#will this conviction hold as I get deeper into the series? maybe not

[sisaloofafump]

I won’t hide my truth any longer. They should be a couple.

[swissmissficrecs]

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A)  (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 2 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series

Part 1

_______________________________________________

“No.”

“Yes.”

���No,” I emphasize, shaking my head to further get the point across. “I’m not getting on that thing!”

Azriel tilts his head, still leaning against the motorcycle with casual arrogance and twinkling hazel eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. And we both know you love to ride.”

My face heats at that little joke, but I hold firm in my convictions. “Can’t we just walk?”

We’re going to a beach on his recommendation, but apparently, the one right behind us isn’t good enough. “No.”

“Okay, then why don’t we take the bus?”

He looks at me like I just suggested we crawl all the way their on our hands and knees. “No.”

He offers no other option, just looks at me and waits patiently. 

“Don’t you trust me, dolcezza mia?” he purrs, sliding his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans and smiling.

The walls of my refusal start to crumble, because I’m such a sucker for that smile. I’m starting to think he knows it, too.

“I’m in a dress,” I point out weakly. 

“With a swimsuit underneath.”

I try again. “My hair will get tangled.”

Azriel sighs like he’s over my shit, lips twitching. “You and I both know you’re dying to put a scarf over it like one of those cliché movies you love so much.”

Thelma and Louise is my favorite movie... 

And he does look criminally handsome leaning against the motorcycle, dressed in black like always, sunglasses low on his nose. 

An image pops into my mind of me, riding behind him with the sea a landscape behind us, scarf and red lipstick on, the sun high in the sky. 

I purse my lips, and because he can tell he’s winning me over, his eyes turn amused and victorious. 

What cements the deal is him saying, “I’d never let anything happen to you, Elain.”

His voice is so serious and deep, it sounds like he’s making a solemn vow to me. So I give in.

“Promise you’ll drive slow.”

Azriel dips his chin in agreement, and a huge smile breaks over my face as I run back inside.

Five minutes later, I step back out, still smiling like an idiot. Azriel now sits on the motorcycle, looking like something out of GQ, and he snorts as he looks at the additional  scarf, lipstick, and sunglasses. “Donne.” Women.

Ignoring that display of sexism, I walk over to him and take his offered hand, sliding onto the bike behind him. My hands link in front of him, and he chuckles at how tightly I hold on to him as the machine under us rumbles to life. 

Oh, God. 

Slowly, like promised, he pulls away from the curb and onto the almost-empty street. Most people are at breakfast in one of the busy cafes or sitting on their porches, but one woman smiles as we pass because we obviously look freaking adorable.

I start to relax as we go, because like everything else he does, Azriel drives with complete control and confidence. He acts like nothing could go wrong with him in control, and it puts my nerves at ease. Honestly, I don’t know why I was worried in the first place.

He said he’d never let anything happen to me, and despite knowing him less than a month, I believe him.

He navigates us through the city and to a slightly larger road that runs along the coastline, and I take a minute to appreciate the movie moment.

He shifts to drive with one hand as we go, the other residing on my knee next to his hip. His thumb brushes over my skin softly, and I press my face to his neck, overwhelmed by the moment. 

I never knew I wanted something like this, but considering I feel like I’ve been split open and stuffed with sunshine, I did.. He does that, I’ve noticed; somehow, he knows what I want before I do.

I’ve never asked him for anything, yet every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m receiving a present.

Just a summer fling, I remind myself, even as I press a kiss to the side of his neck.

We ride down the coastline for about twenty minutes, eventually coming to a stop and walking onto a completely abandoned beach. 

It’s secluded, shielded by dunes on either side, and quiet. The sand’s almost white, and the water’s so blue, it looks like the background that comes with a new computer. 

Paradise.

“How’d you find this place?”

Hands in his pockets, he jerks a chin towards a beautiful, sprawling property about a hundred yards from us. “Because I live right there.”

Despite sleeping with him for almost four weeks, I haven’t seen his house before now. I’ve seen him naked, yet for some reason, knowing where he sleeps at night feels more personal. 

Maybe it’s because I get the feeling he’s letting me into his life a little by taking me here.

And maybe it’s because I feel like he never does that.

A smile pulls on my lips as I look between him and the house. He’s obviously trying to play it cool, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that isn’t usually there. I realize why, and my smile grows. “You like me.”

He scowls, making me grin. “Of course I like you, Elain.”

He says it like it’s obvious, and I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. “Yes, but you like me, too.”

He looks toward the sky and thoroughly tries to ignore me as I put my hands on his chest and smile up at him. I kiss the underside of his jaw softly, then murmur, “Don’t worry. I like you too.” 

His lips turn up at that, and he presses a quick kiss to my lips, then takes my hand and tugs me towards the water. 

Pulling off my sundress, I look over his apparel and raise a brow. “You’re swimming in that?”

Amusement dances in his hazel eyes as he responds, “Of course not.”

He pulls his shirt off, revealing his tan, tattooed chest, broad shoulders, and toned stomach. I sigh, fucking sigh, because looking like that should be illegal, and he laughs. 

Then pulls his pants down.

If possible, my brows go up even higher at the sight of him in nothing but his black briefs. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Swimming,” he retorts simply, and before I understand what’s going on, he’s naked as the day he was born.

“Azriel!”

He turns and walks toward the sea, leaving me slack-jawed and with an uninterrupted view of his backside. And what a nice backside it is. 

By the time he’s wading in the water, I’m still standing on the beach, eyes wide, watching him. 

His black hair’s wet, hanging around his face like spilled ink, and the water’s so bright and blue against his tan skin and the dark lines of his tattoos. 

He looks like a goddamn model, and I’m momentarily paralyzed at the sight of it.

“Venire qui.” Come here.

I walk far enough that the water brushes my toes with every wave, cool and calming and serene. 

“You’re naked,” I point out like he might not be aware, still shocked.

“It’s a private beach, tesoro.” 

I take a look around, even though I know it’s empty, and he laughs and walks backward, going deeper into the water. He’s relaxed as he wades in, like he does this every day. 

For all I know, he does.

I’ve never been naked in public, but I’m assuming to be as comfortable with it as he is, it happens a lot.

Az shakes his head, water flying from his hair like rain, and my mouth drops open as things start to move in slow-mo. His tattooed shoulders are above the water, and he just watches me in that dedicated, heated way he always does.

I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from groaning. He notices, and even from the distance between us, I see his eyes darken. “Are you going to join me?”

His voice makes it sound like he’s asking if I’m going to join him in going nude, not just join him in the water. 

“I think you have ulterior motives,” I say back.

He smiles that damn smile, running a hand over his jaw. “Always.”

I make the decision in less than a second and throw the bikini off in almost as little time, then sprint into the water to lessen the chance of anyone seeing me.

He laughs, a full-bodied laugh with his head thrown back, and mutters, “Ridicola.”

“You’re the ridiculous one,” I accuse as I swim over to him, scowling. “Getting naked at 11:30 in the morning.”

The water’s deep enough that I can’t stand, but given he’s half a foot taller than me, he can, so I brace my arms on his shoulders to stay afloat.

“There are no time constraints to when a person can be naked.” His hands span my rib cage, pulling me in close. “And with you, I happen to think you should stay this way all the time.”

My lips twitch. “My teachers might not appreciate that.”

He hums his agreement but seems distracted by the sight of me wrapping my legs around his waist and leaning back to float in the water.

“Bellissima,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s even saying it. “Troppo bella per le parole.”

Too beautiful for words. 

He spins us around in the water, causing me to laugh and relish the feel of the water swirling around me. 

Between the sun warming my face, the cool water relaxing me, and the man making me smile, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

My life feels like a fairytale, and I don’t delude myself about why. 

Pulling myself up, I slide my hands in his hair and kiss him softly. “You make me happy, Azriel.”

He tilts his head, surprise flaring in his beautiful eyes. He looks like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment, despite always giving them to me. The man calls me treasure, yet doesn’t understand that he makes me happy?

Shaking my head in frustration, I kiss him. He deepens it instantly, meeting my tongue with his, and I’m lost. His hair is wet between my fingers, soft and silky and the perfect tool to pull his head back so I can devour him properly.

I suck on his lower lip, and he makes a low sound, almost like a warning.

“I knew you had ulterior motives,” I breathe as he kisses a path down the column of my throat.

His hands cup my breasts, bringing them up and burying his face between them, making a low sound of satisfaction. “It isn’t why I brought you here, but... I can’t think with you around.” He nips my breast, making me yelp. “It’s very irritating.”

I scoff, about to say that sounds like his problem, not mine, but then his mouth closes around my breast, and the retort dies in my throat. 

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I really can’t. 

But when in Rome. Or Sicily. Close enough.

“Lean back again,” he urges, hands running down my back. 

I comply, tightening my thighs around his hips and floating back. 

His voice goes low, and he whispers, “Close your eyes, caro.” 

They slide shut, almost against my own will, and then he’s pushing inside me with one thrust, making my back arch up almost completely out of the water. My eyes open to find his watching me, looking down at the place where we’re joined.

“Eyes closed,” he gruffs, staying perfectly still until I do just that.

He starts to move, doing all the work as he lifts me and brings me back down, going in time with the waves around us.

His hands grip my hips with demanding pressure, but his pace stays plateaued.

One on my back urges me above the waterline, and I blush at being laid out in front of him so exposed, but remembering the heat in his eyes, any embarrassment dies down. 

The waves threaten to move us, but Azriel’s a rock in the storm, never losing his footing, never faltering. 

I hear his quiet, steady breath, the crash of the waves around me, and I feel like everything’s heightened. My body’s buzzing, and I glide my arms through the water, the feeling of the cool water on my over-sensitized skin making me tremble.

“Fuck, Elain,” he says under his breath, hips thrusting a little harder. His name falls off my lips on a moan, and the sound of him groaning in answer does it for me. 

I tighten around him as I come, and he follows immediately, pulling me by my hips until he’s seated deep inside me. We’re still, letting the waves bring us even closer.

He pulls out of me but continues to hold me in his arms, pulling my chest to his and burying his face in my neck. “I can’t get enough of you. I should let you go, but I can’t.”

I open my eyes in confusion, wondering why the hell he’d think that, but pause when I see the look in his eyes. 

It’s a reflection of my own, showing all the things I want to say but am too scared to. “Az...”

“Sei mio,” he says roughly, without a trace of doubt or hesitation. 

The words ring in my head over and over as he carries me back to the beach, then leads me up the dunes and into his house. 

You’re mine.

~ 

The day after our beach trip--which, honestly, was only about thirty minutes of beaching--I come to the conclusion Azriel’s holding back on me.

He’s shown me his home, fucked me on every square inch, and has given me everything I want whether or not I ask for it, but... he’s holding out on me. 

I’ve been around enough people who are hiding something to know that despite seemingly being open and honest, there’s something he’s holding back. 

Even when he’s rough with me, it’s like he has a leash on himself so tight he won’t really let go. 

It’s like he’s afraid I’ll run in the other direction if he does. Like he’s afraid of scaring me off. 

Which is ridiculous, so I’ve also come to the conclusion it ends today. 

I need him to be as happy and free as he makes me, and I think this is the way to do it.

So I’m going to surprise him.

I’m on my way to his house, being driven by a cabbie who asked twice if I was sure this was where I wanted to go, with one plan in my head: make him lose control.

He’s always so composed, so relaxed, and I’m tired of it. I want him to know that no matter what happens, I’m not running. Not from him.

It’s time I find out who he really is. 

~Azriel~

I have three rules in life. 

Three rules that have kept me alive and in this game when the odds were stacked against me.

1: Never leave the house without my .45. 

2: Never give into temptation. 

3: Trust no one.

Rule 1 is easy to follow. I have more enemies than friends, and I’m not stupid enough to allow someone an opportunity to off me while I’m defenseless. 

Rule 2 is usually just as easy to follow, because I’ve lived long enough to have learned how to block myself from ever really wanting anything. 

I have to say usually, though, because lately, it’s a complete fucking bitch to follow. 

Ever since Elain stumbled into my life like a walking, talking version of every dream I’ve ever had, I’ve been fucking helpless against her. 

And I refuse to feel helpless. 

But I also refuse to let her go. 

Which is so unbelievably selfish and fucked up, I can’t hardly stand myself. 

Every time I’m with her, I swear it’s the last time. But then she has to go and be unforgettable, beautiful, kind, and the best lay I’ve ever had, and I’m back to being helpless. 

Oh, and now I’ve gone and fucked rule 3, too. 

Because never, in my entire life, have I shown a civilian where I live. I’ve taken a few women to one of the few apartments I keep, but never my actual home.

I don’t really know why I did it, considering I knew--while doing it--it was stupid. It was like I wanted, needed, her to see at least a part of me that’s real.

Rolling my neck, I try to push all thoughts of her and her infuriatingly addictive smile out of my head and focus.

Luca glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow like he can sense I’m not paying attention, and I nod for him to keep going.

He squeezes the pliers, and screams fill the air as another finger falls to the floor. 

Blood splatters on the toes of my boots, and I narrow my eyes at it. I just fucking washed these.

Luca pauses his work when the guy strapped to the table passes out, walking over to me and lighting a cigarette. “Maybe he’s not going to talk, boss.”

I almost laugh. “They always talk.”

In fact, it’s a little annoying how predictable this shit is getting. Sure, some men, like the one in front of me, are a little stronger and hold out longer, but they all eventually crack. 

It just depends on applying the right pressure. 

Something Luca knows, meaning there’s a reason he’s getting antsy.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You got something better to do?”

He blows the smoke out, doing a piss-poor job of fighting a smile. “Matter of fact, I do.”

I take a cigarette from the pack he holds out and light it. “What’s her name?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, and I know it’s going to be someone I know.

“Gianna,” he finally tells me, and I take a deep inhale of smoke to keep from laughing. 

Yeah. I definitely know her.

He shoves my shoulder when I let a chuckle out, and I at least make the effort to stop being a dick. 

But I can’t help but tease him a bit. “She still into-”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Another laugh escapes me, but I drop it, considering I’m not exactly doing a great job of controlling my own sex life at the moment. 

The only reason Luca gets away with talking to me like he does is because he’s my Underboss and happens to be one of the only non-useless people around me.

I take in the man on the table with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out how to get him to just fucking confess. I know he’s guilty, and he knows he’s guilty, but we both also know he’ll die as soon as he damning words leave his mouth. 

He’s only got four fingers left, has multiple broken bones, and is missing an eye from where Luca lost his cool earlier. 

Clearly, cutting him isn’t doing shit, either, if the gaping wounds on his torso are any indication. 

Stubborn bastard.

“Electrocution,” I decide, pushing off the wall and going to grab the jumper cables. The traitor groans, but doesn’t say the magic words.

Luca frowns. “It always smells like burnt hair when we do that.”

Ignoring the prima donna in the room, I hook one cable to the car battery we keep down here and the other two his chest. 

“Have you, or have you not, been selling secrets to the Irish?” I ask, my voice betraying the boredom I’m fighting. 

He shakes his head, and I have to hold back a sigh. 

The sooner this stupid bastard confesses, the sooner I can go to Elain’s. 

Walking back over to my place by the stairs, I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find her name.

I want to see her so bad I’m almost chafing with the effort not to press down, and it only gets worse as the memory of yesterday comes to mind. Of her floating in the sea, breasts bouncing with every thrust, full lip between her teeth. 

Fuck.

I run a hand over my face, trying to shove the image out, but it refuges to budge.

Damn woman. 

“Falco?”

I snap out of it, looking up to find Luca watching me with a strange expression on his face. Considering he almost never calls me that, I take it that he’s been trying to get my attention for a few moments. 

“What?”

“70 or 130?”

I narrow my eyes at the stupid question, and he rolls his eyes before setting the charge to 130 and connecting the dipoles.

The man screams as electricity flows through his body, his wounds bleeding worse as his heart goes into overdrive. 

Luca unclips the cables when he passes out, smoking his cigarette and frowning when he doesn’t come to. 

A shot of adrenaline to the arm wakes him right up, though, and when he sees us standing over him watching patiently, he curses. 

“Ready to confess?” Luca asks, equally ready to get out of here.

The idiot just glares at him. “Accendilo, cagna.”

Light it up, bitch.

If I weren’t so irritated at how long this is taking, I’d laugh. 

Although, I have to admit it’s kind of satisfying that he isn’t breaking. He’s one of our own, trained and raised by us, so it’d be insulting if he broke down and confessed after one day. 

The longest run we’ve ever had is four days, but the man in front of us might just give the record a run for it’s money. 

But then Luca turns the battery on maximum volume, shocks the ever-living shit out of him, and punches him to keep him awake the whole time. He’s probably a little pissed about the “bitch” comment. 

And that’s the game.

“Basta, basta! Per favore!” 

Luca gives me a victorious grin as he unclips the wires, making me shake my head. Violent bastard. “Parla, cagna,” he demands. Talk, bitch.

Definitely a little pissed about the bitch comment. 

The man shakes from the shocks, managing to say, “I told them about the shipment coming in tomorrow night.”

“Told who?” Luca prods, running a knife under the man’s quivering lip. 

There’s a pause, then he spits, “O’Connor.”

Aka a pain in our asses, but more so for the Chicago operation than here. I’ll give the Capo there, a long-time friend of mine, a call. Luckily, that means it shouldn’t be a problem for me any longer. 

Plus, we still have time to reroute the shipment.

Plus, now I can kill this idiot.

The traitor’s eyes go to me, and he nods, accepting his fate. Not that he has a fucking option. 

The sound of my gun’s the last thing he hears, the bang echoing off the walls loudly. 

Not loud enough that I don’t hear a gasp from behind me.

I turn around instantly, gun drawn and pointed toward the intruder, finger ready on the trigger. 

And look down the barrel right at Elain.

_____________________________________

Part 3

@elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @teddytdr @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[stufftippywrote]

a suggestion

For @anonprecious on Twitter, who requested a Nielan kiss "as a suggestion" many moons ago. This takes place during the Sunshot campaign, so Mingjue is not yet Xichen's "da-ge."

The Sunshot Campaign has been hard on him.

This Lan Xichen can tell in a single glance. Even if he were meeting Nie Mingjue for the first time and not another in a series of a thousand strategy meetings, he’d be able to tell. The others, maybe not, because Nie Mingjue holds himself so upright, conducts his affairs with a practiced stiffness that discourages anyone from looking deeper. But the signs are there, as he leads the meeting, even if Lan Xichen is the only one who can see them - an exhalation, the grip of his hand on the table loosening, the circles of grey under his eyes.

The strategy session mercifully ends, and the other young military leaders make their way out of the room with all the tireless enthusiasm of youth. Lan Xichen remains. Nie Mingjue sits on a bench with his head low, propped up on one weary palm. He lets out a heavy breath. Lan Xichen approaches him carefully, as though he was a cobra that might strike if disturbed. But Nie Mingjue only looks up at him, and if anything there's relief in his eyes when he sees who's there.

"Xichen," he says, the name breaking halfway through as his voice gives.

"Mingjue-xiong," Lan Xichen returns. Nie Mingjue's shoulders slump. He would never slouch like this in front of his soldiers. It gladdens Lan Xichen's heart to know that this upright general can relax in front of him. He drives himself hard, and he deserves to be able to relax somewhere, with someone. Luckier still that Lan Xichen is that someone.

He steps forward and eases himself onto the bench next to Nie Mingjue. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head and mumbles.

"How about your last meal?" Lan Xichen prods gently.

"I ate." Nie Mingjue evades his gaze.

"When?"

"This morning."

Lan Xichen wants to laugh. This serious, justice-minded man can be as stubborn as a toddler. "Well, you're eating again tonight," he says. “Come to my room, I’ll have dinner brought in for us.”

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, but there’s no conviction in it. “I need to look at these maps,” he says, even as he lets Lan Xichen pull him up and away.

He follows Lan Xichen through the passageways and tents like a guilty schoolboy, and they come at last to Lan Xichen’s quarters, a remarkably lovely room for the temporary nature of it. There’s a low table, some ornaments, an incense holder. Lan Xichen finds a stick and lights it, letting the soft perfume disperse into the room. “Sit,” he urges, and Nie Mingjue follows. “And remove your armor. We won’t be attacked tonight.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles a little at this, but he pulls off the heavy breastplate and belt, letting them sit unceremoniously beside the cushion where he sits. As he does, he can’t help letting out a little groan of relief. Lan Xichen hears it and tries not to smile.

He has food brought; the two eat in relative silence, though Lan Xichen tries to lighten the mood with a few observations about the state of the camp, the little dramas by the younger soldiers that play out under his nose. Nie Mingjue is not really listening, or at least he has nothing to say in response. He just eats -- trying not to appear rushed, though his bites are ravenous -- and “mm”s an assent once in a while. It’s fine. Lan Xichen is just happy to have him there, not behind his desk or hunched over a scroll, peering at faded characters in dim light.

When he’s finished, Nie Mingjue of course tries to get up and go. Lan Xichen is there, with a hand on his arm, tugging him back down. Nie Mingjue glares at him, taken aback. Lan Xichen scoots closer to him, pulling his cushion to sit side-by-side with him, and lets his hand wander down from arm to weathered hand. “Stay for a while,” he urges.

“I have things to do,” Nie Mingjue protests, but Lan Xichen shakes his head gravely. He’s learned from years with his brother that sometimes a protest is also an admission. Nie Mingjue wants to stay. He just needs Lan Xichen to insist.

So he does. “I told you, no one will attack us tonight,” Lan Xichen tells him. “You might as well stay and put your worries aside for a time. I can play for you if it will help ease your mind.” He conjures the silver-blue xiao into being in one hand.

Nie Mingjue looks at it, then at him, and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t need music,” he says.

“A game, then?” Lan Xichen gazes at the shelf, where a worn go board and two pots of stones sit. “Or would you prefer a drink? I can fetch some wine for you…”

“No, no.” Nie Mingjue waves a hand, dismissing both the suggestions. “I need--”

“--to go back to work?” Lan Xichen finishes. “Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for one day?”

“People are fighting and dying while I--” But Nie Mingjue doesn’t have the strength to continue the sentence. He pulls his hand out from under Lan Xichen’s and hides his face in it. “I have to carry on,” he says, his voice muffled. “I have to be strong.”

It’s almost comical. This man, who is the essence of strength to so many people, worrying he cannot be strong. Lan Xichen, not for the first time, envisions taking him in his arms and allowing him to rest there. He wants to be that haven for him. But this moment isn’t about him, and hope is a dangerous creature. He lifts his hand to Nie Mingjue’s back, just daring to stroke it gently, and shakes his head.

“What you have to be is healthy,” he corrects. “What good is a Mingjue-xiong who can barely read a map because he hasn’t slept in days? Without eating, will you have the strength to carry your sword?”

“I’ve eaten,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I can’t sleep.” He sounds weak. Defeated. Lan Xichen’s heart aches.

“Then release your tension,” he advises. “Surely you have a preferred way to do that.”

Nie Mingjue pauses, looks up. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “Battle.”

Lan Xichen almost wants to laugh. ���Not battle. Something to calm the spirit and release the resentment. Meditation.” Nie Mingjue scoffs. “Or take to the woods and hunt game. Challenge one of the soldiers at camp to wrestle you. Whatever it is. Do what you need to do so you can return to that war table with your mind and body whole. But leave that saber alone for the night.”

How Lan Xichen despises that saber. It’s a priceless, high-level spiritual weapon, but every time Nie Mingjue wields it, it takes a piece of his soul. Lan Xichen remembers, long ago, a gentle, serious boy who nonetheless loved fiercely -- loved his brother, loved his friends, loved the trees and the sky. Loved justice, and he still does, but his love used to come with a brash grin and a light in his eyes. That saber, and this war, have crushed that.

There are several long seconds of silence. Nie Mingjue appears to be thinking. Lan Xichen can usually tolerate extended silence, but now, the quiet unnerves him. He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will respond. He sits as one would sit upon a cushion of pins, uncomfortable and itching to move.

But eventually Nie Mingjue seems to shake himself out of it, and catches Lan Xichen’s gaze with his own. There’s something soft in his eyes, and also something like interest. It’s a rare, unguarded look -- and it makes Lan Xichen catch his breath. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Nie Mingjue asks, and there’s something in his voice not unlike humor.

“Women?” Lan Xichen is hardly the person to suggest it, but he knows that’s a preferred tactic for many a soldier. “We could ride to the nearest town. Find a girl who’s willing.” Or for sale. Lan Xichen isn’t about to cast aspersions in the heat of war.

“Not interested.”

NIe Mingjue looks ready to check out again. Lan Xichen stumbles over himself in an effort to keep his attention. “Then -- then men, if that’s your preference,” he says.

But he gets a glare in return. “I’m not taking a stranger to bed.”

The words strike Lan Xichen funny. There’s nothing odd about them, surely, but between the lines there’s something to discover. First, that he didn’t immediately say he wasn’t interested in men, which is the reaction that question would get from many a soldier. And he made it sound like there was someone he’d consider -- someone he already knows. A bright spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is it possible? “Then--” he says. Carefully.

Nie Mingjue eyes him. This time it isn’t the angry glare, but a sort of caution -- as though he half-expects Lan Xichen to make some move. Again, that spark of optimism catches in Lan Xichen’s chest. Perhaps it would be okay if…

He leans in, lifts his hand to that weathered face. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, leaning closer to Nie Mingjue than he’s ever been, “then…”

He’s very careful as he presses his lips to Nie Mingjue’s closed mouth. Afraid to drive him away.

He isn’t driven away. Paralyzed, perhaps, as Lan Xichen pulls back again and gazes at him as beatifically as he can muster. Shocked, if the wide eyes and the slight part of his lips are anything to go by. But he doesn’t flee. Or pull back, or get up. He just stares, and slowly lifts a hand to his own lips.

“If you are interested,” Lan Xichen says, barely above a whisper.

And then Nie Mingjue lifts an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitch. “Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“A suggestion--” The words echoed back at him are devoid of any artifice. The Nie Mingjue before him is the boy Lan Xichen knew all those years ago. The one capable of so much love. Any shame or trepidation that Lan Xichen felt at offering that kiss vanishes. What he wanted to communicate, he has. Be the consequences what they may.

“Or we could play go,” he says, truly meaning it. Whatever he needs, Lan Xichen is willing and happy to give.

“Let’s do that.” Nie Mingjue says with some determination. Lan Xichen nods. Perhaps he feels a bit of disappointment, but not enough to regret what he’s done.

As he rises to bring the board and stones to the table, Nie Mingjue surprises him once more.

“Make your suggestion again afterwards,” he says.

[ddaenghoney]

Series: Flora

Part 24

masterlist link in blog description

After spending more than a decade establishing a career as an acclaimed actress, you decide to go on a sudden hiatus while also discreetly moving to a new townhome, renting out the second room to your old friend from high school: Kim Taehyung

Pairing(s):

Kim Taehyung x Y/N

ft. Lim Jaebeom x Y/N

disclaimer: any character depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respective idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Social media/Fake Text AU, Roommates au, somewhat Slow Burn relationship (or is it more oblivious to lovers ?), Actress!Y/N, Flower shop owner and model!Taehyung, fluff, drama(bc it’s me), romance, angst (updated as needed)

Necessary story written piece beneath the cut!

wc: 4017

Chapter warning(s): Heavy themes of loneliness and quite a bit of angst. Emotional breakdown by means of a lot of crying and a small moment of nearly hyperventilating. Optimistic ending. 

You look down at the ended conversation displayed on your phone, thumbs hovering over the device but you know you have nothing more to say. Sighing, you let it fall to your phone and glance your head out at the grey outside that the car travels through. The clouds took a break from the constant showers that covered the city, but you do not doubt they will continue again, probably the second you step out of the vehicle.

“You can just take me home instead of stopping by that food place.” You speak up to your manager’s assistant who has recently been driving you around for scheduled activities. When Manager Yang is not able to attend things with you, the assistant is definitely there instead. You wager to make sure you don’t do anything more to grind the nerves of the company, but you never have asked the question directly.

“Are you sure? The weather doesn’t seem as bad as a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I have some leftovers at home I’ll eat instead.” The explanation exists only to pacify his confusion, because after that conversation you really have no interest in eating anytime soon. Without conviction your eyes search between passing buildings for signs of the sun breaking through any of the clouds, but as you expected there is no such light. If there had been any hope of the storm ending, the production team would not have called off shooting for today.

You don’t mind the weather for that fact, but at the same time it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that you can only rely on unruly weather to give you a dent of the day back to yourself. If you try to think about how long it’s been this way, your mind would skim back years and years. Early on when you were still in high school and quickly garnering all of the roles in films you could, you didn’t mind the workload at all. Everything was still new, and admittedly going through that part of your life with fame attached to it felt like a grandiose thing.

The glittering of it all wore off a while ago, and letting your head fall back against your seat cushion, you realize just how exhausting it all is. But what else is there?

“Thanks for the ride.” You wave to the assistant as you exit the vehicle in front of the small gate that surrounds the townhome. Your company may know the address somehow, but you certainly are not willing to give out the gate code, much less a key, so you get out on the curbside. You’re relieved when he doesn’t loiter to make sure you get in safely, because the sooner you can stop thinking about everything the sooner you can have a semblance of a clear head.

To your surprise the rain comes again after you’re under the cover of your entryway instead of starting to pour directly on your head. Standing there for a moment, you watch the droplets fall in a humid frenzy that is familiar for this time of the year. This odd hour of the day is much earlier than people head home from jobs, so the neighborhood is quiet with inactivity, only seeming to be populated by you and the millions of droplets that see only a moment of you before they’re gone from your sight into puddles on the ground.

You stretch out your arm to breach into the shower, feeling the water collide with your skin as you continue watching the spectacle of it all. Almost, you’re able to enjoy it completely; take in the beauty of nature, and the serenity of your tiny front yard that’s enclosed in its own bubble. But as your eyes scan the area, your arm tenses when you catch the well-tended to flower beds that line the front gate.

You remember everything you wish is not reality.

Pulling your arm back, you turn on your heel and type the code to your door, entering in haste. The lights inside are off, and the space is quiet, almost without the sound of the showers outside. Without consideration you simply allow your bag to fall beside you on the floor while you flick your shoes haphazardly in the same general direction. It’s not unusual for no one to be home in the middle of the day, but as you step deeper the space feels uncharacteristically empty.

Miscellaneous items are decorated in their little mess around the area, but they’re all your own things that clutter. In your moment of recollection, you glance back to the front door as you realize you didn’t trip over any of Taehyung’s shoes on the way inside. Your lips part at the knowledge and your hand clutches against your top as you turn to walk into the kitchen.

Your line of sight wanders over the countertops, then to the small table beside the door out to the back, but you find nothing. You turn back and stalk into the living room once more, eyes searching quickly to the coffee table, then end tables-- any surface of space you could.

In that instant of finding nothing your eyelids grow hot, and your throat hitches, but you hold back any noise by biting your lip. You don’t have the right to be this upset if he’s already gone without a word of goodbye. You made your choices-- you’re living the consequences.

Air nonetheless escapes your mouth in a high, choppy gasp. You thought there would be more time than the four days it's been since you told him he should leave, since you typed all of those things you didn’t mean and left tears all over your phone screen. You shake your head, forcing everything back again, because you don’t have the right to feel upset about this. You don’t, and you keep repeating that to yourself, but what difference would it make if you started bawling about it here anyways?

You put your hand to your face, rubbing your eyes to stop tears from beginning, but when the sentence plays in your head you’re unable to stop them when you inevitably mumble to yourself,

“I’m all alone now.”

Only a couple escape your ducts, before you take in a deep inhale and remind yourself that this is for the best. If Taehyung has nothing to do with you, then his reputation will not be bothered further, his flower shop won’t run the risk of being singled out on a gossip form, and  his life will continue in its peaceful path just like he wants.

You rub the tears from the corner of your eyes, finding sight of his mug in its usual spot beside the couch. As you take a step towards it, your eyebrows knit wondering if he forgot it but you find a beverage still within it, though mostly gone.

The front door’s entry alert causes your shoulders to jolt in surprise, and your body to turn as it opens wide to let the melody of the rain flood your ears once more. From the cloudy outside that’s a lighter blue than the inside of your house, Taehyung’s figure seems enveloped by a dull brightness.

The hollow feeling in your chest fills with the thrum of your heartbeat. You watch as his lips pout while he looks down at your discarded items, then his head lifts up upon the recognition, startling with a sound of surprise when he sees you.

“I didn’t know you were home,” His words stumble out while his hand searches on the wall and successfully presses on the light switch. “What are you doing?” He asks, frowning in confusion of the certainly odd situation he wandered into.

Taehyung knows that you are not the most organized person on the planet, but your shoes finding their way to the designated closet is the example for him that he never manages to follow. So to see them in a mess on the floor beside your bag, Taehyung thought the placement to be abnormal and maybe somewhere in the back of his mind before he looked up he even felt worry.

“Ah, I just,” You start in a small voice, before dipping your head away from his view. Taehyung takes notice of the aversion, then latches onto the remembrance of your last text conversation. “I got off work because of the weather, so I’m here. Forgot to turn the lights on.”

“I see.” He responds simply, with the slightest nod of his head. Taehyung slips off his shoes finally, and enters deeper into the house, trying his best not to let questions in his head breed into a field that will be left unanswered by you and filled in with guesses by himself.

“What about you?” Your words come making him stop just beyond where you remained as he followed the path to his bedroom. Taehyung can’t help glancing towards you, just a couple feet from him, but appearing so far away as your head faces at a downward angle to the couch beside you.

“I closed the shop early today.” He explains in a low voice, because he does not want to say why he’s come home. He still doesn’t want to think about everything falling apart. And for a moment that fact causes him a burst of frustration because of all of those unanswered questions so his tone shifts coarsely when he gives a curt reply, “Going to sign a new lease.”

Taehyung expects nothing from the sentence, but watching your hand  tighten atop the couch makes him hesitate from going to his room. It’s the smallest action, and nonverbal at that. He knows everything you said about distrusting him and about his importance being nothing more than an irrational measurement you never meant, so why does he still cling on to the smallest sign. One that means nothing.

He shakes his head softly, feeling consumed by the tension. He walks down the hall to his room, leaving you there. Turning away just in time for the sparse rain drops in your eyes to drip in silence onto the leather your hand clings to.

Rather than reaching to wipe them away, you simply let the tears fall, thinking it better to ignore them so they altogether stop. For all of the relief that built in your chest at seeing him again, it ripped back away at his statement. You want to tell him he still has two weeks that he could stay, but you know that would only serve unnecessary confusion, and that it’s better if he leaves now while you’re still able to hold yourself back from confessing the insincerity of all the hurtful things you messaged him.

“Do-” Your shoulders tense at the pet name he stopped himself from uttering. Your lips tighten into a line, forcing away a frown as he continues after a moment, “Y/N, are you okay?”

Considering everything, you wonder how Taehyung even asked you that, knowing well that you’ve given him every reason to stop caring about you to even the smallest extent. But he’s sweet and gentle like the flowers he tends to. You muster a smile at this thought, and nod your head even though you’re facing away from him still.

Taehyung’s hand curls in response to your demeanor, wondering if you really have to look away from him. Does it bother you that much to even be around him? Because things were different only a week ago, it is nearly impossible for him to accept the situation at hand, but ultimately he just sighs, and starts a walk back to the front door, wearing a fresh shirt that’s different from the type he typically wears to work in the flower shop.

As he heads to the door, you recall the countless times he’s walked in and out, wandered around the house familiarly, like a necessary puzzle piece to the space. You can think of the many failed recipes created in the kitchen that led to races to the front door to get the food deliveries afterwards. And you can remember the time you held the door open for him when he struggled with his arms full of little flower starts that would bloom soon if they are maintained after he leaves.

He’s leaving.

“Tae,” Your voice barely sounds like anything but a weak squeak because of the emotions clogging up your throat. He stops to turn back towards you like a habit-- his eyes focusing on your person easily, though the irises are admittedly not as cheerful as all the times of the past. “You-” Your nails dig into the leather of the couch, like the logic you’ve taped up in your mind tries desperately to stay together. But the throbbing pain in your heart wins over your mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

“What-” Taehyung’s sentence drops away as he notices the glittering on your cheeks, and he turns completely. With every nerve on his body beginning to prickle in worry, he takes a step in your direction on impulse, pausing only when you shake your head, releasing more tears down your skin.

“I’m sorry. I’m so selfish-- I really can’t do this.” The words dribble out in a frantic mumble as you finally begin to wipe away at the tears. “I know I need to let you leave-- I know you should; I can’t do this though. I don’t want you to go, I really don’t-”

Your breath hitches as you’re all the sudden pulled into a strong embrace. Without hesitation your arms cling to his shirt, while a sob muffles into the fabric. Taehyung’s arms encompass you with the same feeling that living with him gives you: safety.

“Calm down, Y/N.” Taehyung soothes your trembling frame with his fingertips clutching tightly on your shoulder blades, fastening you to this space that was stable. Giving you a place to belong again.

“I didn’t mean any of it, Tae,” You croak between gasps as your lungs fight for air amidst your sobs. “I trust you more than anyone-- you’re the most important person to me, Taehyung. Please don’t go.”

“Then why,” He starts the question, but then your rushed sentences finally register to him properly. The fact that you said you know he needs to leave. Taehyung breathes in as the realization of it sets in. You were trying to get him away so he wouldn’t be involved anymore. For his benefit, not because you ever wanted that.

“I-,” You cough, clutching onto him tighter as the sobbing leaves your throat thick. You want to explain everything, and make sure that he hears your apologies as many times as necessary, so desperately you try to speak up again only for Taehyung to hush them away.

“Stop for a bit, dove.” He tells you, causing you to find a grasp at peace just from him addressing you with endearment once again. “I’m not going to walk away-- you don’t need to rush. Let’s sit down, okay?”

As you sit on the couch with your fingers rubbing onto your temples, Taehyung stands in the kitchen fiddling with objects that you hear clatter around. You think little of it, simply counting seconds with the inhales and exhales of your breaths, elongating them so as to ease away the rampant swarm of tears and emotions. The prickling in your head must be from a mixture of shock and embarrassment, you decide, becoming increasingly aware of how vividly everything came flooding out.

When Jaeboem texted you days earlier, you had to stop replying. You feel bad still for leaving his series of texts pleading with you out of worries for being left on read, but when he verbally acknowledged how alone you must be, you couldn’t look at the words any longer. That aspect of your lifestyle needs to be kept in check or else you would have to look at everything that’s hollow in the world that you made for yourself.

For following a dream that you were passionate about, in the past you anticipated a cover of happiness washed over your life once you reached the level of notoriety that would keep acting jobs flooding in. But for years of your work and efforts to simply amount to you walking into a lifeless house, with the few people around you about to walk out, you couldn’t let yourself see that because it would be the one thing too much to bear. Even if you enjoy acting, the present gives you no sense of fulfillment outside of your job, which in itself is starting to be cracked with holes as well.

“Here.” Your eyes break from their lack of concentration to watch Taehyung settle a mug that matches his on a coaster in front of you. The steam filled with the warm scent of honey and tea leaves. “Does your head hurt?”

Meagerly and barely do you nod, finally removing your hands from putting pressure on your temples to take hold of the mug. Careful to keep your skin from directly touching the hot ceramic, you balance it inches from your lips to blow gently.

“Thank you.” You mumble, taking small sips so as not to burn your taste buds. The drink is light, but soothing to your throat that is ravaged from your outburst. “I,” Your head jolts as you recall, nearly sloshing around the scalding tea, but Taehyung’s hand aids you in steadying the mug as you speak in worry. “I stopped you from meeting the leasing office-- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Taehyung shakes his head, very slightly nudging the mug so that you drink more. As you finally give in despite your frown, he continues in a quiet voice. “It’s not like I really wanted to go anyways.”

As you glance towards him with an uncertain hope glinting in your eyes, Taehyung smiles gently and is unable to stop his thumb to graze over your cheek where tear treks remain. In the void of words, the shower outside rages on with a hum of thunder only relaxing the tension in your shoulders. As his hand leaves your skin, you break eye contact to again sip at the beverage while Taehyung eases more into his seat beside you.

Without speaking, he simply rests his head on the cushion, letting you revitalize yourself with the drink. He arranges his thoughts with his newfound information, and is almost upset that he never contemplated any of it before. His friends too had commented repeatedly how strange and out of character all of the texts you sent him were, especially Jeongguk who was fully convinced the connection between you and Taehyung could only be genuine. Taehyung thought the same, and he could blame the surprise of it all for letting his rationality falter, but ultimately he feels disappointed in himself for not considering that this was the only way you found yourself able to protect him.

It’s true that if he continued to believe your words, the hurt would have been enough to start a gap of separation from you, and perhaps even if he reconsidered later down the line he may have pushed the thoughts aside to keep you from having to bother with the whole thing again. Or perhaps it is more accurate, he decides, that he may have not been willing to risk hearing you say everything to him all over again.

“Now you don’t want me to leave?” Taehyung breaks the silence with the small question, the corner of his lips quirking as the empty mug clatters on the coaster from your surprise from the bluntness. With furrowed eyebrows you turn to look at him, so clearly upset with yourself, that Taehyung doesn’t have the heart to tease you any further. His lips part to speak but in a small ramble you beat him to it,

“I never wanted you to. I just didn’t know how else to keep you from getting dragged into anything more than you have been. I know you don’t want anything to do with fame, and,” You shake your head as once again those texts replay through your head.

“Dove.” Taehyung’s hand covers over the top of yours as they fiddle on your lap, bringing you back down. “I understand now.”

Your frown remains, and your chest feels heavy once more because you know you really did hurt him, and yet he’s sitting beside you still and giving you a chance at explanation. You don’t deserve that.

“I should have let you go though.” Your eyes fall to your lap, watching as his hand squeezes over top of yours. You’re sure he doesn’t like your sentence. “Taehyung, I know you say that you don’t mind any of the baggage that comes along with getting linked to me in rumors, but you don’t know what it’s actually like to go through any of that. To have thousands of people you don’t know critique all the choices you make and constantly put their judgement on you just because they don’t like you or are bored-- it’s exhausting. Especially if you’re not even gaining anything from it. You don’t want to get into this lifestyle--and that’s fine, but it’s even more of a reason for you to distance yourself from me. I can’t control any of this as much as I want to, and you’ll just end up dealing with trouble because of it all.”

Without thinking, one of your hands turns upwards, taking a grasp of his gently.

“I do gain something from it all.” Taehyung says, ready for his eyes to meet yours when your head turns in confusion. “I’ll still be in your life.”

Your jaw clenches; heart beating too happily at his affirmation of it all. It’s idyllic and frankly all you would want to hear from him. Such a simple thing, yet the implication causes new, touched tears to collect in the corner of your eyes. Warmly Taehyung smiles at you, tugging you towards him so he can hug you, which you allow without hesitation.

“I know that you’re worried about me, dove, but what you’re telling me I’ve considered too. I may not have been that involved when I was a trainee, but I know the media can be ruthless and cruel, but I’d still choose dealing with that than not being with you anymore.”

“But why,” You pull a bit from him to look up at his face, frowning. “No one’s ever wanted to go through all of this crap just for me-- I don’t understand why you always pick to stay.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I care about you before you believe me?” He asks with a smile, cutting off any of your uncertain remarks by simply hugging you tighter and chuckling as you make a noise of surprise from the action. “Dove, I’m happiest living here with you. You mean so much to me, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. No matter how many times you ask me, you’re going to get this for an answer. You’re my friend, Y/N. You’re dear to me.”

Your hands meddle their way from between your torsos so that you can wrap your arms around him tightly. Taehyung smiles at the reciprocation, settling his forehead atop your head when he feels your body rumble from some muffled cries that somehow have an air of happiness to them.

You’re willing to accept his answer, no longer frightened of all the repercussions as you cling onto Taehyung as if he’ll drift away. Now you realize how content the world becomes with even one person willing to stay. Without the attachment of jobs, or the necessity to save face in front of cameras, Taehyung wants to remain where he is. You’re so thankful for the fact, but can’t properly express the gratitude through words, but he hums in response anyways, keeping you enveloped in his arms as he tells you peacefully,

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Don’t worry.”

If you enjoy, PLEASE let me know!!

Tag(s): @atulipandarose​e @jaienn​ @lemonteacyst​@swanboysuga​ @kennedaddy00​  @cribabieee​@betysotelo18​ @sherizaraiyah​ (if you would like to be tagged send me an ask to let me know!)

[seeing-the-light]

TTS Gen Week Day 3: Protection

Note: Yes, I know this was yesterday’s prompt, I just ended up being too tired to finish it yesterday but I really liked where it was going, so here we are! Thanks @purplespacefairy for organizing this!

Something More Important Read on AO3

Edmund was upset, because today was supposed to have been special.

And it’d started off well enough. Ever since he’d informed the royal family in Corona that his son’s real birthday was approaching, they’d been nothing but willing to help him create the proper celebration. He could tell that their friend’s betrayal had been hard on Eugene and Rapunzel, but though it still cast shadows over everything, he could tell they were beginning to heal. That’d heartened him, particularly since he knew how far they’d come since it first happened. 

That moment when his son had stepped into the room, with shock that turned to confusion… for a moment, he could imagine what it might’ve been like to something like this for him every year, growing up, if they’d been together. He felt something warm bloom in his chest as Eugene looked to him for confirmation, even then – for a moment, they felt like a child’s eyes. He made his way in and looked around with a child’s excitement and wonder – and though Edmund was happy to see it, he couldn’t help being stabbed with guilt. Maybe he could’ve tried harder, maybe he could’ve sent his son something every year just so he knew he was remembered, even if that could’ve been dangerous and attracted unwanted attention. If only he’d-

A cold gust of wind had run through the room, then, startling him out of his thoughts. He didn’t have to look to recognize the aura of the moonstone. “Swell party,” She’d smirked. “I’m guessing my invitation got lost in the mail.” It’s not my kingdom, He’d had to remind himself, adamantly, as she entered the room, dragging Adira’s blade across the floor. Cassandra didn’t deserve to be holding that blade. He was a guest here, this wasn’t his castle, which meant he had to defer to the royal family’s judgement, even if a part of him wanted to strike her down the moment she entered for having the audacity to use this moment, this moment that was supposed to be special and his first chance he had to celebrate a birthday with his son, to engage in her sick drama. The anger only rumbled deeper, and stronger, when she patronized the princess, and called his son an ex-convict and a loser.

He noticed his son only corrected the ex-convict part, and that hurt Edmund in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

After she left, the whole atmosphere had changed. No one wanted to celebrate anymore, with her threat looming over them. And before he had the chance to say much of anything, Eugene and his friends had already whisked out of the room, likely to decide what their next move was. 

He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret. He wanted to be a part of his son’s life, especially on a day like this, but the last thing he wanted was to accidentally do something that’d push him further away. He didn’t think he could bear making any more mistakes, not when this was such a delicate situation and his son had finally started talking to him enough that he’d had to be careful not to mention this surprise birthday to him beforehand. 

So he waited. In fact, the next he heard from any of them, it was when the dispirited couple was walking through the castle’s hallways, on the way towards their bedrooms. “What happened, son?”

Eugene glanced over at Rapunzel, before looking back at his dad. “She took him.” He sounded defeated.

“Took who?” Edmund said, brow furrowing, concern entering his eyes. He didn’t have to ask who she was.

Eugene sighed, running a hand over his hair, but it was Rapunzel who answered. “Varian. He was translating the scroll, and we thought…“ Her voice trailed off, lapsing into silence.

Quirin’s son. “Then we must go after them at once!”

“We?” Eugene said, at the same time as Rapunzel said “See?” She crossed her arms. “He agrees with me.”

“You can’t be serious, son.” Edmund said, looking at both of them. “You said it yourself, earlier- with the scroll, and the moonstone, she could-“

Eugene looked at Rapunzel again, more out of concern than anything else – but she didn’t seem to be overly affected by the remark.  Then, he gave another sigh, “Listen, Dad… can we talk about this?” The implication was clear. Alone.

Edmund was silent for a moment, unsure whether he’d pressed too far, but then he nodded. (And maybe it wasn’t important, given the current circumstances, but he couldn’t help thinking of a time when Eugene could hardly stand being in the same room as him.) “Of course.”

As he waited, Eugene squeezed Rapunzel’s hand and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Sunshine. I’ll be by, later.”

Despite everything, Rapunzel smiled back. For a moment, the ring she hadn’t gotten to pull out weighed heavily in her bag.  “Happy Birthday, Eugene.”

With that, she moved down the hall to go up to her own bedroom. Eugene’s gaze lingered on her until she disappeared from view, before turning back to his dad.

“I’m sorry if I’m-“

“No, it’s fine.” Eugene said, putting his hands in his pockets, before turning to walk towards his room. “This is important.”

“I agree.” Edmund swallowed, before walking to keep pace with him. “All I’m saying is that you already know exactly how powerful it is, if she has the ability to harness its full potential-“

“But we don’t even know where she is.” He cut in, half because he just didn’t want his dad to start detailing everything CassAHNdra could possibly do, right now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. “It’s dark, and in the woods, there’s no telling what we might run into- look, I don’t feel good about leaving her with all of that power and Varian, either, but what she did today-“

“What did she do today?” Edmund asked, in a quieter tone. By now, they’d reached the door to his bedroom.

“Kicked me down a flight of stairs, for one.” Eugene muttered, as they entered, closing the door behind them. He found himself continuing before he could stop himself- and once he’d started, he found he didn’t want to stop. “Almost ran me over with a giant ball. Almost brought a giant metal machine down on us while I was dangling over a drop while holding onto a horse’s legs. So you know-“ He forced out a wry chuckle, trying to hide just how shaken he felt. “A normal Tuesday. And that part was just Lance and Max and I, Varian is-“

Cassandra had taken him. Now, there was no telling where she was. And he suspected that Varian wouldn’t just tell her what she wanted to know, which meant-

Which meant the kid was in a whole lot of danger.

Eugene looked out the window. He’d never admit it aloud, but he didn’t think he’d been properly scared of what lengths Cassandra might go to in order to get her way before today. The person who’d faced him hadn’t been his friend- it was someone who had no qualms about using his life as a pawn in her game.

Well, at least it wasn’t his first time in that situation.

Edmund’s eyes hardened as Eugene relayed this series of events. “I’m sorry all of that happened.” Maybe, if he’d insisted on being there instead of waiting here, he could’ve-

“Dad.” Eugene said, looking back at him. “You were saying your thoughts aloud again.” By now, he’d crossed his arms, but the way he was looking at Edmund... it seemed almost vaguely confused by the sentiment.

“Sorry.” Edmund responded. He only hesitated briefly, before continuing. “But if you go tomorrow, you must let me come along with you.”

“You?” If anything, the confusion only seemed to have grown. “No, it should be Rapunzel and Lance and I, if anything- the less people who are at risk, the better.”

“The less people you have, the easier it will be for her to overpower you.” Edmund pointed out.

Eugene shook his head, and for a moment, Edmund caught a glimmer of the same conviction that’d swayed him from what he’d thought was his purpose for decades. “I’m sure Rapunzel can take her.”

“You have to agree, though, that having someone else along couldn’t possibly-“

“Look, I’m touched. But we’ll be fine.”

“And what if you’re not-“

“Dad,” Eugene said, resisting the urge to sigh for the third time and trying to keep his frustration at bay. “I get that you’re upset because Cassandra stole the moonstone and you-“ 

”This isn’t about the moonstone, son.” Edmund said, in a low tone. Eugene must’ve looked confused – he was so sure he’d understood exactly what was bothering his father – because then the older man looked at him more directly, and said in an even quieter tone. “It’s about you.” 

Eugene blinked at him, stunned into silence at that statement. He didn’t know how to respond. People had tended to get upset at him time and time again throughout his life, but upset on his behalf? He hadn’t really encountered that until... well, Rapunzel. Which was much different from this. And his father had dedicated his life to protecting the moonstone, so he’d just assumed... 

Well, he’d definitely been quiet for too long. It was time to fill the silence with something witty, like he usually did. Something intelligent, that’d distract him from whatever the hell this new emotion he was feeling was.

”...What?” He found himself saying instead, stupidly.

“It’s about you.” Edmund repeated, still holding his gaze. 

Eugene blinked again, processing this, “…what,” He swallowed, realizing he was about to sound like an idiot again. “What do you mean? I mean, the moonstone is-“

“I lost everything because of the moonstone, son!” Edmund said abruptly, in rare burst of strong emotion. Eugene barely kept from flinching, startled by its force, even if he was equally surprised to realize he didn’t quite mind it. It didn’t scare him the way it had when they’d first met, at least. “In a different way from how she has.” Edmund continued, more softly, leaving no doubt as to who she was. “And now that ... something has brought us together again, whether you want to call it destiny or happenstance, I don’t want to-“ He gave a deep sigh, no longer meeting Eugene’s gaze. “I could not bear it happening a second time.”

You’re the reason it happened at all. He wanted to retort, but something held him back. The sentiment his dad was expressing seemed so... genuine and vulnerable, he wasn’t sure he had the heart to shoot it down, even if a part of him was still angry.

“And when she was saying all those things about you and your friends, I wanted to-“ Edmund’s hand clenched into a fist, taking the silence as an opportunity to continue. “You are many things, son, and I admit I don’t know what all of them are, and that is my fault. The weight of that decision is mine to bear for the rest of my life.” His voice was tinged with deep regret, as he finally raised his head to meet his son’s gaze again. “But a loser isn’t one of them. A loser would not manage to rise every time he was knocked down. A loser would not go out of his way to help even those who have wronged him. If being here has shown me anything, it’s how vibrant a life you’ve built for yourself, and how deep the connections you’ve forged run. Everyone practically jumped at the chance to throw you a party, after I-”

“...the party was your idea?” Eugene asked, in a small voice. Everything else he’d said was too overwhelming to process, right now, especially when he wasn’t properly sure how he even felt about the man standing in front of him. Besides, anything more, and his voice might start shaking, and the stinging in his eyes might turn into something more. He couldn’t afford that right now, even as he wondered at how... much it warmed him to be seen by someone relatively new to him.

“Well, Rapunzel took the idea and ran with it, of course.” He said, a somewhat endeared smile crossing his face.

“Of-of course.” Eugene realized he hadn’t been breathing, and released one, relaxing a little and unable to keep from giving a small smile. She had a way of doing that.

“But I wanted to commemorate this day in some way. So you could see that you are important - and to so many people, too.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “And then she-”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Eugene said, before he could continue. He wasn’t even sure why he said it, just knew that that wasn’t something he wanted his dad to blame himself for. Especially not after...all that. “Look, I’ll admit that I haven’t forgiven you for what you did, and what that meant for me growing up.” Rather than saying anything in protest, Edmund just nodded, bowing his head. Eugene swallowed, before reaching forward to put a hand on his father’s left shoulder. Edmund met his gaze. “But you’re trying, which is more than a lot of people would do. I can see that. And that still... means something.”

Edmund held his gaze for a long moment. To be honest, Eugene wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, in there. But then, without warning, he felt himself yanked into a strong hug. He gave a (very manly) yelp.

Edmund froze. “You’re injured. I didn’t even think about that, are you-”

Eugene’s breath had caught in his chest, but as it released, it bubbled forth in a laugh. “I’m fine, Dad. Just warn me next time.”

Edmund pulled him closer in relief (though more gently). “I make no promises.”

He gave a smaller chuckle in response to that, but just relaxed into the hug, in lieu of giving an actual response.

Edmund smiled. There was a long journey ahead, but every step was taking them somewhere, and it was more than worth it. For now, he was just glad to have this moment.

“Happy birthday, son.”

[se0kie]

chapter 6: get used to it

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

tags/warnings: brief mentions of nervous breakdown, brief mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex

word count: 1.2k

greek gods au, poseidon!taehyung, marinebiologist!reader

summary: it’s difficult being a god. what with all the immortality, the decades bleeding into each other and losing every human being you come to care about. and taehyung’s lived, or whatever it is gods do, for a very, very long time. he thinks he needs help but the fates are being the mysterious, useless hags they’ve always been. how can a conservatory and it’s passionate, fiery owner possibly help him. turns out Y/N is the only mortal he’s met who’s ready to challenge him head on. of course it’s not like she knows her new intern is the king of the sea, maker of horses, the earthshaker, poseidon himself after all.

previous <> next ; series masterlist

You know you're overreacting, you know things are not as bad as you've made them out to be in your head, but still the tears keep coming and refuse to back down. You're slumped down into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest while your back rests against the cabinets of the laboratory.

Your father had called you earlier that week and told you that the yearly grant contract he had made with your organisation was soon going to have to end. The conservatory was in a location that experienced minimal traffic so to speak. There weren't very many different species of animals, the corals were not in as grave danger as the rest of the country and frankly, this turtle hatching project was the first interesting thing that had happened to Blue Side since you opened.

You were scared of him pulling the funding of the organisation. You couldn't just let Hamdeok slowly deteriorate into a condition that required special attention when you knew you could fix it before it all took a turn for the worse.

"The marine conservation society in Korea is just stretched too thin, sweetheart." Your father had told you. "The turtle project needs to go smoothly and give meaty results for me to continue to back you."

So here you were, crumbling under the pressure as you felt the years of expectations finally weigh down on you. You're so engrossed in trying to control your breathing that you don't even register the soft footsteps padding next to you. Strong arms encircle your frame as words of comfort fill your ears.

"You're gonna be okay, angel. Don't cry, I'm right here for you, don't cry." He whispers softly.

"I'm just s-so scared of failing them, Tae," you warble through the returning sobs.

"Failing who, sweetheart?"

"My dad... and my mom," you say.

"Oh, honey you're not going to fail them. I know you won't." He says.

"How can you be s-so sure of t-that?"

"Because I see you, Y/N," he whispers.

You can practically feel your heart beat out of your chest as you look up at him, brown eyes dazzling you and leaving you like a deer caught in headlights. His beautiful eyes swirling with so much emotion you feel powerless.

"You need to stop saying things like that! Oh my god!" you say, blushing bright red.

"Get used to it, loser," he jokes back, a slow grin forming on his lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his warmth. Maybe everything will be okay after all.

It's a beautiful weekend off from work when Taehyung convinces you to take the boat out to the water and spend the afternoon together. Although you know you've already crossed the line as friends, your feelings for him growing deeper than they would for someone you'd consider just a friend, you can't help but feel like you're diving right into a whirlpool.

Being around Taehyung makes you feel merciless, like standing in front of a force of nature and being so in awe that you're paralysed and all you can do is stare and stare and pray that you won't be consumed whole. The feeling scares you. Being in love wasn't something you're well versed in. The intensity of your emotions and the sheer number of them that you feel in his presence is enough to scare you shitless.

But you still wouldn't turn down an afternoon with him. Most of your time was spent in the conservation or at your home doing work for said conservation, you hadn't even had time to visit Taehyung's home. Although it did seem like he would rather be at yours.

You had successfully navigated the boat out to the middle of the ocean. Meanwhile, Taehyung had laid out the blanket with your lunch and glasses topped with chilled champagne. You sat down, back against the wall of the cabin and Taehyung's arm wrapped around your waist.

"Did you know you're kind of clingy?" you said.

"Hmm?"

"I mean, not in a bad way! Not at all, just that you really like touching. You're always holding me or touching my arms or something." You say with a smile, "What's that about?"

"Well, I guess I just really like how you feel." he deadpans.

You splutter your bubbly, "Taehyung! You can't just say something like that!"

"Something like what?" he questions, expression innocent as you try to determine whether he's being serious or making fun of you.

"It's just- it sounds sexual." You say, glancing at your feet as your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

"Well even if it was sexual why would you be so surprised? You're very sexy."

Your eyes grow wide as you stare back at him.

"What?! Why are you so scandalised, Y/N?" he questions.

"I- I've never been... complimented like that..." you confess.

"Wait, what?" He sits up straight as his face grows baffled. "You're telling me, nobody has ever called you sexy?!"

"Well when you say it like that it sounds bad..." you say meekly.

"Y/N," his voice stern.

You sigh as you start again, "Of course my friends have told me things like that y'know but I've never really had time for dating or being involved with anyone else... Nor have I really spent any time flirting with people..." your voice grows weak as you register the look on Taehyung's face.

"What? What's that stupid look you've got?" you ask.

"Y/N... Answer this for me please," he starts.

You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Are you– are you a... a virgin?" he asks.

"Um, yeah..." you answer.

"Oh my god," he says with a surprising grin on his face.

Uncertainty grows cold in your heart as you ask in a meek voice, "Is that a bad thing?"

He scoffs at you instead, "What?! Of course it's not a bad thing. I'm just surprised because you're one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen in all the realms."

"What?"

"What 'what'?" he asks back.

"What realms? Why do you talk like you're thousands of years old?" you question.

"Oh, um... it's just a habit," he says, voice unsure.

"I'm not sure I believe you... You're always talking like you jumped out of a history book or a Jane Eyre novel or something." You say with eyebrows furrowed.

He stares into your eyes for so long you feel unnerved, his gorgeous brown eyes digging deep into your soul as if searching for the very essence of what makes you, you. You still can't look away though. You let him pull from you what he needs, hoping that it's enough for him to be honest with you.

You've noticed that Taehyung isn't very much like others his age, he came from seemingly nowhere and goes home every evening to someplace you don't know. You realise that there's not a lot you know about him, everything he's told you about himself has always been vague with little details.

"If I told you, you'd think I was crazy." He whispers.

"I'm already crazy about you," you reply with surprising honesty. You didn't think you'd reveal the exact intensity of your feelings towards him so soon but something about Taehyung makes you lose all sense of societal conviction.

"You might ship me off to a mental institution, honey," he chuckles lightly.

"I won't!" you reply, getting increasingly impatient.

He stares at you for a long minute, a small knowing smile tainting his lips as he looks down and back up at you.

"Even if I tell you I'm the millennia old god, Poseidon?"

taglist: @a-kookie-with-my-tae @btsxdoll @taffyteffy @marsclouds @happyhrsme @yoongifiess @gia-the-mermaid

a/n: i know i've been gone too long but im back !!! this chapter is longer than the ones i've written before so i hope you guys enjoy it!! things are finally getting interesting huh? ;)

[tvandenneagram]

Twin Peaks: Laura Palmer - Type 1w2

Laura is headstrong, secretive and contradictory. She became the central mystery of Twin Peaks and as the show delves into her life it can be seen that there is a lot under the surface of what the town thought about her.

At her best, Laura shows a more caring and helpful side. She volunteers her time to deliver meals on wheels to others and tries to be the good role model that her family wants her to be. She projects an image of goodness to the town and along with volunteering also tutors Audrey’s brother, Johnny. Through these acts it is seen that she shows genuine kindness to these people and wants to support them.

At her worst, Laura is depressed while trying to battle Bob and the nightmares she is experiencing. As a result of this, she begins to self medicate with cocaine to try and help cope with what she is going through. She wants to strip away the goodness and innocence in herself as a way of trying to protect herself from Bob. This sometimes transfers into her treatments of others as she is looking for ways to judge or expose the weaknesses or defects of others to try and take away her own feelings of being corrupted by Bob.

Laura is seen as the quintessential popular high schooler. She presents to the town as a good girl who is beautiful, full of life and gracious. She is a high achiever and ambitious all areas of her life. However, it can be seen that she is hiding a lot of secrets and a whole different side of her from the town.Throughout the series, it is learned that she was dating James, Bobby and working at One Eyed Jacks but this was unknown to the others. She had motivations for seeing Bobby so that she could buy drugs and it seems she was genuinely interested in James.

I think that throughout her life Laura was always trying to appear like nothing was wrong and that she was the ‘good’ girl everyone wanted her to be. She was experiencing trauma and abuse since the age of 12, yet nobody was aware of this until her final days. Even though she was having so many personal troubles she was still doing well in school and was still believed to be a great example by most members of her community. Laura always put on a brave face and wanted to portray herself as something of a paragon. Type 1s often try to hide their flaws from the outer world and hide things that they think are undesirable as they want to be good or at the very least (if they think they are bad) want to appear good . I think Laura fits this to a tee.

It was difficult typing Laura as she is very visible in the show but a lot of her characterisation is from second hand information or exposition. When we do see more of Laura (in Fire Walk with Me) she is at her very worst which may not be indicative of her true self/motivations. However, from what appears in the series it seems that she wants to be seen as a good person. Despite the trauma that Laura goes through, it can be seen that she is strong willed and tries to fight back against Bob, even after all the abuse she has experienced from him she holds firm in her convictions that she cannot be possessed by him.

Laura has a wing 2 as she is more extroverted and emotional than a wing 9 tends to be. She is also very protective of her friends and wants to help others.

Tri-type: 1w2 - 3w2 - 6w7

Some quotes to describe Laura’s motivation:

“Hey, remember that mystery man I told you about? Well, if I tell you his name then you’re gonna be in trouble. He wouldn’t be such a mystery man anymore but you might be history, man.”

“You have to hide the diary, Harold. You made me write it all down. He doesn't know about you. You'll be safe.

(Bobby about Laura): "She said people tried to be good, but they are really sick and rotten — her most of all. And every time she tried to make the world a better place, something terrible came up inside her and pulled her back down into hell and took her deeper and deeper into the blackest nightmare. Every time it got harder to go back up into the light."

(Dr. Jacoby about Laura): “consciously try to find people's weaknesses, to prey on them, tamper with them, make them do terrible, degrading things [because] Laura wanted to corrupt people because that's how she felt about herself."

(Donna about Laura): “I wanted so much to be like you. To have your strength and your courage, but look what it did, look what it did to you, Laura. As much as I loved you, Laura, most of the time we were trying to solve your problems, and you know what, we still are. Not James’ or mine, or Maddy’s, yours. You’re dead, but your problems are still hanging around. It’s like they didn’t bury you deep enough.”

Laura: “My secret diary... there are pages missing.”

Harold Smith : “Who would do that?”

Laura : “Bob.”

Harold Smith : “But, Bob is not real.”

Laura : “There are pages torn out! That is real, Harold!”

Harold Smith : “Okay, okay, maybe...”

Laura : “Bob is real! He's been having me since I was 12. And, the diary was hidden too well. There is no other person who could have known where it was. He comes in through my window at night. He's real. He's getting to know me now. He speaks to me.”

Harold Smith : “What does Bob say?”

Laura : “He says he wants to be me, or he'll kill me.”

[tommysdiner]

Torchwood!Tommy Character Profile

Essentials:

1) What name did they go by as a Kine, and what name do they go by now? Why and how did they choose this name, if it’s different?

Born Tomàs Baker, they were primarily called "Tommy" in life and that continues. As it's been 80 years since they were registered legally dead, they have decided to take on a false surname, as well as to keep Torchwood from knowing too much about them. They borrowed "McDonnell" from their crush from when they were alive. Though, this is moot, as due to a backfire of a ritual, Torchwood 2 now knows their real name.

2) What year were they born (or how old would they be in life), and what age do they appear? What age do they feel?

They were born in 1907 and died in 1925, so they look like an 18 year old, though with the infirmity they experienced and just life being what it was at the start of the 20th century, their "18" looks a little older. They can often pass as early-mid 20s without too much difficulty. In truth, they are 101 years old. The year is 2008, the pyramid has just fallen and to some degree they feel so young and vulnerable. Old World Kindred tend to be older. Princes have held these positions since, some of them, the establishment of the Camarilla nearly a millennium ago. But then, among the Kine they work with, they feel ancient. People reference pop culture from any of the time while they were in the Pyramid and it just flies over their head. They feel out of place among these oh so young and fragile humans. Thankfully, Seòras helps them feel a little more okay with it. Agent Lennox, being nearly 50 years old, also doesn't get the references. They sometimes sit there while Cami and Ash talk about some movie or internet trend and just let the conversations wash over the two of them, absorbing nothing.

3) Which Clan do they belong to? How do they feel about their Clan?

They were Embraced into Clan Tremere and House Tremere. Though, lately, people have started questioning the truth of their affiliation. They're a Thinblood, after all, do they really deserve the title of "Tremere"? This all is compounded by the fall of the Pyramid. The House is in chaos and the childer are unreigned. Kindred openly rebel against their sires and the new House Ipsissimi has been formed. Generally, the Anarchs accept both their status as Thinblood, some among the 14th Generation even going so far as to call the term a slur. They are the Duskborn. Duskborn are burgeoning into a new Clan within the Anarch movement and while Tommy is yet to be forced to choose between the two, they know the time is coming. They are yet to make a decision.

4) Which Predator type do they most align with and why?

Currently: Bagger. It's part of the conditions of their employment. No feeding off living humans. Tommy has given a taste for the blood of corpses, its disgusting but, occasionally a welcome change, as well as animals, honestly somehow more unpleasant than the former and coming with the added issue of needing multiple vessels to even lend themself a somewhat satisfying meal. No, bagged blood is the best of the options available. Further, they don't have to steal it. Torchwood buys the bags at the same rate a hospital would pay and it simply comes out of the food budget. Yvonne *does* question why their food budget is so high, but as of yet hasn't pursued the issue too closely. Thankfully, Lukas covers for Tommy. It's a precarious situation, but one that balances for now.

5) Who Sired them, and into what Generation were they Sired? What’s their relationship with their Sire like, and what were the circumstances of their Embrace?

They were sired by their sister: Somhairlín Baker into the 14th Generation. They were scheduled to be Embraced anyway, by Sam's sire, but before the date was supposed to come, they were struck in a motor vehicle accident while in Galway seeking medical treatment for their chronic anemia. Anemia caused by Sam's clandestine use of Tommy as a Cloven Blood Doll. Somhairlín, feeling guilt, Embraced Tommy. Their parents died. The two bonded closer than in life. This would eventually be a source of great pain in Tommy's life as, in early 2008 following the F1rstlight attack on the Vienna Chantry and the Head of the Tremere Pyramid, Tommy felt need to murder their sister.

6) What level of Humanity are they? Has this changed over the years they’ve been dead?

Tommy's Humanity is very low. Due to the practices of the London Chantry and a development of growing Noddist and Cainite practices, Tommy ended up on the Path of Caine during their time in London. They moved to London to escape Thinblood persecution in the post-War era and it was for naught. In London, Tommy hid themself as Sam's ghoul, and Sam, in turn, entered them into a Blood Wedding, a situation where two Vampires bond themselves to the other threw drinking each other's Vitae. This created a feedback loop where both of them sunk to deeper levels of depravity match for match. And, under Hal Grove, Regent of their Chantry, they began doing research into the Thinblood condition.

The research consisted mostly of Embracing new Thinbloods and finding the limits of the condition: could they use disciplines, could they bond, could they be tapped as a source of Vitae... all of these answers proved to be "sometimes" and the Baker siblings lost grip on their humanity with extreme speed. Since the Fall of the Pyramid, they have been slowly clawing their way back; first: onto the Path of Humanty, a dangerous feat to attempt without personal guidance, and then slowly up the ladder of morality. Now, they sit at humanity 5 -- 6 through 8 being the usual extremes of the average human being.

7) Which Disciplines do they possess, and which do they favor using?

They have the traditional disciplines of Clan Tremere: Thaumaturgy, Dominate, Auspex, but they favor Thaumaturgy. In their role as offensive specialist they favor the paths of Flames and Nebulism. The former as a means of attack and the latter to disable enemies or clear a building of civilians.

8) Who are their Touchstones, if any? / 9) What are their Convictions (moral opinions and standings they hold fast to)?

Cami. A fellow Agent of Torchwood who vouched for them to become member of the team. She represents a value of trusting others judgements. As they say "I take pride in the goodness and strength of my friends and that they, being as such, should care for me."

Lukas. Their boss, the head of Torchwood 2. They keep Tommy in line and enforce the value of the preservation of human life. As much as Tommy is frustrated that Engstrom is blackmailing them to keep them in line, to some degree they are thankful.

10) Do they belong to any sect or are they independent?

They belong to the Anarchs. Hard to be a Camarilla Tremere when you collapsed your old Chantry and murdered your sire. No Camarilla Tremere will touch them. They wouldn't bleed on Tommy if they were on fire.

Life

1) What did they do (as a career or in general) before they were Embraced?

They were a Seminarian, studying to be a Priest. Now, that is just completely out of the realm of possibility.

2) Do they still have mortal family or friends, or descendants of those people? Who were they closest to during life, and is there anyone they’ve contacted after their Embrace?

Still, no. Again? Yes. The people they knew are dead and tracking them down would be dangerous. Once, they tried to find their namesake McDonnell's descendants, but lost track of them when they moved to the New World. Thus is unlife. A series of disappointments. And what would they have said anyway? 100 years ago I wanted to kiss your grandfather? That's not going over well. It's as good a reason as any not to keep pursuing.

3) What were their hobbies, skills, and interests?

They knit. They were rarely able to make the trek to the school at the other end of the island in their youth and so they took up crafts. One of the neighbors had sheep and often sold clothes. With Tommy's health the way it was, they sometimes couldn't get out of the chair for days and spinning wool into yarn by hand and kniting the yarn into fabrics. It was nice. They were always cold so now they had sweaters and blankets to keep themself warm. They also sold some of their wares in town, or, the neighbor sold them and split the profits. A necessary source of income when their father was out at sea so long and money became scarce.

4) Did they have any vices, addictions, or mental illnesses? Which carried over into death?

They smoked. The doctors suggested it as means of strengthening the lungs with hopes of helping them build up the energy to walk. Obviously, this was counter intuitive. When they did feel up to it, and the night air was fresh and cool, Tommy and their friend Larry McDonnell would sneak into the chapel and "borrow" a bottle of communion wine. Red-faced and dizzy, they would fall in love with him over and over again, afraid of what it meant, but craving the times when they felt brave enough to reach out for him. Sometimes Tommy felt like maybe Larry felt something in return. It was hard to peel the alcohol from the desires from the truth, and so they never truly acted on it.

5) What were they most afraid of in life? How has this changed?

They were most afraid of their homosexuality. Did this mean they were going to Hell. Did they have to worry about dragging someone else down with them... This has changed in that they have largely given up on the Catholic faith. Perhaps they'll come back to it, they feel a draw to spirituality to fill the hole left by their lapsed Noddism and worship of their Domitor-and-Thrall. They've attended services a few times lately and it seems like some of the opinions within the flock are shifting. They don't want to get too attached but reattajing to their human faith is helping them feel just that much more Human, an addicting feeling.

6) What were their goals and ambitions in life? How has this changed?

Their goal at the time had been to squash their sexuality with faith. Now, they have embraced their queerness. It's a struggle many days to treat themself with kindness in that front. Hell, it's a struggle most days to treat anyone with kindness. But they're getting better.

7) Did they follow any religion or spiritual paths in life? How did that change when they died, if at all?

They were a Catholic in life, hoping to become a Priest and then in Unlife first abandoned religion but then got drawn in by the lures of Cainite Noddism. Now, with the Fall of the Pyramid, they feel a call to that old religion once again. Who knows where it will take them.

8) When they were Embraced, what was the aftermath like? Did they fake their death, do their loved ones think they went missing, etc.?

Their family died along with them so they faked that they died, too. At least they don't have to worry about their parents thinking they're missing.

Death

1) What have they spent most of their years as a Kindred doing?

Most of it has been spent researching their condition. Now, they are one of the most knowledgeable , probably in the world, on what it means to be a Thinblood.

2) What’s the entire lineage of their bloodline, from them all the way back to their Clan’s Antediluvian? Is there anything in particular that they and their grandsires all had in common?

They were primarily raised by their grandsire. Sam's sire took them on as a second childe, even though they had planned to wait maybe 10 years. So, Tommy got the same education as their sister. His sire, however, I haven't thought as much about.

3) How do they adapt to the changing times around them? Do they still uphold values, styles, or other things from the past?

They definitely dress a little bit out of time. And what's not anachronistic is absolutely horrible. They dont, however, adapt very well. They haven't gone through the back catalogue of media Cami gave them, cultural milestones and things that have happened... Just a few months ago, Tommy found out man had touched foot on the moon. They are more than a little behind the times.

4) Do they have a coterie? What position do they take in that group, if so? Otherwise, do they have any notable Kindred (or other creatures) friends?

Their "coterie" is probably the Torchwood 2 team, deapite being Kine. They serve as a blaster with magic on call they can destroy threats and protect their lives -- especially Lukas Engstrom, who, if he dies, will release a catalogue of all the information he has gathered on Kindred to every intelligence agency in the world, a threat Tommy doesn't take lightly.

They are also connected to Alastríona "Cass" Balach. She is Tommy's sponsor in House Ipsissimi and, by human standards, their Sponsor in Alcoholics Anonymous. The disguise is simple wordplay, but the Ipsissimi hide themselves within the Crowleian "Astrum Argenteum" which they in turn have using Alcoholics Anonymous as a front. This also serves as an out for Tommy. They couch their cravings for human blood in terminology based around Alcoholism and thus they are given a space to discuss their emotions. At meetings is also where a Ghouls of Balach's will give them study materials if need be. New rituals and information about the next step on one of their Paths. It's a pretty nice arrangement.

5) Which of their Clan’s stereotypes apply to them? Which do they act against, or embody the opposite of?

They are a neurotic mess. A perfectionist to their core, and sometimes they apply that perfectionism outward becoming a domineering person. They are secretive and dangerous. They have spent decades engaging in unethical magical experiments. Truly, they are quintessential Tremere.

However, they fight to change that. They want to be a better person and a better Kindred. They want to look at a person and not feel a desire to take them apart and find out how they tick. Thankfully, Engstrom keeps them in line on that front, with the actually follow8ng through of it anyway.

6) How do they feel about the Antitribu of their Clan?

Having very nearly been one, they understand the allure. The draw of Vampiric Supremacy and the willingness to bring human kind to their knees, however, they also pulled away. Once their eyes were clear they put their very existence on the line, revealed to the Prince that they had been a Thinblood illegally living in her domain and turned on the Cainites to bring the White Hall Chantry down. They fear the Tremere Antitribu. Their sponsor was also former Goratrix and, bearing the Mark of the Traitor, she was a fullfledged member who partook of the Vaulderie. Whatever brought her out remains to be seen, but Tommy wouldn't have an in at continuing Thaumaturgical Studies without her, and for that, he's grateful.

7) Have they Embraced anyone? Ghouled anyone?

They have, but not to keep around. And having lived in the Blood Bond for decades, they never want to do that to anyone else again.

8) Do they prowl, or is there a city they permanently reside in?

They seem to have settled in Glasgow, as much to be close to their new Sponsor as anything else. And, with their membership in Torchwood 2, they hope to stick around for a long time.

9) What’s their haven like?

They live at the Glasgow Hub: the basement of a nondescript Warehouse in a district of Warehouses, itself hidden by Vampiric magics. They have a private room to live and sleep in near the entrance. When they sleep, they are the first line of defense if something should come in. They protect the themself and their partners with another spell that will wake them immediately if a danger disturbs their residence.

The Hole itself is cozy. Not very big, about the size of a studio apartment. A single room with a bed, a bookshelf, and a fridge to hold Blood Bags. Not too much going on otherwise.

10) Do they believe they are descended from Caine, or do they follow a different path?

They do not believe they are descended from Caine. They have looked at the information Ash has managed to draw from them and it appears that Vampirism may be of extraterrestrial origin. Its exact origin is unknown, but alien stock seems to rule out the concepts purported by Noddism. And, after a period of time otherwise, they are back on the Path of Humanity.

11) How do they feel about Diablerie?

They wonder often. They wonder if they should have Diablerized Sam. Sure, it's a crime in the Camarilla, but they are no longer Camarilla, and they wouldn't be a Thinblood anymore. They would be a stronger force to reckon with, more able to protect their team... But it's a dangerous line of thought. And there's nothing doing, now.

12) Regardless of whether or not they adhere to Camarilla rule, have they ever broken any of the Traditions?

13) Do they believe in Gehenna? How do they feel about Thin-bloods, and do they believe they’re a sign of the end times?

Absolutely. Most of them. Respect of Domain and Hospitality. Their existence is a violation first of all. And they killed their sire. Even with permission, that's still a violation of the Traditions.

14) Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Not anymore. Its been a long unlife, and it was even longer thinking their own existence would draw the death of their people closer. But, they have learned to shrug off these kind of Noddist teachings. And they don't think the world is going anywhere any time soon.

The moment the Blood Bond broke, they frenzied and drank someone to death out of rage. An innocent person dead because they couldn't keep their cool. Other than that, no. They have kept themself well fed these years. And tht hope to keep it that way.

[gallavictorious]

I love your insights so I thought I would ask about lip and his terrible plan to avoid getting caught with the stolen goods. I don’t see how he gets out of this and he dug himself even deeper this past episode. I thought the bikes were dumped by Kev in 11x7 and now he has to keep brad from talking. And Tami almost encouraging him to continue with this massive problem. Thank god Mickey isn’t yet aware of what’s going on yet (I guess he knows the cops are involved). Mickey would actually be able to handle this with a better plan if he knew the extent of what is going on.

Hiya, nonnie! I love the compliment, though in all honesty I'm not sure how much insight I can offer on this. But let's see, shall we?

Disclaimer: I love to speculate and entertain a thousand possibilities and have a lot of opinions about how I'd like for things to go down, but as for actual predictions about what will happen... I'm often a bit useless, I'm afraid. Mostly there's too many variables for me to feel comfortable making any definitive statments, and at the end of the day I prefer not to get too attached to any one theory anyway. So unless I have some properly hard data to build my case on, it's all fanciful sandcastles, yeah? Don't take anything too seriously.

That said and while I'm not sure how Lip gets out of this mess, I'm pretty damned sure he does get out of it. Don't really see them sending him to prison in the last few episodes of the series, you know? It's possible Brad ends up taking the fall one way or another – he's a character the show might be willing to sacrifiece for some real consequences, but to be honest I deem it unlikely. One way or another, they'll squirm their way out of this!

As for the police inquiry, it doesn't even have to be all that hard (especially if the show doesn't want it to be). Yes, Lip and Brad are the very obvious suspects, but without any proof of them breaking in (and we know they took the security camera) and without any of the stolen goods tied to them (the bikes have been dumped, and the remaining boxes hidden in Tami's dad's basement) the cops haven't really got shit on them. Unless the police finds something else or one of our amateur robbers crack under interrogation, they're likely to walk.

But that's the rub, eh? Brad will obviously crack, and he can't stay cuffed to Tami's car and avoid questioning forever. What to do, what to do? Well, allow me to suggest several more or less likely possibilities:

1. They pump Brad full of some likely drug that will keep him calm during the interview. This is a risky and pretty stupid idea, since drugs are generally more likely to make you open up than to allow you to lie convincingly, but what was robbing Born Free if not risky and pretty stupid? Also, could lead to Brad falling off the wagon and there can be Drama and Guilt and What-not.

2. Do the cops know what Brad looks like exactly? They haven't met him yet. Can they send someone else in to do interview in his stead (maybe with a very convincing fake ID, provided by one of Mickey's contacts, if identification is required when you show up to tell the police you're there to answer a few questions)? This seems a kind of Shameless way of dealing with things.

3. They convince Frank that he did it, and then allow his conviction of guilt to lead him into suspicious behavior as he tries to deflect blame which in turn makes the police think it was him that did it. That's a very cold use of Frank's dementia, but Lip might reason that he's likely to be let off on account of his illnes – or taken into care, which would arguably be a win for everyone! And Lip's been a bit of an asshole this whole season, I wouldn't necessarily put it past him.

4. For one reason or another the cops decide to drop this lead before they have time to interview Brad, and he gets a message that he doesn't need to come in. Why would the cops ever do that? Well, maybe both the investigators we met in 11x07 catch old 'rona and since they're understaffed there's no one to take over a simple break-in. Maybe there's another bigger crime happening and they're needed for that becaue they have Special Skills and – again – this case isn't top priority when they're low on officers! Or maybe someone else confesses to the crime because of... reasons?

Listen, if the show wants the allegations to go away, they'll go away. Whether or not we'll find it believeable is another question, but as mentioned, I think there's a pretty good case for the case realistically not holding up as long as Brad doesn't get a chance to confess. (Not saying my ideas for keeping Brad from talking are realistic, mind you... )

The thing is, though, Lip and Brad's troubles aren't over just because they shake the cops. We know, from the 11x09 promo and the episode description, that the new owners of Born Free are in the mob. They won't be concerned about actual evidence; if they think Lip and Brad did the deed, they'll come for their pound of flesh. Returning to the cops dropping the case – what if the owners (after getting new instructions from their mobbish overlords) get in touch with the police to say ”whoops, our mistake, we found the bikes, all's good here officer, no crime to report” because they'd rather deal with the situations themselves? I could see it. If forced to pick an idea I'd personally think makes the most sense, this would probably be it (which isn't the same as me thinking this is what will actually happen).

(Maaaaybe Layla's cop is very and understandably annoyed by Lip's general assholery and accidentally on purpose mentions to the owners – whose connections are not unknown to the police – that they do have a pretty good idea who did it, but no real evidence, so sorry, not much we can do here really, I guess true justice will never be served, unless... I'm rather fond of this notion, even though I don't find it very plausible. But maybe she can at least break the news of the case being dropped to Lip and Brad and she's really smug about it and they don't get why until they do get why? I don't know why, but apparently I'm a bit invested in her getting to be mean to Lip.)

As for Mickey... I can see him staying out of the whole thing, because while Brad and Lip are obvious suspects, he is not so there's a good chance he won't implicated. What with the emotinal and practical aftermat of Terry's death, he might be too focused on his own shit to pay much attention to Lip and Brad's, and they might hesitate to drag him into it. On the other hand, maybe not – maybe he gets involved and this whole thing is somehow connected to him headbutting Lip in 11x10.

All right, nonnie, I don't know how that was for insight, but I'm fairly confident Lip will get out of this just fine in the end. ;) Thann you for the ask - I had lots of fun thinking about this!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Dazed and Confused (Part 1)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

_____

“Dean?” you asked, spotting him walk in the front door and cut through to the back of the apartment. “Dean what...you’re supposed to be at the academy, aren’t you? You got class until-”

“I flunked out,” said Dean, your scoff stopping him in his tracks. “You think I’m fucking joking about that?”

“Considering you’re top of your class, yeah, I think you’re playing some shitty prank or ditching class. Now what is-”

“I have a record apparently. I can’t be a police officer now,” said Dean, grabbing his gym bag from the floor and moving to the closet. “I was seventeen and in a car I didn’t know someone took form their dad without permission. They charged all of us for a stupid non-crime and if I ever see Gabe again, I’m gonna murder him.”

‘Dean...” you said, grabbing his arm, spinning him around. “Go back to the academy and explain-”

“I was forced to quit, Y/N. I got called out of class and into the dean’s office. If you have a record, you can’t be a cop. They thought I was hiding it but I didn’t even know I had one. No exceptions they said. My bag’s are in Baby” he said, shrugging you off. “I’m staying with Sam tonight.”

“Dean, baby, it’s gonna be okay. Maybe we can call your dad, he’s a detective. He knows-”

“Stop trying to make me feel better for once in my life!” he shouted, brushing past you and for the door. “Y/N, give me some space. I mean it.”

“We are talking about this once you cool off Dean. Until then you can have your space.”

Two Months Later

"What?” you asked quietly, too caught up at staring at the green eyes under the mask to think about the gun in his hands. His own were wide and he was quickly shoving you on the ground, standing over you.

“Say another word and I’ll kill you, understand?” he growled, not waiting for an answer before barking out other orders to people inside the bank.

You hadn’t seen or heard from Dean in almost two months. You gave him his day to vent and get it out that he wasn’t going to be a cop, that everything he’d worked for in school and college and the academy was all gone.

When he finally came back around with a couple of moving boxes, he went off on you. You knew Dean’s head and knew that he didn’t mean what he said during a fight. Normally it was his way of getting you to back off. Nearly four years together and two with living together gave you a pretty good idea of when he was being mean for no reason.

But when he, the one guy you ever willingly told about the awful day...when he said it was your fault, you knew it was done. If he was so angry and bitter about not being a cop that he would rip open wounds that only got shut because of him, he wasn’t the man you thought he was.

Two months later seeing green eyes that looked so much like his, hearing a voice that was just a bit deeper than you were used to...you were almost positive the man in the ski mask and holding a gun at some poor bank teller was Dean Winchester.

He wasn’t there more than a minute, gone in a flash and barely enough time for you to register the build under the baggy hoodie and coat.

“Hi, Sam,” you said, dialing him up as soon as you gave a statement to a cop. “You heard from your brother lately?”

“Uh no. He and I aren’t exactly talking right now,” said Sam, his voice hard. “I haven’t seen him in two months.”

“I think...” you said, walking away from the bank and climbing in your car. “I think your brother just robbed a fucking bank, Sam.”

“That’s not funny, Y/N,” said Sam.

“Neither was getting shoved around by a bank robber, Sam. I am 99% positive that it was Dean,” you said.

“Dean was pissed last time I saw him but he’s not a criminal, Y/N,” said Sam.

“I didn’t...I’m worried about the asshole, alright?” you said, Sam breathing heavy on the other end. “Oh, you think he’s an asshole too, Sammy.”

“What’d he say to you?” asked Sam.

“Shit I don’t want to talk about. I’m guessing he said crap about your mom?” you asked, Sam’s thick swallow coming through loud and clear. “He got kicked out of the academy and he lost his shit, which I get but Sam you know your mom was not your fault.”

“I know but he just had to...maybe he really did rob a bank,” said Sam, his floor creaking in the background. “I know, Kevin...I’ll run to study group in just a minute, okay?”

“Shit, it’s your finals week, isn’t it,” you said, running your hand over your face. “You don’t need this right now.”

“It’s alright, Y/N,” said Sam. “Swing by the house around eight. We can talk then.”

“No, you study, Sam. I’m sure I’m overreacting is all.”

Four Years Later

“Junior Detective Y/L/N,” said your partner, a hard ass with a nought soft center.

“Bobby,” you said with a smile up at him, his face in even more of a scowl than usual. “It’s not even nine in the morning. What’s shoved up-”

“You’ve been reassigned, kid,” said Bobby, your jaw dropping. “You think I want another snot nosed brat to train? Uh uh.”

“Where are they putting me?” you asked, getting up from your desk, following him down the hall to the conference room. “I didn’t put in for anything. I actually like being your partner. Bobby, I-”

“Special assignment is all chief would tell me,” said Bobby.

“Y/N,” said the chief, waving you inside, holding up a hand for Bobby to wait outside.

“John, what in the world could you be putting her on that I can’t know about it?” asked Bobby.

“It’s need to know and you know what you need to,” said John, closing the door in his face. He pointed you to a seat, pulling down the blinds in the room. “You’re fidgeting, Y/L/N.”

“What’s going on that the most senior detective in the department can’t know about it?” you asked.

“You’re the only person here who can do what I’m about to ask you,” said John, sliding over the lone file at the other end of the table. “I need you to keep this quiet. You’ll understand-”

“Dean,” you said, his face staring back when you opened the file. There was no arrest record apart from one when he was 17 but the things he was suspect in...

“Dean is...let’s just call it in deep shit and leave it at that,” said John, taking a seat beside you. “He’s dangerous. Never been convicted of anything. I’ve kept the rumors of what he does away from the department but...Dean’s made a name for himself elsewhere. Everything from petty theft to kidnapping, assualt...murder suspect.”

“John, why are you showing me this?” you asked, sliding the file away, not caring to see what happened to the man you once loved.

“I need you to go undercover,” said John, your head shaking. “You just had your secondary training a month ago and they said you’re one of the best they’ve seen. We both know you became a cop to figure out what the hell happened to him. This is our chance.”

“I became a cop so I wouldn’t feel scared again like in that bank,” you said, turning away. “In case you forget, your son broke up with me. He said things to me that I can’t forgive. He would never in a million years buy that I forgot all that.”

“I’m not asking you go undercover as his girlfriend, Y/N. He’s a criminal. He’s in Washington, a small town, working something. We just need intel on what it is, that’s it,” said John.

“He knows me. He probably knows I’m a cop. I can’t just go undercover,” you said.

“So what if he knows you’re a cop? Tell him you quit if he asks,” said John.

“John...” you said, leaning back in your seat. “I can’t do it.”

“We don’t have a choice, Y/N. The feds said you’re the one. You pack up tonight.”

A week later you were in your new town with a population of two thousand people. You were barely there thirty seconds before half the people were bringing over plates of food. It didn’t take long for word to spread a new girl was around or for you to spot Dean after that.

“Leave,” he said as he walked past you on the street, not bothering to stop.

“Dean,” you said, jogging back to catch up with him, catching his arm halfway down the block. “What-”

“If I see you again, you won’t like what happens next,” he said, shrugging you off.

About eight hours later, you realized you never really knew Dean Winchester at all.

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[strangergrove]

× VOL 001 × 04.19.2020 ×

TUMBLR | @bambixxblue AO3 | moonlight_xx

× these hearts adore (every other beat, the other one beats for) ×

WORD COUNT: 10,569

CHAPTERS: 2/?

My Tumblr prompt fics all in one place. Some pining, some angst, but usually always a damn happy ending.

1. peach, curve of an ear, coffee grounds, veined hands, thunder

2. ways to say 'i love you' - 'i brought you an umbrella.'

The writing in this is so exquisite. It feels like cracking open a favourite book on a rainy Sunday morning, when the rest of the world is still asleep. It's comforting and poetic and incredibly heartwarming.

The first chapter takes us along on a sweet little vacation to California, a last hurrah of sorts, before the kids head off to college. It's sweet and peach-soaked and you can feel the ocean breeze against your skin with every passing word. It's the exact brand of happiness our boys deserve.

The second part is an achingly beautiful redemption for Billy. He learns how to let his wounds heal, learns how to let others in, learns how to trust and love. His initial interactions when he meets Steve are so precious and it shows how complex of a person he is, the softness beneath his concrete shell. I will devour any update to this amazing collection.

× the light of day shows me how ×

WORD COUNT: 39,173

CHAPTERS: 7/7

And from Robin, a single picture: the official cast list.

ROMEO MONTAGUE...BILLY HARGROVE

JULIET “JULIAN” CAPULET...STEVE HARRINGTON

Ah, fuck.

(or, Steve and Billy are in ballet school. They're cast in LGBT+ Romeo and Juliet. Featuring mutual pining, angst to fluff, and an Ancient Slavic demon cult. It gets weird.)

This is such a fun read. The spattering of background into the story really carves out the characters so well, choreographing the story in such a way that you fall into their lives without realizing it. You sit down to watch Steve practice his role for Julian and suddenly find yourself wondering if that small stutter you just saw has anything to do with any number of little details you know of his past. You see Billy storm across the studio floor and know that he’s trying to bury something that keeps resurfacing, but he refuses to let anyone help him.

It’s wonderful watching the way the boys play off of each other, pushing one another to better themselves in both their dance and their personal lives. Watching Steve fumble with his newfound and confusing feelings is sweet, hopeful, just waiting, waiting for it to tip over the edge, for the boys to fall into the space they’ve always belong: by each other’s side.

I’ve never done ballet, only watched it here and there in movies and shows, but I fell in love with this story, the way their dances are described, their movements. So if you’ve never been that into ballet, don’t let that deter you from reading this story. It’s so much more than just ballet.

× friends should sleep in other beds ×

WORD COUNT: 13,517

CHAPTERS: 2/2

It isn’t easy being in love with your best friend.

It especially isn’t easy being in love with your best friend if he’s the practical-Godfather of your university.

(or, 'I won't let anyone hurt you; you're safe with me' prompt fill where Steve thinks his love is one-sided but it absolutely isn't. Feat. loving girlfriends and Hawaiian vacations.)

This story is beyond achingly stunning. It’s all whirlwinds and longing and the white-knuckle deathgrip of trying to hold onto something you’re convinced is going to slip away. The deep, binding relationship between Billy and Steve is beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time. Both characters have obvious trenches of emotional trauma they’ve had to trudge through to get where they are, trenches they’re still slowly crawling their ways out of.

The words are so wonderfully crafted that I felt the sway and break of Steve’s emotions at the same time he did. I felt the longing, the sorrow, the sputtering flame of hope that just refuses to gutter and die. I want to say I wanted more of this story, but I don’t know if my heart could have handled it. No, it was the perfect length, detailing the long harrowing journey of love and friendship, of finding family that doesn’t come from blood, of holding desperately onto things that are worth the bruises they leave on your fingers.

TUMBLR | @cameorabbit AO3 | CaffeinatedBunny

× Life Is Sweet ×

WORD COUNT: 8,676

CHAPTERS: 4/4

Snapshots of domestic bliss, between loving boyfriends.

(This story will be marked as complete but I will be adding chapters as the muses come to me or when I need a break from some of my larger wip)

This wonderful little collection offers us a sweet insight into the boys' relationship. We get small glimpses into the boys' pasts that add layers to the stories. We get to see little snippets of Steve's relationship with his mother and grandmother. We get to see Billy's insecurities. 

Each story has it’s own little theme, if you will, from baking Christmas cookies to battling insecurities in their relationship. Each story gives us a little more, brings us a little deeper into these boys’ lives, adds that next layer to them that has you coming back to see how they’ve developed. I'm looking forward to any future additions to this collection.

× When I run out of road (You bring me Home) ×

WORD COUNT: 5,316

CHAPTERS: 1/1

The road back to Hawkins Indiana is long and tedious with neither of them really wanting to reach their destination; so to distract them both Billy has a plan to make it as pleasurable for both of them as he can.

Uffda. This was a fun read. Now, before I dive into the review, just a heads up: this is a PWP with dom/sub. And apologies in advance for my inability to be eloquent about smut.

The dynamic between the two was a joy to read. Steve's mannerisms as a baby and the way Billy handles him as his Daddy was fantastic. It's not heavy dom/sub here, but you can tell they've had this relationship for a while. They're both comfortable in their roles and both know exactly what they're doing, and how to get a rise out of each other. But between the power play and the drops of backstory, there's actually some beautiful writing here, too. There were a few lines that I found myself rereading just because they sounded beautiful.

Also, I just have to say... The way Billy handles his own cock... Why do I love that so much? Just little things, too, like tapping it against the steering wheel while he's teasing Steve.

× I'll Keep you Mine ×

WORD COUNT: 3,926

CHAPTERS: 1/1

Billy's forged a kingdom and took an empty throne, and he'll burn anyone and anything that tries to take it from him.

(My Dudes this whole story is pretty much the Grumpy Possessive one claims the Sunshine One - Literally. And I ain't even mad.)

Here we get a gorgeously written tale that spins the events of the Upside Down in a different light. I don't want to spoil what that is, as it's not explicitly stated in the summary or tags, so you'll have to read to find out! This idea could easily be fleshed out into a much longer piece, but there's also something about just getting a small taste of an idea that is very enjoyable.

There is this persistent sense of danger beneath all the beautiful imagery. It's in the pacing of the story, in the way Billy needs to claim Steve. We get enough of a taste of this otherness to want more, to want to see exactly how everything unfolds.

TUMBLR | @wickedlydevious AO3 | wickedlydevious

× Weak Hands, Weak Lungs, Strong Heart ×

SERIES: Strong Heart

WORD COUNT: 2,771

CHAPTERS: 1/1

After the events at Starcourt Mall, Billy is recovering in the hospital and bored out of his mind. The only bright spots are when Max comes to visit.

And then Steve Harrington starts visiting too and that's even better.

There is a very beautiful light and warmth throughout this story. Billy's character feels so accurate, and the way he deals with being in the hospital and everything that entails is exquisitely portrayed here. What Billy has to deal with in the wake of the Mind Flayer grates against his entire personality, but it forces him to step outside of his comfort zone, outside of himself, and relearn how to interact with people, namely Steve.

The thing I loved most about this story is that we get to see these different facets of Billy, facets that maybe even he didn't really know were there, ones he never allowed himself to show because of his father. Still recovering, still being dependent on other people forces these different aspects of him into the world, and it's beautiful. It creates this very special sort of relationship between Billy and Steve that is just so pure and heart warming. I'll definitely be coming back to this when I need a spark of joy.

× Weak Backbone, Strong Convictions ×

SERIES: Strong Heart

WORD COUNT: 3,212

CHAPTERS: 1/1

After the events at Starcourt Mall, Steve starts bringing Max to visit Billy at the hospital.

And then Steve starts visiting on his own.

The sweetness continues with the second part of the Strong Heart series. The events of the first part are retold, but this time through Steve's POV. I've always loved the idea of telling the same events from different perspectives and this did not disappoint. The events may be the same, but you feel them differently than when they were told through Billy's perspective. Though the tone of the previous installation is ultimately uplifting, it's clear Billy is struggling. This part, however, is overflowing with hope, which only adds to the already beautiful feeling of the last piece. Don't think that because you already know the events that will take place because you read the last part that you shouldn't read this one. It's beautiful and moving and there are moments added that would be a shame to miss out on. I really hope this series continues, because it is wonderfully uplifting, but it stands strong all the same, just as it is.

× T(h)ree Mistakes ×

WORD COUNT: 4,559

CHAPTERS: 1/1

It’s their first Christmas in their own apartment and Steve reluctantly tasks Billy with getting the tree.

Mistakes are made.

This is a great read for the holidays. Billy's tree-getting adventures brought back so many memories of going to the tree farm down the road from our house as a kid and making a day of trying to find a tree that didn't look like trash and wouldn't break the bank. The feel of the story is cozy and sweet, like a warm and sleepy holiday morning. The kids, now teens, make a short but fun appearance that really makes this story feel like it's about found family. 

This story is like coming home, rounding up all of your best friends you haven’t seen in ages, and making a night of the holidays. It’s sipping eggnog, the lights turned down low, and listening to the sweet croon of gentle music somewhere in the house. This story is comfort and happiness and love. Now I want some hot apple cider...

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[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Not much except for the dangers for staying up all night. And Meta. Word count: 1,900. Chapter Summary: Fanfiction is not your friend. A/N: I am very sorry but like all my writing we are in that awkward middle where we have to hang on for dear life and hope the writing improves by the end.

Ao3 if you prefer

You hadn’t gone looking for it, the story. Your new online friend sent you a link. Innocently. Casually. Like she wasn’t going to absolutely, swiftly, and utterly change everything.

It was only supposed to be a story.

You had tried to explain as gently as possible that you weren’t reading fics anymore but she'd sent you the link anyway, in case you changed your mind. She hadn’t been holding a gun to your head or anything, you didn’t have to click it. You could have let it sit in your little inbox till the end of time. She’d mentioned that you might like this story is all. This person, the writer she linked you to, was well known and pretty good. The stories were, her words, one of a kind. It had been late, you’d already been tucked up in bed and unable to sleep. The blue light from your phone was doing very little to help with the whole getting to sleep thing, but really, it’s Friday night. No harm, no foul.

Your bedroom was the perfect temperature, your blankets were the perfect weight over your body. Everything was soft and cocoon-like, the ideal place to hide from the world while you read something you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t. More fanfiction.

The first story was twelve chapters and you devoured them. Your new friend had been right. The story was brilliant. If you hadn’t known better this could have been another unpublished book, albeit shorter than Supernatural books usually are. There had been a vivid interaction between Sam and Dean finishing each other's sentences that felt bone-chillingly real. Probably because you’d seen the real them do the exact same thing in front of you a few days ago.

Well written fanfiction is not the issue. Nor is the fact that you’re reading fanfiction at all. The crazy, unbelievable part came down to four familiar words.

Little did she know.

If you remembered anything it was those words. They had haunted what nightmares you’d had since you heard them a week ago. Those words were the reason you jumped easier at every sound or movement.

Then you’d read them on the screen. Little had that character known that she wouldn't make it past the week. Alone those words weren’t irrefutable proof, not enough to convict anyway, the rest of the story might be. The way it was written. It was like you could hear the words in your head again, a different song sung in the same voice. An echo of what you heard most days since that first Friday in May.

Only when you get to the end do you dare to even think your suspicions.

There’s no way. It’s impossible.

The clock at the top of your phone tells you it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning now. You hadn’t devoured that first story as quickly as you thought. Maybe you’re tired. That’s what was causing this delirium. Tiredness was sending you further and into the realms of crazy. Crazier than the voice or the Winchesters or the fact that a shapeshifter is killing people.

It’s beyond deranged. It’s insane, it’s… it’s… unbelievable.

Your life, what you’ve been hearing, it can’t be just that; a story. It’s supposed to be in your head. Sure, everything you'd heard had been strung together like a book but it’s not actually being told. It’s something in you, broken, you needed an MRI. Or a therapist. You read too much, that’s all. You have too many books in your memory.

It would be easy to turn your phone off now. One a.m. That’s sleeping time. Your eyelids are heavy and it’s a struggle to keep them open.

But you click the link that says Masterlist anyway and see a post for something in progress at the top of the page. Till Death Do Us Part.

The synopsis alone makes your throat dry and your heart stop.

Y/N spends her days on paperwork and procedure. In the worst days of people’s lives, she is the full stop at the end of the sentence. When a loved one is lost, she replaces the irreplaceable; by completing the insurance claim. Her work sits on the outskirts of tragedy, far away enough that she pretends to have a normal life. But when she discovers two men attempting to steal her job out from under her? Everything changes.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Gravity has forced you deeper into your pillow to the point where you couldn’t get up, couldn’t move, if your house caught fire around you. It’s a comfortable prison but you’re still trapped all the same, which only leaves scrolling, clicking, and reading as your options.

Yet your thumb is slow. It’s the only part of you that can move but you can’t bring yourself to do it too quickly. You suddenly can’t sleep either and indecision starts eating at you.

It might be an hour before you click on the first link—chapter one—it might be thirty seconds. The chapter eventually loads and when you do start skimming the words something steals the air from your lungs. A single line stands out to you, black letters on a white background that will haunt you for the rest of your short life.

This is a story about Y/N Y/L/N.

The early morning sun starts to leak through the gap in your curtains, sending a slither of light into the room. It slices over your bed, your arms still holding your phone and your face.  It's not particularly bright but it's enough to inform you that you haven't slept yet and you paw at your cheeks to wipe the tears from them.

Six chapters out of ten. There are six chapters online for anyone to read. Every facet of your life. There’s so much more than the words you'd heard in your already. Entire sections where the real you deviated from the path, because the you that is being written about has no idea what’s coming. She has no idea that she’s going to die. Or that you both are.

When you’d first heard that you’d run home in a panic but in the story you never did. You sat at your desk and worked mindlessly, made small talk with Harry about his weekend plans. You’d carried on living.

The invasion of your privacy is not the reason for the tear tracks blotting your face though. No, you'd cried for two reasons. Frustration had been what made your chin wobble and your eyes sting. What you were reading is what knocked your resistance enough to feel the wetness on your cheeks.

It's poetic. The irony of this character only learning to really live in her final days, without knowing it's her final days. The foreshadowing and tragedy perfectly  littered throughout. You may think you're better off knowing except what did you actually know? The only thing you know is the same thing everyone on the planet knows; death is coming. Yours is sooner than you'd like, sure, but you still had no idea what was coming at all.

You're not a crier, not pretty prose alone, but this isn't a character. It's you. The implication of sad, wasted days were your choices, your time, your shell of an existence.

You wouldn't have even thought your life was that ordinary until you'd read that it was.

So, you'd read. Over and over again as if you can will the ending to appear by memorizing whatever has already been posted. Sleeping was second hand to re-reading. You'd thought back to everything before this and your love of a good mystery, convincing yourself that you alone could find the clues. That’s where the key to solving this was. Hidden to anyone else but you.

Now you know every word; the good, the bad, and the ones you already heard in your head. There’s nothing. No glaringly obvious tips or hints anyway. Nothing that makes you sit up dramatically because of a fact only you know about yourself. Then again—you're reminded by the promise of an update soon—it’s still in progress.

The answer hits you between your eyes.

This story is in progress. It’s not a product of your mind anymore, it's being written by a human being. Although you have no idea how you are hearing it, or how she’s controlling you. Or if she brought you into existence like a monster from the books. There's still hope. She’s a person typing on a keyboard.

People can be stopped. Keyboards can be smashed. Stories can go unfinished.

You click back to her main profile and see her name. Emma. Your author has a name now, all the better to find her.

Emma. Iowa. That doesn't narrow it down much further. The only other slightly identifying piece of information on her profile is her age.

There's one thing Emma has gotten right in everything she's written so far, you have changed. Imminent death will do that to a person. Old you would have given up, let defeat win out. Luckily you're not that person anymore.

Not everyone is as honest as you would like when it comes to insurance. Sometimes you need to treat things like fraud because they are fraud, so you already have a friend who has dug up information for you in the past. With a lot less to go on.

Hi Stan,

It's been a while but I was hoping you had time to check something out for me. I'm looking for an Emma, 34, Iowa. I also have a link to her blog below. I know it's a long shot but if I can get a phone number, address, anything. You'd be doing me a huge favor. Are normal fees ok? Let me know if you're busy or if anyone else can do this for me.

Thanks,

Y/N

The email is brief but once your phone makes that tiny woosh sound to signify it's sent you feel comforted. A small semblance of relief wraps you up like the blanket you still have tucked under your arms. For the first time, you're not blindly trying things and hoping to solve the problem. You may not know how this is happening but you're being proactive with the facts you have. If your off the books P.I friend can actually find this woman then you may have an honest to God shot at preventing your own death. You might even get her out of your head to boot.

You check the time again, even though it's six a.m. you're finally tired enough to close your eyes.

Continue to Chapter 7.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23   Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue​

[cycat4077]

A Quiet Night Out

Part 4 of the Changes verse (though it’s pretty stand alone if a series isn’t your thing). (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3)

Pairing: Sonny x Reader  Warnings: fluff Words: 1291 Summary: Sonny has to work the night-shift on New Year's Eve, ruining your plans for a quiet night in... But perhaps a quiet night out will work just as well. (Set New Year’s 2015/2016 during season 17) AO3 here

"I'm sorry, doll," Sonny mumbles drearily into the phone. "The schedule just came out ‘n they have me workin' the night shift New Year's Eve." He can probably hear your shoulders slump all the way from his desk at the precinct. "I know we wanted ta spend a quiet night in together, but I can't exactly ask ta switch when I'm the only one who doesn't have kids." "It's okay, Sonny," you assure him trying to sound upbeat. "Such is life. We'll just celebrate another time." He hums in agreement before lowering his voice. "You don’t know how much I was lookin' forward to kissin' you at midnight." A wave of heat rushes over your face and something in your stomach flutters. "Me too," you whisper.

"Good news is that it should be a relatively quiet shift. The case volume will only start pickin’ up after the festivities end." His words spark an idea but you decide to keep it quiet for now. "Hey, maybe you could call me if you're not too busy and we could chat instead." Sonny's tone perks up. "Yeah! That sounds like a great plan! Ehh, Lieu needs me now. I'll phone ya later." "Bye and be safe," you call out. "Always. Bye, doll." The line clicks off and your phone chimes, signalling the end of the conversation. The next couple of days roll by until it's finally New Year's Eve. Sonny texts you midmorning, informing that he’s attempting some shut-eye before his shift. While you do miss the communication, the alone time is actually perfect because you have a plan and need time to prepare...

-x-

How's the shift going?

You hit send a few minutes after 9pm as you stand twiddling the apple pendant around your neck. You get an answer back immediately.

So sloooow! Wish I was with you instead :(

A grin parts your lips, taking his message as your cue to climb the steps to the NYPD. The elevator dings open to an empty hallway, leading you around the corner to the 16th precinct. You spot Sonny alone at his desk, drumming his fingers and staring at his phone awaiting your reply. "Special delivery," you say, holding up the grocery bag in your hand. Sonny's head whips around to the familiar sound of your voice. A smile rapidly spreads across his face as he leaps up from his seat. "Hey!" "I know we wanted a quiet night in, but I hope a quiet night out will work just as well." He doesn't answer but instead comes over and wraps you in a swaying hug, walking you backwards towards his desk. "You're tha best," he speaks into your hair. Smirking, you wriggle in his arms to look up at him. "You haven't even seen what I brought though!" Sonny sets you free and you place the bag on his desk. "Firstly, I made some cookies. Chocolate chip and gingersnaps." Sonny nabs the container, pops the lid and inhales deeply. "Mmmmm," he hums with closed eyes. "But what goes best with cookies?" you ask in a sing-song voice. "Hot cocoa, of course!" You then produce a tin of hot chocolate mix and a packet of marshmallows from the bag. "Yes!" exclaims Sonny with the excitement of a little kid. "Lemme put the kettle on ‘n grab a couple mugs!" He jogs to the break room and you snicker at his enthusiasm. Pulling up a chair next to his, you shrug off your winter coat and take a moment to scan the squad room. It's been a while... Once the water is boiled and your steaming hot chocolates are topped with marshmallows, the two of you nibble - well, more like scarf down - cookies and chat. It's funny how you still find things to say to one another, but that's how it is with Sonny: you can discuss serious issues or ramble about absolutely nothing at all and it feels effortless. Time flies by and somehow the conversation turns quite random. "Eighties hair needs to make a comeback," you state with conviction, waving a half-eaten cookie around to emphasize your point. "What?!" spurts Sonny. A couple crumbs tumble onto the desk. "You're jokin', right?" "No! It was great! Admittedly they used too much hairspray, but some of the guys had really luscious locks." "Am I gonna need to grow my hair out, doll?” Sonny raises an eyebrow to his wisecrack. “I mean, it'd take a lot more gel to hold it all, but I'd do it for you." With that you erupt into a laughter that causes an involuntary snort. You cover your mouth in shock, trying to gauge Sonny's reaction. That wasn't lady like at all. But Sonny fails to hold it together when he hears the sound and a lets out an almighty sputter. His laughter only launches you into a deeper giggle fit, effectively leaving the two of you doubling in your seats. The need for air finally quells the hilarity and when you glance up at Sonny, you find his eyes crinkling at the corners over an affection-laden smile. "I love you," he says, blue eyes holding yours in their gaze. Your heart jumps to your throat and the words I love you, too spring from your lips. Sonny reaches for your hand. "Dunno why we haven't actually said that before." "I guess we just already knew," you suggest, heart thundering in your chest. "Most definitely," he agrees while rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Your eyes shift down to where your hands meet only to notice the time on his watch. Clasping onto Sonny's hand, you get up and tug him gently to follow. You cross the squad room towards a window, the lanky detective bumbling along behind you. You stare through the glass to find a city bathed in light. Snow blankets the rooftops and large fluffy flakes twirl around the streetlamps. In the distance you pinpoint the center of every New Yorker's attention: Time's Square. "It's almost midnight," you say, glancing over at Sonny beside you. He places one hand carefully to the small of your back while raising the other wrist so you both can watch the clock. Together you quietly count down the seconds, smiles growing after every number. "Happy New Year, doll," he says when the clock strikes twelve. "Happy New Year, Sonny," you reply affectionately. He then places a finger under your chin and tips your head upwards for a kiss. It's tender and sweet and brimming with love. "Mmm, cookies 'n cocoa," he teases, nibbling on his lip. You give his arm a playful swat. "Y'know, Mister..." a phony stern tone laces your voice while you poke a finger at his chest. "Now that we've both said it, expect to hear it a lot!" A puzzled Sonny scrunches his nose. "Huh?" "I love you," you explain and Sonny's brows raise in understanding. Maybe it's the romantic aura of New Year's Eve, but something causes you to pour out even more of your heart. "I've loved you since the summer." Sonny runs a hand down your arm, arriving at your hand to give it a squeeze. "I've loved you since then too. And I'll neva get tired of hearin’ you say it or sayin' it myself either!" You can't help but chuckle. "God, we're corny!" "Mmhmmm," he agrees with a smile and a wink. "But at least we're well matched!" Brilliantly colored fireworks begin to pop off over the skyline, drawing you both to watch the show. Sonny gathers you in close and you nestle yourself under his arm. Laying your head against his chest, you hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

What a way to start off a new year…

-x-

Part 5 here :)

[ddaenghoney]

chapter sixteen

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): mentions of anxiety/nervousness. Yoongi going through quite a bit ) :

Word count: 5826

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

“Wow, it didn’t take you long to get here.” Yoongi says as he steps back to open the door wider. You nod your head, entering inside,

“I was already in the car with Jin, and there’s not really much traffic right now.” You rub your hands together, paying particular attention to let your thumbs meddle with the individual fingers. The front door shuts with a click and an electronic beep to indicate it’s properly secure. Your eyes remain fixed towards the floor, mulling over the different things he could want to tell you.

“Were you going somewhere with him after seeing him and Namjoon at the cafe?” Yoongi’s voice is normal, a casual inquisitiveness like he hadn’t mentioned a conversation that needs to happen not even half an hour earlier. His hand finds your back with a tiny nudge to lead you towards the couch just like the day before and any other time you’ve ended up at his place for one reason or another. Despite the multitude of armchairs framing the living space, it’s been natural to sit beside one another as you do now.

“Yeah,” You say then recall that uncomfortable situation to cause you and Seokjin to leave Namjoon’s cafe. Part of you still wants to settle in the idea that the three of you were making incorrect assumptions. The first group, and then the second set of patrons were simply going in to drink coffee or have pastries. Ultimately it’s speculation, and you could just be overthinking the popularity of your name after a night of music exposure. “He was just giving me a ride.”

Yoongi watches the words appear to flutter uncertainly from your lips, like they attempt to cover a larger picture. He frowns slightly, then catches sight of balling hands on your lap. Without consideration for anything besides a clearer understanding of whatever is troubling you, Yoongi moves a few inches closer so that he can reach an intersect your focused sightline. He doesn’t surprise from your shoulders shrugging in surprise, instead smiling gently as your restless grip changes to take a delicate hold on his hand.

Your stare finally finds his own, and Yoongi thinks about the comments from the internet. You told him you wanted to wait until the evening to check any yourself, but maybe you had like he had. “What’s wrong?”

Your brows furrow, lips pouting in disbelief of his question, “You said you needed to talk to me so I’m nervous about it.” Without hesitation or tact you speak up, then clamp your lips shut. Squeezing his hand within the confines of your own, you sigh in embarrassment, unaware of Yoongi’s eyes widening in realization. “That sounded kind of harsh how I said it. But I just,” You shrug and pull your legs up onto the couch to better face him, “It’s not even three in the afternoon and you’re back home, Yoon.”

“Oh, yeah,” He blurts out, then nods slowly. You nearly snort in amusement with how he seems to have forgotten the tone of his voice in the phone call, but smother it as he uses his free hand to rub the arch of his shoulder and neck. “Yeah, I know it’s weird.” He narrows his eyes towards the sight of your connecting hands, though entirely unfocused on it. “I do have something to say, I just didn’t figure out how to say it before you got here.”

“Did Yerin end up getting really upset with you?” Yoongi bites his lip at the question, causing you to worry about the severity of the decision to release. If he is going to have a difficult time at SoundWave now, you would like to take back clicking the button, even if he said he was aware of the risks. Yoongi shouldn’t be the person facing the brunt of whatever repercussions there are.

“SoundWave is dropping me from the company.”

Your lips part, taking the sentence into your head. Yoongi doesn’t speak further, eyes simply staring towards your hands holding his, where he grips onto you the reason for this is all.

Language escapes your mind, unable to think of a response to his words. If you were called straight away for the company to tell you they’re cutting the contract short and firing you, if you were called in so they can slam paperwork for some sort of contrived lawsuit, if they took action against you for what happened, you can understand that. You expected the force of Yerin’s voice nailing your nerves while she tells you every reason why you made the wrong choice.

But Yerin firing Yoongi wasn’t a consideration.

She could’ve got rid of you months ago when the initial photographs of you and Yoongi leaked and she acknowledged the hidden affair between you and Jimin, but all along she never did. Despite the constant prodding into the company like you meant to make it burst, you were reprimanded through words wherever you expected a tearing of your contract in half.

“Why,” Yoongi looks up at your cracking mumble, finding your eyes contorted in confusion and complete regret. He goes to speak, feeling your hands tremble around his as you shake your head, “She can’t do that-” You cut your own voice off as you consider the fact that she has every right to, and you watch Yoongi bite his lip frowning. “I’m sorry.” His eyes narrow, following your figure as you stand from the couch, “This is my fault- I’ll go talk to her, I’m sorry-”

“It’s not your fault.” Yoongi reaches for your wrist while he pursues your distraught path, “Y/N, I told you that I thought about it before-”

“Did you think she’d fire you!” You turn as you ask, frowning. Yoongi’s lips shut, tightening, and you believe the tremble in his soft grip on your wrist exists, but it’s largely masked by your own surging emotions rumbling in your veins. “Yoongi, you can’t lose your job, you don’t deserve that. You’ve worked for everything.”

“You have too.” Yoongi’s voice rings with conviction, willing you to stay silent as he fumbles through other sentences swarming in his thoughts. Shaking his head, Yoongi sighs, taking a moment to admit, “I didn’t think she’d do that.”

With how much his title contributes to the company, why would either of you ever thought they would fire him for this. Even in your head, the punishment for helping you release music was comparably minor to this reality. You anticipated articles ripping you to shreds for him letting you feature in his works by only being his girlfriend. You thought Yerin would force him to remove the tracks and take away his allowance of independently posting music.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“She’s not going to change her mind, angel.” Yoongi watches your hands clench, knowing you feel entirely helpless and unsure of how to go about assisting him. He doesn’t think it’s worth it for you to be so upset-- that this is simply a plausible repercussion, and one that isn’t your fault. Involving yourself between him and Yerin wouldn’t do anything, perhaps even serving to cause public scrutiny for you if SoundWave takes louder measures.

A year earlier, Yoongi wondered what stopped him from helping Hoseok during the scandal. His own fear felt like tape over his mouth, discouraging any means to speak favorably to the press about Hoseok whose reputation was crushed in a matter of weeks from lies and misconceptions fed into the public. All the while Yoongi let it go on, offering only an ear to spill worries and stresses, but no voice to give aid.

“Yoon, I’m so sorry.” Hearing your frail voice, Yoongi remembers offering help. In a small voice, maybe one he hoped Hoseok wouldn’t hear, but did. Only to be met with him telling Yoongi not to. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“They shouldn’t have done any of this to us.” Yoongi says immediately, recalling Yerin’s short speech earlier to him that day. He knew that it wouldn’t be good news, he already prepared for that from the moment the secretary called him on his commute to say that Yerin needed to speak to him immediately.

“You made the choice for this.” She said after Yoongi questioned why. In his stupor, he thought he heard her wrong, never thinking that she would fire him from the first sentence. “I don’t need the liability of you acting on your own like this. Your platform is too big for you to make ridiculous, impulsive decisions. And considering the online reception of those songs, it’s only natural that something had to be done. None of them went over well where fans are concerned. The amount of backlash you’re going to receive is reason enough, but I know that you won’t stop here. I can’t have someone like you in this company.”

“I never wanted any of this, Y/N.”

Ice infects his words, though spoken quietly. Weakly does his hand remain on your wrist, resembling something closer to resigning conviction, and it brings your heart to an even pace. Despite your previous racing thoughts screaming at you to go to SoundWave and fight for him to get his job back, in the sentence Yoongi brings everything to a painful lull.

Little time is needed to understand that his words aren’t directed at an anger towards being fired, but something deeper that you know is familiar. From small glances before. You can recall the tour Yerin gave him around the company building so many months ago and the stoic expression that seemed to be following motions, the time you asked him if he enjoys SoundWave just to be met with mostly silence until he could verbalize a doubtful yes. In front of cameras Yoongi’s eyes were always avoiding looking directly, dodging away like what he couldn’t show himself properly.

You shrug his hand off of you as you take a step towards him, adjusting your arm so that your palm cups his cheek. Angling his face towards your gently, Yoongi’s eyes look collected with moisture, but absent of release. Jaw tightened, then more so as he frowns down at your concern twinkling irises. “Yoon.”

The softness of your voice sends his ribcage into a shudder, unable to allow himself words for risk they’ll end up exhaling words he’s never felt like he should say. Your thumb strokes gently, so soothingly warm against his stinging skin. He lets his hands find purchase on your waist as you perk onto your toes to leave a tiny kiss on beside his lips, like a feathering promise. Silently waiting however long you’ll need to.

“I’ve never been me in front of everyone, angel,” His voice takes time on his words, like his subconscious grips onto them tightly until they’re ripped away by the invitation of your comfort. “My other company and SoundWave,” He sighs, squeezing your waist as he finds himself weakening. Yoongi has so much, he shouldn’t be upset about such a simple thing like reputation.

“Yoongi,” His eyes flicker back towards yours, seeing them present, focused. “You can tell me.”

Compared to you whose every means to be acknowledged has been constantly subdued since your entry into the music industry, Yoongi thinks it’s almost ridiculous for him to complain to you. Despite his own allowance of you telling him your troubles, he doesn’t feel like he should be allowed to talk to you about things that would’ve been changeable if he simply acted on his own accord like what people expect of him. But it’s fabrication to be unsociable and distant for the persona that grew from the debut album into an unleavable image.

Hoseok did what he wanted for himself, always maintaining his truly positive attitude and letting every fan see him as he is. Even in the midst of handling the scandal of his relationship with Seulgi, and allowing her to fabricate a clean escape that left Hoseok dealing with the brunt of misconceptions, he still did it all freely. Perhaps now he would’ve reacted differently, but Hoseok’s actions have always been his own despite what people could think, and that’s simply why he’s able to start again.

“I just feel like I’m some sort of puppet.” Yoongi believes his voice to sound hollow, more so than he intended. With it spoken, he already feels like it should be pulled back and hidden away. With how much freedom he was given to produce his music that suited the brand, and release a few independently conceptualized songs now and again without permission, Yoongi realizes that he was given the most to work with.

For you, Hoseok, and even Jimin your creative inputs were disregarded entirely. For Yoongi it was always just a distance between himself and the public; something meant to appear unattainable. He speaks quieter, without realizing the words escape, “I’m not ever supposed to be me.”

Your chest stings as his drifting focus leads away from you. Something so consuming about his words go so far as to even mesh into Yoongi’s voice, and he’s in your touch but you feel like you’re not a presence for whatever problems are further within his somber admissions. From his cheek, your hand falls away to settle on his shoulder, squeezing bits of warmth that snap his stare back to you.

“You’ve always been you to me.” The sentiment outwardly appears small, but the conviction amidst your gentle voice resonates deeply in Yoongi’s chest. With his eyes widening so slightly he finds himself in silence, for some reason baffled by your statement, because certainly how the two of you interacted very initially could have led incorrect assumptions of who he is.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to be SUGA around you.” Yoongi says, recalling the simplistic intention of releasing music as an idol years ago. “Ever since debut everyone always picked how I’m supposed to act and look on their own,” He sighs, reaching to rub his head and then tugging some of the locks, “Even my hair,” There’s a passing scoff as his voice grows spiteful, “It’s been blonde since my debut-- more than five years, and I’ve never been able to get anyone to let me change it.”

His rambling falters as he realizes the ridiculousness of it all. Yoongi’s arm drops back to his side, and he sighs softly, head shaking, “I shouldn’t be saying this, angel, I’m sorry. You probably think it’s whiny,” He mumbles with a remorseful twinge, and you shake your head immediately, trying to speak in opposition to the idea but Yoongi goes on to finish, “I never thought about how much I hate pretending to be something until right now.”

“Yoongi,” Your grip on his shoulder shakes him slightly as your voice trickles out fervently for his ears to tune into. “It’s not wrong for you to feel bad about this-- if I never met you I would’ve been played by your management team too, but what people see of you in media isn’t you,” You frown, wondering if any of this makes any sense. “And you can be mad about that, Yoon, really. You didn’t want to be any of that-- I know you. I know it hurts having to follow along with everything without say, you can be mad about it. It’s okay to be.”

“I have everything else though-- they let me make my own music and everything, how am I supposed to be ungrateful about that one thing--” Yoongi grits his teeth as the retort sounded closer to an exclamation, but it’s infuriating in his mind. Escaping as frustration in blurring irises. “Why should I be complaining when you have it worse?”

Your thumbs acknowledge the tears before Yoongi’s senses do. In a startle his shoulders tense at the tiny brush to relieve his cheeks of trickling he desperately wishes would cease now that he realizes it escapes his eyes. Blinking tightly does nothing but expel more, and his jaw feels so pressured from clamming shut. “Yoon, if something hurts it hurts. Your problems aren’t less than mine.”

Yoongi wants to combat the claim, but your slight smile stops him. Empathetically bright like a small flame. He remains silent, as tension abandons his shoulders and similar words he’s said to you play through his mind. Tightening his lips together cause a new glistening trail from his eyes as remnants of the emotional flood drain away. Yoongi tugs you closer to him, arms encircle your waist to hug you as you settle your hands to rub soothingly through his hair.

“I know it’s just me saying this, but I think it’d be really hard to never be yourself in front of the world, Yoon.” You tell him while Yoongi’s face buries against your shoulder, hidden away but kept protectively close within your embrace. “You don’t have to keep it all in.”

Carefully, Yoongi’s arms tighten, clinging in a way to your person and all the safety it feels to dispel into him. He remains static as the tears in his eyes evaporate from the calmness of silence and a chance to recollect himself, yet feel much more relieving. Your fingertips seemingly perpetual massage against his scalp, and the stable feeling of you within his arms act as a constant, bringing back the equilibrium so everything feels manageable.

“I really don’t want you to go and talk to Yerin about my job, angel.” Yoongi murmurs after a small eternity of comforting quiet. As he pulls away only enough to look at you, he sees your expression changed into the slightest of dissatisfaction with his words. Realizing you clearly planned to say whatever you could, Yoongi smiles gently, face a little puffy from the tears. “I’m certain she won’t change her mind anyways.”

“But-” You start and immediately grow silent. Despite what he’s said, you can’t stop feeling responsible, and like you should be trying to help fix what Yoongi lost. However, the delay in the conversation let logic enter your head again and you know he’s right. Trying to get back in would be practically useless.

In the midst of your contemplation, Yoongi’s lips find yours in a short kiss, surprising your focus back to him. Leaving only a few centimeters of space, he speaks, “I’ll figure something out. Maybe this’ll be for the best.” Your immediate squeeze on his shoulder makes him momentarily puzzled, wondering if the last sentence sparked worry, but Yoongi doesn’t worry long as you very assertively reply,

“We’ll figure something out.” Subdued determined sparkles in your eyes, causing Yoongi’s head to imperceptibly nod as he registers the intention of paraphrasing his sentence with a different pronoun. Involving yourself into this matter. Yoongi’s lips curl upwards. “Whatever happens, at least you’ll be able to do it however you want, babe.”

“Babe?” He repeats, smile growing wider while your mouth shuts and your eyes avert. Finding an inkling of embarrassment in your pout as he points out the term of endearment you make a grumbling whine that Yoongi chuckles at. “Sorry, it was just cute.” He explains only serving to earn a glare from your growing flustered expression, “You’re right, angel. I don’t know what’ll happen, but we get to pick it all now.”

With the severity of the situation drifting in the ambiance, you both find further conversation puzzling. In favor of allowing your mind to wander, your rosy pigments simply fade as the question of what to do now perpetuates itself in the forefront of attention. By the way Yoongi rests is forehead back on your shoulder, and his fingers lock with each other as he holds you, you’re sure that despite both of your best intentions to remain positive, it’s difficult to do so.

The two of you have been cast aside from the backing of a company, and with the songs released only a day earlier, surely the loss of good reputation in the public hasn’t peaked yet. You haven’t even found the will to look through comments on the released tracks, and with everything going how it is, you’re not sure how you’ll be able to convince yourself to.

“Were you and Jin going to do something together earlier?”

“What?” You blink, then shove the thoughts in your head aside to recall the rest of the events that day. “Oh,” You shake your head as Yongi stands upright once more, letting his hands fall away from you. “No, we were just driving from Namjoon’s place.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in pure confusion, “Just to drive around?”

At the memory of the situation in the cafe your voice falters in your throat. Not that you were unwilling to speak to Yoongi about the issue, but to begin with you weren’t certain if the three of you had overreacted, and with the added news from SoundWave you wanted to ignore that topic altogether. The last thing you wanted to give Yoongi was another thing to worry about, but when you recall the camera flash and the undeniable act of following you from the subway station, your hands curl from the thought.

“Well, not exactly,” Trusting the instinct in your heartbeat, you finally sigh, rubbing your hands together as you decide to tell him. You imagine despite the worry, Yoongi would want to know. “When the three of us were talking in the cafe like usual there was a group of a few kids-- I guess teenagers, that took a picture with the flash on and Seokjin called them out about it because he thought they were taking a picture of me.” Unable to look up at him as you recount the moment, you simply go on so as not to allow the residual discomfort of it all to make you go quiet. “And there was another table of people about the same age that had come in while we were all talking, and Joon was worried that they were all there to follow me, and,” You shrug. A strong waver that you’re acting overly sensitive brushes through your spine. “Jin and I left because of it… In case other people showed up. I don’t know if they were all really there for me though.”

“Angel,” You glance timidly up to Yoongi as he continues speaking softly, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” You say perhaps too quickly. Definitely too fast. Yoongi’s eyebrows crease, clearly bothered by what you just described. “I really don’t know if it was anything bad.” You eventually mumble.

“If you’re nervous like this, I think it gave you a bad feeling too, sweetie.” Yoongi cups your jaw, gently bringing your eyes back to his. “It does sound like they were there for you like Jin and Namjoon thought, to be honest with you.”

You sigh, squeezing your hands together.

“Hey,” He frowns, noticing the contorting signs of anxiousness invading your face. “Sweetie, it’s okay-”

“You think it’s going to get worse than today?” You ask in a small voice. Yoongi’s mouth closes, and the silent answer is enough for you to nod, “Okay,” A longer inhale feeds into your lungs and you let it settle there for passing seconds then release in a slow exhale. “Okay. I’ll have to get used to it then.” A false positivity tries to make itself real in your words.

“I’ll be with you too.” Yoongi says as his hands strays to brush hair from your face. “Not that it’s the biggest comfort,” He chuckles softly before you interrupt his doubting laughter by pressing your lips against his. Your hands tug his shoulders closer, deepening the kiss into lasting moments as Yoongi’s fingertips find your hips to grip onto.

“It’s actually the best comfort.” You murmur between breaths, letting the words collide against his rosy lips. “Thank you.”

Yoongi hums a reciprocation as you smile, then simply leans his head back to kiss you again. His hands travel up along your sides and down in smooth rubbing motions, while you allow your arms to cascade loosely around his neck. When there’s a need for oxygen do your lips part, to take in small breaths and Yoongi abandons your lips in favor of fluttering, sweet kisses along your cheek, erupting enamored giggles from you peacefully.

“I’m glad we were forced to date each other.”

“Shut up,” You laugh at the way light-hearted voice he speaks with. “You hated me.”

“Didn’t.” Yoongi shakes his head though he’s chuckling while randomly arranging more dotting ministrations all over your face in a languid manner that you feel no need to hinder. “I hated Yerin treating us however, but we don’t have to think about her anymore.”

“That actually sounds wonderful.” You admit with a growing grin. Yoongi smiles as he pulls his head away to look at you properly. “That’s the best thing that could’ve been said today.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, then squeezes your waist with a growing, endeared flurry filling his chest as you kiss his lips softly, in a simple manner. You nod smiling sincerely up at him, looking so much brighter than minutes earlier. More settled, Yoongi thinks, though he knows this isn’t the end of worries concerning everything going on. But it feels a little easier to face now. “Are you free the rest of the day?”

“Yeah. Should we go search for part-time jobs?” You tilt your head with the joke, and Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m free though. I’d actually really like to just be with you, if you are too.”

Yoongi smiles, biting his lip as he’s sure he’ll become visibly enamored by your sweet tone. He kisses you before you’re able to tease him about the flustering expression. “Maybe you won’t want to after hearing where I’m going to ask you to join me at.”

---

“Are you regretting it now?” Yoongi smiles as he turns the chair to look at you as you sit on a bench beside the hair styling station. With one of his caps propped atop your head, and another cap and his cardigan in a bundle on your lap, you shake your head, smiling at the appearance of his hair completely sectioned off in bunches. Having been wrapped neatly in tin foil, you know this is entering into the latter portion of the impromptu hair appointment having already spent close to two hours in the conditioning treatment phase.

“No, because we’re going to eat after this so I have the love of my life to look forward to.” You search your pocket for your phone to memorialize the appearance as Yoongi whines knowingly,

“Don’t take pictures; I look like an android.”

“More like an alien, babe.” You grin as you snap a series of pictures, while Yoongi starts the shoot with a scowl that turns into a wide unamused smile when you pout at him for cooperation. “Aw, you’re adorable.”

“I’m going to take pictures of you scarfing down food.” He mutters to himself, as he turns the chair back towards the mirror. Yoongi examines the situation atop his head as the dye works to make itself permanent over the locks of blonde hair he’s had for the majority of his adult life. Sitting there he feels a build up of anticipation for the end result, an excitement mixed with a doubtful wonder about if he would look familiar after returning his hair to its natural color.

Glancing back towards you, he finds your cheeks puffed in concentration as you click around rampantly on your phone. Probably adding ridiculous filters or stickers to the pictures of him you just took. Yoongi smiles, finding it both amazing and strange that he’s grown so close to you throughout the passing year. Warmed at the prospect of the change he’s gone through so far, despite the uncertainty of what’s to come.

Where the year prior he felt incapable of acting completely as he wants, now Yoongi feels encouraged by you to do what he wants in the way that you’re also trying your best to change your life back into your own control.

“Oh, Joon’s calling me,” You say out of surprise by the screen changing suddenly on your phone.

“It’s sort of loud in here, why don’t you talk to him in the lobby?” Yoongi offers while the barrage of hair dryers and chatter in the evening portion of the business day reigns on. You nod, standing up and clutching his items against your chest as you begin to walk off, “Sweetie, you can just leave my stuff there,” Yoongi chuckles as you only become aware of his clothing as he’s brought it to your attention. Laughing bashfully you neatly plop the items,

“Right, I wasn’t thinking.” You admit sheepishly before gently prodding your fingertip into his cheek when he begins to grin. “Be right back.”

After your leave, Yoongi reaches to the messy countertop below the mirror for his own phone. Knowing he’s left it on silent all day along with not checking up on any notifications, he isn’t surprised to find a multitude of alerts in a line on the lock screen. Dismissing the majority of social media ones, he instead opens the text thread that he left alone earlier after saying he’ll text back later in the evening.

Hoseok, 2:24pm: Get back to me whenever you feel able. I know it’s hard to deal with, but I’m always here, bro.

Yoongi, 6:35pm: I’m doing the impulsive haircut route.

Hoseok, 6:37pm: Please tell me you’re doing a glamorous pink color?

Yoongi laughs, looking up as his stylist walks over from down the aisle. Peeking carefully beneath the tin foil to check the coloring, he works silently while Yoongi responds.

Yoongi, 6:40pm: Not this time, sorry. Also, I’m sure you’re worried and I really have no clue what I’m going to do yet, but I’m okay.

“It looks ready to go,” The stylist nods to himself, and begins to remove a bunch of tin foil one by one. “I’m usually touching up your roots, so I was pretty surprised when you wanted the exact opposite this time.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says as he hears the crinkling of the shiny metallic papers that propel his heart into an excited beat. “I like it this way a lot more than the blonde.”

“Sure it’s not your girlfriend isn’t the one who does?” He asks with no ill-will, just a smile at the joking banter while he looks at the dark locks heavy with the dye. Yoongi take a moment to respond as he also catches the stark difference of color being revealed atop his head.

“No, I don’t think she’s ever seen me with black hair.” Yoongi says without focus, while thinking more about the ease of maintaining his hair now that he won’t have to come in every other week to bleach his roots. Without any of the tinfoil obscuring his view, he finds himself biting his lip as his cold locks of hair weigh down on his scalp, only now needing a rinse and dry to fully reveal what the new style of his natural hair will look like.

“Well, let’s give her a nice surprise then. Follow me back to get it shampooed and conditioned.”

“Namjoon,” You roll your eyes at your friend whining through the receiver about a customer that just walked out leaving their drink mostly untouched. “I’m sure the drink tastes fine, dude.”

“They just left it though,” He gripes on, muttering incomprehensibly as you assume he cleans up the remnants. “This is the best-selling drink right now-”

“Joon, you said you wanted to tell me something,” You laugh as you rub your face, back leaning against a wall beside the check-in counter for the salon.

“Oh, right.” You shake your head at the fact his voice sounds entirely surprised that he forgot the entire reason for calling you while he spent the last twenty minutes complaining about customers throughout the day. ��Some other kids came in awhile after you and Jin left-- well maybe they were more like teenagers.” You bite your lip so as not to laugh at the similar rambling he does like you had. “But anyways, they definitely came in hoping to spot you. They were asking me if I was friends with you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your grip on the phone tightens as you think about the other groups following you for pictures and now even this one came in to directly search for you.

“Yeah, they wanted to know because they wanted me to tell you that they really liked the music you and Yoongi made together.” Your grip lessens as his words enter your ear. With a surprised stupor you let him continue right along. “They’re big fans of Yoongi, but they think you did a really good job on the music. They were saying it’s probably hard considering all the other stuff being said on the internet.”

“Really?”

Namjoon remains quiet, smiling gently at the utterly shocked tone of your voice. Knowing the day you’ve had has likely been full of stressful news, he also feels better about things as he recounts the information to you. “Yeah, they were really sincere about it.”

Even after ending the phone call you find yourself stunned silent from the opposite news that you anticipated from Namjoon as he first started to tell you about the fans. With a smile growing at the potential for others to have similar perspectives, you feel lighter. This isn’t the ideal scenario to play out for releasing music, but you’ll take the good out of it in stride. It’s the best thing to do after all.

“Angel,” Your shoulders startle from your thoughts as Yoongi’s voice calls out to you from the side. You turn your head as he walks over. “Your phonecall took forever-”

“Whoa,” Your mouth stays open wide as your eyes go straight to the dark hair atop his head. Turning on your heel in surprise as you continue to take in the new style, you find it to be so different. Obviously it would be, but the fact that you couldn’t properly imagine his hair like this until seeing it as you stand there leaves you in awe. “Yoon, it looks so nice.”

“You think so?” You become aware of his voice’s timidness, clearly still in suspense on what your verdict would be on the style. Yoongi’s eyes meet yours when you finally look towards them from his black hair. He feels his chest tighten as you smile up at him and nod your head.

“I like it a lot.”

Yoongi’s lips curl in satisfaction, his heart swelling even more so as you take the step closer so you can reach up to immerse your fingers in the fluffy, night-like hair. Unable to contain the swift kiss on your lips that lasts only a moment because of location, Yoongi’s mouth grows into a grin as he states peacefully, “Me too.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

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