#sweats... sweating... blotting at my face with tissues... sweating

[strangecreaturewrites]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬

“ meeting like this is better in my opinion. don't you think? ”

bella x f!reader ⊹ you are working at the library for the summer, and your favorite patron stops in, looking for a specific book. fluff | rated g | 1.7k wc no warnings

note: i've only worked in bookstores before, not libraries, so please forgive me if something about this is wrong. also gonna take this opportunity to tell you to support your local library. takes place during the summer before bella moves to forks. based on march prompt #21: a faded library card. divider by cafekitsune.

The library’s A/C is fighting the Arizona heat, and losing. You fan yourself with a few brochures from the plastic holder on your desk; a quick glance lets you know they’re advertising the community theater's summer youth program. Adorable.

It’s two in the afternoon, which means that the library is basically a ghost town. Your middle-aged coworker went on lunch about an hour ago, but time and experience have taught you that she will extend her break for another hour. You've never cared to argue with her about it, and you’ve never brought it up to your supervisor; she has worked here longer than you’ve been alive, and this job is just a way to kill time before the school year starts. It’s not like you’ve ever been overwhelmed on the clock by yourself.

You’re just about to lean back in your chair and close your eyes for a bit when you glance out the window into the parking lot and spot her. Your favorite patron, the faithful regular who always makes your day brighter. The first time you saw her, she left you speechless. Instead of asking for her name, you'd looked at the signature on her well-loved library card. Her name is Bella Swan, and she is the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.

She’s walking slowly toward the door, distracted as she digs through her tote bag for the books she needs to return. In no time, she would be right here at your desk, smiling her shy little smile and speaking to you in that soft, warm tone.

You launch forward in your seat, tossing the brochures aside and hastily grabbing the compact mirror from your coworker’s side of the desk to check how you look. Your forehead shines with sweat, and all the anti-frizz product in your hair has melted away. Just wonderful.

Bella steps inside just as you’ve finished blotting the moisture from your face, covertly throwing the tissue away in the bin by your feet. You take a moment to look her over before she makes eye contact with you. Today, she’s wearing a pale yellow camisole and a pair of light-washed denim shorts. Her hair is pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

When her warm brown eyes meet yours, you can’t stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. Your heart flutters when she smiles back, looking just as happy to see you.

“Hey, girl,” you say as she walks up. “Ready for some more books?”

Her smile turns more shy as she nods, handing you her returns. “I’m here pretty often, aren’t I?”

“You don’t hear me complaining,” you reply, dropping your voice a little lower to match her volume. You always forget to mind how loudly you’re talking, earning stern stares and harsh shhh’s from your coworker many times throughout the day. Bella would be much better suited for your position than you are, and you often toy with the idea of convincing her to apply. How nice would it be to see her every day, all summer long?

You drop the books into the return bin, and ask, “So… do you need help finding anything?”

Usually, this is the part where she shakes her head and walks off into the stacks, silently perusing for an hour or so until she checks out her selections and leaves. She’s so quiet, and she is very independent compared to other patrons, so all of your conversations with her have been surface-level and short.

Today, though, she surprises you.

“Yeah, actually,” she says. Your desk has a raised ledge on the patron’s side, and her hands rest there, her fingers twisting and untwisting together idly. You notice her rings, glinting in the sun pouring in from the skylight. “I couldn’t find Middlemarch when I was here last week. I checked the database and it said this branch has a copy, but when I looked, it wasn’t there.”

You frown, then search the book on your own computer. Sure enough, it says there is one copy available.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even seen this edition before,” you say. You give the picture of the cover a hard look, embedding it into your memory, before you stand up. “Let’s look together.”

“You don’t have to get up,” she says quickly, her brows shooting up her forehead.

You wave your hands out before you, gesturing at the empty room. “Because I’m so busy?”

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and she mumbles a thank you as she follows you into the stacks. You feel her presence behind you, and you want to shiver out of your skin with excitement.

It isn’t long before you’re both standing in front of the classics section, tucked away in the back corner. The two of you look over the spines of the books, and a cursory glance tells you the book isn’t there. You set your eyes to start again on the top shelf, intending on combing through the titles at a slower pace, but Bella is so close to you that you are instantly distracted. You shift on your feet, bringing you just a bit closer, enough to feel the warmth of her skin so near your own. You’re grateful then that your supervisor allows you to wear short-sleeved T-shirts, even though they technically violate the dress code.

“You go to Paradise Valley, right?” Bella asks, her voice a respectful murmur.

“Yeah, I’ll be a junior this year,” you reply. “Is that where you go? I haven’t seen you around.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bella nod, and when you look at her, yours eyes meet. The light flush is back as she tilts her head. “I’ve seen you.”

Your mouth drops open. “Oh yeah?”

She nods, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. It draws your gaze downward, and you have to work to keep from staring at her mouth.

“Interesting…” you say, dragging out the last syllable. When you notice Bella’s eyes dart down to your lips, you smile, your tongue pressed behind your front teeth. Maybe you’re not the only distractible one. “And you’ve never said hello?”

“Well, I- um-” She cuts herself off and turns back to the shelf, her blush spreading down her neck. She adjusts her tote bag on her shoulder, fiddling with the straps. “You’re usually with your friends, and I try not to be, y’know… noticed.”

“Really? Why?”

She shrugs. “I like to blend in with the crowd.”

“I see,” you say. She continues staring at the books, and though she has a pretty profile, you want to see her full face again. You nudge her shoulder with yours, and she turns her head. “Meeting like this is better in my opinion. Don’t you think?”

“Totally,” she replies. She opens her mouth to say something else, but she stops when something over your shoulder catches her eye. “Oh! There it is.”

She reaches past you, her arm lightly brushing yours, sending tingles through that whole side of your body, and grabs the misplaced copy of Middlemarch from the sci-fi shelf. You’re hit with the scent of her, sunscreen but also something delicate and floral from her shampoo or perfume or something, and you wonder how she could still smell so good even in this brutal heat. It’s like she’s from a different, more perfect world.

“Thank you for helping me,” she says, tucking the thick book into the crook of her arm, pressed to her body. The two of you are still standing closer than you need to be, and part of you is disappointed that your little mission is already over, if only because you don’t know when you’ll get to be this close to her again.

“Of course. Even though I didn’t help too much.”

She scrunches her nose a little. “You didn’t, did you?”

“My bad,” you chuckle. “Let me know if you need anything else, though.” When she raises an eyebrow, you add, drawing out the first word, “Anything at all. I am at your full disposal.”

She blushes again, tucking her chin down to turn her face away a bit. You know you should lay off on the flirting — you could get in trouble, and more importantly, the last thing you want to do is run Bella off and never see her here again — but the crush you’ve been tending to in your daydreams is growing beyond its bounds and burning you from the inside out. Your heart is racing past your head, just from the thrill of being near her in a new way.

“Well…” she begins, then pauses to quietly clear her throat. She’s tapping her fingers on book cover, as if she’s nervous. When she speaks again, her voice is even lower than before, and you have to lean in to hear her. “I could use some company this weekend. There’s a movie coming out that I’d like to catch. If you want to go. Just you and me.”

You blink at her, your brows shooting up into your hairline. “Really?”

Her eyes narrow as a mystified expression takes over her face. “You’re really going to flirt with me that much, and then act surprised when I ask you on a date?”

You let out a laugh, louder than you should, causing Bella to whip her head around, checking for anyone close by who might be disturbed by the sound. But nothing has changed — there is no one in the world but you and her.

“Well, when you put it like that, it does sound pretty silly. I just didn't realize you liked me too.”

Bella bites her lip again, and you don’t stop your gaze from drifting down this time. A whole world of possibility has opened up, and you are more than eager to discover it as soon as possible.

“How about you help me check out this book, and I’ll write down my number for you, okay?” she says, stepping away to head toward the front desk.

A thousand responses flip through your mind, from corny (“oh, I’ll check you out alright”) to sincere (“I would love to”) and everything in between. But her deep brown eyes and her perfect face and her soft, full smile and her low, lovely voice — like that first day, all of it has left you speechless. So, you just nod and smile and lead the way.

[aotgylbs]

i’m sweating in walmart and i couldn’t find a tissue quickly enough so i had to blot my face with a spare pad 💀

[car1no-xx]

Not Your Baby - Part 2 (Pedri x reader) 

Your secret relationship with Pedri was discovered by your brother and his best friend, Gavi. Now Pedri must decide whether being with you is worth the risk of jeopardizing his friendship with Gavi, or facing his wrath.

Warnings: some smut, swearing, heartbreak

A/N: I wasn’t originally planning on making a part 2, but here we are. @gavisuntiedboot​ thank you for inspiring me to write 🥺 I had fun writing this, I hope you all have fun reading it x 

Part 1

~~

Two weeks. Two weeks you spent mourning the end of a - was it a relationship? A situationship? You blamed yourself, your brother for forcing it to end, you blamed Pedri for walking away instead of fighting for you, for the “us” that you weren’t even sure he wanted. Gavi was still fuming, more so at his best friend for using you and jeopardizing their friendship. But then he saw the used tissues on your nightstand which you used to blot away your tears, the unmade bed that you barely refused to leave in two weeks, the dirty pajamas that you didn’t want to take off. 

Is it normal for me to be feeling like this? Why am I crying so much? For what? These were the questions you quietly asked yourself, and yet you couldn’t bring manage to pull yourself together. At least, not yet.

Gavi stormed into the house after practice one night, still in his tracksuit and sweat still covering his forehead after the training session. “Y/n?” He called out to you. You were in bed yet again, snacking on chocolate chip cookies and rewatching Eat Pray Love. You bitterly laughed at yourself - this was so cheesy, so absolutely cliché. But it was better than staring at the ceiling and crying yourself to sleep. You do what you can to cope. “In my room,” you dryly responded to your brother. 

You heard a few muffled steps heading towards your bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You snapped.

“This is getting out of hand. It’s been two weeks of you moping around in this bed.” Gavi stole a cookie from your hand, taking a bite. His tone didn’t quite convey it, but he was clearly concerned, wanting the vivacious, witty, bright personality that was his sister back.

“Well I wouldn't have a need to ‘mope around’ if it wasn’t for you, would I?” 

“Not getting into this again. Just please get up and take a bath, at least. And change the pajamas.” He rolled his eyes and left the room. 

You didn’t understand why it was so difficult for Gavi to just accept the relationship. Had it been the other way around, you would never stand in the way of his happiness and would do anything to prevent the same excruciating heartbreak you were experiencing right now. Wouldn’t it be better for Gavi to know that you were dating his best friend instead of a random guy, someone who he knew nothing about and would have to vet, no doubt? You were snapped out of your thoughts when your cellphone lit up with a text. Your heart nearly stopped and then fell out of your chest.

[Pedri]: Can we talk?

Your mind started to flood with thousands of thoughts. What does he want? What does he want to talk about? What is there to talk about? I wonder if he’s been feeling as broken as I’ve been. You couldn’t deny that there was some immense satisfaction in him texting you. True, you were in love with him, but to allow yourself to let him know just how much he’d hurt you and be the first to reach out? Never. Of course, you had the occasional temptation of texting him paragraph after paragraph cursing him out, but decided against succumbing to that. He had already seen you cry in the parking lot of the training grounds. You would not let your pride falter that way again. If he wanted to talk, that’d be fine. If he wanted you, even better. But no begging for him back. 

[You]: What about? 

[Pedri]: Just...talk. I have things to get off my chest. I’ll pick you up in 20. 

Another heavy feeling in your chest. You sprang off your bed, the quickest you’d moved in weeks. How was this possibly going to work? Pablo would strangle you and him both, simultaneously, if he looked outside the window and spotted the green Mini Cooper. Fuck it, you thought. At the end of the day, this was your heart, your feelings on the line. Pablo would have to swallow his. Bouncing your leg, you waited impatiently on your bed. 

Seeing him in his car was strange, painful. Your mind immediately went to the memories of you and him fucking in his car so many times, desperate for each others’ touches, of the times you would have late night drives with the windows down, bellowing out music. Sitting down in the front seat, you turned to him. No “hello,�� no “how are you”. You weren’t sure if he even deserved that. “It’s good to see you,” he said quietly. You could only manage a nod. He drove off, parking at a nearby street so you could talk in private (and without the threat of Pablo catching you two and being the direct cause of your death). “I...listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For walking away from you like that. And not checking up on how you were doing afterwards.” His voice was shaky.

“Why did you walk away?” 

“It was all too much. Too much to try and face losing Pablo as a friend, too much to see you so upset.” His eyes kept flicking from your face to the steering wheel in front of him. “I’m so sorry, okay? I didn’t want to hurt you.” The apology, as nice to hear as it was, didn’t particularly answer the burning questions that you needed answered. Both feet in, you thought. He can’t hurt me twice. 

“Look, Pedri, this is difficult for me to say so don’t interrupt me. I need to know how you feel about me. Because I can’t keep wasting my time. I need to know.” 

He was clearly caught off guard. “How I feel about you? I feel...I feel like the past two weeks have been hell. Pure hell. Not only because Pablo hasn't been speaking to me, but also because the thought of hurting you makes my insides twist. Because the thought of not being with you actually, physically hurts my heart. Porque te amo.” Because I love you. Tears pricked your eyes. So much for trying to look unbothered, you thought to yourself. “And with Pablo, we’ll figure it out.” 

He grabbed your face, passionately bringing his lips to yours while wiping off your tears with his thumb. Your heart couldn’t possibly feel any more full than at this very moment. He deepened the kiss, pulling you in closer to him. You brought your hands to the hem of his beige sweatshirt, urging him to pull it over his head. He threw the sweatshirt towards the backseat, then pulling your own sweatshirt off of you. Feeling your breasts under your bra, he kissed and sucked on your neck, hardly able to control himself after two weeks of not being able to be with you. “You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful,” he murmured. You palmed his cock through his jeans, his breath hitching as he continued kissing you. “Pedri please,” you moaned. “Fuck me now.” 

He pulled away chuckling, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “Patience, amor. I’m not fucking you right now, not in this car. Not now. I want the first official time with my new girlfriend to be somewhere where I can take my time with you.” 

“Girlfriend?” You smirked. 

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re stuck with me now,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t contain your giggle. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. I love you,” you said, as you pulled the zipper down his pants. “Then let your girlfriend please you some other way right now,” you said, your head going down on his shaft. 

~~

You and Pablo pulled into the Ciutat Esportiva parking lot. The last time you were here, you left with your heart shattered into tiny pieces. Now coming back, you were a girlfriend. Pedri’s girlfriend. Gavi noticed the shift in you - noticing how your eyes sparkled a bit more, how you finally took off those two-week-old pajamas, how your cheeks had a bit more color to them. He chalked it up to the old “time heals all wounds” cliché. 

Heading over to the entrance, Pedri was standing at the front, looking down at his phone. Fuck what my brother thinks, you told yourself and you ran over to Pedri, trapping him in a hug and kissing his cheek. He looked at you cautiously - Gavi was right behind you, his eyes going wide. “Do I really have-” he was cut off.

“Hermano, just listen please. I know you don’t approve. Maybe in time you will, hopefully. Te lo juro, I’m not just using her,” I swear. “Please don’t sock me in the face right now. I asked her to be my girlfriend. I love her, I really do. And I promise you, on my life and my career, I will make sure she feels loved and cared for every minute.” You nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

A blank stare from Gavi.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime: “You’re really serious about her?” A nod. Another pause from your brother. “Pedri, I promise to the good lord above, if you hurt her, if you cause her any pain, your balls will be nailed above your locker for everyone to see. I’m very reluctantly agreeing to this because I’m tired of seeing her mopey ass roam around the house, eating all the cookies in the pantry.”

A smile spread across Pedri’s face, pulling Gavi into a handshake and a hug. “Yeah whatever, go be together, ride off into the sunset, blah blah. Yuck,” Gavi said mockingly.

And ride off together you did.

[creativepawsworld]

Everything But You - Part 7

Pairing = Cillian Murphy x OC

Summary = It time for Brie to defend her All Ireland Championship. Aoife takes matters into her own hands when it comes to Cillian. 

Warnings = Language, Grammar, 90s Cillian, Insults...

Word Count = 2747

Note = I cannot apologise enough for the lateness of this chapter! I have made it slightly longer than the past chapter to apologise. Hope you all enjoy and it helps with the Monday Blues I know I have. 

I felt myself overcome with nerves as I stood with my back to the main dance floor. I was resting my back against one of the walls by the long corridor, reserved solely for the dancers.

I was currently listening to a mixed tape Billy had made me for my 18th birthday, filled with kick-ass, female, empowering women. Pat Benatar's – Love is a Battlefield -flooded through the soft headphones as I tried to control my nerves.

I was asked to return to the All-Ireland Irish Dancing Championships as the current Champion. But despite the amount I had practised throughout the weeks, I didn't feel up to the standard I should have been.

Muttering along to the words, I glanced down at the black, tightly wound pin curled wig with a long, drawn-out sigh.

Things had become a lot more difficult in my life since joining college. Everything I had known about others and myself had drastically changed in a space of a few months. I had found myself chasing after a guy I had no chance with.

On days like today, I found myself missing the communication I would receive from Andrew. He was a shitty boyfriend, but he was someone I could message and he would respond instantly - distracting me from my thoughts while I waited to compete.

Although thinking back, it would have been nice for him to show up to these competitions at least once.

Biting the sides of my lips I considered going out into the stands where I did have support. My father was here, but he was constantly taking phone calls – appearing and then disappearing to hear whoever was on the other end.  

He had a huge court case defending a well-known businessman tomorrow but it was to be kept quiet. The hearing had already been brought forward to try and avoid the media circus that ensued as soon as the story of his arrest leaked.

Something about the world loved a good embezzlement case, especially against the rich.

Then there was my best friend Aoife, she managed to make the journey but not with my father and me. No, she travelled with her boyfriend Calvin, who as nice as he appeared to be – I didn't trust.

I didn't buy into his story that Andrew had been following the band to see me act. Andrew barely had time for me when we were together. There was no way he would travel up and down Ireland to watch a band I knew he didn't like just to see me. He didn't care that much, no matter how wounded his pride might be.

As for Billy, he developed the stomach flu from Marion. The pair were vomiting all week and the last thing I needed was for them to give it to me, so I warned them to stay as far as possible.

"Why are you hiding out here?" Aoife chuckled, rounding the corner. Her bright eyes stared into mine, a supportive smile on her face as I pushed the headphones around my neck. "You are going to sweat off your fake tan and makeup if you don't relax." She scolded, blotting my face gently with a clean tissue.  

"Yeah well… I don't…" I struggled over my words before finally admitting my true feelings. "I don't think I am ready, I haven't been putting in the work I used to."

"Because you are studying for a law degree Brie, it's not easy keeping the two things going. You might have to look at choosing which is more important if this is how it's going to impact you."

"You don't think I can do both?"

"I'm sure you can but what about your other extra curriculum activities?" She trailed off, biting at her bottom lip. "Like a certain blue-eyed lead guitarist."

"Cillian and I are just friends." I rolled my eyes, turning away from her to check the time on my watch. I still had thirty minutes before I had to perform.

"I've seen the looks you give him, I'm not stupid."

After the night at the bar, our relationship had well and truly been fractured. I felt so stupid sleeping with him again. Yes we had both agreed it was 'just sex' but I had feelings, I was human and I felt something he didn't. At least not for me.

During the last few weeks in class, I moved seats to get my head together. I had to move to the other side of the classroom, just to get away for him. It was hard to do, seeing the hurt in his eyes when he noticed almost killed me. But he wasn't lonely for long, Emer was more than quick to jump in and take my spot.

Anytime he tried to talk to me, I had an excuse ready. I was due to meet someone in the library to go over our case study or Billy needed my help with his latest fashion project.

I simply felt like I couldn't be around him.

"It was a stress reliever"

It soon became obvious to my friends what was going on. Although they got the clip notes version from Billy, after our night in the bar they didn't buy for one second that I was okay.

They knew sex wasn't just sex for me.

"Right. A stress reliever that has you in your feels Brie what were you thinking?" Aoife asked with a sad smile, her hand coming up to gently squeeze my shoulder. "You have to talk to him, this isn't healthy for either of you."

"He doesn't care for me. He is only after getting his next…fuck. He wants a carefree life, with no responsibilities. He has told me several times."

"It might have been what he wanted but he surely didn't get that." Aoife laughed, folding her arms over her chest. "He feels…"

"I can't deal with this right now Eefs. Can we drop it?" I asked pulling the headphones from around my neck, wrapping them around my Walkman and stuffing it into my bag.

"I don't think we can."

"Why not?" I huffed out. Not giving the woman in front of me my full attention, I took the black wig into my hands, fondling the edges before pulling it over my naturally brown hair which was already pinned into place.

"Because I may have told him what today was and how important it was for you and he kind of showed up." She spoke so fast that it took me a few seconds to catch up on her words.

"Why would you do that?" I spat turning to face her, the wig almost falling from my head since I didn't have any clips to hold it in place.

"Well, he is our friend as well as yours. You can't expect us to go to all these concerts and not make connections Brie. The guys in the band are top fellas." Aoife scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Besides he wants to support you. Which is more than Andrew ever did."

"Why do you keep doing this? Bringing him around when I don't want to be anywhere near him." I growled, reaching up to place the black wig on my head properly once more.

"You have been different since you stopped spending time with him. You've been uptight, tense and honestly so fucking difficult to be around. You both need to sort out your shit and get it together." She scolded bending down and taking my purse of clips into her hands.

"I, I haven't been that bad."

"You've been unbearable" She chuckled, taking a handful of clips and placing some in her mouth before starting to pin the wig into place. "We still love you but please talk to him." She nodded, adding a few more clips. Her eyes cast off to the side with a slight nod.

Looking over my shoulder, Cillian stood awkwardly by the bleachers, a sad smile on his face as he looked in our direction. Feeling a hand on my shoulder, Aoife gently brushed her hand off, handing me the remaining clips before walking past Cillian, brushing a hand against his shoulder as she turned the corner.

"I can leave if you want?" Cillian breathed out the minute he reached me. The dark circles under his eyes are prominent as he stands before me. It was obvious, he wasn't sleeping well.

"No, I don't want that." I sighed, bouncing back and forth between the balls of my feet and my heels. "Thank you for coming, I know I've been a bitch the last few weeks, but I…"

"I deserved it." Cillian stopped me mid-sentence, one of his hands coming up to brush the longer pieces of his hair back away from his eyes. "I should have never invited Emer to that gig, I knew it was a bad idea but I went and did it anyway."

"No, no you should have invited her. You like her. I shouldn't have acted the way I did. It is just sex between us after all." I shrugged, the words felt like they were burning my tongue as they left my mouth. "How are things for you both? I hope I didn't ruin anything."

"Nothing to ruin." Cillian quickly corrected a soft pout on his lips. "Emer's a lovely girl but she isn't who I want. She isn't for me."

"Oh, oh okay. I didn't know, sorry. But she is out there somewhere Cill, you'll meet her one day." I encouraged, unsure of where the words came from. The thought of Cillian with someone else felt like a hard punch in the gut.

"I've already met her, I just keep fucking things up with her." He responded, a cheeky twinkle returning to his blue eyes, drawing me to him. There was something magical about those eyes.

"Why do you do that?" I whispered, taking a baby step forward towards him. Cillian followed in my lead, stepping forward until he was a few centimetres away from me. I could feel the body heat radiating from him.

"I'm a twat."

Nodding my head, my eyes travelled from his, down towards his lips before they returned to his eyes which now held a knowing look, the infamous cocky smirk growing on his face.

"Nice wig," Cillian smirked, his left hand coming up from his side to caress my cheek.

Leaning into his touch, I felt a calmness washing over my once anxious-ridden body, my heartbeat quickened when I noticed his tongue dart out from his lips to moisten them before his head began its descent towards my lips.

"Wait, are you sure about this?" I asked stopping the kiss from happening. He was mere inches from my lips, I could feel his breath brushing against my face. "What happened to living without responsibility? Letting go and being carefree?"

"I want to let go of Everything but You." He whispered, lips ghosting over my lips.

Pushing myself forward, I pushed my lips against his, allowing him to take the lead. Within seconds our tongues began to fight for dominance, I felt Cillian's fingers try and run through my wig but it was too tightly bound.

Pulling away with a laugh, he shook his head – hands still trying to penetrate the synthetic material. Reaching up, I brushed my thumb across his lips trying my hardest to remove the red lipstick that had transferred.

Smiling down at me, he leaned back down capturing my lips in one of the sweetest kisses I had ever experienced in my life. It was soft, and delicate like if he pushed too hard I would break but it had an overwhelming feeling of want rushing through my veins.

"For fuck sake couldn't you wait until after you performed to suck face?" Aoife's voice suddenly appeared next to me with a growl.

Pulling away from Cillian, my cheeks flushed red as she took my chin into her hand, pulling it in her direction to assess the damage.

"Can you fix it?" I asked as she moved my head in all directions under the awful corridor lighting, getting a good view of all angles.

"It's not that bad actually." Aoife nodded with a smile, tossing me a wink before looking over at Cillian. "Red lipstick is certainly not your colour." She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a clean tissue, handing it over.

*****

Throughout my performance, my eyes would fall on Cillian. He stood next to Aoife who stood next to my father, the three of them watched on with proud looks on their faces before erupting into the loudest cheers in the place when I had finished.

Taking the bottle of water Aoife had outstretched in her hands, I scurried over to them – grateful the whole thing was over. Inhaling through my nose, I allowed her to pull me into a hug, whispering in my ear how good I was before passing me off to my father.

"Your mother would be so proud of you Brie." He grinned, pulling me tightly against his chest. Upon pulling away his hands gripped onto my shoulders holding me in place as he cast an eye over towards Cillian who was engrossed in a conversation with Aoife and Calvin. "Does he treat you right?"

"Excuse me?... What?... Cillian and I are just friends." I laughed awkwardly with a shake of my head, my vision dropping to my feet.

"Ahhhh right, friends." My father trailed off with a playful eyeroll. "Your mother and I were just friends when I came to her first show as well." He laughed, gently pushing against my shoulder.

"Stop" I whined, drawing Cillian's attention towards me and my father.  I instantly panicked when I noticed him make his way over towards us. My father had no filter, he would say it how it was – embarrassing not only me but also Cillian.

"You were brilliant" Cillian announced, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder as soon as he reached me. "Hello, Sir."

"Mr Murphy." My father nodded in response, looking between the two of us before excusing himself. Cillian and I stood next to each other, in an awkward yet comforting silence.

"Do you…" "How is…" Cillian and I started at the same time, both stopping after the second word with a laugh. "You go first." I allowed, gesturing towards him with my hand.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to grab something to eat after you win?" He asked, the cocky smile growing on his face, reaching his eyes. "But you have to wear the wig."

"Such an ass." I chuckled playfully slapping my hand against his chest. "I would love to but my dad's my lift home, if I left with you I would have no way home."

"A date?" I processed, eyes widening at the words. We never had a date before. Cillian never even mention the possibility of it happening, then again our entire relationship was based on friendship and sex.

My words confused him. Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he glanced over to the side thinking over what I had just said.

"So you don't want to go on a date with me?" He asked turning back around for clarification. "Have I fucked this up again?"

"Yeah?" Cillian squinted, eyebrows falling causing frown lines to form on his forehead. "Look if that's not…"

"No, I would love to." I almost screamed out, forgetting where I was. "I mean, yeah we can go on a date. That would be nice."

"Nice recovery." Cillian joked, a deep shade of red filling my already pink-blushed cheeks.

"But wait what about getting home?"

"I'm sure we can miss one day of college Brie…" Cillian rolled his eyes, taking one hand from his pocket to take my hand into his, his thumb gently gliding over my knuckles. "But if it's such a big deal I have my father's car parked out front."

"You drive?" I asked with a louder gasp than I would have liked.

"No, I fly." He chuckled, his face pulled straight as he shook his head in my direction. "Of course, I drive, I just don't have a car."

"How did I not know that?" I questioned tilting my head to the side, a soft smile gracing my face.

Taglist

"You were more interested in getting into my pants than finding anything out about me."

Part 8

@stars-of-scorpio @lovemissyhoneybee @peakyscillian​ @cillmequick​ @forgottenpeakywriter​ @lyarr24  @brummiereader

[vanne-whump]

ORNATE. Part One.

BTHB: Non-Consensual Body Modification. @badthingshappenbingo

OCs: Alistair Malcolm, Elliot Pierce, Zahlia Fox

Content: Manipulative whumper, creepy whumper, MINOR WHUMP, tattoos used as whump, noncon body modification, cursing, loss of consciousness.

“This is the design,” Alistair pushed a sheet of paper across the dining table to Zahlia. “We discussed it on the phone.”

“We did,” she agreed, looking over the design a final time. “For Elliot, correct? He’s how old?”

“Seventeen. I pay you for your discretion, in case you’d forgotten that.”

Elliot sat beside Alistair in silence, attention only on the design on the table, depicting a Chinese dragon, wrapped around some kind of longsword.

“I’m aware,” Zahlia responded to Alistair’s blunt reminder as though it didn’t faze her. “My kit is in my car. Get him ready, you know the drill.”

Once Zahlia had slipped out of the front door of their penthouse, Elliot began to slip into panic. Into uncertainty.

“Look — Alistair — I — I’m not sure that this is what I want,” He finally spoke. “This isn’t me.”

“Shut up and take off your shirt,” Alistair got to his feet. “We already decided on a spine placement.”

“No — I need a minute to think about it.”

“You’ve had over a year. Don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m not fucking trying to!”

Alistair turned to face Elliot, expression stormy.

“You do not use language like that, do you understand? If you speak to Zahlia like that, I’ll make you wish that you never lived this long,” Alistair hissed, approaching Elliot’s chair and taking his hair in his grip. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Elliot nodded against Alistair’s grip. “I do, I understand perfectly.”

“Good. Now, get up, take off your shirt and wait for Zahlia. You show any hesitance, you’ll regret it.”

Elliot didn’t need to be told twice. Not this time. The moment Alistair released his grip, Elliot stood. He unbuttoned the embroidered shirt and folded it tightly, clinging to it as though it could somehow protect him.

His breath caught in his throat when, minutes later, the penthouse door opened.

“So, El? Are you ready now?” Zahlia spoke to Elliot this time around, “It’s probably best if we do this on the couch, right sweetheart?”

“Sure,” Elliot responded, already making his way over to the leather couch. He followed her instructions to lie down, flinching only when she pulled an antiseptic wipe across his back. He shuddered, stilling himself quickly.

Elliot agreed with everything that was said.

Yes, the placement was fine.

Yes, the design was perfect.

Yes, he knew how to take care of the tattoo.

At any moment, he could have been honest. Admitted that he hated the design. Told her that it was far too big, that Alistair had chosen it, that he’d had no say in this at all. But the words were just too hard to say.

The tattoo gun hummed to life as Zahlia began work, following the design laid out beside her freehand. Elliot did all he could to relax. To tell himself that it would be over soon. Because it would.

Zahlia’s gloved hands skimmed his back as she worked. Even the tissue she used to blot away ink sent sharp pains down his spine. He closed his eyes, pressing his face into the arm of the couch as he tried to suppress tears. Breathing evenly was difficult — the next jolt of pain was the end of the road.

“Stop — stop,” Elliot coughed as he spoke, “I need a break.”

“A break? Sure, sweetheart. You need a drink? Painkillers?”

“He doesn’t take painkillers,” Alistair interjected. “He’s better than that, aren’t you, Elliot?”

“Mhm — yeah — no painkillers, ‘m fine,” Elliot agreed. But, god, did they sound good right about now. “I just need a minute.”

Elliot wiped sweat away from his forehead in frustration, gritting his teeth and pressing his face into the arm of the couch. He was better than this. Far better than letting this get the better of him.

Alistair clicked his tongue and came to crouch in front of Elliot, filling his line of sight with his firm expression.

“Do you need some help staying still? Zahlia doesn’t have all day, and you’re going to tell her that you’re ready now. Got it?”

“Mhmm — I’m ready,” Elliot spoke as soon as he was told to.

Help to stay still. No. Whatever that meant — he wanted none of it.

“Good,” Alistair stood once more, hand brushing over Elliot’s cheek as another jolt of pain rushed up his back.

Once more, Elliot could only exhale shakily.

His vision blurred over. Head filled with static.

“Alistair — Alis...”

Elliot hardly managed to start his sentence before the overwhelm pushed him over the edge. He let out only a quiet gasp before he passed out.

———

Zahlia had already begun to put the gun aside, shifting backwards once she became aware of Elliot’s collapse. Once she realised just how lacking her judgement had been.

“You told me that he would be fine,” she hissed, using the back of her hand to feel Elliot’s forehead. “What now? Huh?”

Standing across from her, Alistair was completely unaffected by the unfolding of events. It had been as much as expected.

“What now? You keep going,” he shrugged off her concern. “He will be fine. Eventually. I want this done, and I want it done today. At least he won’t move and ruin the design.”

“Alistair, I’m not sure —”

“Not sure of what? Just do what I pay you for.”

Gaze flickering between Elliot and Alistair, Zahlia finally nodded. Alistair was the last person she wanted to argue with, no matter the circumstances. After checking on Elliot once more, Zahlia fired up the tattoo gun and began to go over the thin lines of the tattoo.

She honed her focus in on the tattoo and the tattoo alone. Elliot wasn’t out long — a couple of minutes, at most. Maybe not even a minute. But it felt like long enough. He made no sound or visible movement, but Zahlia felt how he tensed under her touch.

“Not long now, just some finishing touches,” she did her best to reassure him. “Ten minutes, El, that’s it.”

Goosebumps had risen on Elliot’s arms and the lightheaded sensation began to turn into nausea. Ten minutes. How long had it been? He twisted his head to the side, in search of Alistair. Nowhere to be seen. Elliot hadn’t heard him leave.

“Do you have painkillers?” Elliot whispered, as soon as he was sure they were alone. “Please? Do you?”

Zahlia was caught off guard by his request but couldn’t bring herself to abide by Alistair’s previous instructions. She pulled out a blister pack, taking two and pressing them into Elliot’s open palm.

“Are you almost done?”

“Almost, do you want anything to drink?”

Elliot shook his head as he swallowed the pills, letting his head fall forward one more time. Each movement from the needle sent shockwaves through him, but he stayed awake. Stayed aware of his surroundings.

And then the room was filled with silence — or as close to silence as they could get with Elliot’s uneven breathing and Zahlia beginning to tidy away her equipment.

“Keep an eye on him for a few hours,” Zahlia spoke, not to Elliot. He could only assume that Alistair had returned. “I don’t like how he passed out like that. He eaten today?”

“I’ll be the judge of that. And, no, he hasn’t. But he’s just a stubborn teenager, I told him that he should eat something.”

The way Alistair lied so effortlessly, and the way Zahlia didn’t question it — that stung. A stubborn teenager. Elliot so desperately wanted to argue. Set the record straight. But it would do no good. He felt his stomach growl as Alistair and Zahlia made small talk.

He let out a choked breath — forced back tears — and rolled onto his side, facing towards the back of the couch. Clouds surrounded his mind and, despite his best efforts, he had no luck in staying awake this time around either.

Right now, Elliot had no choice but to drift into vulnerability.

[red-writing-on-asylum-walls]

Like Everyone Who Was Dragged There First (Again)

A rewrite of the original fic. I’m...not sure if this one is actually better? Or just longer. I think I cleared some things up and filled in some plot holes buutttt idk. Lemme know what you guys think.

Warnings for: torture, blood, violence, child endangerment, strangulation, implied child abuse, implied past torture, force feeding, implied psychotic break, this is not how mental health works

xxxxxxxxxx

“Heya, Jake. Long time, no see.”

The bowl slipped out of Jake’s numb fingers and clattered to the floor, spilling popcorn all over the carpet. The air felt frigid and thick, the world slippery against the cold clamminess of his skin. His lungs didn’t seem to want to work right, he couldn’t breathe, his brain short circuiting as it desperately tried to reconcile what it was seeing.

Aaron Pierly was sitting casually on the couch next to Milo. There was a ratty backpack on the floor between his feet and an all to familiar smirk on his face.

Jake was already on the brink of panic, thoughts tumbling over one another as Milo stared at him in confusion. Dan wasn’t home. Jake’s cellphone was upstairs and out of reach. Aaron was sitting too close to Milo. Dan wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be for several hours. Dan wasn’t home and they were in very real danger.

“Aaron.” His voice was tight, squeezed out of his throat in a reluctant gasp of stale air. It tasted like old, dusty fears being pulled from the attic of his mind.

“Dad?” Said Milo and Aaron’s eyes flickered with something wicked and gleeful.

“Wwhhhaattt? This is your kid? Aw, Jake, how could you be so cruel? Why didn’t you tell your own brother that you had a son?” Aaron’s voice was teasing, could almost have been friendly if not for the sour, mocking edge to it. And the look in his eyes that said something else entirely.

“I have an uncle?” Milo perked up excitedly and Jake wanted to scream and pull him away from the monster he sat next to.

“You didn’t even tell your kid about me? Ouch, big brother, that hurts my feelings.” The words were acid as Aaron hissed them through the grin in his teeth. His arm coiled around Milo’s shoulder, a python trapping its prey, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of the shark hoodie, “How about we talk in the kitchen? Make another bowl of popcorn. See what kind of fun we can have.”

It was not a suggestion.

Aaron pulled Milo off the couch, arm still around his shoulders, pinning the boy to his side as he steered them past Jake and back into the kitchen. Jake had to follow them. Dan wasn’t here so Jake was going to do everything he could to protect Milo, no matter what it took. He forced himself to follow and tried to keep the fear off his face, for Milo’s sake, tried not to wince when Aaron pressed his hand into Milo’s shoulder and forced him to sit down in a kitchen chair. Jake stood in the doorway, trying to take steady breaths, his palms sweating and his heart thudding. Aaron was humming tunelessly as he lifted the backpack up and set it on the table.

“I brought some of our old toys we used to play with together,” The devil in his brother’s skin said cheerily, “For nostalgia, ya know.” The zipper on the backpack sounded like cracking bones in the heavy quiet of the house, “Remember this stuff?” Aaron turned the bag over and dumped its contents onto the table.

A scream swelled in Jake’s throat and then wouldn’t come out. He forgot how to breathe, choking on icy panic as he tripped backwards and nearly fell out of the kitchen. The world felt muffled, drowned by a roaring in his ears and the painful thudding of his own heart pounding fists against the prison bars of his ribcage. The edges of his vision went dark and fuzzy, static clinging to his mind, old blood in his nose, long healed aches flaring deep in his bones. All he could see were the old instruments of torture spilling across the kitchen table, so bright and vivid and full of memories he wished he didn’t have.

“Dad?” Milo’s voice from somewhere far away, miles away and underwater, a thread in the maze of panic leading him to the exit, “Jake? Dad? W-what’s going on? Dad!?”

A chair scrape on the tile floor.

A thud.

“You stay in your seat, brat. Unless you want to play too…”

“Don’t touch him!” Jake didn’t remember moving but as the world snapped back into clear focus, he found he had put himself between Milo and Aaron. His hand was gripping Aaron’s wrist in a shaking grip, having wrenched it off of Milo’s shoulder.

Aaron looked far too pleased, “I won’t touch him if you play with me, Jake. I’ve missed out time together. It’s no fun without around.” There was such darkness in his voice, such loathing, that Jake pulled his hand away from Aaron as if he could feel it burning through his skin.

“I…” Jake choked. Aaron was much too close, filling his vision, blotting out the light.

Aaron grinned, showed his nicotine stained teeth. And, faster than Jake could react, Aaron snatched up Jake’s wrist and bent his arm back. Jake cried out as his shoulder was pulled harshly, trying to twist away, but Aaron just followed the movement, using it to steer Jake over to the table and pushing him down. Jake scrambled, gasping in fear and pain, as he was bent over the tabletop, one arm behind his back and the other pinned beneath his chest. Jake could feel his own pressing against his arm.

“Dad!” Milo’s desperately scared voice, that sound of the chair against the floor again.

“I said stay in your seat!” Aaron barked, the first time he’d raised his voice, cracking it against the walls of the kitchen. Jake heard Milo thump back into the chair, the squeak of felt pads on shiny tile.

“Now Jake,” Fingers fisted in Jake’s blond hair, yanked hair head back at a painfully sharp angle to expose the curve of his neck and making Jake let out a small, choked cry. Aaron forced Jake to look at Milo sitting petrified in his seat, making their eyes meet, their terror an echo chamber between them. Then Aaron shoved Jake’s face back into the table, grinding it against the polished wood for a moment before releasing his hair, “We’re going to have a nice little chat. And your kid is going to sit there and watch while we go on a nice little stroll down memory lane. And I can remind you about what a piece of utter shit you are.”

“Aaron, p-please…” Jake whimpered, “Milo…h-he doesn’t need to see…”

“Oh, I think he does,” Aaron hissed back, “Someone’s got to show him how the world works and you’re too much of a pussy to do it. So let’s start with the basics. Family,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, “Will always ruin your life. Because people are selfish and stupid and older brothers are the worst! Right Jake?”

Jake knew better than to answer.

But he still made a frightened little noise when a pair of scissors flashed in front of his face. He felt the blades snag on the shoulder of his button up, the snip-click of them slicing into the fabric making him shudder. Aaron cut the sleeve off and then wrenched Jake’s arm out straight, making Jake wince, gritting his teeth. The side of scissors ghost over old and faded scars, raising goosebumps as they went, until their sharp tip pressed against some of the ropey tissue that had never healed quite right in the crook of Jake’s elbow.

“It was right here, I think,” Aaron said in a sickly sweet voice, leaning over Jake and crushing him against the table, “You didn’t want to share that stupid CD player. So I had to teach you a lesson in manners. It was a knife, right? I wasn’t very good with that at first. Wasn’t good about not leaving marks…”

Jake watched the horror dawning on Milo’s face, wished with all his damaged hear that Milo had never seen this part of his life, would have given anything to be alone in the house when Aaron had found him. Now Milo was going to have what innocence he had left shattered while Aaron inevitably did the same with Jake’s fragile sanity.

“A-Aaron, just—just let him…he doesn’t need to be h-here…” Jake tried to plead again, only to choke when Aaron pressed a hand down hard on the back of Jake’s neck.

“He’s staying, Jake,” His brother snarled, “And if either of you scream or try to call for help, first I’ll break your legs. And then I’ll show your fucking mouth shut.”

Milo’s mouth opened—to protest or curse or spew whatever teenage rebellion was still on fire inside him. Jake caught his eye and silently pleaded for him to stay silent, to just go along with it, please Milo, please don’t do anything. Milo searched Jake’s face, then shut his mouth, chewing on his lower lip as he eased back into the chair. Jake swallowed the sigh of relief that wanted to escape him, felt his neck flex against Aaron’s hand, and prayed that whatever happened, it would only leave Jake with more scars and Milo unblemished.

He was jarred from his prayers when he was dragged backwards off the table and thrown into a nearby dining chair. Jake looked up in time to see Aaron uncoiling a faded rope from the pile of tools on the table. He caught Jake’s frightened stare and sneered, snapping it taunt and making Jake flinch.

“Here’s the deal, Jacob,” Aaron growled, walking over to Milo who shrank away from him, “We’re going to play for a while, and your kid’s going to watch so he can learn exactly what kind of dumb, disobedient, horrible, lying person you are. Then I’m going to pack up my stuff and leave and you’re not going to tell anyone what happened because you know you deserve it.”

Aaron approached Milo with the rope and Milo kicked out at him instinctively. But Aaron just sidestepped it and swung the bundle of rope hard against Milo’s face, knocking him to the side. Milo was too dazed to struggle as Aaron wrapped the rope tight around Milo’s chest and the back of the chair, pinning the teenager’s arms to his sides. His movement were deft and practiced, an efficiency created from repeated use of the skill. The rope pinned Milo’s ankles to the legs of the chair and made a complicated series of loops beneath and behind. Milo flinched as the rope draped against his neck and rubbed against his bare skin, tugging against his windpipe as Aaron tied it off behind him. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, grinning nastily when Milo turned fearful but angry eyes on him,

“Haha, look at that. Still a rebellious little shit, huh? Yyeeaahhh, Jakey used to fight back too until I figured out this knot. See, the real beauty of this thing is, the more you struggle, the tighter it pulls. So, if you move around and try to wriggle free then…” Aaron reached around behind Milo and jerked on one of the lines woven into the binding. The rope around Milo’s throat instantly tightened, pressing hard into his neck and cutting his air supply down to the barest wheeze of breath. Milo’s eyes bulged and Aaron laughed as the teenager bucked in instinctual panic. Of course, it was just as Aaron had said—the more Milo struggled, the tighter the noose became.

“Aaron, stop it! You’re here for me! Let him go! Just stop!” Jake was out of his chair, shoving brother out of the way as he fumbled with the knots constructing Milo’s bonds. His fingers slipped off of them, confused by Aaron’s complicated work, and he turned his attention instead to the teenager gagging helplessly in the chair. He cupped Milo’s face in his shaking hands, hushing him, voice hitching as he tried to help,

“Milo, you need to stop struggling. I—I know it’s hard but you need to just—Milo, listen, please listen to me, okay, you need to sit still and don’t move.” He brushed the pads of his thumbs across freckled cheeks, wiping away hot tears, smiling thinly as Milo’s breathing came back under control and his struggling ceased, “That’s it, okay, just—just deep breaths, all right, little shark. It’ll be okay. Just don’t move anymore, okay? Milo? N-no matter what you see, no matter wh-what happens, don’t move. I’ll be fine, I promise, just don’t—“

Aaron yanked Jake away by a fistful of his hair, throwing him to the floor with a growl, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jake. Get back in your fucking chair.”

Jake scrambled across the floor, barely dodging the kick Aaron had aimed at him as he crawled onto he kitchen chair. Aaron followed after him, sneering, pulling a roll of extension cord off the table and knocking several other tools to the floor as he did so. Jake couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out of him as he pressed himself against the back of the chair, desperate to get away but too worried about what would happen to Milo if he ran. His chest rose and fell with sharp, panicked breaths that scraped his dry throat, his heart was beginning to ache as it thudded harder and faster than it had in a long time. His head spun with an ice cold terror he hadn’t experience since he was a child.

Aaron towered over him, the grin on his face nasty and eager, “Sshhhh, big brother, deep breaths. Wouldn’t want you passing out just yet. We haven’t even gotten started…”

The extension cord wrapped around Jake like an old friend, pinching his skin in familiar places and alarmingly tight across his chest. Aaron heaved on the cord, yanking Jake’s legs off the floor by his ankles and forcing him to bend his knees so that his heels were almost touching the seat of the chair. It made his thighs shake, muscles spasming uncomfortably tight as Aaron finished his work. It seemed he’d learned some new tricks over the years. Jake shivered to think who he might have used as a practice dummy.

“Let’s have a conversation,” Aaron said in the same tone of voice one might have used to discuss the weather. He crossed back to the table and sorted through the objects until he found what he was looking for. When he turned back to face Jake, he was holding an old, wooden baseball bat, tiny and child sized, scraped and scratched from years of use.

“Do you wanna know,” Aaron spun the little bat in one hand as he approached, his grin twisted with rage, “What the house was like after you left? Do you know what happened you weren’t around anymore? Do you know how angry mom was?”

Jake cringed back in the chair, pure terror written in every shaking line of his body, “Aaron, n-no, I didn’t mean—I didn’t think she would—you were—she wouldn’t—“

“But she did!” The bat arced through the air and smashed into the side of Jake’s face, jerking his head violently to the side and smashing the inside of his cheek against his teeth. Iron welled into his mouth and he swallowed it back with a grimace. Aaron brought the baseball bat around again and cracked it into Jake’s head, splitting open the skin of his temple. Blood bubbled from the head wound and slid freely down his already swelling cheek as he blinked dazedly, trying to refocus. Aaron didn’t let him; he swung again and struck Jake hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his brother. Jake doubled over with a wet wheeze, drool and blood smearing across his lap from his gasping mouth as he struggled for breath. But Aaron brought another heavy blow down on Jake’s shoulder with a loud, crunching pop. Jake thrashed in the chair, a strangled, gasping scream of pain rattling up his throat, eyes wide and face pale. His shoulder was lumpy and awkward, numb and throbbing and awful—probably dislocated.

“Mom was so pissed when you left,” Aaron snarled, looming over his brother as Jake choked on a sob, breath gasping as he fought for breath, tried to sort through the pain chewing him up from the inside out, “She was so angry. I’d never seen her so mad. And then you didn’t even have the decency to leave us a number? An address!? So fucking disrespectful, Jacob!” Aaron swung again, hit Jake hard in the stomach with the bat. Jake wretched and coughed, spitting up an acrid mixture of stomach acid, blood, and coffee. Aaron dropped the baseball bat with a sneer of disgust, backing away as Jake choked and gagged,

“Pathetic. She raised us. Put a roof over our heads. Gave us food and clothes. And you spat on that. Ran away and didn’t even tell your little brother where you were going!”

Jake looked up, tears and blood and bile still oozing down his face, dropping with the sweat from his chin, staining his shirt and jeans. His breathing was labored and he trembled violently. But his eyes were hard and resolute.

He would not be broken.

That only seemed to stoke the fires of Aaron’s temper.

He spun away to untangle another tool from his collection, shoving things around as he tried to find what he wanted.

Chest heaving, blood and sick and sweat and tears smeared across his front, Jake looked up through hazy eyes and met Milo’s gaze.

The kid was mortified.

Milo’s eyes were wide, bloodshot whites surrounding watery irises. His face was so pale it made his freckles stand out like bullet wounds, his body shaking against the rope binding him to the chair. His throat was already scraped red from the noose dangling threateningly around it. Milo had never witnessed brutality like this before, not outside of television where he was fully aware of how fake it was. Jake wanted to apologize, but his voice was gone, lost under years of conditioned silence because he knew a single word from him would only make things worse.

Aaron turning towards him again made Jake look away. It killed him to do it but the longer he kept Aaron’s attention, the safer Milo would be.

“So scrawny,” Aaron muttered through gritted teeth, wearing something that was akin to a grimace of triumph, “Bet you’re not eating right, huh big brother? You never did. I should be a better sibling…should help you with that.” Jake shook his head and Aaron’s eyes narrowed, “Open your mouth.”

Jake’s throat clicked as he swallowed dryly, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of the plastic tubing and funnel rigged together in Aaron’s hands. The funnel was attached at one end of the tube and the other end was patched awkwardly into some kind of series of straps. Jake could guess what it was for and it was enough to make his stomach turn.

“Open. Your. Mouth.” Aaron’s voice was a stinging lance that made Jake flinch. But, trembling and avoiding his brother’s eye, Jake’s lips parted and he slowly opened his mouth.

Not fast enough for Aaron.

A fist coiled into Jake’s hair, yanking his head back and baring his throat. Jake let out a cry of surprise and pain that was quickly muffled by the foul plastic tubing being wedged into his jaw, pressing against his tongue and shoved almost to the back of his mouth, making him gag. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, trying to pull away. Aaron snarled and swore, fighting back and shoving Jake against the chair to connect the straps holding the tube in place. Jake let out a muffled scream into the tube, glaring at Aaron as he brother stepped back, pushing greasy black hair from his face with a satisfied smirk.

“Like it? I made it myself,” Aaron patted the side of Jake’s face and Jake cringed away, “Now let’s see what I can feed my poor, starving brother…” Aaron shuffled away to start pulling open cabinets and drawers, inspecting the food in the kitchen, humming and muttering to himself.

Jake struggled, trying to free his uninjured arm, wriggling it against the extension cord even when it pinched and rubbed his skin raw. He glanced up at Milo, trying to apologize, trying to reassure, trying to be there for Milo even though nothing good would ever come of this. Milo was sniffling and crying, trying to keep it in, trying to be strong when he shouldn’t have to be. Jake ached to think of the scars this would leave.

He’d never wanted to be the reason for Milo to cry.

“Oooohh, this’ll work!” Aaron stepped back from the fridge, kicking the door closed with a gleeful little chuckle. He held a jug of milk and a couple of cans of Milo’s favorite energy drinks, all of which he dumped on the table while he scrounged around for something to mix them all in. Jake whimpered and Aaron laughed, dropping a bowl and a container of chicken stock beside the milk and drinks, “Don’t worry, Jakey, let your little brother take care of dinner for you!”

Aaron whistled as he poured both energy drinks into the bowl and then mixed in the milk and chicken stock. The concoction smelled atrocious and looked worse; a pale, hazy snot green that looked slightly greasy. Jake shook his head frantically as Aaron approached with the bowl, trying to dislodge the tube from his mouth, thrashing with all his might against the restraints. Behind Aaron, he could see Milo’s chest heaving, eyes wide and horrified, helpless.

“Bottom’s up, Jake!” Aaron sing-songed. He picked up the funnel and slowly started tipping his horrid mixture in, watching it sluice down the tube into Jake’s mouth.

The second it touched his tongue, Jake wretched, dry heaving and trying to spit it up. But Aaron just kept pouring it and he either had to choke or swallow it down. It felt slick in his throat, burning and disgusting, sitting in his stomach like a lead weight, the aftertaste as caustic as the stuff itself. Another horrible laugh came from Aaron as he dropped the empty bowl and wrenched the straps from Jake’s head, jerking him forward, strings of saliva clinging to the tube as it fell out of Jake’s mouth. Jake coughed, gagged, coughed again, eyes watering, stomach churning, wishing desperately he could throw up. But, god, if he did, Aaron might try to feed him something worse.

“And for dessert…” He heard Aaron say from the end of a long tunnel. He raised his head, watching through blurry eyes as his younger brother picked up a knife from the pile on the table. Aaron slid it from its sheath, inspected it in the light, and grinned at Jake.

Jake just stared at him, wheezing with every shallow inhale, sagging in his bonds.

Aaron scoffed, “Yeah, you’re right…I don’t think I’ve tenderized the meat enough.” He put the knife back into its sheath and grabbed a thick metal pipe instead, rusted and slightly bent out of shape but still dangerous enough to do its job. He hefted it in his hand as he approached Jake.

“STOP IT!”

The voice was like a lance that made the room freeze.

Jake held absolutely still, heart pounding painfully hard in his chest, palms sweating, praying he had only imagined the shout.

“Stop it!” Milo repeated to Aaron’s hunched back and Jake wished he wouldn’t, “Stop hurting my dad! He never did anything to you! So stop it!”

Ice settled in Jake’s chest as Aaron turned to face the teenager. Jake frantically shook his head behind Aaron’s back, trying to tell Milo to just be quiet, to just let this happen because it was inevitable, it had to happen, it was his place in the universe to let it happen. Jake would always run, Aaron would always find him, and Jake would always be punished for being the bad son. No one else needed to be involved, no one else needed to be hurt. If Milo would just stay quiet then things would go back to normal, they would be okay. Jake would eventually walk off the bruises and cuts and the memories would fade into nightmares and be forgotten for what they really were and Milo wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Jake didn’t care how many scars he had to carry if it meant that Milo would never have to experience any at all.

“I told you to BE! QUIET!” Aaron stomped across the room, rearing back with the pipe as he neared Milo.

Milo jerked back, forgetting his predicament and tightening the noose on his own neck. He gagged, his cries choked by the rope cutting off his air supply, feet scrabbling to try and back away from the man approaching him. Jake’s fear escalated to a point where it felt like his heart was tearing itself into pieces. And he would let it, he would gladly let his heart explode if it meant Milo would be spared.

Years of conditioning wrenched his mind in twenty different direction, his eyes burning and his throat closing as he struggled to speak. If he said something he could get Aaron’s attention away from Milo. But if he spoke, then Aaron would make things worse, he always made things worse if Jake said anything, even if it was just a wordless cry of pain, Aaron wouldn’t stand for it. Jake swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force his voice out despite the way it made his mouth taste like ash and made his tongue feel heavy with fear.

But before he could make a sound, someone else spoke up.

“Milo? Were you eating dinner? I tried texting but y—“

Cody stood frozen in the threshold to the kitchen, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as he processed what he was seeing.

For a long minute, there was silence as everyone stared at each other.

Then Jake pushed the words out past the vice in his chest, “CODY! RUN!!”

Cody bolted and Aaron launched himself after the teenager with a scream of rage.

He took a swipe with the pipe and managed to bash it into the side of Cody’s legs, tangling them and sending them both crashing to the floor. Aaron grabbed onto Cody’s ankle and tried to pull him closer but Cody kicked out with his free leg, the heel of his sneaker smashing into Aaron’s face with a crunch of snapping cartilage. Aaron howled in a combination of rage and pain, letting go of Cody in order to clutch at his face. Cody backed away, fumbling his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking on the touch screen as he dialed for help.

“H-hello! Th-there’s a man—he tied up my friend—he—he’s trying to hurt me—!”

The sound that came out of Aaron’s mouth was one of inhuman fury. His face was smeared in blood from his broken nose, madness glowing in his eyes as he heaved himself off the floor. A red handprint plastered over the white kitchen tile, the pipe scraping like a furious banshee as he dragged it up beside him. Cody screamed, bolting in the other direction, running around to put the table between himself and Aaron.

Jake was trying to wriggle free of his restraints again, pulling and pressing his good arm as much as he could, ignoring the way the extension cord bit into his sides and made his legs ache. He managed to wrestle his hand free and he twisted, frantically feeling for where he knew the knot was and picking at it, fingers bruised and numb and sore as he tried to undo the rubber cord.

Cody was playing chicken around the dining room table with Aaron. Dodging one way when Aaron went the other. Aaron was getting furious, banging his pipe on the table whenever Cody tried to snag a weapon of his own or got too close. Milo was shouting, shaking in his chair, desperate to wriggle free but knowing what moving would cost him. It was a stalemate; Cody couldn’t get past Aaron but Aaron couldn’t pin Cody, nor could Aaron get Milo to shut up without taking his attention off of Cody.

What Aaron had forgotten, it seemed, was that Jake was very used to escaping from Aaron. He knew all of Aaron’s little tricks.

The knot in the extension cord came loose and then, free. Jake rattled back and forth in the chair, wrenching his dislocated arm, kicking numb legs that didn’t want to cooperate, clawing his way out of the clinging cord. He saw Aaron glance back at him and then do a double take when he realized Jake was freeing himself. He screamed in rage and threw himself at Jake instead, swinging wildly with the pipe. Jake screamed, throwing himself backwards and tipping the entire chair over so he slammed into the floor. The pipe connected with his shin in a savage blow that shattered inside him, drawing out another scream of pain. But his other foot swung up and kicked Aaron’s hand, knocking the pipe free and sending it clattering across the floor.

Aaron was blinded by rage, launching himself at Jake with his bare hands. Jake skittered out of the chair and out of the way just in time, gasping as Aaron went head over heels over the seat of the chair and crashed into the cabinets.

“GET MILO OUT!” Jake shouted to Cody, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to reach for something on the table, anything to give him an advantage against Aaron, “GO! JUST GO! I’LL—“

His voice cut off as hands closed tight around his throat, thumbs pressing into his windpipe, fingers digging into the back of his neck. A heavy body pinned him to the floor, the back of his head knocking against the tile, spine grinding into the grout.

“You’ll what, Jake,” Aaron hissed, spitting blood and rage as he leered over his brother, strangling him with all his strength, ignoring Jake’s weak kicks and flailing hand, “Fight me? Me? You can’t stop me! You never could! You couldn’t stop me when we were kids! You couldn’t stop mom from hurting us! Instead you ran away! You ran away and there was no one to stop her from hurting me! This is your fault! This is all your fucking fault!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY DAD!”

A whirlwind of red and blue collided with Aaron, knocking him over, and Jake gasped as air rushed back into his straining lungs. He tried to yell at Milo, tried to tell him to run, but he could only cough, clutching at his chest, trying to breathe. The pain beneath his ribs was an inferno of burning acid, flaring in stuttering bursts, his limbs weak and shaky and refusing to obey him.

He heard Aaron scream in rage and pain and then the distinct thud of a fist hitting flesh.

Cody’s voice shouting, “Leave him alone!” And then another collision, more shouting and scrambling.

Distantly, Jake thought he heard the front door opening.

Or maybe he was just hoping that someone was coming to save them.

Shaking and wheezing, eyes fuzzing in and out of focus, chest flaring with agony that drowned everything else out, Jake heaved himself onto his side. He could barely make out the blurry, writhing shape that was Cody and Milo wrestling with Aaron.

Two teenage boys could not fight a full grown man.

“S-sto—stop—“ Jake tried to call to them but his throat didn’t work right and it hurt to breathe.

Someone screamed in pain. It did not sound like Aaron.

Anger and a fierce protectiveness flared to life in Jake, momentarily surging over the pain and exhaustion trying to drag him down. He hauled himself to his feet, lurching over to where Aaron was trying to pin down Cody, Milo on Aaron’s back, pulling at that greasy hair and trying to beat him with fists that seemed too tiny and ineffective. Fury like Jake hadn’t felt since his younger days had him drawing back his leg and kicking Aaron square in the ribs.

Aaron dropped back from Cody with a grunt, spilling Milo from his shoulders, and before he could recover, Jake kicked him again. Then he fell atop Aaron and beat his fist into his younger bother as hard as he could. Someone was shouting, screaming a hoarse voice to stay away from his family. There was red, hot and sticky on Jake’s fist, scratches on his arms.

Someone was pulling at him, dragging him off of Aaron, jostling his broken leg and making him cry out.

He didn’t know where Cody and Milo were.

There were strangers in the house.

Voices were overwhelming him.

His chest was on fire and his lungs weren’t working.

Jake fell unconscious.

———

He woke up in a hospital.

Because of course he did.

Everything ached, a dull throb through his entire body, an even wave of dull pain washing over him with everything shallow breath he took. Jake decided it wasn’t worth the energy to try and stay awake, and so he passed out again.

———

He woke up.

The room was dark. The steady beat of the heart monitor a familiar drone in the background. Someone’s soft breathing came from his bedside.

He was safe.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Someone’s hand was on his, big and warm and a little calloused.

It took a hundred years for Jake to turn his head and a hundred more for his tired eyes to focus.

Dan was slumped in a chair next to the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted, his hand lightly resting over Jake’s. He looked like he’d been sitting there for decades.

Jake tried to say something but all that came out was a little gasp of air.

Dan’s head jerked up and their eyes met. Jake tried to smile but his face felt sore. Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes and he clutched at Jake’s hand with both of his, turning towards the door to shout something that was too muffled and far away for Jake to focus on.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

The scent of flowers, a little dry, very faint against the chemicals of the hospital.

No hand on his this time.

The scratch of a pen on paper.

Jake pried his eyes open enough to look around.

A nurse was copying down the information from the monitors hooked to him. She glanced at him and jumped when she saw he was awake.

Suddenly there were doctors and nurses everywhere, shining lights in his eyes, asking him questions he struggled to answer with a tongue made a sandpaper and a throat as dry as the desert.

At some point, it was just too much.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Something warm was pressed against his side.

It didn’t take as long for him to move this time, though his head still felt like a bowling ball packed with concrete while he did it.

A familiar mop of messy red hair and a soft hoodie.

Milo had tucked himself under Jake’s arm and was curled against him, asleep with his head on Jake’s chest, one hand lightly fisted in Jake’s hospital gown and his brow scrunched up in his sleep. Jake watched him dazedly for a moment and then, very slowly, moved a hand to brush it through Milo’s hair, gently and softly petting his head. The crease between Milo’s eyebrows eased, smoothed out, and he seemed to relax a little, snuggling closer to Jake’s side. Jake winced a little at the pressure, but smiled thinly at the warmth.

At least he knew Milo was okay.

Milo was safe.

Milo was alive.

Jake fell asleep.

———

He woke up far more coherent than he had been before.

When Jake looked around, he saw the slightly wilted flowers in the vase on his bedside table surrounded by a handful of get well soon cards and a well loved shark plush watching over him. With a tremendous effort, he reached out and slid the shark plushie off the table and onto the bed, dragging it closer so he could pet its soft fur.

It was one of Milo’s favorites.

The door opened.

Jake barely had time to register that it was Dan who had come in before Dan was across the room, cupping Jake’s face in his hands and crying.

“You idiot!” Dan babbled, holding Jake like fragile china but still holding him as close as he dared, “You’re so stupid, Jake! You could have died! You idiot! Stupid!”

Jake weakly patted Dan, murmuring quiet reassurances no louder than a whisper, tears on his own face that he didn’t bother hiding. Dan was warm, comforting, strong, familiar. Dan was family. He smoothed Jake’s hair back, sniffing and checking him over, muttering about how happy he was that Jake was okay, that Jake was alive.

“Wh’ happen’d…?” Jake managed to ask. His throat still felt raw and his chest was sore, but it was a fair sight better than it had been.

Dan mellowed at the question, easing down into a chair and holding onto Jake’s hand. Jake’s other hand was still awkwardly stroking the soft shark plush.

“Dom…Dom said he heard police sirens,” Dan said quietly, staring at Jake’s thin and pale fingers against his own broad, dark ones, “Came out to see what was happening. He saw the cars at the other end of the street, coming towards him. Then he heard screaming from inside the house. So he came running in and—“ Dan swallowed hard, squeezing Jake’s hand, “And you were punching Aaron in the face, screaming at him not to touch the kids. You were really beat up, Jake. But it took Dom and three other police officers to pull you off of Aaron. And the second they did, you passed out and threw up. In…in that order…”

Jake grimaced; he could only imagine what that must have looked like, “A-are the kids…?”

“Milo and Cody are both okay,” Dan assured him with a sad smile that said there would probably be plenty of therapy bills in their future, “No permanent damage, just a lot of bruising. Milo wouldn’t stop talking about how cool you looked…”

Jake chuckled, coughed a little, and sagged back against the bed with a tired sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before whispering,

“And Aaron?”

Silence. Jake turned his head enough to look at Dan. There was an expression on Dan’s face like he wasn’t sure about the contents of a questionable container of food found at the back of a fridge. Jake frowned.

“Dan…what h-happened to Aaron?”

“Um…” Dan cupped Jake’s hand in both of his, looked like he was working up the courage to say something, “They, um. They think he—it looks like he had some kind of—of psychotic break. He—your mom is…gone. Then he came looking for you. He’s committed now. I don’t think he’s ever going to…get out…” His look was one of sympathy and pity and apologies he didn’t owe, “Jake, I…I’m really sorry…”

Jake turned away to look at the ceiling again and tried to figure out how he felt.

Aaron had killed their mother.

Aaron was probably going to kill him.

Aaron might have tried to kill Milo.

It felt like too much to deal with all at once. Jake closed his eyes and let out a heavy, wheezing sigh,

“When can I go home?”

He felt Dan’s smile rather than saw it, “Not for a few days yet, buddy. Want me to see if Milo can come by? You’ve been asleep every time he’s visited. Bet he’d like to see you.”

Jake thought about the little spitfire of energy that was Milo, the wide smile, the eager spark. The terror in his eyes. The rope biting into his neck. The righteous anger in his voice.

“Yeah,” He said, looking at the little shark beneath his hand, “I want to tell him thank you.”

[btschooseafic]

Hey you, what’s your dream?

Pairing: platonic!oc x ot7

Details: manager!oc, predebut/idolverse, partial BTS World!verse

Summary: Debut day!

Warnings: This is a fictional story based on real events. The characters presented here are not the same as their real life counterparts. (TW: panic attack, dieting mentions) [Masterlist]

Track 22: Debut!

Started From the Bottom- Drake

“Started from the bottom now we’re here

Started from the bottom now my whole team fuckin’ here.”

Debut Showcase, Gangnam Ilchi Hall-June 12, 2013

“Aviva-yah,” Yoongi called. Aviva looked up with her camera, only to be faced with Yoongi snapping a picture of her with his. He looked down at his camera and grinned. “Looks good.”

Aviva looked him over. “So do you. I really like the skirt.”

Yoongi did a little twirl. “Hip hop!”

“Ah… I’m so nervous, I’m stiff as a board,” Jin muttered.

“Want a massage, hyung?” Jungkook offered. Jin blinked at him.

“Seriously? Yeah, that would be great.” Jin sighed happily as Jungkook massaged his shoulders. Aviva walked over, getting a shot of them. “You’re good at this. How come you don’t do it more often?”

“Cause this is a special occasion,” Jungkook told him. “Don’t get used to it, hyung.”

“…I’ll pay you in food,” Jin offered.

“…I’ll consider it,” Jungkook said. Aviva laughed. They glanced at her.

“Yah, go away, camera-ninja,” Jin said.

The boys preformed Bulletproof Pt. 2, No More Dream, and Like to round it out. In-between changing their outfits, Aviva got a quick word with Yoongi and Hoseok.

“How’s it going out there?” She asked them. Yoongi and Hoseok looked at each other.

“Good~?” Hoseok said.

“Good~” Yoongi agreed. Namjoon stepped up behind them, putting his hands on their shoulders. Hoseok clutched his chest as Yoongi plastered on an overly surprised face.

“What’re you guys doing?” Namjoon asked.

“Talking about how great you guys are,” Aviva told him.

“Yah!” Namjoon flushed. “It’s time to get back on stage!” He pointed his finger in the air. “Let’s go!”

Afterwards, Aviva stood off to the side, watching the boys get interviewed about their first performances.

Yoongi spoke about how they were more authentic than other idol groups doing hip hop. Namjoon spoke about wanting to reach out to teenagers and get them to think about what their dreams were, and wanting to win a Best New Artist Award.

At the end of the night Aviva presented them with a custom-made cake. “Sorry I didn’t bake this one,” she said. “But I saw an ad for this bakery, and I thought it could be cool.”

“It is!” Jimin assured her. “Your cakes are probably the tastiest, but this one is very pretty.” Aviva clenched her fist.

“I’m going to improve my cake decorating skills.”

“Ah, that’s not what I…” Jimin smiled at her determined expression. “Okay, I can’t wait to see what you come up with—shall we eat?”

M!Countdown Debut! June 13th 2013

At their debut M!Countdown stage, Aviva was carrying around her camera again, to get behind the scenes footage.

Joonho and his assistants were working hard to mark sure every item of clothing was perfectly place. Jihye and Eunjung were chatting as they waited for their turn. However, Aviva could see that Eunjung had already gotten to Namjoon earlier this morning with an important addition to his hairstyle.

Aviva laughed, stretching her arm up and tracing the letters RM that had been shaved into the side of his head. “I haven’t seen this yet…”

“What? You don’t like it?” Namjoon said nervously.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It’s just… I wonder what you’ll think about this style when you look back at it. Fashion is so changeable…”

“All the more reason to enjoy it now!” Hoseok said, popping up behind them, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around Namjoon’s back.

“You would say that,” Aviva said, flicking the spiky mask.

He laughed. “You really like this thing, huh?” He struck a dramatic pose. “What I do for the sake of art!” She and Namjoon both laughed along with him.

Jungkook and Jimin walked over. Jimin spotted the camera and swerved slightly to sit on a nearby bench.

“I’m going to practice,” Namjoon said, turning towards the wall and taking a few deep breathes before launching into one of his verses. It was the quick one.

Hoseok mimicked him jokingly. Jungkook watched and then did the same. Hoseok laughed.

Namjoon frowned, pointing at Jungkook. “I hate this kid.”

“No, you don’t, Namjoon-ah,” Aviva said easily.

“If you’re gonna copy me, try and do it properly, at least,” he challenged. Hoseok shrugged. Jungkook tried. “Not similar!”

“He can’t do it so well when he’s under the spotlight like that,” Hoseok told Aviva.

“Well, Namjoon-ah does have his own style of rap,” Aviva thought. “You should rap like yourselves, not like him. That’s what makes you all special.”

“Aw.” Hoseok poked her on the cheek. “Cutie, manager-nim.”

“…Can we move on?” Aviva said. “Your audience doesn’t want to hear about me, they want to hear about you.”

Jimin quickly rapped the verse, blushing when they turned to him.

“Ah, sorry,” Jimin said in English for some reason.

“No, it was cool,” Namjoon told him, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re the coolest.”

Readier, the boys loosened up by seeing who could rap the fastest in English. Then Namjoon moved on to walking through their performance. Aviva could see the maknae line’s eyes glazing over as he spoke. Taehyung spotted her and blew her a kiss. Jimin noticed and laughed quietly. He moved over to her.

“Shouldn’t you be listening to your leader?” Aviva teased.

Jimin grinned sheepishly. “Ah, well… I thought maybe our fans could use an update on what we’re doing? That’s who you’re recording this for, right? Our fans?” He thought. Aviva nodded. “Right now we’re in the waiting room.” Jimin pulled at Jungkook’s arm. “Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook turned around and stepped closer to them. “The camera’s on, see?” Jungkook bent down slightly.

“Yah, you don’t have to bend down,” Aviva said. “I’m not that short…” Jungkook laughed. “What will you do next, Jiminie?”

“Next we will…”

“Lose weight!” Jungkook said. Aviva frowned.

“Eh? Why~”

Jungkook laughed. “Stop with the aegyo, noona, you’re too old for that!” He turned back to Namjoon, walking closer over to him to listen.

“…Jungkookie’s a little grumpy today, isn’t he?” Jimin thought.

“Nervous?” Aviva wondered.

“I am,” Jimin admitted.

“I meant Kook... but, yeah, probably everyone is. I mean, I’m nervous and I’m not even performing!”

Jimin grimaced.

“Namjoon-ah, Jungook-ah, have you changed your socks?” One of the assistants asked. The boys broke up to continue getting ready.

“Well… we’re going to lose weight now, I guess,” Jimin said. “Yes, going to lose weight diligently. So I can show you great abs.” He looked down at himself.

“Your abs are already great,” Aviva told him honestly. Hoseok popped up behind Jimin, his plainer mask hanging over his chin.

“What are you doing?” He wondered.

Jimin blinked at him. “What?”

“Jiminie’s giving the fans an update!” Aviva told Hoseok.

“Right now we’re changing into our cool outfits before rehearsal,” Jimin told her and the camera. He wiggled his many ringed fingers at her.

“Bling~Bling~” Hoseok said. He held up his own gloved hand. “It says Bangtan Sonyeondan on it!”

“They are cool gloves,” Aviva agreed. “But you’re interrupting Jiminie.”

“Yeah, don’t interrupt me while I’m speaking to the camera, hyung!” Jimin said. “I get…” He glanced at Aviva and then looked away from her, staring at his feet. “…Shy.” He laughed nervously.

“Why?” Hoseok wondered. “It’s just Avi-yah.”

“It’s fine.” Aviva switched off her camera. “We can take a break.”

“Thanks, noona.” Jimin smiled at her.

“Cookie?” Yoongi offered, holding a small snack bag out to them.

“Ah, no thanks, hyung,” Jimin said. “I’m still dieting, so…”

Yoongi shrugged, holding it out to Aviva.

She took one. “Thanks.”

“You know, your shyness is cute, but you have to get used to the cameras if we’re going to debut now,” Hoseok said to Jimin.

Jimin frowned. “Yeah, well, how do you suggest I do that, Hobi-hyung?”

“Hmm…” Hoseok grinned. “I dare you to flash your abs to the camera.”

“Eh?” Jimin said. “Why?”

“Why?” Aviva agreed.

“Well, he’s going to be doing it on stage all the time now, so it’d be good practice, right?” He figured.

Jimin’s brow furrowed. “He’s got a point.”

“Yes, but the internet is forever,” Aviva reminded him. “If I post this…”

Jimin let out a breath. “Let’s do it.” He gripped the edge of his shirt. “Film me, noona.”

Soon they moved upstairs to the stage for the rehearsal. She got a shot of them moving up the stairs. Jungkook spotted her and waved.

“Ah, manager-noona, when did you get here?”

The other members shot her peace signs as they passed.

They moved straight from the rehearsal into the pre-recording for No More Dream. Aviva watched from the side and then ran around the corner to meet them as they exited the stage.

Aviva filmed them walking off stage, down the hall. The assistants were waiting with tissues to blot at their sweaty faces.

“This leather…” Namjoon muttered, pulling at his shirt, which was sticking to him with sweat. She switched her camera off, letting it hang off her neck. “Honestly.”

“Bend down.” She motioned at him. He did and she carefully dabbed at his face with a tissue, not wanting to ruin the makeup artist’s hard work. “There’s water and towels in the dressing room.”

“Good,” Yoongi said as he passed her. “It’s hot.”

Aviva froze, spotting Jin crying as he stepped off the stage.

“Oppa…” She frowned, noting one of the other cameramen was following him closer to get a shot. She followed them too. “Yah, give him some space.” The camera man hesitated. Aviva flashed her employee ID, and a glare at him. The camera man waved his hand and retreated out of the room. Jin was surrounded by assistants who were wiping his face and fanning him. Jimin and Namjoon were hovering, watching him concernedly. “Hi, Jinie-oppa. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“But, I’m the oldest," he choked out. "I'm not supposed to..."

“You may be the oldest, but you also have the most sensitive heart,” she thought. “It’s a curse and a blessing.”

“I need to… get ready… for the… performance.”

She frowned at his ragged breathing.

“Seokjin-oppa.” She leaned up, brushing his hair away from his face. “Can you breath with me? Copy my breathing. Come on, slowly in… and out… good job.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, as his breathing settled.

“Hey, it’s a big moment, it makes sense to have big feelings, you don’t need to apologize, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiled slightly. “Guess I’ll say thank you, then.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, manager-nim.”

“You two are being very sweet, but you should know, Avi, that he’s crying because his pants kept falling down,” Namjoon teased.

“Yah!” Jin protested, his face turning pink. Namjoon laughed as Jin got him into a headlock and rubbed roughly at his head.

“Ah, watch it—Eunjung-ssi is going to yell at you!”

“Eh? I thought it was because he made a mistake?” Jimin said to Aviva. Jin glared at him. Jimin patted him on the arm. “Don’t cry, hyung, it makes me want to cry too.”

Jin rejoined the others to do their huddle and cheer before they stepped back out onto stage to preform Bulletproof Pt. 2.

Jin waved at her as he passed. Yoongi gave her two thumbs up. Namjoon flashed her a peace sign.

After the performance, Aviva was waiting for them again near the door.

“We did well!” Jin said, hugging her. She laughed.

“Ah, oppa, I’m filming!”

“Our first broadcast recording!” Jin hugged Hoseok.

“First success!” Hoseok did a double fist pump.

“Oh yeah!” Namjoon echoed him as Jin moved on to hug Yoongi. “We’ll do even better on tomorrow’s stage.”

“We will do better tomorrow,” Jin agreed, though he was more subdued than the other two. He smiled weakly. “I have confidence for tomorrow.” Aviva couldn’t find the words. Instead she reached up and brushed his hair out of his face again.

Music Bank, No More Dream Debut!- June 14th 2013

The next day during rehearsal, Yoongi showed off his shirt with his stage name on it to the camera.

“I’m Suga, you see that?”

Aviva nodded. “Otherwise I wouldn’t know who you are.”

“Yah, you brat, it’s for the dry rehearsal,” he said. “You know that.”

Taehyung laughed behind them. Yoongi made a silly face at him. He laughed harder.

Aviva went out into the seats out a couple rows away from the stage to film their rehearsal.

“Yah, noona, don’t you have confidence in me?” Jimin whined after they finished the rehearsal and gathered back in the dressing room. “I know I made a small mistake with the kick, but I promise I’ll practice—and I always get the jump right every time. Every time!”

Aviva was taking a break from filming to charge her camera.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“The part when I jump over Hobi, I saw how nervous you got!”

Aviva blushed slightly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Jiminie, I just… you know I worry.”

“Then don’t watch that part, close your eyes,” Yoongi suggested.

She frowned.

“I can’t do that. I have to support you guys, and get behind the scenes footage, and—“

“Okay, okay.” He waved his hand. “It was just a suggestion.”

She chewed at her lip. “I like the thing with the hat though. It’s cute.”

“I’m not sure cute was what Hobi was aiming for, but I’ll take it!” Jimin said.

Aviva got her camera back in time to film Jimin and Yoongi practicing their dance moves. Taehyung joined them.

“We have to do well,” he told Aviva seriously. “There’s only one chance.” She tilted her head.

“One chance for…?”

He blinked at her. “There’s only, one chance~” He started to sing.

She nodded. “One Shot, B.A.P.”

“Ding, ding, ding—correct!”

Meanwhile, Jungkook trying some of Namjoon’s throat spray.

He coughed. “Are you supposed to drink water with this?”

“Hmmm?” Namjoon looked at him sleepily.

Aviva turned to get shots of the other members. Jin spotted her and waved with the sleeves of his leather jacket, which he was wearing backwards. She laughed.

“Why are you being so cute?”

He pouted at her. “Are you suggesting I’m not usually cute?”

“You’re not usually this shy,” she thought.

“Ah, I did a shy introduction, so I’m still shy now,” he explained.

She nodded. “Well, that’s okay, oppa, I like both the shy and confident versions of you,” she said honestly. He blushed. “Where did Kook go? He was just here...” He laughed.

“Ah, yeah, he’s fallen asleep again.”

Jungkook had almost passed out in his chair.

“Drink,” she ordered him, handing him a water bottle as one of the stagehands fanned him.

“What?” He smiled at her, dazed. “Oh, manager-noona, hi.”

She frowned. “You need to eat something, get your blood sugar up.”

“But I’m on a diet~” Jungkook said. “You can’t make me~”

Aviva sighed. “What about some juice?”

He blinked and nodded. “Yes please.”

“I’ll get it for him,” Jin offered, pulling his jacket on the right way around now. Aviva glanced over at Jimin, who was still practicing.

“Get one for Jiminie too, please.”

Jin nodded.

“One juice for the maknae and one for the Bagel Man, got it.”

Aviva squinted after him.

“Why is Jiminie a bagel?”

“It’s a combo between baby face and glamorous body,” Jungkook explained. He smiled. “Namjoon-hyung told me I’ll probably be like that someday.” His brow furrowed. “Hmm, where did Namjoon-hyung go?”

“I’ll look for him.”

She found him sitting on a chair in the hallway, his head in his hands. He looked like The Thinker, except even stiffer than stone. She switched off her camera, having a feeling he wouldn’t want the fans seeing him like this.

“Namjoon-ah…” Aviva punched lightly at his back. “You’re so tense. Come on, man.”

He squinted at her.

“If that’s an attempt at a massage, you’re failing.”

“No, I’m just hitting you.”

“Oh. You’re doing great then.”

She sighed, laying her hands flat and smoothing them over his shoulders, kneading at the tense muscles.

He made a bit of a happy noise.

“Better?” She asked in his ear. He jolted and then stiffened again. “Sorry.” She withdrew from him.

“No! I…” He turned, his face red. “It’s fine. That was… nice. Thanks. You, ah, weren’t filming that, were you?”

She shook her head. “I do still need some more footage though.”

“You’ll find it,” Namjoon said confidently. “You’re good at this.”

“You’re so amazing, Syub Syub,” Hoseok was saying to Yoongi back inside the room. “You actually danced.” Yoongi turned, spotting Aviva with the camera.

“I usually don’t show off my dancing,” he explained to any future viewers.

“You’re so cool,” Hobi praised. Yoongi smiled awkwardly. Hoseok turned to Tae. “V-ssi, you should show us too.”

Taehyung blinked. “Show what?”

Hoseok hummed one line of the song. “That part.”

Tae did a confused little head wiggle for the camera.

It was cute, but awkward.

“The truth is, V-ah doesn’t do that part,” Yoongi told the camera.

“Oh?” Hoseok smirked.

Yoongi squeezed Taehyung’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to know that part. It’s not yours.”

Hoseok shot an apologetic look at Tae, who was frowning, and then attacked him with a hug, biting his shoulder for some reason.

“Ah, hyung, you’re not a vampire!” Tae said, laughing.

“You’re so cute I just wanna eat you up!” Hoseok told him. Taehyung ran away from him, hiding behind Aviva.

“Yah, leave Taehyung-ah alone,” Jin said, stopping his neck stretches to glare at Hoseok.

“Are you okay?” Aviva asked Yoongi as Tae leaned on her. “How’s your shoulder?” He frowned at the camera. “Ah, sorry, I can edit that out.”

“Please do. The shoulder’s fine,” he told her. “Right now, I’m a little nervous for the pre-recording. I feel dazed, but I’m keeping myself on my toes.” Hoseok and Jin popped in and out from behind him making faces. Tae flashed a peace sign in front of the camera. Yoongi completely ignored them. “We’ll work hard. Please watch over us.” He smiled, just a tinge of annoyance on his face.

“But you’ve been great in front of the camera,” she told him. “I really appreciate it, since it gives me more material to pick from… but don’t force yourself, okay?”

“I’m not,” he told her.

“Swag!” Namjoon called out as he passed the camera, ready to preform. Aviva tried not to laugh. Yoongi bowed slightly. Hoseok and Jimin flashed peace signs.

Aviva watched from the side, grinning as girls shrieked at Jimin’s abs reveal, and cheered at Jimin’s leap.

“We finished it!” Namjoon said as he came off stage, smiling in relief.

“Ah, that was scary!” Yoongi said, rubbing his chest.

Jungkook pronounced it, “So-so.”

“The end!” Hoseok said, flashing a peace sign at the camera.

“Hi.” Jin waved shyly. “We did well, I think.”

“The end!” Tae said, flashing a peace sign. Aviva laughed.

“Hobi just did that!”

Tae pouted.

In the dressing room, Aviva looked at Jimin.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“Not you, necessarily…” He eyed the camera and stepped closer, pointing. “That red light scares me the most. It makes me wonder what I should say.”

“Just be yourself,” Aviva told him. “If I record anything you’re uncomfortable with sharing, I can always edit it out. I promise not to post anything you don’t want me to.”

Jimin smiled, stroking the lens like it was the face of his lover.

“You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I won’t be if you keep touching the lens!”

He laughed.

Across the room, Jin was making faces at Aviva, passing his hand over his face, and changing his expression dramatically. A sleepy Taehyung was sitting next to him as he got his makeup fixed, clearly not amused.

“Wow, I’m so nervous,” Jungkook said as they headed back towards the stage for the live broadcast.

“You got this!” Aviva told him.

During the performance, Aviva was out in the audience again, catching shots of the fans cheering, especially when the boys flashed their abs, and got into their dance solos.

Afterwards, the boys made more faces at her as they came off stage. The photographer had disappeared somewhere, so Aviva was put in charge of taking the after-performance group photos for the fans. Tae and Jimin were reaching across the group to hold hands, as Hoseok bit down on Jimin’s head for some reason.

“Hobi!” Aviva called out to him. “Do I need to get you a teething toy?” The boys laughed, including Hoseok.

“Ah, we are born in the year of the dog, after all! Come play with us!” He walked over and grabbed her hand, waving at one of the assistants. “Hi, hi, noona, can you get a picture of us with our manager too?” He patted Aviva on her head, ignoring her protests. “We won’t post it anywhere, so just stay still and let us commemorate this moment. You’re part of it too, you know.”

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 3) John Deacon x Reader Series

Meant to get this out last night but I’m on call 24/7 for my job so ya know, life.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, you know the deal. Feelings of anxiety. Slightly sexual dialogue. Reader is kinda horny? Misogynistic comments towards reader.

Chapter Notes: I may have written out an ENTIRE episode of Pop Quiz before realizing that shoving music facts down your throats isn’t the best use of our time. Apologies if it got a bit disjointed in the trimming process. I work in TV so I just had to add in a cliche meet-cute. Sorry not sorry.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye

April 1982 - BBC Studios, London

“It’s not funny, Y/N! Stop laughing. You’re gonna ruin all my hard work!” Dawn chastises you as she sweeps a pale blue eye shadow across your lids, trying her best to complete your request to tone down your usual stage look.

You try to muffle your laughter, teetering on your chair set up in the spacious green room. It comes out as a wheeze, a soft whistle escaping through your nose. “I’m sorry, you said what!?”

“I kid you not, I took one look at his penis and said ‘What the fuck is that?”

A sharp laugh escapes from your mouth once again, failing miserably to prevent tears from leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

“I feel awful! It’s just that I had never seen one before,” Dawn whines.

“Okay, I know for a fact that’s not the first dick you’ve seen. Hell, even I’ve seen some of those. Like ships passing in the night as they raced out of your dorm bed,” you giggle.

“You know what I mean. I’ve never been with one that’s… intact.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh c’mon. Uncircumcised can’t be that different.”

“It wasn’t! I was just drunk and got spooked, I guess. It was actually kinda cute. Like it was wearing a little turtleneck or something.”

You lose it, yet again. Laughter falls freely from your lips, helping to alleviate the dreaded stress that has now become your constant companion these days. Appearing on a game show alone was not something you thought you’d have to tackle on your third day in London. You’re sure the boys were off exploring the sprawling city that none of you had stepped foot in prior to the trip.

Pop Quiz was apparently a big hit for the BBC, featuring a bevy of famous musicians battling out their knowledge of the industry. You’d never had the chance to watch, obviously not readily available to viewers back home, but a harried man had come in earlier to give you a basic rundown of the format. You were somewhat confident in your knowledge of music, having been a regular at your hometown’s local record shop, you just hoped it would be enough to keep you from making a fool out of yourself in front of an entire country. But your anxiety mostly stemmed from your upcoming appearance in front of the camera without the boys there to play off of.

“How was it, though? I heard they’re supposed to “feel better” or something like that,” your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ooo, was it curved? Sometimes that can be a great thing. Except for one I encountered that was going in the opposite way then you’d think. Like even it knew it should be running away from the dude.”

Dawn’s face screws into a pinch, “Was that Tyler... Wait, don’t tell me. Ew. And I wouldn’t know! The poor guy was so embarrassed he couldn’t even keep it up after that!”

“What a waste,” you sigh. “I thought I’d be at least getting some field research out of your antics. What did I even bring you to London for?” you joke as she holds a tissue out to blot your lips.

“Uh-huh. The day you do some “field research” of your own is the day I chop off my own hair,” she quips, narrowing her eyes at you.

You casually raise your right hand to flip her off. She wasn’t wrong; it had been a while since you’d been with anyone, let alone entertained the fact of jumping into a relationship. There were partners in the past, of course. A few geeky high school boys, a woman who worked at said hometown record store, and the occasional pretentious film kid while at NYU, who spoke condescendingly of women working in film but scratched an itch when needed.

“And there’s no time like the present! You know what they say. When in Britain…” Dawn trails off, failing to finish her bit.

You left eyebrow quirks, “Throw dental hygiene standards out the window?”

Her face twists in disgust again as she uncaps a can of Aqua Net. “Gross. Now close your eyes and shut up so I can be done with you.”

The spray sputters, emitting little from it. “Dammnit,” she curses, turning to rummage around her sprawling kit. “Of course, I didn’t pack a spare. I’ll be right back. Hopefully, their hair department has one we can borrow.” 

She rushes from the room in a sweeping motion, knocking over a coffee that was precariously placed on your chair’s armrest in the process.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, jumping up, your white blouse now doused in caffeine.

You hurry to jog out of the room, trying to catch up with her. “Daw- Shit!”

Your face collides with a hard chest.

Two large hands grip your shoulders to stop your momentum. “Oh! Apologies,” comes a light voice from above, muffled by your full head of ringlets. You jerk your head away quickly, and your gaze lands on a pair of startled greyish, green eyes.

“S-sorry,” you stutter out. “Completely my fault.” You glance down to the hands that still rest on your shoulders for a moment before looking back up. The pair of eyes go wide, and the hands quickly retreat back to the man’s side. 

The man being the bassist of Queen, John Deacon. You scold yourself for only having glanced at the day’s detailed itinerary this morning before heading out. How did I miss that one? Sweat begins to gather on your palms immediately.

“John Deacon,” he hesitantly smiles at you while extending a hand.

“Y/N L/N,” you squeak out as his hand engulfs yours, inwardly cringing at how moist it must feel. You hold it for a bit too long. “I’m one of the contestants on Team A today,” you yank your hand back to your side.

His brow knit together. “Oh? I was told I’d be with Nick Rhodes and Jon Moss today.”

You shift your weight uncomfortably from side to side, having yet to meet his eyes again. “Nick had to cancel, I believe. I’m a last-minute replacement.”

“Okay,” he replies with a tight smile. “Well, good then. I hope you’re ready,” he glances down, noticing the stain splashed across your top. “Or, at least close to it...”

“Huh?” you blurt out before realizing, looking down at your shirt. “Oh, yes. The reason I so rudely ran into you. I should go-” your eye catches something as they finally travel back up to his. “Aw, fuck.”

“Pardon?”

You grimace, pointing directly at his chest. Right to the giant imprint on his tight blue shirt. One that had been left by your bright red lipstick.

He follows your finger. “Ah! Will you look at that.”

“I am so, so sorry,” you rush out, absolute mortification seeping into your voice.

He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “Not to worry. That’s what jackets are for,” he says, zipping up the oversized grey jacket slung around his shoulders. “And at least now I know this shade of red really isn’t my colour.”

You smile up at him, not really knowing what else to say—the full weight of your not-so-smooth first encounter with this man hitting you fast, as people squeezed around you two in the tight hallway. “I should go get fixed up,” you tell him, pointing your thumb back over your shoulder towards your dressing room, ready to make a quick exit.

“Alright. I’ll see you out there then. Cheers!” he smiles back with a wave of his hand, turning to find his own space to get ready.

You stand there watching him in a daze, mentally berating yourself for now having had two inappropriate run-ins with a member of Queen.

Dawn materializes into your field of vision, hands-on-hips.

“Honestly, what the hell. I left you alone for two minutes!”

- - - - - - -

20 minutes later, you follow a stagehand through the back of the soundstage, fidgeting with your outfit while trying not to crash into anyone else. Dawn’s top that she quickly switched with your own was cut much lower than you would’ve liked and left you feeling even more exposed than your current bout of nerves did.

You’re dumped onto the set with the point of a finger over to a tall man. Mike Read, the host of Pop Quiz, stands by a large desk, crew members bustling around him. You stick to your spot out of the way, not sure if to interrupt the conversation he’s currently having to introduce yourself. 

You take in the spacious stage, never having been on a show of this size before. A wave of longing suddenly washes over you, yearning for days on set where you were a part of the crew that moved around you. While at school, you’d worked on several student films, usually as a 1st Assistant Director or Line Producer. You loved the pace of production. Keeping everyone on time, on budget. It was where you felt most confident. While there were a variety of different types of personalities on set, you found it exhilarating to be the one to settle disputes and help everyone stay on track. Your subtle superpower of putting out little fires everywhere you went. Never had it crossed your mind that you’d be on the other side of the camera one day.

“A change of wardrobe, I see,” a voice says from behind you, pulling you out of your daydream. You turn to catch John’s smirk, his eyes trained intentionally on your own.

“It would appear so,” you reply, glancing down at yourself quickly.

“Have you been introduced to Mike yet?”

“Nope. I was working up the courage,” you admit.

“C’mon,” he gestures for you to follow him as he strolls towards the man. “He doesn’t bite.” You follow, trailing behind his long strides as he daintily weaves between the many bodies in your path.

“John!” Mike exclaims as you both approach. “Good to see you, mate,” he claps him on the back.

“You too. Thanks for having me back,” John greets him cheerily. “And look, I brought a present. All the way from America, I’m assuming. Mike, this is--”

“Y/N L/N!” Mike says, a genuine smile forming. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we fit you in.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m excited to be here,” you mumble as he brings you in for a hug.

“Can I just say, your video for Heart of the Night is absolutely outrageous. I thought my eyes were going to pop out my head when I’d learnt that MTV in the States had aired it,” he laughs. “Daring stuff, really.”

You feel a heat creeping up your neck as you try to accept the compliment. “Yeah, thanks. Glad to hear that you’re all a bit more relaxed in terms of watching the explicit murder of a teenage girl on your screens.” You immediately wince at your own bluntness.

You can’t help but peek over at John, curious if he’d seen the violent clip now making its rounds across UK television sets everywhere. He’s staring at you with eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open slightly. 

Great. He thinks I’m a lunatic.

“We certainly are!” Mike chuckles. “Have you been briefed on the logistics of how the taping will go?”

“Mhmm, I got the rundown from one of your producers.”

“Excellent. Well, you’ll be in good hands with John here heading your team,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulders and adjusting his large glasses with the other.

Good hands indeed, you think to yourself, remembering how large they felt when they gripped your shoulders earlier. No, stop that, you scold yourself.

“We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes if you’d both like to find your seats. And you’ll have to regale me with the gory details from that shoot of yours afterward,” he winks, gesturing towards your spots for the show. You turn to follow John to your side of the set.

“Oh, and Y/N!” Mike calls out. “I do hope you’re good. Deacon got absolutely spanked last time he was on.” You bring your hand up to your face to stifle your giggle. John makes a show of rolling his eyes but keeps walking. You notice his face is now tinged a lovely shade of pink.

“You must think I’m daft,” he says, turning to you slightly.

“Me? Oh no, I’m sure we’ll do great!” you reply, a bit too happily.

“No, no, not that,” he laughs lightly, his hand finding the back of his neck. “For not recognizing you during our... colourful meeting in the hallway. It seems you and your band left quite the impression on our dear Freddie.”

“Oh! That’s nice to hear. You can tell him he left quite the impression on us as well, but I’m sure he makes an impression on most everyone,” you shrug. “And don’t worry about it, please. It’s not as if I’m a part of the biggest band in Britain or anything,” you tease. He smiles shyly. You catch the crinkles on the outer corners of his eyes before he turns them downwards.

You reach the long table on your designated side of the studio. There’s one on the other side mirroring it, with three somewhat familiar faces already sitting behind it. You glance at the empty seats before you, moving hesitantly towards them until John pulls out the closest chair, gesturing for you to sit. He gingerly pushes it under you as you lower yourself down.

“Thanks,” you mumble. He nods and moves to sit beside you.

There’s a loud bang to your right, causing you both to jump and look to the source; a large Grip gingerly picks up the c-stand he’s knocked over. John hovers above his chair, watching on as a producer shouts at the poor man, his waist now at your eye line.

You had never understood the fascination with men’s butts. That is, until now. The tight jeans John had on left little to the imagination. As if that would stop you. You shake your head back and forth as if to clear your thoughts. All of Dawn’s talk earlier must have you seriously whacked out.

“Are you alright?” John asks, now situated in his seat.

“Hm?” you break out of your daze. “Yes, fine. It’s just- I haven’t done anything like this,” you gesture to the large room teeming with various crew and a studio audience, “before, on my own. Usually we’re all together, and I’m slightly less charismatic than the rest of them, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I would tell you that it’ll get easier, but I still feel like I’m rubbish without my lot as well,” he sympathies. “And I happen to find you quite charismatic as you are,” he adds softly. “You certainly had Mike going back there.”

“Oh boy,” a voice huffs from the other end of the table, drawing away John’s attention. You’re thankful for the distraction, finding yourself at a loss for words due to his comment, coupled with your previous thoughts.

“I see you two actually arrived on time, ya goodie-two-shoes,” the flamboyant man complains as he plops into the third and final seat at the table.

“Jon, welcome. Good to see you,” John acknowledges, shaking the man’s hand.

“And who’s this little thing at the end, then?” he points at you.

John’s expression turns slightly sour at the informal greeting directed towards you. “This is Y/N L/N of Lo & The…” he struggles to remember, “Legs?”

You bark out a laugh. “The Limbs. But The Legs sounds better actually.” You share a smile, holding onto John’s eyes even though it makes your insides flip.

An outstretched hand is shoved past his body. “Jon Norris. Drummer. Culture Club.” You accidentally brush John’s arm as you move to return the handshake, not missing how he jumps a bit at the contact. “Pleasure,” reply, tearing your eyes away.

The drummer retracts his hand, settling back to swing his shoes up onto the table. “I’m glad to have a bird on the team, actually. Maybe we’ll get a few extra points thrown our way for that tiny top of yours,” he smirks, not even glancing over in your direction.

You look down at your slightly exposed chest, but the color red quickly clouds your vision. John sucks in a breath as he sits up straight in his chair. “That’s a bit ru-,” he starts in an annoyed tone.

But you’re quick to cut in, leaning your body forward on the table to lock eyes with Jon, “Actually, we might get docked a few for that obnoxious suit you’ve got on. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that stripes bleed on camera, sweetheart?” you seeth.

He glances down at his bright pink and green striped suit, clearly taken aback by your quick comeback. “N-no…” he falters, shutting up for the moment.

You catch John’s expression, a mixture of confusion and awe while he gapes at you. You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. Luckily you don’t have much time to stew over the misogynistic comment as the stage manager’s voice rings out a 10-minute warning.

“Just try not to show me up too much, would you?” John whispers, leaning in closer to you. Obviously, trying to lighten your mood.

You give in. “You, sir, are lucky to have me on your team,” you point at him. “Tell me, what’s more important? The scoreboard or your fragile ego?” You’re not sure where your sudden wave of confidence is coming from.

He brings his hand to his chest. “You caught me,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “One could say I’m overcompensating, given who my bandmates are. Roger’s won this twice already, and it only started airing last year. I’ll never hear the end of it if I muck it up again.”

“Well then, I’ll do my best to save your sorry ass, and maybe that one down there too, if he’s lucky,” you tease. 

Great. Now I’m thinking about his ass again. Fuck you, Dawn.

“If you’d be so kind,” he says before turning his attention elsewhere, content to watch the happenings around him until the show’s start. You hear him start to softly hum to himself, not able to place what the tune is.

You try not to watch him out of your peripherals for the next few minutes, hardly even noticing your lack of nerves as the studio audience starts cheering.

- - - - - - -

“And to end out round one, we have Adam Ant’s team with 3 points. And with a slight lead, John Deacon’s team with 4.” The studio audience erupts in a deafening cheer. “That’ll bring us into round two, which will be a team question. John, your team to go first,” Mike directs from his desk in the center of the set.

John lightly taps his pencil against the notepad in front of him, the current tight score starting to bring about his competitive side. He peeks over to check on his teammates. Y/N looks like a radiating ball of energy. Her feet are tucked up under her on the chair as she hunches forward, pencil already hovering while her teeth chew on the eraser. To his right, Jon doodles away, drawing exaggerated characachers of select members of the studio audience.

“Right, question coming to you in a moment, but first here’s the band, The Band.”

A large monitor towards the front of the set comes to life with a clip from their concert film, The Last Waltz. The chair to his left gives a loud squeak as Y/N begins to scribble furiously as if already knowing the question before it’s been given.

“Here’s a clip from The Last Waltz, The Band’s famous taped last concert. Please name 10 of the 20 rock legends that joined them on stage that night.”

John’s face scrunches in concentration, trying to recall the recording of it that he’d listened to many times before. He writes down the first few that come to mind, struggling to get past 6 names that he’s sure were present.

“Bloody American bands and they’re American friends,” Jon says, shoving his own piece of paper into John’s view. It has 4 names on it, 3 of which John already has down.

“They’re Canadian,” John replies, transferring the extra name to his paper.

“What?”

“The Band. They’re from Canada, I believe. At least most of them are.” Jon shrugs as the clip fades out, their minute of deliberation up.

“Alright, that was The Band with a famous clip from The Last Waltz. If you’d please, John, name 10 of the acts that accompanied them that night.”

A sheet of paper smoothly glides in front of his, Y/N’s messy scrawl covering it with 10 names hastily jotted down. He raises his eyebrows to her, but she just nods at the paper, urging him to read it.

He starts, completely disregarding his own list. “Erm, yes, we have Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Ronnie Hawkins, Neil Young, Bobby Charles” he struggles to read the small scribbling, almost illegible. “Um, Muddy Waters? Yes. And Neil Diamond.”

John lets out a breath, silently praying that the young girl beside him is as bright as she seems.

“Right you are! 10/10,” Mike exclaims. “For a bonus point, can you name the two artists that recorded pre-taped performances with them for the film as well?”

“Uh…” John glances at Y/N for support. She shoves another scrap of paper to him. Emmylou and Staples the only thing written on it.

“Emmylou Harris and The Staples Singers?” he answers, more like a question.

“Wonderful, a full 4 points to you all.”

He watches as a deep grin breaks onto Y/N’s face as she finally reclines. She looks over to him, a bit proud of herself, he thinks, as the other team begins their own round of questioning.

He’s quite intimidated by the American next to him if he’s being honest with himself. Her anxious demeanor seemed to have vanished into thin air once the game started, tackling each question thrown at their team with a hungry reverence. But her laugh is what keeps him on edge the most. It’s brash and full, consistently breaking him from his determined concentration to send a confusing jolt through his body each time.

“While your knowledge reigns superior, your handwriting leaves something to be desired,” he whispers in jest, not being able to help himself. She simulates a shocked expression as she leans over to look at her own paper that sits in front of him.

Her accent is thicker as she returns his whisper, “What ya tawking about?” She moves her eyes closer to examine, her shoulder bumping his. “That clearly says Muddy Waters.” Her hair hovers below his chin, almost tickling his stubble. It smells of something citrusy and light. 

“Y’ smell lovely,” he sighs, almost inaudibly.

“Hm?” she questions, bringing her body back into her own seat.

“E-ever-ly,” He stumbles out, still quietly. “I thought it read it as the Everly Brothers at first,” hoping to god his bad save is enough.

She snorts. “You sure you didn’t leave your glasses at home? Would’ve thought you’d bring them to something like this.”

He quickly fixes the flustered look on his face, “Hm, glasses aren’t conducive to my rockstar type of lifestyle. Take Rog, for instance. Always wearing those bloody prescription sunglasses indoors, looking like an absolute git.”

She lets out that sharp laugh again, immediately covering her mouth, embarrassed at the thought of interrupting the other team. “I’ll have to watch out for that. Eat my carrots, all that nonsense,” she answers softly. If Brian were here, he’d ramble on about how there’s no scientific evidence of that or some bollocks, he thinks to himself.

“Let us hope my ears are in far better condition. Then you won’t have to keep, how did you put it, saving our sorry asses?” She smiles down into her lap and bites her lip. Oh hell, don’t do that.

Mike is now wrapping up with the other team. “No, I’m sorry. Their other top 10 hit was “So You Win Again. 3 points it is.” He once again turns his attention back over to John’s team. “Moving on to our third round, we have individual questions. Y/N, we’ll start with you. Here’s the hit Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye. Please name the artists you hear in order.”

The sound bites begin, and Y/N is once again bent over her paper as she listens, brow furrowing. John identifies the first two singers instantly but is at a loss for the third, making him grateful the question isn’t his. The clips fade out.

“Y/N?”

“I think it was Glen Campbell.”

“Correct.”

“Johnny Nash.”

“Good. Last one?”

“And... Bettye Swann?”

“Yes, top job! Known for her R&B hit Make Me Yours. I’ll give you a bonus if you can tell me who the song was sung by originally,” Mike counters.

“The Casino’s,” she says confidently.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ll give you one more chance.”

John realizes she was probably too young or not even born yet when the original was released. He slyly slides closer to her. “Don Cherry,” he mumbles lowly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Don Cherry?” she shouts as if to cover up his assistance.

“Yes, John Deacon, you’re right. It is Don Cherry. The point is yours for at least attempting to be subtle,” Mike laughs. Y/N shyly smiles over at him, silently thanking him for his help. 

John and Jon mostly breeze through their questions with ease, racking up a hefty amount of points in favor of their team before turning over to the others. He takes a sip of water as he smugly watches on.

“Glad to know my own ass is in good hands if it’s ever in need of saving again,” Y/N quietly comments. He chokes lightly on his water as an image flashes quickly through his mind. John racks his brain for a reply, but only overtly cheeky responses come to mind.

“Anytime,” he manages, afraid to catch her eyes. She lets out a light giggle, starkly different from her usual roar. It sends a warmth of color to his cheeks. 

Intriguing, he thinks, silently hoping that he’ll get the chance to hear it again.

[deobidrabbles]

[7:52pm]

[summary] You and Changmin sneak away for a quickie before a performance.

[genre/warnings] (s)mut

“We go on in 8 minutes, so we-” Changmin mumbled clumsily as he undid the belt to his pants.

You pressed your index finger to his lips to shush him, “Sh! Less talking, more fucking.”

He nodded quickly and yanked his pants down to his ankles, not even bothering to take them off completely. You pulled him by his shirt into a deep kiss and his hands immediately lifted you onto the makeup counter. It was cold on your bare skin.

You sat on the counter with Changmin standing between your legs. The kiss was wet and sloppy, your tongues tangled with each others’. His cock was hard by now and pressed up against your leg. He took it in his hand and started pumping up and down as you stripped free of your skirt.

He groaned when you spread your legs and he noticed you weren’t wearing any underwear. You bared your pussy to him and he pumped his cock faster. You watched him with lustful eyes and a dark smile while his eyes fixated on your opening.

“We’re running out of time so if you’re going to fuck me, now would be the time Changmin.”

Your voice brought him back to the reality of the fact that he had to go perform soon. He entered you swiftly and began moving his hips hurriedly. His powerful thrusts knocked you back into your elbows.

You reclined against the mirror behind you and watched him pound away at your pussy. He paid no mind to the sounds of skin slapping that echoed in the empty waiting room, clearly not caring if he’d be caught or not. A shuddering moan spilled from his lips when you clenched your walls around him. The tightness would surely have him cumming in no time.

“Oh my-” He choked as he came.

His hips came to a complete stall, the pleasure causing his muscles to tense. The warmth of his cum filled you in short spurts. He pushed deep inside you one last time, savoring the feeling of your insides before pulling out with a sigh of relief.

He was spent; he bent over to rest his hands on either side of you trying to control his breathing. You reached for a tissue and blotted the sweat beads on his forehead before they ran down his face to ruin his makeup. Then you helped him stand up straight, “You gotta go now.”

“Oh yeah,” He said dazed as he pulled up his pants and tucked in his shirt.

When you first discussed this idea, it sounded exciting and rebellious but now you were worried how he’d perform. It was obvious that he’d been up to no good; his forehead was still damp and his cheeks were still red. You knew his members would know right away.

You finished the last loop on his belt and gave him one last kiss before shoo’ing him out the door, “Good luck.”

[rvmmm21]

. you know who i am? .

k, so i didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand. also, my first time writing in present tense? idk how to feel about it, but i guess it’s different. it felt so different writing for like actual humans lol. my first ‘normal’ fic, this is!

please for the sake of this making sense can we all pretend jennie, joy and irene are around the same age? also look who had fun with brand names. moi.

anyways this is [badgirl/bully!joohyun ‘persuading’ clumsy freshman!seungwan to be her assignment buddy] 

...

University culture is grating.

It’s overwhelming and it suffocates her. She has no time to prepare herself for the apparent runway the halls have become, what with the stupid-rich kids treating every day like it’s a fashion show; Seungwan can barely blink from one person to the next without being smacked across the face with fur coats from Chanel, Louis Vuitton sunglasses hidden under Prada nylon bucket hats and Off-White tracksuits tucked into Balenciaga socks. She hadn’t considered a future in law enforcement, but had she done so, anyone who tucked their trousers into their socks mid-calf would find themselves behind bars with the rest of the criminal scum. End of.

Just as she dusts her hands of that smug little sentiment, Seungwan finds herself with a face full of hair, and an even bigger nose full of what smells like laundry detergent. She lets out an embarrassing squeal, and the girl turns round to face her. A ghost of a scowl brushes across her face before she fixes her with an indiscernible gaze.

That scowl is an awful colour on a face as pretty as yours, she impulsively thinks.

Seungwan knows no more about the history of art and the intricacies of sculpture than the average Joe, but she’s sure Michelangelo missed the mark with David. She inwardly laughs at the thought of the man dedicating his entire being to crafting his flimsy idea of ‘perfection’ when she’d just bumped into it; the real thing. Of course, if that was defined by forming new constellations from faded freckles on flawless skin, or vantablack tresses framing sharp features like a painting, then yes; she was, by very definition, ‘the perfect (wo)man’. Easily outdoing anyone within a 50-metre radius.

Heck, make that 500.

The girl glares intimidation and Seungwan manages to save herself the humiliation of drooling in front of the white-hot beauty and her friends with a quick gulp, already feeling crimson seeping into her cheeks.

Perfect; now that she’s watched whatever new potential friendship this was blow up in her face, all she has to do is avoid her at all costs from here on out.

She mouths a haphazard apology and zooms past before anything can come of it, keeping her head down even after she’s well out of sight. Seulgi, Seulgi, Seulgi, save me, she brisk walks and begs all the way to class.

~~~~~~~~~~

A small commotion rings through the lecture hall of keyboard clicks and lethargic shuffles, calling to attention the girl who’s just spilt her drink down her front, now frantically digging around in her backpack for anything she can use to soak it up. A few jeering giggles are stifled, meanwhile students close by donate tissues and sympathetic looks. They are gratefully accepted with rapid-fire bows and machine-gun stuttered apologies.

“That freshman’s just ruined her rep, huh?” Jennie chuckles, “blindly walking into people… can’t even keep liquid in the cup. Give her a dog collar and a sign and she’s good to go.”

“Eh, I thought it was cute.”

Jennie’s retort comes quick.

“Sooyoung, you think anything in a skirt is cute.”

“What,” the girl says, ignoring the implication, “Haetnimie doesn’t wear skirts. And she’s not even wearing one right now. Plus, I didn’t say ‘she’s cute’, I said ‘it’s cute’. Learn the difference, idiot… it’s not like I wanna have at her or anything…”

Jennie shoots her an incredulous look and Sooyoung relents the banter. They both turn their attention to the girl sitting next to them, completely un-present in the moment. Sooyoung notices who she’s looking at and leans in to nudge her.

“Joohyun,” she whispers, poking her in the ribs when it’s obvious their friend is well on her way to signing a contract with NASA with how apparently well accustomed to space she is, “what do you think of her? Or are you still mad she walked into you?”

“Nah, forget it,” Jennie waves her off before she’s even had a chance to respond, “she’s not interested. I had to literally pay her money to go on a stupid double date with me in high school. I washed five cars for her to not even hold his hand once during the movie.”

Instead of participating, Joohyun sighs, casting the girl in question a seemingly uninterested stare. Unbothered eyes take in the sight she’s presented with: frustrated brows knitted together under a wispy caramel fringe and a blot of taro milk tea the size of Canada staining her baby blue jumper.

“I want her.”

The words are so simple her friends almost miss them entirely.

Sooyoung and Jennie battle for first place in an impromptu competition of ‘who’s-the-most-shocked’.

“You’re joking! Yah, you’re so annoying seriously, now?! You couldn’t have ‘wanted’ Min-seok in year nine?! I paid good, hard cash for that stupid boy!”

Joohyun looks at her, smug as a cat.

“I did it for you, Jennie. I didn’t even remember his name was Min-ho.”

“Min-seok.”

“Yeah, right.”

Sooyoung, wide-eyed and on the verge of passing out, grabs Joohyun by the shoulders, ignoring the glare she receives for it. “Joohyun, seriously? You’re serious. You want her like want her? Or want her like you wanted that cookbook after that trial week of Food Tech during summer break?”

Joohyun regards her, absolutely blasé. “I don’t follow recipes.”

“Exactly. Are you play-”

Sooyoung’s statement dies down with the rest of the class as the lecturer walks in. Furious clicking, hurricane scribbles and flipping pages are all that remain as the lesson kicks off, Jennie and Sooyoung casually scrolling through Instagram while the professor speaks. Joohyun leans forward, elbows on desk and chin resting on interlocked fingers. Her full attention is on the poor girl on the other side of the hall, intermittently peeling the cold, damp fabric away from her body, face flushed and avoiding all eye contact. Joohyun snickers at how uncomfortable it must be to have to sit through class in a wet jumper, how awkward and squeamish she looks.

Strawberry-tinted lips curl into the faintest smirk.

Hello cutie.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yah! Kang Seul-Gi!” Seungwan calls out to chocolate-swirly space buns and baggy gym clothes hurtling towards her from across campus grounds, “where the heck were you?!”

“Sorry sorry! Overslept!”

“What!? Your class starts at noon! … and this is like… day 1!”

The girl looks like she’s barely had the chance to screw her head on the right way as she joins Seungwan on the steps of the university entrance.

Seungwan’s sweating buckets; physically and metaphorically, both from the waves of humidity and her all-exclusive one-idiot circus show this morning in class. That little muck up makes it to the tippy top of the endless list of embarrassing things Seungwan has stored in her long-term memory.

“You okay?”

Seungwan palms rosy cheeks as she takes another mouthful of her rainbow sherbet cone.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me.”

Seulgi chortles as her best friend recounts her ordeal, trying to subdue the sea of smart alec remarks bubbling under her skin.

“So that was great, too. And now I’m a laughing stock. A meme. They’re probably editing my stupid face as I speak…”

Seulgi reverts back to the first incident. Of course she would.

“Sooo… not like in the dramas then?”

Seungwan hangs her head, “not at all… she looked like she wanted to kill me.”

Seulgi lets out a snort before prodding her with more curious questions. The cogs in Seungwan’s brain churn and stutter as she tries to filter as many redundant adjectives as possible, only using ones she deems absolutely necessary to describe the most beautifully terrifying girl she’s ever seen.

Just then, as if Seungwan had meant to conjure hell itself, the three girls make an appearance from round the corner, chatting amongst themselves and taking Seungwan and Seulgi by surprise. The latter glances down where steely fingers are squeezing her wrist, as if that’d activate some magical cloak of invisibility. Seungwan’s as good as swallowed her tongue, shakily motioning to the girl in the middle of the black velvet storm with her eyes and a few nose twitches.

“H-her…” she stutters, finally getting her brain into gear after they leave, “… her.”

Innocent eyes double in size at the realisation.

“Wha-wait no, her?! You bumped into… her?! Her, Bae Joohyun leader of killer senior pack Bae Joohyun?”

Seungwan’s heart only thumps faster at the panic in Seulgi’s voice, but her words still mean nothing. The other girl swipes the dangling question marks off the top of her friend’s clueless head.

“Yo Wan-ah, you have to lay low. I mean why would you even – oh geez wow you really messed up. Can’t you look where you’re – I can’t even begin to – why would you – oh my gosh!”

Seulgi’s disjointed sentences allow enlightenment to trickle in and Seungwan slaps a hand over her forehead, mortified.

Oh god no. That’s the Bae Joohyun?

She’d heard the rumours. Many, rumours. Bae Joohyun who makes her juniors cry. Bae Joohyun; precious daughter of the most elusive mafia gang leader in all of Korea. Bae Joohyun; ice queen senior, sole roost-ruler of Hanyang University and the biggest bully you’ll ever meet.

Positively preposterous, empty claims with no evidence whatsoever to back them up… she hopes.

“Pft yeah okay she’s… mean, but she’s not like… jesus or anything she can’t… like… part the Red Sea or, turn water into vodka I don’t know,” Seungwan tries and fails at consoling herself, receiving nothing but an apologetic pat on the back from the girl beside her.

“Yeah well… she’s not the messiah but everyone treats her like it. And for the sake of your own neck, you’d better start too. Watch out, Wan-ah.”

Seungwan hadn’t paid any mind to those wet-eared freshmen whom she’d overheard during orientation gossiping about Joohyun and her charming little posse; but perhaps she should have.

She gulps, too afraid to think of anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan often fantasizes at work. There has to be some way to pass the time, after all.

Deep down she’s a sucker for romance, she knows it far too well; she envisions herself ten years down the line, letting whoever she has on the other end of the phone know that she’ll be home soon, that work has just been extra grueling today, and that she cannot wait to give them a cuddle. She’ll stir the dinner pot while she tells them stories, pausing in between to remind her lover how beautiful they are. Perhaps one day, the honour will be hers, to see her soulmate walking down the aisle.

But as the tinkling of the doorbell rings through her café, Seungwan files those cloudy fantasies for later and greets her first customers with a smile.

She hasn’t been sleeping very well, worrying her mind with ridiculous thoughts and impossible scenarios. All involving Joohyun as a tick-tocky alligator and herself as none other than Captain ‘I’m-actually-innocent-why-are-you-still-trying-to-eat-me’ Hook.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s five minutes to closing time. Seungwan suppresses the yawn in her chest and blinks away the moisture in her eyes. Just zero to sixty, five times in your head. You got this, Seungwan. Gosh, there’s no one in the café and hardly anyone outside. She briefly contemplates closing early.

“Small iced Americano.”

“Coming r – aii!! Ai…!”

Seungwan’s adrenaline spikes so high she could serve it ice cold in a coffee cup right now. Caught completely off guard, she begins stammering nonsense behind the till, crinkling the leather of her dark brown work apron and then using the hem of her polo shirt to wring clammy palms none the drier. All the while her customer stands there, brow quirked and card held out between slender fingers. Her expression, although slightly amused, threatens her to take her money, or else.

Before she can open her mouth, a buttery voice snaps her out of her trance.

“Hello, Seung – wan… hey, don’t we have Korean Literature together?”

Seungwan tries not to spontaneously combust on the job as she instinctively slaps a hand over her name tag. It’s useless though, it is now known. Known to her, of all people. The notorious Bae Joohyun; dressed in Acne jeans and an over-sized midnight Balenciaga cardigan, she looks like any other young, caffeine-dependent university student. But Seungwan knows a lot better.

Oh god save me… what the hell is she doing here!? This has to be a set up. She’s here for me. I’m going to die tonight. Mummy, daddy I love you.

“J-J-Juh…”

She can’t say it. All the years of schooling; learning the alphabet and how to enunciate your words drain out through the holes in her ears. She gawks dumbly, moving her head in what could be considered to be a nod.

“Ah, I thought I recognised you,” she doesn’t even bother trying to sound surprised, “I’m Joohyun.”

Don’t I know.

All Seungwan can do is nod again, hating herself for even breathing right now.

Joohyun clicks her tongue and fiddles with the card in her hand, impatient, “soooo… is this Americano free, or…?”

Yes, yes it’s free, please just take it and go! I’ll upgrade it to an extra-large if you want, on me! If it means I’m spared for the rest of my student life, take it all! Jesus, how did you even find me?!

“Ah, yes. Sorry! Uh, yes that’ll be um two fif – two… two thirty.”

There’s a shaky exchange of a debit card and a forgotten peace treaty iced Americano before Seungwan takes an unconscious shuffle back from the register, eyes glued to the smudge on the toe of her right sneaker, unable to meet Joohyun’s piercing gaze for too long.

“Thank you, Seungwan.”

The way she lingers on the ‘S’ whispers shivers down the girl’s spine. She glances up at the worst possible time, too, nearly jumping out of her mismatched Muji socks when she sees Joohyun’s hibiscus-tinted lips bloom into a coy smirk.

“I’ll see you around.”

And with what a shivering Seungwan could’ve sworn was a terrible attempt at a wink, Joohyun is gone. Clutching at her chest, she tries to slow her accelerated heartrate, praying she doesn’t need heart surgery after what she’s just been through.

Seulgi’s so hearing about this.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Daebak,” Sooyoung scoffs, side-eyeing Joohyun as she twiddles her pen.

“What else did you say?” Jennie presses, taking a sip of her chai latte.

Joohyun merely hums, disclosing no further details of her little cafe incident. She misses Jennie’s disbelieving grin when the walking, talking definition of awkward bumbles into the lecture hall, just on time, armful of texts and messy cinnamon locks matted to her face.

Sooyoung can’t resist a jest. “Joohyun, look. It’s idiocy on legs.”

Joohyun bites back a snort as her eyes follow the girl stumbling and murmuring apologies all the way to her seat. She slumps into the chair with burning cheeks, brushing her hair back with her fingers and fiddling with her gingerbread fringe. Too cute, Joohyun thinks, gritting her teeth.

It happens about mid-way in the class. The mention of pair work triggers the uniform eye-roll, groan and grumble combo, more so from the seniors, who sure as hell don’t want to be paired with icky, snot-nosed first-years who can barely lift their spoons to their mouths. The grumbling evaporates when it is stated that, although compulsory, it is not a fixed-paired assignment.

Seungwan breathes a sigh of relief along with a few others, content to set up camp in the aisles of the library, perfectly undisturbed. But she suddenly feels paler than chalk; flashbacks of heeled boots, midnight cardigans and heart surgery flooding into her veins once more when she catches a pair of stealthy pupils regarding her from across the room. A deceptively sweet smile sparkling on those dreaded lips, breath-taking and utterly petrifying all at once. Even from the other side of a bloody lecture theatre, Bae Joohyun has Seungwan sweating bullets and unconsciously fidgeting at her collar to release steam no one else can see.

About a minute away from hurling herself out the nearest window, Seungwan diverts her attention to her notebook at the last second. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Seungwan stabs her chopstick into the egg yolk, watching it dribble all over her rice. She’s jealous of her own best friend who doesn’t have to live every waking hour with a red sniper laser dot on her back.

Should’ve majored in art too, goddamnit, she curses, poking her lunch in a dazed stupor.

“Wan-ah!”

She scoffs at the familiarity, but Seulgi’s crescent moon grin makes Seungwan momentarily forget.

~~~~~~~~~~

The black cursive of Han Kang’s literature stares up at her as she tries to digest what she’s reading, but she swears her brain allocates the worst times for that sneaky Bae Joohyun to pop up like an unwanted advertisement. Seems like now, she’s going to have to sit through an entire trilogy.

Despite the crippling dread, Seungwan can’t help but wonder. They’re so silly, but she wonders them anyway. She feels free to let her mind wander in the safety of the university library.

Bae Joohyun; Seungwan’s mind is unchanged; she’s the most beautiful girl she’s laid eyes on. It’s a unique kind of beauty; mysteriously edgy, knife-like and femme fatale. The grin Joohyun gave her in class this morning, she knows she should be running from it, but it doesn’t stop the fact that it’s been playing in her head on repeat ever since.

Seungwan unintentionally imagines what it would be like to kiss that sunset-infused smirk right off her face.

Too bad she’s a mean one, she sighs.

She doesn’t get much further with the actual task at hand when her blood-pressure plummets; she watches leader of the killer senior pack, Bae Joohyun, artlessly sit down in the chair next to her. It’s like the world stops spinning for the second it takes their eyes to meet, and Seungwan quivers in her seat, thoughts of literature fleeing out the back of her brain.

Trying to be polite, she gives her a courteous nod and returns to her reading. But Joohyun just sits there, staring, peppering her body with smoking bullet holes – it frightens her in the weirdest way. She can’t help the tiny bubble of… excitement? At the fact that Hanyang’s notorious Bae Joohyun is sitting next to her. Probably to get close enough to kill her, of course, but she’d count her blessings, no matter how terrifying. The thread finally snaps, and Seungwan is able to channel her inner stone statue no more, wordlessly excusing herself and stumbling to the bathroom.

It’s empty and silent; exactly what she needs. She flicks some cool water over the burning in her cheeks and dabs at the heat welled in the corners of her eyes.

But just as she’s about to leave, Joohyun’s standing in the doorway; cloaked in all her intimidating aura and eclipsing her only exit.

“Bathroom break so soon?” Joohyun’s voice drips into her ears like melted honey as she observes a wry smile crawl onto her face, “we’ve barely gotten started. Let’s get back to work… partner.”

It’s kicking in only now what Joohyun is saying. And it takes everything Seungwan has to formulate a pathetic response.

“Oh right, a-about that,” she nervously chuckles, averting her gaze and scratching the back of her neck, “uh, I-I was just um… I don’t wanna drag anyone down with – you know because you’re a senior and all – was m-maybe thinking –”

She doesn’t get very far when Joohyun begins advancing, walking towards her with such sure, dominating strides Seungwan has no choice but to back away, the piercing squeaks of Adidas sneakers easily drowning out the clicking of Louboutin heeled boots. Joohyun sports that coy smirk the whole time she’s cornering poor Seungwan, further and further back, until…

A tiny yelp is torn from her as her back hits the wall. Seungwan strains up to meet her eyes, 5 inch boots are a very useful intimidation tool. Her heart feels about as fragile as sugar glass, and she thinks it would do her good to invest in those styrofoam packing peanuts and a roll of caution tape.  

Joohyun observes the little caramel-haired mouse girl she’s caught; pressed against the cool, beige tile, both hands out in front of her, quivering like a jello pile. She quickly notes the way the top of Seungwan’s head just about grazes the bottom of the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser, and it stretches her grin even further. She looks irresistible, those doe eyes the colour of warm cocoa. Who knew she had a thing for sweet faces, well-intentions and weak-hearts?

Realising her hands aren’t doing anything to keep the other girl at bay, Seungwan drops them like a tonne of bricks - she’s never felt so small and helpless in her life. The rich scent of vanilla and mint tickles her nose; Joohyun’s too close, and she really needs those fragile stickers to go over the thumping in her chest. But she also wants to nuzzle in closer to that intoxicating shampoo smell.

“P-please… I-I didn’t mean to…”

Her voice sounds so tiny and fragile, it tugs on Joohyun’s heartstrings.

“You know who I am?” she demands in somewhat of a growl, caging the smaller girl in with both arms pressed on either side of her head, causing her to gasp out, “you’ve heard?”

Seungwan shrinks a little more, petunias searing onto her milky cheeks at the proximity, but terror-stricken nonetheless. It’s burning, and it’s too much.

A small ‘mm’ and a teary nod is all she can offer.

Joohyun shoots her a challenging smirk, a kaleidoscope of obsidian pebbles flicker in her darkened eyes as she brings a single finger under the girl’s chin, tilting her so she’s forced to look up.

“And you still think you have a choice?”

Seungwan wishes she could rear up at the challenge, hammer some humility into that smug attitude in front of her; put Bae Joohyun in her place. But who is she to change the way the world works? Girls like Joohyun toy with what they want, and get what they toy with; the natural order of things Seungwan has no hope of re-routing. Her resolve, her dignity and everything she’s built up in her 20 years on earth crumbles at her feet; she doesn’t bother picking up the pieces.

With that, she looks up at the girl who still has her locked in with her eyes alone, and meekly shakes her head.

Seungwan can finally breathe when Joohyun detaches herself from the wall and runs both hands down the front of her blouse. She hears a chuckle and before she knows it, there’s an arm around her waist, moving them in tandem.

She doesn’t see the triumphant smile etched into Joohyun’s rosebud lips, like she’s swallowed a coat hanger. All she knows is that they’re now bound by this assignment, and that Joohyun is leaving with exactly what she came for.

Seungwan hides a shy grin of her own.

[boku-no-imagine-acadamia]

Could i get a sick monoma who has a crush on reader who is in class 1A, and when he doesnt show up for class, she finds out hes sick and skips her classes to take care of him?

My boy Monoma! I love him! Thanks for the ask! Also sorry if its bad, its my first time writing for him! (Also the format is weird, gotta find out how to fix that.) -Bea

Monoma is... well he’s an ass to be frank, and to most of 1A, and 1B for that matter, it is incredibly difficult to understand why he has this hatred for your class. It’s confusing to say the least. Weather it be his smartass comments or his constant competition with your class, it’s easy to say that class 1A dislikes Monoma. Well, everyone but you. Somehow, you of all people were able to weesle your way into his heart. He was disgusted with himself that he let himself fall for a member of 1A, especially you. You were just so... annoying. You were the definition of a mom friend... but like, a cool, funny, hot, mom friend. You were constantly fluttering around people, making sure they were taken care of. Perhaps he only liked you because he felt recognized by his competition when you talked to him, or the fact that you didnt care that his attitude was less than amazing. Or maybe it was the fact that when you smiled at him, the world felt like it disappeared around him. But unfortunately, a smile wouldn’t cure him. He had the flu, and it was caught far too late for Recovery Girl to heal. It was bad, really bad. His body hurt with the rise and fall of his chest, his throat burned every time breathed, and he had a dry, painful cough. And the hot flashes. Dont even get him started on the hot flashes. It felt like he

You, on the other hand, were in between classes, waiting outside the classroom door so you could walk to your next classes together. It was as routine as breathing at this point, with a set of unspoken rules that came with the tradition

1. Who ever gets out of class first has to wait for the other person

2. If the class is getting out so late that you will be late to your next class if you wait, just go ahead.

3. You always go to the closest classroom first.

It was as simple as that, so when his class was dismissed and students began to file out, you were surprised to see him missing. You stopped Kendo before she got away. “Hey! Where’s Monoma? He normally doesn’t go this long without yelling at us.” You joked lightly.

Kendo’s eyes widened, “Wait... he didn’t tell you?” You shook your head and Kendo, broke eye contact with you, “Oh... he’s sick so you probably don’t wanna hEY WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” You didn’t hear her, as you were way to busy running to the dorms, specially 1B’s dorms. Kendo already knew where you were going, and she also knows that Monoma will kill her when he gets better. Unfortunately for Kendo, Monoma specially asked the class to not tell anyone that he was sick, especially class 1A. Something about “Not wanting the enemies to know he can get sick,” or whatever. Not like it matters.

You had just arrived at the dorms. For whatever reason, Monoma gave his spare key to you, which was strange because you weren’t even in his class. It’s not like you were complaining, you loved that he trusted you enough to give you the spare key to his room. As you shut the door to the common room, you walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, happy to find it stocked with ingredients. What were you making? Soup, a traditional sick day meal. You chucked the broth and vegetables in a pot, turned on the stove, and quietly placed the lid on top. It wouldn’t take long, but in the meantime, you decide to go see Monoma. You grabbed a bowl of ice and a cup of water, and hopped in the elevator. Standing in the empty elevator, you took the time to think. As annoying as Monoma was, the boy had carved a hole for himself in your heart. Under the mask of extravagance and disdain, he’s honestly a sweetheart. He doesn’t always show it, but he did care. It was normally shown with small actions, wether it be him packing a bento for you when he had extra food, or texting you good night and telling you how great you are when you had a bad day, he was a kind soul. That’s probably why you have a crush on him. Sure, his blonde hair and beautiful lilac eyes were a bonus, but it was mostly his attitude that made you fall for him. He was loud, angry, and passive aggressive, emphasis on the aggressive. You also admired his drive and determination. Even with a quirk that could be considered less than hero worthy, he worked his angry little ass off to make it into the hero program, and he succeeded. But he didn’t give up there, he’s continued to work hard to be the best he can be. It was incredible and very inspirational. The door opened, and you made your way to Monoma’s room. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door, hearing a grunt and a confused, “come in?” You opened the door and sighed at the scene in front of you. Monoma was in his bed, one leg out of his blanket, his other leg under, tissues surrounding his body. He had his fan on, filling the room with noise. His face was pale and gleaming with sweat, his hair stuckto his forehead. He looked up to you with wide eyes as you shut the door behind you quietly, walking over to him. You placed the ice and the glass of water on his night stand, then sat down on his bed. You just kinda... looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he tried to sit up. He groaned, his head pounding from sitting up to quickly.

You pushed him back down gently, when he finally speaks. “Why are you here?” He questions.

“Because you’re sick.” You say, grabbing the cup of water from the nightstand.

He furrows his eyebrows at you. “Yeah, so?” He states.

“So I’m taking care of you,” you hold the cup out to him, “Drink some water.”

He pushes the glass away, craning his neck in an attempt to look at the clock on his desk. “No, what time is it?” He looks back to you.

Checking the clock, you look back to him, “10:45, why?”

He sighs and rubs his face, grabbing a tissue to blot his face with, then throwing the tissue somewhere behind you. “You should be in class.” He grumbles.

“Yeah, well I’m not, I’m here taking care of you,” You shove the glass of water back in his face, beginning to become aggravated with him, “now shut up and drink the fucking water.”

He turns his head away from you and pouts, then mumbles, “Fuck you, no.”

You lean towards him, close enough to where he can feel your breath tickling his face. “Drink. The. Fucking. Water. Now.” You growl.

He turns back to you and crosses his arms over the blanket, then reaches out and grabs the cup. “...Fine...” He mumbles into the cup, taking a sip of the cold liquid. Honestly, it’s really soothing, like a dry sponge absorbing water for the first time, but he would never admit that to you.

He shoves the water back to you,“Good, now then, have you taken any medicine?” He stays silent and turns away from you, becoming fairly interested in the pile of tissues on the floor.

As you place the cup back on the night stand, you grumble, “Monoma...”

He doesn’t look back up to you, he just mumbles, “..no..”

You sigh and chuckle, “Christ. No wonder you’re sick. I’ll go downstairs and grab some. I’ll be right back.” You pat his head and he whines.

The one thing you didn’t think to ask was where the medicine cabinet was, so instead of just finding the medicine, you were forced to shuffle through the many different cabinets, until finally you found the holy medicine cabinet. You sifted through it until finally you found what you were searching for. You disided that since your down here, you may as well grab a bowl of soup for him. You take the bowl and the medicine back to Monoma.

“Ok, I got medicine and soup.” You say as you open the door. Monoma’s eyes drift from you to the soup

He crossed his arms and shivered, “Where the fuck did the soup come from.” He says, then coughs.

You put it next to the water on the nightstand, then open the medicine. “I made it, now take the medicine, then soup.” You put it in his hands.

He brings it to his nose and smells it, then grimaces and holds it as far away from him as he possibly can. “Ew gross what is this?”

You grab it from his hand and instead try a different method, “Medicine, now open up.” You say gently.

He turns his head away, “No.”

You grumble and press the spoon against his lips. “Monoma... open up.”

He shakes his head at you and turns his nose up, “Nope.”

You sigh, and realize you need to take desperate measures. You place your hand on his chest, or, the blanket over his chest, and lean towards him, putting on the saddest look you possibly can, and then whisper, “Neito... please just take the medicine... if not for yourself then at least for me?” He stares at you with wide eyes as you press the spoon full of the offending liquid to his face.

He finally opens up and lets you put the spoon in his mouth. As soon as he swallows, he grabs the water and chugs the entire things, sputtering, “Ugh, that shit is disgusting. Wasn’t there a better flavor or something?” You grab a tissue and wipe his mouth.

You pet his head lightly and smile at him. “Nope, but thank you for taking the medicine, you did a great job.”

His face brightens a little, and he turns his head away.“Tch, whatever, just give me the damn soup.” He makes grabby hands at you.

You chuckle and grab the soup, “Ok ok, fine. Here.” You pick up a spoonful of soup and hold his chin.

His face turns red, he’s probably having a hot flash, “I can feed myself.” He mumbles, but you still press the spoon against his mouth.

You grin at him and snicker, “Yeah, that’s true, but I wanna feed you, so here.”

He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and you feed him. Once he swallows, his eyes widen. “...did you actually make this?”

“Yeah, why? Is it the best soup you’ve ever had?” You teased lightly, giving him another spoonful

He rubbed the back of his neck“Uh, yeah.” He said sincerely... until that smirk of doom graced his face, “I didn’t know that you 1A losers can cook, but you know, I bet that 1B can-“ You put a finger to his lips and his eyes shot open and he tensed up, looking from the hand on his mouth, then back to you.

“Shh shh shh, less competing, more eating.” You giggle as he relaxes again.

You continued to feed him and talk to him for around an hour, until he looked like he was about to fall asleep. You decided it was probably time to leave him alone and head back to your dorm so he could relax and heal. As you got up from the bed, you sighed and looked at him, “Well, anyway, you have my number, so get some rest and call if you need something. Ok?” With no response for a second, you assumed he was asleep and made your way to the door.

“Wait...” You paused in your tracks, turning your head to him, “C-can you stay?” He stuttered as he gave you a sad look.

“Monoma,” you sighed “I’ll get sick.”

A look of confidence crossed his face and he grinned. “If you do, I’ll take care of you.” There was the unmistakable gleam of challenge in his eyes. He didn’t care if he was sick, he would chase after you and bring you back to bed if you took so much of a step out that door, and you knew that.

You shook your head and chuckled, pretending, and failing, to be annoyed, “Ugh, fine. Scoot over.” He did as he was told and made room for you behind him, then patted the bed. You climbed in next to him and he threw the blanket over you, then grabbed your arms and wrapped them around his torso. His shirt was hot, and it was wet with sweat, it was also... smooth?

“Monoma?” You questioned,“Are... you not wearing a shirt?”

He grinned and played dumb with you, “No? It’s hot??? Why the hell would I have a shirt?” He knew exactly what he was doing, and you knew too, so you just sucked it up and put your head on the pillow.

“...whatever,” you sighed, “just go to bed.” You closed your eyes and listened to his breathing in peaceful silence.

Until that silence was broken. “Is there still soup?” Monoma asked.

You groaned and mumbled a reply into his neck, “Yes. You can have some later, go to bed.”

“Ok.” He said happily. There was silence again for another five minutes, until Monoma decided to talk again, “Y/n?”

“What.” You snapped.

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again, sounded much more drowsy than before.“...Thank you... I love you...” He didn’t say anything else so you assumed he fell asleep.

You took a moment to realize what he said. He loved you... he said he loved you. You barried your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, grinning like a maniac. You replied in a whisper, “...Love you too... sleep well Neito...”

Both you and Monoma fell asleep with huge smiles on your faces.

Bonus:

“Fuck you, like, actually fuck you.” You mumbled from under your blankets.

“Oh honey, is that an insult, or an invitation?” Monoma teased.

You thought about it for a moment, and decided it was definitely an insult, but you didn’t reply. He just snickered and grabbed something off your nightstand. “I told you I would take care of you if you got sick,” he grinned manically, “now.. open up and take your medicine.”

Please send requests and follow for more! See you next time!

[rainsonata]

Doppelgänger 5/15

Chapter 05: Smokes and Mirrors

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: M Word Count: 7,006

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.     

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves 

AO3 Link / FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] —  

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Class Notes: 

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen   

Alternative Path: Rune Slayer, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

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Knight Emperor

He was floating, fading in and out of consciousness in the depths of the mind. When Knight’s mind surfaced, the pain returned to his sense, tiny needles streaming pass his pores. Red flashed past his vision and his eyes snapped open. His hands reached for his chest, feeling for a heart pulsing through. Heavy audible breaths and the smell of moss greeted the knight.  

Cave, Knight grasped to make form a cohesive thought. He was trapped in a demon-infested cavern. Demons stronger than the ones he and his friends have fought in the past. The biggest one had geodes growing from is back and its insides - no, the demon was a crystal monster. It could have broken his spine into two if not for… 

The red-haired knight held his gaze at the man in front of him. A scar in the form of a pink jagged line slashing downward, lanky limbs dangling to the sides, and translucent skin thin as parchment paper. Who was he? Why did he share the same face as Bringer, who was nowhere as thin or gangly as this stranger?

“Add?” He backed into a wall.

“Elsword!” Mad Paradox exclaimed.  

“What are you doing here?”

“Elsword!”

“Why do you keep saying my name?” Knight was frustrated.

“Elsword!” He feigned disapproval. “Is that how you greet an old friend? This is the part where you thank me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Or do you~?” Paradox sang.

Knight kept his lips sealed into a straight line. He knew Bringer, but he never met this man. This could be a trap. It was an attempt to get him to talk, that had to be the case. There was no hiding it that he was on his own and was vulnerable once cornered by multiple enemies. As the leader of the El Search Party, Knight was the perfect target because he had access to information about the El that any of their enemies would use to their advantage. If outsiders knew why they were in Demon Realm, that would put his friends in danger, a risk Knight wasn’t willing to test. Not after the effort they poured into rescuing him. He wasn’t going to put their efforts in vain without repaying them.  

What was Paradox? He didn’t look like a Henir cultist with the purple and magenta color scheme in contrast to the black and electric blue monsters in Elrianode. Unlike Henir cultists, the time traveler acted by himself when the cultists always appeared in bigger groups with monsters in their wake. The black sclera reminded him of the demons in Lanox, but that couldn’t be it. His movements were too fluid to belong to those of a demon.

Ishtar was never going to let him off the hook if he was to ever suggest that demons lacked grace.  

“Why the bleak face?” Paradox chuckled, “You can talk to me. I don’t bite.”

“Tell me what happened,” Knight wasn’t as convinced.  

“Someone got lost and the cute monster said goodnight.”  

“I fought demons and a bigger one,” Knight said with curtness.

“Avoidable battles if you weren’t running and screaming so much,” Paradox rolled his eyes, iridescence and mechanical in eerie uncanniness. “Why are Elbrats so loud?”

Jagged ridges graveled to the ceiling and the walls enclosing the cavern, paving uneven paths the Dark Agate left behind. Limestone lined the walls and peeled away. Crystals from the ground up and black ink blots painted the ground until coming to an abrupt halt midway to where Knight sat. His forearm was cracked with dry blood and scar tissue forming where it hurt the most, wincing when he stretched and pulled a tendon.

Crushed boulders trampled over, stalagmites and stalactites shattered into pieces and the ground weakened from the fight Knight had with the crystal monster. Pebbles crumbled under his boots into fine dust. The cave echoed with the sound of water dripping from the ceiling, sharp hisses from an unknown source unseen by the knight. He squinted for lines of purple amethysts, his gaze wandering to the ledge leading to the abyss below.    

“Where’s the monster?” 

“Gone.” Paradox teased, “Do you miss it already?” 

Again with the all-knowing tone and shit-eating grin like they knew each other. This man was crazy acting like they were somehow connected. Calling himself an old friend and now commenting on his fighting style. How would Paradox know about why he preferred taking on his opponents first on first over sneaking around and avoiding fights? He was a knight, not an assassin.

Although… Paradox wasn’t wrong on pointing out the obvious. Hours of getting ambushed by demons placed a toll on Knight’s energy and resources. By the time he faced the Dark Agate, he was low on stamina and lacked the initial vitality he had at the beginning of his trek through the cave. Knight came in blind with the belief that it would fight like the smaller monsters, a beginner’s mistake that deserved much chastise. Perhaps he let his arrogance get into his head because a child was with him and Knight wanted to prove that everything would be okay.

Anger flickered in his core. How stupid could he be? It was no better than cutting corners in training for the sake of flashiness. There was a flash of pain replaced by numbness and a period of timeless nothingness, but he was…          

“Alive,” Knight held up his hands. Fingerless gloves steeped in iron red, a reeking metallic smell mixed with his sweat. Whispering to himself, “I’m alive. How?”

“Can’t let the main character die in a side story, now, can I?” Paradox cackled.

Knight realized. He was rescued by Paradox, not unlike the many times Bringer watched his back in Elrianode. An explanation he pieced together with the minimal informal he had, but it failed to answer more persisting questions. The time traveler spoke in rhetoric suggesting the impossible, an observer from another realm. 

Perplexed, Knight naturally wanted to ask more but stopped himself in realizing that would only result in more cryptic answers from the noodle spaceman. His answers were as vague as to how or why the El Search Party kept fighting brainwashed enemies for the past few years. One would think half of Elrios was brainwashed from the number of unavoidable fights they had.     

“And the child?” Knight asked. Surely there was something of them left if he was alive. When Paradox didn’t answer, he yanked on the time traveler’s collar, forcing the other to lean down at his eye level. “What happened to them?” 

Still smiling, Paradox laughed. “What child?”

“There was a child,” Knight explained. “They were with me, they-”

“Were they, now?” Paradox snickered. “A dangerous place for children to wander into such as yourself.”

“I’m eighteen years old,” he growled.

“Hardly a difference.”

“They were defenseless and I was the only one who could fight.”

He told them to stay close to him, hang on and let him take care of the Dark Agate. Leaving a child alone would have made them into an easy target for the crystal monster to pray upon. What option did Knight have without risking another life? In the end, he wasn’t strong and he had no one else to rely on. Not even someone who was as elusive as the child could avoid those shards when the monster let the lights out. 

The child pulled no strains with their weight when Knight lifted them up, less than what one would expect for a child of their height and age. Up close, a deep scar marked against one side of their cheek, a zigzag and a pair of asymmetrical eyes. Black sclera identical to ones looking into Knight’s field of vision with a devious expression.

Horror breached Knight’s thoughts. No. No, no, no, no, no, please no. He knew fate had a crude sense of humor and loved irony, but he didn’t want to deal with this again. Dread prickled his tanned skin when a pair of black gloves held his chin up. The undersides were hot pink, almost red.   

“You’re the child?” Knight choked.  

Paradox clapped his hands and beamed, “Congratulations! You’re faster than the last Elsword.”

“I’ve been protecting an old man?”

“Twenty-one, brat.” Paradox laughed, “Did you enjoy my gift?”

The greatsword in Knight’s hand suddenly felt heavier in his hands, the redhead aware that its original owner was not present. This belonged to Rune, his counterpart. They were the same, yet there were distinctive differences that made them separate people. If Rune was here, the rest of the El Search Party couldn’t be far behind.  

The blade held a shine and a thicker build than what Knight was used to, a type of metal favored by battle mages to amplify their magic. Sparks flew from the blade when struck against boulders. His counterpart chose to compensate for their shared weakness of magic, why didn’t Knight think of that?

“This isn’t mine,” Knight said.

“A little mix-up,” Paradox was less concerned about the details. “That fight you had with the demon took longer than I anticipated. You’re not ready for Rosso.”

“Ready for who?” Knight demanded to know.

Sharp pain seized his chest, his insides twisted. Knight hugged his stomach, reminding himself to keep his breaths even, fanning himself with his hand and leaning forward with his sword for support. He wiped his forehead and hugged his sides. Colors blurred in a mess of tears as Knight applied pressure to his forehead. He may be alive, but experience told him that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. The pain dulled into discomfort, persisting in his abdomens and chest. Knight lowered his head and wanted to throw up whatever Rage put into the dried meat. 

Knight cursed.

“Oops, looks like the Time Sickness finally kicked in.” Paradox said with an unapologetic giggle.  

Time what? Knight didn’t like the sound of that and turned pale, “What are you doing playing around with me? What did you do to me?”

“You still don’t get it?” Paradox feigned annoyance, lips curled up and showing his teeth. “Ah, right. It’s your first time. I’ll have to fix that.”

Lights went out.

Crystals glistened in the blackened space, magenta flashed in the form of Paradox’s suit and artificial eye. The sound of gravel and something cracking under pressure snapped Knight’s attention to the source, waving his sword in the uncomfortable darkness. 

When the lights returned, the older man was no longer where he once was. Dark laughter flooded his eardrums in unison with unnerving cackling. Paradox emerged from the ceiling, head sticking out from a ripple in the dimension, torn into pieces for the time traveler to tinker with as he pleased. Below him was the Dark Agate holding the ominous lantern in its hand.

Paradox had a fluid gait, crossing his legs one over the other with the skill of an acrobat walking over a wire with fear absent in his stance. He lacked the guarded tension hallmark of most adventurers in a cave home to demons and monsters. Hands over the wall, manipulating Dynamo with the same familiarity Knight had with his sword.

Crystal shards rained down on Paradox, thin needles penetrating him with the older male barking an ugly sob and guffawing in pain. His body shuddered and his limbs went limp without struggling as the Dark Agate scooped him up, claws curled at Paradox’s chest. A loud crunch broke from the darkness.

Knight looked away. He wanted to hurl. It crushed Paradox like grains of sand, no time for the older man to even cry or choke before his life was stolen. The redhead drew his sword with unsteady hands, dread and tranquil anger sending sparks at his fingertips. Knight’s eyes fluttered to discover that the traveler’s body missing.  

A dimension ripped open from above, sliding to where the monster was for gravitational spheres to downpour with intensity shaking the ground from the bottom up. Rough crystal formed at the edges of the portal and a figure dressed in black appeared, phase shifting next to Knight.    

His left shoulder blade shattered into diamond shards; Paradox’s body lost visibility in shape and electricity emitted from his core. There were no holes in his clothes or blood to suggest he had been injured in the fight. It was as if Paradox was never wounded. 

Paradox ripped open a portal with his hands, clawing at the edges with his hands. Pulling his foot into the entrance, he stretched and widened the portal with his arms and legs until it was the size of the Dark Agate. He reappeared from behind, generating energy and shoving the monster into the abyss. The older male moved the portal to the ground level as the opening shrunk in size. An arm was torn off from sharp edges applying pressure to the Dark Agate’s arm reaching out for them. Paradox kicked the still twitching arm and stomped until it ceased its movements and fell silent. 

Knight gawked at the other man dusting blood off his sleeves, “Your spine. It snapped. The monster, you-”

“Awww, look at you.” Paradox cooed, “Seal of Time reduced you to an infant.”

“What was that?”

He grinned, "can’t die if you undo time on yourself."

That’s why they were alive after fighting that monster. Paradox unwinded their injuries and restored their lives. With powers like that, Paradox had time and luxury to learn the enemies’ tactics and won otherwise impossible battles. But why would he have an interest in keeping Knight alive? The time traveler cheated death more than once, but how much would that unhinge a person?

“What do you want from me?” Knight asked weakly.

“What kind of popcorn do you like?” Paradox didn’t answer, as usual.

Knight blinked, “I’m sorry, what?” 

Apsara

Sky blue eyes glaring with intensity directed only to her. Azure locks flowed over their flawless features, too clear and smooth to belong to a person whose posture was accustomed to the battlefield. Light flashed under the melancholic moon. Her opponent summoned a wide array of spears, clashing against hers and sending white sparks flying like the fireworks she lit up at the summer festivals as a child.

The man standing before the spear user held a stand hand over his weapons, pointed spears emerging from his palms with ease. White gloves gripped over the pair of weapons, the color of glass reminiscent to the stairs and platforms in the Hall of El. Iridescent and emitting a blinding light, forcing Apsara to shield her eyes.  

Was this man really Ain? He wielded a white gold pendulum with gold trims at the edges. His white attire and demeanor reminded her more of a mercenary than the priest Bluhen was, charging towards Apsara with no mercy at his disposal. There was no hesitance, going for her blind spots if she failed to cover her bases and stand guard. Projecting one spear after another, it was a macabre dance of blades, furrowed brows deepening in time to his precise footwork. Right foot up, left foot back, holding his stance and unflinching when Apsara pulled back and forced her weight against his.

“Don’t let him heal!” Chevalier shouted.

A lotus flower formed as Apsara spun her spear in a figure eight, launching the ball of energy and shoving her opponent back. Knocking Richter off his feet, Apsara smacked the priest with the end of her spear. She leaped into the air, performing a somersault midair and diving in to slam her weight against the man. Air escaped from Richter, choking on his saliva and struggled to break free. Apsara missed him by a mere hair and charged with her spear in hand, audible gasps rippled through the cold air as she attacked.   

Richter gritted his teeth, anger flickered in his features. A forced serene facade masked over a fury reaching through his attacks. He fought a losing battle against four, but he persisted. Static surged from his palms and wind picked surrounded the man, drawing more blades and launching himself several meters into the air, turning his head to face his other opponents.

A tall Nasod dressed in white with a black helmet swung a chained sword, Oberon phase shifting and crossing blade with a heavy clang. Two drones floated midair, engaged in a transversal angle. Lasers blasted from the drones, spinning and converging energy aiming for their target.  

“Tell us what happened to Elsword,” Esencia talked over the clashing blades.

Richter breathed heavy breathes, shoving Oberson’s head down and using his knee to hit the lower jaw, pushing the Nasod servant away. He fired deliberate projectiles to Esencia’s drones, hitting and shifting them at the base.

Apsara squeaked and ducked from a laser pointing to where her head once was. That was a close call! The spear user hung her head and sweated bullets. She was glad Esencia was on their side, but having the Nasod Queen’s attacks directed back was a terrifying thought for the young woman. Her hair remained frizzled from proximity to the energy beam, sinking her body and crawling over to Esencia to avoid another laser.  

“Then you understand that he isn’t yours,” Richter spoke. A deep harsh echo carried in his voice, “Are you aware of the consequences for your actions?” 

“He’s not with us,” Chevalier said. He and Ishtar circled the priest, keeping distance in a guarded stance, gun blades and soul spears ready for sudden movement.   

“I wasn’t addressing you, Blue Demon.” Richter glared at the butler.

“How dare you talk to Ciel like that!” Ishtar pointed her soul spear at the priest, “What are you doing with a weapon you have no right to claim?”

Her wings wavered, a cyan blue membrane stretched over thin bone structures and beating the air with anger in the tiny demon’s features. Ishtar whined when her butler blocked her from lunging at Richter, fuming and crossing her arms.

“I apologize for that,” Chevalier said with equal iciness as the priest. “You must understand how important Elsword is to us. We just want to know how you came into possession of his sword.”  

“Is that what this is about?” Richter pulled out the greatsword from his belt and sighed, “Humans and demons alike show unnecessary concern over materialistic things that hold no value. This weapon will not bring him back.”

Apsara protested, “Please, it’s important to him! If you’re Ain, why are you fighting us? Aren’t you friends with Elsword? I’m sure he wouldn’t want this!”

Recognition sparked from Richter’s expression, anger? Fear? Emotions alternating with one another before he settled for indifference and narrowed his eyes, “Ms. Fox in White. No, Devi. ”

Bluhen had abilities that garnered wariness from Eun’s end, but he was a patient man and did not judge when she asked him to explain something in simpler terms. He had a child-like wonder in everything that made him gained stares when they visited towns. After Bluhen nearly ran the team bank dry because he discovered cinnamon rolls, Apsara decided he was harmless. Anyone who had a sweet tooth couldn’t be all that bad, could they?

This stranger who responded to the name Ain… He stole Knight’s sword, gave them crude nicknames, and treated them like they were the enemy. Why did Richter call her by that name? Apsara wanted to believe there was a reason behind Richter’s behavior, but little emotions were revealed when Esencia asked what happened to Knight.     

Be careful, Ara. A feminine voice whispered in the back of Apsara’s mind, I sense something about him. 

What is it, Eun? Apsara asked, The Dark El?

No. The fox spirit paused, High levels of energy resonates from him, more than Ain. Let me take over.

Apsara shook her head, He must know something about Elsword if he has his greatsword. 

Knight had to be nearby if his sword was found by someone else. There were others with Richter, their shapes unrecognizable in the shadows and concealed by the night. How many, she could not tell, but it was an impressive size, at least a dozen of them. Could they be humans the dark elves mentioned this morning?

Apsara quivered her lips, hard pressed in finding the positives in their situation. It felt like they were interrogating Richter instead of talking to an ally. Not unlike the shadows they have fought in Hamel and the Hall of El, Richter was averse to answering their questions, disdain was apparent in his brief and curt answers. But Richter was different. He held a will of his own and reason. Despite not drawing his weapons back, the priest had them lowered and was listening, even if reluctantly.     

“If you know anything about what happened to Elsword, tell us!” Apsara pleaded, “We haven’t seen him in two days and we don’t know where he went!”

“I don’t know any of you.” Richter said with an even tone, “And I’ve never met this Elsword of yours. Elsword is with you-”

“Which one?” Esencia asked.

Ishtar mused. “Having more than one Elsword makes this conversation confusing.”

“Where did you find the sword?” Chevalier asked, “If I may ask.”

“In the forest,” Richter replied. “You have my duplicate with you, but he failed to find it before me? Are you done interrogating?”

No use, Apsara lowered her head in defeat. If only Knight was here…maybe Richter would have listened. The redhead was good with words and preventing situations from escalating like Empire, but neither of the Sieghart siblings was present. What would Empire do if she was here? Would she smile and reassure Richter or put her foot down and lay down what needed to be accomplished to make the discussion work? Empire made talking to people look easier than it actually was!

“Ain had a lot on his mind,” Apsara clutched her hands around her spear. “I’m sure you do too!”    

“Your Elsword is not with me,” Richter tensed. “Where is Mr. Half-Nasod with no shirt?”

Rage Hearts? The mercenary escaped with the rest of the El Search Party because of the sudden appearance of their opposites. Were they really mirrors of themselves? From the few members Apsara had met, they were strong-willed, unwavering on their opinions and determined to retrieve Rune. It was true that Rune wasn’t their leader, but he was still Elsword, so maybe he could be helpful in helping them find Knight. 

If Knight wasn’t with Richter, where could he be? Was he lost in the forest somewhere surrounded by demons, waiting for them to find him? Empire tried contacting him through their communicators for hours, but no one picked up. Were they too late that something happened to him? Or was he taken somewhere far and away from where the connection between them has weakened?  

Knight had to be alive, she mumbled a prayer and pursed her lips. If something happened to him, Empire would be left with no family, just like her. Apsara couldn’t bare to see the knight captain suffer, not after everything they have gone together.  

Apsara breathed, “You’ll have to catch up with our friends if you want to see Raven.”

“Noted.” Richter vanished from the crowd encircling him, appearing behind Apsara, “Then I understand that I must take on those that defy the goddess.”

With projectile weapons materializing in his palms, energy surged as Richter leaped. Six spears encircled the priest, casting them to where her spine was. Apsara turned and raised her spear, but Chevalier beat her to it, shielding the attack with a cross-shaped gunblade larger than the butler. Ishtar launched herself into the air, soul spears forming at her fingertips to counteract Richter’s. The priest backed away to the sight of Esencia and Oberson joining the demon sovereign in the fight, back to back with the Nasod Queen giving orders to her servants.

“What is he doing?” Ishtar growled.

“I think we angered him,” Chevalier ushered her to stand behind his gunblade. “Get ready for cover!”   

Blue lines shone from above, a paradigm grid forming and crossing over in loops and lines into an array of magic circles. Raised in the air was Richter looking down and weapons materializing for the priest to grasp in his hands, more floating beside him. Spears and projective weapons showered down as the magic circles glowed.

Apsara twirled in a half-step, using her spear to leap away from the countless weapons crashing down her path, using her weight to pull herself from harm’s way. She nearly tripped over falling debris, scrambling to pull herself up and dodge a spear aiming for her foot. The earth shook in vibration to the intensity of their battle. Tucking her spear under her arms, Apsara curled her body into a tight ball and rolls away. She overheard Esencia throwing commands to Oberon and Ophelia to help Ishtar and Chevalier.        

Her feet barely touching the ground, Esencia hovered with a raised arm. “Heaven’s Fist!”

The Nasod queen grabbed her roughly by the shirt, lifting and pushing Apsara away. She landed behind Ishtar and Chevalier. Clothes torn from the fight and suffered a few cuts, but the demon and butler were otherwise unharmed. 

A Nasod arm raised in unison with Esencia, descending as she gave the command. The giant mechanical arm sent shockwaves as it crushed its sole target. Dust and debris clouded her vision and made Apsara gag, waving her hand and covering her mouth. Once things began to clear, she could make out the outline of a tall figure. 

A swordsman in a white hooded jacket trimmed with black fur and a tan complexion emerged from the settled dust. His blade was of a blue metallic, its handle grip wrapped in black ribbons held by his left arm. Gold eyes hardened when they formed eye contact.       

“Raven,” Esencia identified the man.

“Eve,” Blade lowered his blade. “I see you have found one of our comrades.”

Apsara gasped in seeing the older male. That look again; she was worried. It held the same disdain Richter gave her. Apsara wasn’t used to being at the receiving end of scorn and indifference. It took her a moment to recognize that Blade’s left jacket sleeve cut around the shoulder area to make room for a mechanical but sleeker Nasod arm. She had almost mistaken the arm for a human one with how smooth and fluid its movements were. Blade used his Nasod arm to wield his sword, a contrast to Rage.

Arm pulled over Blade’s shoulder, Richter limped in his walk. His hair lost its shine and returned to a darker shade of the sky. Cuts and bruises decorated his skin exposed to the elements.

“You took too long,” Richter said.

“We’re limited on members,” Blade replied. “Can you still walk?”

Richter nodded.

“Let’s go,” Blade pulled out a sphere from his jacket pocket and tossed it at their feet.

Mist evaporated, dense fog obscuring their vision. Apsara reached for where the two men once were, only to run her hands through nothing. Gone. Where have they disappeared? The young woman turned to see her friends following her. 

“They’ll be back,” Esencia said. “Raven is not one to run away.”

“Diplomacy seems to be out of the question,” Chevalier rubbed his head. “Not ones to talk, are they?”

“Did you see the way Ain talked to us?” Ishtar fumed. “He looked down at us like we were inferiors!”

We need to be cautious, Eun warned her. They could be planning something.

I know, Apsara thought with sadness. Would things have worked differently if she was more cautious in her words? 

Sensing her distress, Eun reassured the young woman. You did what you could. No time to regret what has been done. 

Apsara looked into the mist with sadness.   

Furious Blade

Blade rested his head against the base of a tree not too far to where they have encountered their friends’ counterparts. There were at least four of them when Blade found Richter cornered by them, weapons raised. Sweat patched over his forehead, the older male looked up to one of the Demon Realm’s numerous moons, clenching his Nasod arm into a tight fist and releasing. Wiggling his left digits left a tinge of an emotion Blade hasn’t felt since he last saw his father.  Wonder and amazement to how human-like the motions were, no longer claws gripping over his palm.

Calibrated to be sensitive to the slightest touch, it processed information from its owner as quickly as a natural one would, maybe faster. It was one of Dominator’s better inventions that didn’t involve lasers, although the scientist proclaimed he was more than happy to change that. Mentions of an auto-tracking rocket arm were the last straw where Blade had to put his foot down. Ultimate’s suggestions for spears wasn’t helping things either. The swordsman let out an audible sigh on his teammates’ lack of tact. Let him use his arm for its intended purpose!

“What were you doing fighting four people at once?” Anemos applied pressured over Richter’s open wounds with a cotton ball.

“They had Elsword,” Richter replied.

“You should have ran away or called for backup!” She snapped, “One of us could have come and helped!”

The priest did not protest but kept his head lowered. Lips visibly quivering, his shoulders shook as Richter let out shallow gasps from the short sprint they endured. It was a rare event for the celestial to use his feet to run rather than using external forces to propel himself off the ground. There were limited magical sources for Richter to rely on, forcing him into making pragmatic decisions in saving his energy for more immediate matters.

Blue hair drenched in sweat and red dirt, he reminded Blade of a demon plant minus the deadly neurotoxins. His skin flushed pink and had glassy eyes, blinking rapidly and mumbling prayers to an unseen being Blade had lost faith to years ago. Richter was strong, but his unbreaking loyalty reminded him of the comrades he once worked with, before Owen…

“And they didn’t let you see the brat?” Dominator looked up from his screens. “Who did you see?”

“Elsword wasn’t with them,” Blade frowned. 

Anemos and Dominator caught him up with the details of what happened when they came into contact with their counterparts. They caught Richter in possession of something that belonged to one of their friends. Pleads and excuses were lost amid the fighting and confusion. The swordsman rubbed his forehead in frustration when he caught sight of his alternate throwing Rune over their shoulder. Of course it had to be his counterpart, Blade looked up to see a dark sky. The universe seemed to enjoy pitting him against himself on more than one occasion. Hopefully, this Raven will be more open to reason than the previous ones.   

“Both of the Demons were there.” Richter pressed his hand over another cotton ball over his opened wound as Anemos wrapped a bandage over. His lips tightened into a straight line, “and Ms. Fox.”

Lights flickered out from Dynamo, holographic screens dissipated into thin lines and Dominator stopped typing. The scientist turned to Richter, mumbling to himself and biting his lower lip in anger. Dynamo twitched in unison with their master, blinking purple light that made it distracting for Blade to watch without closing his eyes.

“She’s with them?” Dominator cursed, “Of all luck to deal with her.”  

“Do we really have to fight her?” Anemos rested her hand over her brow. 

“What else will it be?” Dominator growled, “That’s what she does. Have you seen what they’ve done to this guy?”

Richter leveraged his arm to test for pain, pressing his finger over the bandage with a light tap and twisting his wrists for movement. Potions and elixirs sped up the healing process, but it didn’t ease the tension between them in seeing the injuries on their teammate. If Blade hasn’t found Richter earlier, how long would the priest last in a fight? Richter was easily outnumbered by well-coordinated fighters with years of experience. Blade didn’t expect anything less from their alternates. Their numbers and adaptability were what made them strong. Close bonds only made that more so.

“Elsword isn’t with them, so shouldn’t we reprioritize whether to fight them?” Richter asked. “It’s clear that their motive is to separate us from the others to reduce our number.”        

“We can’t ignore the possibility of her going after our friends,” Blade said. “Our fight at the very least will slow her down.”

“That’s a bleak outlook,” Anemos commented. “Have more faith in us.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust our efforts,” Blade rubbed his neck. “It’s our luck.”

It couldn’t be helped that they would have to confront their counterparts, but that didn’t make it any easier for Blade to accept without thinking of the possibilities. Another unavoidable fight, he thought with bitterness. It was going to be troublesome sorting things out, especially with himself. The last time Blade tried to reason with himself ended with ruffled tail feathers and a one sided fight. 

“Then what is our objective?” Richter asked.

“Slow down their progress,” Blade said. “Don’t let them catch up with the rest of their group. If you can take them down, do it. We don’t want to prolong a fight and waste our resources if it’s something that can be helped.”

Brutal words, but pragmatic in a situation such as theirs. They hardly had the luxury to adjust to their new environment before they encountered the other El Search Party. It was uncertain how long their alternates have stayed in the Demon Realm, but it was evident that they were more familiar with their environment from their strategic placement and movement. They were at a disadvantage going against a group that was more familiar with their surroundings than they were. 

“Why are you looking at me for answers?” Blade gripped his blade, his fingers trembling over the handle. 

Dominator scoffed, “you’re always bossing us around like we’re children.”

“So we leave as quickly as we come.” Anemos mused, “and what about Ara?”

Blade turned pale. Right… a strategy to combat the woman who shared Devi’s face. Luckily, the alternates wore different clothes, so they couldn’t mistake them as their own teammates, but it didn’t make fighting them any easier. Apsara was still a skilled fighter and would likely be as brutal as her counterpart if given a reason to be.   

“Ms. Fox-in-White is the most dangerous in close combat,” Richter said. “The Demons are more synchronized.”  

If Ultimate was here, Blade would have sent her to fight Apsara, but she was with Flame and Phantom. Splitting their party into smaller groups had the advantage of covering more ground, but it was important that there was at least one person with the ability or technology to detect Elsword. Dominator would be just as sufficient in keeping distance between himself and the martial artist. His drones could be meddlesome for close-range fighters.    

“That sounds like our friends all right.” Anemos adjusted her gloves. “Is there anything else we should know about who we’re fighting?” Anemos asked.

The priest glanced at Dominator to the side, hesitant in his answer. “Ms. Empress is with them.”

“The Queen?” Dominator drawled, hands clasped and fingers crossed. “Tell me more.”

Confused by the scientist’s sudden eagerness, Richter threw a quizzical look to Dominator.

“Three more Nasods were with her,” he reported. “One is tall and carries a sword, another uses projectiles, and there was a little one with her.”

The Nasod Scout? The appearance of the smaller Nasod flashed in Blade’s mind. Hoisted by claw-like appendages, it crawled on its fours like a crab and used its size to attack unexpected enemies. Esencia having control over multiple Nasods was new, but the return of the Nasod Scout was relieving news. At least not everything about their alternates was completely different.  

“They move on their own accord and wait for orders. They won’t fight unless she’s nearby,” the priest continued, “Ms. Empress has the most drastic change in how she fights.”

The description eerily resembled the Nasods under Adam’s command. They were weak, but their creator mass-produced them at an alarming rate. Ultimate didn’t have that ability, so Blade prayed that the same applied to this Eve. The swordsman was not as enthusiastic as Dominator about the possibility of fighting Nasods again.   

“Lu, Ciel, Ara, and Eve.” Anemos murmured, “And they work well together from what Ain told us. Who will go after Elsword in the meantime?”

“Eve said she’ll run scans for him and Elsword.” Blade said, “Lu and Ciel might be further from them, but they’ll be on the lookout as well.” 

“If this fight is too much for you, then allow me to take on the Queen.” Dominator grinned, “You can deal with the fox.”

Blade twitched at the transparent excuse. Using Esencia as an excuse to avoid fighting Apsara… No tact whatsoever, the older man covered his eyes with his Nasod hand. Although with the scientist’s extensive knowledge of Nasods, a fight against Esencia would reel positive results. They would be evenly matched because of Dominator’s drones and Nasods.   

“I oppose,” Richter raised his hand.

“You haven’t even listened to my perfect plan yet!” Dominator jabbed a finger at the blue-haired man, “Is it your life objective to disagree with every statement I make?”

A faint line curled at the corner of Richter’s lips, subtle but distinctive for the otherwise stoic priest.

Dominator groaned, “Can’t even complete a sentence without Mr. Holy-Art-Thou over here to rain on my parade!”

“Have you finally caught up on modern language, Mr. Ancient?” Richter taunted the man in white.

“Do I need to separate you two?” Anemos walked between the two men and turned to Dominator. “You can fight Eve, but don’t forget why we’re here.”

Whether it was the strange gleam in Anemos eyes - usually reserved when the El Search Party trailed off-track, or because of the unsettling aura the elf gave off when her patience was wearing thin, she was effective in maintaining peace in their group. She didn’t have the charisma Rune had or the sternness Blade established from years of being in the army, but she always seemed to know the right words. A simple nudge or phrase from her was all it took to get them back on track and focus on their goal.   

The scientist froze, blinking upon realization to who he was talking to. Dominator smiled and nodded, but a rare sign of timidness was there, not unlike one of a child caught red-handed with arms deep in the cookie jar. Blade snorted at the mental image and comparison.

Richter’s reaction was more subtle. There was less vanity in his expression, but it was hard to tell with the man who kept his emotions close to his chest.    

“If Mr. Ancient fights Ms. Empress, then I’ll take the Demons.” Richter said.

“Are we fighting them individually?” Anemos asked, “We��ll be spreading ourselves too thinly.”

“It will weaken them as well,” Richter disagreed. “They’re strong because they’re together.”  

“Wasn’t it the other you who ran off with the brat?” Dominator looked at the swordsman, chuckling to himself. “Almost didn't recognize the other you with all the white hair. It’s a shame we missed an opportunity to analyze a fascinating tool. The power readings Dynamo gave me are nothing like what I’ve seen.”

“We’re not fighting myself,” Blade said with curtness in his tone.

It wasn’t that he feared himself - Blade was past the point of being fearful after the mess they left behind in Elrianode, but it was irking to see a reflection of himself staring back at him. The same angular face painted with a tired expression, aged with years of fighting and traveling.  

It was a brief moment, no less than maybe five or six seconds, but Blade’s eyes fell over to the arm. Black as a crow, crimson streaks bled over his alternate’s arm. Gold tips painted over Rage’s claws; spikes ripped out from the shoulder and forearm. The arm looked more demonic than Nasod, pulsating and contrasting rhythmically to its host’s breathes. It was alive .

“I gave our friends information about what to do if they have to face me.” Blade said, “Our goal is to save Elsword, not fight our counterparts to the bone.”  

“Then I guess we have no choice but to follow your lead, huh, gramps?” Dominator cocked his head to the side with a sly grin.

Why was everyone insistent on giving him unnecessary nicknames? Each one was as ridiculous as the last, sometimes making no sense at all. Twenty-nine years was hardly old if he was comparing himself to Ultimate and Anemos, although one would think Richter was a century years old from how he talked.

“Do you really think this is our only option?” Anemos asked.

“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. “One of us just attacked them and are making demands they can’t give into. In their eyes, we’re the enemy and I might have to agree with them.”

The elf woman looked at him with sadness.

Blade knew he wasn’t wrong. Like many regretful decisions, there was no pulling back on what already happened. The swordsman wasn’t going to waste his time getting angry over Richter for initiating a fight with themselves. If Seris was still alive and was kidnapped instead of Rune, Blade would have done the same with worse repercussions. Unlike Richter, he wasn’t surrounded by good company when he was at his worse.   

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I think this fight will end differently than you anticipated.” Anemos giggled, “I’m sure Elsword will let the other Raven know what he thinks about our situation.”

He snorted. Rune was going to talk his kidnappers’ heads off until dawn broke if given the chance, but the imagery was enough to garner a faint smile from Blade.  

“Are we leaving?” Richter asked.

“Yes,” he pulled his blade out. “Let’s go.” 

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

Author Notes: As you may have noticed, it has been a while since I uploaded a new chapter.  Without going too much into detail about my life, my schedule has changed and I won't have a lot of time to work on fanfics.  In addition, I no longer play Elsword as much because of new interests and due to CP restrictions in the newer dungeons.  I will see what I can do to finish this fanfic, but future updates will come slower.  Thank you for your patience and for all of your support!

[jack-katz]

closing nights and early flights

The last day of a run was always the longest, slowest, and grayest in Jack’s eyes. He knew that wonderful things were waiting for him just the next morning, on the other end of a long flight, but it didn’t make the day exciting. It was just further proof that this chapter, this show, was coming to an end. Everything he’d poured his heart and soul and blood and sweat into for months was going to end with a swift closing of the curtains. 

He’d no longer be Jamie Wellerstein. He’d no longer get up every night and make an audience giggle as he sang to his Shiksa goddess or mutter disapprovingly as he unwound himself from yet another woman that wasn’t his wife. He’d never again bow to an audience with stinging tears in his eyes after he begged for his wife to accept their marriage was over. Just twenty-eight, the savior of writing.

All day, every day, for a whole week, he’d be just Jack. Unmarried, uncommitted, and unremarkable. Just twenty-eight, the savior of nothing.

When he got to the theater, Eloise was buzzing and the director was grumbling. Eloise had a job lined up starting the next week, the director definitely didn’t. Worse, Eloise’s next gig was as a director. Jack steered clear and drank tea in his changing room, chair facing away from the mirror as he flipped mindlessly through magazines and newspaper and scrolled through social media. It took several warning knocks and calls at his door for him to finally leave in time for the show.

Eloise’s scene was first, and for a split second before Jack was to go on, he was suddenly terrified he’d forgotten all the words to every song. Every line was out of his head, there was nothing but blank space between his ears. What was worse - to forget lines on opening night or closing night? Was closing night only significant to the actors and crew? Did it even matter that much to everyone else, like it mattered to him? Were they not all amputating a limb they felt they’d just finished painfully growing out?

The music started, he was on stage nearly a moment too late - 

“I’m breaking my mother’s heart!”

It all came back as quickly as it’d gone from his mind, and the rollicking number that had more movement than any other scene in the play was off. Pillows and blankets flew through the air, furniture was nothing more than a point to jump and leap off of, and Eloise took every bit of inspiration from a rag doll as she was surprised with every turn, twirl, and dip she was directed through.

The scenes changed so rapidly there was barely time for Jack to dash off to quick change and get back before Eloise was out singing again. It was a breathtaking, heart-pounding ten seconds as he did all he could to prepare to be kicked back out into the public. 

Normally, with the way the lights adjusted and where he had to run stage left, he might catch sight of the few people sitting in the front row right before the often covered set of stairs that led up to the stage. Normally, they were no more than a blur of colors and flashes off jewelry. Normally.

But there’d never quite been all that much that was normal about Natasha, not to Jack. 

He saw her ankle tattoo as he dipped backstage, and he knew immediately that it was her, but he couldn’t waste a single second thinking about her. The show must go on, and he had a betrayed wife who was seven seconds away from a slew of compliments turned accusations. All he could do, as Eloise sang and as Natasha sat there, was listen. Never once was he supposed to look near stage left, and never once did he. The tattoo was enough to send him on the verge of spiraling on his final night in Jamie’s shoes. If he saw her face he’d be a torn up version of himself at the bottom of the spiral, a heap on the stage.

Stage right this time, to change into a sport coat that’s not so bougie looking. Deep breath, and -

“Did I just hear an alarm start ringing, did I hear sirens go flying past...”

All smiles and bright eyes, and nothing shy of it until he was back in the fancy suit jacket and milling about with other woman at a party he was in attendance with his wife. He was far enough back on the stage that there was no chance of seeing Natasha, not until it was time to come back out with the air of the world’s greatest festive story-teller.

“Schmuel would work ‘til half past ten at his tailor shop in Klimovich...”

The scene was always the hottest, physically. He was wearing a heavy winter sweater along with a hat and a scarf to use as props throughout the piece. Thankfully, the choreography called for it all to be removed multiple times throughout, but it never stopped the sweat from forming at Jack’s hairline and cupid’s bow. There was always someone waiting with a few tissues so he could quickly blot away the sweat before tearing off the excess clothes. 

The upbeat tune that played from around the curtain didn’t quite beat within his chest the way his own songs had. Jamie’s time for dancing and joking around was done, which meant so was Jack’s. There were serious times ahead for Jamie. A hand in marriage to ask for, a heart in marriage to break.

“No that one’s Jerry Seinfeld, that one’s John Lennon there...”

A quick tie change and then the music was a faster tempo yet again, but there was no more time for bright eyes. Just wandering eyes. Restrained wandering eyes. It did cross Jack’s mind to let his own eyes wander back to the tattoo, but not tonight. Not on closing night.

“Everyone tells you that the minute you get married, every other woman in the world suddenly finds you attractive...”

Exit stage left, right when Natasha was adjusting how she sat. The lighting was dim, but not so dim he couldn’t see the tattoo again and then her hands as they smoothed out her dress. Jack hadn’t rushed off-stage but he was out of breath. He couldn’t really catch his breath again until several lines into the next song.

“There are people, and they are publishing my book, and there’s a party that they are throwing...”

Jack tore the tie off the second he was out of sight, tore the button-up shirt off to reveal the t-shirt that’d been hiding underneath all along. He wanted to tear that off, too, tear everything off. Get it together. It was Cathy’s turn to be happy and bubbly and uptempo. He just had to go along for the ride, until he was driven right off stage again and pulled on a pajama top. What a rich prick character Jamie was, having special flannel tops just to sleep in.

“Hey kid, good morning, you look like an angel...”

It was too vital of a song for Jack to allow himself one glance near Natasha. He could feel himself starting to unravel, bit by bit, just behind his ribs. As his heart ribboned into his stomach, his brain suddenly felt like a busy telephone connection board. Everything was blinking, everything was on fire, everything was shredding, and he hadn’t even seen her face yet.

“Perfectly balanced, and then I start making, the conscious, deliberate mistakes...”

Last time he saw her face she’d been dressed up like a ladybug, they’d been broken up for two years, she was with someone else, and he got blackout drunk. What had she been up to since then?

“All that I ask for is one little corner, one private room at the back of my heart, tell her I found one, she sends out battalions to claim it and blow it apart; I grip, and she grips, and faster we’re sliding, sliding and spilling and what can I do?”

It wasn’t a song to sing almost on autopilot, but he’d done it and barely realized until nearly the end. Exit stage left. He didn’t try to not glance up, and he didn’t even try to make it subtle. It was closing night, who cared?

He saw her face, saw her smile, and was suddenly so numb all over he barely noticed the poking and prodding of people changing out his shirt. There was the cue to get back onstage, a cue maybe he should’ve missed, but something more instinctual took over. It was closing night, and he cared.

Jamie Wellerstein still had more to say before the curtain could go down.

“All I could do was love you, and let you go...

No matter how I tried, all I could do was love you, God, I loved you so...

So we could fight, or we cold wait, or I could go...”

The world was suddenly small, made up of no more than a little, darkened cylinder as Jack exchanged his last lines with Eloise for the foreseeable future.

“Good-bye, Cathy...

Gooooooooood-byyyyyyyeeeeee!”

There seemed to be no air in the increasingly small cylinder as Jamie Wellerstein and Jack Katz parted ways.

“Good-bye...”

The dreariness and sluggishness of the day before was instantly gone. It was suddenly all moving too fast, too loud, too bright. Everyone was hugging and kissing, making plans for a final afterparty Jack wasn’t even sure he could make. An early flight had never deterred him before, but he was using it as an excuse instead of explaining why the final night felt infinitely more draining than it should’ve. It wasn’t until he was cleaning out his changing room that he had a few moments of peace, and it was of course Eloise who interrupted it by throwing some flowers at him and demanding to know why she’d heard he wouldn’t be at the party.

“Early flight,” he explained as briefly as possible and tossed his phone into his backpack. He didn’t even want to listen to music on the way home.

“Bullshit,” Eloise snapped instantly, but she was grinning ear to ear. “You just want to go hang out with your giiiirlfriend. I went out to grab a snack before the show and saw her walking in. First of all, I’m pissed you didn’t tell me you were back together. Second-”

“I’m not seeing anyone and I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Jack let out a tired sigh before swinging his backpack over his shoulders. “Can I please leave?”

Eloise narrowed her eyes and looked entirely unconvinced of anything, but she still stepped aside. As Jack walked by, he caught a whiff of vodka and assumed people started drinking instantly after the performance ended. He was tired and for once glad he hadn’t taken part in any drinking or else he might’ve fallen asleep on the train home. Some more people tried to encourage him to go to the party before he found his way out of the building, but he just kept giving his same excuse and returning any words or praise or gratitude from the cast and crew.

It might’ve been easier and quicker to take an Uber, but Jack wanted a little bit of time in fresh air, or as fresh as a city’s air ever was. He was nearly at the station when he saw the ankle tattoo again, sticking out as she crossed one leg over the other and leaned against a building while another woman she was with smoked outside a pub. Jack vaguely remembered the woman from a couple parties with Natasha’s old university friends. The friend was dressed head to toe in designer clothes, clearly the kind of person who wouldn’t think twice about buying front row tickets. 

There were a few options before him and Jack wasn’t sure what to follow: cross the street, walk by and say nothing, or walk by and say a quick hello? The fourth option occurred, wherein Natasha’s friend spotted Jack walking and immediately drew Natasha’s attention to him. When she turned to look at him, Jack immediately felt numb again and forced himself to take a few deep breaths as he got closer so he might appear to be breathing normally once he was closer. The first two things he noticed were a new scar on the back of her wrist and that she was still wearing the same perfume. 

“Hey...” he muttered, sounding more awkward now than he ever had when he was twelve and trying to talk to girls. He didn’t look directly at Natasha, instead nodding toward the other woman. “You two were at the show, right? Enjoy it?”

“Yes, just the two of us, it was lovely,” the woman said matter-of-factly before putting out her cigarette. “I’m heading inside to get some drinks. Leave you two to catch up.”

Jack went to speak but he had absolutely nothing to say, and he was forced after a few seconds to finally look at Natasha. She was still leaning against the building but had shifted her stance so she was squarely facing Jack.

“So...the show was just lovely?” It was the only thing he could manage to say that wouldn’t send him into a panic attack after the words came out. Do you still think of me?, was a bit heavy-handed.

Natasha cracked a small smile and nodded. “It was great. She just prefers, uh...flashier musicals. It really was great.” She pushed off the building and started speaking a little faster. “I’m not just saying that. I actually had no idea you were in it. She was supposed to go with her sister, but things fell through and she asked me and I didn’t even look it up or anything. It was just a coincidence.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure not to think that I’d be talented enough for someone to want to see a show after finding out I’m in it.”

“That’s not what I-”

“I know, I know.” He couldn’t help himself from smiling a little as he watched the unease and anxiety that had just blossomed up quickly dissipate from Natasha’s face. “How’ve you been?”

“Um...busy. But not as busy. We were able to hire a couple more people to help out with administrative and operations and stuff, so that’s really helped the workload. Still, you know, busy. How about you?” 

She was twisting her hands together as she spoke and Jack felt his fingers twitch slightly, wanting to reach out to and pull her hands apart to hold them in his. “Uh, well, it was closing night so I’m all done with that. Starting in like a week and a half on filming for an HBO thing. Uncovered, that’s what it’s called. And I’m flying out to Peru tomorrow for a trip.”

Natasha squinted slightly as she nodded and smiled a little. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, so super casual and not busy at all, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Jack hooked his thumbs around his backpack, smile growing just a little bit bigger as he watched her hands relax and fall to her sides. He gestured in the direction he’d been coming from. “Pretty early flight, so I have to get going...”

“Oh, of course!” She started making sweeping motions with her hands as if to hurry him off. “I’m sorry we kept you. Enjoy your trip! Bring a water bottle and sunscreen!”

Jack nodded and started off, cheeks flushed and warm though the rest of his body felt like it was covered in goose bumps. The savage internal unraveling before had turned into something gentler, a light, tickling trickle from his heart to his belly. When he got to the corner he paused, suddenly entirely uncertain if he’d packed any sunscreen at all or had a clean water bottle for the trip. It wasn’t like he had time when he got home to go through everything he’d packed in a rush that morning or do a bunch of dishes. 

He lifted his toes and twisted to and fro on his heels a few times before slapping his toes back down and turning suddenly. He took long strides to get back to the pub quickly without breaking into a run, and got there just in time to find Natasha and her friend just inside the doorway. He swung it open to find two startled pairs of eyes staring at him.

“Do you want to come?” Jack asked, a bit more out of breath than he should’ve been from a brisk walk. Could it possibly be nerves? Without a doubt.

“To the train?” Natasha inquired, clearly puzzled and still frozen in a position with her drink half to her mouth.

“No. To Peru.”

[penpatronus]

Avengers Endgame FanFiction :: “Nothing Else to Do”

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13272033/1/Nothing-Else-to-Do 

SPOILERS AHEAD

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When Tony collapsed, Steve dropped the reactor housing, sidestepped his gasping teammates, scooped Tony's body up in his arms, and sprinted for the elevator. Stark's corpse-colored body felt weightless. He was breathing, shallowly, but unconscious, completely. Heat radiated from pale skin. A thick layer of sweat blossomed out of his pores in the short time it took Steve to carry him to the facility's sickbay.

"This way."

Steve didn't register that Bruce was beside him until the doctor exited the elevator and gestured at a bed. He laid Tony down on his back and, at Bruce's orders, stripped him from the waist up and hooked up a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff. Bruce applied electrodes and frowned at the computer monitors. The heart monitor started beeping—slowly. When the cuff deflated it revealed Tony's blood pressure—low. His body temperature was high. Fever.

"Third drawer down," Bruce said without looking away from the monitors. "Adrenaline, B12, steroids."

Steve stepped away from the bed, stumbled on shaking knees to get around the entering Natasha, and opened a medicine cabinet in the corner of the room. He found the adrenaline auto-injector and tossed it at Nat who caught it flawlessly, twirled it in her fingers, and then stabbed the needle into Tony. Steve handed the other two injectors to Bruce, not trusting himself to work the tools with such trembling hands.

"Bruce." There was warning in Natasha's voice. "His respiration rate."

"I see it," Bruce growled. "Nat, get another saline IV in him. Steve, get an oxygen mask on him."

Steve tried to be gentle but—dammit—his hands were just shaking too much. He got the mask around Tony's mouth and nose but snapped the strap against the back of Tony's neck when he pulled it around his head. "S-sorry," Cap whispered to deaf ears.

Bruce rolled a cart into the room and slid a sample of Tony's blood into a digital microscope. Bruce looked at the sample, muttered to himself, rubbed both eyes, and looked again. He pressed a few buttons and new schematics appeared on the monitor above Tony's bed. "Son of a bitch."

Steve couldn't take the suspense anymore at that moment. "Bruce," he said, "is he going to be ok?"

Silence. Bruce chewed on his bottom lip. Steve and Nat shared panicked looks.

Thick bandages covered the bottom left of Tony's torso. "Steve, roll him over onto his side." Banner peeled back the bandages to reveal the entry and exit wounds from the blade Thanos skewered Stark with. Bruce blotted the warm puss exiting the half-healed wound with a cotton ball. "Infection," the doctor sighed. "Oh, God."

"Tony?"

Pepper darted into the room, and Steve took that as his cue to leave. He backed out without taking his eyes off Tony's pale face. He backed out until he ran into a body. Someone, Rhodey, he assumed, took his elbow. Steve took in a stuttering breath as the team watched Banner work.

4am. Steve couldn't sleep. He found the infirmary dark and silent except for one light in the corner of Tony's room and a snoring Bruce Banner in a chair with his shoes propped up on the bed. Bruce started awake when Steve touched his shoulder. "Iz-ee ok?" Banner slurred. He shot past Steve and, instead of reading the monitor, used his hands to check on the sleeping Stark's pulse, breathing, and temperature. "I was dreaming," Bruce whispered, shaking his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears. "He's…He's ok," Bruce said, more to himself than Steve. Banner rubbed both of his eyes with two fingers. "God, Steve, how many times have we lost him?"

"Never." Steve said the word before he thought it. He said it too loudly, because Tony frowned and stirred in his sleep. The mask was gone and color had returned to his face, but fluttering eyelids were still gray. "We've never lost him," Steve said, softer. "And we won't this time." Bruce sighed. His chin fell to his chest.

Steve rested his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "You should get some real rest. I'll stay with him."

Bruce started to protest but he was interrupted by a deep yawn. "Hmm," he conceded. Banner looked at his watch as he shuffled towards the door. "His bandages need changed. There's ointment on the counter." Bruce stretched his arms over his head and yawned again as he shuffled to the elevator.

Steve turned to Tony. He was alone. Suddenly he felt…shy. That was the closest word to it. Shy and… scared? The silence needed filled. Steve almost started to fill it with words, but he didn't want to wake Tony up. He didn't want to wake Tony up, so he tried to be as gentle as possible when he changed the bandages. The moment he was done, a hand reached up and two fingers grasped his wrist.

"Pep?"

Steve sat on the side of the bed next to the bandages, careful not to touch them. "It's me, Tony."

Tony's eyes remained closed. He licked white, chapped lips. "Wha' hap-happened?"

"You fainted."

Tony's eyebrows bounced. "Passed out. Women faint. I passed out."

Steve chuckled.

Tony's Adam's apple bounced. "Thirsty."

Steve picked up the glass of water on the bedside table and put a fresh straw in it. He held the straw for Tony who emptied only half of the cup. Both men fell silent, then. Steve thought Tony had fallen back to sleep. Suddenly, his voice. "Meant to tell you…" Tony opened his eyes. He reached for Steve's hand and Steve took it in both of his. "After everything…When I walked out of that ship and saw that you were alive…I'm glad you're not dust."

"I'm glad you're not dust, too." Steve squeezed Tony's hand. He was surprised, then, to see tears fill up Tony's eyes. Steve reached over to the bedside table and plucked up a tissue. He waited for permission and then, when Tony nodded, gently soaked up the water on his cheeks.

"What did Bruce poison me with?" Tony laughed around the extra-large lump in his throat.

"You're ok. It's ok."

"Crying in front of Captain America. My father would be humiliated."

"Tony, it's just me. It's just me. It's ok. You've gone through a lot."

Stark paled another shade. "The kid. He disintegrated in my arms. There was nothing I could do."

Steve sucked his cheeks in, and then blew them out. "I saw Buck—" He immediately hated himself when Tony tensed at the name. "I saw, ahem, Wanda…"

Tony remained tense. His eyes narrowed. "I should go back to sleep." He started to take his hand out of Steve's but Cap held on tight.

"I'm sorry."

"You just said his name. It's not a big deal."

"I mean I'm sorry for… For what happened."

Tony relaxed. His throat worked quickly. "I'm sorry, too."

"Are we…" Cap bit his bottom lip and hesitated a full half minute before speaking again. "You and I… are we going to be ok?"

Tony didn't respond right away. Steve wondered if that was because he was so drugged up and emotional, or if he really was focusing on the question. Then he said, so very softly, "Eventually. Eventually, Cap."

Steve raised his head to the ceiling in both frustration and thankfulness.

"We've all lost so much," Tony continued, his voice starting to fade. "We're all we have left so… Yeah, Cap. Eventually." Tony shut his eyes. "Tired." His hand went limp in Steve's.

Steve nodded. "Do you want me to—"

"Stay," Tony said with a fierceness that surprised Steve. "When I dream I dream of Pepper. When I have a nightmare it's of you all turning to dust. Don't… don't let me wake up alone."

"I won't. I promise. I swear."

"We've got a lot of work to do," Tony mumbled, nearly unconscious.

"Rest, Tony." Steve set the hand down on the bed. "Sometimes there's nothing else to do but rest."

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13272033/1/Nothing-Else-to-Do 

[dearlazerbunny]

Seeing You; pt. 2

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: G; mentions of nightmare-induced injuries

Words: 2000

Summary: Part two of Seeing You by popular demand! Special thanks to the anon who gave e ajumping off point  hope you enjoy!

You wake to a tossing and turning Kylo, practically shaking the entire bed. It happens sometimes, the nightmares. Usually about the crash. Sitting up in bed, you patiently wait for him to calm down so you can wake him, as has been your job since the two of you moved in together. You hated the idea of him suffering through it alone. Luckily, now he didn’t have to.

“Kylo. Kylo!” You shake his shoulder gently when there’s a break in the flailing. “Wake up!” His brow furrows, and you can see the sweat rolling off his forehead. “Kylo, it’s okay. You’re safe, Kylo.” He seems to calm for a minute. But then, out of nowhere, he reaches out and claws for something in the air, like he’s desperately trying to get away from something. Except, he doesn’t claw the air, exactly. Instead he catches your left cheek with his nails, raking them down the plane of your face so hard you can immediately feel the sting.

“Mother-!” You curse and bring a hand up to your face, touching the now tender skin. There’s some blood, you can tell.

“Y/N?” Kylo calls out weakly from the other side of the bed, and your wound is instantly forgotten. “Where are you?”

“Right here, sweetheart.” You run the non-bloodied hand lightly up his arm until you get to his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. “I’m right here.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He’s always so self deprecating when things like this happen. You wish he wouldn’t be. “I just-”

“Hey, hush. It’s okay. I know the nightmares get bad sometimes.”

He grimaces. “Yeah.” Then he pats the open area of the bed next to his side. “Come here? I want to hold you.”

Now that the crisis is over, you’re beginning to feel the sting on your cheek more and more until it’s practically making your eyes water. “Um, yeah, just gimme a sec. Gonna run to the bathroom.”

He nods and you dart off like there’s a chance of him seeing the accident. In the harsh glare of the bathroom lighting, three angry red streaks jag their way down your face, bleeding slightly. “Jesus-” you whisper into the mirror, trying to blot the blood away with a tissue.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

Goddamn super hearing. “I’m fine, babe!” Scrambling under the sink, you pull out a first aid kit and hastily apply bandages to the wounds, wincing where the sticky parts come in contact with the cuts. It takes quite a few, but eventually you’re bandaged up.

Now for the hard part- how to make sure Kylo doesn’t feel the mass of bandages now covering your face.

Luckily, with him on the right side of the bed, your right cheek will be facedown on his shirt so his fingertips won’t accidentally wander into the war zone. As you settle down onto his chest, you have to wince a bit as you put pressure on the cuts. It wasn’t pleasant- so much so that your eyes begin to tear up as soon as you lay down. You really hope you aren’t getting blood on his shirt. That’d be hard to explain.

But Kylo needs this right now, so you remain lying by his side nonetheless. His hand is stroking up and down your back, lulling you into a hazy sort of sleepiness. “I’m really sorry,” he whispers, almost like he knows what he’s done, and you shake your head slightly so you don’t upset the bandages.

“Not your fault. It’s all good, Kylo.”

That seems to satisfy him because in a few more minutes he’s drifted off back to sleep. You lay there quietly, hoping to do the same, but the pain is kind of killing you. You should have taken a Tylenol before going back to bed.

In any case, you were sure it would be healed up by morning. No big deal. So you wait for sleep to claim you, listening to the steady heartbeat thumping through Kylo’s broad chest.

…

It wasn’t healed up.

The bandages had soaked up so much blood you had to remove them, only to reveal raw open cuts that looked a hell of a lot worse than it did last night. Shit. Still hiding in the bathroom, you quickly email your boss telling her you were taking a sick day, then pull on some sweats and get your things to head to an urgent treatment center. This was turning out to be beyond your abilities.

“Are you leaving?” Kylo is fixing a mug of coffee in the kitchen, undoubtably tired from the interruption of sleep the night before. He grins at you lopsidedly. “Where’s my kiss, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you do, wandering over to him and brushing your arm slightly with his so he knows you’re there. He goes in to kiss your cheek and after a moment of panic, awkwardly turn your face to the other side so he doesn’t catch the side roughly bandaged up. You don’t think he noticed though. Giving him a kiss on the lips, you book it out of there before he grazes your cheek and pulls off a bloodied bandaid.

The urgent care center is loud and crowded, and you sit quietly in the corner until they call your name, praying your cheek isn’t as serious as it looks.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” You stand and follow the nurse back to a room and they take your vitals. “You’ve got quite the scratch there; that why you’re here?” You nod. “Okay, I’m going to take the bandages off so I can take a look.”

She grimaces as she does so, taking in the injury. “How did this happen, honey?”

Oh, shit. You hadn’t thought of that. You couldn’t very well tell her your boyfriend did it. “We, um, we got a new cat, and things didn’t go so well.” You chuckle awkwardly, hoping it’s a decent enough cover story to blow over the question. Apparently it is, because the nurse nods in sympathy and goes to find the appropriate supplies.

The antiseptic hurts like a bitch, stinging so bad your shoulders are up to your ears. She then gauzes the wound thoroughly and tapes it all together. It feels weird, like a second layer of skin overlapping the first. “There, you should be all set. Change the dressing once a day until it heals, okay? Thank your lucky stars you don’t need stitches.”

You do so. That would have been really hard to explain.

“Hey, you’re home early.” Oh, damn, you hadn’t even thought of an excuse as to why you weren’t at work today.

“Thought I’d work from home today. I miss you.” Which isn’t truly a lie. And the smile that brightens his face makes it totally worth it.

So the two of you get cozy on the couch, laptops in hand, typing away. You can’t help but glance up at Kylo from time to time, with his hair falling in his face and his eyes steady in concentration. Fucking gorgeous. How’d you get this lucky?

When it’s time for bed, you check the dressing on your face carefully to see if it needs to be changed. It doesn’t, so the two of you cuddle up and sleep, with him hugging you from behind, his arm wrapped around you.

It’s the middle of the night when Kylo shakes your shoulder. “Y/N? Y/N wake up.”

“Hm?” You’re groggy as you do so, blinking through the darkness at Kylo’s very concerned face. “What’s up, babe?”

“Um… what is this?” Gently, he reaches out and barely grazes the was of gauze covering your cheek. Shit.

“They’re um, bandages. What were you doing, anyways?”

He grins sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was-” he gestures tracing his hand over your face like he’s done so many times before. “What happened? Did you get hurt?”

“Yeah, but it’s really no big deal-”

“Y/N. What happened?”

You sigh. Time to come clean. “Last night, when you were having the nightmare- before I woke you up, you kinda caught my face with your nails. I’m really okay though, a nurse checked it out and I don’t need stitches or anything-”

“Stitches?” The look on his face is horrified. “How badly did I hurt you?”

“Um. The gashes were pretty deep. But I’m fine, I swear!”

“Y/N. I- I hurt you. I-”

“No, Kylo, it’s not like you did it on purpose. You were asleep, you reached out, and my face just happened to be in the way,” you joke, trying to make light of the situation. “I’m fine. Really.”

The somber look on his face sends warning bells off in your head. “How am I supposed to sleep with you ever again knowing I could hurt you this badly? Or worse?”

“Kylo-”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” He gets up, blanket pulled off of the bed, and retreats to the living room. You can practically see the dark cloud traveling over him as he goes.

You give him a few hours to brood before padding out to the living room, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Carefully, you sit on the edge of the couch where his feet lay. His eyes are wide open, staring at nothing. “Hey.”

“I’m not coming back to bed.”

“Kylo. You’re overthinking this. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone!”

“Yeah, but I can’t even-” he breaks off, then sits up, shoving the blanket off of him and reaching out for you. You catch his hand so he can sense where you are and sit quietly as his fingers once again wander up to the gaze on your face. “I can’t even see what I did to you,” he whispers. “What if I hurt you even worse? What if I can’t get help? What if-” You can see the tears begin to leak from his eyes, and he shuts them, roughly wiping away the water with the heel of his hand. “I can’t stand knowing I could do that to you.”

“Kylo. Look.” With fumbling fingers, you pick at the edges of the tape sealing down the gauze. “Here’s what happened.” You take his fingers and put them up to the wound, uncovered, letting him feel the cuts. The pads of his fingers sting a bit from the salt of his tears, but you grimace though it. He needs this. “This is, yes, what you accidentally did to me. But babe?” You sigh, a huff of air, trying to figure out how to word this. “You could do so much worse to me. You have me so completely, you don’t even know. If you broke up with me tomorrow, I- I don’t know what I would do. Hell, even when we fight, it hurts a whole fucking lot worse than this. So I can handle a few scratches. I can stand a little blood.” You reach out and push a lock of hair behind his ear, and he leans into the touch. “Being with you is worth it.”

“I’m scared,” he whispers, and your heart tugs itself out of your chest along with his words.

“I’m scared every day I wake up next to you. Scared you’ll finally come to your senses and leave me for something better. Something you deserve. But does that stop me from being with you?”

A pause. Then, he shakes his head, just a tiny amount. “God, I hope not.”

You smile. “You bet your ass it doesn’t.”

“For the record, I would never leave you.”

Tapping him on the shoulder before you wrap your arm around him, you pull him to your chest so that the two of you are curled in on each other, taking comfort in each other’s warmth. “I know. But it’s a side effect of being with someone so wonderful.”

He hums, and you can feel the vibrations from it running through you. You kiss the top of his head. “So don’t worry. We’ll both be a little scared, together. Okay?”

“…okay.”

[untaemedqueen]

Secret Journey > k.th

Chapter 5. 

Gender Reveal timeeeeeee!

After sneaking through countless back hallways we were finally in the doctors office. A sonogram machine pulled up stairs just for our use. The VIP doctor's office was huge and fit all 8 of us perfectly. Yuna lays in the long maroon cushioned table staring at the ceiling. "I feel so awkward with you all here." She says looking up at us as we stare at her. I chuckle and put my hand on her knee. "Don't be! We're so excited!" I say shaking my fist happily. Yuna laughs as the door opens. "Kim Yuna! Welcome back!" A male doctor says with a smile. I frown and raise my eyebrow as she smiles at him. He was handsome and it was annoying. His black hair swept back into a quiff with turtle shell glasses. His cheekbones more angular and higher than Hoseok hyungs and I roll my eyes as Yuna's face lights up. "Doctor Song!" She says with a wave. He looks over at all of us and his eyes widen. "Wow! Hello!" He says bowing deeply, we bow to him slightly and Yuna chuckles. "This is my husband Taehyung." She smiles widely, that's the first time she's ever said that sentence and you can tell just by her face how much she loves it. "V, right?" He asks shaking my hand. "Right." I say gripping his a bit too harshly. He looks back at Yuna unphased as he pats her belly. I look at Jimin and roll my eyes earning a snicker and the raise of his face mask. "This will surely be one beautiful child. With such a beautiful mother and handsome dad." Doctor Song says sweetly and I put my fist under my chin. Are you going to flirt with my wife Doctor Song or are you going to give her the check up she's actually here for? Yuna blushes and smiles at him sweetly. "Thanks." She says embarrassed. Her cheeks tinting pink. "May I lift your shirt?" Doctor Song asks with a smile, Yuna nods lifting her shirt and pulls down her pants a bit, the mound of flesh just below showing a bit. "Whoa. Whoa." I say standing up and Yuna looks at me surprised. "What?" She asks confused. I grab a towel and stuff it into her pants long ways so no one could see. "Tae, chill." She says with a laugh. I kiss her cheek and roll my eyes. "I hate to break it to you, V. But I've already seen everything there is to see." Doctor Song says sitting down on the swivel chair. I ball my fists up and tilt my head. "Hey, Tae. Come sit down, hmm?" Yoongi asks, his voice betraying his calm face. He was pissed at the doctors arrogance, I guess we all sort of were. "It's a happy day, we find out the gender." Yuna says loudly feeling our tension. "Yeah, we find out that it's a girl! Come on, guys!" Jin says putting his hands up. "Oh my God." Jungkook says with a laugh. Yuna grabs my hand as Doctor Song grabs a jelly like solution. "It's cold." He says before looking at her. "I remember!" She says happily. I put my lips to the back of her hand as her legs move excitedly. "How have you been doing? Felt any movement yet?" Doctor Song asks finally doing his job. "No movement yet. Is that okay?" She asks raising an eyebrow, "That's okay! Probably within the next few weeks." He says rubbing the cold jelly on her protruding belly. She shivers before giggling. "Do you have any hopes on what the gender is?" The guys shout out either gender and Yuna snorts. "I think it's a boy." She whispers, "AHA! I KNEW IT!" Jimin cheers making Yuna laugh. "This is going to feel some pressure. I know this is Dad's first time seeing the baby." He says passing me the tissue box.My heart leaps into my throat and my palms start to sweat. This is it. I get to see my Aga for the first time in person!

I kiss Yuna's hand again as he presses the machine to Yuna's stomach. Her eyes light up as the small form of a growing baby shows up on the screen. "That's your child, V." Doctor Song says with a smirk. The white and black image moving on the screen, grey lines moving like waves rippling in the ocean. My eyes sting and I close them before starting to sob. The baby, swimming in Yuna's belly sucks its thumb, the arms moving around. The feeling of elation sways through me watching my baby in my wife's belly. The feeling of accomplishment and contentment pounding through my chest. I made this beautiful child, I brought life to this planet. My wife and I giving a new start to someone's life. I have been happy countless times in my life but this takes the cake. My wife and my child, my family. "Oh my God." I cry out putting Yuna's hand to my forehead. "The baby is 3 months and 3 weeks old today. 4.2 inches long." Doctor Song says highlighting the pictures on the screen to take screenshots as a fast, loud heartbeat echoes through the room and my sobs turn into full on crying. "The baby is growing very well. The baby is very healthy." The rest of my brothers begin to cry too as the baby's left arm moves over it's face. "Look at that face!" Yuna says happily squeezing my hand. "Thank you for making me a dad, baby." I wail loudly and she giggles kissing my hand, "Are you ready to find out the gender?" Doctor Song asks moving the machine to the lower half of her stomach. "Are you ready?" Yuna asks us. I couldn't even answer, my throat tight as I continue to cry. "Yes!" Jungkook wails through tears. His sleeve pressing at his watering eyes. "Aigo." Yuna says with a laugh as the doctor fixes the picture. "Holy shit." Doctor Song mutters looking at the screen. "What? What!?" Yuna asks with a laugh. Doctor Song points at the screen and then at me. "It's a boy." He says with a smile. The guys scream happily before high fiving each other. Jin and Yoongi look towards each other and shrug with a laugh.  "I knew it!" Yuna cheers clapping happily. I cry more gripping Yuna's fingers. She giggles watching me. She wipes her eyes gently and I smile at her. "Get ready to get flicked!" Jimin yells happily. Doctor Song points at a grey dot between the baby's legs. "It is...uh....very clear it's a boy." He says awkwardly, Jimin laughs putting his head back, "He'll be like his dad, I guess." Jimin says chuckling. I turn around and slap Jimin's knee laughing. "His heartbeat is so loud." I say in amazement watching the baby still his movements. "He's a very active baby." Doctor Song says with a laugh as the baby stretches. "That's good. Isn't it?" Yuna says with the tilt of her head, "Totally. He should be moving this much, after your first miscarriage, the percent of a miscarriage now is 1 percent. So you should be relieved for that." Yuna nods happily and squeezes my hand. I grab at tissue and blot my face before sniffling. "He's smiling!" Hoseok says standing up and pointing at the sonogram machine. I look up at the machine once more and smirk, the baby did look like he was smiling. "Babies can smile within the womb." Doctor Song says taking more pictures with the machine. "We have to run some tests too. For preeclampsia and diabetes." Yuna hums in agreement. "What's preeclampsia?" I ask looking ay the doctor. "It's a potentially dangerous pregnancy complication characterized by high blood pressure." Doctor Song says distantly as he stares at the screen. "Do you think my Yuna has that?" Yuna smiles down at me and caresses my cheek. "She might, she's still young. But, she looks like she has been eating well and taking care of herself, so maybe not." Doctor Song says as the guys cries cease. "Can I take pictures, noona?" Jungkook asks wiping his eyes with his sleeves. "You don't have to ask Kookie, it's your nephew." Yuna says crooning her head to look at him. He takes out his phone and stands up. Doctor Song stands up and hands Yuna some tissues to wipe her belly before grabbing a needle and a rubber string. Yuna hands me the tissues before smiling. I clean her belly diligently before giving my son a kiss. "Are you ready to take your blood?" Doctor Song asks and Yuna nods, "I haven't eaten yet." She says proudly, "Good. I'm glad you remembered this time." Doctor Song says with a chuckle. The rapid heartbeat still beating quickly through the sonogram speakers makes my heart flutter. My son is getting big and strong, "He has a big head..." Yoongi whispers to Jin making him laugh loudly. I chuckle and slam my forehead into the maroon table. "Yah! Yah!" Yuna says laughing as she stretches out her arm. "Don't yah your oppa, also, it's true. He has a big dome." Jin says laughing. "Dome!" Namjoon yells before laughing throwing his head back. Yuna swallows and looks down at me sadly as the rubber band gets tied around her arm. "You have a ton of tattoos but you don't like getting your blood taken?" Doctor Song asks cleaning her with an alcohol pad. "It's different!" She says squeezing her eyes shut. "Hey, babe, look at me." I whisper rubbing the back of her hand. She opens one hazel eye and looks at me. I smile at her sweetly before rubbing her belly. "Just relax." I say moving some hair from her face. "It'll be over quickly." Doctor Song says looking for a vein. He tilts his head as he stares down past her large rose tattoo. "Ah." He mutters. Yuna lets out a surprised cry as the needle slips in, Doctor Song expertly putting in the blood vial and undoing the rubber band. Yuna squirms uncomfortably and bites her lip. "You're doing great!" Jin calls to her sweetly and she smiles at him. Blood vials change and Yuna's face begins to pale even more than usual, her lips losing color. "How many more vials?" I ask nervously, "Just one." Doctor Song says eyeing Yuna carefully."All done." Doctor Song mutters pulling the needle from Yuna earning a groan. "You did great." I say before standing up, my back starting to hurt from leaning forward for the past 40 minutes. "And that's it!" Doctor Song says as Yuna puts down her shirt. She smiles up at him and he chuckles. "You should come back in four weeks to see how everything is going." He says looking at everyone. "I never thought BTS would be in my hospital room." Doctor Song says with a laugh. Yuna sits up with a laugh, "Yeah, it takes some time to get used to seeing them everyday for me too." She says giggling. "Oh! Can I fly to America next week? Is that okay?" Yuna asks letting down her hair. "Yeah, that's fine. You're out of the miscarriage stage now so you'll be fine. Everything is going great with this pregnancy. Congratulations." Doctor Song says before starting to print pictures from the sonogram machine. "Sorry I have to say this but since I'm their manager, I have to implement the paper you signed so you don't say anything about them being here." Doctor Song looks over and smirks. "So that was what that paper was for! Don't worry. Patient- Doctor confidentiality is key!" Doctor Song bows to us and bows to Yuna. "See you in a few weeks, Mrs. Kim." I sigh happily as he hands me the sonogram pictures. "Our son." I whisper running my thumb over the picture. Doctor Song leaves the room and Yuna stands up with a grunt. "Well! Now we know!" She says looking over my shoulder at the picture. "Head flicks now?!" Jungkook asks happily, "Wait until we get to the practice room. I can't have a headache on the way home." Jin whines putting his hand to his forehead. "I told you, hyungs, it's a boy. Yuna is hanging low." "Yah. Stop saying that! I don't even know what that means!" Yuna says laughing. "Let's get going, you have to practice." Yuna says before putting on a face mask. "LET'S GET IT!" Jungkook yells grabbing one of the sonogram pictures and putting it in his wallet. "My nephew sure is handsome already!" He says rubbing Yuna's stomach. She snorts and rustled his hair.

I lay down on the floor sweating before a body stands above me. A water bottle lands on my chest and I groan at the thump. I lick my lips and put my head back exhausted. "Thanks." I whisper cracking the bottle open. "No problem." I sit up and put my forehead on Yuna's stomach. "Aga, Daddy is exhausted." I whisper before putting my head back. I drink my water and sigh loudly as Jungkook practices Euphoria. I lull my head to the side breathlessly as Yuna steps back from me. "Can I read the baby a book tonight?" I ask furrowing my eyebrows as I catch my breath. "Of course you can!" Yuna says with a laugh as she fixes her leggings. "Your thighs are so thick." I say biting my lip and looking up at her. She rolls her eyes and sighs, "I know, I hate it. I saw a stretch mark this morning." Yuna whispers and I look up with wide eyes. "Really? Aga really is forming your body to his liking. I'll put some stretch mark lotion on your legs later." I whisper patting her calf. She sighs loudly before pouting, "I have a meeting, I'll see you later, hmm?" She says as one of the creative directors peaks into the practice room. "Take care of Aga!" I call to her as she walks away. She looks back and gives me a box smile before leaving.

"We should do the baby room soon since we know it's a boy." Namjoon hyung says as we eat dinner. I nod in agreement, "Baby blue!" Jimin says happily and I shrug. "Let Yuna pick the color, she's the one carrying him." I mutter before picking at my food. I wonder what Yuna is doing? Is Aga okay? What is her meeting about? I pout in thought putting my hand under my chin. "I should do another event." I mutter moving around the tofu in my stew. "A romantic event? That'd be nice." Jin says happily and I nod before smacking my lips. Yuna deserves the world for making me the happiest man alive, what should I do for her? I sigh before eating some rice. "I'm not sure what to do though." I say looking at the other guys, "You should do something sweet for her while we are in New York." Yoongi says covering his mouth as he chews. "Yeah! Totally! That'd be so cool, hyung!" Jungkook says tapping my arm. "Especially because she's lived there! It'd be a romantic experience for you both." "The concert is in New Jersey but you are staying in Manhattan. You could do something in Manhattan, if you go quietly." Byungchan hyung says and I nod, "Agh! I miss Aga!" I yell putting my hands in my hair. "Me too." Yoongi agrees eating his galbi. "When Yuna comes back we'll do the head flicks." Jimin says clapping. "Oh God, I forgot about it!" Jin whines putting his head back. "So who's going to get it? Yoongi, Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok hyungs?" I ask with a laugh. Yoongi hyung nods sullen and I chuckle. "Why did you guys want a girl so badly?" Jimin asks laughing, "Yuna would make the cutest little princess! Imagine it now Princess Bangtan. Wah! How cute would that be!" Jin says with a big smile, "Maybe the next baby will be a girl." I say putting down my chopsticks. "Just worry about this one first before planning the next one!" Namjoon yells with a laugh throwing a tissue at me. I laugh and put my hand under my chin, "I want lots of children." I murmur happily, "Yeah, because of your kink." Yoongi mutters making everyone laugh. "No! Not just because of that! But Yuna and I will make great parents, I want lots of children with my wife." I say putting my body back, "It's so weird to hear those words from our Taehyungie's mouth sometimes." Hoseok says chuckling. I smirk and fix my baseball cap. "But, when you think about it, it makes sense for him to be the first one to get married. He's totally a lover boy." Namjoon says with a shrug, "A lover boy with a strange kink." Jungkook says wiggling his eyebrows. "YAH!" I yell standing up with a laugh.

Yuna sits down with arms folded and eyebrows raised, I dote loving kisses on her stomach as the guys get ready for their show. "WELCOME TO MIN SUGA'S HEAD FLICK CHALLENGE! I'm the MC so I don't get a head flick!" He says giving Yuna a thumbs up. "No, no! That's not how it works!" Jin yells making Yuna snort. She rubs the side of her stomach and I look up at her with a loving expression. "My baby." I mutter sitting up and placing a sweet kiss on her lips, "What's up with you?" She asks in Satoori making me laugh, "Your meeting went over to long, I missed you." I whine, Yuna plants a long, loud kiss on my cheek and then giggles. "Hi. Hello? We are having a show right now? PAY ATTENTION!" Jimin yells, Yuna turns her head and folds her legs underneath her before waving her hand outwards. "Go ahead. Flick yourselves." She says and Jungkook laughs loudly, "It sounds like noona is cursing us!" He says laughing, "I am." She mutters under her breath and I snort putting my hand over my eyes chuckling. Yuna puts her hand on her stomach and clears her throat. "I'm so hungry." She whispers as Yoongi hyung begins talking about the head flick. "Are you craving something?" I ask looking down at my wedding band. "Lamb." Yuna says before putting her head back and licking her lips, I smile and pull out my phone. "I'll order you lamb when we get home." I say before kissing her once more. "FOCUS!" Jimin yells at us as he spreads his legs as he stands in front of Yoongi. "It's just a game!" Yuna calls to them knowing the anger would soon rise. "Two for Jungkook, two for Jimin!" Yuna says paying more attention to the show. "Aish~" Namjoon yells as Jungkook steps in front of him. "Please show your foreheads!" I yell out as they lift their hair. "It's just a game~ Hmm, hyung~?" Jimin asks sweetly, Yoongi rolls his eyes as his hand sets back his black hair. "Do you have anything you want to say before you to this? Let's make this healing." Yuna says rubbing her stomach. "Hoseok, I took a shower in your room the other day and I didn't turn the light off. I'm sorry." Jin says randomly, "Hyung! I hate that the most! Why would you take a shower in my room when you have your own!?" Hobi yells loudly throwing his body back. I laugh putting my head down and pulling up my face mask. "Why are you sharing if he's not flicking you? You have that many things on your conscious?" Namjoon says with a laugh. Jin laughs and holds Hoseok's hand. "I'm sorry." He whispers, Hobi pats Jin's shoulder and tilts his head. "If you're sorry stop doing it." He whispers back to Jin hyung making Yuna laugh. "Anything else?" "Noona, you kept telling me to stop feeding the dogs snacks but I love them so much I keep giving them snacks. That's why Mochi is fat." Jungkook says and Yuna puts her head back, "Yahhhh!" She whines covering her face, "Yuna hates when people don't listen to her!" Jimin says with a laugh. "I laid on your bed with dirty clothes and hair." Yoongi says to Namjoon. "AISH!" He yells throwing his arms up. The aura in the room begins to turn fun and I can't help but smile. "Jin hyung, when we were drinking last time. The next day when you woke up hungover and couldn't find that shirt you liked, I spilt the red wine on it and threw it out." Jimin says awkwardly. "EH HEY! YAH! WAIT A MINUTE! THAT WAS MONTHS AGO! WHY WAIT UNTIL NOW?!" Jin yells pushing Jimin's shoulder. "I'm sorry!" He says laughing, "These friends... Really." Jin mutters. Yuna groans taking her feet out from under her. "Can you rub my ankles?" She whispers in pain. I hum in agreement as she spreads her legs over mine. "Get it over with so we can go home!" Yuna says laughing. "Okay. Okay." Jimin says putting his hand on Yoongi's forehead. "Hyung, I love you." He whispers before letting his middle finger loose on his forehead. Yoongi stumbles back and puts his tongue to his cheek. "IT'S A GAME! IT'S A GAME!" Yuna chants shaking her fists as I open my mouth trying not to laugh. "Let's get it!" Jungkook yells putting his hand on Jin's forehead. "Hyung, I love you." Jungkook says giving Jin a big bunny smile. His middle finger rears back and flies to Jin's forehead. The sound resounding in the room making Yuna put her hand over her mouth. Jin stumbles backwards. "YAH! BRAT!" He yells grabbing his forehead, Jungkook gives a silent laugh and I stare wide eyed as I massage Yuna's ankle. "Calm down! It's a game!" Yuna cheers as Jin looks over at her. "THAT ISN'T A GAME! HE ALMOST TOOK MY SCALP OFF!" Jin yells pointing at Jungkook. "Let's calm down!" Jimin says in a fit of laughter. "Fuck!" Jin mutters walking over and sitting down next to Yuna. "My nephew will make me feel better." He whispers rubbing Yuna's stomach. "Aish." Hoseok mumbles standing in front of Jungkook and flinching openly. "Hyung, I love you." Jimin says laughing before striking Namjoon's forehead. The sound of snapping shatters the laughter. Jin laughs loudly and claps. "Oh my God!" Namjoon yells in English clutching his forehead. "It's a game!" Yuna cheers cutely shaking her fists. "A game, my fucking ass." He mutters in English as he sits on the floor. "Jimin has no conscience." Yoongi says sitting down as well. "Hobi hyung~ I love you!" Jungkook says spreading his legs to get a good stance. "Kookie is scary." Jimin says throwing himself on the floor with laughter. "Aigo." Yuna mutters as Jin rubs her stomach. I press at the muscles in her foot as Jungkook launches his middle finger for the last time. "AISH!" Hoseok hyung yells as the room's silence breaks with the loud slap. "IT'S A GAME!" Yuna yells for the last time as Hoseok grabs Jungkook's neck. "Yah. You brat!" Hobi mutters as Jungkook laughs and looks up at the ceiling. "I love you, hyung!" Jungkook yells and Yuna smirks. "This is what happens when you make silly bets." Yuna says patting my hands so she can stand up. I let her ankle go and she slips her combat boots back on. "Let's go home, guys." She says with a smile. "What was your meeting about earlier?" I ask rubbing her shoulders as I stand up. "About Aga." She says shortly before walking towards the door. "What about him?" I call to her. "About how we will tell people. There's two options. Both up in the air." She says before leaving. I bite my lip and look at everyone. I wonder what the options are?