#then ten minutes later she’s dragging that man to the dance floor by his collar

[imthursdaysyme]

arwen spotted at the club and who are they if they don’t pose when a cameras in front of them

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Once In A Lifetime

Summary: While at a brewery the day before her sister’s wedding, the reader runs into her once in a lifetime fling, Dean, for the third time. It’s been fours years since they’ve seen each other and eight since they met but the timing’s never seemed to work out between them until maybe now...

Pairing: Wedding Date!Dean x reader

Square: Wedding Date!AU

Word Count: 2,100ish

Warnings: language, fluff

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles​​ Tell Me A Story Bingo. Enjoy!

______

“Y/N fucking Y/L/N,” you heard as you were mid chew of eating your piece of pizza. You spun around and swallowed, a big grin crossing your face. 

“Dean!” you said. You ditched your table with your family and ran over to him, Dean giving you a big hug and swinging you around. “You look great!”

“You got even better looking, sweetheart,” he grinned as he set you down. You bit your bottom lip and he blushed a bit. “You look good, Y/N. Never expected to see you again, especially Kansas City of all places.”

“I’m in town for a family wedding. I thought you lived in LA?” you said.

“Used to. I own this place,” he said. “How long’s it been?”

“Four years. Another four before that,” you said. 

“So much for once in a lifetime,” he smirked. 

“Still a boy in there, aren’t you, Dean.”

“A bit,” he smiled. “Older too.”

“Same. We were just kids back then.”

“We’re still kids. We just got most of our shit together now,” he said. 

“Oh yes. Still single and still working a job I hate. I so got my shit together,” you said.

“I wear makeup for a living so you’re doing better than me,” he said. “Also still single.”

“I thought you dated some actress or something a while back.”

“Didn’t work out. Put my head down, been working a lot lately,” he said. “Am I about to meet your fangirl sister you told me about?”

“Oh God,” you said as you caught Georgia wandering over from your table with Scott. “I am so-”

“Hi!” she said and you groaned. “Do you know my little sister?”

“Y/N and I go way back,” said Dean. Georgia slapped your arm and you whined. 

“You’re friends with him and you didn’t tell me!” she said.

“Oh well we haven’t seen each other in years,” said Dean. Georgia looked at you and you shook your head, her own nodding.

“He’s Italy Dean, isn’t he. Dean Winchester is freaking Italy Dean!” she said and Scott covered her mouth, shaking his head.

“Gia, let’s leave your sister to catch up with her friend in peace, hm?” he said.

“This is why I love you Scott,” you said as he dragged her away.

“I like her,” chuckled Dean. “How long you in town for?”

“A few days. Rehearsal dinner is tonight, wedding tomorrow, head home the next day.”

“Not much free time then,” he said.

“Yeah I-” you said before Georgia screamed. You turned around, your sister stomping around and shouting into a phone. 

“It’s tomorrow! They wait until the last minute to call and cancel the venue!” she said. Scott seemed miffed which was probably as angry as he ever got and your mom was already over trying to calm them both down.

“You can use the brewery,” said Dean quietly. He shrugged as you stared up at him. “We’ve been toying with reserving for private parties over on the far side of the property. Strand lights, farmhouse style wedding, yada yada.”

“Can it look like this?” you asked as you pulled out your phone. You showed him a picture of the venue and the style Georgia had wanted to go for. “I can call all the vendors. All we need here is tables, clean up, you get the drill.”

“What time is the wedding?” he asked.

“1. Reception starts at 4, was supposed to go to about midnight or so.”

“You’re the maid of honor I presume.”

“Can we make this work? I know she sounds insane but she’s actually really sweet most of the time.”

“I’m gonna need help setting this up. Might be an all nighter.”

“I like coffee,” you said. He nodded and you turned around. “Gia! Calm down! I got a solution for ya.”

“Hi,” said Dean as you pulled into the employee parking lot at around ten that night. “How’d the dinner go?”

“Fine. Gia’s stressed out so Scott and I got her drunk. I told her I had it handled,” you said. “I have dunkin and my sneakers and put me to work.”

“The guys are nearly done with the lights. I need you to help me with tables and stuff, where you want everything,” said Dean. 

“Alright,” you said. “Do you have a notebook I can borrow?”

“Pad of paper work?” he asked as you followed him into the back of the brewery. You hummed and he handed it over along with a pen. You cut through a side door and found yourself outside, staring at a whole bunch of lights in trees and along a privacy fence.

“Oh she’s gonna love this,” you said as you walked out there. You started to jot down where trees were and drew some tables on the paper, rearranging them a few times before you held it up to Dean. “Can you put the tables like this?”

“Definitely can do. I’ll handle the forklift, you tell me where you want the picnic tables,” he said.

Forty minutes later the tables were out back and you’d laid out some rubber mats to act as a dance floor with one of Dean’s employees. 

“So DJ is there…” you said to yourself as Dean whistled for you to come over to where he and a few guys were laying out the impromptu bar top. “What’s up?”

“We were just wondering how fancy is your sister? Like is it that fairytale farmhouse thing or she like it more rustic?”

“She’s the former. My future brother in law is the later. He’s the one from here,” you said. “I was just thinking we’d throw a table cloth over the top of whatever we use for a bar.”

“We still got that piece we didn’t use in the second room?” said a man.

“The too dark of stain one? Yeah, it’s in storage. I bet that’d work great,” said a different guy. They took off and you took a deep breath as you looked around.

“It’s getting there,” said Dean. “If you want to head back to your hotel I think we can handle the rest.”

“It’s not that late,” you said. “I can do the tables while you guys figure out the bar situation if that’s cool.”

“Alright. Let me know if you want any help, sweetheart,” he said. You crossed your arms and he mimicked you, tilting his head down. 

“Thank you for all of this. Georgia will love it.”

“I’m not doing it for Georgia,” he said with a soft smile. You bit your lip and turned your head, feeling Dean step closer. “If I asked you to stay a few more days, would you?”

“Dean-”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“Then stay. Let’s try this for real.”

“I thought you weren’t a commitment kind of guy. That’s what you said.”

“You said there were no strings attached and yet here we are eight years later and I am as smitten as the first time I saw you.” You looked up at him, Dean reminding you of just how easy it was to fall in love with him. 

And how hard it was to fall out of it after the two you went your separate ways. Twice.

“Dean it’s never worked before.”

“We never tried. Italy was the two of us having fun and falling way too hard and fast and it scared the shit out of us both. And your car...that couldn’t have been coincidence. We spent the night in that motel room being goofy and reconnecting and then you got so hard when we said goodbye.”

“It’s kinda hard to get over you.”

“Don’t get over me this time,” he said. “I never did with you.”

“I can’t be with a celebrity and do that stuff.”

“Oh yes, I live a very glamorous life,” he said as he looked around. “Should I get out the forklift again?”

“Dean you know what I mean. You were coming up eight years ago. Four you had fans. Now you got even more. I live in a one bedroom apartment and work on sales reports from my kitchen table.”

“If you work from home then staying down here a few more days shouldn’t be a problem,” he said.

“Dean you’re gonna break my fucking heart again and I don’t want to put it back together. Can we just leave it at friends?” 

“Okay.” He unfolded his arms and cupped your face with both hands, pulling you into a deep kiss. You grabbed onto his shirt and slid your hand up to his face, Dean slow to break it off. “I don’t want to wait another four years.”

“I’ll stay a few days and if I’m not convinced there’s something…” you said as Dean chuckled. “Oh shut up you hopeless romantic.”

You brought your lips to his, moving slowly, Dean’s hands wrapping around to your hip, the nape of your neck, kissing you as gently as he did the first time he had.

“Uh, boss,” said a voice. You stepped away from each other and he grunted. “We got some barrels we could use to rest the top on.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Sounds good. Right?”

“Very good,” you said with a nod. “Dean, you uh, mind helping me with the tables?”

“Not at all, sweetheart.”

The Next Evening

“Hey,” you said as you found Dean in a suit, no tie, top collar undone and helping serve some beer from the taproom.

“Hey. You want a glass?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. He poured two and excused himself, heading back with you over towards the reception. “I really can’t thank you enough. My sister loves it even more than the original place.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad I could help out,” he said. You stopped just outside the reception, Dean smiling as he sipped from his glass. 

“Would you dance with me?”

“Sure,” he said. He set his glass down and took yours, placing it with his own before he grabbed your hips and started to sway slowly. 

“I meant at the wedding,” you laughed.

“But we’re already dancing,” he smiled. He spun you around and hummed quietly. “You look gorgeous tonight.”

“Thank you. You clean up well, Winchester.”

“This old thing?” he chuckled. “It’s my lucky suit.”

“You wore it that night. I thought you were gonna blow me off.”

“Went out and bought it after that afternoon. You wore that pretty white summer dress with the ruffles.”

“Couldn’t exactly wear a white dress tonight,” you said.

“I’m sure you’ll wear one someday,” he said. “You got plans after the party?”

“Might see this guy if he’s available. Not sure yet.”

“Oh he is. He knows a late night diner not too far with big greasy burgers if she’s interested. Plus he’s got a cool car.”

“Let’s go,” you said as you brushed your lips over his.

“Is the wedding over?”

“It’s dying down. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Let’s go.” He held out his arm and you stuck yours through it, Dean escorting you out to his car. You felt cooler out in the open air and he shrugged off his suit jacket, slipping it over your shoulders. You stuck your arms through and he opened the door for you, smiling to himself. “Ladies first.”

“Dean?” you said before you sat down. You pecked a kiss to his lips and he inhaled sharply. “Maybe I can stay longer than a few days?”

“You could just stay forever,” he said.

“Maybe I will,” you said. He cupped your cheek and grinned, kissing you slowly. “Don’t go away again.”

“Never, sweetheart. Let’s see if we can get a start on forever finally.”

_______

[ssa-babygirl]

Out of my League [Part 7]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 2.5k (i know it’s so short i split it up again so part 8 will be out quicker)

Summary: Months later, you finally get a call after midnight from Spencer and he seems… off.

Warning(s): Angst, mentions of grief and death, swearing, allusions to schizophrenia, mentions of sex/smut, partially unedited cuz grammarly’s a lil BITCH but it’s ok i’m good at grammar

Author’s Note: HI IT’S HERE SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG HAVE FUN ENJOY I’M GONNA GO BACK TO MY DEPRESSIVE EPISODE NOW 

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

(not my gif)

10 Weeks Later

(Reader POV)

It was a little after midnight when you were jolted awake by your phone buzzing next to you. You just nearly rolled over and ignored it, but you were already up. You reached across your empty bed to your nightstand and turned your phone over, the bright screen burning your eyes. Squinting, you tried to read the name displayed across the top: ‘Doctor Spencer.’ 

You sat upright in bed immediately and answered, “Spence?”

His voice was a bit frantic, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, I was up,” you lied, “What’s wrong?”

“How soon can you get here?”

You were already climbing out of bed and looking for your keys by the time he asked. He never called you that late unless something was wrong, “I’ll be right over.”

And that’s how you ended up driving through the almost deserted streets at top speed, racing to see the man who you hadn’t heard from in almost three months, the man who kissed you and then kicked you out, the man who needed you at nearly one in the morning.

The man you loved.

You didn’t drag your feet getting out of the car. You went straight up to Spencer’s floor and went to knock on the door before it swung open. Spencer was waiting for you. He only met your eyes briefly before turning away and walking back into his apartment, leaving the door ajar for you to enter.

“Spence—” you started before he cut you off.

“Am I crazy?”

The question caught you off guard, “What are you talking about?”

His fingers ran across the scars on his forearms, trying not to scratch, “Am I?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Answer me.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong here. It’s been months, I don’t even get so much as a text, I have to hear about how you are from JJ, and now you’re calling me over to your place at one in the morning, begging me to tell you you’re not crazy. What’s going on?”

“Emily’s alive.”

You hear the words from a million miles away behind walls and walls blocking the sound from your ears. You can’t move. Your voice feels like shouting, but sounds like a whimper, “What?”

“I can’t tell if it’s all a dream, or I made it up, or something, I don’t know, just please, tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Spencer.”

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just some kid. It’s the same exact look you gave me when I told you about Alexa! I hated it then and I hate it now, so just… stop.”

You struggled to find words after his sudden outburst, all you could manage was “How—”

“She’s been hiding in Paris. Call her if you don’t believe me.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer was already dialing a number into his phone and handing it to you.

“Hello?” A groggy voice came from the speaker. It wasn’t Emily’s.

“Sorry to wake you up, JJ—”

“Y/N? What are you doing on Spencer’s phone?”

“Long story.” You chewed your lip for a moment, “Actually, no, it isn’t. What’s this about Emily?”

Dead air crackled through the phone.

“He told you?”

“Of course he did, he can’t sleep over it.” You avoided looking at him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell anyone, you have to understand that.”

“I do. I just wish it hadn’t come to that.”

“Me too,” her voice was smaller than it was before, shrunken not by sleep but by guilt, “Wanna talk to her?”

“Is she there?”

“Yeah, she’s staying with Will and I until she finds a new place.”

“Well I don’t wanna bother her if she’s sleeping.”

“You think she’s sleeping?”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Before you can say anything else you hear a voice that you never thought you’d hear again, “Hey.”

The sound brought tears to your eyes as you were finally able to bring your gaze back to Spencer, “Oh my god…”

“Surprise!” You could hear the guilt bleeding through into Emily’s voice like she was scared you’d be angry with her, like any of this was her fault.

“You’re…”

“Yeah. It freaked me out too.” Yep. It was really her alright.

“How… I was at your funeral, Emily.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. You’re…” you fought back a sob, “you’re back now. That’s what matters now, okay?”

“I’ll take it.”

“And we have brunch plans soon, understand me? We have months to make up for.”

She laughed, god, did you miss her laugh, “It’s a date. Give my love to Jamie.”

“Of course. Bye, love you.” You weren’t missing your chance to say that to her again.

You lowered the phone from your ear and nearly dropped it from your loose grip.

“Am I crazy?” Spencer asked for what felt like the hundreth time.

“No.” You crossed the room and placed the phone onto the table beside him, “She’s alive.”

“Did she ever really leave? I mean this whole thing just feels so ridiculous it can’t be—”

“Do you trust me?”

His silence stung.

“Well do you?” you croaked.

“Yes! Of course I trust you, Y/N, you haven’t been lying to me!”

It was absolutely not the right time, but it’s not like timing had ever been your strong suit, “Actually I have, Spencer.”

“What?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“What? Is everything okay?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Y/N stop fucking with me what the hell are you talking about?” He rarely cursed with you, and his expression softened once he noticed your shock at his language.

“You’re either a shitty profiler or I really should have pursued acting—”

His jaw clenched once more, “Damn it, Y/N, what is it—”

You practically lunge yourself at him, pulling him down to your level by his collar and smashing your lips to his. His hands were quick to land on the small of your back, arms looping around your waist and pressing you close to his body as your hands danced from his collar to the nape of his neck, carding through the hair on the back of his head, the tears on both of your cheeks mingling, the past ten weeks of missing each other poured out into that kiss.

You weren’t the one to pull away this time. He guided his hands back down to your hips and pried himself away from your body, “Woah, wait, wait…” he mumbled against your lips as he tried to break the kiss. 

When his shining brown eyes met yours, he looked at you like it was the first time he ever saw you. He held your face like you were a precious thing made of glass.

“Is this real?” Was all he could muster. The hoarse whimper cut through to your heart and summoned a new wave of tears to your eyes. 

“This is real, I’m real,” you gestured between the two of you, “This is real.”

“You actually want this?”

You nod, breaking out into an earnest grin.

“Please say it.”

“I want this. I want you, Spencer.”

You just barely get the words out before his lips are on yours again. The kiss was brief before he broke it again, pressing his forehead to yours and just holding you close, taking heaving breaths and trying to memorize how you felt in his arms.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“You’ve done it before.”

“I meant for real. You deserved better than…” He tried to shake the memory from his head, “Y/N, I—”

“Me too,” you rushed out, desperate for him to know already.

“Please let me say it, I’ve been waiting the last eighteen years.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, go.”

“I love you.” He sighed, peppering kisses against your smiling cheeks as he whispered, “I love you so much,” Kiss, “I have loved you ever since you helped me up off the locker room floor and I don’t think there’s been a minute since then that I had ever stopped loving you.”

“I love you too, Spencer.” You couldn’t help but giggle as his little kisses migrated from your cheek to your neck. You’d never loved anyone like this before, and you were glad it was him. You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and brought his lips back to yours. It was slow and sweet and gentle, so different from the previous kisses that were filled with the last few years of longing for each other’s touch.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything. The past few months. I should have just talked to you, but I was convinced you hated me and I didn’t know what to—”

“Spencer. It’s okay. Just,” you fixed the collar of his pajama top, “talk to me now. No more dancing around things. If we have something to say, we say it. Deal?”

“Deal,” he sighed and kissed your forehead, “I love you so much.”

          (Spencer POV)

The next few weeks felt almost exactly the same. Our dynamic didn’t change much after that. The only differences were the occasional dinner dates and the consistent ‘I love you’s. And the kissing. That was all new. We were still navigating that part about a month later when I attempted to make us dinner and ended up ordering Chinese takeout and watching Doctor Who reruns on my couch. I forget how exactly she ended up on my lap, but I wasn’t thinking about the chain of events when I had more pressing matters on my mind.

My hands were in her hair, hers on my chest. How I was still breathing, I had no clue. Not an inkling of where I got the confidence to move my hands to her waist. For one of the few times in my life, there was not a single thought in my mind because my fingertips brushed over the bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. The sigh she let out against my lips did nothing to bring me back to reality, I was still a million miles away in my own little world where this was happening and it wasn’t freaking me out.

My hands involuntarily drifted upwards, meeting the underwire of her bra, which was another reality check I completely missed out on. I was nearly convinced that it was all a dream when she pulled away.

“Hey, can we stop for a sec?”

This definitely was not part of my dream.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Yeah! Uh, fine, it’s just...” Her eyes wandered around the room as if looking for an excuse.

I lifted her off my lap and placed her next to me back on the couch, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” She stayed silent, “Is it something I did?”

“No! No, no, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You can tell me anything,” I tried to give her space, but still laced my fingers with hers. 

“I know! I just…” She trailed off and avoided eye contact, eyes fixed on our hands in her lap, “I haven’t done anything like this is a while.”

I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief, “Alright, is that it?”

“Yeah, can we just… take things a little slow? I don’t wanna seem like a tease—” She rushed the words out, almost like she thought I’d be upset with her. 

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that, okay? I love you, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Her shoulders relaxed, “Okay, thank you.”

“You don’t have to answer this, but how long has it been since you… did that?” She covered her face out of embarrassment, bashfully grinning a little bit, “Seriously, don’t answer if you don’t w—”

“No, it’s fine, just… don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”

She bit her lip and spoke so softly I almost couldn’t hear her, “Since I left Kyle.”

Well, I definitely didn’t laugh. The guilt bloomed in my chest almost as quick as the genuine shock that flashed across my face, “Sorry, I—”

“No, I get it! It’s a lot!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how?”

She giggled at the absolute bewilderment on my face, “Well I didn’t really have a lot of time for dating when Jamie was little, I was working two jobs, so I didn’t take my friends up on their offers to set me up. And when I moved out here, I just didn’t know anyone.”

“But you’ve lived here for years now, you didn’t go on any dates at all?”

“Well, by the time I had friends here…” She finally met my eyes after far too long, “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Oh.

I didn’t realize—

She didn’t want anyone else.

She wanted me.

After years of trying to feel what I felt for her with people I hardly knew, I find out she only wanted me. She didn’t go on dates like me, she didn’t hook up with strangers like I did. For the first time ever, I’m with someone I’ve had more sex than.

The first emotion I felt at that moment was guilt. I never thought she’d want to be with me, let alone wait for me, but she did and I was the asshole that slept around. But it’s not like I knew how she felt. I was in love with a woman I thought I’d never get, so why wouldn’t I try to get over her? It’s not like it worked anyway. If anything, it made me feel worse. No one I slept with made me feel as much as I did when Y/N smiled at me.

The next thing I felt at that moment was extreme pressure. She’s been waiting years for me. What if I don’t live up to her expectations? What if I disappoint her? Would that be so bad she loses feelings for me?

The next emotion at that moment was embarrassment. That was ridiculous. If sex mattered that much to her, I highly doubt she would’ve gone back to Kyle so many times.

The last emotion I felt before I kissed her was relief. The last guy she was with was Kyle. As if his name isn’t enough of an indicator that he was sub-par in bed, Penelope let it slip that Y/N had confessed to faking it with him during a night of drinking.

The kiss was short and sweet. I was the one that pulled away, not wanting to start things back up if she wasn’t comfortable with it. She just smiled and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Did you wanna stop doing that?” I asked in reference to what we were doing before. She laughed and shook her head, “Are you sure? ‘Cuz I can just make us some tea and—” Her lips were on mine again.

It didn’t matter to me how much longer I had to wait for her. She was mine.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @purelyprentiss @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper @theweirdobella @sammypotato67 @k-k0129 @helloniallslovelies @dazzlingnights @uhuhuh @booksarekindaneat @crimeshowtrash @carlgrxmes @collectiveuniverses @annesauriol @eevee0722 @supersouthy @spencerwaltergubler @llilithsdaughter @silverhetdanes @voidtruealpha @takeyourleap-of-faith​ @unholyobsessions​

[salvejoon]

Life is Beautifully Ugly (At Times) - pjm | 01

⇒ Warnings for this chapter: Death of minor characters, mentions of a car accident, losing a loved one, a child being orphaned, cursing, Jimin being an ass, reader being a bitch.

⇒ A/N: Hey lovelies! I’m back-ish! I’ve been working on this project for months now and I’ve finally found my muse again and so I got to writing more and more chapters for this. Please enjoy the first chapter of hopefully my first series (but not my last). xoxo

“Imo!” Your head shot up at the happy squeal and you bent down to one knee, opening your arms, almost toppling over at the force your niece ran into you.

“Oof!” Your arms closed around her and she buried her nose in your hair as her arms went around your neck, “Hello my pretty little flower.” You drew back and nuzzled her nose with yours to which she frowned. 

“I’ve grown 1 inch so I’m not little anymore.” 

“You’ll always be my pretty little flower, Hyejin. No matter how tall you get.” You picked her up as you stood, groaning briefly as you adjusted her on your hip, “But you are getting a little bit heavy.”

Hyejin giggled, “Appa also says I’m getting heavy. Says his back hurts.” 

“That’s because your Appa is getting old.” 

A hum came from the doorway and you saw Han, your brother-in-law, standing there, looking dapper in a black and white tux, his natural black hair swept back from his face, “You’re the one to talk, Y/N. You’re closer to 30 than I am.” 

You rolled your eyes, “No need to remind me, Han.” You said just as your younger sister, Charlotte gently pushed Han out of the doorframe, looking a little bit frantic, “Missing something?” You asked her as she walked over to the vanity, opening several drawers.

“My watch.”

“The one laying right in front of you?” 

Charlotte sighed heavily as her eyes landed upon her watch, “Thanks.” 

“What would you do without me?” You smirked as she walked over to you and took Hyejin from your arms and her daughter protested with a small whine.

“Can’t I go with you, Eomma?” She asked and glanced longingly at you and her father, “I also want to go to the ball and look pretty.” 

Charlotte chuckled and kissed her forehead, “Another time, baby. This is for grown-ups only.” 

“Why is it always only for adults? I want to go too!” She protested loudly, crossing her arms and pouted.

You ruffled her hair, “How about you and I play dress-up tomorrow, hm? How does that sound? I’ve bought new shoes you can try.” You winked at her and Hyejin’s pout slowly vanished. 

“Can I put make-up on you, Imo?” 

“Sure.” 

Charlotte put her down and bent down just as the doorbell rang, gently wiping her daughter’s hair back from her face, “You be good to Mrs. Shin, okay? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yes, Eomma.” 

You absentmindedly stared out the window as the limousine drove through one of the high-end districts of Seoul. Closed off ground containing High-Rise buildings towered the streets and in between, they were grand mansions. 

You felt out of place here, in this part of town.

You preferred Han and Charlotte’s apartment in the more affordable part of Seoul. 

“Y/N.”

You hummed at the sound of your sister’s voice.

“Promise me you’ll be nice.” 

You shifted your gaze to her and raised a brow, “When am I not nice?” You asked and shook your head when Charlotte sent you a knowing look, “Oh please. Just because he’s going to be there doesn’t mean I won’t be nice.”

Han snorted, “The last time you saw each other, it ended up in the tabloids.” 

You glared at him and tch’ed, “Your brother called me - me - a prude, and I simply wanted him to teach him some manners.”

“You don’t teach someone manners by threatening them, Y/N.” Came the rational voice of Charlotte. 

This time you snorted and rolled your eyes, “Wow, you two really take his side.” 

“We are not but you two should bury that hatchet, whatever it is. He is actually nice once you get to know him.” 

“He’s a conceited asshole that needs to be beaten down a peg or ten. There is nothing nice about him.”

“Y/N…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was once a time where you would have taken in the beautiful surroundings of the ballroom with all it’s marble and gold, tall doors, and crystal chandeliers and would have felt like a princess. 

But this wasn’t your first rodeo at a gathering such as this nor would it be your last. 

You hated them now. Well, not hated but found them so superficial because all it was was rich people prancing around with their noses in the air while they had a pissing contest of who had the most money, the fastest car, the grandest of mansions, or the youngest wife.

“Smile.” Charlotte noted as she sat down next to you, followed by Han who had finally managed to break free of one of the old ladies' claws, no doubt talking about finances.

You plastered on a fake smile but said smile quickly vanished when you spotted a familiar face approaching the table. 

You tried to hide your scowl as the man came up to the table, dressed in a burgundy-colored suit that cost more than what you earned in a year, his ears adorned with silver dangling earrings with matching diamond rings on his fingers. The last time you had seen him, he’d donned blonde hair but now it was gray and it was swept back neatly, showing off his face. 

And he had a new chick on his arm.

No surprise there.

Park Jimin was one of the biggest fuckboys you knew, if not the biggest. 

He dragged his eyes from his date to you and a knowing smirk spread on his lips when he saw your scowl. No doubt he was already planning various ways to piss you off. 

“Jimin. Nice of you to show up…” Charlotte glanced at her wristwatch, “20 minutes later than we agreed upon but it’s better than an hour like last time.” 

Jimin removed his eyes from you and looked at your sister with an innocent smile, “I apologize, Charlotte. Things dragged out at the board meeting.” The woman on his arm tugged at it, “And may I introduce Jisoo. My date.” 

Han bowed his head and your sister smiled sweetly at her and you… Well, you ignored them. 

That was until Charlotte jabbed you in the ribs, “Ow! Hi, whatever.” You grumbled, glaring at her before meeting Jisoo’s smiling face and forced your lips upwards. 

“As formal as ever, Y/N.” Jimin drawled before sitting down across from you, his smirk back on his lips, “Where is your date?” 

“I came alone.” You answered stiffly. 

He scoffed and leaned back in his chair, “As usual.” 

Arrogant asshole. 

“At least I’m not fucking my way through the female population of Seoul.” 

Jisoo opened her mouth to object but a tap on the mic shut all of you up and you just aimed a glare at him. He met you with one of his own. The tension rose at the table and you heard your brother-in-law sigh softly. 

“It’s going to be a long evening.” You heard him murmur. 

The hours dragged on and so far you’d listened to four long speeches, three performances by some musicians you had never heard of, and had Charlotte remind you of your promise ten times.

You found yourself sitting alone at the table, date-less while your sister was out dancing with Han and Jimin had vanished. 

Probably aiming the money-shot between his date’s breasts.

The image of that left a bad taste in your mouth, so you focused on the dancing people on the floor.

You could easily find a willing dance partner. There were loads of young bachelors at such an event like this but they were so boring to you. You didn’t care about numbers, board meetings, or future merges. Charlotte had given up trying to set you up long ago since you scared most of them away. 

You deemed your independence a part of your charm. Charlotte didn’t agree. 

The ironic part was that the only man here, that could keep up with you, was an arrogant dickwad with a stick so far up his ass, he could pick his teeth with it. 

And he was probably fucking his date at the toilet. There you go again with those thoughts. 

“Ugh.” You shuddered and willed the images away as you picked up your wine glass and took a sip. The best thing about these events was the free booze. 

Too bad you weren’t allowed to get hammered because the last time you got shitfaced, you had dragged Jimin by his collar, trying to get him outside so you could ‘rearrange that stick’. The tabloids had a field day with that instance. It hadn’t been the first time you had threatened to kick his ass and you doubted it would be the last. 

Jimin just knew how to push the right buttons. 

“No one has asked you for a dance yet?” 

Your left eye twitched in annoyance, “No. Not yet. Are you offering?” You asked as you looked at Jimin with a raised brow. 

“No. I prefer my dance partners to be more… graceful. I don’t like getting stepped on.” 

“But I can be graceful, Jimin.” 

“Oh? When?” He asked as he sat down in the chair and crossed his legs. 

“When I step on your throat, choking the life out of you.” 

“Kinky, Y/N. I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

You scoffed and leaned back in your chair, “Where’s your date? Recovering from having your filthy hands on her body?”

“And if she is?” 

“Then tell her I know a therapist.” 

Jimin threw you a glare, one you returned with an unimpressed, bored look, “She’s in the restroom.” 

“Trying to wash away her sins, no doubt.”

“Are you jealous, Y/N? You seem oddly fixated on my sexual interactions.” 

You picked up your wine glass and shrugged, “For me to be jealous, Jimin, it would require I had some sort of feelings for you, which I do not other than absolute disgust.” You downed the rest of the wine that was in the glass, deciding you were done entertaining him, “And I’d undoubtedly get more satisfaction by watching old men dance with their young wives than having sex with you.” With that you rose from the table. You flicked a strand of hair over your shoulder as you put your bag on the table, “Now be a good boy and look after my belongings.” 

“Where are you going?” He asked stiffly. 

“To dance, of course. Might step on a toe or two but what the hell.” 

Your escape from the table hadn’t gone as smoothly as you had hoped because Charlotte and Han were nowhere to be found, the men that had approached you were either 60 and above and the bartender hadn’t seemed particularly keen on entertaining you with small talk. So you opted to venture outside instead. 

The air was chilly and you shivered a little, rubbing your arms to regain some heat as you looked up. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled while the moon showered the ground in it’s white glow. It was a pretty evening, really. You had the sudden urge to just lay down on the grass and stargaze. 

You felt something heavy being draped over your shoulders and you turned around to see a pair of dimples and a bright smile. 

You knew those dimples.

And that smile.

Those kind, warm, honeyed eyes. 

Your heart sped up. 

Before you could open your mouth to greet him, Namjoon booped your nose, “Thought I saw you dash outside. Are you avoiding me?” 

You shoved his shoulder, albeit gently with a smile on your lips, “Duh. Of course, I am avoiding you.” 

He frowned, “The sex can’t have been that bad.” He pouted.

You rolled your eyes, “It was terrible. Absolutely terrible.” 

“You really know how to hurt a man's pride, Y/N.” He chuckled and enveloped you in a tight hug, “I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too, Joonie. I haven’t seen you in, what, 3 months?” You drew back, “I didn’t know you were attending the fundraiser.”

Namjoon kept his arms around your waist as he sheepishly smiled down at you, “I wasn’t planning on attending since I am so busy lately but when Han told me you’d be here, I had to come.” 

“Aw, my little Joonie bug.” 

He let go of you and you stepped back, “So how is the partnership coming along?” You asked, standing next to him, “Charlotte told me you’ve been super duper uber busy.” 

He sighed, “I have been so fucking busy and work has just been taking up all of my time and I am so tired of it.”

“Oh, Joonie.”

“But I can now call myself partner and a board member of Kim & Co Lawyers.” 

You squealed, your arms finding purchase around his neck as you jumped up and down of excitement, “OH MY GOD! CONGRATULATIONS!” 

Big hand engulfed your face and squished, “Thank you but calm down, sprout. No reason to entertain the whole neighborhood.”

“Buf u gos te parfership.”

“Yes.”

“lso yo ar ruinf te makuf.”

“I am fully aware of that, sprout.” 

“Le gof.”

He chuckled and let go of your face, placing his hands on your shoulders instead, “Thank you. But how are you? Charlotte told me you’d be expanding the brand soon.”

You grinned and nodded, “Yes! I am so excited but at the same time also a little sad. That shop has been my bread and butter for 4 years now but it was about time I listened to my sister and expanded… With the help of some investors, of course.” 

“Well, I am looking forward to seeing you take over the world, Y/N.” 

You snorted and grabbed his hand, “Pfft, I think I’ll just deal with getting my designs on the interwebz first and see how that goes. Now let’s go get some wine and talk shit about other people.” 

“There you are!” You and Namjoon halted your conversation as Charlotte appeared between you, “We’ve been looking for you.”

You smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sis.”

She glared but there was a teasing glint in her eyes, “Joonie has a habit of stealing your time.” 

“I’m like the most important man in her life, what did you expect?” Namjoon rolled his eyes as Charlotte bumped his shoulder, “Not in the way you want, woman.” 

Your sister huffed and shook her head, “What do I have to pay you to marry Y/N? Seriously, you’re like the only guy that can keep up with her shit and not want to run away.”

“Who says I don’t want to run away?” 

You slapped his arm that was draped over the bar counter, “Fuck you. You love me.” 

“I do but not enough to get my dick wet.” 

“That monster you call a dick wouldn’t fit anyway.” 

“Thank you, I guess, for calling it a monster, Y/N, but I would have made it fit. Preparation is key.” 

“That’s what I keep saying. Foreplay is an important part of-”

“Alright, I clearly interrupted something here so I would just like to give you the heads up and Han and I are going home.” Charlotte interrupted you and leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, “He’s drunk and I was getting tired anyway.” 

“Sure. I’ll see you back home.” You said, wiping at your cheek before turning it towards Namjoon, “Do I have a stain?”

He shook his head before accepting a peck on his cheek from Charlotte, “Nope. Looking smooth as always.” 

“You make sure she gets home safely, Joonie.”

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“And not too late, okay?”

“Bye Charlotte! Love you!” You called as she wandered off, dragging a swaying Han with her towards the entrance.

Jimin sat at the table, Jisoo at his side. He had tuned most of her blabbering out, finding the topic ‘what shoes to wear to her friend’s wedding’ quite boring. Instead, his eyes were trained on the dance floor where not many people were dancing. 

More specifically you and Namjoon that was talking more than dancing and he saw you smile, laughing at how your dance partner seemed to trip over his own feet. 

He scoffed. 

“Are you listening to what I’m saying, baby?”

“Of course, Jisoo. The red pair of shoes sounds good.” 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished it out, eyes narrowing at the number, he swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Yes?” He said. 

“Jimin, hey, it’s Seokjin.” 

“I could see on the caller-id.”

There was a brief pause and Jimin held up a hand to silence Jisoo when she yanked at his arm. Then there was a beeping sound and the sound of doors being banged open, “Jin, what’s going on?”

“Sorry about that… I don’t know how to say this but you need to come to the hospital.”

“Why?” 

“It’s your brother. Jimin, you need to come and quick.” 

His throat felt as dry as sandpaper as he stood up and hung up, eyes darting to your dancing and laughing form on the dancefloor. 

“Jimin, baby, where are you going?” Jisoo asked him as he took a step, her hands clinging onto his wrist. 

“S-Sorry, I have somewhere I need to be.” He answered, his voice shaky, “I’ll arrange for someone to take you home.” 

“Wait!” She called out as he ran towards you.

You were laughing so hard at how Namjoon had just tripped over his own two feet again when Jimin appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist, “What the fuck?” 

“Fun time is over.” Jimin said and tugged you with him as he headed towards the exit.

You yanked your wrist free, Namjoon appearing at your side, “Um no, it isn’t. What’s with you?” You asked him. 

Jimin looked at you and Namjoon, “Y/N.” You raised a brow at the tone of his voice… He sounded scared, “We have to go now.” 

“Did something happen?” You immediately grew worried because Jimin never sounded scared. 

“Seokjin just called me and… Something happened with Han and Charlotte.” 

You had never felt such fear. 

The ride to the hospital was tense and quiet. Jimin drove like a maniac through the streets of Seoul while Namjoon had tagged along as support. The two men sat in the front of the car, exchanging no words whatsoever, leaving you to your thoughts running rampant. 

Then you arrived at the hospital and everything happened so quickly.

A drunk driver collided with their limousine.

Their driver was killed on impact. 

Charlotte and Han were in critical condition.

You had no idea how much time had passed from when you had arrived to when you were sitting on the chair outside the ward, Jimin prancing back and forth like a caged animal.

Then the doctor appeared from the ward and Namjoon was quick to leave your side, going to talk to him.

You stood up, watching as they talked and you felt Jimin’s presence next to you.

Time seemed to slow down when your eyes locked with Namjoon’s, the sadness in his eyes conveying the message you had yet to receive but you knew. 

They were gone. 

You could feel someone wrap their arms around you as you tumbled to the floor, your own piercing wail deaf to your ears as you felt your chest implode on itself with heartbreak. 

Jimin struggled to keep you upright as you collapsed, your cries so very loud in his ears but it didn’t matter. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to hear why you had broken down. It was clear as day by the way Namjoon looked. 

His brother was gone. Your sister was gone. Both of them were gone. 

You cried out her name and Jimin tightened his hold on you when you tried to crawl away from him. 

He might not like you and you may not like him but he knew that you should not go through this pain alone. So when you clutched his shirt so tightly in your balled fists, your cries finally lowering to whimpering and you buried your head in his chest, Jimin held you tight.

The feeling of time was lost on you when you entered Han and Charlotte’s apartment. Your mind was empty and you were pretty sure your heart had stopped beating. 

Mrs. Shin appeared as you took off your shoes and placed your purse on a small table. She looked puzzled upon seeing you, and only you, return. 

“Where is…” She trailed off as you grabbed her hand. 

“They’re gone.” Was all you said and her shoulders sagged as she moved her free hand to cover her mouth, “Is she sleeping?”

“She is.” 

You nodded and walked past her, down the hall, towards Hyejin’s room. The door was slightly ajar and you slowly opened it, finding her room dark except for a small lamp in the corner. 

She hated the dark.

Like Charlotte. 

You felt tears stream down your cheeks at the thought of your sister but willed them away. You had to be strong now for Hyejin. 

Nothing else mattered.

Hyejin woke up when her mattress shifted and she turned her head, rubbing one eye, “Eomma?” 

“No, honey. It’s me.” 

She sat up, looking puzzled, “Where’s Eomma? She always comes to kiss me goodnight.” 

You opened your arms and closed them around her tiny frame, “I know.” You placed your head upon hers and took a deep breath, “Listen, sweetie…”

[browneyedhimbo]

I love you mom and I'm so happy you're back ❤❤❤ for a request: can I request any plot with protective!beefy!Bucky? 😍

Thank you for the request mija!! 💛💛 I don’t know why my mind immediately goes to alcohol when “protective” comes into play. Plus I was listening to Bad Bunny’s new album so that’s probably another good reason lol. But anywho! Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Alcohol, foul language (cause if I say dirty talk minds go somewhere else) and an asshole who needs to be taught a lesson in manners

Word Count: 1.7k

Running a hand through your hair you let out the million sigh of the hour. You stared at the blank document in front of you, the little line thing blinking back at you. 

“Alright alright, I got this,” you said to yourself. You sat up straight, cracked your knuckles and brought the laptop closer to you on your lap. You bit your bottom lip and hovered your hands over the keyboard. 

“Nope. Never mind.” You deflated, leaning back against the bed. You shoved the laptop off your lap to the side and groaned. 

Writer’s block, your real enemy. You were an avenger by day, fanfic writer by night. At first you thought it was weird and embarrassing, but soon you felt more and more comfortable. You were able to release and pour your emotions into writing. Well, at least that’s when your brain actually cooperated with you. 

“Ugh. Stupid fucking brain, stupid words, stupid fucking argh!” You groaned into a pillow. With another heavy sigh, you stood up and placed your laptop back on your desk. You glared at it before flopping on your bed face first. A knock sounded on the door a few moments later.

“Y/N, you good?” You heard Sam’s muffled voice from the other side. You went and opened the door seeing your best friend with a concerned look on his face. “I was headed to the kitchen when I heard you cursing out.” 

“Yeah, I was just trying to write but my brain can’t come up with anything.” You pouted. “I know what you’re gonna say, ‘don’t overwork yourself with writing when you just got back from a mission a few days ago.” You lowered your voice, trying and failing to mimic him.

“Actually I was gonna ask where Bucky is so he can help you out,” he chuckled, “Help you with your frustrations.” He threw a wink at you earning a roll of your eyes. You were going to say something before he cut you off. “Actually, I know what you need.” His smirk grew and you found yourself getting a little nervous. What did this lunatic have planned now?

“Do I dare ask?” You bit your bottom lip. He chuckled and leaned against the frame.

“You might wanna change. I’ll be back in ten,” he said before walking away leaving you very confused. You shook your head and closed the door. You quickly changed out of your pajamas and stood in front of your closet. He never said where you’re going so settled into wearing jeans, a nice dressy shirt, and your booties. You grabbed your purse when, true to his word, ten minutes later Sam was knocking.

“No hint?” You asked while he was driving you both to this mystery destination. He chuckled earning a swat to the arm.

“Take it easy, I’m driving!” He laughed. “I’m not saying anything. Only that Natasha, Wanda, and Clint are already there.” 

««««»»»»

“Just one dance Y/N!” Wanda was practically begging at this point. When you first arrived at the bar you found that they already had a shot and a few drinks each. Now half an hour later, they were trashed, and by they it was Wanda and Clint. 

“Okay okay fine! You win,” you giggled. You had enough liquid courage to dance a few songs but not enough to dance all night. 

“Yes!” She squealed before dragging you over to the dance floor of the bar. She was quick in her actions resulting in you not seeing a certain blue eyed super soldier stepping next to Sam. 

“Why am I here Sam?” Bucky asked already getting uncomfortable. He didn’t get a verbal response, just a nod in the direction Wanda had pulled you off to. He scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on you. His heart thumped faster seeing the way you smiled and laughed so carefree. He was whipped and he knew it, just not how he was ever going to tell you. A sigh broke past his lips as he sat down at the table Clint and Natasha were at. 

You don’t know how long you were dancing but you were starting to feel it. You looked at Wanda who wasn’t showing signs of letting up. With a shake of your head you started back towards the group. You saw Nat and Clint arm wrestling with Sam cheering them on, and then you made eye contact with the blue eyed beauty. 

Your smile matched your bright eyes and you started walking faster, eager to get engulfed in his hug and familiar scent. Though you couldn’t hear it, you knew he was chuckling by the way his shoulder shook a little and his smirk grew into a smile. God you loved him, but you couldn’t tell him.

Only a couple tables away. Your eyes never left his. Until some douchebag decided to smack your ass while passing him. 

“Hey what the fuck?” You turned to him, anger surging through your body. He was leaning against a bar stool, a disgusting smirk playing on his lips. You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small. Damn alcohol, you thought.

“Where ya headed to so fast sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip seductively.

“Fuck off,” you tried to sound intimidating, you really did, but it came out more wobbly than you wanted it to. Again, damn alcohol.

“You can fuck me right now.” He chuckled and gave you a wink. You felt your skin crawl and your stomach churn. You were going to say something else before you felt two hands on your shoulders and that familiar scent of cologne and gunpowder. 

“She said fuck off, so why don’t you do that?” You looked up and saw Bucky’s jaw set and his eyes trained on the dude. The only other times you’ve seen him with that look was when he was in ‘soldier mode’ (as you called it) during missions.

“What are you? Her ward?” He laughed despicably. You heard Bucky growl low in your ear. At any other given time you’d enjoy it, but now wasn’t one of them. 

“Bucky…” you trailed, desperately trying to make eye contact with him. He clenched his teeth and his metal arm wrapped around your waist. 

“If you ever play a finger on her again and I’ll-”

“Is she your girl?“ 

"W-what?” Bucky was taken aback by the question, too heated another man dare lay a hand on you in such a manner and talk to you in such a way. 

“Is she your girl? Cause if she’s not then…” the guy looked you up and down as if a predator. Your hand went to the arm Bucky had around and squeezed. 

“She’s my girl so back the fuck off or so help me, they’ll never find your body.” Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened a little bit and his other hand grabbed the collar of the dude’s shirt. His voice was husky and deeper than you’ve ever heard it before, hints of a promise laced with his words.

The dude paled and gulped before nodding his head. Bucky let him go and walked you both to where the others sat at the table.

“Heeeyyy!!! There’s ya ats! Was were you?” Clint swayed in his seat looking at the two of you.

“Easy there,” Sam said helping him to his feet. “We got an uber to take these lightweights home. You can take the car, no rush. See you guys at home.” Sam handed Bucky the keys before walking out with Clint ticked to his side and Nat helping Wanda. 

“We need to talk,” you looked back up to Bucky. He sighed and led you out the doors, arm still around your waist. It wasn’t until you got to the car he let go.

“I uh, I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze to the floor. You smiled softly at him.

“No.” He glanced up making eye contact. He shuffled on his feet before sighing.

“M'sorry Y/N/N. I-I know you don’t need to be saved ‘n I know I probably embarrassed you.” He scratched the back of his neck, finally meeting your eyes. “I jus’, he was being disrespectful-”

"Buck-” you tried getting a word in.

“-and a dick and I can’t stand someone doing that to you and -” he started getting louder.

“Buck-”

“It just makes me mad because I’m so in love with you!” His eyes grew wide at what he just shouted at you. “I-” he felt the tears welling up in his eyes and his rate sky rocket. This is not how he imagined this night going.

“You what?” Are your ears deceiving you? Or were plastered and didn’t know it?

“Oh god, Y/N this isn’t- I wanted- it’s.” The panic was oozing out from his chest. “Y-yes I love you but I didn’t want- I- please don’t be mad.” He pleaded.

“Why would I be mad? Bucky-”

“In there I said you were my girl and you’re not and now I’m tellin you I love you and-” you cut him off with your hand on his mouth and a chuckle.

“If you’d let me talk Buck,” you giggled, “I love you too you dummy. And,” you pressed a finger to his lips, “before you ask I didn’t drink too much so I’m telling you this completely sober.” You removed your finger from his lips and held onto his broad shoulders. 

Speechless is what he was. But he couldn’t hold back his emotions anymore. Calloused hands ghosted up your arms and cupped your cheeks. He looked down at your lips before meeting your eyes, almost as if asking for permission. A slight nod from you and his lips were on yours.

You felt fireworks go off in your belly. Everything in the world blurred out as you tugged him closer. Your hands found their way into his long hair as his found your waist. Though too soon, you had to pull away for oxygen. 

A laughed escapes your lips as you though about how this came about.

“Maybe I should go back and thank that asshole.” You chuckled, a smirk dancing on your lips.

“No! Nope! Not happening! Absolutely not!”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Permanent tags:  @becausewhyknotme @katbtracy @imma-new-soul @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @theladyoffangorn @itsunclebucky @mushyjellybeans @writing-for-hours-on-end @this-kitten-is-smitten @agentpeggybarnes 

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@stuckonjbbarnes @disaffectedbarnes @cosmicbucky @ninjabucky Hope you won’t mind me tagging you

[hanadolphieron]

WE HIT 200 EVERYBODY!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!! I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!!!!!

and you guys know what i promised whenever i reached this milestone...

MY EIGHTH GRADE STORY ABOUT A MONGOOSE!

it’s not 2.6k words what are you talking about

@sarahbkwl i know you’ll love this and @kaepopsicle i think you will too <3

The Demonic Mongoose of the Wild West

Bert the Bird, the demonic mongoose of the Wild West, roamed through the underbrush, searching for ants to eat. A tumbleweed ran across the bland terrain, hit Bert up the side of the head, and sent him flying. After a few long seconds, Bert slapped the ground with a resounding squeal. A big thwack echoed across the desert. A frog ribbeted. Bert sneezed.  

Unfazed, Bert continued his search for ants. He sniffled and snuffled along the ground, dancing to a nonexistent tune. His overly small paws bounced in rhythm, doing kicks so high they would give the Rockettes a run for their money. A few stumbles added variety to the dance. Completely calculated, I assure you.  

After a while, Bert forgot what he was doing and decided to head into town. The ants were spared another day. The saloon was not. Bert the Bird threw his whole body weight into the doors of the tavern, a meager attempt at forcing them open. The doors unsurprisingly didn’t budge, as the demonic mongoose only weighs half a gallon. Luckily, a cowboy-hatted, blue-jeaned, spur-wearing, collared-shirted and dusty faced yeehaw man came strutting through the doors.  

Bert the Bird took his chance and scrambled after the male yeehaw. He stopped, waiting for the perfect time to reveal his identity. Everyone in the saloon was peacefully (except for the two hoodlums brawling in the corner) engulfing liquid bread.  

Letting out an astounding yowl, Bert the Bird silenced the room. Heads turned, watching as Bert stood there, threatening them with his not-so-mere existence.

“Is it really him?”

“Don’t shoot- I got two kids!”

“Big Ol’ Bert Bird!”

“It’s the demonic mongoose!”

Whispers, gasps, yells, and one nervous bark filled the room. The mongoose smirked to himself.

Bert mobilized. Moving south, the mongoose headed towards the snake in the corner. His reptilian lawyer, who was currently playing cards with a yeehaw female, hissed in greeting.  

Bert squeaked out a snarl. The room gasped as he continued advancing towards the vertebrate.  

“Where are your federal income taxes, Bert?” the snake wheezed (she’s old.)

“Don’t have job,” Bert replies, edging closer.

“Oh yes you do, you’re tasked with eliminating my kin, aren’t you?”

“Huh.”  

Desktop App (the snake) sighs. Bert remains confused at the word choice beyond his vocabulary (he barely managed to graduate Childhood.)

“You,” she motioned to Bert, “Fight,” she imitated punching using her tail, “Snake,” she slithers.

“No.”

“Bert, fighting snakes is your entire livelihood, you can’t deny it.”

“No!” yells Bert, as he jumps in for the kill, attacking Desktop App’s neck. He misses and consumes a mouthful of table leg.

Desktop App lunges for Bert but doesn’t manage to take a chunk out of his arm as intended.  

Instead, she falls to the floor as Bert stumbles out of the way on accident after his head h                                                                                 hit the table and he careened into the floorboards, away from Desktop App.

Hissing, the reptile flops back around to face the mongoose, but Bert is already gone. He has seemingly vanished, but if you had looked closer, you would have seen a small, fluffy tail disappearing around the corner.  

Panting, Bert bounds across the rough terrain. His stubby legs aren’t used to moving at such accelerated speeds, and collapse after a few minutes. However, he’s far enough away from the town that he can’t see the outline of it. Belly heaving on the floor, limbs splayed out around him, head resting on the ground- Bert takes a cat nap.

He wakes up three hours later. Squeaking and jumping up, Bert continues to run. He has no idea what he’s doing or what he’s escaping, but he vaguely remembers that something dangerous was about to happen. To let loose his panic, the poor mongoose screams repetitively.

The surrounding life forms are irritated by such disturbance and one decides to stop him.  

Eduardo, The Valiant Frog of the Wild West, stands in front of Bert as the mongoose propels towards him. Bert shows no sign of stopping, because when he sees an obstacle, he gets scared, and his first reaction is to run, which involves speeding towards the obstacle at Mongoose Mach I.

However, Eduardo stands his ground. Suddenly, Bert stops, sniffing the air. Frog. Leaning closer, he gets close to Eduardo. “Frog,” he says.

Eduardo stares. “Is that all you have to say, young mammal?”

Bert The Bird says nothing.

“I have heard you are seeking sanctuary from the snakes. You will find none until you banish them all from these lands. Otherwise, they will always be lurking, slithering under your feet, watching you.”

Bert hiccups, and lets out another scream. He clumsily poises to run again, but Eduardo yells out, “Stop!”

Bert does exactly that and lays down on the ground. Eduardo shakes his head. “This is hopeless,” he mutters.  

“Go north,” Eduardo says slowly.

“Who?” Bert asks.

“North is not a life form, it’s the direction you are facing right now,” Eduardo points his walking stick to help Bert understand, “The snakes’ base is there. It’s hard to miss. Go find it and save us all!”

Bert squawks and starts bouncing north like a kangaroo. Shaking his head, Eduardo retreats to his spot under the sand.

After a while, Bert sees a structure like a laboratory, and stops. Settling down near the side of it, the mongoose burrows into the sand. It’s nice and shady next to the metal wall with a snake drawn on it, and it’s even out of the sun! A perfect place to spend the night. He curls up, wraps his tail around his small body, closes his eyes, and drifts off to sleep.

He awakens fifteen hours later, yawns, and stretches, gripping the ground with his claws. But, instead of the ground, he feels something slimy and scaly. Too frightened to utter a sound, Bert the Bird lets go of the thing, then grabs it again. This time, he adds more force and crushes it. It makes no noise. Bert sniffs it. Danger.

Bert slowly hightails it around the corner. He finds himself inside the structure. He sniffs again. The air tastes different. Spicier. Cautiously, he pads forward, tiny paws making no sound.  

Hearing voices, he crouches low to the ground to camouflage himself. He doesn’t realize that the building is white-painted metal, and he is a furry brown mongoose. Bert slinks closer to the sound, not stopping. He wants to see who’s speaking.  

Suddenly, the floor drops out from under him. Bert meows loudly, scared out of his mind. He plummets five feet, and lands in some dirt. The air is knocked out of his lungs, and Bert sits on his buttocks like a human, wheezing. Shaking his head like a wet dog, Bert stands up and observes his surroundings. He’s in a dark room with no light. So, he’s unable to see anything.

Snorting, Bert decides to use his other four senses to get a feel of where he is. Bert’s never been this resourceful before.

He pats around at the dirt under him and slowly moves forward. He immediately hits a wall. Snorting again in contempt, he turns around and is met with another obstacle. Snorting even louder, Bert jumps five feet in the air in dissatisfaction and blasts straight through the roof of the dark hole.  

The surprise of his heroic and super-mongoose actions scares him, and Bert jumps again. However, this time he doesn’t snort. Mobilizing again, he trots down the hallway. The voices have stopped, but Bert hasn’t.  

A crossroads appears in front of him. He keeps moving and hits the middle dividing wall face first. Startled, he blinks twice in a row. Turning around almost completely, he takes the left path. He sees a door on his right as he moves down the path, and Bert turns quickly to enter the room.  

Four snakes stare at him. Bert recoils, barking at them. They seem unaffected by his terrifying show of terror and hiss at him, “Why are you here, mongoose?”

“Who?”

The snakes sigh.

“Where are your federal income taxes?” they inquire, just as Desktop App had. Bert doesn’t answer. “Bert, you have been in debt to us for years. Each time you fight us, we lose purposely so someday you will have to pay us back for all the victory we have given you.”

“I disagree.”

And with that, Bert runs away, hooning down the hall and bursting out the door. He feels different. His head feels heavier, less empty, like something’s in there. Brain cells, he thinks to himself! He’s finally found some! The chemicals in the snakes’ lair must have given him some.

The ground disappears under his paws as he runs ferociously towards town. He must inform them of the nonconsensual agreement between him and the snakes regarding debt. He doesn’t understand what federal income taxes have to do with it, so he decides to disregard those for now.

The low skyline appears on the horizon, but Bert has no energy left. Slowly, the mongoose begins to decrease speed until he drags himself to a stop. Being awake for three hours is too much for a mongoose. Bert falls asleep a mile out of town.

The next morning, Bert wakes up and sneezes forty-seven times. Immediately, despite the sleep in his eyes and mussed-up hair, the valiant mongoose bounds towards town, making it there within the span of ten minutes.

The people are hiding in their houses, frightened of poor, misunderstood Bert. He meows pathetically. Suddenly, his voice acts without him thinking about it, like he’s saying a prophecy. He says, “Humans! My name is Bert the Bird, The Demonic Mongoose of the Wild West! But I do not claim that title! I am just Bert!”  

He pauses, waiting for an answer. Silence.

Bert continues, “I need your help. The snakes have tricked me. My past lack of brain cells made me victim to a devious scheme- each time I fought a snake, the reptile would lose purposely, consequently indebting me to them. I never consented to this agreement or trade! I need your help defeating these reptiles, as the ferocious mongoose you know as Bert the Bird is not me, and I am just a mere mammal. I do not seek revenge, just justice.”

Bert the Bird looks around, partly perturbed by his voice acting on its own, and partly to see if there were any takers to his courageous call.  

A door creaked open. Bert looked hopefully towards it and saw a badger.

“BADGER!” He screeched. Perhaps not the wisest call, but it sufficed, as Badger came hurling out the door towards Bert. (in fear.)

However, once he saw the wide, hopeful smile spread across Bert’s face, all fear dissipated. A few other animals slowly left the security of their homes and Bert was soon surrounded by a kingdom of squawking, ribbeting, barking, meowing, mooing, squeaking, and aggressive flapping.

“We will help you!” a turkey said. Cornbread was his name.  

“YEAHHHHHHH!” came an overly loud yell from a rare blue land shrimp. (Her entire body consists of a voice box supposedly; Bert had heard stories.)

Resounding expressions of agreement echoed throughout the square. “I am unendingly grateful for your assistance. Do we have any weaponry in this town?”

“Cabbage catapults,” growled an ostrich named Oallllyieee (exact spelling.) Bert could barely hear the baritone bird.  

“Pitchforks!” squeaks a rare yellow land whale. (This is the Wild West we have some interesting species.)

No one else reported any items, so Bert assumed that cabbage catapults and pitchforks were the extent of their defense system.  

“Let us prepare! Up and at ‘em!” Bert inspired, moving to go follow the animals as everyone streaked (not that kind of streaked) towards the barn located on the outskirts of Editing Reference File, the town.  

Everyone grabbed pitchforks, except for the bears and tigers (and the cacophonous rare blue land shrimp) who prepared the cabbage catapults.  

Lining up along the northern edge, all the animals positioned their attention on the outline of the snake structure at the top of the hill and waited.  

Not for long though, as a thunderous kerplonking and whooshing resounds from the hill. Hundreds of slithering noodles rampage towards the rest of the Wild West’s animal kingdom, slapping their tails against the sand in an uncoordinated fashion. These reptiles don’t stand a chance.

“Catapults at the ready!” roars Bert. The tigers’ claws fortunately abstain from becoming stuck in the voluminous leaves of the green vegetable. One of the bears, however, is not so lucky and now has large, round, leafy hands. He uses this to his advantage and begins to beat up some slimy thugs.  

“Fire!” Bert triumphantly yells once the snakes are in range. The cabbages hit the snakes dead-on, and an estimated sixty-three of them remain motionless. Not dead, just unconscious, as cabbages are not deadly projectiles no matter how hard you shoot them.

The snakes keep heading for the opposing army, and Bert screams, “Charge!”

Shrimps, buffalos, common loons, rhinos, tamarins, cows, and more trample two-hundred-sixty-four reptilian noodles. The head snako calls for a retreat. Bert’s militia hesitates, letting them fall back and re-group. Bert’s army is considerate, unlike the scaly, legless bodies.  

Instead of asking for a surrender, the snakes turn around, screeching, and attack again. Bert charges at them. The chemicals in the snakes’ lair had not only given him knowledge, but also some speed.  

Using his stout legs, Bert kicks those floppy worms out of the park! None of the snakes get even close to hurting Bert, he is just too fast. Cheering erupts from the Southern side. The North deflates and retreats again.

This time, only one fishy noodle comes back. He is wearing a lop-sided top hat and looks like a prestigious pirate.  

Heaving, he goes up to Bert. Bert quirks up a hairy eyebrow.  

“We surrender,” the sophisticated mustache-having snake breathes.

“I accept,” Bert responds, “But you must promise to leave the South alone. Stay back in the North with your failure of a capitalist economy.”

Johnny Smith, the snako, snarls but retreats, saying, “To the North!” His army dejectedly follows, slithering slowly. A cloud of dust appears and hides their retreat. Bert watches to make sure it was not a mask to hide a second attack. It was not. The sand settled, showing the snake structure’s door opening to let all the reptiles in.  

The Southern crowd cheers. No one is hurt and all is well! Bert is named Bert The Bird the Speedy and Slick and is unanimously proclaimed sheriff of Editing Reference File. He is now free to live his life as he chooses, saving the world and making uplifting speeches to his fellow citizens.  

Sometimes he struggles to feel satisfied with all the stress on his shoulders and misses his easy life back on the plains. He goes back sometimes and reminisces about the times where his head was empty, and a brain did not disrupt his inner peace.

But he remains in Editing Reference File as a hero (who can pay his federal income taxes.)

*The directions have nothing to do with the Civil War, my brother is paranoid and is making me put this here.

[peppersonironi]

Batfam Whumptober Day Two

{Read on Ao3}

No. 2: “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Summary: Cassandra is kidnapped as a Wayne for the first time. Knowing Bruce would want her to stay out and wait for help, she doesn't fight back. However, this reminds her of when she couldn't fight, and Cass finds herself hating the helplessness. As she is being manhandled and used for ransom, she fears being unable to fight back.

A/N: So I wanted to write something for Cass, ‘cause there’s really not enough hurt/comfort out there for her. Lot’s of people portray her as perfect, and I get it, she’s Cassandra Cain, and absolutely awesome, but I think it takes away from her character to assume she’s confident 24/7. Not sure if I did her credit here, but the intent is still there.

Where did the humor come from? You’ll never know.  

TW: Referenced child abuse (Cass briefly remembers Cain. Nothing graphic)

Cass smiled at the stray cat walking by the café where she was currently enjoying coffee with Dick and Steph. It was small and a bit scrappy, but still had a beautiful blue-gray coat. She briefly considered hunting it down and bringing it back for Damian, knowing not even Bruce could say no to her. But she decided against it, wanting to stay and enjoy her afternoon. They were almost done, anyway.

“And then Jason announced he was gonna run away to vegas and become a stripper!”

Cassandra turned back to where Dick had just finished a rousing tail of the dangers of a high Jason todd. Stephanie snorted out her tea, and even Cass gave a little smile.

“You give him pointers?” She asked. It was an inside joke with the family to call Dick a stripper. It was made worse when it was revealed he could pole dance.

Dick’s eyes went wide, and Stephanie’s roaring laughter renewed. “I thought you were the good one!” He whisper-yelled, clearly shocked.

Cass smiled coyly at her older brother. “I am.”

Stephanie finally settled down enough to chokingly announce: “Not that Bruce knows!”

Dick frowned good naturedly. “Y’know,” he began, “there was a time when I was the favorite child.”

Cass nodded. “Then Jason came. Thank you both for saving my spot.”

Dick squawked, Steph cackled, Cassandra smirked into her coffee, and they went back to enjoying their day out.

*****

It was twenty minutes later when Cass saw them. Three men in civilian clothes who had been following them from the coffee shop that they had left from a few minutes ago. Neither Dick nor Steph had noticed them, as they hadn’t interacted with each other. But Cass could tell.

“Wanna go to the movies next?” Steph asked, pointed to a theatre less than a block away.

Cass glanced back at the men, then towards the theatre. “Yes,” she said, “But hurry.”

Stephanie and Dick frowned at her before following Cass’s gaze.

“Oh crap,” her brother said before casually turning around. He grabbed Cass and Steph’s hands and began to lead them towards the theatre.

They had almost reached the doors when a large black van pulled up. The three men jumped forward and each grabbed their own Wayne. Stephanie managed to smack hers away with her purse - Cass was 87% sure she kept a brick in it at all times - and Dick elbowed his in the gut.

But there wasn’t much more they could do. Every Gotham vigilante knew better than to show off their fighting skills in public - sure some minor self defence skills were passable - and so the trio was at a loss.

Cass ducked under the arm of her attacker, but was caught off guard by Stephanie’s sudden shriek. She glanced over to find the man twisting her arm back.

Cass’s own attacker took this as an opportunity to grab her around her waist. Cass could only watch helplessly as she was pulled into the van.

“Leave them, we have a girl!” the driver called, seeing Stephanie bite her attacker.

Dick was thrown to the ground, and Stephanie shoved into a store window right before a black hood was thrown over her head, and everything went black.

*****

Cass was very still on the chair she had been tied to; the hood still over her head. She had been brought in after about ten minutes of driving, before being dragged into some warehouse by the docks.

The hood wasn’t completely dark, allowing her to spot multiple exit strategies, and take in her surroundings. She could have escaped twenty-four different times at this point. Twice that if she took action in the next thirty seconds.

But she didn’t.

Cass knew what Bruce would want, she had sat through The (what to do if you’re kidnapped) Talk, of course. Cassandra knew what the protocol was.

Stay in place.

Be a good hostage.

Don’t fight back.

Wait for someone to come get you.

Normally, Cass would be perfectly fine with following protocol - she wasn’t Jason who did the exact opposite just to piss Bruce off. But this time … it was different. This time she was anxious.

“We have the brat,” some thug called, “send the ransom demand.”

Cass bit her lip and strained her ears to pick up some snippets of conversation, but failed. There was a point, twenty minutes later, where she could have sworn she heard Bruce’s voice, but she was unable to pick out specific words.

And so she stewed, ignoring the bunching of her muscles, the intense urge to fight back and escape, to not be weak.

Suddenly, the hood was ripped off of her head. Cass blinked at the sudden brightness, her eyes taking a moment to focus on the pair of thugs before her.

“Head up, pretty thing,” one said, pulling a phone out of his pocket, “Your daddy wants proof of life.”

Cass raised her head - ‘be a good hostage’ ringing in her ears - and looked past the first man. His partner held the black hood, and had a distinct air of pity about him. Subtle, his fellow criminal not noticing.

But, oh.

That was it wasn’t it?

The pity.

Cassandra was thrown back, back to when that telepath had rerouted her brain. When she could speak. But no longer fight. She remembered the pity in Barbara’s eyes. Sure, the woman was excited that Cass could start to communicate, but the former batgirl had understood more than anyone the pain of being unable to protect. Bruce had been the same, hadn’t let her out.

She had felt so helpless then; so fundamentally wrong that it had hurt worse then Cain.

When she was with her father, she had known the expectations. There was never pity with David, only pain.

A flash showed in her eyes from the phone, and Cass winced. The hood was shoved back over her head, and the world was once again dark.

She’d lost her chance.

She hadn’t fought.

Cain would’ve berated her.

Perhaps Bruce would be proud.

Cass took this as comfort, trying to put the nervous tension in her bones out of her mind. This ‘following the rules’ became harder by the minute. In ten minutes, she was fighting down panic. Why was this so hard? Tim got kidnapped at least twice a month, Damian even more. Why couldn’t she handle this?

Cass took a shaky breath, licking her lips. She could do this. She would be strong. Not fighting was strong. She … she could do this.

Then she felt a body moving near her, and instantly tensed. Dozens of different tactics swirled through her mind. Stand up, break the chair and use the arms as escrima sticks. Dislocate her thumbs, slowly pull out of the restraints, and when someone comes close, aim for the nerve cluster in the right shoulder, sweep the leg.

A part of her was always scared of what she could do, but now more than ever. Did she really have enough self-control to stop an attack?

She didn’t have a chance to answer herself, as sudden sounds flurried around the room. Sounds of fighting: punches making contact, grunts, screams, bodies hitting the floor.

“Cassandra Cain?” A gloved hand rested on Cass’s shoulder, but she didn’t lash out. She smiled.

The hood was gently lifted off of her head, and Cass looked into the masked face of her brother, Dick.

“Hi.” she said, eyes wide.

“Hey there, Miss. Let’s get you out of here, ‘kay?”

Cassandra looked past him to where Spoiler was dealing with the last of the thugs. She gave a relieved smile. “Okay, Nightwing.”

Five minutes later Cass found herself wrapped in a shock blanket and sitting on the back of an ambulance. An officer had tried to get a statement out of her, but was quickly brushed off by the Commissioner. He was good friends with the Waynes, and consequently the only person Cass felt comfortable around at the moment. That was, until she heard a pair of familiar voices calling out from the crowd.

“Cass!” Stephanie shoved herself in front of Dick to wrap Cassandra in a tight hug. “Are you okay? We were so worried!”

“I’m fine,” she answered, giving a small smile. “Thank you.”

Steph did a conspiratorial wink before Dick stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. “Hey sis,” he whispered in her ear, “you scared us.”

Cass shrugged. “Sorry.”

Dick shook his head. “Not your fault. You did the best you could. How about we head home and watch a movie? I’m proud of you.”

And that? That made this all worth it.

Tagging @starrystories2

[chimchimsauce]

Seven (1)

Jungkook is infamous. And yet, YN ignores every word of caution, unable to resist him.

I've heard so many sagas. He brings the drama, six baby mamas . . .

Tag List:  @cadet-lea-05 @flowerychim @lecsah

Add yourself here!

Chapter One

"YN. Get your ass up,"

The girl in question ignores her disgruntled roommate, continuing to type away at the paper that's due next week. She has a good workflow going and won't be interrupted by Miran's antics.

"Are you listening to me?"

Miran's question is only answered by clicks from YN's keyboard. Not even a moment passes before a pillow crashes into YN's head.

"Hey!"

"That's what you get for ignoring me. Rude,"

YN pauses her work, sitting up and glaring at her roommate.

"What do you need?"

"You're going to the club with me,"

"I absolutely am not,"

"You absolutely are. Today is Lady's Night. Drinks are half off if you bring a friend,"

"Can't Wendy go with you?"

"She's sick,"

"Mary?"

"Out of town,"

"Maria?" YN is grasping for straws at this point.

"Hooking up with her new toy,"

"Look, Miran, I know we don't really get along all that great, but I'd really appreciate it if you understood that clubbing is not my thing. The music's too loud, people are too touchy, and I don't like dancing,"

"I'll owe you one. Please? This guy I'm trying to catch is going to be there tonight,"

Miran's usual blunt attitude softens a bit.

YN bites her lip.

"And I'll stop inviting people over without asking you first,"

Miran hits gold. Her roommate's constant flow of people in and out of their small apartment is YN's biggest pet peeve.

"How long do you want to be out?"

Miran punches the air in excitement.

"Just a few hours! It won't be all night, I promise,"

"Fine, "YN says, "But you better keep up your end of the deal,"

"Of course I will. Now come on, get dressed," Miran says, grabbing YN's hands and pulling her up, "Wear something sexy,"

YN looks entirely unamused.

"Do I look like I own a single 'sexy' thing?"

Miran opens her mouth but wisely shuts it before making a comment.

"I'll grab you something from my closet then. Wait here,"

Miran returns with some skimpy little thing that looks more like a somewhat long shirt than a dress.

“I’m not wearing that,”

“Oh, come on! It’s the longest dress I own,”

“You’re joking,”

“I’m not. Come on, put it on. We need to get going,” Miran says, tossing the fabric over to her and closing the door, “Don’t take forever,”

YN pouts but does as instructed, trying in vain to pull the hem lower to cover herself more. It doesn’t work, the girl’s bum nearly slipping out. She’s anything but comfortable, and the sight of her bed next to her is beyond tempting. But the promised absence of surprise visitors to their dorm has YN stepping out, glaring at Miran who claps excitedly.

“You look hot,” Miran says, circling her roommate and analyzing the way her dress fits.

“Whoopie,” YN says with all the enthusiasm of someone discovering their spare tire has gone flat.

Miran doesn’t acknowledge YN’s sass, tugging her into her own bedroom and covering her with a multitude of bracelets and big, heavy hoop earrings. She also sprays a zillion different products into YN’s hair, getting it to poof up in all the right places but still maintain some bounce. By the time she’s satisfied, YN looks more like a floozy than herself.

“They won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you, YN. You’re gonna get so many free drinks, ugh, I’m jealous,”

“I don’t drink,”

“Give them to me, then. I’ll drink enough for the both of us,”

YN frowns. It looks like she’ll end up being the DD. She hopes Miran isn’t a puker because if she so much as gags, YN’s gonna kick her drunk ass out of her car and leave her on the sidewalk, conscience be damned.

The two take YN’s car, a perfectly clean little honda, the most sensible car a girl can have. Miran obnoxiously turns the radio up so loudly YN can barely hear the directions to the club. She winces when Miran sings an incredibly shrieky high note, already feeling a headache coming on.

Of course, there’s no parking, so the girls have to walk two blocks to make it to the long line forming at the club entrance. The guy in front of them smells horribly of weed, causing YN’s nose to crumple up in disgust. She’s tempted to pull the collar of her dress up but she stops herself, knowing that she’d end up flashing the entire street.

And if she thought things couldn’t get any worse, some shiny Bently pulls up to the curb, tires skidding obnoxiously. YN doesn’t get a chance to see who the douchebag driver is, as some guy runs up to the car excitedly, binging a small crowd with him.

“I wonder who that is,” Miran says, standing on her tippy toes to try and get a better view.

It takes YN all of three seconds to decide that she doesn’t care. She shrugs off Miran’s comment, inching forward as more people are let in the pounding club.

Twenty minutes later, the bouncer lets them in after placing a red over twenty-one wristband on Miran’s wrist and a white under twenty-one band on YN’s, swinging open a large black door. The music’s volume triples instantly, some sleazy song thumping with bass. Miran pulls YN inside eagerly, heading straight to the bar. She leans over the countertop, her breasts nearly spilling out as she flirts with the bartender.

“Two shots of tequila, please,” she says, laughing lightly as the man blushes darkly and nearly drops one of the small glasses.

For a moment, YN feels jealous. Miran is hands down the most confident person YN has ever met. No matter what she’s doing or where she is, Miran holds herself with an air of power and confidence that YN can only dream about. While Miran always seeks the limelight, YN is perfectly comfortable in the shadows where no one can see her, where no one pays her any attention.

When the bartender serves the drink, Miran tosses the both of them back with a speed that’s nearly inhuman, grinning as she slams them back down on the wooden countertop.

“Dance with me,” Miran shouts over the music, attempting to pull YN onto the packed dance floor.

“I’m good!” YN shouts back, resisting.

Miran shrugs, letting go of YN’s hand and getting pulled into the writing mass. Strangers brush pass her, their sweat gliding against YN’s skin and causing her to shiver in disgust. Fighting through the blob of people, YN makes it to the corner of the club, sitting awkwardly on a bench as a couple makes out a foot away from her. The noises they make cause YN great discomfort but she tries to drown it out by focusing on her phone.

It’s way too loud for her to try and watch a drama, so YN pulls up Amazon, buying a book that sounds interesting and settling in as best she can. Thankfully, the story hooks her from the first page and YN forgets where she is entirely, well, until some drunken idiot trips and spills liquor all over her.

YN shrieks in surprise as the girl hiccups out an apology before stumbling away, not even trying to help clean YN off. The girl wants to scream from frustration, already tired of the night even though it’s only ten o’ clock.

She fights her way through the crowd again, locating the bathroom after some difficulty. She pushes the women’s door open, cringing as some girl vomits in the stall. The smell is horrendous, YN holding her breath with puffed cheeks as she rushes over to the sink, wetting a paper towel to try and cleanse herself.

After she gets as much of the drink out as he can, she breathes in shallowly, standing under an electric hand dryer until the wet spot is gone. For a moment, YN contemplates staying in the bathroom but the girl starts vomiting again, urging her to head back out into the club.

But just as she walks out, someone smacks her with the men’s bathroom door, sending her tumbling down to the sticky floor.

“Oh for fuck's sake!” she screams, finally at her wit's end.

All she wants to do is go home and take a shower and pretend this night never happened.

“I am so sorry,”

At the sound of a voice, YN looks up, momentarily forgetting her anger as the most handsome man she’s ever seen leans over her, offering up his hand.

He’s gorgeous. His hair falls into his eyes, nearly masking his chocolate brown eyes. His jawline is so sharp YN wonders briefly if anyone’s ever knicked themselves on it.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

YN’s eyes flicker down to his lips, noticing how soft they look.

“I - yeah,” YN says, finally shaking herself out of shock enough to grab his hand.

He smiles then, revealing a dimple in his left cheek and pulls her up. The sight of it causes YN’s heart to skip a beat.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, tilting his head cutely.

Even his voice is attractive, deep in the way that’s just right, not too low or high.

YN nods like a bobblehead, dying inside from how embarrassing she’s being.

“Why don’t I buy you a drink to make up for it?” he asks.

“I - uh, I don’t drink. And I’m underage so . . .”

She regrets the words as soon as she’s spoken them, noticing how lame they make her seem.

“Ah, okay,” he says, still not letting go of her hand, “What’s your name?”

“YN,” she says instantly, ignoring the voice in her head that says giving her name out to a stranger - no matter how attractive he is - is a terrible idea.

“That’s pretty,”

“Thanks,” YN says, her internal systems fried.

Two seconds near this man and she’s reduced to one-word answers.

“Want to sit in my booth with me? You still look a little out of it,”

“Okay,” YN says, letting the handsome stranger lead her upstairs to VIP area, watching as he nods to the bouncer briefly.

This section of the club is a lot quieter, though the music can still be heard. It’s a much-needed break. YN brushes her hair out of her face, looking at the stranger who looks very relaxed in the booth, his elbows on the table and his hands crossed, his head resting on them as he looks YN over thoroughly.

“Your friend dragged you here?” he asks suddenly.

“How’d you know?”

“You don’t look very comfortable,”

“I’m not,” YN admits honestly, “I’m only here because my roommate wanted half-priced drinks,”

Jungkook laughs then, a sound YN finds herself feeling proud to have caused.

“I like you,” he says suddenly, YN’s cheeks coloring, “Most people would have gotten defensive,”

YN shrugs.

“It’s the truth. I’d much rather be at home. Even cleaning is better than this,”

“What do you like to do then, YN?” the stranger asks, genuinely curious.

And thus conversation begins.

Something about her has caught his attention. She’s pretty, definitely, but so are a lot of girls here. He can tell that his presence is affecting her by the way she steals peeks at him when she thinks he isn’t looking instead of blatantly giving him the bedroom eyes as most girls do. It’s refreshing, to say the least.

And as the hours pass, YN finds out that she and the man across from her actually have a lot in common from the types of movies they enjoy to their field of study.

“You failed American history?!” YN asks, laughing at how embarrassed he looks, “That’s such an easy class!”

“I’ve always been bad at History. I can never remember what happened in the past. But to be honest, I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. The past is the past. What matters now is the present,”

“I’d have to disagree with you there,” YN says, drinking her water a waiter (she didn’t even know clubs had waiters) had brought her a while ago, “History is important. You have to learn from the mistakes of the past to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen in the present,”

The man is silent for a moment, some indescribable look on his face.

“Are there any subjects you’ve failed,” he asks, changing the subject.

It’s obvious that YN hit a sore spot so she takes the bait.

“No, never. Calculus was incredibly difficult though,”

“I aced Calc,” the says, smirking.

“No way,”

He nods, placing his glass flute to his lips, letting the red liquid slide through his lips in a way that causes YN’s breath to catch and her to shift on the seat.

“Something about math just clicks. There are rules to follow and I respect that, you know? There’s an order to things,”

“I take it you didn’t take many liberal arts classes then, huh?”

“You’d be correct,”

“I love the liberal arts. That’s why I’m going for a business major. I want to be able to have the tools to help people, start a nonprofit,”

“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he says, face suddenly serious, “But good intentions don’t get you very far in life,”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” YN says, “And you probably won’t be the last. But it just makes me want to do it more,”

The fire in her eyes causes Jungkook to grin, leaning over the table.

“You’re incredibly fascinating, YN,” he says.

Before YN can respond, her phone rings, ruining the atmosphere.

“Sorry,” YN says, picking it up, “Hello?”

“YNNNNNNNNNN,” Miran says from over the phone, obviously drunk out of her mind, “I don - don’t feel so gud. I sleepy,” Miran giggles, “Some nice man is gonna take me home, okie,”

“No!” YN shouts, standing up quickly and rushing over to the balcony, peering over and spotting Miran’s head in the crowd, “I’m coming to get you, okay. Don’t go anywhere,”

YN smiles apoligetically at the handsome stranger.

“I’ve gotta go before my roommate gets kidnapped,”

Jungkook nods.

“Before you leave,” he begins, reaching into his inner breast pocket, pulling out a simple black card with white writing.

YN takes the card without looking at it, making her way downstairs to get Miran.

Thankfully Miran doesn’t puke on the way home but passes out instead. Leaving YN alone to her thoughts

It might be ridiculous, but YN felt a real connection to the man at the club. Everything he did, the way he moved, the way his voice floated through her ears, it all replays in YN’s head.

Once she rouses drunk Miran enough to get her into bed, YN stands in the shower, letting the water stream across her back, unaware of the man across town doing the same thing, both of their thoughts on the other.

[no6secretsanta]

Drawn To You

From @fairysdarkestnight for @aoicanvas.

It was my first time writing something completely AU, so I hope you enjoy it! Happy Holidays!!!

******

Twelve Days ‘til Christmas

“I want your sperm.”

Shion spit out his coffee and stared at his oldest friend. “You want my what?”

Quickly grabbing a few napkins and wiping off the tabletop, Safu sopped up the drink before it could spill to the floor. “Sperm. I want to have sex with you.”

He looked to the side, refusing to make eye contact with her. “I…I can’t Safu. I’m sorry.”

“Is it that I’m not your type? You don’t find me attractive?”

There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and Shion hunched a little in his seat, pulling down his red beanie. “It’s not that, exactly. You’re my best friend, Safu, and –”

“Your only friend.”

He chuckled lightly. “I suppose you’re right. My only friend then. And I just, don’t really feel that way. Towards anyone.”

Safu took a drink of her tea – black, with no sugar, he knew – and stared at the counter where a scowling worker stood taking orders. “Is he more your type? You’ve looked over at him 27 times since we sat down.”

Blushing lightly, Shion took a drink, grateful that at least she wasn’t asking for his sperm anymore. “I told you, I don’t feel that way towards anyone. He just looks familiar, is all. Like he might be in one of my classes or something.”

It was true, after all. Shion would’ve sworn that he recognized the man but couldn’t quite place him. It’d been bugging him since they’d walked into the shop off campus. He and Safu made it a goal to visit all the coffee shops in the area – something she claimed was about finding one with “just the right atmosphere and blend of tea” – so it was the first time they ordered from that particular shop.

“Your pupils grew and your face flushed when you saw him.”

“It was warm.”

“You should just go talk to him. You’re interested in him, even if you don’t see it.” Safu calmly took another sip of her tea, and Shion was glad to see that any rejection she may have felt at his words was pushed to the side. It was a very Safu-like response, and if she was handling it like that, then he knew she would be fine.

He hoped.

Shion sighed and finally met her eyes. “I’m not saying that I’m interested in him – I’ve never felt that way before. But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll go talk to him.”

She raised an eyebrow at his words, and a little smirk crossed her lips. “I don’t believe that you’ll actually say what I want you to say. So I’ll just go talk to him myself.”

With that, Safu pushed out her chair and marched toward the counter where the man wiped down the cappuccino machine, still wearing the same scowl as before. She waited there a minute before clearing her throat, and the man turned, his scowl deepening further than Shion thought it could.

Shion couldn’t hear what Safu was saying, but her gesturing towards him made it fairly obvious. As he slouched down even further in his seat, Shion felt heat rise to his cheeks. He loved Safu, but she didn’t always think through her actions.

Like this.

A loud laugh made it to his ears and Shion knew, he just knew, that the laughter belonged to the worker. This day can’t possibly get any more embarrassing.

Famous last words.

“I got his number for you.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

 Eleven Days ‘til Christmas

Shion wouldn’t be able to return to that coffee shop. Ever. More than twenty-four hours had passed, and he could still feel the heat on his cheeks. It was a shame too – he’d really liked that coffee.

Bzzt.

His phone. A text. Probably from Safu, asking if he’d called the – barista? Shion wasn’t sure exactly what his job title was – and he didn’t have it in him to respond. What would he say? No Safu, I haven’t, because I’m a coward who didn’t even want to talk to him in the first place.

I just wish I could remember where I know him from.

It was going to bother him, and it wasn’t like he could just go back to the shop and try to figure it out. Safu had made that impossible.

Bzzt.

Sighing, Shion reached over to grab his phone. He should probably talk to her sooner rather than later – Safu only got worse the longer he ignored her.

Oh. It’s from Mom.

“Flour? She texted me because she needs more flour? I live across town. Oh well, I guess I could pick up a few more packages of ramen while I’m there.”

After pulling on his coat and beanie, Shion walked the short distance to the bus stop. The grocery store near his apartment didn’t have the flour his mother needed, as it carried only the college necessities.

He scanned his pass and took a seat near the front. At that time of day, there was hardly anyone on the bus – just a couple students on their way home from class – and Shion let his head fall against the window. It had been a stressful day, and it was barely half over. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and take a nap.

The bus screeched to a stop, making Shion flinch with the sound. Only a few more stops. Just a little longer.

A passenger thumped into the seat beside him, and as Shion pressed himself into the wall, the stranger turned to look at him. “Hey, that’s pretty nice hair you got there kid. Bet you dye it for attention. You want some attention?” Cackling. That was the best way to describe the sound coming from the man’s overly large mouth. “Hey, now that I look a little, you got some nice eyes too. What do you say about jumping off at the next stop with me? I promise I’ll treat you real nice.

Shion couldn’t do anything but shy away and pull down his beanie to try and hide the shockingly white hair. He didn’t like riding public transportation for a reason, but it was a necessary evil if he wanted to visit his mother while the bakery was open.

“Leave the guy alone. You’re being a nuisance. Take your fat body elsewhere.”

The voice was low and threatening, but the man next to Shion didn’t even budge. “Who the hell do you think you are punk?”

“Someone you don’t want to mess with.”

He couldn’t see his savior’s face with as far down as he’d tugged his beanie, but his voice alone sent shivers down Shion’s spine. And apparently, it was enough to send the stranger scurrying to the back of the bus.

“Thanks,” Shion whispered, slowly uncurling from his defensive position.

Grunt.

“Oh I’m screwed.”

“Only if you ask nicely.” The man beside him snickered. “I mean, that scar is quite sexy.”

There was nothing he could say to the – admittedly attractive, thanks Safu – barista sitting next to him. “Shion.”

“Oh I know.”

And there it ends. Nope. Not today.

The rest of the bus ride was spent in silence as Shion stared out the window. Just as he stood to get off, the man grabbed his hand. “Nezumi.”

Shion grinned and nearly skipped off the bus.

Ten Days ‘til Christmas

“I don’t want to do this, Safu. You know I’m no good at it.” Shion sighed as he laced up a pair of ice skates. Their university hosted an open-air rink every year and somehow, despite Safu’s annual insistence, he’d avoided what was sure to be a disaster.

“Yes but we’re in our senior year, Shion. I want us to go at least once.” Safu tugged his hand so he stood in front of her. “I don’t know where I’ll be working next year, and that lab job you applied for would keep you busy right up until Christmas.”

Shion laughed a little and shook his head. He wasn’t even sure he would take that job if he got it – he was majoring in biology, but he loved working with people.

But his damn looks.

A whistle rang through the air. Shion turned to look, lightly glowering at the general location it came from. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

Nezumi.

“Oh look Shion, it’s that guy from the coffee shop. We should go say hi.”

“Safu, you’re the one who talked to him. Let’s just get on the ice and pretend like we don’t recognize him.”

Hitting him slightly to get him to turn around, Safu’s eyes lit up. “He’s coming over here.”

Shion groaned. “Just kill me know.”

“Oh, so should I screw you first or kill you? Just so you know, I’m not terribly into necrophilia.” Nezumi smirked as Shion pulled down his beanie as his cheeks flushed.

Safu backed away, and merely smiled and waved when Shion sent a panicked look her way. “That’s not, I’m just, ugh.”

Nezumi held out a hand as he bowed at the waist. “Will you do me the honor of this dance, Your Majesty?”

A chill wind rustled the ends of Shion’s hair, sending a shiver through him. “You’re ridiculous. I can’t skate anyway.” A brow lifted. “Yes I know I’m at a skating rink. You can stop looking at me like that.”

“So?”

A sigh. Then, “I suppose so. But when I fall on my face and take you down with me, don’t blame me.” Silver eyes glinted as Nezumi grabbed Shion’s hand and dragged him onto the ice. He nearly tripped on the edge of the rink, but Nezumi reached an arm around his waist and anchored him to his side.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

The first few laps around the rink had Shion holding desperately onto Nezumi’s arm for balance. Safu skated by them multiple times, snickering at Shion’s scared expression each time. But Shion barely noticed.

Nezumi was fascinating.

He was a literature major, and lived and breathed Shakespeare. One moment he would recite as Hamlet, and the next he would be Titania, complete with a high, breathy voice that was so feminine that Shion barely recognized it.

“You know, when your friend asked for my number, I was seriously concerned for her well-being. He marched right up to me, grabbed me by the collar, and demanded that I write down my number so that her sad, pathetic friend could hook up with someone he found hot. I was honestly scared for my life. Even thought about calling the cops on her.”

Shion laughed. “Yeah, she can be a little overbearing sometimes. Though given how you chased away that creep on the bus, I think you would’ve been just fine.”

“Though I wouldn’t have been as hesitant if I’d actually been able to see how cute you are. With your beanie pulled over your eyes like that, I thought you were some pervy old man with a fetish for young baristas.”

He shoved Nezumi away from him, laughing as the other flailed about to get back his balance. It was the first time that he’d seen Nezumi, the epitome of grace, act even the slightest bit clumsy.

What he forgot to take into account was that Nezumi was also his support beam, and without the other man there, Shion went tumbling to the ground. A loud crack resounded through the night air, and Nezumi immediately knelt by his side. “Hey, you okay?”

Shion just laughed and held up a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“I’m going to drop you. You’re an idiot.”

“Hehehe. Yeah but I’m your idiot.”

Nezumi blinked at his words and then smiled ever so slightly. “Yeah, yeah I guess you are. I think I can live with that.”

Nine Days ‘til Christmas

“I can’t do this, Inukashi. The kid was just so, ugh, I don’t know. I couldn’t say no to him, but this is a really, really bad idea.”

Nezumi stood beside his oldest – friend, rival, acquaintance? – as they waited in line for lunch at the university’s cafeteria. He would’ve gone to literally anyone else, but Inukashi owed him a meal for returning one of the dogs that had gotten loose the previous week, and the cheapskate refused to pay for anything actually decent.

“I dunno man, seems like you’ve got it pretty bad. I mean, you’ve met the kid all of what, three times and he’s already got you committing? Whatever happened to the whole ‘You lose the moment you have something to protect’ thing you had going on?”

Sighing, Nezumi reached for the largest slice of cherry cake he could find and could feel Inukashi slump in defeat beside him. “Yeah, that’s the problem, mongrel. I refuse to lose because of some irritating brat like that. I mean, he’s sexy, but he’s clearly got problems that I don’t want to deal with.”

“Yeah I totally get that. Makes total sense. Especially with the way you’ve been waxing poetry about him since the first time you saw him. Really seems like you hate the guy.”

“He’s an airhead you doesn’t know anything about the world. It’s just so damn irritating trying to keep him out of trouble. I mean, the guy can’t even tell off a creep by himself without mommy there to hold his hand.”

Crash.

Inukashi’s head swiveled toward the sound of a tray full of food falling to the ground and began to snicker. “Seems like somebody heard you.”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend – you said he had pure white hair, right? You should go see if he needs help. After all, you wouldn’t want some brat like that following you around like a puppy, right?”

Not bothering to respond to Inukashi’s words, Nezumi left his tray in line and rushed over to where Shion bent over the mess he made, trying in vain to pick up the multitude of udon noodles that lay scattered on the floor.

“Here, let me help.”

“I don’t want your help. Apparently all I am is a nuisance to you. So just go back to your friend and stop pretending like I even exist in the first place. You won’t be the first.” Blazing red eyes bored into Nezumi’s and where he expected to see sadness, he only saw fury. “And you certainly won’t be the last.” Without another word, Shion sopped up some of the broth that spilled and threw the entirety of his lunch in the trash.

“Damn Nezumi, you really know how to pick them. Kid seems like he’d be a match even for your drama queen.”

“Shut it Inukashi. I don’t want to talk about it.” Nezumi picked his own lunch tray and stalked off, wanting to get as far away from the cafeteria as possible. He’d screwed up.

But maybe it’s for the best.

Eight Days ‘til Christmas

“Of all the insufferable things to say, he had to go with that. He doesn’t even know me, Safu.”

Safu nodded along. “Yes yes Shion, the guy’s a prick. Sorry that you have such shitty taste in guys. You wouldn’t be having this problem if you’d just gone after me like I suggested in the beginning.”

Fury still glowed in his eyes and Shion acted as if he hadn’t even heard her. “He flirts with me and helps me and then when I’m thinking that I ‘m actually going to ask him out on a real date instead of accidentally running into each other, he has the gall to say that.”

Their steps on the quad’s stone walkway echoed through the nearly empty campus. With only about a week until Christmas, most of the students were finishing up exams or had already gone home for the holidays. Shion’s steps sped up and Safu had to nearly double her pace to keep up with him.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. Sure, the guy’s apparently pretty awful, but it’s not like you haven’t come across that type before. And you’d only seen him a couple of times.”

Safu pulled him over to a coffee cart in front of the cafeteria and ordered two lattes. She didn’t normally drink coffee, but Shion figured that the all nighters she’d been pulling weren’t treating her well. He’d assumed one of them was for him, but when she glared at him and proceeded to down both of him, he decided it was probably better not to get in the way of a sleep-deprived Safu and her caffeine.

“It’s ust that it was the first time I’d ever felt that drawn to someone. Like, I couldn’t wait until the next time I saw him, even if I was horribly embarrassed because someone decided to talk to him on my behalf.”

Safu just shrugged and tossed her empty cups in a nearby trash can. “Speaking of, if you don’t want to see him, we might want to go elsewhere.”

“Wait wait wait oh my God, is he here? Like right now?” Shion’s head turned wildly from side to side, scanning the empty quad for any sign of Nezumi. And there, lounging in one of the university’s hammocks, lay Nezumi. He was reading a book, that jerk. “No. I’m not going to go out of my way to avoid him. Like you said, we’d only seen each other a few times. It’s not like we were dating or anything.”

As they walked by, Nezumi glanced up from his book – Faust – but quickly moved his eyes back to the page. Shion visibly slouched, but continued walking. The conversation turned to school, and the brief non-interaction with Nezumi was pushed to the back of his mind.

Seven Days ‘til Christmas

“God damn it, can’t I even get my mother a Christmas present without you being here?”

Nezumi blinked and put down the two conditioners he’d apparently been comparing. No wonder that hair looks so silky. No. Bad Shion. He’s an asshole. You shouldn’t be admiring his hair.

“Look, it’s not like I’m following you. If anything, you’re the weirdo stalking me for my fabulous good looks.”

Shion screeched and stormed out of the beauty store. His mom would just have to deal with getting something ordered from online.

Six Days ‘til Christmas

There weren’t many places to be on a Friday night in a college town if you weren’t one for parties, as Shion found out very quickly. His first year in college had him hanging out in coffee shops until they closed or studying in the 24-hour library. Safu occasionally dragged him to one of the clubs, but drunk people tended to be more vocal about him, so he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

It wasn’t until his second year that he saw a poster for the university’s drama department, showcasing the shining star, Eve. Although Ophelia’s part wasn’t large in Hamlet, the girl took his breath away and he kept going back.

He couldn’t quite place what it was about Eve that had him so enthralled. She had a beautiful voice, and outperformed anyone else on stage, but there was something more, something beneath her acting skills that drew him to the theater week after week.

This Friday was no different. Shion took his regular seat in the back of the theater, opened his playbill, and nearly walked out of the theater. There, staring up at him, was a picture of Nezumi.

Or rather, Eve.

Well, I guess that solves the mystery of why he looked so familiar.

Shion strongly debated walking out of the theater. He didn’t want to see Nezumi, and after their (brief) run-in the previous day at the store, Shion wasn’t sure if he was up to watching Nezumi prance about on stage. The thought that Nezumi merely had a sister crossed his mind but was quickly discarded. It explained far too much about the man, and Shion had already heard his rendition of Titania, so it wasn’t a question of skill.

But he’d already paid for his ticket, and it’s not like he had anything else to do that night. That’s why he was there in the first place. Besides, it was a retelling of A Christmas Carol, one of the few novels he’d read, and he’d been looking forward to this production since they announced it back in October.

So instead of fleeing the theater before he could catch sight of Nezumi, Shion settled into his seat and waited for the torture to begin.

It was worse than he thought. Apparently, this retelling meant that Nezumi – Eve – was the star. There wasn’t a moment on stage that Nezumi wasn’t there for. So instead of being able to enjoy the show, all Shion could think about was the pain he felt when he heard Nezumi utter those words.

How could he have been so stupid? It’s not like it was the first time someone had gotten close to him, only to find out what they really thought of him. There was a reason Safu was his only friend. And even if there was a connection between them, something that inexplicably drew Shion to the other man, it wasn’t destiny. There was no such thing as soulmates.

And he’d been naïve to think that something more might’ve happened between them.

As Shion exited the theater, after absorbing absolutely nothing of the show, his phone vibrated. There was apparently a party that Safu wanted to go to but was too nervous to show up by herself. Which seemed odd for Safu, but he decided not to question it. Nothing good ever came from questioning Safu. So with a reluctant sigh, he texted her back and told her he’d be there a little after midnight.

Five Days ‘til Christmas

As Shion approached Dorm No.6, he grew more and more apprehensive. People spilled out from the building and although he was more than a block away, Shion could feel the bass thudding through the air. It wasn’t anywhere near the quiet solitude he found in the library, and it lacked the sophistication of the university theater.

He just wanted to go home.

But he’d promised Safu he’d be there, and there was no use backing out when he’d already walked all the way there.

It wasn’t long before his best friend skipped up to his side, looping her arm with his. “I really appreciate you coming all the way over for this. You can leave in a bit, if you’d like. I just always hate showing up to parties alone, and neither of my roommates were able to come.”

Shion smiled. “It’s no problem. Not like I had anything planned anyway.”

The two of them made their way through the mass of bodies, holding onto each other so they wouldn’t get separated. They talked a bit about the finals they’d had that day, or rather, the day before as it was well after midnight at that point. They were nearly shouting their words, but it wasn’t the worst time Shion had at party Safu dragged him to.

There was a makeshift bar in one of the rooms, so they headed there first. Shion didn’t usually drink, and Safu said it was bad for the brain cells, but he figured she might run into one of her other friends there, and he was anxious to leave. It was getting to be a bit much for him, but he wouldn’t leave Safu alone.

It wasn’t until they’d made it to the bar that Shion spotted him. He was impossible to miss, with those piercing silver eyes and hair pulled up into its signature style. They made eye contact for a moment, but Shion quickly turned his head to the bartender and ordered something strong. He didn’t care what, but if he was going to have to be in the same room as Nezumi, then he didn’t want to be able to think. Safu eyed him warily, but apparently decided that he wasn’t going to overdo it.

She was wrong.

As Safu hit it off with one of the other students nearby, Shion ordered another drink. And another. And another. The smart thing would’ve been to go home – he had after all, only shown up for Safu’s sake – but it was just like every other time. Just knowing that Nezumi was in the same room made it hard for Shion to leave, but the longer he stayed there and the longer he pretended he wasn’t staring at Nezumi, the more he drank.

It wasn’t long before he had to lean against the wall for support. It wasn’t bad – he knew he could still get home if he needed to – but there was something relaxing in being alone at a party. He was surrounded by strangers who apparently didn’t care that his hair was snow white or that he had a scar winding around him. The music was loud, sure, but his head was pleasantly fuzzy and he found he didn’t care as much as he did before.

Drink number six had him slightly staggering, but he was still fine. But he was more concerned with finding Nezumi. The man had disappeared from his sight, and without the view, Shion found himself getting more and more frustrated. If he wasn’t going to talk to him, the least he could do was stand still so Shion could watch him.

“Hello Your Majesty. You need a hand?”

It wasn’t until the silky voice whispered in his ear that Shion realized he’d fallen to the ground. Huh. Maybe he drank more than he thought. Too much, apparently, if he was starting to hallucinate Nezumi talking to him.

“You’re not real. Go away. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

Imaginary Nezumi chuckled. “Oh man, you’re gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. What is that, tequila? Come on, let’s get you out of here before one of the vultures swoops in and grabs you. I’ve seen more than one person eyeing you.”

Although the party had been going on for more than a few hours and it was well after three a.m., there was still a mass of bodies to wade through before they were free. Shion wasn’t exactly sure where Nezumi was taking him – which was weird since Nezumi was in his head after all – as the exit was several halls down in the opposite direction.

“You’re too drunk for me to trust you right now, so I’m taking you back to my room. This is the liberal arts dorm, so it isn’t too far. How’d you get invited to a cast party anyway?”

Shion shrugged and reached up to pet Nezumi’s hair. “Safu did. And your hair’s so soft. What do you do with it? I wish my hair would be that soft. Why were you at that party anyway? As Nezumi and not Eve if it was a cast party. And how come you feel so solid when you’re just in my head? Is this why people drink so much? So that they have realistic visuals of people they want to see?”

His reaching threw him off balance and Nezumi had to dart to catch the kid before he face planted. “Let’s leave the questions until we get you settled in for the night, okay? Then you can ask me anything you want. I’ll even let you play with my hair if you’re good, Your Majesty.”

A pout formed on Shion’s lips. He felt that if he didn’t ask his questions now, then Nezumi would disappear, never to be seen from again. So instead, he threw his arms around Nezumi and held him in place. “I don’t want you to go.” With just a little stretch, Shion managed to place his lips on Nezumi’s.

It wasn’t the most romantic kiss, and it certainly wasn’t magical. There’d been too much alcohol involved for it to be clean, but neither seemed to mind. They broke away from the kiss and Nezumi rested his forehead on his.

“I’m not going anywhere, Shion. As long as you want me by your side, I’ll be there. I’ve found that I need you there with me.” A gentle smile crossed Nezumi’s face and, although he would deny it if ever asked, let his head fall on Shion’s to comfort him. “Now let’s go get you taken care of, Your Majesty.”

 When Shion woke up that morning, it was to an unfamiliar bed and a multitude of texts from Safu. She was worried about him, as she didn’t see him leave with anyone, and she wanted to make sure he got home on his own alright.

He couldn’t tell her what happened, as apparently he’d wandered into an empty dorm room and fallen asleep, and he didn’t want that to get back to his mom. She’d only worry, and with the bakery being busy for the holidays, that was stress he didn’t want her having.

Four Days ‘til Christmas

The day after the party and his head was still pounding. Though, to be fair, that might have had less to do with the tequila he’d had and more to do with that fact that he’d thrown up all over his pillow and hadn’t had a chance to wash it yet. So instead of having his nice, memory foam pillow that he’d brought from home, he’d resorted to using a sweatshirt.

Not exactly the best night’s sleep ever.

So now, instead of relaxing on his Sunday morning, enjoying his last moments of peace before the rush of last-minute bakery orders, he was at the pharmacy picking up some headache pills.

And yet, somehow, even that was ruined.

It had been a couple days since he talked to Nezumi – the real Nezumi, as he wasn’t counting that alcohol induced hallucination – and he wasn’t sure how he should approach him.

Not that there’s any reason to in the first place.

He wasn’t as angry as he had been – he was, after all, quite used to people’s negative reactions – but he wanted to at least get an explanation. There’d been no reason to spend time with him or help him out if Nezumi only thought of him as a nuisance.

And the day at the ice rink…

Shion shook his head to banish the memories. If he was going to demand an explanation, then he needed to be focused.

Footsteps echoed down the aisle as Shion approached the raven-haired man. He stopped, opened his mouth, and promptly shut it as Nezumi turned to face him, a smirk on his face.

“Well hello Your Majesty. Didn’t expect you to see the light again after the other night. And you didn’t even stay until I came back with breakfast.”

The shock on Shion’s face made Nezumi snicker with delight. “What, did His Majesty drink a little too much tequila and not remember our glorious night together?”

Red flourished on Shion’s cheeks as he struggled to form a sentence with Nezumi laughing the whole time. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.” With that, Shion turned on his heel and stalked out of the pharmacy.

He didn’t even pick up any medicine.

Three Days ‘til Christmas

As Shion was packing for break, a piece of paper floated down from his nightstand. The paper Safu had given him with Nezumi’s number on it. He stared at it for a moment, debating with himself, before sighing and putting it back in its place. He might be able to throw it away someday, or put it into his phone, but that day was not today.

Two Days ‘til Christmas

“Shion, I really appreciate you coming over to help with the bakery. There have been several rush orders phoned in, and I really couldn’t say no.” Karen hung her head as Shion came around the counter to wrap an arm around her.

“It’s no problem Mom. If I can go across town to pick up some flour for you, I can help out in the bakery for a few days. It’s not like you taught me nothing, after all.”

Karen laughed lightly and hugged her son in return. “Speaking of…”

“No. One flour run is all I’m capable of.”

“Shion please. It’s just a couple blocks. You wouldn’t have to even take the bus.” Karen was elbow deep in flour and while she could clean up, she was much more efficient than Shion at baking, and they were still behind, despite the extra hours he knew his mother had put in.

“What will I get in return? I’m not doing this for free, you know.”

Karen rolled her eyes. They both knew he would go regardless, but it had become a bit of a tradition between them. “I have enough ingredients set aside for a cherry cake, and enough chocolate for a gallon of your favorite drink.”

A grin broke out on Shion’s face as he grabbed his wallet and headed towards the grocery store. It really wasn’t much of an effort to go, but since his dad had walked out on them, those teasing moments helped keep up both their spirits. It made him feel guilty about moving across town for school, but it was a requirement of his program.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the flour aisle that he realized who stood in front of him. “Nezumi.”

“Your Majesty.” Nezumi shifted slightly so Shion couldn’t see what was in his basket, but Shion didn’t particularly care. After realizing that he evidently didn’t hallucinate Nezumi that night and had, in fact, fallen asleep in his bed, Shion wasn’t sure what to think.

His memories were still fuzzy, but the Nezumi he talked to that night didn’t seem like the same one who would say those things about Shion to his friend. But it was still Nezumi, the man that Shion could no longer deny being drawn to. That first day in the café, Safu had seen something he didn’t. And while he might not have appreciated her methods, he would have to thank her.

Because it got him to this moment.

“I’m busy tonight, but can we meet tomorrow? I just, I think we need to talk.” Nezumi bowed his head a little, looking more uncomfortable than Shion had ever seen him.

“…Yeah, I guess so. I’ll be helping out at my mom’s bakery, so if you don’t mind swinging by at some point, I can take a break then. It’s Karen’s Bakery, just a couple blocks from here.”

Nezumi nodded and reached out to take Shion’s hand. “Thanks. I’ll see you then.” And then, before he could react, Nezumi pressed a quite kiss to Shion’s forehead and rushed out of the store.

Christmas Eve

The clock struck eight and Shion flipped the sign to closed with a sigh. He’d waited and waited and waited, but Nezumi had never shown. Flour covered every inch of the kitchen, and Christmas Eve promised to be even more hectic.

Shion sighed and began to wipe down the counters. There wasn’t any reason for him to be disappointed. He hadn’t expected Nezumi to show up at all, to be honest.

But still.

It took more than an hour to finish cleaning the kitchen and by the time he had, Shion was nearly collapsing from exhaustion. He’d forced his mother upstairs before he closed the shop, as she’d been up since three that morning and would be again the following day.

Bang bang bang.

Shion startled awake, not realizing that he’d fallen asleep leaning against the counter. The knocking came again and while he could hear a voice, Shion couldn’t make out what the person was saying. Regardless, they were going to be open again the following day, and there was nothing that couldn’t wait until then.

Putting the last few drying dishes away, Shion made his way to the staircase leading to the apartment above the bakery. The banging had stopped, so Shion assumed whoever was there had given up for the night.

His phone began to ring.

Safu never calls me, and Mom would just come down if she needed something.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. The numbers weren’t programmed into his phone, but something about them seemed oddly familiar. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk to anyone, especially if it was a telemarketer, but there was just something nagging at him to answer.

“Shion?”

“Nezumi? How did you get my number?”

Silence. Then, “Safu. She gave it to me that first day. Please, I’m so sorry I’m late but I’m here. Outside the bakery. Let me in?”

“I’ll, I’ll be right there.”

Shion raced towards the front of the bakery, knocking into tables as he went. He’s here. He actually came.

A panting Nezumi stood outside the door, cheeks red and hair speckled with snow. “I-I brought cherry cake. It’s my favorite, so I really hope you like it too.”

A gentle smile crossed Shion’s face. “It’s my favorite too. I’ll make us some hot chocolate, if that’s alright.”

“That sounds great.”

It wasn’t long until the two of them sat across from each other, identical mugs of hot chocolate buried underneath a mountain of whipped cream in their hands. Nezumi unwrapped a misshapen cherry cake, recognizable only by the specks of red on the outside. “I-I tried my best, but baking isn’t exactly my strong suit. I just, I wanted to do something for you, to show you that I was sorry for what you heard and that I want to be with you.” Nezumi’s voice rose barely above a whisper, but his gesturing hands made up for the lack of volume. Bandages covered his fingers, and there were burns across his hands.

Shion reached out and covered beat up hands. “Thank you Nezumi. It means everything to me.” And when their eyes met, they knew they would be alright.

They were home.

[ratedbangtann]

✧˚₊‧𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 - 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 ✧˚₊‧ 𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙨 || 𝙆𝙞𝙢 𝙏𝙖𝙚𝙝𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗... Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Word count: 10.7K

Warnings: contains imagery that could be extremely upsetting to some. potential triggers for those who suffer with PTSD. mentions of anxiety. 

Song: Driving Home For Christmas by Chris Rea ✧˚₊‧

"Jimin, grab my case!" Taehyung called to the younger who was stood a little closer to the belt at baggage claim. Jimin launched forward to grab Tae's case for him, lugging it over to the trolley that Tae was stood with.

Tae was a little pre-occupied, trying to get through to you on the phone, but the signal from Incheon airport was absolutely dire and he was getting nowhere.

"Still nothing?" Jimin asked, lifting the case to the trolley for Tae while he redialled.

"No, signal's bad," he huffed. Finally, it started to ring. You picked up almost immediately.

"Tae-Tae!" you chimed, a grin spreading to your face as you were licking cookie batter off your wooden spoon. "Landed safe then?"

"Yeah, just gotta go pick my car up and I'll be on my way back to you," he smiled to himself, ignoring the kissy-noises that Jimin and Jin were making in front of him.

"Awesome, I was just making cookies for you," you giggled like a child, excited to finally have your boyfriend home for the holidays. You'd spent all day yesterday and most of the early morning today making food for him to gorge on when he finally got home; mince pies, Christmas cake, shortbread, cupcakes, brownies... Whatever you could. Tae loved your baking, always had done. He had the sweetest tooth and you loved to please.

"Cookies? You're baking for me again?" he laughed, "You're so cute."

"Yeah, Christmas cookies! They're shaped like trees and snowmen. I'll decorate them when they've finished baking. There's plenty more food ready and waiting for you," you sang, popping the spoon in your mouth once again.

"I can't wait, babe. Shouldn't be any longer than another two hours or so? I'll call you from the car when I've connected the Bluetooth up."

"Okay, careful on your way out! Speak to you soon!" you said, mouth full of cookie batter. With that he hung up the phone, shoving it back into his coat pocket. The boys had pretty much all got the cases now and were loading them up to trolleys to push through the airport. This was Tae's least favourite part of travelling; getting past the fans that were waiting.

As soon as they walked through the doors, the cameras started, the screaming, the pushing. Security crowded the group as they walked through, holding back the crazies and guiding the members to the minibus that would take them back to the parking lot their cars were waiting in.

"Taehyung oppa!" one girl shouted, grabbing at him and managing to secure her fist in the material of his coat. She tried to pull him, forcing him to step backwards and almost tumble to the ground completely unbalanced. Security quickly bat her hand away, pushing her back into the crowd. Taehyung started to panic, feeling far too overwhelmed and needing to get out of this situation as quickly as possible.

"Please, stay back!" he said calmly to the crowds pushing against them, but none of them listened of course. They all just wanted a piece of the boys.

"Stay back!" Security yelled, far more aggressive than Taehyung had been but it wasn't in his nature to yell at fans, no matter how disrespectful they were being. He was far too soft.

After fighting for what felt like an absolute age, the boys managed to escape the crowds being held by police, throwing themselves into the back of the minibus. The security took care of the cases, loading them up.

"Jesus that was worse than normal..." Hoseok complained, straightening out the collar of his jacket.

"Tae you okay? Saw you got grabbed..." Namjoon placed a hand on Tae's shoulder and he flinched a little, his head elsewhere and totally unaware of Namjoon's question. "You good, man?"

Tae just nodded a little, his eyes still wide with anxiety. Being mobbed like that always freaked him out, let alone being grabbed and almost dragged to the floor. He just wanted to get to his car and get back to you.

Namjoon noticed immediately that Tae wasn't right, but he didn't press the matter. He knew his brother well enough to know that Tae just needed some space, some peace to breathe and focus and he'd be fine.

The bus drove the small journey to the parking lot, leaving the screaming crowd of fans behind and giving Tae the quiet he needed. He let out a deep breath, pushing his curls out of his face. Not long until I'm home, he thought to himself.

The cars had been parked together before their trip overseas, securely parked in a protected corner of the lot. Jungkook and Namjoon had driven in together, Jin with Hoseok and Yoongi, and Jimin with Taehyung. But with Tae coming to you for the next week or so, Jimin was to drive back with Jungkook and Namjoon.

"Go easy on the roads, yeah? Probably gonna be icy," Jungkook said to the group, mostly to Jin and Tae who were actually going to be driving. "Text us when you get to y/n's. Or FaceTime us, we missed her too."

"Yeah, will do. Take it easy, Kookie. See you Christmas Day!" Tae waved to the boys, dragging his case over to the trunk of his car and hoisting it in. In no time at all, he was plugging his phone into the Bluetooth of the controls and dialling your number as he pulled out of the lot.

"Babe! Did you get through okay?" you asked, your voice filling the car and instantly. Tae's shoulders relaxed at the sound.

"Was rough, some girl dragged me..." he mumbled, focussing on the traffic as he joined the freeway. "I'm alright though, security pushed her back. I'm just leaving the lot now, ETA one hour, ten minutes? Should get to you around 10am."

"Tae, I'm sorry you were mobbed again. What happened to the private exits you were told you could use?"

"No idea, security shuffled us through the wrong way I suppose. I'm alright though, no need to panic," he reassured; whether for your benefit or his, he couldn't be sure. "I'm officially driving home for Christmas," he cheered.

"Yay! I can't wait, there's so much we need to do though. I've decorated but I haven't finished my shopping yet and I doubt you've had much of a chance to do any right?" you asked, pulling the cookies you had made out of the oven with your free mitten-covered hand.

"I've done some, we had some down time in LA. The shopping there is fantastic. But I wanna go to Lotte, I haven't bought for my mom and dad yet," he explained, merging lanes and pushing his foot down on the accelerator.

"Yeah we can do that! Just pick a day, I'm off work for the festive season now," you smiled as if he could see you, picking the cookies off the baking tray to cool them on the rack. Now you just had to prepare the coloured icing.

"Well tomorrow I don't wanna do anything at all, same as today. Can we just eat and snuggle?" he whined. You giggled at him, so cute...

"Definitely."

"Perfect. Put some music on babe, we can sing together," he suggested, not wanting to end the call with you but unable to fiddle with the stereo settings as he drove. You wondered over to the stereo in the kitchen, hooking it up to your open laptop with the recipes still loaded to the screen. You'd already made the perfect playlist for Tae's journey home; cheesy Christmas music.

You shuffled the playlist and immediately, 'Driving Home for Christmas' by Chris Rea started playing.

"Oh, perfect!" Tae laughed, shoulders shuffling to the upbeat music. You danced around the kitchen, still holding Tae to your ear.

"Driving home for Christmas! Oh, I can't wait to see those faces!" you both sang to each other down the phone. You put him on speaker phone and set him down on the worktop, while you mixed together the icing for the cookies, singing away to the songs that came on shuffle. You didn't even really talk to each other, just sang and kept each other company. It was nice; Tae often did this when he wasn't home. He just liked to call to keep you company, as if you were hanging out together.

You painted the icing on the cookies with little brushes, making cute little Christmas trees out of them and happy little snowmen.

Tae continued to drive, hurtling down the freeway. He gazed up into his mirror to see a large black SUV behind him, a little too close for comfort. He figured they just wanted to pass, so indicated to switch lanes to let them go through. He wasn't in the biggest rush really, wanting nothing more than to arrive in one piece.

But the SUV switched lanes with him, staying close. Tae squinted into the mirror, focussing on who was driving. Was it Jin? His car was similar, but... No... Just some guy he'd never seen before. He had a passenger Tae didn't recognise too, another man who seemed to be watching Tae.

Immediately, dread flooded through him, his suspicious mind racing. When he saw the passenger assembling something in his lap, he panicked again, pushing the accelerator down a little harder to get away from them.

The SUV sped up too, hot on Tae's heels.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, doing his best to weave between traffic to trap the SUV behind someone else.

"Babe? You okay?" you asked, putting down the cookie you were working on. You could hear him muttering and the car speeding up.

"I, uh... I think I'm being tailed," he said, voice wavering.

"What? Well, uh... Are you sure?" you asked, worry flooding through you. Tae's eyes flicked back to the rear-view mirror, seeing the SUV dodging through the same cars he just had. The passenger now had a large camera in his hands, picking it up to aim the lens he'd assembled at Tae.

"I'm sure, they've got a fucking camera and keep driving up my ass!" he freaked, putting his foot down again.

"Tae, try and stay calm, okay? Change your route, go back to the dorm. You can come see me later, it's fine," you tried to reassure him. It didn't take much to figure out they were following Tae because he hadn't gone the same way as the other boys. They wanted to bust him and whoever he was coming to visit; you.

You'd tried so hard to keep your relationship out of the press and so far, it had worked. It was inconvenient to say the least; both of you had to cancel plans far too often for your liking but it was worth it for the moments of privacy that you could share.

"But I wanna see you. I need to see you, babe. You don't understand, you're the only one who can calm me down," he spoke so quickly, obviously having a panic attack at the wheel. The best thing you could do for him right now was to keep talking to him, get him to focus on driving and do whatever you could to calm him.

"I'm right here, okay? I can calm you down right here. But if you want them off your case, you're gonna have to go back to the dorm, understand? Just take it slow, they're not going to hurt you. You just need to focus on getting to the dorm, can you do that for me?" you asked, waiting on his response.

Tae had already felt panicky from the airport situation, his hands a little shaky and feeling far too easily spooked and now that he was being tailed, he could feel the anxiety bubbling away in his gut.

"Y/n I can't breathe..." he almost yelled, his breath laboured and uneven.

"Can you pull over anywhere? A rest stop, maybe?" you asked, desperate to get him off the road just for a moment to calm his nerves and clear his head. You headed to your stereo to turn the music off, so all he would be able to hear was your voice.

"N-Nowhere..."

"Okay, that's okay. Then you need to get into the slow lane, slow it down, and just breathe. Remember how I taught you?" you instructed. Tae nodded, realising that you couldn't see him but instead, working on the breathing exercises you had taught him for when his anxiety crept up on him this way. He didn't change lanes though, continuing to hurtle down the freeway to get away from the press.

Exhale through the nose for a count of eight, inhale through the mouth for a count of four; that was your exercise. You started to do it with him down the phone, counting for him.

It didn't seem to be working, tears building in his eyes as they flickered up to the mirror to watch the SUV behind him as they tried to pull out into the next lane to drive beside him, camera poised and ready. He watched them pulling up, inching closer until their wing-mirrors were practically touching. Tae couldn't think straight, could only watch in tears as the men invaded his privacy.

"Tae? Tae are you okay? What's happening? Just breathe..." your voice rang through the car but he couldn't focus on you at all, let alone respond.

The guy with the camera looked forward to the road and started yelling at the driver, waving his arm at him. The car braked, suddenly pulling back and Tae looked forward again at what the photographer was screaming about; the junction that was hurtling towards him at an alarming speed.

Tae slammed on the breaks, unable to take the sharp turn at such speeds and despite the brakes applying pressure to his tyres, the conditions on the road prevented the car from halting immediately, skidding across the road. He desperately clung to the wheel, turning it to follow the path of the road but he was going too fast.

The side of the car hit the crash barrier with a loud crack, pushing him back out into the road in a spin. His tyres had nothing to grip to, slipping across the surface and forcing him into the barrier on the other side. The wheels came away from the road, flipping onto the passenger side violently and rolling down the exit ramp.

The windows shattered, glass tumbling through the air as Tae sat helplessly being tossed around in his seat like a ragdoll. The car smashed into the crash barrier on the other side of the road again, slamming it to a halt. Silence settled on the wreck.

You could only listen in horror as you heard the first smash of metal on metal, glass breaking and loud crashes as the car had rolled before the line went dead. You had heard Tae screaming, yelling unintelligibly as he was thrown about inside.

Your heart raced, colour draining from your cheeks. With each crash and smash you heard, your whole body flinched, tears building immediately in your eyes at the horrific sounds you were listening to.

When the noise cut off, you started to yell for him, calling out to him as if he could hear you.

"TAE? TAEHYUNG?! TAE ARE YOU THERE?! FUCK!" you checked your screen to see the lockscreen; a photo of you and Tae snuggled up together with Yeontan. Immediately you tried to unlock it, frantically hitting the screen to get into it and call him back.

It rang out, no answer at all.

"SHIT!" you yelled, calling the first of the boys who was in your address book.

"Hey, y/n!" Hoseok's voice sang through the speaker after a couple of rings, alphabetically the first of the boys in the list. "How's it going? Tae with you yet?"

"HOBI, PLEASE! LISTEN!" you screamed. Hobi immediately shut up, concerned. "Tae was being followed, on the freeway. I think... I think he crashed, Hobi. I heard him! He was screaming..." you choked, sobs started to violently rise in your chest.

"Wait, are you sure?" he asked, trying to keep you calm.

"YES! I heard him, I heard it happen and the phone went dead! Hobi, please... what do I do?" you cried.

"HYUNG! CALL THE POLICE AND AMBULANCE. NOW," you heard Hobi shout to the someone in the car. "Where was he? Still on the freeway?"

"Yeah."

"Send them to the freeway out of Incheon, y/n thinks Tae's crashed. I know, that's why we gotta go there, now! Jin, turn around!" The boys were still driving too, a little further ahead than Tae and pulling off at a different exit.

"Don't panic, y/n. We'll get help to him, alright? Call Namjoon, get them to come to you," he instructed.

"Hobi it sounded bad..." you sobbed. "What if he...?"

"Don't. Don't even think it. He'll be fine. Call Namjoon, okay? I gotta go," he said, hanging up the phone.

At the freeway exit, Taehyung's car lay in a battered mess of metal. Other drivers had witnessed the crash, already on the phone to emergency services and watching on in horror as one brave man tried his best to see inside and check on the state of the driver.

With the car lying on its side, he had to climb onto it to see though the window properly, only just making out the driver's head lolling forward, his body completely slack. Tae was leaning toward the ground on his left side, held in place only by the seatbelt that still clung to him.

"Hey! Hey, can you hear me?!" the man called to him, getting no response back. He turned to his wife, stood a few feet away on the phone to paramedics. "Driver's unconscious! I can't see if he's hurt bad, I can't tell!" The woman relayed the information to the person on the phone, who could only reassure that help was on the way.

Back home, you were trying to call Namjoon, but the phone kept ringing out with no answer.

"Come on, answer the damn phone," you muttered, hands shaking violently as you continued to sob. Failing that, you called Jimin who actually answered.

"Y/n! What's up?" he sounded so cheery; clearly Hobi hadn't got hold of him yet.

"Jimin I... I need... you... to come... and get... me..." you sobbed, deep breaths shaking your voice as you did your best to speak clearly.

"Oh my god, what's wrong? Are you okay?" his tone changed immediately.

"What's up?" you heard Jungkook ask from the front seat of the car.

"I don't know she's crying, shut up!" Jimin called back. "What's happened? Why are you crying?"

"T-Tae, he... he cr-crashed. P-please, come here... Hobi is... helping... him. Please!" you sobbed, your knees giving way as you sank to the floor of your kitchen.

"SHIT! Oh my god, okay um... Jungkook, go to y/n's place!"

"What fo-?"

"JUST GO! NOW! Okay we're on our way, stay put." And the line went dead again.

You dropped the phone to the floor, horrendous sobs erupting out of your throat. You were so helpless, you had no idea what to do, or how on earth you'd be able to help in any way.

What if he was hurt bad? What if he...? No. No, you couldn't think like that. He'd be fine; Hobi said so himself. He had to be fine, because god knows what the hell you would do if he wasn't...

You weren't sure how much time had passed but you sat sobbing on the ground for a good while, waiting for some kind of news or development, but nothing came.

On the freeway, Jin couldn't get through the traffic that had built up behind the accident. But he, Hoseok and Yoongi had seen the emergency services rushing past down the hard shoulder, and without hesitation Jin managed to get himself onto the same clear stretch to follow after them. He couldn't care less if he was stopped by police, he needed to get to the scene. They needed to check that Tae was okay.

The boys were stopped as they reached the police tape cordoning off a good 20-30ft in front of where Tae's car lay in a heap. Hoseok jumped out of the car, immediately running and ducking under the tape to get to his brother, still trapped in the car.

"TAE! TAEHYUNG!" he screamed, hurtling towards the wreck where fire fighters were getting ready to cut into the metal. Before he could reach them, an officer bounded over to him, standing in front of him and pushing against him to keep him away.

"Sir, Sir! You can't go over there!" he yelled over the frantic boy as Yoongi and Jin ran to his side.

"TAEHYUNG!!!" he continued to scream, tears streaming down his face. Yoongi watched on in horror, his hands on his head as he stared at the wreck. His brother was in there. And he had no idea what state he was in...

"Hobi, Hobi! Hey, calm down, they're getting him out," Jin forced Hoseok to look at him, feeding him words of hope when he was doing everything in his power to keep himself together at the same time.

The officer let go of Hoseok when he stopped resisting, letting Jin hold his head to his shoulder as he sobbed.

"Officer please, he's our friend; our brother... Is he okay?" Yoongi asked calmly. The officer looked back at the wreck, watching the firemen saw into the metal, and turned back to the boys who were waiting for an answer.

"I don't know, honestly. Until they get him out, it's hard to tell. It was a pretty bad crash..." he spoke honestly, but his words gave little to no reassurance at all. "I'm sorry. When we know, you'll know. Please, come sit in the back of the squad car for now..."

He ushered the boys over to a waiting police car, lights still flashing on top. Hobi sat on the seat facing Tae's car, legs hanging out of the open door with Jin sat below on the rim of the door. Yoongi sat in the same position as Hobi, but in the front seat of the car so all three could watch for developments.

On the other side of the city, you had taken to pacing nervously around your kitchen, your phone gripped tightly in your hands. 45 minutes since the call ended with Taehyung. 45. You were going absolutely out of your mind with no news at all from anyone. You'd even typed into google "crash Incheon freeway" only to find the first developments of a bad road traffic accident at one of the exits.

Another few minutes passed, until finally a booming knock on your door frightened the life out of you. You ran to it quickly, opening it to see Jimin, Namjoon and Jungkook looking pale-faced and panic-stricken.

Jimin stepped to you immediately, wrapping you in a tight bear hug as the sobs you had managed to suppress resurfaced.

"Why is there no news, Jimin? I-I've h-heard... nothing!" you cried into his shoulder.

"No news is good news," Namjoon tried his best to make you feel better but until you could see Taehyung for yourself, alive and well, nothing possibly could.

"We're gonna wait with you, y/n. I'm sure one of the others will call to tell us which hospital they're gonna take him to," Jungkook stepped into your hallway, joining Jimin to comfort you as best he could.

But you couldn't be comforted, simply too distraught to listen to reason.

It took the fire service a further twenty minutes to cut into the wreck to get to Taehyung, still laying limp in his seat. The boys looked on as they removed a chunk of the car, opening it up enough to see Tae's hair that had fallen over his face. Hoseok jumped up immediately and raced as close as police would allow him to watch as paramedics rushed in to do their initial checks on Tae.

They lifted him out carefully, laying him down on a waiting stretcher to survey the damage. The boys could only observe Tae's limp body being dragged out, his head now visible to them; it was definitely Tae.

They could see the blood that had dripped down the left side of his face from his head, running down his neck. His white shirt had been stained red in various places but the scariest sight of all was just that he was completely slack.

"Oh, my god..." Hoseok breathed, clasping his hands over his mouth as Jin and Yoongi joined his side. They watched in horror as he was strapped to the stretcher, head placed amongst a brace to keep it from lolling to one side. They checked his vital signs, making sure he was in fact still alive.

"Come on, Tae..." Jin muttered to the wind, praying aloud that he was okay. They saw paramedics nodding to each other and rushing the stretcher off to the waiting ambulance quickly.

"WAIT! WAIT, LET ME GO WITH HIM!" Hobi yelled out, pushing past the officer that had stopped him for the second time and rushing to the door of the ambulance. The paramedics looked at each other without uttering a word, sharing a look of questioning. "Please..." he begged. The paramedics nodded to him, helping him up into the ambulance.

He sat in the corner, looking down at Tae who lay unmoving. From up close, he looked far worse than he had expected... He had cuts and scrapes all over his face, a large wound to his hairline where blood had poured out across his face and matting his hair to his skin. There was blood down his arms, a little soaked into the material of his shirt and covering his hands.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Hoseok asked the paramedics, his voice small and hoarse.

"He's alive. We'll get a full evaluation at the hospital," one of the men answered, still working on Tae as his colleague sat himself in the driver's seat of the ambulance and started the engine. He turned the sirens on and started to leave the scene of the accident. The paramedic in the back was stretching an oxygen mask over Tae's face, adjusting it to give him the airflow he needed.

"Can I hold his hand?" he asked, eyes never leaving Tae's battered face. He didn't care that they were covered in blood, he just needed to be there for him.

"Sure you can, man," the paramedic said, leaning a little away to give Hobi the room to reach for Tae's hand, lying cold against the stretcher. He squeezed it, warming it with his own body heat and pushing two fingers to his wrist to feel his pulse. He needed to feel it for himself...

The faint throb of Tae's veins gave Hoseok a new wave of hope; hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd be okay. His chest rising and falling was helping too, watching the most fundamental of human activity taking place. Tae's alive, he thought to himself. That's good...

"Shit, which hospital are we going to?" Hobi asked, suddenly remembering you were probably going out of your damn mind with worry. He hadn't called you back like he promised, hadn't kept you updated, and it had been over an hour.

"Inha University hospital is the closest," the paramedic replied, attaching electrodes to Tae's chest after cutting the fabric of his shirt open in order to monitor his heart rate closer.

Hobi pulled his phone out of his pocket to immediately text you.

When your phone beeped in your hand, you frantically pushed Jimin and Jungkook away from you, swiping it unlocked to see Hobi's message.

'Tae alive. En route to Inha University Hospital.'

"He's... Oh Jesus, he's alive..." you sighed with relief, still plagued with concern for his wellbeing. "Where's Inha?!" you yelled to the room. "Sat nav, let's go!" Jungkook immediately ran back out of the front door, you and the others in tow. You hadn't managed to get any shoes on, nor a coat; not that it mattered to you. Your main priority was getting to Tae as quickly as humanly possible.

You jumped in the back seat with Jimin, Namjoon taking shotgun with Jungkook driving. Namjoon had set up the sat nav as quickly as possible as Jungkook drove in the general direction of the hospital.

In the backseat you sat shivering; not from the cold, but from pure terror. You couldn't stop fiddling with your hands, pulling the cuffs of your ghastly Christmas sweater over them, biting your nails, scratching the back of your hand until it was sore.

Jimin noticed, placing his hand over yours to steady them, looking down at you with tears in his own eyes and a forced empathetic smile on his lips.

"He's alive, y/n," he affirmed, squeezing your hands. You nodded, turning to look out the window at the city as you passed through it. Jimin didn't let go of your hands for the rest of the ride, holding onto you as much for his comfort as yours. The others remained quiet, Namjoon chewing on his thumbnail and Jungkook concentrating on the sat nav.

You kept replaying those sounds over in your head; the crashing, the glass shattering, the screams... Those screams ran right through to the bone, and you were sure that you would never forget them. You could hear them so clearly, ringing in your ears over and over again. They were going to keep you up at night, mental images of Tae and his car hurtling through the air at horrendous speeds plaguing your subconscious.

Before Jungkook had even parked up you were jumping out of the car, running for the entrance to the emergency room with your socks becoming soaked from the ground as you ran. You could hear Jimin behind you, yelling your name to get you to slow down but you were on a mission; you needed to see him.

You ran right into the front desk with a thud, out of breath and panic stricken.

"Please, has a guy come in from a traffic accident yet? He's my boyfriend... Is he here?" you scrambled to tell the woman who was staring at you with wide eyes. She'd stopped tapping away at her computer to listen to you practically screaming at her, desperate for information.

"Ma'am it's a secure patient and we can't let anyone just wonder i-" she began but you interrupted.

"Please! He's my boyfriend, for god's sake. PLEASE!" you sobbed, Jimin and Jungkook finally catching up to you. The nurse immediately recognised them, fully aware that they were here for Taehyung.

"Where is he?" Namjoon followed in behind, a serious look on his face that hardened his jaw and strained the tendons in his neck.

"Sir, this woman, is she...?"

"With us, yes. Where IS he?" he repeated, impatient, leaning against the counter.

"They've taken him into surgery, he had internal bleeding in his abdomen. It'll be a few hours..."

"I'll wait," you said. You were determined you wouldn't be leaving until Tae was able to leave with you. If that meant you'd be here for days, weeks... You didn't care.

"Of course, you're welcome to wait ma'am," the nurse smiled sweetly at you, hoping that perhaps it would comfort you just a little. Of course, it didn't, but you appreciated her effort.

"Y/n?" you heard from behind you. You turned immediately to see Hoseok stood in the hall, his face pale and eyes wide. You scanned him, noticing the patches of dried blood on the end of his sleeve, a smudge of it on his cheek that he must have done absentmindedly. His hands had been washed, but he still couldn't hide the specs you noticed.

"Hobi..." you practically whispered, immediately charging towards him and almost knocking him to the floor with the force of your body hitting his, arms wrapping around him. He gripped onto you tightly.

"They're working on him, I don't know what's happening... Jin and Yoongi are in the waiting room outside surgery," he mumbled into your hair.

"Is he gonna be okay?" you sobbed, pulling back to look up into his face. You were begging for some kind of hope, some kind of reassurance. Hobi was good at that; giving hope. He prided himself on it, hence his stage name but right now he didn't know how to give you any.

"I don't know..." Your heart broke, watching the hope he usually exuded fading. Tae may be alive, but barely. He was clinging on, but who knew if he would recover... What if the surgery went wrong? What if he had severe head injuries?

Namjoon ushered you all to the waiting room, following the signs and helpful guidance of nurses along the way to find the surgery. Yoongi was sat outside with his head in his hands, Jin leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling tiles. As soon as they heard footsteps their heads snapped towards you, hearts breaking at the sight of you in such a state.

Jin got up to hug you, but right now you couldn't really even react. You felt totally defeated, totally lost.

All you could do was wait.

Hours passed by in the waiting room, no one really talking. One of the boys would mutter something every so often, but you weren't listening. Jimin had bought you a coffee to keep you going but it sat untouched at your feet, going cold as the minutes passed.

You just kept imagining Tae; happy, smiling, laughing. You were picturing being with him the way you were supposed to be right now; filling your faces with the cookies and cakes you had made, snuggled up on the couch under a fleece blanket. Stealing little kisses from him, tracing little patterns on his skin to join the constellations of his freckles. Running your fingers through his fluffy curls.

But you weren't going to get that. You weren't even sure you would ever get that again.

What the hell were you going to do without him? Taehyung was the love of your life, the man who had changed everything for you. He had been the best thing to ever happen to you. He took care of you, and you of him. You love him, so, so much. You expected such a long future with him, never imagining a life without him.

But that could be your reality after today.

Time seemed to pass in stages. An hour would fly past, but the next ten minutes would feel excruciatingly slow. It confused you and infuriated you, your cold, wet feet tapping against the linoleum flooring. Nurses and doctors would come and go, none of them speaking to you, none of them involved in Taehyung's case.

"What am I gonna do without him?" you mumbled to the room.

"You don't need to think about that," Yoongi said, stern and certain.

"But what if..."

"Don't, y/n. He's strong." He sounded annoyed but you knew he was just processing, forcing himself to believe that you couldn't possibly lose Taehyung. None of you would be able to cope without him.

The thought was in the back of everyone's minds though, nothing but worry hanging over their heads.

After a while, a doctor came rushing down the corridor towards you. He seemed nervous, and you didn't like the look that was etched into his ageing face.

"Mr Kim's friends?" he asked. You rose to your feet immediately.

"Is he okay?" you asked, just needing an answer.

"He's lost a lot of blood internally. We need a donor... Do any of you know your blood types?" he rushed his words, needing an answer quick. You knew yours, but would you match Tae?

"I'm B positive... Can I help?" Jungkook piped up before you had a chance.

"No, I'm afraid he's A positive..." the doctor's brow creased.

"I'm A positive..." you almost yelled. You knew you were. You'd been on the donor list ever since you were eligible.

"Perfect, could you follow me please, miss?" he turned on his heels and you followed immediately, into a private hospital room where a nurse was already setting up the equipment for the transfusion.

"Please, on the bed," he motioned for the hospital bed. You hopped up immediately. The nurse rolled your sleeve up, wrapping a tourniquet around your bicep to ready your arm for the needle. You hated needles but this was more important. Far, far more important.

"You'll feel a pinch, but it's not too bad," she said sweetly. You turned your head away as she poked it into your skin, unable to watch. It dangled there, waiting for the tube to be attached to draw the blood out of your system.

"It'll take about eight to ten minutes, only taking a pint, okay?" she explained, as the tube began to fill with the dark red consistency. "You might feel a little light-headed, that's totally normal. But this could save his life," she smiled with a forced look of hope on her face.

"Is he going to be okay?" you asked again. Why would no one tell you?

"We're doing everything we can for him. This will definitely help, okay? Try not to panic. Just relax..." she soothed. You took a deep breath, trying not to look at the blood pumping out of your arm. After a few minutes, you did feel light-headed, but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

As soon as it was over the doctor took the bag it had collected in, rushing it out of the room.

"You can stay here while you get your balance back, if you'd like?" she offered.

"N-no, thank you... Can I go back to my friends?" You didn't fancy sitting alone in an empty hospital room right now.

"Of course, let me help..." she linked her arm with yours, helping you stand steady on your feet.

"Thank you," you smiled at her as best you could as she helped you back to the boys, sitting you down in your seat.

"You okay?" Hobi asked, taking hold of your hand. You nodded, not really wanting to talk but to focus on stopping your head from spinning. You simply squeezed his hand a little.

It took another hour of silence before another doctor reappeared, pulling the surgical mask off his face. You stood up again, a little too fast, stumbling back into Hobi who managed to catch you.

"Please..." was all you could say, words failing you.

"He's stable," he said, exhaling steadily. Your knees almost gave way, relief flooding through your body. "He'll be out for a while, but they're taking him to the ward now. The internal bleeding has been stopped, transfusion worked perfectly; it saved his life," the doctor put his hand on your shoulder.

You couldn't hold the tears back anymore, crumbling to pieces in the middle of the hall. Hoseok pulled you into his chest, letting you sob against him in relief. You could feel his chest shaking beneath you too, suppressing his own sobs. His arms wrapped so tightly around you, grounding you when you felt as if you could melt into the floor.

The boys around you hugged each other too, letting the relief show on their faces and tears spill if they needed to.

"You can come see him, if you'd like?" the doctor asked.

"Please..." was the only word you seemed to be capable of saying right now. All of you followed the doctor, hot on his heels as you weaved from corridor to corridor. Anxiety was building in your stomach, butterflies hammering themselves against your insides harder and harder the further you walked. Hobi held your hand the whole time, never wanting to let you go for both his own comfort and yours. Jimin had appeared at your side too, locking his fingers with your free hand for the same reason Hobi had. Everybody needed someone today.

"He's just in here," the doctor held his hand out, stepping to one side to let you walk through, but you halted in place, petrified. What were you about to walk into? What would he look like? The anguish on your face was clear to everyone who saw it. Jimin squeezed your hand, offering some support.

"He doesn't look as bad as you'd imagine, I promise you," reassured the doctor. "You can only see cuts and scrapes; his left ankle is in cast." You nodded, processing.

"We're here, y/n," Jimin said to you. You nodded again, taking a deep breath and letting Hobi push the door open with his free hand.

As soon as you saw the lump under the blankets, you immediately dropped the hands that held yours and rushed to his side. Your hands hovered over his, too afraid to touch him; he looked so delicate, strapped up to all kinds of machines with tubes sticking out of him; they were grotesque, like a violation but so vital. The monitor next to you beeped periodically, signalling each beat of his heart that was still fighting.

Fresh tears welled in your eyes and frankly, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You hadn't seen him in weeks, and you had been clinging to today, waiting for the time you'd be able to see his beautiful face and hold him, but you never imagined this.

There were large scrapes to his face, a split in his lip. He'd had stitches laced into his forehead, along his hairline to the gash that had coated his face in blood when Hobi first saw him. The hospital gown they'd adorned him in was unflattering, and the short sleeves did nothing to hide the gashes and bruises to his arms. His left ankle was in plaster, like the doctor had told you it would be.

He had a thick tube taped to his mouth that was hanging wide open, and clips on his fingers with wires attached to the ends. Next to the bed was a drip, keeping him hydrated while the bag you had seen earlier with your blood in it hung next to it, almost empty but dribbling the last of it into his system.

"Tae..." you whispered, although you were fully aware, he couldn't hear you. You couldn't look anywhere but his face, sleeping peacefully under the anaesthetic. "Can I touch him?" you said aloud, afraid to do so without permission.

"Of course," said the doctor, speaking softly in such a delicate moment. Slowly you reached for him, taking his hand in yours and wrapping your fingers around it. He felt warm, a stark contrast to the cold that Hobi had felt earlier that day. You willed him to squeeze your fingers, wanting to feel him holding you back but you knew, of course, it would take time.

"He has two cracked ribs on his left side, so just be careful around him. That's where most of the damage is and where we found the bleed in the internal tissue. That's been stopped with keyhole surgery, and he should make a full recovery," the doctor gave a full run down of his condition for you. "He did suffer a concussion from the impact to his head, but all tests point to no major damage to the brain."

"Thank you," you turned to the doctor, still grasping Tae's hand in yours with tears streaming down your face. The doctor smiled a tight-lipped smile at you and the rest of the boys who had filed into the room behind you.

"I'll give you some privacy. If you need anything, press the call button just there," he pointed to the little remote sat on the edge of the bed, and left quietly.

Silence settled over the room, a few sniffles from various different corners as everyone just watched Tae's chest rising and falling for a moment, listening to the beeps of the machinery.

"I should have met him at the airport..." you thought aloud, "I should have been with him."

"Don't do that to yourself, y/n. You couldn't have stopped this..." Jin spoke up, wanting to rid you of the guilt that was seeping into your mind.

"How did this happen?" Jungkook asked, meaning it rhetorically to curse the universe for the twist in fate but unfortunately, you had that answer.

"He was being chased," you told them.

"He was what?" Namjoon asked, jaw clenched with rage. Who would dare put him in so much danger?

"Press were tailing him... They got too close and it freaked him out. I tried to calm him down through the Bluetooth but... I think... I think they were following him to see where he was going." Anger started to rise in you, wondering where those men had disappeared to. They needed to be found. They needed to be prosecuted. They could have killed your beloved Taehyung. They almost did...

"Excuse me, I have to make some calls," Namjoon spoke through clenched teeth, heading out of the room on a mission to find the reporters who did this.

"I'll go with him, keep him calm..." Yoongi muttered, following.

Jimin stepped to the other side of the bed, taking Tae's other hand in his and sitting down in the chair on that side.

"We'll find them, Tae," he said to him, promising to get the justice he deserved.

"I'm gonna go get something from the vending machine, do you guys want anything?" Jungkook offered, happy in the knowledge that Tae was going to be fine and was safely surrounded by the people he loved.

"Anything, I don't care. I didn't realise how hungry I was," Jimin said. Hoseok declined the offer politely and you just shook your head, unable to tear your streaming eyes away from Tae. Jungkook left quietly, as if shutting the door would wake Tae.

"Sit down, y/n. You'll get tired," Jimin said, nodding to the chair perched in the corner of the room. You looked at it, contemplating. But reaching for that would mean letting go of Tae's hand and no way were you going to let go.

Hobi sensed the way you hesitated, grabbing the chair for you to sit without having to let go.

"Thank you," you smiled, genuinely grateful.

After about an hour, Namjoon came back into the room with Yoongi close in tow. You had lay your head on the edge of the bed, still holding Tae's hand tightly in yours, playing with his fingers as tiredness started to consume you. As soon as Namjoon walked back in the rest of the room sat up to listen to what they had to say.

"Police have been notified. CCTV is being checked along the freeway. Bang has an idea of who the reporters are, thinks that someone leaked information to them. He's investigating now," he said sternly, running a hand through his tousled hair. "No change?" he asked, nodding toward Tae. You shook your head.

"He could be out for up to 48 hours," Jungkook said, "I asked the doctors."

"Okay, well I think we need to get home. Shower, eat something, change; we'll come back in the morning." The boys all agreed, seeing little point in hovering in his room overnight if he'd be out for hours, possibly days.

"Y/n, who do you wanna ride with?" Joon asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm not going. I'll stay," you said, resting your head back on the bed, looking up at Tae sound asleep.

"Y/n, you need to change, shower. You don't even have any shoes..." he argued softly, trying to coax you out of your seat. He crouched down at your side. "He'll be here when you get back."

"I'm staying here, Namjoon. I'm not leaving him alone. I don't care if he doesn't wake up yet," you stayed firm. "I won't have him wake up to an empty room."

"Joon, leave her," Yoongi pulled Joon's sleeve gently. "We'll bring you some clothes, y/n. Just make sure you eat something." You nodded, satisfied that they would let you stay with Tae.

"We'll see you in the morning, sweetie. Try and sleep too," Hoseok stepped over to you, placing a kiss to your forehead where you lay. Each of the boys said goodbye to you, and to Tae too, promising to see him later.

They filtered out, one by one, leaving you alone with Tae. You'd been waiting until you were alone with him, waiting to say what you wanted to, whether he could hear you or not.

"Tae... I know you, um..." you shook your head, ridding yourself of the feeling of silliness that you were potentially talking to thin air, "I know you can't hear me but, I gotta say this anyway. "I love you. I love you so, so much and I swear, I'm so sorry I didn't come to the airport. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you calm... I'm sorry, I tried. There was nothing I could do. I'll be here when you wake up, okay? And I'll take care of you until you're better, whatever it takes. I'll be here, the whole time.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, y'know... I was going out of my mind, I thought I'd lost you. I don't think I'd have coped, I-" a lump rose in your throat, another sob teetering on the edge. "You just mean the world to me. You've been there for me in my darkest moments and now it's my turn. I'm here, Tae. I'll always be here."

This wasn't like the movies or k-dramas; Tae's hand didn't twitch in yours. His eyes didn't flicker, the heart monitor didn't change its pace. There was no magical moment where he woke up at the sound of your profession, but somehow, you felt better.

The clock on the wall reached 2am before you finally let the exhaustion take its toll, resting both arms on the edge of the bed and leaning your head on top of them. It wasn't the comfiest position, but you were too tired to care. And you still kept your hand in Tae's, never letting him go.

Hours ticked by, with you peacefully resting next to Tae. No change, not even a flicker. Around 8am you were still sleeping, and Tae had been out of surgery for a total of fifteen hours. The boys were still at home, getting their rest and recharging to come back to visit in a few hours' time.

As you slept peacefully, you missed the most vital sign that showed any inkling that Tae was on his way to waking up.

His eyes rolled under his eyelids, eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly. They kept fluttering, gathering strength the more time went on. It took a good twenty minutes or so, but eventually, they started to flutter open.

Tae was waking up; he was conscious enough to hear the beeping, conscious enough to feel the weight of your hand in his, conscious enough to feel the oxygen tube in his throat and the clips on his fingers.

He took in a deep breath, completely of his own accord, eyes finally opening enough to see a blur of dark colours swirling in front of his face. When he tried to exhale, he choked a little on the tube, the sensation scaring him a little. His immediate reaction was to squeeze his fists, which in turn, squeezed your hand.

You stirred next to him, feeling the change and for a moment you thought you'd imagined it, not bothering to look up or to check. But then you heard him inhale again deeply, and splutter on the exhale again. Your head shot up, searching for the sight you had so hoped you would find, and you had been right.

Tae lay with his eyes open, wide in fact, panicking a little at the feeling in his throat.

"T-Tae...?" you stuttered, in total shock. He groaned a little, a gurgling noise coming from the back of his throat. "O-oh my god, wait... Stay calm okay? I'll get someone," you stumbled, letting go of his hand to search for the remote with the call button on it. You pressed it immediately, too scared to touch any of the pipes to remove them so Tae could breathe of his own accord.

It took less than a minute for a doctor and a nurse you hadn't seen before to rush in, immediately coming to Tae's side. They calmed him down, still panicking a little at waking up in an unknown place. Perhaps he hadn't remembered what happened? He'd be so confused...

They removed the breathing tube, still keeping him attached to the hydrating drip but removing the blood drip from his arm. They checked over a few of his vital signs, the typical light pen to the eyes and heart rates and blood pressure, etc... Satisfied with the results, they left you to it, promising to return a little later.

You stood in the corner until they left, watching them carefully. You stayed put for a moment when they left, letting Tae adjust to his surroundings before immediately charging over to him.

"Y/n..." he croaked, voice hoarse and scratchy. He reached his hand out to you, and without a second thought you ran to his side, clutching his fingers in yours. Except this time, he held yours too, squeezing them in his.

"I'm here, I'll always be here," you reassured, watching as his eyes watered at the sight of you, tears spilling down the sides of his head. He tried to speak again, but the dryness in his voice was keeping his words at bay.

"Wait, don't talk. Hang on," you reached for the jug of water on the table at the end of the bed, pouring him a little glass. The nurses had hoisted his bed up a little, folding him to sit up just enough to make it easy for you to hold the glass to his lips and help him drink little by little, soothing the dryness.

"Y-you... stayed?" he asked, seeming to be shocked at the idea that you waited for him, refusing to leave.

"I wasn't going to leave you, Tae. I didn't want you to be alone," you said, voice whining as you held back the tears again. Finally, he was awake. He was talking to you. He was alive. "I love you. Jesus, I was so scared... I thought-"

"Shh, no..." he squeezed your hand again, stopping you. "C-couldn't, leave you..." he smiled, wincing a little at the ache in his body. He tried to lift himself to sit up straighter, but it only caused him more pain.

"Oh god, no don't... don't move..." you panicked, hands hovering over him unsure what to do.

"I-I'm fine..." he raised his hands to stop you fussing, grunting as he settled himself.

"Can I do anything for you?" you asked, clueless and at a loss.

"Just... Just be here," he said, reaching for your hand again and lacing his fingers with yours. "Like you always are." He lifted your hand to meet his lips, planting a soft kiss to the back of your palm. You smiled at him, leaning down to place a soft kiss to the patch of his forehead that was exposed, far enough away from the stitches to not cause discomfort.

"I'm gonna text the boys though, so they know you're awake. I'm sure they'll be here soon anyway..." you told him, reaching to your phone that lay on the end table. You sent a message to the group chat you were all in together.

You: 'Tae's awake, doing well." Hobi: Already? Thank god, be there soon.

Namjoon: I'll wake up the others, see you soon.

Yoongi: you doing okay, y/n?

You: I'm fine. Relieved. See you soon.

"They're coming," you said, placing the phone back on the table and sitting in the chair next to Tae again. You grasped his hand in yours, placing kisses to each finger so gently, watching his face as it broke into a smile; the one you'd missed so much when he had been away.

Nurses came and went for different readings and pain-killing drugs to be administered over the next hour or so. In record time, all six of the boys wondered into the room at once with flowers and fruit for Tae. Tears were shed, hugs, awkward bro-handshakes...

"Why the fruit?" Tae asked them, looking at the hamper that they'd brought in with them.

"I don't know, isn't that what you're supposed to take to the hospital? Tradition or something?" Jin shrugged, making Tae chuckled. He winced a little at the jab he felt in his ribs with laughing, like a constant reminder that he really wasn't okay.

"We really thought we were gonna lose you, Tae... Scared the hell out of all of us," Jimin said, thinking back over the last 24 hours.

"I'm sorry..." he looked down in shame, somehow blaming himself.

"Hey, don't do that. You did nothing wrong," you said, running your thumb over his hand.

"She's right. Those reporters are being investigated, Tae. We'll get them," Namjoon confirmed, nodding his head.

"The nurses said before you walked in that it came close..." Tae's head dropped, looking down at his lap.

"If it hadn't been for y/n's donation, they think you may have lost too much blood..." Jungkook said without even realising he'd just told Tae what you hadn't managed to yet.

"Wait... what?" Tae looked over you, who was staring wide eyed at Jungkook and cursing him for letting it slip.

"You didn't tell him?" he asked you, confused.

"It wasn't important..." you shrugged, twiddling Tae's fingers in yours.

"You did what?" he asked, tugging on your hand to make you look up at him.

"They said you needed blood. We're a match, so..."

"You gave me your blood? But you hate needles?" It seemed like such an alien concept to him, that you would ever do something like that for him.

"Not as much as I love you, moron. You needed it!" you argued. Tae's eyes watered, touched that you would have done that.

"You saved my life..." he croaked, hot fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. "Thank you."

"Any time," you smiled, wiping his cheeks with your free hand. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his gently. His free hand held the back of your neck, stopping you from moving away from him too soon. "I'd have given anything to keep you around," you sighed, forehead pressed to his.

"I love you so, so much..." he proclaimed.

"I love you too, Tae," you promised.

"A match biologically as well as romantically then, hmm?" Tae chuckled, with such warm sentiment it made your heart swell.

"I guess so," you grinned, "As if we needed any more proof..."

Conversation turned to other things, the boys chatting about seemingly trivial matters, but Tae could barely pay attention; he was totally absorbed in you and what you had done for him; something you thought had been so small, something so tiny that you just did without a second thought.

Around 11am, the doctor from yesterday that had brought you to see Tae came into the room, fresh faced and in different coloured scrubs than before. He checked Tae over for the nth time that day, asking him all manner of questions now that he was awake and aware enough to answer coherently.

"Doctor, can I just ask...?" Tae stopped himself, thinking he sounded trivial.

"Please, ask away Mr Kim," he offered.

"Can I go home for Christmas?" Tae asked, voice filled with hope. He'd just wanted to spend the holidays with you, and they were fast approaching, only a week to go.

"Mr. Kim, you're already surpassing expectations. You'll need to rest, probably be in a wheelchair for a few days but... I'm positive we can discharge you in the next few days," the doctor smiled triumphantly at Tae, who's face lit up completely.

Tae was coming home for Christmas. But more importantly, Tae was coming home...

*****

"Alright, be careful..." Namjoon said, backing the wheelchair Tae was perched in up the few steps at the lobby to their dorm building. Jungkook stood in front of him, lifting the front wheels to lift Tae over the threshold and into the building.

"I'm sure I could have stepped up that," Tae rolled his eyes, a little frustrated at having to have people cart him around now that he was home from the hospital.

"Oh, shut it, misery guts. We can leave you here with the breaks on if you want," you teased, stepping into the building behind Jungkook.

"You wouldn't..." Tae challenged, narrowing his eyes at you. You just smirked, stepping around Jungkook and planting a kiss to his cheek. You took the handles of the wheelchair from Namjoon, pushing Tae towards the elevator.

He'd spent the last day at your apartment with you, finally being discharged on Christmas Eve, ironically enough. But after the accident, you had insisted that the eight of you spend Christmas day together, as a family. So, you were now pushing Tae into the elevator to take him up to the dorm.

As soon as you pushed him through the front door, a chorus of cheers and yelps rang through the apartment. Tae giggled to himself, feeling a little awkward at the attention but frankly so grateful to them; he'd never felt so loved, so cared for.

Jin had cooked Christmas dinner with help from Yoongi that you all sat around the table to enjoy. You played games, made jokes, exchanged gifts; like a regular Christmas day. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

"I got you one last gift, y/n. Well, Hobi got it for me, but I called in the order from the hospital and he picked it up for me..." Tae said, reaching into the large bag next to his wheelchair for a small, rectangular box. It was draped in a red velvet ribbon, invitingly so. He beckoned you to him, insisting you sit on his lap to open it.

"I don't want to hurt you, Tae..." you protested, but he was having none of it.

"You're not sitting on my ribs or my ankle, it's fine. Sit," he demanded. You did as you were told, perching on his lap with your legs strewn over the large wheel. He handed you the box, watching impatiently as you unwrapped the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a gold necklace, a little pendant attached. A red stone sat in the middle; it looked like a ruby, but no bigger than flat of a drawing pin, imprinted into the gold.

"Tae, it's beautiful," you gasped, pushing it around in the box with your finger.

"Flip it over," he said, grinning. You did, and on the back was a small inscription.

A+

Your eyes widened, heat rising to your cheeks almost immediately as you realised the meaning behind such a simple design.

"Tae..." you choked, your eyes glazing.

"Wait, that's not the best part..." he teased, reaching in between the open top button of his shirt and pulling out the very same pendant, already around his neck. "We match," he grinned, of course laced with hidden meaning.

You didn't know what to say, staring down at the necklace in your hands. Tae reached over to lift it out of the box, undoing the clasp and wrapping it around your neck to put it on you immediately.

You raised your hand to his chin, pulling him gently in your direction to place your lips on his so sweetly, so much honest emotion and passion in one little kiss. You pushed his hair out of his face as you pulled away, affectionately fiddling with the ends.

"I'm so damn lucky to have you," you sniffled, still so grateful to the universe for not only giving him to you in the first place, but letting you keep him when you thought you would lose him.

"And I, you," he grinned, popping a kiss to the end of your nose. "My perfect match." ✧˚₊‧𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬‧₊˚✧ - 𝘍𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

[bewitchingwitch]

Great Gatsby AU pt.1

So this is the first part of my Great Gatsby au! It’s a reader x Theseus fic and it won’t be as long as Constellations it will probably only be like 5 parts. I know it’s short but I wanted to post something so I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1,900

Theseus glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You both were sitting in the Minister's office. She had called you both in for a special mission, and Theseus was thrilled that he got paired with you. He had known you since 4th year in Hogwarts. And he had had the biggest crush on you since forth year.

He met you by chance durning a quidditch game. He was chasing the snitch not bothering to notice where he was going, and the snitch led him into the opposing teams side. He had lept off his broom to catch it and had collided with you knocking you got he floor of the stands.

He had apologized profusely and all you could say to him was I guess you just knocked me off my feet and you winked at him. He remembered turning red and stuttering, unable to form a complete sentence. He hadn't even caught the snitch, his teammates had to come and drag him back into the field. You had just giggled and blew a kiss at him as he resumed playing.

For the rest of the game he couldn't keep his eyes off of you and Hufflepuff ended up losing the game to Gryffindor. Right after the game he  scanned the crowd looking for you. And he had found you only to find that you had a boyfriend and was heartbroken.

Nonetheless you two still did become friends and even after you had broken up with your boyfriend he still couldn't find it in him to ask you out. But he did stay by your side all through Hogwarts and all through Auror training. You both had been stationed at the British Ministry, and even after all these years he could never bring himself to ask you out. He didn't want to ruin your guys friendship so he silently suffered as he watched you flirt with Charles from The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

He hated Charles with his perfect American boy good looks, with his slicked back blonde hair and blue eyes. He was always flirting with you and you always flirted with him and...

"Mr Scamander. Mr. Scamander can you hear me!" The Minister yelled at him knocking him out of his thoughts.

"I- um. Yes Minister." Theseus blushed at the realization he hadn't actually been listening.

"I'm sure you were." She glared at him and he wanted to sink lower into his chair. "As I was saying you two will be infiltrating the big party Jay Gatsby is having tonight."

"Jay Gatsby? Why isn't he just another harmless, rich and snobby muggle?" You asked as you crossed your arms across his chest.

"Muggle no. Harmless he’s far from it." Theseus answered cutting off the Minister. The minister leaned back in her chair clearly not impressed with Theseus’ interruption. “I’m sorry Minister.”

“No I insist continue since you think you can provide a better explanation to Ms. (y/l/n). Than I, the elected official Minister, can” Theseus turned bright red and cast his eyes downward. You stifled a giggle. Theseus smiled at the though that he had done something to make you laugh. “As I was saying Jay Gatsby is not a muggle he is a wizard.”

“What really?” Your eyes widened in interest. you leaned forward and the hem of your dress slid up and Theseus averted his eyes.

“Do you really think an ordinary muggle would be able to bootleg that much alcohol?” The Minister tosses to Manila folder at Theseus and you. You both took them and opened them up.

“Fair point. And I knew no muggle could be that good looking.” You starred down at the folder that had a picture of Gatsby attached to it. He moved in the picture turning over his shoulder as if the photographer had caught him my surprise. Theseus felt a rush of anger as he watched you admire the picture of Gatsby.

Ahem.” The Minister cleared you out of your fantasy’s about Gatsby. “And normally we don’t intervene in these types of things but Gatsby is becoming hazardous. If he continues scamming muggles at outrages prices he could get caught and expose our world.”

“Your assignment is to attend the party Gatsby is having tonight and bring him back so the ministry can... handle him. You will posing as a couple interested in becoming involved in Gatsby’s scam. You do whatever it takes to bring Gatsby back.” You looked up at the minister and gave her a curt nod.

“We don’t let you down.”

Theseus was over the moon. Sure it was fake but nonetheless he got to pose as your boyfriend even if it was for only one night. And he wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

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

“Do you think this looks bad?” You twirled around in a blue flapper looking gown.

Theseus was laying down on your bed. He turned to look at you. “As I’ve said to the last 5 outfits you look marvelous.”

You opened your mouth to interject but he cut you off. “And no I’m not just saying that because it’s getting later and we should be there.” He smiled at you the corner of his eyes crinkling. “I sincerely mean it.”

You just rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. I’m trying to match your outfit.”

Theseus looked down at what he was wearing, it was simple black suit with a white dress shirt with a black tie. “Any gown will match I’m wearing black. And I can guarantee any gown you wear will look ten times better on you than I look in this suit.” Theseus propped himself up in one elbow so he could see you clearly.

“Aren’t you a charmer.” You playfully teased.

“Quite.”

You began to take off the dress not bothering this time to go back into the bathroom to change. “W-What are you doing?” Theseus turned completely red as he watched you slide the dress down exposing him to the black lingerie you were wearing.

“What?” You asked innocently.

“Why are you changing out here?” He tugged at the collar of his suit feeling it becoming tight.

“Cause were in a hurry.” You went over to your closet and flipped through your dresses.

“But-“

“Theseus the longer we argue over this the longer I end up taking getting ready.”

Theseus shut his mouth and plopped back down on the bed. He grabbed one of your pillows and placed it in his lap. Why did you do theses things to him? He couldn’t get the image of you out of his head, the way the lingerie hugged your body the way your stomach spilled so eloquently over the edge of you underwear making him want to hug you around the middle. The way the bra pushed up your breasts allowing him to see the stretch marks that decorated right underneath, a pattern that he’d want to spend all morning tracing.

He needed to stop thinking about you like this or else you guys would have a special guest coming with you guys to the party.

“Okay I think this is the one.” Theseus sat up still making sure that the pillow was resting on his lap.

You were now wearing a black gown that stoped at your ankles. It had a deep v neck cut with an intricate silver design. The black stopped right after your hips and the fabric after was tassels. So if you sung your hips enough Theseus could almost see under your dress. Stop that he told himself, he didn’t like the way that dress made him think about you. It felt wrong like you were his to see but without your consent.

But you had worn it because you saw the way he looked and you, and you loved it. The way his eyes scanned your legs up and stopped at your chest. It made you feel special because when he looked at you some part of you knew it wasn’t just out of lust.

“So what do you think.” You smirked and you twirled the dress reveling more and more of your legs.

“I- um it’s- you’re stunning.” He stared at you with an open mouth.

You felt your face heat up. “Thank you.” You’d aid softly as you avert your eyes. You grabbed your coat and made you way to the door. “Are you coming?”

“Yea I am just, give me like 15 minutes I’ll meet you in the car.” He smiled awkwardly hoping that you wouldn’t catch on to why he needed to wait to go.

“Okay.” Complete oblivious you made your way to the car that was parked outside of your apartment. He plopped back down on the bed and closed his eyes.

Theseus joined you exactly 15 minutes later, you were reapplying your lipstick when he got in, he noticed, smirking to himself, and pressed on the gas real quick making your hand drag the lipstick across your chin.

“Theseus!” You shouted as you hit him across his chest.

He chuckled and actually began to drive while you angrily tried to wipe the red off your face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He looked over at you giving you a soft smile. You fought not to give him one back but you did.

You arrived at the big mansion to see cars piled on top of one another making it impossible to get in. “This is it?” Your eyes widened as you watched the fireworks explode above the white mansion in awe.

“I believe so.” You guys parked and you took Theseus’ arm he melted into your touch. Your heels clicked on the pavement as you slept walked up watching all sorts of unusual people make their way into the mansion. Circus performers and singer, dancers, one of whom who winked at Theseus making you tingle with jealously.

You walked through the door and the noise surrounded you. There was something going on in every corner of the room. There were flappers dancing around an indoor pool, and trapeze artists swinging from the roof. The entire room seemed to be covered in this pinkish purple smoke. Everything about it made you giddy.

Your eyes wandered to the stairs in the middle of the room. There was a balcony and then the stairs led off to the right and left. Standing on the balcony was a man in a white suit who had his back facing you. Streamer flew past him along with corks from champagne bottles. The roof above him had a sky light that allowed you to see the fireworks.

As he turned you took a sharp breath. It was Jay Gatsby, the colors from the fireworks illuminated his features. He looked around and his eyes seemed to land on you. His blue eyes sparkled. He seemed to smile at you. Theseus glanced over to find you memorized and decided right then and there he hated Jay Gatsby.

Gatsby continued to stare into your soul and you starred without shame back. And you though that his picture didn’t do him justice. He winked and gave a small wave and then disappeared in the doors behind the balcony. It seemed like he was inviting you to come along with him.

You took a step forward and Theseus reached out to grab your hand. “Where are you going.”

“To go find Jay Gatsby.”

Taglist: @hearteyesmotherclucker @theroyalbrownbarbie @hoodedbirdie @annyinlovewithkpop @c8n10n4o2-geek @martarosado @nanjaeminie @nanjaeminniee @moisoverennyi-thestarlessone @profangirllex @gaenahelleborus @melodramaticmelon2118 @michellekstr @nctyong-xo @preppy-by-the-c @sweetlyshinylady @emo-plaidin @dreacantsleep @theetherealbloom @lily2089 @mywckdmind @barbarachern @imbiandiwanttocry @ollyoxenfrees @newtslatte @pettylady @februarycalum @justanotherenglisheducationmajor @feelthefeelingsinsideyou @ombriescent @ztinge @liloefuru @babywizardoll @heckin-kat @thewitchmadness @bunnie-kookie @the-fandom-life-forever @missanonyma @frozen-blue-eyes @newletas @sassycassyhoneybee @spookysunflowr @arosewithdaisies @spreaded-butter @dreacantsleep @constantdisgrace @madamnouiselle @pureawesomeness001 @hp-forever-generation @princeofsassgard @hereiamhereigo @coniumalces

[fanfiction-inc]

Cold Days, Bad Memories

Verse: Polar (2019)

Characters/Pairings: Duncan Vizla / Reader, The Black Kaiser / Reader

Word Count: 5,325

Warnings/Tags: Blood, Gore, Sex, Sexual tension, Killing, Murder, The Black Kaiser is sexy af, Mads is my baby, Tension, Angst, Torture, Offensive descriptions.

Summary: The infamous Black Kaiser (Duncan Vizla) is being hunted by a member of his past.

Rating: Explicit

[SORTAVALA, RUSSIA, 1996]

“I want you to take a deep breath. Let the air calm your nerves, prepare you. Have you taken a deep breath?” “Yes.” Russian undertones, the English foreign on small lips and gentle in the winter air as snow blows in the gentle breeze. The white decorates dark hair, older locks blowing with the gentle shift of breeze blowing the frozen crystals here and there. The younger meets the elders gaze with a smile like that of innocence. His own smile was of thin lips, ever so slightly upturned and to the child's delight, he ruffled her hair before having her soft gaze return down the scope of the rifle. “Breath, take your time.”

The gruff voice was close to her ear, skilled gaze meeting that of a stark brown to the white background of wooded terrain. A large hand rested on a small shoulder that held the butt of the rifle, ready to aid her with the recoil. “Low, remember to get low.” They lowered, his form taking lead and allowing the girl to lay snugly against his side as a particular, harsh and cold breeze takes to the right and hits the girls face in a stinging hit. A drapery of scenery cover over the two, hiding them away from the elements and allowing what little warmth to follow. Fur from a lined collar tickled at rough and beaten flesh, the soft skin of the girls in contrast only a reminder of the difference between the two. The infamous Black Kaiser, and the child of a Russian mob boss. She refocused on the target ahead, the red deer stalking along quietly stilled, eating at a few loose weeds sticking from the heavy snowfall, lifting its head when it hears the click of the safety being removed and those blank eyes scanning back and forth among the stark white. “Steady, line your shot up. They can tell hesitation, and hesitation is what gives them the opportunity to run. Do you understand?”

The girl signaled with a nod and the man shifted, allowing her the chance to ease herself into the shot. The sight was ready, the gun was held just like the man had shown and the air was consumed by silence, only broken by the shift of branches in the air. One second, another, another and finally the shot rang out in the air. The ricochet, the bounce, the first shot missed and the deer shifted. “Too far to the left. Reload, take it again.” The bolt handle was pulled back, another .22 bullet placed in and the chamber quickly shut within the gun, ready for the next shot. His hand rested on her own at the fore-stock and he helped her shift the gun to be just before the path of the deer, leading her to designated section that was to be ready for the killing of the deer. “Breath, and follow through.” One, two, on three, the trigger was pulled and the deer fell down with a noise of defeat, crimson decorated the snow and scattering across the terrain. “Хорошая работа, голубь (Good job, Dove).” “Хорошая работа, голубь (Thank you, Kaiser).” Another ruffle of hair, and the two rose, a knife pulled and brandished before the youngster. “Do you know how to properly disembowel an animal? A human, no less?” A shake of her head, and the man bringed the child over to the stag that rested dead on the ground, showing the edge of the knife to the child.

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

[TRIPLE OAKS, MONTANA, 2019]

The knife rested easily within his palm, blade to handle ratio perfect and even within his grasp as he approached the white tail. His breathing was steady, grey locks swaying like linen sheets on clothesline, shifting with each movement of the air. Flakes decorate each strand that was visible among the snowy landscape, cold eyes blinking to avoid the water that slammed his face and created a sting like stubble on a woman's thighs. It burned but in such a delicious way. The knife was inserted in the lower juncture of the legs, cutting the skin of the thighs up on both sides until they met. He didn’t mind the crimson decorating the snow or the blade he held, flashes on his times in other countries going to his mind.

Germany, a woman creating a empire that threatened Blut and intimidated the fat fucker. Killing by hanging….from the Brandenburg Gate by her intestines. A easy gutting and spill for the other, her empire died that day. Duncan recalls such with a lost fondness, having taken the woman on her desk before slitting her throat when her guards entered. That same blade, embedded into another man's skull and by the end of the next ten minutes, the room laid bloody and corpse filled. He stifled a chuckle, shaking his head and drawing the blade up, severing the meat and tucking it away to be cooked later on that night. One does not kill without purpose, one kills for a reason. Never leave the meat behind and the animal to rot. He carried his contents along, a hum of memory hitting his mind other then the German woman who swayed in the wind.

“When you are cutting flesh, you must always follow through with your actions. Just like any attacker, any animal, anything you dig this blade into and make your cut. You must put power behind it, must move with your body and carry out your momentum.” 

“Is it sharp?” 

“Very.” The elder pulled his sleeve up, arm displayed before the girl and dragging the sharpened blade over his own skin in a slow motion, watching as the hair on his arm was cut down and leaving a faint indent of where he cut and the natural growth. “I will start, and you will mimic.” The man commented with authority that had the girl on her knees at his side, watching his movements within the puncture area that allowed for access. Her nose scrunched at the matter that feel out with the cuts, but the man silence her protest when he continued, a hush coming from his thin lips and cold eyes meeting those of bright innocence. “Killing is a messy matter, little dove, remember such. As you make your cuts, more will spill out and more will fall much like that of  human. If a man is attacking you, would you care what falls from him when you make your cut?” A moment of processing his words, and the child shook her head, gentle locks swaying in the air and more flakes making (Hair Color) look almost as white as the powder that surrounded them. A shift in motions, and the man had the blade to the jacket that covered the child’s belly, looking on with a expression that sent the girl to breath quicker, to shake and allow her heart to hammer. “You must be brave, and you must learn that fear is a downfall. Do you understand?” “Y-Yes, Kaiser.” 

“Duncan.”

Duncan raised his head when a noise within the woods sound, eyes skimming here and there before catching the glint of a object he knew all too well, a red dot decorating his head.

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

[SORTAVALA, RUSSIA, 1998]

The creak of a wooden frame sounds within the back office of the extensive home. Harsh and unforgiving, the pace set was that of a unmentioned, unresolved need for what the other could give. Noises, skin hitting skin, begs and pleas for more followed in the air as dark hair and cold eyes dance over the silken feeling skin on the woman's bare back. Strong hands clutch at her skin, her hip held as his own collided with hers and elicit a louder noise to fall from those dirty lips that spilled curses in a native tongue. Those that wrapped around him in a way to draw him in and get what she needed to fill her like her damn husband couldn’t accomplish. “Kaiser! Kaiser!” The woman called when the position was changed and those strong hands rested upon rocking breast, thumbs brushing over the hardening rosy buds and holding her in place, right on the edge of what she needed most.

“Mama?”

“Дерьмо (Shit)!”

The woman was quick to separate from the man, his body standing, heaving before her. The child stood in the door frame of the room, looking on with a confused expression as to what was going on. The male watched as the mother moved, going to her child and ushering her off from the room to her own bed where she had awoken, fearful from the noises she had heard and the dream that plagued her every night of her fathers work. “Спи мой маленький голубь (Sleep my little dove).” A kiss goodnight and the woman returned to the man who patiently waited for her return, hopping onto his lap on the seated chair and carrying on from where they had left off. Her hips rock and move, getting off from the thrust he sent up to meet each bounce given in the form of riding. She was much more quiet, but the Kaiser wasn’t complaining, simply aiding in her lips movement and when that high returned, sending his hips to jackhammer within the other. Her back bended in the most delicious ways, fingers clutching at the mans hair as she met each furious hit to that spot that sends any woman into pure bliss. She called his name, clung to him with nails drawing thin lines of crimson blemish on his shoulders and coming down only when the man removed himself and offered for her to finish him off.

The time passes, hips swaying behind knees pressed into hard wooden floors and breast bouncing with each downward motion of a females delicate features. Hair shifted and was pushed back with skilled fingers of a free hand. Painted lips leave stains over a engorged length, crimson decorating and tongue lavishing until taking him down to the deepest level. A shaky breath, a suck of air through nostrils as a throat constricts, swallowing around her ticket to finishing him off and removing to repeat the action. He ended when her tongue traced a sensitive patch over his tip, spilling himself with a deep, gruff groan and watching as the woman on her knees swallowed her reward. He lazily places himself back within his pants, shirt retrieved from a corner of the room and taking note of the smudges on the window where he had the woman pressed long before, the marks left on the wood from the shelf that rocked and scraped when he had her up against it. His muscles tensed and adjusted beneath the black material, separating from the room when the woman carried on with her objectives of the day and began to return to a secretary like position. She nursed a glass of Massandra, sipping the wine with a hum as the man met her gaze once more. “Come back for more?” She asked with the tone that had drawn him in only hours before, that had him pinning her up against the solid Norwegian Spruce door that separated the rest of the home from their little sex fest. “No.” He replied simply, looking to the woman as she scoffed and continued to nurse her drink. His light footfall on the wooden steps go unnoticed as he leaves the room, the only indication of his departure being the shutting of the door behind him. The twenty-nine year old man quietly makes his way to the stairs, taking note of the little form that sat there, meeting his cold gaze and his own meeting her light one. He gave a hum, lights a cigarette and joins the girl on the steps, rear hitting the step with a light sound of thud and his hands placed over his knees with a hum. “You’re not the only one.” 

“I know.” The air wasn’t harsh, nor unusual or even tense between the two who seated in the darkened shadows of the stairway, her fingers playing with the edge of her thick pajamas and head bowed as they spoke. “Does it upset you? The other men?” 

“Sometimes.” The child replied in a soft whisper, gentle gaze meeting his once more when a hand was placed on her shoulder and smoke blown away from the child before another drag was taken in. It was a comforting grasp, gentle despite his mannerisms with children not those of recommended nor father like in the least. Tiny humans, not children, that was the mindset he grew. She was much more mature than any eight year old he had met, much less seen on the streets.

“Why are you up, (First name)?” “I had a nightmare and heard noises.” “No, the true reasoning.” Duncan looked on with a serious gaze, wanting an answer to the question that was truthful. “I couldn’t sleep because mom was so loud.” A laugh was shared between the two and the man ruffled the youngers hair, grin playing on those thin lips. “She was quite loud.” He replied in a humored tone, smiling due to her own with each giggle falling from her lips that was caused by him. A check of the time, 23:37, he scooped the smaller up with a grunt and snubbed his cigarette out on a passing table ashtray, taking smaller to her slumbering quarters. A tuck in, the light turned out, his shadow had began to recede behind a closed door before the quiet voice piped up once more. "Подождите (Wait)!” 

“Да (Yes)?” A pause, he stands in the doorway and waited for the other to speak.

“Goodnight, Duncan.”

“Goodnight, dove.”

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

[TRIPLE OAKS, MONTANA, 2019]

“Move in, don’t stop until this Подонок (fucker) is dead.”

Shots ring out among the chilled air and the seasoned killer was quick to avoid, slipping narrowly from the shot aimed for his temple and taking the knife he brandished against the deer to someone that approached just a little too quickly for his taste. A quick succession of impales to the torso and a final slice to the neck. The gun the man brandished was stolen away in the struggle to keep his bowels in, used as a human shield against gunfire and allowed to take on two more men. A break of a hand, the snapping of a neck and the elbow dislocated in three places before being used to turn the gun on oneself. The man ducked away into his home, gun used for another series of downings and ear piece taken to speak through.

//“Donovan, speak to me.”//

//“Donovan isn’t here.”//

A moment of pause, the firing ceased and all was quiet, surely to search the home in attempts to figure out where he had gone within. Glass shattering, tear gas had been entered into the home and thrown back out before the gas had become too much. Another series of shots, another moment of silence.

//“We’ve looked everywhere for you Kaiser.”//

//“Must not have been looking hard enough.”//

Coughing, Duncan took his shots and while the gas was the distraction, sneaked his way beyond the home, sneaking on to where the last of the team remained. The sniper was taken out, rifle pointed and taking out the last members of the team. He recalled the motions he taught the girl from Russia, the words he needed to speak to keep her focused and remind himself, despite his seasoned nature just how to take the shot and when.

//“Where are you, Kaiser?”//

//“Who wishes to know?”//

“Me.” A click of a gun behind the man and he turned to rest on his aging back, rifle pointed at the woman and her body just narrowly missing the shot. Legs kicked out and head slammed onto the ground once, twice. By the fifth and a nice bit of blood gathering on the snow landscape, the man had her out and dragged the form to his home. The questioning process was to be done while she still had breath leaving her. It took hours for the woman to wake, the room spinning, body aching and sluggish. She struggled, bonds held in place and wrist chaffed from movement whenever the man reentered. He had wood tucked under his arms, set aside by the fireplace when he took note of the other. “You’re awake.”

The restrained woman didn’t reply to his words as she looked on to the other, vision going in focus and back out as the man steals a chair from the table and seats himself before the other with a light grunt. He placed a cancer stick upon his lips, resting and taking a drag after the lighter was placed and lit the end of the fag. He hummed when the woman struggled once more, shaking his head at the failed attempt and the indication to draw her attention was a clearing of his throat. Smoke filled the air once more, fluttering and falling onto delicate features. A cough, an attempt to escape the smoke and the man rose, moving over to the other and letting his foot rest on her leg in a heavy foot fall. It hurt, and the woman's attention was on the man who let the ash of the cigarette fall onto her lap, burning lightly but not as badly if he had put it out on her. “I need a name, agent.” 

“Fuck you.” A hit across the face, blood surfacing from nostrils and splattering onto the floor from the whiplash of the light. The woman licked at her crimson stained lips and when her face turned back to the man, she spits on him, the crimson landing on his cheek. Another series of hits resulting in a busted lip and blackened eye, she refused to give in just yet.

Fingers are snapped and bones dislocated, body bleeding in places the woman couldn’t even begin to recall being hurt in. She spits out a bit more blood that had been held in her mouth, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut blinking away the pain and bloodshot from a bit. She could have sworn she lost a tooth, but a check with her tongue and surprisingly they were still in place. “Name. Give me a name and this will all be over.” 

“I won’t tell you jack shit, Kaiser.” The click, the cold metal pressed to her temple and he looked on with dissatisfaction, eyes narrowing at the way she tensed. A moment of pause, his finger twitched over the trigger and before he could pull it, the woman rasped out a reply. “(First Name) (Last Name).”

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

[SORTAVALA, RUSSIA, 1999]

“Duncan?”

The voice distracted the man with gun in hand, silent gaze falling back to the child who stood in a puddle of blood before him, entering from the solid wood doors out to the patio. It was windy, the snow heavy in the air and the shadow in the frost wind looking on with eyes that only a killer could pull off. He turned fully when he hears the panic within her tone, heart hammering as those sweet eyes met his own and he could hear the way she stuttered over her words. “M-Mama? Отец (Father)?” 

“(First name)-” 

“Why?” She asked with the waterworks spilling down her cheeks in such a heavy flow, he could only recall the time her father had yelled at her for coming in when he was arguing with Duncan. She was sobbing so hard due to his harsh words, and the Kaiser could only watch as her hands shook.

“(First name), I need you to come with m-”

“Нет (no)!”

The girl refused to go with the man covered in her parents blood, watching with blurred vision as the man took a step closer, then another. Each step forward was two steps back with the girls back ending up against the door as the man stopped her. A grunt and the thirty year old lowered to the child’s gaze, hand reaching to wipe her cheek and a red mark left across it as her tears were gathers and swept away. “You must be brave, and you must learn that fear is a downfall. Do you remember?” 

“Y-y-yes, Kaiser.” He was about to bring her into his side when his earpiece has given instruction.

//“Kill the girl. There will be no witnesses as our employer has stated, Kaiser.”// His gaze softened and the girl could only be left to guess what he had hear, the look crossing his features not of the fatherly love he once felt. He removed his earpiece, crushing the object beneath his boot and grasping the child by the back of her shirt, paying no mind to her protest and cries as he dragged her along. The deadweight she put on was straining yet he didn’t struggle, simply throwing her within a closet that was away from the view of the others. His gun was drawn, pointed.

“Duncan-”

“I’m sorry.”

A single tear rolls down his cheek and he pulled the trigger once, twice, until the magazine in his pistol was empty and the faint click sounding in the air signaled it was all over.

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

[TRIPLE OAKS, MONTANA, 2019]

“You never aimed for me directly, but I still have the scars to show what you did. You killed my father, my mother, and you didn’t even bat an eye. I know you’re a better shot then that...why didn’t you just kill me when you had the fucking chance, Kaiser?” The woman looked on, venom behind each spoken syllable and body shaking as she took in the remembrance that was written on the elder mans face. Twenty years since that night, and she remembered every bloody detail, every damned drop of blood and the fear that swelled in her when he shot her, when he shed a tear and apologized before leaving her to die in the home with her parents. “I wanted to take you with me, to not let that h-” “Shut up, I don’t want to hear your excuses. I want to know the truth. Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Because I couldn’t bare to. You were so small, so kind and innocent to the world despite the hell you had seen….I couldn’t end your life there when you had the potential to do anything you wanted.” A saddened, almost hurt laugh and the woman shook her head, tears of crimson and salty substance falling down her cheeks as she looked on. “When I woke up in that hospital room, when I found out that you had visited me, left me gifts and tried to repair what you had done, I knew it was a damned man trying to seek salvation. I hated you, I wanted nothing to do with you.”

“(First name)-”

“I said shut up, Duncan. You don’t know what kind of hell you have put me through just because you thought you did the right thing and ‘spared’ me. I begged whatever the fuck was above or below to end me, to have me dead before I left that hospital so I wouldn’t do something like this, so I wouldn’t have gone after you. I’ve tracked you for so many years, I’ve searched the world and only when you decide to retire is when I get my chance to show you what you’ve made me become.”

“I’m sorry.”

His words stuck out in the air, and a moment of pause between the crying woman and the man who sheds a tear in the eyes of the other, they cooled off from the thrown words, from the pain shared.

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

[SORTAVALA, RUSSIA, 2007]

“Ms. (Last Name), we would like to discuss with you about carrying on your father's business from where we have left off. We didn’t wish to bother you while pursuing a education, but it is very important to carry on with the work at hand.” A clear of a throat, a sip of scotch, the girl leaned forward with a gentle gaze resting upon the men who sat before her. “Two weeks ago, you had a birthday. We have given you this much time before asking you to carry on this business, I believe it is only fair.” Contradicting accents, the two men always wanted guns for their organizations, and one had caused her eye to twitch in annoyance. Bigger, wearing a color she dread, looked as if he belonged in some sick porno that required a bigger man of his size and telling by the smell of lotion heavy on his skin, it was damn near sickening. The other, poorly dressed for a meeting of this sort. Something of Hispanic or Latino background, he rested lazily in the plush, fine Russian leather of the chairs that creaked with each movement from the man of bigger variety.

“Gentlemen, if I may ask, why have you waited so long when you both know and I know that my competitors have advanced, it not surpassed this failure of a organization? Inactivity means loss of productivity and the end result is the loss of income and materials. You, Mr. Blut, know this well with your organization.” A chuckle sounded in the air and the man steals a sip of his glass that had been offered in the beginning of the meeting. “(First Name), if I may call you such-” “You may not.” The other snapped in return, earning a chuckle from the man that was seated beside the bigger man, humming with a frown at the look of distaste on the older man. “Get on with it, Mr. Blut. This is strictly professional.” 

“Right, we need your inventory once your ties begin to rebuild, and we are willing to pay top dollar for such if you are willing to sell solely to us.” 

“How much of a cut will I be getting for supplying my guns for your hit-men.” 

“Seven percent.” 

“Bump it up to fifteen and we’ll have a deal, Mr. Blut.” A laugh, and the woman continued to look on with a expression that screamed seriousness. The man was pissing her off with his humored manner, and she leaned forward, narrowed eyes ceasing his laughing fit. “Oh, you’re serious.” 

“Deadly.”

“Twelve-” 

“Fifteen and a bottle of premium Scotch, we’ll have a deal then and only then. Mr. Blut, if you want my guns and only my guns then I suggest you accept my terms and get the fuck out of my office, or I will personally have you escorted out of my home with a kick to your asses on your way out.” A cross of her arms, she lean back and the man takes a moment to mule such over. A pause, five seconds, ten, by twenty the man sighed and shook his head. “Let me call my financial adviser, and f she agrees, then you have yourself a deal, Ms. (Last Name).” The bigger man leaves the man of unknown ethnicity with the now seventeen year old girl who nursed her chilled glass, refilling when in due time. “So, chica, how long have you been-” 

“Listen here, compañero (buddy), I am not your chica, I am not your friend. If this deal goes through, I am your supplier and there will be nothing more than that. If you try anything in this time or if we do happen to be in my company as business partners, and try to make a move, Я снесу твой член и кормлю его собакам (I will blow your dick off and feed it to the dogs).” He laughed at her threat, but his silence was indication when a gun was placed upon the desk. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” 

“I’ve learned from one of the best.”

A moment later, the bigger variety of men returned with a huff and stood before the woman, hand outstretched. “I believe we have a deal, Ms. (Last Name).” She avoided his hand in favor of a nod, and gestured the man to leave her office, humming against the rim of her glass as she finished off the last contents.

When night fell, it was that of silence like the silence of any vacant home. She was alone in this world, no friends or family to recall. Her phone lights, a incoming call. She quietly took it in hand, looking down at the unknown number of American origin and frowned light. “Mr. Blut-”

“(First name).”

Silence, a pause. The caller could be heard by breath, soft, gentle, reminding her of when the man was teaching her how to hunt red deer. She was tempted to hang up, to leave him there and then but she paused, waiting for him to speak.

“I wish to talk to you, pl-”

“Don’t call this number again, Kaiser...I want nothing to do with you.”

“(First N)-”

The end of the call was sounded by a click, a hum following her words and the phone being set aside in favor for another glass of Scotch.

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

[TRIPLE OAKS, MONTANA, 2019]

Within the hour, the man had the other untied, beginning work on bandaging and patching her up. The next, when the darkness of the woods when night had created silence over the land, they began their work in the snow covered, hardened soil, covering each with a toss of dirt. The bodies were hidden away, led back to the warmth and the fire started where the woman sat before. Plush collided with her side and even then, a groan falls from her lips in the hints of pain that shoot up within her body. “You can sleep on the couch.” “Thank you...Kaiser.” “Duncan.” The man looked the other over before undoing the laces to his boots, setting the leather, blood and dirt covered footwear off to the side and stealing another glance to the woman.

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“It’s hard to imagine you would be this much older. I remember when you were just a little dove learning how to hunt. Your first deer and certainly not your last.”

“You’ve gotten old, Duncan. Retired I assume? Blut wanted you dead, but from my understanding, you took every last one of his men down and him included. Nice bit of work you did on the pig.”

A slight smile played on her lips and he rises from the bed, laying a pillow out for her on the couch. His stance kept behind her, watching as she strained and rose up, slowly making her way to the couch and easing herself down to lay. “Going to watch me sleep, old man?” 

“You never did let me talk to you, when I called. I wanted to apologize, to reunite and aid you. I-” 

“Duncan-” 

“Let me finish.” He gave a sigh, setting aside his jacket and looking over her injured form. “I wanted to make up for what you had lost. Be it money, someone to talk to. I wanted to be there for you when you had no one. I thought time would help mend wounds but I see it in this case, it has only created more.” Their eyes met finally, in that time period they had been reconnected, her gaze was soft, her smile was genuine yet saddened, pained. Time could mend some wounds.

“I...knew why you did it, a group asked you to kill them, and I want your help to find them...to kill them. The money was good, and orders were orders.” 

“(First Name).” 

“Hm?” 

“We’ll find who did this, I promise you.” The man gave a nod to the other, taking his place in bed. The woman eased onto her back, humming with a bit of pain and staring up at the ceiling. Once pass of the fan, two, three, and she gave a sigh.

“Thank you, Duncan.”Hey guys! If you liked this story and wish to see them before I post them to my Tumblr, go follow my Archive of Our Own page and get the stories there first! :D

Archive Of Our Own:Belle82DevArt

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle82DevArt/works

[typhonserpent]

Pause

Fandom: Dragon Age 2 Rating: Explicit, MAJOR trigger warnings for depictions of suicide, self harm, and death. Genre: Drama Pairing: Fenris/Anders Summary: Fenris catches on early to Anders’ suicidal plan. He’s seen so many slaves commit suicide before. He recognizes all the signs. Finally when Varric mentions Anders trying to give him his pillow, Fenris knows that there is little time left. He and Anders might not get on like the greatest of friends, but ten years does change people, and Fenris is set on rescuing Anders from himself.

It’s finally finished! Here’s my entry for Fill-a-Thon 2019. You can find the original prompt here.

✦ My Writing Tag ✦

✦ AO3 Link - Please leave me a comment! ✦

Fenris was 16 the first time he'd heard the word 'suicide' delicately danced around.

On hotter days, Danarius liked to dress him in a chain harness which looped around his chest several times and came together in a large emerald positioned over his heart. Danarius was, in fact, quite proud of the outfit, because the gem was enchanted to provide a barrier that made his usual chest plate unnecessary. Of course, the chest plate carried the added bonus of ensuring nobody thought Fenris was an easy target, and therefore was more practical to wear day-to-day. Nevertheless, private events sometimes called for different attire, preferably one that showed off the tattoos burned into Fenris' body. His best work of art, as he put it.

Fenris had been wearing that harness. The sweat dripping down his neck made his leather collar stick to his skin. Danarius was on the balcony, overlooking the Minrathos skyline. Sunlight bounced off of polished statues and brass roofs. Fenris poured more wine into his glass.

Pairian stepped out, and cleared his throat. He was an old elf, his hair all salt, no pepper. His collar was notably threadbare compared to Fenris', the leather's finish flaked and chipping along the edges. "Master?" Pairian said, stopping behind Danarius' chair, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid I must inform you that we have lost Jamael."

Danarius heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and slammed his wine glass onto the table so hard that the base of it broke. Expensive liquid sloshed out as the body of the glass toppled and shattered on the balcony floor.

"How?" He growled without looking in Pairian's direction.

"We found him in the pantry when we realized he hadn't cleaned the banisters. He ..." Pairian paused with all the care of a man walking on eggshells. He knew the next words he spoke could be met with a whip, "He appears to have suffocated."

"Has the pantry been dug deeper? How in blazes did he suffocate?"

"The ... rope around his neck may have been the culprit. Master."

Danarius rolled his eyes again and stood, kicking aside some of the broken glass on the ground. "Fenris, fetch me another glass."

"Yes, Master." And without further ado, the obedient little wolf set down the wine bottle and bolted for the kitchen.

It had been only a few months since the lyrium ritual gave him his markings and stole his memories. He didn't know if he'd known Jamael before then. Perhaps they'd been friends. After all, Jamael had been friendly enough towards him. Sunlight bled through the windows and illuminated every other stride he took as he ran, barefoot, down the halls of Danarius' huge manor.

He reached the kitchen to be greeted by a small crowd at the entrance. A stretcher had been fashioned out of two poles and an old sheet, and two of the larger elven slaves carried away a man barely recognizable from the last Fenris had seen of him.

Fenris strained to remember the last time he'd seen Jamael.

They'd passed in the hall way. Jamael had smiled and said, "Hey, how are you feeling? Still itchy?"

Fenris shook his head. Jamael had seen the physical results of the lyrium ritual. The pain, the blood, the ache that lasted for weeks, and then the itch that persisted as the wounds healed.

"If you need more, don't be shy. If you can get away from the Master for five minutes, anyway. I can sweet talk Seri into more elfroot anytime you need it." Then, he'd grinned. He was always smiling. Always helping. A personality as bright as his red hair.

That smile was gone now. His tongue swollen and sticking out, cheeks and eyes puffy. His entire head was discolored dark shades of purple and blue, sharply cutting off where the rope was wrapped tightly around his neck. The end of the rope dangled off the stretcher.

"Never thought he was the type." Someone in the crowd muttered.

"He seemed so happy yesterday." Another whispered, "I almost thought he was turning around."

"That's how it starts." A nearby voice replied, "You remember Sheera? Same thing. Months of silence, three days of calm, and then her corpse gets dragged out of the wash room. Wrists all cut up."

"Such a shame."

Fenris moved his hands to his ears, fingers tangling with his hair. Why didn't anyone try to stop him? If they knew the signs they could have at least tried!

He had to push his way through the crowd to reach the kitchen, muttering apologies all along the way. He waited a few extra minutes with the glass in his hand and his back to the door, just to ensure that he wouldn’t see the corpse again when he left.

Danarius liked Fenris to sleep at the foot of his bed. After all, a body guard should be there to guard the master at all times. Fenris told himself he didn't mind it so much. It was comfier than the slaves cots, and warmer too. Danarius always afforded him a blanket and pillow. Sometimes they'd even share the same one.

Later that night, Fenris was curled up at the foot of Danarius' bed, blanket wrapped tight around him. Water trickled and splashed in the next room while Danarius washed himself, and eventually he returned to the bedroom, hair damp, body wrapped in a silk robe.

"I'm sorry in such a state as earlier, my pet. I despise slaves like Jamael. I thought I had rid myself of most of them."

The question danced on the tip of his tongue. After all, a slave who asked a question out of turn could very easily be answered with a whip. As Danarius sat on the bed and toed off his slippers, Fenris mulled over the question in his mind, and finally decided he could ask if only to find out what not to do in the future.

"Master," He whispered, his voice as small as a mouse, "What did Jamael do?"

"He committed suicide, Fenris. He killed himself."

Suicide.

Fenris turned the word over in his head. He'd never heard it before. Just hearing it made him want to squirm. It sounded sad. It sounded wrong.

"To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker." Danarius continued, "You know that, don't you my pet?"

Fenris nodded, because despite his shattered memories, the words did sound familiar. The idea of killing himself had never even crossed his mind.

Danarius smiled, sending a wave of relief washing over him. He wasn't in trouble for asking the question. He wasn't going to be punished.

"Good boy," Danarius purred, "Now shed your armor and come here. I think I'd like to hold you tonight."

x - X - x

Danarius kept two whips in his office. One was a cat o'nine, a fairly standard punishment tool. A worn wood rod wrapped in leather that knotted at the end and then was sliced into several smaller strips. It stung the same no matter how worn it was, though it was occasionally replaced with one that bore stiff, fresh leather.

The other was a bullwhip, and it would be easy to assume that the whip with only one tail was kinder, but that would be a foolish assumption. At the end of the tail was a gold claw. Well, the slaves assumed it was gold. Nobody was ever facing it when it was out. It was as though he had cut off an eagle's toe at the first knuckle. It tore through flesh like a blade through paper, leaving deep gashes in it's wake.

It also made an unearthly hissing sound when it struck flesh, leaving Fenris to assume that Danarius dipped it in something before he used it.

Fenris, of course, had never even seen it. Danarius sent him to wait in the hallway when he had to use it, and he was left with the screams and cries of whatever poor soul was in there with him.

A year had passed since Jamael's death. Sometimes the image of the swollen, discolored face still made Fenris wake up in a cold sweat. If possible, he grew further away from the other slaves since then. Danarius no longer allowed him to dine in the servant's wing. He was to stay by Danarius' side at all times, even if it meant eating on the floor while guests were over. The few occasions where Fenris was sent away included especially confidential meetings (usually with other Magisters), evenings when he and his wife tried to consummate, and moments like these.

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss, and in the center of it all an ear-splitting cry that echoed through the hallways while the hiss gradually fizzled out.

"I said COUNT!" Came Danarius' voice, echoing in the same voice.

The slave girl sniffled, and in a weak, shaky voice, choked, "O-one."

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss. Fenris flinched. She didn't cry out this time.

"Two."

Whoosh-CRACK-hiss. Her cry was broken. Barely a sound audible above the whip's contact.

"... three."

Fenris closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He pressed his back against the wall. He counted the seconds in his head.

one ... two ... three ... four ...

If enough time passed that meant it was over.

five ... six ... seven

Whoosh-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

Fenris put his hand over his mouth, listening to the stretched-out hiss so intently that he nearly missed Danarius' footsteps approaching. Danarius burst through the door and Fenris immediately straightened his stance, eyes open and forward. Icy eyes glanced at Fenris, then at the whip in his hands. He ran his fingers along the thinnest portion of the letter, sighing when he came back with a streak of blood on his hand.

"Get her out of my office." He commanded, "I'll find you when I need you again."

He was gone without another word, leaving the door open behind him. Fenris dared a glance inside, where the elven slave was crumpled in a limp heap on the floor. Six wicked, bleeding marks shone boldly on her upturned back.

Her face was pale. Wide eyes stared into space. She didn't move when Fenris knelt beside her. She was shaking, her breathing shallow and rapid.

"Can you walk?" Fenris asked.

She didn't respond. Fenris shook her shoulder.

"Come on, let's get you out of here." He continued.

She shook her head and turned her face towards the floor.

"If you don't leave he'll whip you again when he returns."

"Let him. Let me die." She choked, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her tears drip onto the marble tiles.

"You don't mean that."

"I do!" She was sobbing now, a hiccup on every breath. With a sigh, Fenris lifted her up by her shoulders.

He managed to hoist her over one shoulder so that her back was in the air, her arm wrapped across his other shoulder. In the kitchens, Seri was rifling through cupboards and emerged as soon as he entered, her face dropping.

"Maker, she must be bad if he sent you." Seri sighed, "Set her on the cot. I'll put the water on."

Unlike the other slaves, Seri had a tiny corner of the pantry to herself. All the better to wake up early to start breakfast, or to tend to the master's whims should he find himself hungry at night. It served double duty as the closest things the slaves had to a sick room.

As gently as possible, Fenris lowered her onto the cot, careful to lay her on her side. She winced as her weight left his shoulder.

"I apologize." He pulled up a crate and sat next to her.

Her eye were bloodshot. She replied with a sniffle, "Should've left me to die."

"To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the maker."

"I don't care!" She shouted, shakily propping herself up on one elbow, "I want out of this mess! I wanna be free! I don't care how I do it!"

Fenris felt the color drain from his cheeks. If ever there was a word that earned a slave six lashings, that was it. If anything that was generous. Some slaves had fingers and toes cut off for less.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, and chose his next words very carefully, "If you say things like that ... you'll be punished again."

"Oh what do you care? You don't even know me." She sniffled and flopped onto her stomach, chin buried in the pillow.

"What is your name then?"

Hugging the pillow close to her, she looked at him over the fabric. He held out his hand.

She wiped off her eyes, and shook his hand.

"M'name's Deveri." She said, her voice muffled, "I've heard Master call you Fenris."

"Yes."

"I wasn't always a slave, y'know. M'parents sold me to get out of debt. I don't care 'bout them, but I hate our Master."

Seri's voice popped in along with a pot of water in her arms, "As slaves go, we're actually quite lucky. We could be serving one of those magisters who cuts up every slave for experiments. At least under Master Danarius we get three hots and a cot. Decent food, too. Not rotten leftovers or table scraps."

She pressed a damp rag into Deveri's back, earning a hiss in response.

Fenris opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was something left unsaid between them, and he couldn’t put his finger on what. Seri poked his arm.

“You’d best get back to the master before he misses you.” She said.

Fenris never hesitated on an order. He immediately stood and left, barely catching Seri snapping, “Hush” while Deveri quietly sobbed.

Two weeks later he was fetching a bottle of wine from the cellar when he ran into Seri again. Burn-striped hands threw a glob of bread dough on the counter and started kneading deep caverns into it.

“Seri,” He began, pausing at the door to the cellar.

“Hm? What you need? You hurt?”

“No, I was ...” He shuffled his feet, eyes on the ground, “I was just wondering how Deveri was doing.”

“Heard the news, eh? I’m afraid she didn’t make it.”

His heart jumped to his throat. He looked up to see her kneading the bread as though she’d said nothing.

“What?” He breathed, “The whipping was harsh but … did her back get infected?”

Seri wiped her hands on her apron, “Her back was healing fine, she cut her wrists. That’s what did her in. Sorry I thought you heard.”

His jaw hung slack. He could feel the jolt from his heart spreading through his whole chest. He didn’t move until Seri set her hand on his arm and squeezed.

“Sorry, dear.” She said, “She did ask me to give you this.”

She pressed a purple ribbon into his hand.

“She says it’s from before she was a slave.” She continued, “Now you’d best get the master his wine. You know which one he likes.”

She went back to kneading the dough, and Fenris was still staring at the ribbon in his hand.

“To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the maker.” he muttered.

“I don’t think that helped her much, dear. It’s good if it works for you, but it ain’t for everyone.”

x – X – x

The sun rose through the fog in Par Vollen and cast a gradient smear of blue, pink, orange, and purple every morning.  It probably rose like this every morning, but few were so special as this one.

Fenris was bundled up in a knitted sweater and a scarf, both borrowed from the Fog Warriors. “Borrowed” was a loose term here, as they had thrust the items into his hands the first night they saw him shivering. Danarius never cared if he was cold. He was used to toughing it out.

A lot had been happening that he wasn’t used to.

When Danarius had been forced to evacuate Par Vollen, there wasn’t enough room for his beloved bodyguard. Fenris was left behind, alone for the first time he could ever remember, and was immediately taken by the very same soldiers who’d attacked and forced the evacuation in the first place.

He thought he’d be killed. Then he thought he’d be taken prisoner. More and more, though, it seemed like he was just staying here, and he liked it well enough he supposed. One morning he awoke in a panic, seeing that the sun was already set low in the sky and the others were already working. Oversleeping was not a luxury he was allowed in Danarius’ house.

Waking up early was nice, too. Never before had he perched on a hillside to watch the sunrise, simply because he wanted to. The Fog Warriors’ tents were to his back, and a few were already rising to greet the morning.

Gundat was a tal vashoth who had stripes of scars on both arms and short, curled horns. His jaw was crooked and so was his smile as he walked past Fenris while hiking up the hill.

“What are you doing up so early?” He asked.

Fenris shrank back, and Gundat knelt, signaling him to stop, “Hey, hey, don’t be like that, you’re not in trouble. I was just curious is all.”

Fenris didn’t look up, and muttered, “Watching the sunrise.”

Gundat gave him a tired smile and patted his shoulder, “That’s good, Fenris. That’s good. You should enjoy that stuff if you can.”

Gundat’s eyes were sunken in, dark circles lining them and an underlying exhaustion that he’d seen so many times before, in slaves worked to the bone for days without rest. Words got stuck in his throat while Gundat rose. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t permitted.

Except Danarius wasn’t here, and nobody here ever stopped him from speaking. He watched Gundat walk away, and realized that he didn’t have to stay on the hill. There were a lot of sunrises, but there was only one Gundat.

He stood up, and asked, “Are you alright?”

Gundat stopped, “I’m fine. Just tired. I don’t really sleep at night, that’s why I take the night patrol.”

“You look so ...” Tired? Lifeless? Too calm to be normal?

"Fenris," Gundat set a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch, "You're on your own since your master left you here, right? You seem happy. You get to be happy. Treasure that. Not everyone has it."

Gundar turned again. Fenris watched him until he reached the top of the hill. His horns had just started to disappear over the curve when Fenris sprinted.

"Gundar!"

The tal-vashoth in question met Fenris as right as he caught up to him.

"I get to choose what I do every day, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I want to spend today with you."

Gundar huffed a laugh, "Why? You have better things to do. Watch the sunrise more. Be happy."

"I'll be happier watch...if you...I'll be happy..." Fenris stammered.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe through his nose. He felt a teardrop run down his cheek, and sniffled.

Gundar brushed the tear away with his thumb.

Fenris knew what was happening. The Fog Warriors were masters of patience. Gundar was waiting for Fenris to continue, and would wait until the sun rose tomorrow if need be.

Finally, he whispered, "To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker."

Gundar shrugged, "Sorry, I don't believe in the Maker. It's fine if that works for you, though."

"I...I don't want you to hurt yourself..." He choked, wiping his eyes with the sweaters' sleeve, "Please...if it helps...can I spend the day with you? Please...that would make me happy."

Gundar smiled, and although it was an exhausted, heavy smile, there was still a genuine sparkle behind his eyes.

"Alright, Fenris. If it makes you happy."

Fortunately, Gundar wasn't with Fenris when Danarius gave him the order to kill.

Unfortunately, Fenris would never be able to face Gundar again.

x - X - x

It was ten years before Fenris again heard the word 'suicide' delicately danced around.

He was in the hanged man like he had been so many other nights, though this time perhaps he'd had a bit too much to drink. He was finding a lot of amusement in teasing the others about how easy it was to read their tells. He'd attended enough high-class Tevinter parties as Danarius' bodyguard, after all. When you're not allowed to talk, you spend a lot of time listening.

"Looks like I have all of Hawkes coins~" He hummed, dropping a handful into a stack and delighting in the clink clink clink they made as they fell.

"Oh, I'm not out of this game yet. Ante up." Hawke pulled a coin purse out of her pocket and dropped it on the table. She gained a spark to her eye, one which Fenris had seen so many times. It meant she'd been taunted enough to push forward no matter how stupid it made her.

Not that it was hard to get her to that point.

"What's it mean when all the cards are different, again?" Merril asked.

Isabella answered, "It means Anders should have given me his hand back by now."

The mage in question had his head resting on his fist, cards lazily propped up with a limp hand. Isabella reached over and snatched them from him. Anders startled awake with a yelp that drew every eye at the table in his direction.

"You alright, Blondie?" Varric asked.

Anders rubbed his eyes and yawned, "Must have been one of Isabella's anecdotes. I think you should stick to the storytelling, Varric."

Isabella leafed the cards together, rolled her eyes, and passed the deck to Merril to cut. "Ha ha, very funny. Are you in this hand or are you going to doze off again?"

"Well as much as I love losing my life savings to Fenris, I can't be much fun when I'm like this." Anders pushed away from the table, leaving right as Isabella started dealing cards.

"What's gotten into him?" Hawke asked, jerking her head at the door.

Merril arranged the cards in her hand as she answered, "Maybe there's another outbreak in Dark Town. You know how he doesn't let himself sleep when the clinic is full."

Varric shook his head, "Nah, Hawke's right. He's been weird lately. Well, weirder than usual. You know the other day he tried to give me this pillow that his mom made. He said something about wanting me to have it. Don't get me wrong, we're close. He's a good friend. It just seems like the kind of thing you'd save for your brother or something, you know?"

Fenris felt a familiar jolt in his chest, the kind that made him want to stand up and follow Anders. He looked at his cards and couldn't focus on them. They were all red, which meant something, but words escaped him. He didn't want to be here. Hawke said something, and he didn't hear a word of it.

"I fold." He said, setting his cards down.

"Come on, don't be like that. You haven't even discarded anything yet." Isabella whined.

Fenris was already shoveling coins into his coinpurse, "Apologies. I remembered there was something I have to do." There wasn't a lot of time. Anders could already be out of sight by now. He'd only dug a trench into the pile of coins.

"Keep the rest for drinks." He added, straitening up. With a quick wave, he was out of the Hanged Man and into the seaside air.

Most of Kirkwall was protected from the wind by its own walls and buildings, so the chill was there but the moisture from the water's surface didn't settle in until early morning. Fenris could see his breath in the air. It was cold but not unbearably chilly, though it would be in a few hours. He looked left and right and was met only with empty streets.

His feet flew down the stairs that led to dark town. The clinic was the only place he could think to look. To his surprise the door was unlocked. He burst into an empty room. Looking wildly around revealed only empty beds and medicine shelves, with Anders' desk shoved off to one side.

"Shit." Fenris mumbled.

At the desk, there were piles and piles of papers all bearing Anders' handwriting. Perhaps he could have looked for a sign, a plan, a hint, anything if not for the fact that his reading lessons with Hawke had barely finished covering the alphabet. He was cursing - both mentally and literally - the fact that slaves weren't permitted to read, when the door by the desk creaked and Anders stepped out of his bedroom.

"Fenris?" Anders said. His hair hung loose and framed his face. His eyes were wide open, red, and shaded with dark circles underneath. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

That was an excellent question, and it made Fenris freeze. Because really, what was he doing here?

For a brief second, he considered breaking his own arm. Then he’d have a reason to be here.

No, that would be silly.

Fenris cleared his throat, "You seemed troubled. I thought you could use some company."

"It's late. I'm surprised you care. I thought you hated me."

Fenris sighed. Maker, why was he making this so hard?

"No I don't hate you," He groaned, "I just think you're a misguided fool."

"And? If you're here to argue in favor of the Templar order imprisoning mages for the crime of being-"

"Maker, can we not talk about mages and Templars for one night?" Fenris snapped, "We can talk about something else! Literally anything else!"

Anders blinked, taken aback. There was silence for a second while the gears turned in Anders' head.

"Alright," Anders concluded, "What do you want to talk about?"

Which was another excellent question.

"Walk with me." Fenris decided. Because if they were walking, at the very least, he had something to do while he was thinking of what to say. And thankfully without question or comment, Anders took his staff and followed Fenris.

They left dark town, largely because dark town was a bad place to be when it was dark. Low town wasn't much better, and as they passed the Hanged Man they could hear Hawke loudly demanding another round of drinks. Their friends were great company, but crowds weren't needed right now.

"The sky's clear tonight." Anders said, "If it weren't for the buildings you could see the stars."

Which gave Fenris an excellent idea.

"Do you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"See the stars?"

"... I guess?"

They cut through high town to get to the abandoned manor Fenris claimed as his own. On the top floor in one of the guest bedrooms, a portion of the roof had collapsed and the accompanying chimney had crumbled into a slope of broken cobblestone. Moonlight was shining in beams through the hole when they entered. Fenris climbed up first, and offered his hand to help Anders up.

It was a sight to behold.

Kirwall stretched for miles from one end to the other, but as high up as they were, they could see the ocean in the distance as well as the gallows and every side of the wall that surrounded the city. Above them was a velvet blanket coated with dots of light that drew the eyes heaven bound. The ground and the sky fought for attention here. One a feat of man, the other a feat of the divine.

"It's beautiful." Anders breathed, "How long have you known about this spot?"

"I found it not long after I moved into the mansion." Fenris sat down next to a handful of empty wine bottles and dirty plates, "Sometimes I come up here to think."

"That's a laughable thought. Most nights I'd prefer to stay out of my own head." Anders sat down next to Fenris, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about."

"I don't know. Something. Anything. The stars?"

So they talked about the stars.

The constellations were different between the Marches and Tevinter, though they found a small handful had the same names. They both had a hobby of stargazing, it seemed. And when they grew bored of the stars, they watched the town below, and found they both enjoyed people watching as well. It seemed they had a lot in common, so long as they weren't talking about mages or Templars. They watched drunks stumble home and graveyard workers shuffle around on the streets. They swatted bugs and talked about how annoying mosquitoes and flies were. They talked about bugs that they didn't find annoying. They talked until the sky grew pale with morning twilight.

Anders had his arms crossed to hold in his warmth, his legs drawn up to his chest. They'd been silent the past few minutes, occupied with watching a gray-haired human man. He was on a long walk that started at the docks and went to low town, through through the market place, and stopped for a rest on the chantry steps, completely unaware that he was being watched. "Thank you, Fenris." He said, "I suppose I did need some company."

Fenris nodded, and a long silence stretched between them.

"You know ..." Anders continued, "I was considering doing something incredibly stupid tonight, and I'm glad I didn't do it now."

"I know."

Anders wouldn't meet Fenris' face. Instead his cheeks flushed, and he looked to the ground.

"'To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker'." Fenris continued, "But you already knew that, and the Maker isn't going to stop you. I am. Because nobody ever says the word 'suicide' until it's already a regret. And if I had to choose I'd rather abolish that sin than the sin of being a mage."

Anders drew his knees closer to his chest and buried his chin in them. A breeze sent a chill all the way to his bones. He flinched when Fenris' hands brushed his skin. Gentle, patient hands pulled his bangs back into their usual ponytail.

When Fenris moved away and returned to his seat, Anders dared to look up again, and glimpsed a flash of purple fabric behind him. A ribbon.

"Slaves don't have any possessions, strictly speaking." Fenris said, "I've had that in my pocket for more than 15 years. I expect it back. Not from Varric, not from Hawke, but from you. So if you find no other reason to live, you can know I'll be expecting to get that ribbon back. It means a lot to me."

Anders wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled. Fenris returned to watching the skyline. Scooting a little closer, Anders leaned on him, and they watched the sunrise together.

[creativitytoexplore]

The White Cadillac by Robert Funderburk https://ift.tt/3dQoXIK In god-fearing Louisiana, on the west bank of the Mississippi, fourteen-year-old Chris faces a tragedy and finds a true friend; by Robert Funderburk.

I grew up in Algiers, on the 'Point,' and when I played on the grassy slopes of the levee as a child, I would look across a half mile of rolling muddy water to the twin spires of the oldest cathedral in the country. To the left was the six-storied bulk of the Jackson Brewing Company, makers of Jax Beer. Both buildings were purposed as escape routes from the drudgery of the world. They were separated by: Jackson Square, with its piked iron fence and artists and entertainers and tourists; the horse-drawn carriages that clattered along St. Peter Street; and the bright endless span of eternity. My first memories were of the smell of sweat and grease and Dixie beer, and my dad's calloused hands, as he held me in the garden behind our house. By the time I was five or six, my mother would send me around the corner to CJ's bar to get my dad's daily beer. It was never kept in the house, and I never saw him have more than one. The three of us would sit on the brick patio with palm fronds rattling against the stone wall in the breeze off the gulf. The smell of jasmine and gardenia and my mother's roses would move in slow waves on the textured air of evening. I suppose our talk ran to the small, unremarkable events of the day. That part is gone. What remains is the quiet joy we shared at the end of each day and the light in the eyes of my mother and dad when they looked at each other. At these times, I felt that nothing of the outside world could ever separate or harm us.

Father Nick stood at the microphone on the stage in his black suit and unpolished combat boots. He is five-five and wiry, one hundred forty pounds of strength and balance. His hair is also wiry, and it is dark and wild, like his eyes. He was closing. "I announced Your justice in the vast assembly; I did not restrain my lips as You, O Lord, know. Your justice I kept... Alleluia." He stood relaxed and smiling and watched us. "Rise, children," Sister Theresa said, lifting her arms in front of her, palms upward, "and make your way quietly to your classes." It was eight-thirty, and the morning assembly was over. We had been cautioned against the temptations of the flesh; exampled by the life of one of the saints (I could see an endless file of them stretching back through the centuries, in haloed postures of prayer, shunning even the bodily functions) and admonished to be proper little Josephs and Marys. We would then make our scuffling, bumping, murmuring ways out of the auditorium to the classrooms. The lockers were in the hallway just outside, girls on one side, boys on the other. I felt a delicate touch on my left arm and turned to see her, arms laden with books, making even the navy skirt and white blouse look regal. The blonde hair was long and as straight as an Indian's, and her eyes were big and dark and somehow out of place in the bright face. "Thanks for the cinnamon roll," she said, "I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast this morning." I looked from the eyes to her Cupid's bow mouth and felt my throat constrict and my knees going soft. I took a breath, folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the locker, trying to look disinterested. "Anytime. We always go there before school. The apple fritters are my favorite." Apple fritters. That's impressive, Chris. She'll swoon any second now. "Maybe I'll try one. Would you mind if I met you there tomorrow?" That moment is as clear to me now as the day it happened: at Holy Name of Mary in that crowded, noisy hallway, with a million dust particles dancing in the brilliant light streaming through the transom, and Becky's smile and the sweet feeling inside my chest that made me think life was too good to be true.

It was a ten-minute walk home from school, in the way fourteen-year-old boys walk anywhere. Across from Trupiano's Market and Deli, where my mother bought thin-sliced ham and Italian sausage and their crispy-chewy French bread, I could hear the jukebox through the screen door of CJ's and smell the hamburgers frying on the grill, as I passed the take-out window that opened directly onto the street. I was thinking of Becky and the fragrance of her that morning when she had stepped close and straightened the collar of my shirt, and of seeing her at the bakery across from school the next morning. When I turned the corner onto Pacific, I could see the levee four blocks away, where a nineteen-sixty-five spanking new Mustang was speeding along Patterson Street. The September sun had a July warmth as it struck the left side of my face and glinted off a white Cadillac, almost as long as the front of our house, parked on the street. The left front tire was turned outward and rested on the curb. Behind the steering wheel, a large man with curly black hair smoked a cigarette. A numbness began in the pit of my stomach, and I felt it spread to my chest and arms and legs like thousands of tiny deaths beneath my skin. I sat on the curb with my books on the sidewalk next to me, tapping with a stick on a crushed Coke can that lay between my legs in the gutter. The shadow of a telephone pole fell across me from behind, stretched across the street and up and beyond a house, and when I stood I thought it was my own. The Cadillac man stood next to me. "Who are you?" I asked. "John Gabriel, with the union," he said and put his arm around me. "Your daddy was a friend of mine." He picked up my books. "Let's go in the house. Check on your mother." Inside, the doctor was coming down the hall from my parent's bedroom with sunlight from behind him glancing off the polished wood floor. He sat me down on the sofa, pressing my wrist with two fingers and said, "I've just given your mother a sedative. She'll sleep for awhile. Mr. Gabriel will stay with you until your aunt gets here." He looked at me closely and let go of my wrist. "Is there anything I can do for you now?" "No sir. Thank you." After the doctor left, Mr. Gabriel sat next to me on the sofa. I felt the springs give, then rise under me. "Chris, I want you to call me John. And don't worry, I'm taking care of everything," he said, while unbuttoning his collar and loosening his tie. "You just see to your mother." "Where's my daddy? How come I never saw you on the dock?" John took a pack of Camels from his shirt pocket and a silver lighter from his pants, lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. He let it out slowly and said, "I spend most of my time traveling or in the office. Worked the docks eight years though." His eyes wandered about the room and rested on a picture of my parents. My dad was wearing his Army dress uniform. "We lost your dad this morning, Chris. These things happen. It can be a dangerous job." His words had little effect on me. The sight of the white Cadillac had taken care of that. "Maybe we should go out back." The smoker rose and walked toward the hallway. On the patio, John settled into a slouch as though his news was a weight pressing him down. I sat in my usual place, although everything about this visit was as far from usual as I could imagine. "We were breaking in a new winchman this morning, and the whip caught your dad in the back." The smoke from his cigarette was lifting in slim strands, disappearing in a slant of sunlight above his hair. "He fell between the dock and the ship. We looked for him until about an hour ago. Then I came to tell your mother." John Gabriel stayed with me four hours that day, until my mother's sister arrived from St Martinville. We sat in the garden, John in my dad's chair, with the first fallen sweet gum leaves rustling on the bricks and the banana trees moving heavily in the slow wind. "Your daddy and me started on the docks the same day, Chris." He coughed and lit a fresh cigarette from the one he had finished smoking. "I couldn't wait till the day I could get away from the bone-grinding work and into that air conditioned office. Your daddy didn't want nothin' at it. Said union politics, or any other kind, would sooner or later ruin a man." That day John showed me another side of my father. The day faded into dusk, and the shadows of the tall, slate-roofed houses lengthened and covered the last scattered pools of sunlight in the garden while the smoker talked. John stood up and walked to the back porch. He picked up one of my dad's scuffed work shoes and looked at it for a long time. "Your dad took care of his men. He never had a silent winch in his crews, so when layoff time came, his men were always the last to go." My mind was drifting back to to those Saturday mornings my dad had to work overtime and let me go to the docks with him. John placed the shoe back as gently as a supplicant at the altar. "I'd see him out there with that freezin' wind blowin' off the water and wonder why he didn't take this job. They offered it to him first." "I don't remember Daddy ever talkin' about you," I said, surprised by the sound of my words. "Noah didn't have much to do with me after I took the union job. I did some things he didn't approve of," John said through a veil of smoke before his face. "He was always loyal to the union though. I never could figure it out." "Anyway, when your daddy made walkin' foreman, which meant he was in charge of work over the whole ship, that was as far as he'd go. All the big shippin' outfits wanted him 'cause he knew the work better'n anybody, and the men would bust a gut for him. But he didn't want no part of bein' a company man." I watched John's face fall into shade as the sun dropped behind a rooftop. He looked directly into my eyes, then over at my dad's shoes on the porch, "The world can't afford to lose a man like Noah Barton."

The conversation hummed and roared around me and people stood and squatted and sat next to me; the flower scented women with soft hands would take mine and speak gently and the low growl of the men would float down on their whiskey-smelling breaths. The words held no meaning, as I sat on the soft flowered chair next to my mother in Mothe's Funeral Home on Valette Street, but the collective warmth and nearness of people inserted itself between me and that protean shape in the dark that waited, that I would face again and again. My mother was drinking coffee from a thin white cup with a silver rim. She sat erect and held the saucer on her lap with her left hand. I thought she looked very pretty with her deep, sad eyes and her skin like pale marble. A tall woman with blue hair and a black mole on her wrinkled neck was talking to her. I looked from my mother to the coffin that was a metallic gray, the color of my father's eyes, draped with an American flag, closed and empty.

In the white glare of the cemetery, people dressed in black, and dark shades of blue and brown and gray, were crowded between the tombs. The priest was reading from a thin black volume. "May the angels take you into paradise; may the martyrs come to welcome you on your way, and lead you into the holy city, Jerusalem." Light glinted from the coffin... empty. My dad swam with the catfish and the giant alligator gar, breathing water. Sleek as a porpoise he glided beneath the keels of the ships in the rich depths of the river, his bright hair nimbused in the dark, like cold white flames about his head. "Let us pray. O God, by Whose mercy rest is given to the souls of the faithful, in Your kindness bless this grave. Entrust it to the care of Your holy angel, and..." I wondered if Becky knew, if she had gone to the bakery the last two mornings looking for me. I wanted to breathe her into me; to feel her warmth and life; to have her reach up and pull away this cold shroud that smothered, that deadened. "May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful, departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace." "Amen," we all said in unison. The priest closed the book, stepped next to my mother and placed his right hand on her shoulder, "You'd best be going on home now, Helen. Get some rest. There's nothing more to do." "I will, Father. Thank you so much. It was a beautiful service." She took my hand, and we walked slowly along behind the last of the people leaving the cemetery. "Honey, I know I'm going to expect a lot of you now that Noah's gone, but I'll try not to interfere in your life. You let me know if I'm too much bother." I think that was the first time I saw her as someone other than my mother, the woman who cooked and washed my clothes and was always there to rub Vicks salve on my chest when I had a cold or bring freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to my room when I just had the blues. She was much more than just my mother. "Don't worry about that, Mama. We're gonna do just fine, and we're gonna have good times again, too." On the way home, my mother sat in the front seat of the car with her sister, Jeannette. The Color Guard at the cemetery had been a surprise for me, then a source of pride. "I'm just beginning to know my daddy," I thought. "I'm just beginning to know." We were passing antebellum and Victorian style houses whose deep red or gray or green roofs were baking in the September heat. They had second-story verandas and widow's walks, white latticework and Greek columns and long porches with marine grey floors, iron fences that were never quite plumb and live oaks whose roots had tilted the sidewalks at odd angles. I always liked to walk the old streets, on sidewalks that were broken and lovely and still held to their purpose.

That autumn seemed more of a long, wandering dream than life. My mother stayed in the house much of the time and seemed to sleep more and more. After school, I would go to the river and walk the levee for miles and the thin white light of summer turned gold as the sun slipped further south. The massive steel pylons that supported the bridge marked the halfway point, and I would sit under them and rest and listen to the roar of traffic high above the lapping of the waves at the river's edge. This side of the Jackson Street Ferry, an abandoned wharf, hidden by willows, reached forty feet out into the river. The boards had turned shades of gray and charcoal and brown, and where nails and bolts had given way, I could look down to the muddy swirling of the current. At its end, the wharf formed a "T" and was covered by a rusted ochre-colored tin roof. There was a crude bench made of two-by-twelves nailed between the roof supports. I would sit there after school and on weekends and look at the skyline of New Orleans beyond the bridge and at the ships from ports all over the world, and directly across to the Robin Street Wharf, where my dad had taken me on those Saturday mornings in another life. I would see myself perched high on a stack of wooden crates or bales of cotton, while he moved among the men seeing to the loading and unloading of ships. That was in the daytime. At night, he would come to me in that murky, watery world, his hair blazing with light and my sorrow dying in the radiance of his smile. I would run toward him, toward the light and the burning away of sorrow, toward my father, who vanished in a bright vapor when I touched him. Each time I would awaken, startled by the pain of his death, with the weight of the night heavy on my chest and the slow, stale blood coursing in my veins.

On my first day back at school, I walked into Susslin's Bakery at seven-thirty. There were a few "Sorry to hears" and "How you doin's" from my friends, but the conversations were strained, and I knew it would take some time before they felt comfortable around me. After a minute or two they drifted off, and I was left at the counter looking at the display case. Mr. Susslin saw me through the swinging doors and walked out from the kitchen. He had skin like kneaded dough and his waistline spoke of years of sampling his products. A white apron covered his tee shirt and baggy khakis and his graying brown hair was as heavy and greasy as his pastries were light and fluffy. "Sorry about your dad, Chris. You doin' okay? You look fine," he said as he put two apple fritters in a bag and drew a cup of coffee from the large silver urn. "Here's what you need, son. Make you feel like a new man." Through the plate glass window, I could see Becky making her way across the street toward the bakery. "Excuse me, Mr. Susslin, I'll be right back." "Sure, Chris. I was young once myself." I met her out front on the sidewalk, took her books and opened the door for her. She glanced at me once, then kept her head turned away. Not another one. Not just a "Sorry, Chris," and back to the company of the fathered masses, the untainted two-parent kids. I put her books on a table next to the window and, as she sat down, returned to the counter. "She's a real pretty girl," Mr. Susslin said, placing a carton of milk and a glass on the counter next to the coffee. "You be nice to her, Chris." I laid two dollars on the counter, but he waved me off and walked back through the swinging doors. Becky poured milk into the glass, while I stirred sugar into my coffee. The morning light made her hair shine like it had been polished, and shadowed the right side of her face. She looked away from the khaki and navy and white clothed throng crossing the streets and milling about on the school ground, and directly into my eyes. "Chris, I'm so sorry about your daddy." (Here it comes, the "I'll be so busy this year. See you around sometime" story.) "I know you'll be busy this year, but maybe we could spend some time together. You know, just the two of us." My heart rolled over in my chest like a playful puppy. "I think that's a great idea, Becky." Who said girls aren't smart?

The great ship plowed by on its way south, underneath the bridge, past the ruins of Fort Jackson and into the Gulf. I could see rust on its booms and stacks and men moving about on deck and "Helene" painted in black on the bow. It was a Saturday afternoon in early October, and Becky sat next to me on my hidden wharf. The morning had been clear and crisp, but the wind shifted and cloud cover had moved slowly in from the southwest like a gray blanket being pulled across the blue dome of the sky. "Is the roast beef po-boy all right?" Becky asked. She was dressed in faded jeans and a white cotton blouse and was leaning back against a post with her bare feet on the rough bench. It could have tasted like ground glass and motor oil and my answer would have been the same. "This is great. Best I ever had." "I just love this place, Chris. It's like nothing can touch us here." She was looking out across the river toward the towering International Trade Mart and the French Quarter beyond. "All those thousands and thousands of people and nobody knows where we are; it's just perfect." A curtain of rain had reached the mouth of the Harvey canal and was sweeping down the river toward us. The first heavy drops dented the river's surface from shore to shore and then it was on us, pounding the tin roof like shrapnel. A cold spray came blowing in, and I took Becky's hand and led her to the lee side of the shed. We sat on the floor, a quilt wrapped about us, and her hair soft against my cheek as she leaned against me. "Well, maybe not quite perfect," I said, "Like right now." "This is even better. I love the rain and the sound on the tin roof." I tucked the quilt behind her back and held it round her with my arm. "You made these last weeks a lot easier for me, Becky. I don't know if I coulda handled it or not." I turned her face slightly with my fingertips and kissed her on the cheek. "I wish I could take the pain away, Chris, but time will heal it. That's what my mother always says." I couldn't imagine a hundred years doing that, but I tried not to think about it. "I guess you're right." Becky sat straight with her ankles crossed, her face to the wind. "Chris, was your daddy saved?" "What's that?" "You know. Was he a Christian?" I felt a little uneasy and didn't want to talk about this, but the concern in Becky's eyes kept me going. "He was brought up Baptist. Mama told me something happened that turned him against the church so he quit goin'. He'd go to Mass with us on Easter and Christmas, but that was about it." The thought hit me as I watched Becky tying a scarf around her hair that was whipping about her face in the wind. "You're not Catholic, are you? No wonder I never saw you at Sunday Mass." "No. I'm Baptist, like your daddy was. My parents don't have much confidence in the public schools. That's why I'm at Holy Name." "I was wondering where you got this saved business from." "It's just trusting Jesus as your Savior, Chris. That's where the word comes from." I looked out over the wind-swept water toward the Robin Street Wharf, a dim outline in the heavy rain. "I was baptized by the priest when I was two weeks old, had my first communion when I was six, and my confirmation in the sixth grade. As far as the church is concerned, I'm okay." "I didn't mean to upset you, Chris," Becky said. She had her arms folded and was shivering slightly. "Just because your daddy didn't go to church doesn't mean he didn't make it to Heaven. I think you should know that." Something I didn't understand had been playing around at the back of my mind, and I decided to let it out. "I could never be upset at you, Becky. You're the best friend I've ever had." I reached for her hand, and she came closer to me under the blanket. Becky sat between my legs and leaned back against my chest with her head resting on my shoulder. My arms around her and her hands on top of mine. "Oh, Chris, I'll love you forever." Somehow, even at fourteen, I knew forevers seldom lasted very long. "Becky, I want to talk to you about something. Something I don't understand." "You can talk to me about anything, Chris. I want us to know everything about each other." "It's about my daddy," I said. A sudden chill hit me that wasn't from the wind, and something dark pressed down on me as if trying to stop me from speaking. "About two weeks before he died, it was Saturday, and I was going to work with him. I got up about five-thirty. Daddy always got up at five o'clock, even on Saturday, and had coffee in the kitchen or sometimes out back if the weather was good." Becky tightened her grip on my hands and snuggled against me. That thing wanted me to be quiet, but I fought against it. "I was walking down the hall and I heard my dad talking softly, almost a whisper. He'd never talked this way to another person, not that I'd heard anyway. He sounded almost like a child, but not a child either; it's hard to explain 'cause my dad was anything but childlike. I stopped and waited until he finished whatever it was he was saying, and then I got this feeling that there was somebody else, no that's not right, some other - presence in the house with us." I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "This is as close as I can come to what went on that morning." Becky turned her head to look at me. "Chris, you're trembling. Are you all right?" "Yeah, sure. A little damp, that's all. Anyway, I went to the kitchen door and saw daddy sitting at the table. His Bible was open and his hands were laying on it and his head was bowed. Becky, do you think this really happened? Maybe I just dreamed it." She squeezed my hands again. "I believe it did, Chris." I don't think I could have continued if Becky hadn't been holding on to me. I don't know why, but it made a difference. "Daddy was just sitting there with a few tears on his face, and then he started to smile, not like something was funny, but like he always did when Mama told him how much she loved him." Remembering his smile that morning, I felt tears welling up inside me, took a deep breath and choked them back. "Then he looked at me, and his face was like I never saw it before, like something you'd see in an old painting, but that's not it either. I just can't explain." Becky was quiet, and there was the sound of rain and the warmth of her hands on mine. "He got up and walked over to me, and he was still smiling and there was - oh, I don't know - a kind of peace about him. Then he put his arms around me and gave me a big hug, he didn't do that much, and I could feel how much he loved me. I don't understand it, but I felt his love all through me. He stood back with his hands on my shoulders and laughed out loud and said, "I feel like celebratin', Chris. Let's take your mama out to Commander's Palace for supper tonight. How'd you like that?" Becky's voice was soft and clear in the sound of the wind and the rain. "Your daddy came back to Jesus, Chris. Something made him run away, but he came back, and that's all that matters." "I'm glad you're here Becky. I'm glad I told you this." We sat and watched the rain on the water until the first glimmering of blue appeared beyond the long curve of the river. I didn't know what had happened to me, but the pain that had ripped at my chest was gone, and there was a lingering sadness that I could bear. Never again would I awaken in the night to that siren call from the river, that sweet and deadly voice that would draw me through the willows onto the wharf, that whispered dive, dive into me, into the bright soft flow of me and swim forever with your father! Becky was warm against me under the blanket, and the sun had broken through and touched the willows. They were bending over the water's edge, their long dripping leaves shot with silver, like women come to the river to wash their hair.

[freakydeke15]

Sephora (Shadowrun Character)

The lighting was dark. Everyone liked it that way. The neon really didn’t do anything for the decor, but who the hell cared about decor anyway on this side of town? It was a place to drink, to occasionally dance, and to pick someone out of the crowd to drag home with you. Not much more than that, but it was home. She’d been working here for a couple of years after having moved on from her old man….literally. Damned arranged marriage and all. At least after 10 years she was now free. Which reminded her that it was almost time to thank the guy rotting in prison for killing him again. She sent a package to him on the anniversary of his murder every year, signed anonymously of course. The guy never knew who sent him all that porn every year, but he sure wasn’t complaining. 

Saul had been a friend long ago and took pity on her. With little or no money to start, he had taken her in and let her have an ‘apartment’ on the second floor. Things had to look on the up and up with his wife, so he gave her a job bartending. Living above the bar meant even when she wasn’t tending bar, she was still here. Over time, it gave her the uncanny ability to drown out outside noise when she worked. It was an unforeseen bonus to the arrangement. Of course, it also meant that when he was short-handed, she was only a staircase away, like tonight.

“Hey, what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?” He banged on the counter. The imposing figure loomed over the bar and looked down at her.

“Well, the first thing would be not banging your tusker mitts on my bar, you piece of drek.” She replied calmly.

“Listen here you dandelion eater, am I gonna get my fucking drink or not?”

She stood up on her toes, leaned close to his face, and replied. “Not.”

The troll bellowed with laughter. “When are you gonna realize what you’re missing, huh? A frag with me and you’d never go back to those other keebs.

"A frag with you and I may not be able to walk again without chrome.” Sephora grinned. Her long black hair was braided at the top of her head, exposing the points of her ears and the bright blue of her eyes. “Grog, business or pleasure?”

Grog ran one of his meaty paws up her wrists and along her arm. “Since I can’t have both….a little bird told me that you might be able to get something for Mr. Johnson.”

“You don’t say?” Sephora wiped the countertop. “Birds are nervous creatures. I hope the information is good.”

Grog grinned. "I’ll wait.”

Sephora set a drink in front of him and slipped through the stairway door up to her makeshift apartment. She pulled out the chip that he had slid up her sleeve, fed it into her hardware and jacked in. Her eyelids fluttered as she linked and reviewed the information. Ten minutes later, she was back. She moved out from behind the counter, setting another drink down and sitting beside him.

“Changed your mind?” He slid a hand along her thigh and rested it on her hip. “Such a pretty bird.”

Sephora glanced down at his hand, looked up to him, and sighed. The things I do for this job…..  She stood and leaned in, whispering in his ear while sliding her hands up to his neck and shoulders. “Come back later. It will be ready." 

One ham-handed grope later and Grog was out the door with a grin. He stopped in a shadowed alley, pulled the data card from his collar, and got into his vehicle. He’d be back in two hours. Bird was good.

[i-fan-misha-do-you]

Misadventures Pt. 1

Word Count: 2097     Warnings: none A/N: Hey y’all! This is part one for my ‘Misadventures’ series, there is literally no plot to this series, at all, so I’ll probably just update whenever something comes to mind. You can read them out of order and it will make sense. Just misadventures you have with the boys. Let me know who you want the reader to be paired with! ALSO! Comment yes if you want a sneak peek/teaser for my new series ft. Kit Walker from AHS, coming soon. Ok, Enjoy! (gifs not mine)

 “I hate these things,” you grumbled as you stepped out of the Impala, slamming the door behind you and walking over to where the boys were standing a few feet from the car. You stepped carefully, trying not to roll your ankle due to the gold heels you were wearing. The long, skin tight dress didn’t help either.  “I know what you mean.” Sam said, his voice giving away just how much he’d rather be sitting in some crappy motel doing research than standing outside a rich vampire’s house in a tux.  “Aww, come on. You guys are kill-a-joys,” Dean said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “This’ll be fun.”  You and Sam shared a look, both of you rolling your eyes. You knew that Dean was only excited about the prospect of free food and booze. Looking up at Sam, you smirked.   “Nice tie, Sam.”   “What are you- oh, gosh.” Sam looked down at his tie, embarrassment overtaking his features once he realized he’d done it very wrong, with the skinny part on the top. He fumbled for a moment, failing to fix it and only succeeding in tangling it more.  “Good catch, Y/n.” Dean laughed, moving to help his little brother. You shook your head and laughed, looking over at the boys, both dressed up in suits and looking fantastic.  “What are we waiting on?” You asked after Dean had finished fixing Sam up and moved away. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of fluttering wings and Castiel appearing; his face merely inches from Deans.  “That,” Dean said, quickly stepping back and furrowing his brow, “and come on, Cas, we talked about this. Personal space.”  “My apologies, Dean.” Cas said, his deep voice echoing through the night air. “I did not mean to delay this important- “  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re here now, so we can get this show on the road,” Dean said, gesturing to the large mansion lit up in front of your small group. “Y/n, you got the tickets?”  “Umm, yes,” you said, digging through your clutch before holding up the invitations you’d ‘borrowed’, “right here.”  “Awesome.” Dean said, reaching for one of the pieces of paper. You quickly pulled them away from him. Noticing his confused face, you explained.   “One of the invites is for ‘Mr. and Mr. James Sedki’. They’re married, other is for ‘Dr. and Mrs. Isaiah Hopkins’.”    Realization washed over both the boys faces. Castiel, as usual, did not understand the situation, so he kept quiet.   “Well, it’s only fair if I get to go with Y/n-“ Dean started, turning to Sam. However, the younger Winchester cut him off.    “No, Dean. I had to be gay last time, it’s your turn.” He said sternly, looking down at Dean.  Realizing that they could literally argue about this all night, you stepped in.   “Boys, how about we handle this like the mature, responsible grown-ups we are.” They both nodded in agreement. “Rock, paper, scissors.”  They both gave you the ‘really, Y/n?’ face, but did as you suggested, although they insisted that Cas play as well.  Ten minutes of rock, paper, scissors later, and somehow Castiel had won. He went inside with you as your husband, and both of the boys ended up having to be gay. Together.  Walking up to the big house, you fixed Cas up before instructing him on how to act. Quickly, you straightened his blue tie, turned down his collar and brushed out his suit, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he’d ditched the trench coat. You smoothed out your long, mermaid style dress hurriedly and began walking.   “Give me your arm.” You said gently. The confused angel held his arm straight out in front of you. Giggling softly, you took his outstretched limb and guided it to his side, bending it slightly at the elbow and resting your hand in the crook of his arm.  “Good job, Cas. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to, we’re here to do a job. But if you do, remember you’re a doctor.” You told him as you made your way up the steps and into the front doors. He nodded solemnly and continued to escort you inside. Once you were to the room where the party was being held, you and Castiel found a table that faced the doors, so you could see the boys when they entered.  About three minutes later, they walked in together, not touching one another at all and looking insanely uncomfortable. You told Cas to stay put, and hurried over to them as fast as you could in your long black dress.   “Hi, I’m Cecile Hopkins. Pleasure to meet you.” You said, holding out your hand to Dean and raising one eyebrow expectantly. He took your hand in his, shaking it and playing his part.  “James. James Sedki. This is my- “Deans face contorted for a moment as he refused to say the word.  Sam lightly hit him on the back, causing him to continue. “Husband. Derick.” He turned to Sam, smiling tightly. You quickly shook Sams hand before inviting them over to your table to have a drink with your ‘husband’. They accepted, and you all went back over to Cas.   “We got an estimate of how many are in here?” Sam asked, looking around and trying to differentiate the partygoers from the vamps.  “My guess? Maybe twenty.” Dean said, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter. Chuckling, you shook your head.   “Dean Winchester, so help me if you get drunk, I’m not dragging you out of here.” You threatened teasingly.  “I can hold my liquor, it’s Cas you need to worry about.”  Castiel, who hadn’t been very involved in the conversation up until this point, looked dead at Dean and furrowed his brow.   “I can handle any amount of alcohol you give me. I am an angel.”   “Yep, any amount except a whole store.” Sam joked, making himself, you, and Dean all laugh. Cas simply pursed his lips and stared in the opposite direction.  “Hey, Y/n?” You turned to look at Dean to see that his hand was outstretched. “May I have this horridly slow and untasteful dance?” You giggled at Deans way of saying it wasn’t rock music before nodding and taking his hand. He led you out to the middle of the dance floor and brought you around to face him. Placing his large hand on your waist, he guided yours up to his shoulder, keeping your left hand in his. Slowly, you began to sway, which soon turned into stepping and spinning. Dean was easy to dance with, making jokes and purposely twirling you into Sam when he began to dance with some girl.   You were laughing at a joke that Dean had just made when something distracted you from his beautiful green eyes. Looking over Deans shoulder, you saw a man that fit the description you had for the vamp you were after.   “I found him.” You whispered, and Dean immediately understood. Catching Sams attention, he gestured for him to go back to Cas, the two of you following him.   “Is that him?” Dean asked, nodding his head towards the man you had seen earlier.    “Yeah, that’s him.” You said, turning to Cas. “What do you think, angel?” Cas stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes. That is a vampire. I believe it is him.”   “Alright, time to put the plan in action. Y/n, you ready?” Sam asked. You nodded.   “Yeah, I’m ready.”   “We’ll be right behind you, sweetheart.” Dean said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.    “You’re all good, right?” You asked, looking around at each of the boys. They all nodded.   “We got this, Y/n.” Sam said, smiling at you. Taking a deep breath, you nodded and turned around, walking towards the ladies room.  Before you could get halfway, your eyes rolled back into your head, and you fell dramatically to the ground, seemingly fainting. Several women around you screamed, and you heard people rushing towards you. You held as still as you could, hearing Deans voice call out.   “What’s going on?” He asked, pushing through the crowds. “Hey, I know her. That’s Cecile Hopkins. Somebody find her husband, he’s a doctor.”  You felt Dean kneel beside you, picking up your torso and cradling you in his arms.  You could still hear people panicking, but after a moment Castiel’s deep, gruff voice was penetrating the sound of the chaos.  “Where’s my wife?” He asked. You were almost shocked enough to open your eyes; Cas’ voice made him sound genuinely worried about you.   He knelt beside you and Dean, taking you from him and checking you over. This would have surprised you as well, but you supposed Cas had been alive long enough to know how to check someone’s vitals.  “I need somewhere she can rest.” Cas called out, and soon a voice spoke up that there was a lounge upstairs and two doors down.  Castiel scooped you up in his arms and, using what you assumed was his grace, easily carried you up the stairs.  If there was one thing you were appreciating right now, it was how close you were to the blue-eyed angel. You could feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the heat coming off his body. The strange yet captivating scent that only he had.  All too soon you were in the room, and Cas had to put you down on the couch. Dean had followed behind him, and you knew that Sam was close by. The plan had been to cause a disturbance that would prompt the host, a particularly bothersome vampire, to come see what was happening so you and the boys could gank him and his small nest.  Fortunately, your plan worked. Not five minutes later you heard the door open, a low, male voice calling out.  “I heard one of my guests fainted, I came to make sure everything was alright?” You forced yourself not to open your eyes. You couldn’t explain how much you wanted this guy dead; even his voice was making your skin crawl.   “My wife will be fine. You, not so much.” As soon as Castiel finished speaking, you could see a blinding light, even through closed eyes.  Blinking several times, you looked down to see the vampire lying dead on the floor. Sam came crashing in with his machete drawn, almost breaking down the door.   “Easy, tiger.” Dean said, placing a hand on Sams arm.   “I missed it.” He said in disbelief, glaring lightly at Dean.  The older Winchester raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, blame the angel.”   “Blame whoever you want,” you spoke, causing all three of them to look at you, “there’s still a whole nest in this house. You’ll get your turn.” Pulling your dress up to your thighs, you removed multiple knives from your holsters before dropping your dress back to the floor and standing up.   “What?” You asked as you looked around, giving the boys confused looks. They were all staring at you, eyes wide and mouths open.   “That’s a lot of knives to hide in one dress.” Sam commented, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes.   “That’s not even all of them.” Pushing past the boys, you left the room and turned down the hall. You could hear three distinctive footfalls behind you, so you continued, clearing rooms as you found them.

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By midnight you were all sweaty and exhausted, not to mention covered in blood. After you’d gotten rid of the vamp bodies, you’d driven out to a field in the middle of nowhere and parked the car.   Now you were all leaned up against or sitting next to the Impala, drinking the beer that Dean had packed in the trunk.   “Well, that went smoothly.” You commented as you attempted to wipe the blood off Sam’s face. Trying to make you feel better, he leaned down so you could reach him.    “Hilarious,” you muttered sarcastically, your and Sam’s actions making all of the boys laugh.  “You’re right, Y/n. That was a pretty good hunt.” Dean said, taking another swig of his drink. Cas nodded in agreement, opening his third bottle of alcohol.  Looking around, you smiled and let out a satisfied sigh. Here you all were, dressed up nice and covered in blood, yet you couldn’t be more content, because you were doing something that mattered. And you were doing it with people you cared about.  “Alright, sweetheart,” Dean slung his arm around your neck, “let’s head home.”

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