just say?”

“Knowing you, I know you did something so piss off and get your arm treated.”

“No, I’m going to help Y/N, she needs help-

“GUYS, THERE'S MORE PRESSING ISSUES RIGHT NOW! YOU CAN MAKE OUT LATER. GET ME IN THE CUBICAL.”

Seokjin pushes you towards the empty cubicle and sweaty strands of hair fall in front of your face as you focus on compressions. The bed halts against the wall, people buzz around you, quick to provide advanced cardiac support.

“What happened?” a young doctor asks, and Jimin speaks up, relaying off everything he knew as the bedside rails are taken down. Sana connects Jimin’s ambu bag with oxygen, before pulling the resus trolley to the end of the bed.

Taehyung stands beside you, in shock as he looks over your appearance. There's a fresh patch of blood on the back of your coat, your hair is in a tangled floppy mess as loose strands covered your face and your scrubs couldn’t possibly get any dirtier. He’s wide eyed as an unspoken terror rips through him. Were you stuck in the hospital?

“Where’s the defib, we need to shock him now!” you shout, looking in every direction but at Taehyung, having not noticed he was even there.  

His hands shake at his side as he watches everything play out as though he wasn’t even in the room. Your white coat is covered in blood and all of you look like a mess. What happened?

“Are you going to help?” Sana asks him, drawing up amiodarone and adrenaline beside him. He falters as she hangs up a bag of glucose and saline on the hook of the trolley, leaving the medication on the trolley. “Taehyung?” 

He stands there, unable to move as the shock of seeing you rolls over him like wave full of razor blades. “Y/N…” 

“What are you even saying? God, get your head in the game,” she stammers, rushing beside you to set up the defib pads on the patient. “Setting up the pads now, keep compressing doctor. The machine is going to analyse his heart rhythm.”

“Get down from there Y/N,” Yoongi instructs, voice quivering as he shoves Taehyung into the curtain. “Aja, get on compressions after shock delivery. Administrate the adrenaline Sana,” looking at Jimin at the foot of the bed, Yoongi smiles thankfully. “Baby, I’m glad your safe and all but stay at the head of the bed on those resps and you watch me.”

They all follow his orders quickly. 

Jimin nods at him. His eyes are glistening with tears as he stares at the two people who matter the most to him, both okay. “Sorry to worry you Yoongi, it was a close one back there.”  

Standing in front of Jimin, despite everything, Yoongi leans forward to kiss his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Jimin smiles at him. “Me too.”

“I’m getting down now. That’s my daily exercise done,” you shout, lifting your hands off the patient and clambering off the bed. Whoever put the bedrails down, didn’t click it correctly into place so as you go to get off, your foot gets stuck in between the bars, causing you’re unstable descent to the floor. “Woah- 

Taehyung moves forward quick enough to catch you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you sag against his chest. It was the only thing he had been able to do since you arrived, let alone act like a normal person and think like a doctor. The feeling is so familiar to him that he wants to bathe in it, it’s so familiar it hurts.

You feel his pounding heart against your back and then, you ignore him, thinking it to be Irene as you stand up straight. “God, I nearly broke myself. Thank you for that.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything as he lets you go and stands back.

You don’t recognise him?

“Right, Yoongi, he has no allergies that we know of,” Leaning forward, you rip open the rest of the patients shirt. Jungkook stays at the foot of the bed. “His medical history is a bit complex….”

Yoongi stands beside you listening to Jungkook and Taehyung falls to the side of the curtain to watch. Grabbing the defib, you hold the paddles to the patients chest. “Everyone stand clear. Shoot!” you shock.

You all look back at the rhythm on the monitor.  

No result.  

The machine continues to analyse his heart rhythm as Aja jumps onto the bed on his knees to do chest compressions. The machine advises a secondary shock. You turn to the defib and turn up the voltage, holding the paddles, you shout. “Everyone move. Administering shock.”

 They all move again.  

 You shock him

Chest compressions start again.

Your vision goes hazy.

And then your knees buck.

Yoongi catches you as you fall to his side. 

You try to stand up again but your guts suddenly churn with lungs full of acid and a mouth full of saliva. Everything around you is moving too quickly with no narrative and the floor feels like it’s tilting. “I think I’m going to throw up, Yoongi can you please continue, I need to have a moment.”

Yoongi nods, grabbing the paddles. “I’m giving you more than a moment, I’ll have my team take over. Go and get treated, you too Irene and Jimin. Get out of my sight.” 

“I’ll stay,” Irene says, looking between you all. “I’m not hurt and I want to ...no, I need to see this through. He has to be okay after everything we’ve gone through tonight.” 

Yoongi nods. “Fine, but go get some rest after this. Go draw up some more adrenaline.” She smiles widely, nodding her head as she runs back to the foot of the bed.

As you walk away with Jimin, Dr. Xiumin wraps his arm around your waist, suddenly steering you towards the ambulance bay. There’s an urgency in his voice that feels like you two are being defibrillated because you throw thoughts of rest away in favour of the trembling favour on the tip of his tongue.

“I need your help,” he says, handing you a cool bottle of water. “Both of your help.”  

“With what?” You and Jimin look over at each other in confusion. “Sure…”

There were many secrets kept at Forest Lakes, that you knew well but what you didn’t know about was the nature of the explosions and that the secret Dr. Xiumin harboured could get you all killed.

“Patients a 64 year old male, hemodynamically unstable with orthopaedic deformity,” Dr. Xiumin announces, pushing the stretcher towards a discrete room in the short stay unit, adjacent to ED. He turns to you, once the bed has been pushed up against the wall. His eyes are serious, hands shaking by his side. “He’s also the congressman and we need utmost discretion with his care.”

You still your body, eyes rushing over to the face you recognise faintly from your past, back then, he was the senator. “The congressman you say?”

He nods.

Stepping close to you, he whispers into your ear. “He was being treated in the VIP ward with other members of congress, Dr. Hoff suspected something wasn’t right ...could barely get a pint of blood in before his vitals crashed and we had to resuscitate him.”

“After we stabilised him, Dr. Hoff had this crazy suspicion that something wasn’t right, people were behaving weirdly, people we had never seen before so he asked that I sedate him and discreetly take him down to ED short stay for further treatment. By the time I got there, I had wheeled him into a chaotic department on Code Black, I haven’t seen Dr. Hoff since.”

The atmosphere is rendered silent by this.

Shooting a concerned sidelong glance to Jimin who had followed you in, you watch him bow his head while clenching his eyes closed. He bites down on his bottom lip to stop the tears from forming in his eyes. Jimin and Dr. Hoff had been close; a relationship akin to father and son.

“You haven’t seen him since you left the ward?” Jimin asks. His voice is muffled and you hear a squall of tears tangled in his throat and when adds, “Do you think he made it out alive?”

Silence.

You look back at the patient.

Dr. Xiumin looks at you. “I don’t need to answer that, you already know Jimin.”

And maybe he does but maybe now’s not the time to believe it.

Holding up the patient's file, Dr. Xiumin paces the room explaining his condition. It becomes clear that he needs more input from specialised doctors. “John Doe is a 64 year old male. Admitted to Forest Lakes today at 19:39 following an apparent car crash on the way to the Blue House. The mechanism of injury is unknown, injuries sustained range from an open fracture of the left radius and closed fracture of the left ulnar, bilateral lung contusion and I think it’s worth exploring whether he has an intracranial bleed.”

Writing on your clipboard, you nod. “Medical history?”

“Has a known history of drug and alcohol abuse, diabetes mellitus type 2 controlled well by oral hypoglycemics, smokes a pack of cigarettes a day. He’s got hypertension too.”

Writing your notes, Jimin takes his vital signs, checking them religiously for a change in status. “Y/N, he’s breathing rapidly, his resps are in the thirties and his oxygen saturations are shot, 78%. I’m putting him on high flow oxygen 15L/min.”

“Please,” you say, doing a head to toe examination of the patient. “Dr. Xiumin, he has unequal chest rise bilaterally with paradoxical movement of the chest wall.”

Walking around the side of his bed, you hold up the white sheet maintaining his dignity as you look at his body. “Upper chest abrasions but from the look of them, no open wounds.”

Rolling the patient on the side with you, Dr. Xiumin smiles. “No posterior injury, thank goodness.”

“Yes but he has reduced air entry and he looks like shit.” you snort, putting the blanket back on the patient. “He has no active bleeding elsewhere from what I see.”

Taking out your pupil torch, you open his eye lids with your finger tips, shining your torch to check for equal reflection of light in his pupils. “His glascow coma scale is pretty shitty but his pupils are good, I’ll still order a CT scan of his brain though, just to be sure.”

He nods. “Good idea.”

“Jimin, can you please hook him up to a litre of IV fluids, just NS 0.9% for now, let’s see if we can lift his blood pressure. I feel uncomfortable with how low it is.” you say, clicking your pen and putting it back into your pocket.

“I’m so glad I found you guys when I did,” Dr. Xiumin says, shifting on his feet beside you. “So, what can I do?”

“Get a pelvic, radius and ulna x-ray, a CT brain and lateral C-spine please. If you’re concerned with the results find the orthopaedic on reg and get him on board, we’ll definitely need his help.”

“I’ll get a portable one,” He smiles at you. “I’ll do that now.”

“Jimin, where's Irene? I need her on this too.” you ask and he turns to you while connecting the bag of fluids to the patient's cannula, making sure not to trip over the line as he walks over to you.

“She’s with our MVA cardiac arrest patient,” he stammers, ripping off his gloves and throwing them in the bin. “He’s been defibbed 10 times now, I think she’s waiting for him to go up to the hospitals lab for catheterisation.”

“Well,” you sigh, opening the door. “She needs to be here, I’ll go grab her. For now, give him some IV morphine and the antibiotics written on his drug chart. Monitor his condition every 5 minutes and I’ll grab Irene to draw some bloods. We need coags, blood chemistry and haemoglobin levels.”  

“I can just do that for us?” Jimin nods, rushing straight into action. “I’ll be quick.”

“Yes, please. Let me know when you get the results.”

“Will do.”  He says, pouting up at you as he pulls out the medication. “Go get Irene though, Forest Lakes staff need to stick together, we’re in enemy's territory right now and all this white is making me uncomfortable.”

Closing the door behind you, you sag against it, taking a deep breath. The weight of responsibility never felt so heavy and your entire body felt like jelly. You knees were trembling and at this rate, if someone were to hand you a scalpel, you’d be the one being cut open, you shook, everywhere.

Walking across the floor, your patient’s stretcher is quickly rushed past you. “LETS GO TEAM!” Doctors run beside him. Their white coats look like clouds in comparison to the raggedy one you’re about to throw out. Faces are covered with white surgical masks as their feet push the patient towards surgery.

You felt like a storm drain with everything continuously pouring in since the explosion, seemingly never stopping. You close your eyes for a second but the bright light still hits the back of your eyelids, making patterns of spangled chaotic colours of red, blue and white dance inside your skull.

It was disorienting, completely and insanely dizzying.

Being a doctor, you were aware of these symptoms. You need to stop and take a break, you’ve just experienced a massive trauma. The anxiety you are feeling is normal, you’d expect it following such an event. You rub over your heart, feeling palpitations ripple through your chest and the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as it forces your eyes back open. You don’t get a good look at the doctors pushing him away because everything looks like you're mixing pink paint with water.

“RUSH HIM BEFORE HE CRASHES, WE NEED AN EKG STAT!” A doctor you don’t know screams. “RUSH HIM TO CARDIO, WE’RE PUTTING HIM UNDER-

The doors close behind them.

His screams turn into muffled hopes of recovery as they get further and further away.  

It is as though time stops for you, when Irene runs towards you, ponytail swishing behind her. Concern is drawn across her face as she rubs your shoulders, and somehow the simple action grounds you. She stares at you with big bright eyes.

You feel relieved.

Smiling at you, she says. “Hey, we brought him back, Dr. Taehyung went against his superiors orders and continued CPR, he didn’t die, we bought him back.”

“Wait, excuse me what did you just say? Who?” Your heart spikes as you look up in alarm. “Dr. Taehyung’s here?”

“He was, he went with the patient to the cath lab,” She smiles innocently, patting the dirt off her white nursing scrubs. “He was the good looking doctor who caught you when you fell getting off the patient. You lucky duck! Living my dream!” She smacks your arm playfully but the feeling of friendly banter doesn’t register as ice grows in your blood.

“Kim Taehyung?”

Blinking at you, she asks. “Why? Do you know him?”

You laugh nervously before shaking your head. “No, not anymore. He was someone I went to school with.”

“Oh.” She frowns, knowing not to press on the piece of personal information you’ve just offered. Irene hasn’t worked with you closely before this but everyone in the department knows about your personality and how closed off you are to your past.

It’s what made you a mystery but Irene knows better than that, you were a strong woman, dominating your field of medicine in a male dominated profession.  

Diluting your art with matters of the heart, would be down right stupid and it would prove all the bearded smirking consultants right. You were a professional who moved like the wind when the need rose with enough force to become a hurricane. Irene respected that.

You still think about it sometimes.

What happened.

You were young back then, you sincerely believed everything you did was disposable, temporary; never meant to stay. Taehyung was different but you drove your own speeding car away from that one, leaving him and memories of him far behind. It hurt and you didn’t want hurt anymore, not when you had the ability to take the pain away.

Somehow you had thought meeting him again would be more dramatic and your heart would be able to point him out in a crowd in an instant. You snort before laughing loudly at the now growing fact that you hadn’t even recognised him, to caught up with your patient.  

Go figure.

“I feel good.” you smile, and she shakes her shoulders cutely at you.

“Do you?”  

You nod. “I’m a good doctor.”

Laughing, she slaps her your shoulder playfully. “Of course you are, you’ve done well. You should seriously look after yourself though. Now that we’re kind of free, do you want to see if there are any doctors to patch us up?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you that to,” you say, pointing at her cheek. “Your wound doesn’t look deep enough for stitches, maybe just some steri strips for now?”

“I was thinking the same,” looking down at her scrubs, she frowns. “Honestly Y/N, I’m going to kill you if this blood doesn’t come out of my uniform.”

You snort. “Is that what you care about right now?”

“Of course, looks matter too! How else am I supposed to find myself a husband in this hospital?”

Rolling your eyes, you flick her forehead hard. “With your personality and compassion and you don’t need a man!”

“Not yet.” she giggles.

Yoongi walks up to you two with a stern look on his face, immediately throwing his arms around you. He pulls you into his chest tight, tenderly holding you against his smelly sweaty shirt. “I’m so fucking happy to see you, come on, let’s get you treated.”

Pulling out of his embrace, he pulls you and Irene over towards the bed next to Jungkooks. He looks up at you, arm already dressed and hanging up in pillowcase hanging from an IV pole.

“Hey.” he whispers as you gently sit on the bed, embarrassment floods your body when Yoongi closes the curtain and you realise that he’ll have to dig shards of glass out of your ass.

“How you feeling?” you ask him, peeling your coat off and dropping it to the floor. “You good?”

Jungkook sighs, putting his other arm up behind his head. “They gave me pain relief and I definitely won’t be able to practice with my arm like this but that’s fine.”

He watches you gently move onto your side, grimacing at the pain shooting down your leg. “Where are you hurt?” Yoongi asks, sitting on a stool beside you. Irene sits on the stool in Jungkook’s cubicle as a junior doctor attends to her cheek. “There’s a lot of blood here…”

You sigh, gesturing for Jungkook to close the curtain between you. “I have shards of glass in my butt.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well,” Jungkook laughs behind his curtain. “We all knew you had something up there.”

“Yah.” you shout at Jungkook, holding up your fist at him and Yoongi laughs loudly behind you.

“Hey, can you not encourage him?” You turn and slap Yoongi’s chest. “Shut up, and treat me.”

After her cheek is bandaged, Irene pops through the curtain, standing next to Yoongi as she helps to gently pull down your pants. It stings and you really wish you had done your laundry because the underwear you’re wearing is a $3 thong you bought 3 years ago and it’s ugly.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he whispers, looking at the shards embedded into your skin. “Irene, can you cannulate her and draw up some IV pain relief for her, this is going to be fucking painful.”

“No, don’t do that. Just pull them out,” You say, sinking into the blankets. “If you give me pain relief, I won’t be able to work.”

Yoongi sighs. “Fine, you’re the boss.”

“Jungkook,” you say and he pulls open the curtain as Yoongi begins his extraction. “Talk to me, distract me. Tell me what's going through your mind.”

He glances at you, pink dusting his cheeks. “Thank you,” he whispers, the sincerity in his voice silences your automatic retort. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Did she save your life Jungkookie?” Yoongi asks from behind you. You bite into the pillow as he pours antiseptic all over your butt.

Irene pops out to grab you a pair of new scrub pants.

“She saved my life Yoongi,” Jungkook says, eyes glistening intensely at you. You look away, unable to handle the intense sincerity on his face. “I got locked in the drug room ...and everyone had left me in there and when the first blast went off, I thought I was a dead man. I honestly and earnestly thought, I was going to die.”

Yoongi stays silent.

“I had grabbed a vial of medication, ready to end it all. I didn’t want to die in pain, you know? I had drawn it up and everything and was going to stab myself with it.”

You nod.

“I just kept thinking that if I died, no one would remember me as a good doctor and my family would be so upset about it. I rammed that door so many times but it wouldn’t budge. I had been bolted in.”

Pulling out the first shard of glass, you whimper into the blankets. “I’m so sorry Jungkook,” you whimper. “No one should’ve ever gone through what you did.”

“I screamed so much that it felt like my throat had been ripped raw Y/N, I thought I was going to truly die in there but when you opened the door, it was like taking a breath of air after being in water for too long. In those seconds of seeing you and that door opening, the most indescribable relief I have ever felt washed over me.”

You giggle. “I have that effect on people.” you wink, but it goes straight over him.

“I can’t thank you enough Y/N, I owe you my life,” you watch tears fall down his face. “I promise you that I’ll be different after this, I’ll be a good doctor and you’ll be proud of me.”

Yoongi pulls out the rest of the shards and you wince loudly, gripping onto the sheets. Jungkook wants to lean over and hold your hand through it but you’ve never been the type of girl to need someone else to support you and he has a broken arm, so he doesn’t.

Despite your aching need to be consoled.

Gritting your teeth as he dresses the wounds, Irene walks back through the curtains with a a pair of new pants, a new coat and a tetanus injection for you. “Look, Jungkook. Don’t tell me what you’re going to do, show me. I know you have it in you, just show me.”

“I will,” He nods. “I definitely will.”

Irene stands in front of you, injecting the vaccine into your arm. “Do you feel like this was supposed to happen?” she asks. “I’ve been thinking about it since we got here, but doesn’t it feel like we were supposed to come here?”

Yoongi’s pager goes off as he slaps your butt, you wince, shooting him an aggressive facial expression. Looking down, he clicks through the little black box before checking his phone.

He sighs immediately. “More incoming casualties, they’re closing down the Children's Hospital and all pediatric patients are being sent here. Great, just fucking great.”

Sitting up, you tie your hair back up, pulling all the strands out from your face. “Do we have any paediatric doctors on standby?”

He nods. “We do and we have you too.”

“Lets go, the others probably need help.” you sigh, jumping off the bed to put the fresh new pair of pants on and grabbing a fresh white Seoul Hearts coat from Irene's hands. You pick up your mangled stethoscope from your own coat on the floor before chucking it into the bin.

“Hey,” Yoongi stops you from following him. “Wash your fucking face girl, you look like you’ve been rolling around in dirt.”

“You swear too much Yoongi,” Rolling your eyes, you push his smirking face away. “I do not miss your potty mouth.”

He smiles sincerely at you. “I’m sure that’s not true. I’ll see you in the hub when you’re done, best to get some food in you.”

You salute him before walking towards the staff bathroom. Pushing through its white gender neutral labelled doors, the cold air conditioning hits your face as you walk towards the sink. You don’t look into the mirror yet, in fear of what you might see. So, you sag against the counter, turn the tap on and shove your hands underneath the stream.

You aren’t sure if it’s the relief from the water that you feel rush through you or the systemic relief from being alive. Who knows?

Leaning forward, you scrub your face with the warm water and a dollop of hand wash from the dispenser in front of you. You watch colours of black, brown and red go down the drain as you scrub behind your ears.

It hurts, your body hurts, you feel anxious, your joints feel stiff and your ass is burning and you’re kind of terrified for the next 48 hours but at least you were alive, and unlike any other situation, feeling the aforementioned was a truly good sign.

It’s true what they say about trauma being undeniably agonizing but as you as finally look up and stare at your now clean face, save for the scratches and superficial wounds on your arms, you realise the beauty of it all.

You’re safe.

Turning the tap off, you pull down the sleeves of your coat. You stare at your reflection one last time before pushing off the counter and heading out the bathroom. The next hours are uncertain, anything could happen, especially with Taehyung but there is one thing you are certain about. You are profoundly aware of the extraordinary value of life, happiness and love now that you have faced the possibility of loss.

You wonder how that might come into play when this is all over. Will you still be the same? Or will you realise your own life, happiness and love are important? And that no matter how many times you scrunch up the past like a piece of paper and throw it into the nearest bin, people who are meant to be in your life will always come back and be in your life.

The bathroom door closes behind you as you walk towards the hub of the Emergency Department.

Taehyung stands a couple feet away, throwing his surgical mask and apron into the bin.

You stop, faltering at the sight of him as chaos erupts around you both. He looks up, hands twitching at his side. It’s like time has paused when you both stare at each other for the first time in a long time.

And Taehyung smiles softly at your now clean appearance. “Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk across the room to you. You watch him as he makes four long strides towards you, closing the gap between you two. “It’s been a long time.”

Your heart begins to pound in what you hoped to be muscle memory as you stare blankly at the man. Your lips move and your brain blunders, 

“T-taehyung.”

A/N: If I made you feel things, tell me here