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i am sure i am literally the last person on earth to notice or realise this but im rewatching black friday and peanuts the hatchetfield pocket squirrel… he’s there in curt mega’s pocket… ive never noticed him there before
#finished my rewatch and was reading through the comments#saw someone point out paul and ted’s interaction and i went back to rewatch it#can you imagine my shock seeing that squirrel in his pocket#for three years i didnt know this !!!!#and it’s not like this is my first rewatch either like ive seen bf multiple times#hes there. he looms#peanuts the hatchetfield pocket squirrel#anyway i am fucking losing it over ted reaching for hot chocolate boy’s hand in the final scene#with the added context that thats his MCFUCKING BROTHER!!!!! SOBBING#starkid ohohoho you motherfuckers really work out every little detail dont you#ted spankoffski sorry you died but im glad it happened while you held pete’s and charlotte’s hands#black friday#starkid
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Birthday Bash
Pairing : Squirrel hybrid!Kim Seokjin x Fox hybrid!Kim Taehyung (MXM)
Genre : Fluff, hybrid!au, established relationship
Rating : PG13
Warnings : Swearing
Wc : 1.6k
A/N : Okay before all, thank you @taegularities and @kassrole for being my beta, you guys are the best <3 Second- HAPPY BIRTHDAY @aroseforyoongi HOPE YOU HAVE A BLAST AND THIS YEAR TREATS YOU LIKE THE QUEEN YOU ARE <333 I hope you like my present for you~ Thank you for being so nice and welcoming all the time, you’re the best <3 OH I COMPLETELY FORGOT - I got the ‘We were supposed to bring the cake for our mutual friend’s birthday party but we got in a fight over who should carry it to the car and now the cake is on the floor and HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!’ prompt from @creativepromtsforwriting !!
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Taehyung was in the middle of a meeting when his phone buzzed. His ears twitched at the low buzzing- he had initially decided to ignore it till after the meeting was over. But with how much it was vibrating, he sighed in mild annoyance before taking his phone out as discreetly as he could to not alert anyone else.
His annoyance got replaced with curiosity when he saw it was a new group chat named ‘SURPRISE BITCHES’. Clicking open the chat box, Taehyung almost snorted at what was on his screen, alerting the others but he paid no mind to the questioning gazes.
~Jinnie created group~
~Jinnie named the group ‘SURPRISE BITCHES’~
Jinnie : THIS IS A GROUP CHAT FOR ALL YOU BRATS TO PLAN A SURPRISE PARTY FOR MY BIRTHDAY
Jinnie : Make sure it’s AMAJIN *laughing sticker*
~Jinnie has left the chat~
Kook : ...what just happened
Park Brat : We have to plan a party for hyung now, I guess?
Kook : Yeah, no shit shorty but wth was that o.O
The rest of the chat had transformed into the two arguing with each other. Taehyung put his phone down and leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. He was surrounded by children. Absolute children.
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After the meeting had ended, Taehyung was walking back to his office when his phone rang, playing a sound akin to... Spongebob’s laugh? Taehyung’s ears stood straight on alert as he checked his screen, eyebrows raised in surprise at the odd tone - someone had changed his ringtone again.
Seeing it was a call from none other than the soon-to-be 29 years old, Kim Seokjin, he picked up the phone with a sigh, “What’s up, hyung?”
“Did you see the group?”
“Hello to you, too, I haven’t had lunch yet, have you? My day has been pretty busy, thanks for asking,” Taehyung started, completely ignoring what the older man had asked, snickering when he started scolding Taehyung on the other side.
“Stop being a brat! Did you see the group I made?” Jin whined. Taehyung could almost imagine Jin’s furrowed brows as he paced around wherever he was.
“Yes hyung, I saw the group you made,” Taehyung finally answered, smiling softly when he heard a happy gasp come from the excitable squirrel hybrid.
“So?”
“So what?” he asked, trying to keep a neutral face while passing by employees when he heard a grunt on the other line.
“So, what did you plan? What are you getting me?”
“I thought it was supposed to be a surprise?”
“Yeah but I want to know!”
“Oh well, if you really want to know,” Taehyung started, humming as if in deep thought, “we haven’t planned a single thing.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“When have I ever joked around? I am the most serious person you can ever meet,” he announced dramatically, stepping into his office and closing the door behind.
“You’re no fun, I’m calling Namjoon.” Jin huffed before hanging up, giving the other man no time to reply.
Taehyung laughed to himself, deciding to call the group to check on the plan, given they had made any rather than arguing like before. Taehyung would have their head if they didn’t make this the best birthday for Jin.
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It was the day of the party. Everyone had arrived at the venue, Taehyung noted as he scanned the place - except two people. The two who were in charge of the cake.
He was about to call one of them when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking out the device, he instantly picked up the call when he saw the caller ID being displayed as ‘Kook’.
“Where are you two?! Hoseok and Yoongi hyung are gonna bring Jin here any minute! Even Namjoon hyung has arrived!”
“Okay, don’t get mad…” Jungkook started after Taehyung finished his rant, “we sort of have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Well, you see. Uh. Well. Listen, don’t be mad,” the bunny hybrid stuttered, causing Taehyung’s concern to rise tenfold.
“Oh give me that,” he heard Jimin say on the line before his voice chimed in, “yeah, hi. I know we were supposed to bring the cake for Jin, but we kinda got in a fight over who should carry it from the car and now the cake is on the floor and HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!”
Hearing no reply for a moment, Jimin asked, “Tae? You there?”
“You… dropped the cake?”
“Accidentally, yes,” the cat hybrid answered, getting nervous the longer he got no answer. He had thought Taehyung would blow a fuse, but there was no screaming… yet.
“Fix. This.”
“What?”
“Fix the mess you made. Don’t show your face unless you do.”
Jimin raised his brow at his words, “Do you want us to go get another cake? Cause this was a custom one and I don’t think it’s possible to get that so fast.”
“I don’t care, fix it or don’t show up.”
“You serious?”
Taehyung hung up without answering.
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The party was coming to an end. Jimin and Jungkook had somehow managed to get another cake - albeit not the one Taehyung had wanted, but it was good enough - and he had made up with the two, apologising for his behaviour earlier.
“It’s fine, dude. I’d be worse if I was in your place,” Jungkook had said, patting him on the head while saying so.
“Exactly what Kook said, don’t worry too much, man. Enjoy the party, and do not get cold feet,” Jimin had chimed in after the maknae. Taehyung was grateful to have such amazing friends.
He had been standing at the balcony, sipping on champagne when Jin found him.
“What’s up, babe?” he asked, words laced with concern.
Taehyung sighed, looking down at the drink, “Don’t worry about it. Did you enjoy the party?”
“Don’t change the subject, Tae.”
When Jin got no reply, he sighed, grabbing Taehyung’s face and forcing him to meet his eyes, “The party was amazing. I didn’t expect you people to actually do something when I made the group as a joke. Thank you.”
Staring into Jin’s eyes, Taehyung gulped, nervousness consuming him. He had to do it now or he would cower away again, he decided.
Stepping away, he placed the glass down on the ledge, “I haven’t given you your gift yet.”
“Gift? This party was enough, honey. You didn’t need to- what are you doing?” Jin started, getting interrupted mid-way when the younger man got down on one knee in front of him.
“I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore,” Taehyung started, pulling out a velvet box.
“Is your gift for me to break up? You didn’t have to get down on your knees for that, you know?” Jin asked, trying to act calm, but Taehyung knew him better.
Snorting at his words, Taehyung squinted his eyes at Jin in warning, “Shut up and let me finish before I back down again.”
“Sorry.”
“When I met you, I never thought we would be together, much less me wanting to spend the rest of my life with you,” Taehyung began his speech, smiling when he saw Jin playfully glare at him, “but you came into my life and made it so much better. I would be a mess without you. I’ve had this ring for months now, never finding the right moment to do it, but now feels as good as any. You always told me to not wait for the right moment and make the moment right, so here I am. Kim Seokjin, will you make me the happiest man alive and-” He was about to finally ask when a clearly drunk Namjoon stumbled onto the balcony.
“There you guys are! Everyone is looking for you two!” he exclaimed, grinning happily at finding his friends, the two barely able to understand what he said.
The smile slipped off of his face when he got no reply, and scanning the scene in front of him, he quickly connected the dots before he was back to smiling happily, his tail wagging furiously and exclaimed, “Oooh Taehyung-ah! Did you propose yet?”
Taehyung stared at him, lips parted in shock, not knowing how to react. His heart sank as the drunk man blubbered on about god knows what. What did he do to deserve this? He wasn’t sure whether he was angry or disappointed at the situation, but what he did know without a doubt, was that he'd teach Namjoon a lesson after this.
Seeing Taehyung deflating each second, Jin pushed Namjoon out of the balcony with a ‘Fuck off, you dumb dog’ - to which he got a very drunk reply of ‘I’m a wolf!’ - before returning to him. Crouching down to be face-to-face with him, Jin smiled reassuringly, taking Taehyung’s hands in his, “Ignore him, baby. Finish what you were saying.”
“The moment’s ruined.”
“I will smack you if you say that again. The moment is not ruined and if you don’t finish what you were saying right now, I will hunt Namjoon down and push you both off of this balcony.”
“Will you say yes if I do?” Taehyung asked, looking like a kicked puppy as he did so.
“You’re gonna have to say it to find out, won’t you?”
Taking a deep breath, he resumed, “Kim Seokjin, will you marry me?”
“No.”
“W-what?” Taehyung sputtered, looking at Jin with wide eyes, heart shattering the longer he got no reply.
Jin laughed, “I’m kidding. Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Yah! You’re so mean, why would you ever do that?!” Taehyung whined, “You can’t just joke around li-”
Jin grabbed Taehyung’s face, cutting him off by pulling him into a sweet kiss. He smiled when he felt the other one kiss back instantly, one hand sliding down to intertwine it with the others’.
Pulling away from the kiss, the two smiled at each other, Taehyung slipping the ring on Jin’s finger.
“Best. Birthday. Ever.”
#thebtswriters#bangtaninn#castlebangtan#blackswannet#kim seokjin#kim taehyung#ksj x kth#bts au#bts fic#hybrid!au#hybrid!seokjin#hybrid!taehyung#v#jin#bts kth#bts ksj#mxm
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Fake Dating (pt. 5)
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
It’s finally here! The last part of this mini-series! The longest part as well! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, thanks to everyone who reads, who comments, who asks to be tagged, you really can’t even imagine how much it means to me, the whole 6.7k total words of this fic are already worth it just because of you! Any feedback is highly welcomed :-) Did you like it? Would you have preferred for it to be just 2-3 longer chapters? Were the characters ok? Any thoughts you have in mind 🥰 Prompts “Enjoying the view?” and “I can’t believe you are actually wearing my clothes” taken from this post by @sinnabonka 💕
MULTICHAPTER
Pairing: Crowley x Reader
Rating: T. Fluff
Word count: 2k
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester need your help with a case, which involves pretending to date the King of Hell.
Warnings: none
Sam’s look is pure confusion, whereas Dean’s...
“What the hell?!” he exclaims. You can tell the only thing stopping him from punching Crowley is that the shock of the image before him has glued his feet to the floor.
“Now we’re in trouble” Crowley jokes lowly. You sigh and roll your eyes in boredom, standing up from the couch and walking over to Sam who is holding your coat with one hand and a gun on the other.
“Thank you” you say more politely than usual so they can note the irony “I thought I’d might die of hypothermia”.
Dean is still staring at Crowley, the engines inside his head must be running a thousand miles per hour deciding if to beat the crap out of him or thank him for keeping you alive. Crowley walks to you, noting Dean’s look and frankly, not caring, lifting your face up in his hands.
“I’ll be seeing you around, kitten” he mutters before vanishing in front of you, leaving you to deal with the family drama. You turn around to see the Winchesters looking at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation you’re not willing to give them yet, so you walk past them and towards the car.
The ride is tense, you’re in utter quiet, back on the passengers seat. You can see how Dean holds the wheel angrily, he won’t even let Sam put any music, even though the younger brother is just looking for the right words to say.
“I can’t believe it” Dean finally speaks, after a long-ass half hour of silence, and you snap.
“Oh so now you can’t believe it? This was your idea!” you reclaim yelling.
“Guys...” Sam interrupts taking a deep breath but none of you listen to him.
“Oh well excuse me for making you make out with the freaking King of Hell!” Dean yells as well, ignoring Sam.
The whole ride goes like that, screaming and recriminating at each other, Sam puts his earbuds on, massaging his temples with his fingers as well, praying to God you get to the bunker quickly so everyone can take some time off before discussing the whole Crowley and you matter.
After about fifteen minutes, you do exactly that, arriving to the bunker, throwing your heels on the War Room, not caring about breaking something, storming into your bedroom next, slamming the door with a bang. Dean’s about to go after you but Sam stops him, so he only turns up the warding as far as it can go.
You spend hours tossing and turning in bed, just to get up, walk in circles like a caged lion, and back to bed.
At about 4am or so, you can’t stand the feeling anymore and get out of your room on your tiptoes, listening to Sam and Dean snore through their doors, you take it as a cue to sneak out of the bunker as quietly as possible. When you’re on the outside highway, you call Crowley.
He appears in front of you not two rings into the call, with his hands inside his pockets and an intrigued look.
“So?” he asks heading your way slowly “How did the dynamic duo take it?”
“Not good” you confirm shrugging, extending your arms to hug him. He embraces you firmly, breathing in your scent.
“I’m sorry I left like that, but you understand, the hardy boys over there would have killed me had I stayed any longer. I tried to come into your bedroom but for some reason I couldn’t” he tells you and you nod.
“Yeah no, it would’ve been worse handling all that stuff with you there. And yes they... Dean turned up the warding” you explain.
“Of course” he says in a tired way, not letting you go.
“I’ll turn it down, they’re already asleep” you say, separating from him and taking his hand instead, conducting him to the door of the bunker, but to your very shabby surprise, Sam and Dean are waiting for you inside, Dean’s arms crossed across his chest and Sam’s mouth in a grimace, giving you an apologetic look.
“Dean, I don’t have time for this” you say going towards the warding. Crowley’s semblance appears calm and even a bit amused, but you can feel his hand slightly tensed in yours.
“Me neither, sweetheart. It’s late, we’re tired, and oh, I already lowered the warding” he says mockingly. You turn to him again, exasperated.
“Alright, (Y/N), we just want to understand,” Sam says, stopping another loud argument from happening “what the hell?”
You sigh, about to recite hour to hour what happened, but Crowley lets go of your hand swiftly and moves it to your shoulder, speaking up.
“It wasn’t her fault” he says, looking at both the Winchesters one at a time “If you’re about to scold anyone, Dean, it’s me, not her”.
“Damn right I am” Dean says, taking a few steps forward intimidatingly, but Sam, as the true moderator he is, raises one hand in annoyance as a heads up for Dean to stay where he is.
“Okay, then, Crowley, man, what the hell?” Sam asks, genuinely bewildered “We leave her with you for a few hours and-and, you’re kissing her?”
You can tell by Crowley’s look and stand, he’s doing his absolute best not to retort with some, witty-out of the place, comment. Since you’re still on top of the stairs, he snaps you both down to be leveled with the Winchesters.
“I like him” you say before Crowley’s even able to respond himself “I love him”.
Now the three men are looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.
“And I love her too” Crowley admits as well, still looking at you taken aback by your words.
“But you’re a demon” a stunned Sam interrupts the scene “Can you even love?”
“Yes, Moose” Crowley rolls his eyes “Apparently, since you two morons dosed me with human blood till derogation, my whole demon-system has... gone soft. As you very eloquently put it”.
You chuckle slightly, knowing that’s just partially true, even before they sedated him with that, he was already very fond of you.
Dean hasn’t said a word nor moved while Sam has been doing all the talking, but suddenly, he walks towards you and encircles you in a hug, kissing the top of your head.
“Dean?” you call unsure about this unexpected behavior.
“I know you know what you’re doing kiddo” he says almost inaudibly “I just... worry too damn much about you, but you can take better care of yourself than either Sam or me can”.
You feel a single tear rolling down your cheeks and landing on Dean’s shoulder. He separates to look at you, his grip on your forearms, a persistent form of protection and reassurance.
“Is this really what you want?” he asks carefully “Cause if it is... I mean I hate it. But I understand, I won’t get on your way. As long as he doesn’t hurt you. ‘Cause if he does...”
“You’ll smite me till beyond hell itself? Yes, Squirrel, we’ve heard that one before” Crowley interrupts him. Dean’s grip tenses on you, but he takes a deep breath, likely counts till ten, and looks affirmatively at Crowley “Good. Now that we could work this out like the highly functioning enemies we are, may I have (Y/N) back?”
“This is what I want” you say to Dean “It’s my decision”.
Dean nods, resigned, hugs you one last time and lets you go to Crowley’s side, holding his hand.
“Take care” Sam tells you waving his hand in the air. Dean is obsessively biting the nail of his thumb, probably regretting the choice of letting you go off with him, but it’s too late, Crowley vanishes the two of you and in a fraction of a second, you’re standing in his chambers in hell.
“That went... awfully pleasant” Crowley declares with both his eyebrows arched, just before he pulls you to him, still holding your hand and grabbing the one that was missing, putting carefully aside a lock of hair and placing it behind your ear as he looks at you in the eyes.
“Mmmh” you hum in response, throwing your arms on top of his shoulders and encircling them behind his neck, swiftly rocking you both right and left “Dean’s probably already regretting his decision”.
Crowley chuckles and nods in agreement until you yawn.
“Oh, kitten, I forgot” he says separating slightly from you, holding your face in his hands “You haven’t slept in... almost 24 hours”.
You yawn again just when yoo were about to retort.
“Say no more” Crowley says with a grin, clicking his fingers, dressing you both in satined pajamas. You laugh loudly.
“Of course you would sleep in satin” you mock giving him a playful look, taking his hand again, making him follow you to the bed, decorated with black gold and red velvet details.
“If you think you’re making me sleep with those, frankly horrific, band t-shirts you wear, well darling, you’re out of your mind” he affirms, making you laugh.
“What scares me the most is you noticing exactly what I sleep in” you tease getting under the covers, making room for Crowley to get in next to you. He rolls his eyes at your statement.
“You’re not exactly the dress-up type, darling” he teases equally, following your lead and getting under the covers with you, turning to his side to face you “I’ve seen you several times walking around in the bunker in those same t-shirts, a pair of pajama shorts and flip-flops. Which, by the way, you’re never making me wear either. Ever”.
“Yet” you giggle “They’re comfortable. And admit it, I look good on them”.
Crowley hums, extending an arm across your waist, drawing you closer to him.
“Do demons even sleep?” you ask when you feel drowsiness tugging at your eyelids, adjusting your head in Crowley’s chest, letting him cuddle you.
“We don’t, but we can if we want, for a few hours” he assures you “You sleep well, kitten, I’m not going anywhere”.
You nod sheepishly and begin to drift in the soft surge of your sleep.
When you wake up the next morning, almost afternoon, you find Crowley right beside you, still heavy on sleep, gentle breaths coming out of him as his chest moves lightly up and down.
You get up quietly, tip-toeing to his wardrobe on the other side of the room, losing the top part of the satin pajama and picking one of his suit shirts instead, putting it on, fastening only the three buttons of the center. After a few minutes, Crowley wakes up.
“Enjoying the view?” you ask brightly, turning your head towards him for a moment, watching him shift slightly up to a position where his arm is bent and his head is resting on his hand.
“What are you doing there, kitten?” he questions softly, his voice still husky with sleep “Come back to bed”.
You turn around fully this time and he seems to be more awaken suddenly.
“Everything all right?” you interrogate.
“Yes-very much so. It’s just... I can’t believe you are actually wearing my clothes” he exclaims, the corners of his mouth slightly lift “I don’t expect you to know how much that shirt cost”.
You grin widely, walking to the bed slowly, throwing yourself to it afterwards, not taking your eyes off of him.
“No. Does it matter?” you ask again, tone still teasing. He shakes his head.
“Not at all. It’s yours” he states, rolling on top of you, placing his hands at your sides, lowering to kiss you deep and passionate.
“You know I’m eventually gonna need to get up and get back to hunting, right?��� you mumble, running your fingers through his beard and lips.
“As much as it pains me, yes. That’s why I’m intending to keep you here for as long as I can” he says, nuzzling his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.
“I could do with that” you tell him happily, entangling your legs behind his hips and your arms in his neck, kissing him once again. Swaying, tender lips across his.
The End
MASTERLIST // TAG LIST: @enby-thesbian @agent-smulder
#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fic#crowley#crowley supernatural#crowley x reader#crowley x reader fic#crowley x reader fanfiction#crowley fic#crowley fanfiction#crowley fanfic#crowley spn#crowley x y/n#crowley x you#crowley masterlist
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Putting it Back Together Chapter 3
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Adam/OFC
Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn
Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?
@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack
For six nights Lilly didn't hear so much as a note of music coming through her walls. Were it not for the occasional banging sounds of large something or others being moved about, she might have thought her surly neighbor had relocated to get away from her. More likely, she realized, was that he had put on head phones to keep her prying ears from his precious compositions.
That being the case, Lilly did her best (which in all honesty was lousy) to put him out of her mind and get on with her life. She continued her late night foraging through her grandmother's belongings, pausing at regular intervals to sob when some unexpected jogger of memory was discovered. By the time she had worked her way through the main bedroom, where she happened upon a collection of love letters that Gran and her ill fated fiancé, Lilly's Grandfather though she had never met him, had written during WWII, she was surprised that she had any tears left. No wonder Grandma Lillian had never married, when she had found and lost such a great love while still in her college years. The paper was well worn, and Lilly could just imagine the older woman returning to read them again and again.
Less romantic but no less special was a photo Lilly found where it had fallen behind a bureau. The picture showed Grandma Lillian, glamorously beautiful in a long, sleek sheath dress and beads, singing on stage in front of a three piece jazz combo. Lilly smiled, naming each of the musicians in turn. The original band had long since gone their own ways professionally, but they had remained close friends regardless. The drummer had taken his savings and invested in a small blues and jazz club not far from here. Grandma Lillian had stopped in their on a regular basis to belt out a tune or two, always to great applause. Lilly's nights there, originally under age and smuggled in, were some of her favorites.
Impulsively, Lilly sprang to her feet. There was no reason she had to stay stuck inside all of the time. Gran would want her to get out and savor life; beyond a doubt she had always done so. Rummaging through her belongings she managed to find a simple black skirt and a red top that she had always liked. She brushed out her long hair with defrizzer until she could tolerate the way it looked billowing around her and applied a touch of lipstick and eye makeup to make her look "less like the walking dead" as Gran would have said. All and all she didn't look half bad. Throwing on a wool coat and pair of boots and putting the photo lovingly in one of about seventy gift bags she had found squirreled away earlier, Lilly made her way out into the cool night air.
It was after eleven, late to be heading out but still relatively early for a Friday in the city. A drifting of clouds obscured and showed the moon at intervals, adding occasional light to the dim streets with their burnt out lights. She would be out of the residential blocks soon and into the more bright and crowded nightlife that teemed nearby.
"It's not wise to be out alone at this hour," a low voice spoke in her ear as a hand descended to her shoulder.
Lillian let out a scream and turned around, bottle of pepper spray pulled from her pocket ready to douse her attacker. Before she could press the button the bottle was knocked from her hand to roll down the street as her wrist was locked in the tight grip of a large, leather encased hand.
"Don't," her assailant said calmly.
Looking up, far up, she confronted a pail face beneath a shock of wild, dark black hair, eyes obscured by sunglasses despite the lateness of the hour.
"Sorry if I frightened you," her neighbor said with a slight smirk, taking off the ridiculous glasses.
How had she not recognized that sinful purr of a voice? She heard it often enough in her fantasies.
"I wasn't frightened," she lied automatically, only to add as he continued to stair at her "well, maybe startled."
"Just imagine if I had been someone else. It might not have been so pleasant."
"Yes, because you are the soul of congeniality," she sniped back.
Slowly Lilly's heart beat was returning to normal, or at any rate as normal as it was like to get with him still holding her wrist. She startled easily at the best of times, and in a dark side street when by herself was far from optimal. He seemed to realize this, and was obnoxiously amused by it. Lilly did her best to glare at him, only too aware that she most likely looked like a little yippy dog.
"Fair enough," he agreed, finally letting go of her hand. "My point still stands though. It's not safe out here. All kinds lurking about."
"Monsters waiting to kill me and gobble me up?" she quipped lamely.
"You'd be surprised."
Bending down, he retrieved her pepper spray from where it lay on the street. He examined it as though he wanted to take it apart and put it back together again.
"Not very well constructed," he said at last, surrendering it back to her. "You'd be more likely to spray yourself by accident? Have you?"
"No!" she said indignantly, putting it back in her bag.
He looked at her knowingly and a tell tale blush spread over her cheeks.
"I did spray a date once," she admitted. "In the back of a cab. I was looking for something else in my purse, I pulled it out, and it went off right in his face."
She could not be entirely sure, but she thought she might just detect the hint of a smile twitch his lips. Well, wonders would never cease!
"Dare I ask if there was a date number two?"
"There was not," she sighed, beginning to walk again in the direction she had been going as he fell in beside her. "As it turned out, he deserved the dousing, though I didn't know it at the time."
"Well then," he said, long stride forcing her to trot, "it was all for the best."
"I guess. He was a broker, had a ton of money but was still rude to the waiter and left a horrible tip. I slipped an extra twenty in while he was in the bathroom."
"Fucking zombies. You're right, he did deserve it."
Lilly walked in silence for a few moments, wondering what on earth was happening. He had never seemed to particularly like her, in fact he had all but run away the previous two times she had come into his presence. So what was he doing now, walking next to her and talking as though he might actually not wish to be anywhere else?
"Where were you going?" she asked when she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Out," he said, jus the one word again.
"Oh, I used to go there all the time!" she said, making her eyes go wide and vacant. "They have horrible service, but the atmosphere is to die for!"
"Sorry, I'm not used to...."
"Talking?" she supplied helpfully as his words trailed off.
"Yeah," he agreed, not seeming to take offense.
Lilly watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was so odd. Handsome beyond question, talented, and clearly intelligent. One would think he would be out with a different partner every night if he wanted. So why did he spend all his time alone in a rundown brownstone? Why was he so closed off? She loved and hated puzzles, and he was one just begging to be solved.
"Where were you going?" he turned the tables on her.
"A club down on Avenue A."
"Ah, going to do what passes as dancing these days?" he said with a curl of his lip. "Grind against someone mindlessly to tuneless music?"
"Well, aren't we the old snob," she mocked him. "No, as a matter of fact it's a music club. Jazz and blues mostly. Small acts, lots of musicians stopping in when home from a tour, that sort of thing. Nothing fancy, but it has character."
"Really?" his interest seemed to be captured as she described it to him.
"Do you want to come?" she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral while she willed him to say yes.
"I suppose it's better than anything else I have to do," he grimaced.
"Wow, thank you so much," she said, pulling a face.
"I... I told you, I'm not good at this. I don't get out much, or see people."
"It's okay," she told him, fighting an exciting flurry in her stomach. "That's the good thing about music, you can just listen."
"Yeah," he agreed, eyes curiously bright as he looked at her.
They walked in silence the rest of the way. Lilly was hyper aware of him next to her, towering over her diminutive height. She did find that she felt more safe with him beside her. Whenever they neared a group of people on the side walk one look at him was enough to move the loiterers scurrying out of their way. She also caught quite a few glances being thrown their way, particularly after he had walked by. He did have a noticeably nice rear view, she allowed. Scampering after him did have an upside she supposed.
They arrived at the club and Lilly smiled at the portly man sitting on the stool by the door. Sidling up behind him, she reached out and pulled his suspenders, allowing them to snap back into place. He spun around, face breaking out into a huge grin when he saw her. The next moment she was swept into a bear hug that left her breathless.
"Lotus blossom!" he grinned at her. "You're looking all grown up! Haven't seen you around here in years!"
"Not all of us are frozen in time, Q," she said with a laugh. "How long have you been wearing those suspenders?"
"Since you were first sweet talking me to let you in," he smiled back. "You and that Gran of yours. Get me in all kinds of trouble!"
"You found enough trouble all on your own."
"True that, but you always added just that extra dash. We were all sorry to here about Miss Lillian. She was a real special lady, and no mistake."
"Thanks," Lilly fought back tears as he swallowed a lump in her throat. "Is Ossie here tonight?"
"You know he'd never miss a Friday," Q rolled his eyes. "Who else would let him play besides his own bar."
"Thanks, Q. Talk to you later."
"This tall fella with you?" he looked her neighbor, once again sporting his sunglasses, up and down protectively.
"Yeah," she said, once again feeling that butterfly sensation.
"Well, alright then. You be nice to her, or big guy or not, I'll take you down."
Adam didn't dignify that with a comment, merely giving the doorman his usual stare.
"Tell the barkeep I'm buying your drinks tonight," Q added as they started in.
"Do you really want to do that?" she asked with a laugh. "You know how I am."
"Damn girl, just try not to bankrupt me," he chuckled.
Lilly laughed and walked into the dark club, sense memory falling over her like a warm blanket. Music, friendly faces, and a handsome man to escort her. What more could she ask for? She just hoped she could keep from saying or doing something stupid for the rest of the night.
***
Adam was convinced that his new neighbor destined to drive him to distraction.
It had never really occurred to him how thin the walls of his home were. If it had realized he would have never bought the damn place. Of course, until she had moved in it didn't really matter. The old woman who had been her Grandmother would never have been so gauche as to interfere in his composing. The granddaughter though...
And what galled Adam most of all was that she had been right. The minute her barked out suggestion came slamming into his creative space he knew that she was dead on. He played the piece, hoping against hope as he came to the end that her contribution would prove just as off as his useless attempts had been. And yet he knew before he struck the chord that it perfectly completed his work. It was humiliating!
After that he made sure to plug in his headphones before turning on his instruments. He didn't want to rude after all, he told himself. It had nothing to do with the streak of embarrassment he had felt at her correction. Adam just didn't want to intrude on her piece.
The way was she was intruding on his. He could hear her all the time. Moving furniture around, cooking in her kitchen, even, to his horror, running her shower. He tried not to think about what she might look like under a stream of hot water, body soapy as her hands slid along its curves. Tried to keep the memory of the taste of her out of his mouth as the vision sprang unbidden into his brain.
It was almost worse when he would hear her crying, which was often. Adam had avoided such open displays of emotion even when he was human. His own tears were only ever shed in private now that Eve was gone. Why then did he feel the urge to break through the walls separating them and wrap the girl once more in his protective embrace?
It must be because he had fed on her, he decided. It was only a few drops, true, but it had still managed to spark something within him. It was such an intimate act, drinking someone's blood. He should have just rinsed it down the drain and been done with it. But it was so sweet, so hot and delicious on his tongue, that would have seemed like a sacrilege.
He was so attuned to her puttering around next door that he was starting to track her movements through the house. It was therefore a start to his system when he heard her front door open and realized that she was going out. At this late hour, with the streets dark and nearly deserted nearby, what was she thinking? Grabbing his coat, glasses, and gloves with a snarl, he was out the door before he could think.
She was not hard to catch. One of his steps could account for three of hers. She made an enticing picture as she ambled down the street, swinging a little gift bag as she walked. Red coat and bright hair caught the light from the moon when it cut through the drifting clouds above. Her skirt displayed a tantalizing stripe of bare leg above a pair of black boots, and he found his mind drifting to how easy it would be to access her femoral artery in such an outfit.
Had she no idea what a tempting target she made? Quickly walking up behind her, he clamped his hand down on her shoulder and growled into her ear, careful to keep his voice as calm as possible.
"It's not wise to be out alone at this hour," he said.
She was predictably flustered by his approached, and he took a kind of pleasure in making her squirm even more. After all, she was responsible for his discomfort over the past week; it was only right she should feel a little back. He was actually rather enjoying bandying words with her, he realized, until she confessed that she was on her way to a club.
Adam could see it clearly in his mind. Her coat over some chair, she would be clad only in the short black skirt and the tight red satin top he could make out underneath. Her hips swaying as her cloud of hair moved around her, she would catch the eye of any man there. Some zombie or other was bound to come up to her, predatory and drunk most likely. His hands would roam her as they danced, on her bare leg, or sliding around her waist, brushing against her breast, her ass, pulling her close to his sweaty body as he ground against her his hardening dick.
"Ah, going to do what passes as dancing these days?" he said with an angry curl of his lip. "Grind against someone mindlessly to tuneless music?"
"Well, aren't we the old snob," she relied, rolling her eyes. "No, as a matter of fact it's a music club. Jazz and blues mostly. Small acts, lots of musicians stopping in when home from a tour, that sort of thing. Nothing fancy, but it has character."
"Really?"
That sounded... not terrible.
"Do you want to come?"
Adam opened his mouth to say no. He never went out, not to clubs or bars or any other place filled with mindless hordes of zombies. But as he looked at her, trying not to let him see how hopeful she was, something inside him softened while another part had completely the opposite reaction altogether.
"I suppose it's better than anything else I have to do."
"Wow, thank you so much."
He honestly hadn't meant to poke her with that comment. It was himself he was frustrated with, not her.
"I... I told you, I'm not good at this. I don't get out much, or see people."
"It's okay," she told him. "That's the good thing about music, you can just listen."
"Yeah."
The comment took Adam aback. That was exactly how he felt. So many people wasted time with needless babble. It was so much easier to just listen. Let the atmosphere and the music take you over and move you. Why didn't more people realize that? The thing he hated most about seeing music live were all the people who insisted on talking over it.
He had an odd moment when she hugged the doorman at that club, fighting back the urge to rip the man's throat open and soak the street in his blood. He managed to fight it back once he saw that the relationship was clearly more paternal than romantic. Not that he cared if she had romantic relationships, of course. He just felt protective over her. Because of the blood.
They entered the establishment and Adam looked around with tentative approval. It was dark, not overly crowded, and those that were there sat and listened attentively to the band playing on the stage. She led him over to the bar, where she leaned in to say hello to the woman working behind it. Evidently she knew this whole place well. Not at all where he would have pictured her hanging out.
"Hey, Ivy," she said, just loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to disturb the crowd.
"Lilly! So sorry to hear about Lillian. We all miss her around here. The usual?"
"Yeah, thanks. Oh, and Q says he's paying for it."
"Oh, big spender," the bar tender laughed. "Hi, I'm Ivy. And you are?"
"Adam," he supplied tersely.
"What can I get for you, Adam?" she asked, eyes flickering to his companion and back.
"Nothing, thank you," he answered.
Ivy moved away to make her drink and Adam sighed in relief. It would be much easier to hold himself back from fantasizing about drinking his companion's blood if she were intoxicated. He tried to not let his relief be tinted by disappointment.
"Adam?" she said, looking at him with a half smile. "That fits, I guess. I'm Lilly."
Lilly, he thought. That fit her as well. She was dainty and pretty, although it was sometimes obscured by her clumsiness. Vaguely he noticed the band had just ended a set and applauded automatically, but his attention was focused on fitting Lilly's name with her person.
"Here you go, sweet heart," Ivy interrupted, setting a pint glass filled with light pink liquid down in front of her. "Don't drink it too fast."
The women laughed and Adam raised his brow in question.
"Cranberry and seltzer," Lilly said with a grimace. "I don't drink. Doesn't interact well with my anxiety meds. I know, it makes me a bit of a drag, but -"
"No," he interrupted her. "I prefer it, actually. I don't drink either. Alcohol."
"Oh, well thanks. Or something."
She looked down shyly at her drink, playing with the straw. Adam gave himself a mental shake. She was a human. A zombie. And an annoying one at that. She had cried on him, pried into his wiring project, intruded on his music. Why was he so fascinated with her? Was it just that he longed to taste her again? But if so, then why did he imagine tasting other things than just her blood?
"My Grandmother used to sing here," she told him out of nowhere. "That's her photo over there, behind the bar. Lillian Bell. The owner was her drummer for a while back in the 60's. She would bring me here to listen to what she considered real music. She was a bit of a snob. You would have liked her."
"I'm sure I would have."
Adam scoured his memory, trying to think if he had ever heard of the woman. He thought he might have, actually. He had a vague recollection of a small woman with a big voice that looked not dissimilar to the photo she indicated.
"That's how I know music," she continued, chewing on the straw and drawing undo attention to her mouth. "I don't sing myself, or play much of anything well, but I have an excellent ear."
"Much to my gratitude," he said, realizing at that moment he did feel grateful to her for her assistance.
"Sorry about that," she turned the shade of her shirt. "It sometimes is physically painful for me to hear the wrong note. Or, I mean... not wrong wrong... I meant... oh gosh..."
Adam let her squirm for a few more minutes before putting her out of her misery. She was rather delightful twisting on her stool, looking for a way out of the trap her mouth had gotten her into. He had the feeling it was not an uncommon occurrence for her.
"It was wrong," he said at last, taking pity. "I was stubbornly trying to force a finish that didn't belong. I can be arrogant that way at times."
"No, not you!" she protested mockingly. "I never would have imagined!"
Against his usual nature and inclination, Adam felt a smile begin to raise the corners of his mouth. She was incorrigible, this woman. He could tell that she was intimidated by him, hell, he had cultivated that in her, and yet she still said whatever popped into her head, fear be damned. She was brave, and that was a rare quality it seemed to him.
"Well, if it isn't my little Lilly!"
Adam looked up to see the drummer from the last group sauntering over. Lilly jumped off of her stool and hugged him warmly, but this time Adam had no fear it was anything other than familial affection. He was ancient, if not compared to Adam than to other humans, easily in his late 80s at least. Still, he had held a steady beat. The musician in Adam had to respect that.
"Ossie, it's so good to see you!" Lilly gushed. "I'm sorry I haven't been by in so long."
"We all know why, Lil," the old man sighed. "Lillian didn't want you to see she was failing, so she made up lies to keep you away. I yelled at her for that, don't think I didn't!"
"I can only imagine," she said with a watery smile.
"And who is your young man, missy?"
Adam inwardly rolled his eyes at the moniker, not so much because it assumed they were together but that he was young.
"My friend," Lilly corrected him hastily. "Adam. He's a musician too."
"Good set," he nodded to the drummer.
"Well, I'm not sure how I feel about that," Ossie looked at him appraisingly. "You can do a lot better than one of us."
"Friend, Ossie," she stressed again. "And while you might be my almost Grandad, you are not my father!"
Adam wondered why it bothered him that she was so quick to disavow any serious connection to him. It must be his pride, he decided. She had seemed taken by him that first night on the roof, and certainly the evening he had knocked her over and she had proceeded to stare at his bare chest. He had rather liked the way her eyes lingered on his muscles, to be honest. But perhaps his churlishness had put her off. If so, good for both of them
"You watch what you are saying, Lilly," Ossie scolded her. "You know your Gran had eyes for no one but your Grandpop. When you find a love like that, you can get buried in the grief of it when it's gone, it and forget to let yourself move on. Don't make that same mistake."
"I have to fall in love once first, before I can move on to a second," she said.
Adam leaned back against the bar. Is that what he had been doing? Getting buried in his grief? Eve had made him promise to live, but was he really holding up his vow to her? It made him nervous to even think about.
"I have something for you," Lilly handed the bag to Ossie. "Open it after I'm gone, I can't deal with crying again tonight."
"You are such a sweet pea," he said. "And that reminds me, I have something for you, too! I was cleaning out my office, and I found some master tapes of one of our old recording sessions. And there's Miss Lillian, singing to make your heart break! You got an analogue player at the house? One of the old type, mind you?"
"I don't know," Lilly bit her lip. "I haven't seen one, I don't think."
"I have one," Adam offered, before he even thought about what he was saying. "We can listen to it at my place."
"Well, you might just be worth something after all," Ossie beamed at him.
Adam looked back and forth between Lilly and Ossie, both smiling at him as though he had hung the moon. Inside where his heart once beat, he felt an ever so slight easing that was almost a pain.
What, he wondered, had he gotten himself into?
#OLLA Fic#adam olla#Adam/OFC#slow burn#eventual sex#romance#anxiety#mention of anxiety medication#music#eventual smut#blood#vampire#pining#mutual pining#even if he won't admit it#grumpy adam#adam developing feels#FEELINGS#grief#death of loved one#death before start of story
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Balloon party
Fandom: Stray Kids, 3racha
Sickie: Jisung
Caregivers: 2basco (Chan, Changbin)
Jisung’s POV.:
It had been a while since we’ve last been on a game show, so the entire group was hyped for our afternoon schedule. Those shows were usually the most fun to participate in, so not even the grueling dance practice this morning could dampen my mood. I was really looking forward to a fun afternoon, using this thought to keep me going, ignoring the burning in my muscles. “Alright, we’re done with practice for today. Let’s head back to the dorm. Make sure you shower quickly, so everyone gets a chance to freshen up before we need to leave again”, Chan announced and I dropped down next to my bag. My sweaty back against the wall, I pulled out my water bottle, chugging the small amount of water that was still left. We didn’t really get a chance to rest very long before Chan dragged us back home to ensure we wouldn’t be late. I was starting to get more hyped up, the more time passed. While waiting for my turn to shower, I wanted to help Channie-hyung make lunch but apparently, he didn’t trust me to be of much help, so he sent me away. I passed the time playing games on my phone, hearing the leader chuckle: “He’s already bouncing off the walls now, what am I going to do with him after the show?” A small giggle escaped my lips. I wasn’t sure who my hyung was talking about, it was either me or Felix, the younger Aussie seemed to be just as excited as me.
Lunch was filled with lighthearted chatter and I noticed that everyone had missed going on game shows. They were a welcome change from all those serious interviews and way less tense than most public appearances, so it’s not too hard to see why we liked having them in our schedules. We finished our meal and cleaned the dishes. Before heading out, I grabbed a chocolate bar as dessert which I devoured on the way to the car. I startled a bit when I heard a loud voice behind me: “Yah! Who gave the squirrel chocolate? You know what sugar does to him.” Afraid my dessert would be taken away from me, I stuffed the last few bites into my mouth and turned around to give Changbin an innocent smile, with my cheeks still puffed up. “Sung, you know how energetic you get when you eat candy. Who gave you that?”, my hyung frowned. I swallowed and giggled a bit: “I gave it to myself. You know, Jisung is a big boy. Don’t worry, the fans love my energetic self.” – “Yeah, maybe the fans do but what about giving your hyungs a hard time?”, Changbin argued. I looked at him innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about, and asked: “You mean like that?” Then I started to chase him in circles around the rest of the group, who just rolled their eyes at me.
We made it to the car and I collapsed into my seat still panting from our little chase. Changbin plopped into the seat in front of me, turning around to give me a death glare. Probably a warning to not sneak my hand forward to tickle his side. Did I care? Nope, I didn’t. Instead I continued to bother my hyung for the rest of the ride. At some point, even Chan turned around to warn me and I felt a bit sorry for not being able to keep my overflowing energy under control. I managed to pull myself together right as the car came to a halt. From now on I need to be professional, I reminded myself, as we went in to get our hair and makeup done. It wasn’t that hard to do, since the effects of my earlier snack were slowly tapering off. Especially the hyung-line kept watching me warily, expecting a prank from me at any time now. They weren’t wrong but I refrained from doing anything, instead just looking forward to the games we were going to play soon.
The first few games were really fun and I was truly enjoying myself. Until the third game of the afternoon was announced. We were supposed to pair up and dance with a balloon stuck between our bodies. The team whose balloon dropped or popped last wins the game. I cringed and barely had the time to mentally prepare myself before the staff brought in a bunch of balloons, a lot more than we’d need for the game, probably for aesthetic reasons. I didn’t care about those reasons, my eyes going wide at the sight of the colorful party decoration. Balloons, I had always despised them. The colors were always way to bright and unnatural, they felt weirdly squishy and made those awful squeaking noises when you touched them wrong. Worst of all, they were like a ticking timebomb, ready to explode at any given moment. I couldn’t touch them. ‘No! Not going to happen.’ They even said the balloon would probably explode between us while we dance. My hands started to shake and I shoved them into my pockets, so nobody would notice. Of course, we had some time to fool around before the actual game started but unlike earlier, I didn’t join my friends. I tried to stay as far away from the dangerous balls, squinting my eyes at them as a warning. ‘Don’t you dare explode on me!’
Hyunjin chased after Jeongin, waving a bright orange balloon in the air. He dragged his hand over the rubber material, triggering a shrill squeak. I flinched as a shiver ran down my back and I pleaded in my head for them to please be careful and not accidentally pop the balloon. Changbin must have seen my face because he suddenly appeared next to me, a pink balloon in his hand. Smirking, he dragged his fingers over it and I jumped at the sound. I was starting to flush hot and cold and my hands were sweating. “What? You don’t like that sound?”, the older asked innocently, “Guess what, I don’t like being tickled either.” – “H-Hyung, please don’t do this”, I pleaded, backing away. He gave a fake-confused look, dragging his finger over the rubber again and asking: “You mean this?” I nodded, backing away further as my shaking hands went up to cover my ears. Changbin only laughed and I thought I heard something along the lines of ‘too bad, this is your payback’, but I wasn’t sure because it was muffled by my hands. He held the pink bomb closer to me and instead of covering my ears, I shielded my face with my arms. He couldn’t see the tears stinging in my eyes as he went to produce that awful sound again. Except this time, it was different. The last thing I remembered was a loud ‘BOOM!’ before everything went black.
Changbin’s POV.:
I was just getting Jisung back for being an annoying squirrel on the way here. It was funny, he really seemed to hate the noise and I was certainly using that to tease him. Apparently, I had gripped it too tightly because the next thing I knew was the balloon popping in my hands. There was barely a second for me to get over the shock myself before a movement caught my eye. I cursed, jumping forward to secure my arms around Jisung’s waist to keep him from hitting the ground. Carefully, I lowered his to lay down on the floor and tapped his squishy cheek. No reaction. I shook his shoulder and called out his name, catching the attention of the remaining members. “What happened?”, Chan frowned crouching down next to us. I was starting to freak out and I cursed my voice for wavering when I replied: “I-I don’t know? The b-balloon popped and suddenly he was out.” A staff member joined us and felt my dongsaeng’s pulse, announcing that it was strong and fast. “Why don’t you take him back to the dressing room. There’s a couch you can put him on”, she asked and I immediately scooped the younger up. I couldn’t help but feel like this was all my fault.
I placed Jisung on the couch and studied his face. Chan put a comforting hand on my shoulder and it was only then that I noticed I was crying. He took Jisung’s wrist again and checked his pulse. It was still strong but beating steadily at an only slightly too fast pace. The rest of our group was asked to stay out of the room to give Jisung some space and I could only imagine how worried they must be, not being able to see him. I took Jisung’s limp hand in mine and cringed at how sweaty his palm was, was he scared? I gave it a gentle squeeze, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, till I felt his hand twitch in mine. Suddenly, the younger shot up and pulled his hand away, scaring me. His eyes darted around the room and he looked so small and so stressed. His breathing quickened and I patted his arm to catch his attention. “Hey, you’re okay, Sungie. You’re okay. Look at me!”, I said and he turned to face me. There were tears streaming down his puffy cheeks and I was almost thrown off balance when Jisung crashed into my chest, sobbing loudly. Taken aback, I wrapped my arms around him and stood up, pulling the shaking boy with me. I sat down on the couch, keeping the younger in my lap as he cried into my shoulder. Chan returned with some water and sat down next to us. “Hey Sung, can you tell us what happened?”, he asked carefully. The younger only continued to cry and I sighed: “It was the balloon, wasn’t it?” Jisung nodded against my shoulder, trying to pull himself together.
We waited in silence for our dongsaeng to calm down, so he could explain more to us and so I could apologize. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this guilty in my life but it didn’t seem like Jisung was mad at me, if he was, he’d be clinging to Chan and not me. Jisung’s cries quietened to soft sniffles and he looked up at us with swollen eyes, admitting: “I-I’ve always had that fear, I don’t think it’s bad enough to be called a phobia, -“ – “You passed out! I’m pretty sure it is bad enough to be called that”, I interrupted. “I don’t like balloons. I don’t like anything about them, not their color, not the way they feel or the sounds they make and even less the fact that they can explode at you any second. I’m pretty sure balloons are made by Satan to eliminate us”, Jisung rambled and I couldn’t help to feel even worse. How scared he must have been when I cornered him like that. My arms tightened around him and I buried my face in his hair mumbling ‘I’m sorry’. Jisung gave a weak smile and patted my head, whispering: “It’s okay, hyung. You didn’t know and you deserved to pay me back.”
“Talking about knowing. Why did you never tell us?”, Chan question his forehead creased. Jisung shrugged, blushing a bit, and replied: “One, it’s quite embarrassing and two, we do have a few pranksters in this group, so I guess I was afraid of the teasing and having that information used against me.” I nodded, it made sense but I could promise him: “Seeing how bad it is, none of us would ever dare using this against you, Sung.” Yes, we could tease each other endlessly but we knew our limits and wouldn’t harm any of our friends. He nodded and smiled when the rest of the group joined us. Not having heard our conversation earlier, Seungmin brought one of the balloons with him. I felt Jisung tense in my arms and was quick to ask Seungmin to take the balloon out of the room. He didn’t understand why and pouted a bit because he had planned to take it home with him but he sensed the seriousness in my voice and complied. Jisung hugged me closer and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in my ear. I squeezed his shoulder in reply. He didn’t have to tell the others about his situation right now and I totally understood if he’d rather explain it to the at home. Our manager came in and announced that we could go home now. “Why don’t you guys go first? I’m going to take Jisung for some cheesecake on the way home”, I asked, wanting to make it up to my dongsaeng. A wide smile spread on the younger’s face and he giggled: “You’re giving me sugar, hyung?” My eyes met Chan’s in horror. “Channie-hyung, help! What have I done?”, I panicked. He just laughed at me: “Nope, you brought that on yourself. I’m taking the others back to the dorm. Have fun!”
#stray kids#skz#sick#sickfic#angst#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff#comfort#3racha#hanjisung#whump#seo changbin#bang chan#han jisung
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From National Treasure: ʺ In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. ʺ
Thank you for this incredible prompt!! This is the silliest thing I’ve ever written, so I hope you enjoy :)
Read on Ao3
In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality
James Potter had always been a menace.
The vendors who set up their stands in Godric Hollow’s town square knew to be wary of the young boy, whose messy black mop of hair was just visible over their countertops as he skipped from booth to booth. No one was certain where he came from or where his parents might be (though Marcus, the apple harvester, swore he once saw the kid just over the hill with an unexpectedly kind older couple), but everyone knew trouble followed the boy like an obedient puppy.
It started with the usual childhood mischief. He would show up at the farmer’s market, seemingly out of nowhere, wielding twigs from a nearby tree or sometimes a cardboard sword. Always battling an imaginary enemy. Large bursts of energy mixed with childish incoordination would result in smashed crates of potatoes or torn awnings. Farmers turned red with frustration, but their wives brushed them off, absolutely charmed by those big hazel eyes behind even bigger wire-rimmed glasses. The boy would wreak havoc and get off without so much as a loving pinch on the cheek.
But then one summer, once his glasses started fitting his face and those wide eyes became more calculating, the real hijinks began. Peculiar things seemed to happen whenever the young boy made his way to the square. Marty’s carrots would suddenly appear on Andrew’s cabbage display, as if out of thin air. Abigail's piglet disappeared, then reappeared again, squealing up a storm, in Michael’s barrel of beans. Oddities popped up left and right around the child, still too small to reach the booth’s counters without having to balance on his tiptoes. The vendors groveled and knit their brows into headaches, but the boy would flash his little grin and the wives would fawn, offering up samples of their best honey or slices of freshly baked bread.
Eventually, the farmers settled into their new routine of expecting the unexpected. Until one day, when the unexpected turned into the unbelievable.
The boy was making his rounds one sunny morning, peering over the fruits and vegetables, when Helga offered him a strawberry. He beamed, reached out for the piece of fruit, and then yelped when the berry burst from his hand, transforming into a flittering hummingbird.
Those wide eyes turned to saucers as he watched the bird fly off, leaving its strawberry brothers behind in their basket. The look he flashed at the berry farmer was one of deep disturbance and the boy disappeared on the spot, leaving the rest of the vendors to grapple with what should have been impossible.
They didn’t see the boy for days, and the farmers would have reveled in the much-desired calm, but the mystery behind the hummingbird still sat fresh in their memories. But then one morning, the vendors all held a collective breath as the little boy marched down the street, directly to the town square, with a little jingling satchel in hand.
He went straight to the strawberry stand, meeting Helga with a determined stare and a gold coin in his outstretched hand. She tentatively accepted the strange looking currency and nervously handed over a basket of berries, flinching as he reached out to collect his purchase.
The boy looked at his basket, then back to Helga, and grabbed a handful of strawberries. Just like before, the berries erupted into delicate little hummingbirds and flew off through the village. The boy puffed his chest out at his accomplishment and his eyes surveyed the other booths, looking for his next victim.
The farmers were in a state of shock. Possibly a shared psychosis that could only be explained by spending a little too much time under the summer sun. They waited patiently as the boy decided who would receive his next gold coin.
It ended up being Daniel, the cabbage farmer, who watched in awe as his heads of lettuce transformed into a swarm of skittish squirrels with just a light touch of the young boy���s hand.
One by one, the strange little boy purchased, transformed, and set free an entire zoo’s worth of animals. More than one weary eye drifted to the town’s church lingering above them, wondering what kind of miracle or devil’s work they might be witnessing.
And then, he left, a litter of kittens and rabbits following in his wake.
Four years later, the boy with messy hair and glasses (that definitely now fit his face) sat in the Hogwarts dungeons with three other boys, cleaning out cauldrons.
“Bloody infuriating that they took our wands, don’t you think, James?” said the boy with longer hair and sharp features. He lazily scrubbed the same spot on his cauldron over and over, even though it had become clean ages ago.
“Don’t be daft, Sirius,” said James, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand. “We aren’t allowed our wands in detention, otherwise we’d have this washing done in a minute.”
“My mum says doing things the Muggle way builds character,” added the third boy, tucking his sandy bangs behind his ears.
“Well Remus,” responded the fourth boy with watery eyes, “the rest of us grew up not ever having to do it the Muggle way. Maybe since you’re most used to it, you can take care of the rest of these cauldrons for us.”
“Bugger off, Peter,” said Remus, throwing a very dirty washcloth and hitting Peter square in the face.
The four boys laughed together before getting back to their scrubbing.
“Oh, look who it is,” came a sneering voice from the doorway of the Potions classroom. “Potter and his gang of cowardly lions. What is this, the third detention you lot have had this week?”
“Shove off, Snivellus,” spat Sirius, throwing up a few choice fingers at the greasy-haired boy.
“Come on, Sev, don’t bother with them,” came a softer voice from behind the boy.
“Is that Evans?” called James, his interest piquing. He ran his hand through his hair, forgetting how much grime had coated his fingers during the course of the detention. When the red head girl peaked out behind her friend to see James picking out dirt from his fringe, she giggled.
“Potter, it looks like you’ve been rolling around in the mud with Hagrid’s pigs,” she said with a teasing grin. Severus shifted next to her, his eyes flashing at her playful tone.
“That might be so,” laughed James with his signature lopsided smile, “but at least I’m still not half as greasy as Snivellus, here.”
Severus turned bright red and reached into his robe pocket to draw his wand. “Lutum!” he shouted, and a thick layer of dirt coated the piles of freshly cleaned cauldrons.
The boys jumped up in outrage, but Severus had a wand and they were defenseless.
“This is bollocks!” barked Sirius, a dangerous shadow crossing his face.
“Tough luck,” smirked Severus, turning back to Evans with a smug look across his face. “Come on, Lily, let’s go practice our Pepper Up potions.” And with one last smarmy look, he led her into another classroom across the hallway.
“That’s not fair,” whined Peter, looking at his now-dirty cauldron.
James still stared at the doorway where Severus and Evans stood just a moment before. “Well, we’re not going to let him get away with that.”
“But we don’t have our wands,” pointed out Remus, who had gone back to patiently scrubbing his own cauldron.
“I have a plan,” said James simply.
“Mate, I think Remus has a point,” Sirius said with a huff. “What could you possibly do to Snape? We’re just a bunch of wandless first years.”
“Look boys,” said James confidently, “In another life… I arranged a number of operations of… questionable legality. I learned some skills back then that may prove useful in our current hour of need.”
Sirius, Remus, and Peter stared at him, matching dumbfounded expressions on their faces.
James stood and surveyed the dirty cauldrons around him and looked at his hands. He took a deep breath.
In theory, he knew what he had to do. It was just a matter of concentrating. Focusing on a goal and letting the magic burst through his fingers. There weren’t any fruits or vegetables in the dungeons, but that shouldn’t matter. Maybe when James was younger, when his imagination ran a little wilder and his grasp on transfiguration wasn’t quite as strong, he believed that animals were stuck inside strawberries and ears of corn. But James was a wizard in training now. With a few months of transfiguration under his belt, he knew that any object could become anything new.
So he paced back and forth, letting himself fall back into the mindset of being a little boy sneaking out of his family’s cottage while his parents were busy reading that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. He remembered the thrill of running off to the village, just as independent as any other adult visiting the market, and marching up to the stalls of fruits and vegetables and honey. He could almost smell the freshly baked bread, see the kind smiles of the farmers’ wives as they ruffled his hair and sent him off with fresh apples and oatmeal cookies.
He let himself live in those not-so-distant memories and channeled all their warmth to his fingertips as he reached out and touched the nearest cauldron.
With a flash, it became a potbelly pig.
“Bloody hell!” shouted Peter.
“Merlin’s beard!” laughed Sirius.
“Holy shit,” gasped Remus.
James sent them a crooked smile, cracked his knuckles, and swiftly got to work touching every dirty cauldron in the dungeon.
The piglets squeaked with wild energy, dripping in mud and looking for somewhere to run. And James had just the place.
He led his parade of piglets through the classroom, out the hallway, and opened up the door across the way where Severus and Evans had gone to practice their potion-making. The pigs stormed into the room with excited squeals which only intensified by Lily’s and Severus’ screaming as the pigs swarmed them.
“Sorry Evans,” shouted James over the sea of oinking, “you’re collateral damage here! My apologies for the smell, but I assume you’re used to a bit of stench hanging out with Snivellus all day!”
Once all the pigs had crammed into the classroom, trapping Lily and Severus in the far corner surrounded by muddy hogs, James quickly closed the door and the rest of the boys helped drag over a heavy bookshelf to barricade the entryway.
They grinned at each other, quite pleased by their success, and made their way back to the scrubbing brushes and washcloths.
“Well boys,” said James, his hand finding his way back to his hair, “I don’t see any more dirty cauldrons, do you?”
The others shook their heads in glee.
“Then I guess it’s back to Gryffindor Tower for us!”
And with that, they raced out of the dungeons, snickering at the shouts of their classmates, overpowered by the squealing of dozens of potbelly pigs.
#ask#national treasure prompt#this is insane#the marauders#pranks#james potter#godrics hollow#this is the goofiest thing i've ever written#it was fun#i have so many more prompts i promise i will get to them all!!
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The Graveyard (Crowley x Reader One-shot)
“Okay,��� Dean whispered. “This is where we split up.”
The four of them were standing outside the now-opened entrance to a previously secure mausoleum. It was a November night, the cold driving itself through Y/N’s sweater as wind rattled the branches of nearby trees. They bleakly thought to themselves that the noise was not far off from what they imagined the clatter of bones might sound like. This was the first time that Y/N had ever accompanied the boys on a hunt, and their unease with this was only heightened by the tagging along of the King of Hell himself. He stood next to Sam on the right side of the doorway, across from Y/N and Dean.
“Someone needs to stay here and make sure that security guard doesn’t come poking around while Sam and I are down there finding Crowley’s ‘precious’ artifact,” The latter of the two continued. “Y/N, do you think you can handle that?”
“Yeah, probably,” They frowned slightly. “But… I mean, don’t you think I could handle going with you guys inside, too?”
“All the sources we found on this mentioned it having some sort of ‘guardian’ protecting it,” Sam replied, tone caring. “We don’t want you getting in harm’s way -- you’re not used to dealing with this kind of thing.”
They huffed out a sigh, breath momentarily visible in the air. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be here to keep you company.” Crowley’s words brought the attention of Sam and Dean, who glared at him with furrowed brows.
“What? No, you’re hauling your ass in here with us. No way in Hell we’re leaving you alone with them,” Dean said, voice raising.
“Alright, keep it down, Squirrel,” Crowley smiled. “I can’t go in there, remember? Any demonic presence inside will set off all sorts of magical alarms. Thought you’d recall, from the ‘sources’.” He looked pointedly at Sam, though his amusement was clearly not shared.
“Okay, then Crowley can stay out here and I’ll come down with you guys,” Y/N butted in, nudging Dean. He looked down at them, then to Sam’s expression of concern. Setting his jaw, he took a few steps towards Crowley before leaning down slightly and raising a pointed finger towards his face.
“If you touch a single hair on their head while we’re down there, I will not hesitate to hunt you down and tear you limb from limb. Understand?”
Crowley merely scoffed. “Come now, Dean. I’d never dream of hurting them.”
“Yeah, right,” Dean grumbled as he straightened himself up. Turning back to Y/N, he put a hand on their shoulder. “If he tries to pull anything at all, you don’t hesitate to call us, alright?”
They nodded, a mix of nerves and excitement pooling in their veins as they watched the brothers finish collecting all of their equipment and head inside the mausoleum, being careful to ensure the door was not fully closed behind them. Once they were out of sight, any sounds they made muffled by the thick walls separating them from Y/N and Crowley, an air of silence descended upon them. The awkwardness already pervading their thoughts, Y/N turned away slightly from the demon, taking a step off of the paved area circling the mausoleum and onto the grass of the graveyard itself. However, much to their dismay, they soon heard Crowley following after them.
“You know, darling, we don’t usually get time to ourselves like this,” He cleared his throat as he reached their side, voice maintaining a cautiously low volume. “What with the Winchesters constantly peering over our shoulders.”
“It’s almost like they don’t trust you or something,” Y/N remarked, causing the demon to smirk.
“What about you?” He took a few lopsided strides around Y/N, forcing himself into their line of sight. When they met his stare, he continued. “Do you trust me, kitten?”
Their expression, previously only mildly concerned, quickly morphed into a frown. “Well…” They paused, then glanced away. “No.”
“Really?” He stepped towards them, eyes narrowing. He brought his right hand to their chin, lifting their head so they were facing him fully. “You certainly seem to trust me more than the Winchesters do.”
Y/N, caught off-guard by his sudden closeness, merely blinked at him for a second before reorganizing their thoughts into a response. “That’s not a high bar to reach, Crowley.”
His smile widened as he chuckled. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” For a few moments, the two remained motionless, contemplating one another. Then, Crowley brought his hand back to his coat pocket and turned slightly, leaving Y/N to mentally reprimand themselves for not having moved away earlier.
After a minute or so of tense silence wherein Crowley watched a flock of crows take off from a distant tree and Y/N became suddenly fascinated by the grass beneath their feet, the hunter finally spoke up. “Why’d you come along, anyways?”
He turned to face them, brow knitted. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you knew ahead of time that you wouldn’t be able to go into the tomb,” Y/N reasoned. “So… what was the point?”
He paused before opening his mouth to speak. But before he could say whatever he was planning to, his focus shifted to a spot behind Y/N. “Bollocks.”
“What is it?” They spun around to follow his gaze, and quickly noticed the issue; the security guard who they’d managed to avoid when they first entered the graveyard was coming back around, and at this point he would spot them very soon -- if he hadn’t already. “Shit,” they muttered before turning back to Crowley. “We can’t let him inspect the mausoleum.”
“No,” He agreed. “We’ve got to make a distraction.” He hesitated before continuing, and Y/N could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “Darling, you’re pretty good at improvisation, no?”
They blinked. “Well, I guess--”
“Good,” Crowley moved towards them. “I’m going to prompt you. Whatever response you choose, I’m sure it’ll create a good enough scene to work with. Alright?”
“Okay,” They stammered as he continued his advance, backing up in response. “What are you--”
Simultaneously Y/N felt both their back hitting the wall of the crypt as well as Crowley placing his hands upon their cheek and waist. Their breath hitched as he leant in slightly. “Make your choice,” He murmured. His breath fanned against their skin, matching the heat Y/N felt spreading through their face. For an instant, they locked eyes, and Y/N knew they’d come to their decision.
Bringing both of their arms up to wrap around his neck, they pulled Crowley down into a kiss. He reciprocated quickly, his beard scratching against their face in a pleasant sensation, and Y/N found their pulse racing; they may or may not have imagined this scenario several times in the past, but the real thing truly exceeded their expectations. Deepening the kiss, Crowley pushed himself against them more fully so that they were trapped, the heat of his body contrasting with the cold of the stone behind them. The demon’s hand on their cheek moved to the back of their head, carding through their hair and causing their heart to leap.
For a short while, it was bliss. But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
“Hey! You two!”
Crowley was hesitant to pull away, but when Y/N slid their arms down to his chest and pushed him slightly, he loosened his grip on them. Painting an expression of shock onto their face, the hunter turned to see the security guard walking towards them down the path with his flashlight trained on them.
As he neared them, he stopped and put a hand on his hip. “Graveyard visiting hours are over, lovebirds.”
“What?” Y/N blinked dumbly before looking up at Crowley. “I thought you said--”
“No, that can’t be right,” Crowley interrupted, slipping his hand in Y/N’s as he did so. “What time is it now?” He glanced at his watch.
“Eleven o’clock,” The guard replied. “Graveyard closed for the night at ten-thirty.”
“Ten-thirty?” Crowley’s brow furrowed.
“You said it closed at eleven-thirty,” Y/N whispered, making sure they were loud enough for the guard to hear.
“Right, because it does,” His gaze turned from Y/N back to the man before him. “There must be some mistake.”
“Nope,” The guard squinted pointedly at him. “Ten-thirty.”
“You’re sure.”
“Positive.”
“I--”
“Babe,” Y/N hissed. Crowley glanced down at them, brows raised. They ignored this and started addressing the guard. “We are so sorry, we really had no idea.” They smiled apologetically. “We’ll be out of your hair now.”
The guard sighed, scanning his flashlight over the general area. Y/N prayed that he wouldn’t spot anything off with the mausoleum, and felt Crowley squeeze their hand lightly. “Well, you two seem innocent enough.” He looked back at them. “You haven’t seen anything suspicious tonight, have you?”
“Suspicious how?” Y/N cocked their head.
“Well, anyone else around,” He sighed slightly. “It is, after all, after-hours.”
“No, not that I can remember,” Crowley said, looking utterly exasperated.
“Well,” Y/N paused, trying their best to feign well-meaning uncertainty as their focus shifted between the guard and Crowley. “There was that group of kids earlier. Teens? You remember.”
“A group of teens. Where about were they?” The guard asked.
“I think they were headed that way,” They pointed at the clump of headstones farthest from the mausoleum. “Probably four or five of them. I didn’t think much of it, ‘cause, uh…” They gestured and laughed nervously. “You know.”
“Right,” The guard looked at the two for a few seconds, expression unreadable. Then he let out another huff and continued. “You folks better get going, now. Thank you for the heads-up.”
“Of course. Take care now,” Y/N smiled politely and turned to go back down the path, Crowley in tow. The two stayed silent as they walked, still holding hands, but after a few minutes this was broken by Crowley chuckling. They looked up at him. “What?”
“‘Babe’,” He mimicked, causing them both to start laughing quietly.
“Hey,” Y/N said, beaming. “I was just playing my part.”
Crowley hummed in agreement. “And you played it very well.”
“Thank you,” They glanced behind them. “I hope that whole ‘teen’ thing wasn’t too suspicious.”
“No, no, it was some good quick thinking on your part,” He cleared his throat. “But that’s not what I meant.”
“Hm?” They frowned.
“I meant before that.”
“The… the whole ‘we didn’t realize we were trespassing’ gimmick?”
“No, before that as well.”
Y/N remained quiet for a moment, eyes locked on the dirt path. Then a blush spread across their cheeks and they turned back to him, using their free hand to smack his arm. “Shut up!” He only started to laugh again, clearly amused by their dramatics. “You’re awful, you know that?”
“I try, darling.” Despite their harsh words, they couldn’t help but grin. “You know, I didn’t really expect things to go that way.”
“Oh?”
“No. I largely expected for you to slap me the second I got near you.”
They chuckled. “Me too.”
He raised a brow. “Then why didn’t you?”
They slowed their movement until they came to a halt, Crowley circling in front of them while still holding their hand. Finally, they shrugged. “I dunno.”
“You ‘dunno’?” Crowley smirked. “Maybe it’s because of my devilish good looks.”
“Crowley--”
“I’ve been told I have a naturally charming aura.”
“By who?”
“Several people, actually.” Y/N started giggling again, and Crowley took a step closer. “What, do you disagree?”
“About your ‘aura’?” They laughed. “No, that seems pretty spot-on.”
“So, if I were to, say, do this,” The demon cupped their cheek and leaned forwards. “How would you react?”
Y/N paused, before raising their head up slightly. “Probably the same way I did back there.”
That was all the encouragement Crowley needed to lower his lips to theirs once more. Pulling Y/N flush against him, he could feel them smiling against his mouth, and he was soon doing the same. This was one hunt that neither of them regretted going on.
A/N: Hope you guys liked this! I've got a few ideas for longer Crowley x Reader fics, but I have no idea how long those might take me. In the mean time, I hope I've satiated you all with this one-shot. :]
#fanfic#fanfiction#crowley x reader#crowley supernatural#supernatural#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#x reader#reader insert#crowley king of hell#spn#spn fanfiction#original fanfiction#creative writing#fiction#supernatural fic#fluff#fluffy fic#marzipan writes
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Lasting Impressions - Chapter One: Three Hours Before
Summary: Virgil makes a good friend at the weirdest time of day; four in the morning, where everyone and their dog is fast asleep. However, deciding to befriend that person ends up getting him into a lot more trouble than he could ever suspect. His new friend ended up going missing that same night. And Virgil was the last person to see him alive.
Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, missing people, nightmares and anxiety, mentions of death, mentions of murder (regarding Disney characters), blood, mentions of drunkenness/alcohol, and swearing
Pairings: Familial Royality, platonic Prinxiety that still flirt with each other in this chapter
Word Count: 4,307
Notes: Heed the warnings, as this story (although not mentioned a lot in this chapter) will contain missing people, kidnapping, and its fair share of violence as we go along the story. Always read chapter triggers before you dive in, and if there’s a chapter or scene you can’t read, you can always DM me for a less graphic or trigger free version of it.
It was 3:51 AM when Virgil felt himself jolt awake in a cold sweat.
He frantically turned his bedside table lamp on, ignoring the pain of the blinding light on his adjusting eyes. It wasn’t often he got nightmares anymore, but God when he did, they were horrible. He could always barely remember what it was about; something with not being able to scream and a weird creature chasing him, but nothing more than that. Instead he was left to shake in his bed and attempt to breathe in for four seconds.
In for four...hold for seven- fuck, wait-...four...hold for seven…come on! In for four...sev- Are you fucking kidding me!?
Virgil jumped out of bed, ignoring the weakness in his legs and shakiness of his arms and threw on his hoodie and a pair of jeans. He only bothered with putting on a sports bra, instead of trying to breathe in his binder, then stuffed his phone in his pocket and walked out his bedroom door. He was careful not to slam it to not alert his roommate Elliott, instead quietly scooting himself to the front door of their apartment. Despite his haste, he double checked to make sure he locked the door before going down the apartment steps. Like always, Elliott would be none the wiser.
Virgil walked out to the front of the apartments and took a left down the block. His body was still shaking, but the fresh air always helped.
It’s fine. You’re fine.
...It’s gonna be another one of these days, isn’t it?
Virgil sighed. Anxiety was always the worst. Sometimes, all it took was for you to wake up in a certain mood and hope it was gone by the next day. He’d certainly gotten better over the years when it came to nightmares and having to run away at terrible times in the night, but disorders never completely went away. Not that he’d heard of, at least.
The air had a different feeling to it outside. Fall was cooling the atmosphere and giving Virgil a kind of contentment he could only reach in this time of year. Halloween decorations had filled store shelves before September ended, though none of those stores were open at this time in the early morning. Instead, Virgil walked down the street and occupied himself with looking at street lights and the occasional car passing by.
The very, very occasional car.
Virgil plucked his earbuds out of his hoodie pocket and plugged them into his phone, putting a random playlist on scramble to drown out the eerie silence. Everything was so quiet at this time. Usually in the city, the streets would be so noisy Virgil was more at risk of a sensory overload than being this kind of uneasy. In a way, walking alone in the dark was the worst way to recover from a nightmare, no matter how many times it became his solution. He felt watched.
...Shut up, no, don’t think like that. No panic attacks for you. Not in the middle of the damn street.
Virgil pressed his earbuds deeper into his ears, as if that could muffle his thoughts the same way it damaged his hearing.
At least the air was a nice change of pace. Fresh air always helped him when he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and now the chills in his body could be explained with a different reason. Even if it really wasn’t that cold outside.
Virgil felt the cold bring a sudden wind to the back of his feet. He almost jumped three feet in the air as his mind raced with thoughts of someone’s chasing you, but as he looked around, no one was there.
He saw something move in the corner of his eye and jumped again.
Virgil kept deathly still, like any sudden movement would bring this mysterious shadow to kill him. The only thing keeping him sane was the emo music blasting through his earbuds, the rest looking like something out of one of his horror movies.
He saw something in the corner of his eye again, shooting to look at the black blob right next to his foot. He took a sudden, sharp breath to stop himself from screaming such a sketchy time of night and darted his head around to find the source.
Underneath Virgil’s feet was a very offended looking squirrel. Before he could smack himself in the face for being an idiot, the creature scurried away and disappeared in a dark alleyway.
Virgil rubbed at his eyes. Jesus, he thought, I’m really on edge. It’s just a damn squirrel.
Still, Virgil turned around and walked faster until the alleyway was out of his sight. He sighed and attempted to calm himself down a little, but his chest still felt ready to burst from all the fear. He breathed in deeply, then out again.
His hands still shook, but it was okay.
Everything is alright.
He paused his speed walk long enough to continue his breathing patterns. He focused on the feeling of nighttime air instead of the what-ifs. He looked up to gaze at the dim stars, barely visible from so much light pollution, but still a soothing presence. With each time he counted a second of breathing in, he counted another star in the sky. The sight of twinkling lights with a bright moon in the sky was more than calming. It reminded him of the nights he’d spend on his parents roof, looking up and not bothering to think about what was down on Earth.
Up there, everything was quiet. Peaceful. There was no sound or responsibility. No student loans or nightmares, only emptiness with chunks of rock and gas. The chaos was too far away for you to really be bothered with it, you could watch from afar and be completely safe on your own floating rock. Out there, nothing mattered.
Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Everything is quiet. Everything would be okay.
The peacefulness was all that really mattered.
“Why hello, handsome!”
“Fuck!”
Virgil’s whole body jolted like an electric shock when an unexpected hand touched his shoulder. He yanked his earbuds out and turned to his attacker with wide eyes, fully ready to fucking slice the dude.
The idiot only smiled and waved. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you so badly! Are you alright?”
Virgil blinked. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.”
Before he could put his earbuds back in, the guy put both his hands on Virgil’s biceps and pulled his arms down. Virgil was fully ready to knock his teeth out and make a run for it, but before he could reel his arm back, he noticed blood and scratches all over the guy’s face.
Virgil did a double take at him long enough for the guy to get his damn hands off of him and smile. “I mean more than you being okay after I scared you. You seem to be quite on edge in general.”
Bitch, why do you care? “Well, it’s the asscrack of night, better be safe than sorry if you don’t wanna get murdered.”
He laughed. “Fair point, fair point. And what are you doing out at a time you call ‘the asscrack of night’, as you so elegantly worded it?”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “How about it’s none of your business?”
The guy put his hand on his chest in feign offense. “So cruel to me! Here I was, trying to be a humble citizen and help you out, and this is the thanks I get?”
He rolled his eyes. “Get used to disappointment. The only reason I didn’t pummel you is because you look like a wreck.”
The guy put a hand to his face. “Is it the blood?”
“It’s definitely the blood.”
“Ugh, I suppose that’s what I get for trying to have a good time so late in the night! I’ll admit, I’m exhausted and also a little buzzed. So maybe trying to befriend a cat at 3 in the morning wasn’t my greatest idea.”
“It looks like that cat wanted to gut you alive.”
“... I’m not the best with animals.”
Virgil couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh. Something about a tipsy guy trying to flirt after being attacked by a cat was hilarious. “You sound like an idiot.”
“Just a little bit! But that’s what’s so endearing about me, I like to imagine.”
“You keep imagining then, Princey.”
The guy seemed to freeze in place. “... Princey?”
Virgil’s eyes widened, awkwardly coughing to try and play himself off as collected. Damnit Virgil, play it off! “Well I don’t know your name, and you sound like a spoiled, dramatic prince, so… You’re Princey now.”
The guy chuckled. Nailed it. “I guess that makes sense, I am very dramatic. But that’s just what makes me wonderful.”
“You tell yourself that.”
Virgil started to walk ahead of Princey, only for him to stumble over his feet to keep his pace with Virgil. At least he wasn’t too drunk, and he certainly didn’t seem harmless. Of course, Virgil hadn’t known him that long, but right now he just seemed like a major dork who wanted to talk to someone.
Relatable, honestly.
The guy kept his pace next to Virgil, though staying a reasonable distance away before standing up proudly and smiling again. “Though if you want to know my real name...it’s Roman. Roman Goldsberry.”
Virgil hummed. “S’up Roman. I’m not telling you my name, though.”
Roman gasped. “Why not!?”
“Because I’m not gonna make it that easy for you to find where I live and murder me.”
Roman shrugged and nodded his head. “Okay, fair. I guess.”
“Maybe if I meet you in a less sketchy place, I’ll consider telling you my name.”
“I suppose I’ll have to call you something else until then. Something that suits you.”
“Oh really? What do you think suits me?” Virgil asked.
“Something dark and brooding, maybe with a dash of paranoia. After all, that hoodie you have is quite the emo aesthetic.”
“You picked up my vibes pretty quickly there, damn.”
“I have many talents! Now, as for something to call you…” Roman seemed to think about it for a long time, “...I think I’ll call you Emo Nightmare!”
Virgil reeled. “...Thank you. Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
Roman pouted like a toddler who dropped their candy. “Compliment!? Well now I can’t call you that! If you’re going to be so rude to me, then I should be able to be rude back!”
Virgil smirked, “Really now? Go ahead then, make a nickname that offends me.”
Roman seemed to think about it again, “Gerard Wayward?”
“Clever, but I don’t think you know what wayward means.”
“I’m only warming up! How about Brad Pitiful?”
“That one’s just funny.”
“Count Woelaf!”
“My feelings have yet to be hurt.”
“Surly Temple? JD-lightful? Incredible Sulk?”
“Literally where the fuck are you getting these?”
Roman put his hands on his hips. “I’m good at improv! Oh! What about Henry Ravens-brood?”
Virgil put an offended hand to his chest. “Now that one is mean. Congrats Princey, you just offended me.”
Roman clapped his hands together. “Fantastic! I knew I could- wait...you know Phantom Manor?”
Virgil shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a Disney fan.”
“You? A fan of fairytales and magic? I find that hard to believe based on your everything.”
“You barely even know me dude, don’t give yourself so much credit.” Virgil tried not to smile at Roman’s dramaticized offense. “And that’s way too much of an oversimplification for Disney. I mean seriously, Constance Hatchaway fucking murdered ten of her husbands! Who even marries that many people?”
“I’ll have you know that she had five husbands, not ten! Also that hardly counts, it’s a ride all about ghosts! Of course people have to die!”
“Doesn’t mean she had to hack them to death. They could have toned down the axe murdering part.”
“Please, that’s nothing compared to the scene where Mufasa gets trampled. It’s not like you watch the murder happen, you only see it implied with the paintings and when her bouquet turns into an axe on the ride!”
Virgil smirked. “So you admit that Disney can get dark sometimes.”
Roman scoffed, seemingly at a loss of words. “I never said that!”
“You literally just said that Mufasa’s death scene is really dark.”
“It was a necessary part of the plot! Simba would have grown up to be a selfish king who only cared for power if he didn’t have to save everyone from Scar!”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s super dark and not just ‘fairytales and magic’, Princey.”
Roman did an overdramatic, offended gasp as his hand went to his chest once again. Is that the only emotion this dude knows? “I can not believe you! Twisting my words in such a fiendish way!”
“Seriously dude, are you a clown or some shit as your day job? Because the way you act is kind of hilarious.”
The offense dropped from Roman’s face almost immediately, replaced with a soft, yet still prideful smile better fit for this time at night. “I’m going to ignore the clown part and say that actually, I’m an actor for the community theater only a couple blocks from here. That usually tends to explain my behavior to people.”
“Sounds about right, yeah. You any good?” Virgil asked.
“I like to imagine so! In three days from now, I’ll be playing the lead of Fiddler on the Roof for our fall musical! I’m usually too busy to make the bigger shows, but I tried my best to find the time this year.” Roman’s proud smile faltered for a moment into something softer, more sad. Like he was suddenly grieving a lost memory. “...Though I might end up having to miss it after all.”
Virgil tilted his head to the side. “Why’s that?”
Roman shrugged, and for a second, Virgil could see past the dramatics and pride. He looked lonely, almost. “Personal stuff. Since you won’t even tell me your name, I believe I’m inclined to keep that information to myself.”
“You always tease people this much?”
Roman chuckled. “Not usually. But I am exhausted, so maybe I’m a little slap happy.”
Virgil pulled out his phone to look at the time. 4:19 AM. Holy shit. “Yeah, no wonder. It’s late as shit, and I gotta wake up at eleven today.”
“I think maybe you should go home then. I would offer to walk you, but considering you won’t say your name, I doubt you’ll let me know your address.”
“You got that right. You should go home too, before someone kidnaps you.”
Roman stopped suddenly, right below a street light. He turned around to face Virgil with such a sad smile, but Virgil couldn’t tell if that was from exhaustion or not. He looked at Virgil so softly for a long moment in a way that made him feel vulnerable. “Perhaps you’re right, but don’t worry your angsty heart about it, I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, fair.”
“Though, you are making me think, Emo Nightmare.”
Virgil tried his hardest not to blush. “Think about what?”
“Maybe you would like to see the show?” Roman asked, “I won’t be able to participate, but I’d love to hear how it went. And if you like Disney, maybe you can appreciate a classic musical as well.”
Virgil shrugged. “I mean, maybe. What days?”
Roman straightened his maroon polo and brushed nonexistent dirt off one of his sleeves. “If you go to the Sanders Community Theater website, it’ll show you all the details. I would tell you myself, but it’s a lot of information, and I really need to be heading out, sadly.”
Virgil took one last look at Roman. Even with a scratched up face and knuckles, he still looked like the softest person Virgil could ever meet. He was dramatic yet funny, and he didn’t seem to actually want to cause any harm. If anything, he just seemed like a humble idiot who wanted to make a friend late at night. Considering Roman also called him handsome, maybe he wanted a little bit more, but Virgil didn’t really mind. For someone who was tipsy and exhausted at four in the morning, Roman seemed like a good guy.
Maybe he’s not so bad.
“I’ll, uh…” Virgil hesitated, “I’ll be sure to check it out if I can. We all need a break sometimes.”
“We do.” Roman whispered.
“Yeah, so go home and get some sleep. I know you’re tipsy, but don’t get yourself murdered by being out here all night.”
Roman let out a tired sigh, looking behind himself as if to check if he could see his destination from where he stood. “You’re right about that, Jack Skellington. But I have one more pit stop to make, so don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”
“If you say so, I guess.”
Roman turned back to Virgil. “Though, if you’re interested...maybe you and I could swap phone numbers? So you can tell me about the show if you see it, and so our destined crossing on a raven black night doesn’t go to waste?”
Virgil snorted. “Raven black night?”
“I’m tired, shush. Let me be my own type of poetic.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, I guess.”
Roman took out his phone and pressed a couple buttons before handing it to Virgil. Virgil stared at it before taking it with a smirk. “...Android, huh?”
Roman didn’t just roll his eyes, he rolled his entire head. “Oh, shush and put in the darn number!”
Virgil laughed but did as he was told anyway, putting in his number and saving the contact as Emo Nightmare before handing it back to Roman.
Roman smiled at the name so fondly Virgil’s heart almost broke. This dude’s gonna be pretty damn disappointed when he finds out my name is fucking Virgil, of all things. “Do you mind if I send you a text to make sure it works?”
“Nope.” Virgil said with a popped p.
Though, instead of sending a random letter or a hello like a normal fucking person, Roman posed under the street light and held his phone up for a selfie. He ran his hands through his hair in a fruitless attempt to fix its messiness but eventually gave up, smiling for the camera and dropping the pose long enough for Virgil to feel his phone buzz in his pocket.
Virgil pulled it out:
Unknown sent a photo
Unknown: Make sure to remember this beautiful face :P
He shook his head with disapproval, but also to hide his smile behind the safety of movement. “Seriously?”
“Don’t you worry Beetlejuice, you’ll get used to it after knowing me for long enough.” Roman tried to flip his hair back, but considering it was way too short to do so, it was a fail. “Though if I don’t respond to any texts you may send these next few days, don’t worry too much about it. I’m going to be awfully busy and won’t have my phone on me.”
“Alright, noted.” Virgil sighed and put his phone in his pocket. “Talk to you later then, Princey?”
“I sure hope so. Though, Brad Pitiful?”
“Pretty sure you already said that one, but yeah?”
“It’s 4:24 AM right now. Don’t forget that number. Considering it’s the time you last saw me, I’m sure it has some kind of luck to it.”
Virgil almost physically facepalmed at that. “You have such an ego.”
“It’s what people love about me!” Roman laughed as he dropped the overexaggerated smile for a second to replace it with seriousness. “Though, I am serious about you seeing the show. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I’ll look into it at least, promise. Though for now, I’m fucking tired and I gotta go.”
Roman hummed, and without another word, the two turned in opposite directions to head to their next destination. Which for Virgil, was straight to bed until he woke up wondering if all of this was a fever dream. He did hear one last thing be called out to him: “So long, Dark and Stormy Night!”
Virgil didn’t respond, he only waved behind himself and hoped Roman saw it. When he turned the corner and was for sure away from Roman’s sight, he pulled out his phone and went to his contacts.
New contact added: Prince Underarm Stink
Satisfied with himself, Virgil walked the next couple blocks back to his apartment. Once he opened the door, he crashed onto his bed without bothering to change, letting sleep overcome his body as fast as it had woke him up in the first place.
I’ll text him tomorrow morning, he thought, just to test it out. Even if he doesn’t respond.
That was the last thing Virgil thought before he fell right to sleep.
***
It had been three days since the night Virgil met Roman. He’s sent one text every morning since then, but had yet to get a response to any of them. Considering Roman said he would be busy, he wasn’t too worried. If Roman didn’t respond in more than a week, though, he would consider himself ghosted.
Oh well, it was a stretch thinking the cute guy I met at 4 AM would text me back anyway.
On the third morning, Virgil sent a text saying You there yet??? Lol, before packing up his stuff and starting to walk to his classroom campus.
The walk was normal, nothing but other college students bumping into each other on the street and in the hallways until he made it to his classroom, leaning back in his seat and checking his phone.
No text messages, but he did have a couple notifications on Tumblr. Not surprising, but it was still something to occupy himself with.
A few more kids entered the classroom, stopping in the doorway right behind Virgil. “D’you know anything about this?” One of them asked.
“Nope. The guy doesn’t look familiar.” The other said.
“Damn. A ten thousand dollar reward would do wonders for a college loan.”
Virgil slowly lowered his phone back into his pocket at the sound of cash. With this amount of eavesdropping, he felt like a cartoon character with their ear growing five times in size.
“That could pay one year’s worth of a dorm. Ten grand doesn’t do shit for loans anymore.”
“Still dude, that’s ten grand you don’t gotta work for. I wish I had that.”
“Then go looking for information on this guy, I guess.”
The first guy laughed. “Maybe! I hope they find him, though. It’s always sad to hear about missing people. They usually find their bodies, like, a month later.”
“Yeah, well, people are fucked up. Now come on, I need your notes.”
“Again!? Dude, you’re a damn mooch.”
The two voices faded away to Virgil’s left as they walked away. Once the two guys sat down, Virgil turned around to squint at a paper he hadn’t noticed when he first walked in, even getting out of his chair to take a better look.
Though the moment he got closer, Virgil felt his stomach fill with lead.
Missing: Roman Goldsberry. Last seen October 2nd. Virgil stared at it for a suspicious amount of time. His eyes were widened like a bug ready to be squashed, ripping the paper off the wall and taking a closer look. No matter how many times he squished the paper to his face and examined every letter written, the facts were logically unmistakable. This is the guy I met.
The guy I met on October 3rd.
Virgil wanted to vomit. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t be. Stuff like this doesn’t just happen, you don’t meet someone only for them to go missing that same fucking day!
Is this why he wasn’t responding to his phone!? Because someone grabbed him off the street and locked him in a truck!? Because he’s somewhere in the middle of the woods, probably being tortured right this second!?
It isn’t him. It can’t be. I’m remembering it wrong. Missing people just freak me out. They’re not. The same. Person.
Virgil felt a lightbulb go off in his head. The photo.
Roman took a photo of himself before they parted ways. He’d even said not to forget his face with that stupid egotistical smile that made Virgil wanna roll his eyes so far they went into the back of his head.
Grabbing his phone was like trying to grab an ice cube off the floor, but Virgil managed it, shakily opening his phone and going into his recent contacts.
Picture, picture, picture...there!
Virgil put his phone and the paper on his desk and compared them. Same hair color. Same hair style. Same smile. Same eyes. The only difference is the clothing.
He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to pick apart every possible difference in the photos until he somehow managed to convince himself they were different people. But there was no way. Even in his hysteria, there was no way he could ignore that he had seen someone hours before their possible demise.
...He couldn’t stay here listening to a lecture. He didn’t care about his grade tanking because of a zero on attendance, or about the homework he’d miss turning in if he left, he had to do something. He had to help somehow, even if Virgil didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
The professor had just stepped in front of the class and started to speak. Virgil grabbed his bag and didn’t hear a word that was said.
He ran out the door and didn’t come back.
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#virgil sanders#ts virgil#ts roman#roman sanders#lasting impressions#blood mention#kidnapping#nightmares#anxiety#death mention#murder mention#alcohol mention#drunkenness#prinxiety#platonic prinxiety#ts sides
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High Hopes
word count: 4014
Chapters: 1 2 3
Chapter 4
The weirdest thing is that a few months ago, Dove wouldn’t think that listening to kids running and playing would sound as sweet as it did.
A small chuckle escaped her as she sat on the steps leading into Dale’s RV. The horrified look on Glenn’s face as he stopped mid-greeting was just as amusing.
“Well. Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Dove squinted as she stood up and moved to stand next to him.
“When did they start tearing it apart,” Glenn frowned as he folded his arms in front of his chest.
Dove shrugged her shoulders, “’Bout a half an hour ago, I suppose.” She ran a hand through her dark hair as she turned her head slightly. Rick was finally awake again. Dove raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she greeted the newcomer. “Mornin’, Rick!”
“Go on! Tear it apart, you vultures.” Glenn scowled and shook his head. Dove couldn’t keep herself from letting out a snort of laughter.
“Generators need every drop of fuel they can get,” Dale stated matter-of-factly as he walked past them.
“He has a fair point. I’d rather have a shower than a fancy car,” Dove mumbled quietly.
“I thought I’d get to drive it another few days,” Glenn sighed.
Dove turned her head slightly as Rick responded, “Maybe we’ll get to steal another one someday.”
This new way of living sure was a hell of a thing when you had a sheriff encouraging grand theft auto.
Dove placed a comforting hand on Glenn’s shoulder, “Maybe an even nicer one! One that’s not going to send an alarm running for miles next time too.” Glenn just let out an annoyed sigh.
Glenn seemed to be resigned to the fact that his car was being torn apart by Jim. Dove patted his shoulder again as she watched him step forward to converse with the other man. Knowing him, he was still probably trying to talk about what a cool car it was to anyone who would listen.
A revving engine caught the attention of a few members of the camp as Shane pulled up. He announced, “Make sure to boil the water before use.”
Carol made her way over to Dove. “Too bad about Glenn’s car, huh?”
The response caught in Dove’s throat as a shrill scream erupted from the woods close by, followed by another voice screaming “Mom!!”
A panicked look was exchanged between the sisters for a moment and then they were both off. Carol screamed for Sophia and the relief was obvious on Dove’s face as the little girl broke through the trees with Carl hot on her heels.
Tiny arms wrapped themselves around her waist as Dove knelt quickly to survey her niece for any marks. “Are you alright, Soph? Nothing bit you?” Sophia shook her head quickly, only able to muster up a panicked whimper. Carol finally broke through the trees behind her and let out a relieved cry as Sophia released her aunt with a cry of, “Mommy!!”
Dove glanced around quickly before she pointed back towards camp. “Take them back now! I’m just gonna make sure everything’s alright!” Carol nodded her head and scooped Sophia up.
Lori, however, eyed her warily for a moment before the brunette disappeared into the tree line again.
As she broke through the trees she held back a hysterical laugh. They were just stood around the damn thing, beating it with sticks. So much for being evolved past a caveman brain.
Amy let out a disgusted groan as the walkers head was finally chopped off.
Dale muttered, “That’s the first one we’ve had out here.”
Jim replied, “They must be running out of food in the city.”
Dove looked over at Amy and Andrea. Both of the sisters were just looking on like a couple of deer in the headlights and she couldn’t blame them. She felt a little nauseous herself.
Branches snapped in the woods and all conversation stopped. Andrea put a protective arm around Amy and Dove took a slow step forward towards the men. Curiosity was a bitch of a thing, but she wanted to see what exactly was going to happen.
Her heart leapt into her throat and plummeted back to her stomach as Daryl Dixon came into view. Her eyes locked with Jim’s in a moment of panic before she quickly looked down at her feet. Honestly, she would rather have a walker run out of the woods right now than have to face the inevitable.
Daryl looked pissed already. Definitely a good sign for them. “That was my deer. Look at it! All gnawed on by this filthy, disease ridden, motherless, proxy bastard!”
Dale shook his head in disgust, “Now come on, son. That’s not helping anyone.”
Daryl’s temper flared up again as he stepped quickly over the walker, headed right for Dale. Dove took a quick step closer to Rick as she eyed the officer, trying to communicate that this was not a good sign. “What do you know about it, old man? Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to ‘on golden pond’?”
A surprised laugh, which was able to be quickly covered up as a cough escaped Dove’s lips. Glenn elbowed her slightly in the side and narrowed his eyes once he had her attention. The woman merely shrugged as she turned her attention back to the dead animal. Her stomach did begin to rumble at the thought of venison, or anything other than squirrels for that matter. A sigh left her lips as Shane stated, “I wouldn’t risk that.”
Daryl’s focus drifted to her, almost asking for another opinion. Dove shrugged her shoulders before she slipped her hands into her back pockets, “As good as it sounds, it’s too risky. We got kids to think about and what if they eat tainted meat? Get sick?”
Daryl sighed and shook his head, “Damn shame. I got a few squirrels though. ‘Bout a dozen or so. That’ll have to do.” The calmness in the air broke as the walker head at her feet started snapping its jaw again. Dove let out a startled shriek and stumbled back into Glenn as Daryl shot an arrow into it’s brain. “Gotta be the brain. Don’t ya’ know nothin?”
The focus of the group shifted again as Daryl stalked off towards camp. Dale looked startled, “I don’t see this going well.”
Shane removed the hat from his head as the group started to walk, Dove started to take longer strides to keep up with the two officers. She heard Shane mention Daryl’s name and spoke up.
“I think you guys really need to think about doing this,” Dove spoke, concern in her voice. “I think you oughta try and break it to him as gently as possible. People like him tend to react violently, plus he seems pretty hyped up from losing that deer.”
The two men kept moving, but Rick glanced over his shoulder at her. “What’d you do before this?”
“I was a therapist. Getting ready to work on my PhD. Why?”
She didn’t miss the look the two men exchanged and fell back a step. Glenn flinched as he heard Daryl yell for Merle. “This is gonna be a shit show,” Glenn sighed.
Dove shook her head as Shane stopped Daryl in his tracks. “Poor guy. I got money on Dixon, though. He’s a scrapper.” She whispered so only Glenn could hear. Glenn let out a nervous chuckle as the two of them came to a stop next to the Jeep.
“There was a problem in Atlanta.” Seriously, Dove thought, he’s going to drag it out like this? What a mess.
“He dead?” Dove gripped Glenn’s wrist a little tighter than she meant to as she took a step closer to him.
“We’re not sure.”
“He either is or he ain’t!” Dove couldn’t really blame him for being so angry. She could only imagine how mad she would be if it were Carol on that roof. She would probably be trying to kick the ass of anyone she could find.
“No easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it,” Rick stated as he finally took a step forward. What a time to play good cop, bad cop.
Rick introduced himself, only to be met with, “Rick Grimes, you got somethin’ you wanna tell me?”
“Your brother was a danger to us all. So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal,” Rick finished. Damn, she had to admire how he got right to the point about it. “He’s still there.”
Daryl started pacing like a caged animal. “Hold on. Let me process this. You’re saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?” Daryl shouted. Dove could feel her pulse quickening as a million and one ways that she was trained to de-escalate someone this angry ran through her head. None of them seemed to make any sense right now under the heat from the burning Atlanta sun.
The next few seconds were a blur. Daryl yelled, Dove let out a startled yelp as the squirrels flew towards her, she stepped back closer to Glenn, and just like that, Daryl was on the ground. T-Dog stepped forward, shouting something about a knife. Dove took a few slow steps forward, eyes wide as saucers as she watched Shane bring him down in a chokehold after a few swings of a knife.
“Chokeholds illegal,” Daryl managed to choke out.
Shane sounded too comfortable with it for Dove’s liking. “Yeah, well, file a complaint.” Dove argued with herself internally as she watched Daryl keep struggling to be let go.
Rick knelt in front of the other two men, clearly trying to calm the situation down. “I’d like to have a calm discussion on this topic.”
Dove scowled as she squatted down between the two officers. “Not to tell you how to do your job, but it’s awful hard to have a calm discussion with a man whose air supply is being cut off,” she finished through gritted teeth.
Rick glanced at her and nodded before he turned back to Daryl, “You think we can manage that?”
The two officers nodded at each other and Dove stood up quickly as Daryl finally got released. She watched for a moment, still in shock about what just happened, when she saw Daryl still trying to catch his breath as he pointed at Shane. Dove turned quickly and placed a hand on Shane’s arm. “Just back up, man. Rick’s got it. You don’t need to be bad cop right now,” she pushed him back gently before she walked past the other two men, joining Lori by the steps to the RV.
“You good,” the other woman asked, her eyes not leaving the scene in front of her.
“Yeah just adrenaline rush. I’m fine,” Dove nodded as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. She turned her head slightly and met Carol’s worried gaze through the window of the RV. Dove held her hand up and nodded her head.
“It’s not Rick’s fault,” T-Dog interjected and suddenly the focus was on him. “I had the key. I dropped it.”
Daryl snapped again, “You couldn’t pick it up?”
“Well, I dropped it in a drain.” Dove couldn’t help but roll her eyes at this. This just sounded worse and worse the more they tried to explain it to him. At least no one was dead yet.
Her heart sank as she folded her arms in front of her chest, her focus shifted with everyone else’s as the men moved slowly around camp. She knew that Daryl and his brother were close but, shit. She didn’t expect to see him cry for even a second. One of her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she looked down at her feet.
She wasn’t surprised when Daryl shouted. “Hell with all y’all. Just tell me where he is so’s I can go get em.”
What truly shocked her was Lori. The older woman spoke up from her spot by the door at this. “He’ll show you. Won’t you?” She almost insisted with just her words as she locked eyes with her husband.
Dove was torn between following Lori back into the RV or following after Rick as the conflict came to a close. She, instead, chose to check on Carol and Sophia. Her steps were quiet as she walked up the steps to the RV. Dove slid into the seat at the table opposite of her family and reached a hand out to stroke Sophia’s arm. “Hey, bug. You were real brave out there today,” Dove spoke softly as Sophia lifted her head from her mother’s arms.
Sophia sniffled and rubbed her eyes before she looked between the two sisters. “I was really scared,” the young girl whispered.
Dove smiled a little and nodded her head. “I was too, bug. But you did the right thing by runnin like that. Hell, I don’t think either of us knew you could run that fast!” Carol chuckled softly at this as she stroked the young girl’s hair.
“She’s right, Sophia. You kept yourself safe. That was the right thing to do.” Carol kissed the top of her daughter’s forehead before she whispered for her to do something that sounded a lot like ‘go check on Carl’.
Dove drummed her fingers on the table as her thoughts raced through her head. Carol’s voice finally pulled her out of her own head. “You want to go with them, don’t you.” Carol stated in a hushed voice.
Dove���s eyes shot up. Her hazel eyes widened a little bit as she felt color rush to her cheeks. “I…I was thinking about it.”
Carol clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I don’t want my sister out there dyin’ for someone like Merle Dixon.” Her voice didn’t raise above a whisper, though she didn’t sound pleased at all.
Dove rolled her eyes at this. “That’s not what I was thinking of!”
“Then what were you…”
Dove cut her older sister off as she reached out and took her hand, “What if that was me up there, huh? Or you? Would you want me to just leave you up there like that to die?” Dove hissed. “It’s the right thing to do, Carol. Merle or not, it’s the right thing to do.”
Carol’s eyes widened slightly as she took in her sister’s words and nodded her head slowly. “If that’s what you want to do, I can’t stop you. But I just want you to be careful. I don’t want to be explaining to Sophia why her aunt isn’t around anymore.”
A small smirk graced Dove’s face as she squeezed Carol’s hand gently. “Oh please. I’m always careful.”
It was Carol’s turn to roll her eyes as Dove rose from her seat, kissed her older sister on the top of her head, and descended the stairs out of the RV.
Dove looked around camp before spotting Daryl by the fire. She took a long deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth before trudging forward. “Hey, you alright?” Dumb question.
“What kinda stupid question is that,” Daryl snapped at her.
Dove raised both her hands in front of her, a tired expression on her face. “Right. Guess I deserved that, it was pretty fucking stupid huh.”
Daryl just stared at her for a moment. He had the type of eyes that made her uneasy sometimes; eyes that could stare right into your soul if you’d let them. “What do you want?”
Dove let out a heavy sigh as she watched Carol approach her laundry station out of the corner of her eye. She stood up a little straighter and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I wanna go with you and Rick. Try to bring back Merle. I figure the more people, the better. Plus, y’all might need someone to balance out all the testosterone in that car.”
Daryl stared at her again for a few seconds before scoffing at her. “Don’t need no one else out there, especially not you. Can you even shoot a gun?”
Dove grinded her teeth together as she nodded her head slowly. “Well, excuse me. I may not know how to shoot a gun but I am just as capable as Andrea and Jacqui and they go out into the city all the time! Give me a blunt object and I can take out any walker just as good as a gun, I bet.” Her hands were shaking as she unfolded her arms and shoved her hands in her pockets.
“Alright.” Daryl turned his attention from her.
Dove’s jaw almost dropped in shock as she stood still. “Excuse me?”
Daryl turned back to face her, eyes narrowed slightly. “You heard me, girl. You’re grown, you wanna go? Can’t stop ya. Just don’t expect to get your ass saved.”
“Oh don’t worry, I won’t,” a serene smile was on Dove’s face now.
Shane would definitely have to learn to hold his tongue if they were going to bring Merle back as he called Merle a “douchebag”.
Daryl pointed at the man, “Hey, you better watch what you say!”
Shane nodded his head all sincerely before uttering, “No no. Douchebag’s what I meant.”
Dove rolled her eyes and brought the palms of her hands up to rub her eyes, “Dear god what did I do to deserve this.”
Lori spoke up from her seat by what would be that night’s fire. “So what? You and Daryl, that’s your big plan?”
Carol eyed Dove for a moment before the group’s attention shifted to Glenn. “Oh come on!”
Rick spoke, “You know the way. You’ve been there before. In and out, no problem! You said so yourself.” He was right. Glenn wasn’t shy about telling everyone in the group how well he knew the city and he had dug his own grace.
“That’s just great. Now you’re gonna risk three men?” Shane scoffed.
T-Dog spoke up next, “Four.”
Daryl scoffed, “My day just gets better and better, don’t it?”
Dove rolled her eyes, “Might as well get this out of the way now and make it five.”
Dale glanced between them all and nodded his head. “That’s five.”
Shane shook his head and began to pace a little bit. “You’re putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that, Rick. C’mon. You saw that walker! It was here. It was in camp,” Shane lectured. “They come back, we need every able body we’ve got. We need em to protect camp.”
Rick nodded his head, “Sounds to me like what you need is more guns.”
Dove’s head was spinning. Sophia shuffled her feet as Dove walked over to them. She knelt in front of the girl, taking her hands in her as the others talked about the guns. “Now you listen to me, alright? I’m gonna be just fine! I promise. I always am. But I need you to promise me something too okay?”
Sophia nodded her head and listened intently. “I need you to look out for your mama until I get back, okay? Just make sure everything’s alright. Hold down the fort for me. Promise?” She released Sophia’s hands and held a pinky out to her.
Sophia locked her pinky with her aunt’s before she wrapped her arms around her neck in a hug. “Be safe.”
Dove kissed her niece on the forehead before standing up and brushing off her knees. “Be safe, Carol.” Dove hugged her sister tightly before she turned to see what was going on.
Dove lifted herself into the back of the van, her eyes were beginning to glaze over from boredom as she waited before she almost leapt out of her skin at the sound of a horn honking. From the driver’s seat, Glenn let out a startled shout as Daryl stepped on the horn again. “C’mon let’s go!”
Dove rubbed her temples and muttered to herself before placing a hand on the crowbar that she’d managed to sweet talk out of Jim. She would definitely have to make sure that she made it back now.
The young woman blew a kiss to her family as the door to the back of the van was slammed shut and they pulled away.
~
It was oddly silent on the way to the city. Dove positioned herself so she could see out the front windshield. “This is the first time I’ve left camp in the past two months.” She whispered to Glenn and Rick.
Rick turned his head, a sympathetic look on his face. “You might not want to look until we get there, then. Might be a bit of a shock. Trust me on that one.”
Dove took in the man’s words for a moment before she turned and faced the back of the van again.
Daryl finally spoke up for the first time since they started on the road. “He best be alright.”
T-Dog sighed. “The only thing that’s getting through that door is us. He’s fine.”
The van finally lurched to a stop and Glenn called back, “We walk from here.”
Dove groaned as she pulled herself to her feet and hopped out of the back of the van. “Oh shit, I’m getting old.” She mumbled to T-Dog as he hopped down next to her.
T-Dog shook his head at her. “You’re getting old? Just wait ‘til you hit 30.”
Dove laughed quietly as she took off down the train tracks after the rest of the group.
Rick paused as they stepped through a space in the gate that led from the tracks to the road. “Merle first or guns?”
Daryl snapped. “Merle! We ain’t even havin this conversation.”
Dove shook her head and motioned towards Daryl with her free hand, the other still tightly gripping the crowbar. “I’m with him on this. I mean a human life or ammo?”
Rick stared at both of them, clearly trying to keep his cool “We are having this conversation. You know the geography, it’s your call.” He turned to Glenn as the group began to walk.
“Merle’s closest. The guns would mean doubling back.” Glenn stated and Dove wasn’t sure if he was lying or not, but she was grateful for that nonetheless.
Her hazel eyes seemed to take in everything that had happened to Atlanta as they walked through the city. The city she had worked in and know so well was practically gone in a matter of weeks. It made her chest feel tight to see everything, but she knew she couldn’t stop moving.
She stepped lightly into the department store behind T-Dog and in front of Glenn as she went. She stopped, crowbar raised as a walker made it’s way through the aisles of the store. Daryl didn’t waste any time shooting the thing through the head.
Glenn moved forward and directed them to a staircase. It was a lot farther up than it looked, or maybe she was out of shape, but the steps were seeming to take their toll on her as they worked their way towards the roof.
The men reached the last landing as Dove rounded the corner just a few steps behind them. She took the last few steps slowly as she watched Daryl kick the door open after the chain was finally cut.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. She observed as she ran up the last few steps out onto the roof with the others. Merles Dixon was not a quiet man and he surely would’ve reacted to a door being kicked the fuck open.
Daryl’s screams for his brother turned into screams of panic. Dove’s heart dropped as she stepped out onto the roof behind Glenn and she saw it. A hand flew up to cover her mouth as she fought back the urge to vomit. Merle’s hand laid there on the ground next to a bloody hacksaw but Merle Dixon the man was gone.
-
@crossbowking
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon fanfiction#Daryl DIxon fic#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x oc#daryl x reader#carol peletier#The Walking Dead#twd fanfic#twd fanfiction#the walking dead fanfiction#my writing
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[20:36]
🎄 Day 7 of the Christmas project 🎄
A long sigh filled with exasperation and remorse escaped your mouth as you carelessly tossed your phone on the cushion next to you, barely noticing it bounce off the couch you were sitting on. Laying your computer on the coffee table, you take your head in your hands, not knowing what to do. You just finished a call with your mom, and you felt like you spent the last 20 minutes talking to a wall. She didn't want to hear anything, and your frustration grew as the conversation went on. Sensing that you were going to burst and go mad in a few seconds, you pretended to have a call waiting, and you hang up immediately, preventing another argument from breaking out between the two of you.
When you wanted to take your phone back to distract you from the thoughts that were invading your head, you notice that it was no longer on the sofa, but on the floor, at the right end of the carpet. You rolled your eyes and bent down to pick it up, only to find that the side of the screen was cracked.
“Great,” you grumbled, cursing yourself for being so careless about your phone. You take a closer look at the crack and let out a sigh of relief when you noticed that the shield protection had effectively softened the shock, leaving your phone screen under it intact after the drop. You grabbed the remote and turned on the television, not bearing the heavy silence that had settled in the living room. A Christmas commercial caught your attention, causing you to look at the screen, reluctantly listening to the over-playful voice of the announcer.
"Christmas, the most beautiful time of the year my ass," you grumbled and changed the channel, not bearing to see any more things related to this famous party. Picking up your abandoned computer on the small table, you open a new tab on the Internet and type in the name of an inexpensive airline. That was the reason why you were in a bad mood. Your mother might be a sweet person, but she was a bit of a pig sometimes. With Christmas approaching, you had to leave the flat you share with two wonderful roommates, Hyunjae and Changmin, to go home to the other side of the country. However, it was not so simple when the weatherman had announced a snowstorm which was about to hit the side of the country you had grown up in. Difficult to go home when Nature prevents you from doing so, uh.
"Mom, I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it home for Christmas. I just looked at the weather forecast again, and it hasn't changed. They still call for a huge snowstorm." "It's only snow, after all, you will to come back home, darling," she replied as she was slicing vegetables during your call. You were beginning to get mad as you had to repeat two to three times everything for your voice to cover the sounds of her knife chopping the food or the sizzling sound coming from the pan. "Mom, I don't control the weather! If I can't come, well I won't," you retorted, and she sighed. You felt she was starting to get irritated as you tried to resonate her, really not liking the tone you were using. So she pressed on a sensitive point. "What about your grandparents, have you thought about them since you seem not to care about your own family? They're not that young anymore. After all, this might be the last time you'll see them." What a low blow. She knew how much you loved your grandparents, but despite the little dagger that sank deeper into your heart at her words, you repeated the same speech over and over again.
"Yes Mom, I thought about it, and I care about you. But if there is a storm, the planes are going to stay on the ground. So for the umpteenth time, there is a risk that I will not be able to make it home." Your voice unintentionally grew drier, and your mother stopped cutting vegetables on the other end of the line. "Very well then, we'll see about that when you’ll have calmed down," your mother's tone instantly changed. You knew she was upset by now, but so were you. "Mom, I have to go, I have a double call to finish a project. See you later," you didn't even give her time to answer as you hung up, sending your phone flying. Seconds after your call had ended, the front door swung open and closed almost immediately, hearing someone grumble and shiver in the entrance hall.
“Hi Y/N,” Changmin's low voice echoed in the living room, and you looked up, giving him a faint smile. Your friend frowned slightly and sat down next to you, resting his feet on the coffee table. "You look very gloomy tonight," he added, and your eyes didn't leave the screen, "is something wrong?" "My mother," you replied briefly and Changmin's eyes slightly widened. "Ah. What happened this time?" his words made you whiffle, knowing very well the rocky relationship you had with your mother. You swallowed hard, understanding his silence as waiting for an explanation. “I just got off the phone with her, and she made a scene because I told her I might not be coming home for Christmas,” Changmin tilted his head slightly to the side, your words making him thoughtful. "Wait, you're not going home for Christmas? You told me you got a ticket though?" You nodded your head, approving his words. "Yes, I found some, but they predict horrible weather where I live, and there is still a probability that the planes won't land nor take off. I explained this to my mother, but she doesn't want to hear anything, and she makes me feel guilty about it," you said, and your friend nodded, then shook his head from side to side, disapproving of your mother's attitude. "Plus the only affordable tickets I found are the ones I bought for this Thursday. I don't want to spend all my savings on another ticket where I'm not even sure I will get home, you know." "Yes, yes, I understand very well," Changmin left your eyes to stare at your computer screen without much interest. He ran a hand through his hair, pensive. “Now I just have to wait and pray that I can get home,” you said, and Changmin nodded, looking elsewhere. You get up from the sofa to grab the blanket at the foot of the TV, throwing it on the couch before going to get yourself a glass of water.
"I ordered one extra pizza by mistake, it’s in the oven if you want it," you said as you left the kitchen, only to see your friend frowning at your computer. "Well, I think you can tell your mom that you won’t come," it was your turn to quirk an eyebrow as you moved closer to him to see what he was talking about, raising the computer to your eyes. On the screen, you read an email from the airline saying that they had to cancel your booking and flight for meteorological reasons. "Fantastic," you sighed in exasperation and grabbed the computer, thanking your friend in a whisper. The latter stood up and walked into the kitchen while you took a screenshot to send to your mother. "Ha. She left me on read," you laughed bitterly at your mother's reaction, expecting nothing better from her, "I think I'm going to stay here for the holidays, after all."
At your words, Changmin's head appeared in the doorway, half a slice of pizza in his hand, the other in his mouth. He raised his eyebrows and pointed his index finger in your direction, his filled cheeks making him look like a squirrel. "There's no way I'm letting you stay here on your own during the holidays," you managed to decipher, and you chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest. "And what do you want me to do? Walk or drive home, maybe?" you questioned him as he walked back to the living room to sit beside you. "That's not what I said either," he riposted, sliding two-thirds of another slice of pizza into his mouth. "So what do I do? Celebrate Christmas on Zoom when I'm on this damn app all day already?" "But let me speak!" Changmin exclaimed with a laugh, finishing his bite as he was unable to get a word in edgeways. You nodded, a sign that you were listening. "You can come home with me if you want," your roommate offered in a whisper, rushing to shove down his throat another slice. Your eyes widened at his words, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks.
"Are you serious?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" You managed to understand as his mouth dripped with pizza sauce, hurrying to wipe it off with his sleeve. "But I don't want to come and stick my nose in the Christmas party with your family, it’s kinda inappropriate…" your voice trailed, feeling embarrassment pinch your heart. "You've come home during Spring break before, it's not like you're a stranger to my fam," he retorted, and you remained silent with a sheepish smile drawn on your face, not sure what to say.
"Okay, I'm telling my mom I'm bringing someone home," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Thanks," you whispered, and he shook his head. "You don't have to. My family and Hyunjae would have killed me if they knew that I had abandoned you here over the holidays," you laughed as you imagined your other roommate give Changmin an earbashing, finding the scene particularly funny.
After a few seconds of silence, your roommate cleared his throat and locked his phone before placing it on the coffee table at your feet. "My mom agreed. Go pack your bags, we're leaving tomorrow after lunch," he announced, and your eyes widened again. "Are you skipping class tomorrow afternoon?" "Hum, yes. Why?" Changmin answered you so innocently and quickly as if it were the simplest question one ever asked him, "This class is boring to death anyway." "But do you know it's essential for the annual credits?" He shrugged and gave you an amused smirk. "Taxi Changmin doesn't wait until the end of the lecture to leave, take it or leave it." "I'm coming," you announced, going to your room to pack your suitcase, your friend smiling at your behaviour.
Changmin reached over as his phone emitted a 'ding', rushing to delete it from the notification centre after reading his mother's response.
From Mom: "I look forward to meeting the one who makes your heart throb!!"
Maybe Nature had other things planned for you...
#rosy tbz december#deobiblr#deobi#deobiwritersnet#tbz#the boyz#the boyz fics#tbz fics#tbz fanfic#tbz imagines#the boyz imagines#the boyz scenarios#tbz scenarios#the boyz changmin#tbz changmin#tbz q#the boyz q#tbz ji changmin#the boyz ji changmin#ji changmin#changmin x reader#changmin fluff#ji changmin fluff#ji changmin soft hours#the boyz christmas au#changmin au#the boyz au#the boyz x reader#tbz fluff#the boyz fluff
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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON
CHAPTER ONE: FAKING IT
SUMMARY: Lynn Moore dreads the beginning of her greatest fear: the first day of senior year. WORD COUNT: 2.3k NOTE: Get ready for typical teenager angst. Let’s all bully Lynn. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston
OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST
JUST LIKE EVERY YEAR AROUND the middle of August, my mom tells me the same advice; have a good first day. Of course, most mothers, fathers, or whoever tell their child this, but it's as pointless as a circle. Whoever has a fantastic first day of school? There are new teachers to impress, you're stuck with the same bunch of losers you sit with at lunch, and there are more jerks and morons to pick on you, despite the status quo you fall under. High school is frankly really awful all the way around and there's no way someone can deny or even try to argue that. These are the four years of utter hell and we're all dying to get out. I've stepped through those heavy doors, resembling the gates of hell, on a first day three times now. My anger and hatred have only been fueled rather than dying down. I'm sure nothing will ever change.
"Don't forget--" Mom tries to tell me from the porch in sweats and a maroon t-shirt. Her unnatural dirty blonde hair piled on the top of her head with an old red clip. There are tears welling in her eyes, seeing her only child almost grown up. I have one last year of school and mere months until I'm an adult. For me, it may pass by far too slow, but I bet it's a whole different story for her. In all honesty, it's ridiculous that the woman is so upset and not to mention annoying. I have done this routine twelve times now, for Christ sake, she should get a grip on herself by now. I don't mean to belittle my mother but one of her greatest achievements is being able to replicate every single stereotype women have, including having no control over her emotions. An outsider looking in may say I'm a bit to harsh. All I can say to that is no one has loved with her for almost eighteen years like I have.
"I got it!" I yell against the wind as it smacks my face while I walk across the grass. "Christ on a bike," I curse tossing my messy light brown hair from my field of vision.
The bus would take another five minutes to get the corner, but I'd like to not look stupid on my first day by running to catch up with the metal rectangle of devilry Peter Parker style. Well, maybe it would turn into an interesting story at the least. Spiderman is my favorite superhero of all time after all. Despite this, I only allow an angry face to part my path. It's totally fake but faking it is the only way to survive.
Down at the intersection, there are already kids waiting. I think it's safe to assume that all of the puberty-sicken teenagers are freshmen or sophomores since most junior and seniors are still asleep at this early hour, knowing the good majority are able to drive. I take a good look at all of them. The fact that they find throwing bits of gravel at squirrels or birds makes me want to go over and smack them upside the head. That thought crosses my mind a lot. The world is so full of morons; it's hard to pick out which ones are actually tolerable. They're almost as bad as kids in letterman jackets with expensive sports cars. Those fuckers are the worst. All they care about is their ego and how much money they can wave around coming right from mommy and daddy's wallet.
Take the kid in the striped shirt tucked into his hand-me-down jeans. He looks like a nice kid; after all, he's got nothing to brag about. His parents are probably office workers or maybe nothing too difficult. Nothing too important. That's all we are, right? I mean, once we're dead and gone. No one is gonna care what car you drove or what brand your plain white shirt is. People who think they're hotshots or something special are the real morons.
Besides, who thinks it's cool to spend thirty bucks on a t-shirt?
An old car passes, a teenage girl in my grade sits in the driver's seat. I sort of duck out of the way. Not James Bond-like, but I move my already shitty hair in front of my face as if it's going to help hide my identity. The chick probably didn't even see me. I watch the car drive on, kinda imagining what sort of car I would drive once I get one. I suppose I would have to learn first. I personally am not a fan of getting behind the wheel. Hell, I can't even ride a bike without falling over. I'd rather move to a large city and order cabs to get me places. They seem more convenient and, if you get in a wreck, it's not your fault and it's not your money coming out of pocket. No car equals more money. Then again, no car also is equivalent to no freedom and taxis and Uber's can get expensive. It seems like each idea is flawed these days.
Upon scanning the area again— this time ignoring the idiots— I notice only one person who seems excited out of the group. Her dark brown hair and dark skin contrast to the majority of our town, including those waiting nearby. Her curled hair bounces with each stride she takes, happier than the step prior.
Some say it's strange that the girl and I are such good friends. You don't see God and Satan going out and having coffee every weekend or anything.
"What's got you in a good mood?" I question as I readjust my dark blue shirt underneath the flannel. Flannels are my favorite personal quirk. I own at least fifty, most being cool or dark colors. I don't have an obsession; just an interest that I care way too much about. Flannels are to Lynn Moore as controversy is to famous influencers. Looking back up, my eyebrow is still raised. I'm shocked to see her here, assuming her parents would have given her a lift. After a second, it dawned on me that this, riding the bus to school, was her punishment for getting into an accident she won't take responsibility for.
Posting memes and vines references are fun and all, but doing it while going 60 down a highway isn't the smartest. Forgive me for not following the strict millennial handbook but I don't actually want to die nor do I want my friends to.
My best friend, Ellie Graves, gives a small glare. "Why does it always seem like you're on your period?" I shrug my shoulders, and played with the wire choker I always wore. As my fingers slip underneath the necklace, it is evident how to lose it has gotten since I bought it a few months ago. I make a mental note to take a quick trip to the shopping side of the internet sometime soon.
I click my tongue before answering. "Probably because I'm closer to hell than you are," I say, referring to my obvious lack of height. I'm only five feet and just barely three inches off the ground while Ellie is at least five feet and seven inches. Personally I think we would make a cute couple given our attitudes and the extremities of our heights, except for the fact that dearest Ellie is not interested in people other than men. What a party pooper. For me, anyway. "But lets do our best to not reinforce stereotypes," I say referring to her comment.
She nods her head. "Yes, mother." I snort at her sass, leaning my body weight onto my right leg. "But hey! We have one year left! That's something to be excited about, am I right?"
Yes, I would say she is right. Freshmen, sophomore, and the dragged out junior year have come and passed, full of useless information and embarrassing memories with it. It's mostly embarrassing if I have to be honest. School isn't my thing, however falling up and down the main set of stairs apparently is. Who knew?
"Yeah, I suppose so. At least we're considered adults now," I reply trying to find some positive about the situation.
Ellie begins to lightly laugh, "True. That's kinda a scary thought, though." Her body shudders, either because a breeze just blew passed or out of what she just said.
The age of freedom is so close, I can nearly touch it. Despite my longing to finally buy a lottery ticket and spray paint, the fear of adulthood gnaws at the back of my mind. With eighteen comes responsibility, something I lack to a high degree. I muse the idea of getting a degree of irresponsibility. However, I don't think such diploma could help me get into a creative writing career.
I make a thinking face and bring my shoulders to my ears preparing for an exaggerated response. "Well, you aren't wrong," I reply in a forced high pitch noise, catching the attention of the guys. Now I notice they are all matching in basketball shorts and a jacket. Men's fashion, ladies and gents. Ellie chuckles at my utter dorkiness while I continue to make some weird face I'm sure she will get a picture of sometime within the next few seconds.
It's crazy how time is able to fly. Just last week, so it seems, the outgoing, beaming chick I have as a best friend and I were in third grade, the year I moved to a new house, a different school, and a very different town. Although my eight-year-old-self hated it at the time, I'm glad I left the northern state of Maine, all the way across to the midwest. That is if you consider southern Missouri part of the midwest. If I hadn't, who would have the privilege of being my first smack in the face? Or first sleepover (with an actual girl)? Who knows, and I honestly wouldn't like to. Ellie's my best friend; I would be dead if she didn't have my back. And I'm honestly positive she would say the same about her tiny best pal.
Little time passes after the picture was indeed taken and posted on Elle's Snapchat before an ugly shade of yellowish-orange appears entering the neighborhood. Ellie is practically fidgeting, fighting the urge to run up the bus even if it is some distance away. My eyes roll trying to not say anything to kill her spirit but I do let out an accidental groan as its loud hum draws nearer. The bus came to a screeching halt and I already want to turn on my heel and head home. When I step on, I notice there is a new driver this year. After Ellie got her license and could legally drive me around, I never bothered with the bus unless I needed space or she was busy, which was hardly ever. Ellie and I mostly spend our time together with our group of friends. Despite this, I still easily took notice of a different person in the seat. Instead of a balding old man with a face like alligator skin, a woman sat in the brown leather seat and looks roughly in her forties. She, like all of us except for Ellie, looks tired but fakes a smile anyways. The same rules apply; middle school and junior high in the front and high school in the back. It seems as if sitting in the back always made you cool of some sort. Every time a kid got away with it in middle school, he or she was automatically the bad kid, the cool kid, or the king of the bus. God, how stupid is that theory? These thoughts remind me how annoying and stupid we all were at ten and eleven years old. I'm sure if I had a duplicate of myself at that age, I'd shoot either one of us to cease me from the utter pain.
Instead of going all the way to the back, I turn to sit in the seat half way down the aisle while plunging in an earbud, leaving one open to listen to Ellie. I instantly scroll through an select a playlist that mixes rock, punk, and even some emo. Given today being my last first day, I figured early morning jams would be appropriate to get me pumped up even though I tend to listen to this genre quite often as of lately. I enjoy the heavy guitar and double bass pedal and lyrics I can either relate to or wonder who hurt the singer so bad. Needless to say, I'm definitely more of a rock person however there's still a lot of other types of music on my device, including orchestra and folk or indie. I don't like to limit what I listen to; whatever makes me feel good ends up on my phone. Simple as that.
"So, Lynn," Ellie says sliding in right next to me. I look in her direction, which was to my right, waiting for her to respond. She looks at me, but nothing came out of her mouth. Slowly, I arch a brow. Still, there was nothing. "I had nothing to say, I just wanted your attention." Ellie gave a stupid grin while I glare kindly at her if there is such a thing.
My head shakes and I reach out to pat her cheek, "You, my darling, are an absolute dumbass."
I feel her grin grow against my hand since I haven't moved it yet. "Not as big as you, though." I can't argue; she has a point.
As the bus lunches forwards, I look out the window and watch the world go by. Something settles in my gut about then, the feeling both familiar and foreign. I can't tell what it is, but as I watch the clouds roll in over the sun and birds flying through the sky, I only hope my last year of high school will be memorable.
#dark!tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston x ofc#tom hiddleston fanfiction#teacher!tom hiddleston#loki#obsessive teachings#high school#stalking#obsessed love#obsessive#dark!fic
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An Unexpected Encounter
Pairing Crowley x reader
Synopsis: Reader runs into her old hunting partners, the Winchesters, after not seeing them since they found out she was with Crowley years prior. The boys get a glimpse into life with a slightly domesticated Crowley.
Word count: 1560
Warnings: Swearing probably. Mentions of Hell, hell hounds, and demons. Angry Dean.
Author’s note: It’s my first Crowley imagine so let me know how I did! And, I chose George as a filler name to make the writing process easier, feel free to change it to whatever you would like while reading.
You walk out of the quaint little diner that you frequent once a week for breakfast, the warm spring weather surrounds you like a blanket. You breathe in deeply, enjoying the faint smell of rain that lingers in the air, and the fresh scent of blooming flowers. You bask in the sun's rays while you still can.
“(Y/N) is that you?” you here a deep voice that you know all too well coming from behind you. In the reflection from the diner’s picture window you can see your old hunting partners Sam and Dean advancing towards you. Your mouth dries and you take a gulp of air before turning to face the brothers. You put on your brightest smile, pushing the memories of the last time you saw them to the back of your mind.
“Sam, Dean,” you use your practiced fake voice. The one you use with Crowley’s demons when they annoy you and get out of hand. “What brings you boys to this little town?”
“Electric storms popping up, just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a demonic omen,” Sam looks down at you, his long hair blowing lightly in the breeze. “Why are you here then?”
“Just finished breakfast,” you use your thumb to point at the diner behind you. The diner that holds your new life, the one you know Sam and Dean won’t approve of.
“So you quit hunting?” Dean raises an eyebrow at you.
“Yeah I did,” you put on a real smile, images of yours and Crowley’s life in Hell flash before your eyes. “I guess I wanted that apple pie life too.”
“Good for you (Y/N),” Sam smiles down at you. “Honestly never thought you’d be the one to give the supernatural up.” You faintly smile and give him a small nod, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Well let us know if you see anything,” Dean says in his gruff voice, the one he uses when he’s on guard. It’s been four years and he doesn’t trust you anymore, a small part of you deflates. These boys were practically your brothers, and because of one fight they no longer trust you.
“This isn’t attack of the demons,” you roll your eyes at Dean, too annoyed to care about your attitude. “Believe me, I would know.”
“You still talk to Crowley or something?” Dean’s anger flashes in his eyes. He has no right to get angry at you all over again. This fight was the whole reason you left in the first place.
“Something like that,” you move your left hand from your side into the back pocket of your jeans as naturally as you can. Wanting to hide the over the top engagement ring and matching studded wedding band.
“He’s just using you (Y/N). He doesn’t care about you he never has!” Dean roars. You take a deep breath to keep from yelling back, you can’t do this here. Not now.
Before you can open your mouth to refute his claim, the bells connected to the diner door jingle, alerting that you three or no longer alone on the street. You tightly close your eyes as you hear the tiny footsteps running up to you, no way to avoid this now.
“Mommy!” your son squeezes your legs and hides behind them when he sees that you aren’t alone.
“Hi my little prince,” you scoop him up into your arms, wanting the security of him being close to you right now. You glance behind you and see that his father did not accompany him out the door, and you let out a little sigh. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s inside paying,” he hides his face in the crook of your neck, trying to hide away from the punishment. The light scent of sulfur and crayons surrounds you now. Sam and Dean are staring at you with wide eyes, you almost forgot there were there.
“We talked about this mister-” you use your mom voice on him.
“I know,” your son leans back so he can look into your eyes, chubby arms wrapping around your neck. “But I saw you right outside the window and I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” you chuckle fondly at your little boy, who has his father's black locks. “But you need to stay with one of us at all times.”
“Or someone could hurt me,” he finishes with a ridiculously large sigh coming from his tiny body. He definitely got his dramatic touch from his father. Sam clears his throat, reminding you that he and Dean are still there.
“Oh right! Sam, Dean this is my son, George,” you smile at the brothers. “George can you say hi?” He hides his face in your neck again in protest, you let out a little giggle. “Sorry about that, he can be a little shy when it comes to new people.”
“That’s okay George,” Sam smiles and lightly pinches George’s exposed cheek.
“Sam used to be shy too,” Dean adds, his eyes locked on your hand that's now rubbing soothing circles onto your son’s back. The sunlight bouncing off the many diamonds adorning your finger.
“George is pretty big,” Sam comments, noticing his brothers curious gaze.
“Yeah, he’s two and a half,” you grin down at the black mop of hair that’s in your eyesight. “I got engaged pretty quickly after I left, and married soon after. The pregnancy was a shock, we planned on waiting a little longer. But I wouldn’t change any of it.”
“So you moved on from that demon pretty quickly,” Dean gives you a triumphant smirk, he always hated your infatuation with Crowley.
“They do still talk,” Sam looks down at his brother. “So don’t get too cocky.”
The bells behind you jingle once again, your grip on George tightens a bit, hoping that Dean won’t start yelling when he sees Crowley. Crowley walks up to you, slinking his left arm around your waist, giving George a kiss on the head, before pecking your cheek. You look to the right and grin at your husband, your king.
“Moose, squirrel, always a pleasure to see you,” Crowley’s English accent drips with sarcasm.
“Those are people daddy,” George’s giggles are slightly muffled by your neck. “Not animals.”
“I know that my prince,” Crowley gives your son a genuine smile, sun glinting off his forehead ironically giving him the look of a halo. The king of Hell was quite the softy when it came to your little family. “Those were their nicknames when I worked with them years ago.”
George’s head flies out of the crook of your neck to whip around and face the brothers. “You knew my mommy and my daddy?” George asks, his little jaw dropping. “That’s crazy.”
“Yeah we did,” Sam gives him a soft smile while Dean’s anger seems to grow.
“The three of us worked together for years,” you gave George a small squeeze, Crowley’s arm tightens around your waist. “Your dad would help us occasionally. But after your father and I got together we realized that we wanted a family and we left. I actually haven’t seen Sam and Dean since then.”
“You’re still with him?” Dean asks, eyes shrinking into slits.
“Of course I am,” you scoff. “Hell, Sammy figured it out before Crowley ever walked out. I’m sure he knew as soon as I called George my prince.”
“You left us (Y/N)!” Dean seethes. “For that- that-”
“I was in love Dean! I still am,” you stare him down, jaw clenched tight. “And I would rather you not make a scene in front of my son.”
“No wonder you don’t want him away from either of you! He’s not-” Dean’s words are cut off when Crowley snaps. While no words come out, you can clearly make out the fact that he’s calling George not human and a monster.
You breathe in a sharp breath, fighting to hold back the tears that are rapidly rising. Dean was your best friend back in the day, the two of you were joined at the hip. But now he’s standing right in front of you insulting your son, your husband, your family.
“No one talks about my son like that!” Crowley’s voice rumbles, eyes briefly turning a bright red. “And no one raises their voice at my wife, she is my queen and you puny little humans will treat her as such!”
“Bye boys,” you smirk at them before Crowley snaps your family back to Hell. It may be dark and full of Demons, but it’s home.
“My love-” Crowley gently pulls George from your arms and sets him on the ground. As soon as his little feet hit the ground he’s running to his room to find Juliet, the gigantic deadly hell hound and your sweet little son, the strangest best friends.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you gently caress his cheek, leaning in to give him a passionate kiss. When you pull back to catch your breath, Crowley snaps the two of you to your room.
“How about we make another little one, my Queen?” there’s a familiar glint to his eyes, and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip.
“I think that can be arranged my king,” your hands grasp the lapels of his suit coat, and pull him into a deep sensual kiss.
Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny
#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#Supernatural fanfic#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader#crowley#spn crowley x reader#supernatural crowley#supernatural crowley x reader#crowley x reader#crowley imagine#crowley fanfiction
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Night In
Summery- Bucky and reader just having a night in. Prank get gets played. Bucky does have the nicest hair after all. Fluffy. No warnings.
word count: 1372.
You were lounging on the couch, your hand flipping through the expanse of channels Tony paid to have while dipping your hand into a half gone bag of cheetos. Popping one in your mouth and chewing the obnoxious orange crunch of deliciousness that you would admit to consuming more then enough for the team. Oh well, everyone has there vices.
Flopping the remote down with a sigh, tv just wasn't doing it for you. You had finished your training, for the most part, done a job well done on your first out in the field mission, sure you had a few bruised tender ribs. Nothing serious, but Captain decided to go all authoritative and state since it was your first mission, take the win and heal up before going back out. Easier said then done, the first few days although sore, you were ready for some action. Natasha and Bucky took some pity on you, Natasha did some easy hand to hand with you, some stealth work. Bucky had you working on sniper skills. Both extremely skilled in there crafts, and you soaked it all in, gaining an easy friendship with the members of the team.
Tipping your head to the back of the couch, you catch sight of Bucky placing his cleaning kit on the table in the main dining area, and settle in to start dismantling his Sig-Saurer Pistol. Meticulous, each piece being set in a specific order on the table. This was something you know hes done more times then any of you could count at this period. Shifting on the couch so you were kneeling facing him, bracing your chest against the back of the couch, your arms criss crossed to brace against the back. You watch him silently for just a moment before you start in.
"Bucky"
"No"
"Buuuuucky"
Doesnt even pause as he cleans out the barrel. "Nope"
"You don't even know what I'm gonna ask"
"Still no y/n"
“Come on.... How about a movie? I hate watching movies alone.”
A sideways glance he finally gives you, as he sets down the current piece he was cleaning, and moving onto the next. By the way he would act, your an annoyance, pesky and irritating him. Flashing him a hopeful smile, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Go pick out something, and when I finish I will watch it with you.” A whoop of success escapes you as you scramble to pick out something, when your out of sight he gives an affectionate grin and shake of his head, you’ve managed to get to him over the week, growing to actually like you.
Going up to the wall, of course it had EVERYTHING imaginable. Like Tony thought you all really had alot of down time. Your eyes scanned over the titles, you didnt want anything to serious, and yet you weren't sure Bucky would really enjoy the comedies of your time. Your fingers slip over cases, pulling one out and assessing the back blurb of the story. Finally you decide on The Fellowship of the Ring, a personal favorite of yours. Just as you mess around with the television system, Bucky returned from taking care of his gear, choosing an end corner of the couch for himself. “So what did you pick for us?”
You flopped down next to him, folding up your legs in a criss cross while messing with the remote, till the screen started playing. “Personal favorite, The Fellowship of the Ring, like the Avengers in a fantasy land. Kicking ass and taking names!” You grinned as you reached into the front of the hoodie you were wearings and dug out a giant bag of peanut butter m&ms. Were you a damn squirrel hoarding snacks everywhere? Maybe. Immediately his hand reached out for a handful, which you promptly poured into his cupped palm. Wedging the bag between the two of you to share, the next few hours were filled with dramatic scenes of escape from the black riders, both of you had feet outstretched onto the coffee table. Ohs and Ahs at the right spots, once in a while shooting a candy at the other, trying to aim into the mouth.
Afterwards when the credits started rolling, and you were stretching out dormant muscles, Bucky threw up his hands in a what gesture. “That’s it?! Do they ever get the ring to Mordor? What happened with the Ranger, Elf and Dwarf? what about Merry and Pippin? That cant be it.”
You start laughing as you fold the remainder of the bag closed, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Dude, theres 2 more just as long, and a whole prequel we can watch afterwards. Answers all those questions and then some. Dragons buddy, dragons. Get ready.” It was great seeing Bucky just have fun with something, typically he was so quiet and serious, that this was a side you hadn't seen from him before. “Actually, you know what. You look like Aragorn a bit, with this long hair of yours.” Reaching over you gave a gentle tug on it, his hand coming up to brush it back out of habit, leaving it tousled and falling back into its usual place. “But give me half hour with it, and I can braid it up all nice.” Bucky scowled a bit at your teasing. “Hell no you are not braiding it, in fact get that idea right out of your head right now.” Warning you off, oh damn, GAME ON. You clasp your hands together now in a begging manner.
“Please please please Buck?! No one has to know. Steve and Natasha wouldn't ever see it, and I bet you would ROCK some braids”
That was it, evening over. He dropped his feet to the floor and moved to a stand. “You come at me, i’m cutting you.” He threatened, but that just made you grin more. “Its after midnight, I’m going to bed, and you should to. We have target practice in the morning, and I don’t want you going cross-eyed on me aiming.”
You waved a hand at him and a roll of the eyes, this was nothing you weren't used to. Watching his retreating back, you figured it was time to see how well Natasha taught you those super stealth skills. Turning off the television, and shutting off lights, you went off to your bedroom, knowing it would be a couple hours till you could try.
It was hours later, and barefooted you tip toed into Buckys room, watching him carefully to make sure he was in a deep sleep. This would be an excellent test of your skills. It wasn't easy to sneak up on Bucky, and to actually manage to braid his hair, well the idea made you bite back a giggle welling in your chest, covering your mouth to keep it from slipping out. Finally under control, you make your way to the side of the bed, carefully sliding your fingers through his hair to branch into three sections, as much as possible. Digging for a band in your pocket, you quickly tied it off, and when he rolled, you dropped to the floor, baited breath, but a soft snore snagged from above you. Might as well quit while your ahead and you retreat back out to the hallway. Once the door closes, you let out a whoosh of air, shocked you had apparently gotten away with it.
Morning came, and you were passed out in your bed, head buried under pillows and burrito style in your blankets. Probably should have been up a while ago, but your wake up was coming, You should have suspected this, but it came as a total shock when all of the sudden you were rolling out of the fold of your blankets, and blinking up at Bucky standing over your bed, pointing to one side of his head “Y/N, what the hell?! God damn it, in my sleep?!” You blink up at him momentarily, then bust out laughing, rolling around your bed in a fit.
He grumbled at you while you were still howling with laughter “Hurry up, we got drills to do, and there better not be any pictures of this”
Mission accomplished.
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Book 1: Chapter 10
When Ari wakes up, the very first thing he sees is his bedroom ceiling, and for just the briefest moment, he’s tempted to believe again that the whole thing - the Pig Latin curse, the strange bottle, weird butler, Evil King Stan, fighting a ghost in the Church basement - was just a dream. But then the redundancy of it hits him and he pushes away the temptation.
“About time you woke up, slave.”
Ari hears the crabby grumblings as he slips out of bed. As Stan pops out from under his feet, he notices that he’s been changed into pajamas.
“What happened?” he asks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes.
“In shock of my fury and rage, you promptly passed out. I disappear when you fall unconscious - which is a surprisingly frequent event it seems - but I saw idiots from the village come down a couple hours later to find you pathetically curled up on the basement floor. They noticed the low level ghost had been vanquished, praised my name, and quickly whisked you home to your family. You’ve been asleep for two days.”
“Two days?!”
“Pathetic, isn’t it? But then, I suppose my powers are considerably overwhelming. So, don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Ari sits down on the bed, memories of a burning white glow and the phrase ‘overdrive’ drifting through his mind. He pulls up the pant leg of his pajamas and finds a neat bandage hiding away the teeth marks. A twinge of tenderness aches his skin when he gently pokes it.
“I guess it was all the fighting. I-I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Speaking of, slave,” Stan starts in an offended huff, “what was all that? I wasn’t aware you had any sort of actual ability.”
“Neither was I,” Ari admits, “there was a moment in the middle of it, where everything sort of froze, and … there was this gear …”
“A gear?”
“Yeah, it was just floating in front of me. D-Does that mean you didn’t see it?”
King Stan places a thoughtful claw to his bright yellow mouth.
“Maybe you’ve been blessed with power simply due to your proximity to me. Leech-like you utilize the great amounts of power, boiling over from my being.”
Ari takes this as a ‘no,’ and sighs in resignation that he won’t find answers here.
“Technically, you’re the leech here,” he says, but then suddenly notices the glass tube sitting on his desk. “The village treasure?”
“Treasure?! Pah! Never mind that garbage! I’ve been stuck in this room for two days. Get dressed and make yourself useful!”
Before Ari can respond or even comply, there’s a soft knock at the door and his mother’s voice.
“Ari? Are you awake?”
He can hear an eagerness mixed with relief in his mother’s tone. “Y-yeah, I just woke up.”
“Oh, Ari! You must come see! Get dressed! Everyone is out front, waiting for you!”
“Everyone?”
Ari listens to his mother’s footsteps disappear down the hall.
“Well, don’t sit there like a slug! Get going!”
Stan sinks back down into the floorboards. Ari is grateful for a multitude of reasons, but the silence to be able to think stands at a solid number 2 on that list. As he dresses, the strange, floating gear still ticks away in his thoughts, and the word ‘overdrive’ echoes back.
Why ‘overdrive’ anyway? Did I make it up? I mean, if I did, it’s not a very cool name for an attack. I mean, even Stan had ‘Burning Devil.’ Even for him, that’s sort of cool. And how did I even get an attack? It couldn’t have been the weapon … unless that was a magic stick. Dammit! The one cool, magic item to fall into my hands and it’s a stick!
Ari doesn’t actually believe it was a magic stick.
Once dressed, Ari grabs the glass tube and turns it over in his hands. He’s not sure if the village meant for him to take it or if they didn’t recognize it as Tenel’s most prized possession and thought it was just some trash. Either way, he sticks it in his pocket and plans on asking the Village Office or the Village Elder or someone what he’s supposed to do with it.
Leaving his room, Ari makes his way down the hall and down the grand staircase that leads to the front door. Despite living with five other people - six if he includes the evil butler - the house is surprisingly quiet and empty feeling. He imagines that everyone is already getting on with their daily business. When he steps out the front door and into the sunlight, he is immediately deafened by waves of cheering.
The entire town of Tenel seems to be standing in his family’s courtyard. Some of Ari’s friends balance on the wall of the water fountain, waving at him. A few late villagers stand in the back of the crowd, carefully shifting away from the ancient graves so as not to step on the haunted ground. But in the front are a cornucopia of familiar faces, all pressing closer to give their enthusiastic support and ask their burning questions. He even sees Julia there, looking up at him with a uniquely feminine look of worry and concern.
“Hey! Hey, Ari!”
“Good work, Ari! Way to go!”
“Thanks! That was great!”
“How did you get rid of the ghosts? Let’s hear it, Ari!”
“Yeah! Tell us, Ari!”
Ari stands there speechless. He’s never been so noticed by so many people all at once. An embarrassing blush rushes to his cheeks.
“Grrr, they’ve got it all wrong,” Stan growls from somewhere, “It was all my doing! Evil King Stan is the proper target of your affection! Oh well, this is good timing. They are all assembled to receive the wisdom I shall bestow upon them!”
Before Ari can react, he hears the familiar whistle and feels Evil King Stan loom up behind him. He looks over his shoulder to find the shadow towering over him, quaking with an evil laugh as he looks out over the villagers. Ari tries to read the faces of the crowd. They look surprised to say the least.
“Listen here, villagers! I am the reincarnation of the Evil King Gohma, the Evil King of Darkness! I am Stan!”
“Wh-what’s going on?”
“Say, isn’t that …”
Ari hears the confused whispers and murmurs bubbling up from the crowd.
“Now that I’ve returned to this world, all that walks, flies, or crawls shall be my subjects! As a reward for your willing subjugation, I shall grant you insects a long, delightful purgatory!” Stan punctuates with a hearty laugh and then adds, “hear this! My official declaration! I will saturate this land with a black cloud of astounding malevolence!”
Ari feels a breeze hit the back of his neck as Stan whips about in his fervor.
“My plague of evil will infect every corner of this world! Bow before your lord and master, Evil King Stan!!!”
The ominous echo of ‘Stan’ bounces about the courtyard, over the heads of the bewildered audience. It seems like even the birds and squirrels in the trees have stopped twittering and chirping. Ari swallows nervously, his throat suddenly feeling dry.
“Aha! They’re speechless!” King Stan hisses in delight.
The quiet is heavily unnerving.
Ari waits.
And then, waits a moment more.
Another moment.
“… Ha ha …”
“… Pffft, ha ha ha ha ha!!!”
“Ha ha ha ha! This is too much!”
One laugh unleashes another and then another in a chain reaction of hilarity.
“Ari! I didn’t know you were such a riot!”
“Oh wow, this is good! I’m gonna die laughing!”
“That shadow trick of yours is pretty slick!”
“What?!”
“Hey! You should perform at the next Tenel Festival!”
“Evil King Stan, did you say? That’s priceless! Ha ha ha!”
“YOU PEASANTS! What are you laughing at?! My great decree is to be taken seriously! You! That one there! Stop laughing!”
“He just keeps going! Ha ha!”
All of a sudden, Ari feels a strange heat radiating off of the clearly angered shadow and it occurs to him that it’s been quite a while since he last used that ‘burning devil’ trick.
“Ah-um, OK, everyone,” Ari calls out, waving his arms to get their attention, “thanks for stopping by! Um, n-no trouble at all about the … the whole ghost thing … I gotta get back to studying. I-I’ll see you around town!”
Ari whips around and darts back inside the house before Stan can incinerate the entire town with black fire. He sighs as he leans against the front door.
“Why? Aghh! I don’t understand! Why?!” King Stan laments, shaking with rage. “I am the Evil King! A harbinger of impending doom! Yet the humans mock me … They even laugh at me! I’m so humiliated!”
Awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, Ari wracks his brain for something to say in response to King Stan’s tantrum of self-doubt.
“Well, I-”
“What am I … What am I supposed to do?! Am I a failure as Evil King? Am I a hopeless Evil King?”
“Uhhh …”
“So, it’s true?!”
“Wait, I didn’t-”
“Do I have to hear from this lousy slave that I am a lousy hopeless Evil King? I can’t take this anymore! I’m tired. I must rest for a while.”
And like a 2-dimensional teenager, Stan disappears to sulk in private. Ari waits a moment, frozen temporarily by the emotional whiplash. He’s not even sure how that conversation even happened.
“St-Stan?” he calls meekly.
Nothing happens.
“King Stan?”
“Silence! Don’t talk to me now! Curses!”
Ari supposes the shadow is well and truly upset.
“Oh, Ari!”
He looks up and finds his mother emerging from the kitchen, a huge sweet smile plastered across her face. She rushes up to him and catches him in a hug, squeezing him too tightly.
“Did you see them, Ari? The entire village came to see you! Oh, I’m so proud of you! My popular little man!”
“Mom,” he whines in a teenagerly way.
“You should go out into town,” she says excitedly as she finally pulls away, “I’m sure everyone wants to talk to you. Oh! And Stan too!”
A low growl rumbles up from the floor.
“Stan isn’t feeling too talkative right now.”
“Well, anyway, I heard even the village elder wants to speak with you! Apparently, there’s some rumor going around town.”
“What kind of rumor?” Ari asks, knowing full well that a rumor in Tenel is nothing new and usually nothing much to be excited about.
“I don’t know too much about it myself. Some kind of trouble happening in other towns. Go ask your father about it while your out. Go on!”
His mother practically pushes Ari out of the house. Once clear of the entryway, the front door slams shut behind him.
“Love you!” comes his mother’s muffled voice.
The courtyard now sits empty, its crowd of visitors having dissipated to carry on with normal, everyday Tenel business.
“I guess I’ll see what the elder wants,” Ari mumbles to himself … or to Stan, in case the shadow was still listening.
Before Ari sets off towards the gate, a strange noise pricks at his ears. It’s not the usual noises of nature - not chirping or twittering or snapping twigs - but it’s a sharp, mechanical clicking. It’s rhythmic and consistent. Instead of carrying on down the stone steps, he follows the noise along a small dirt path connecting the front to the back. Two balconies look down at him from the side of the house. Briefly, Ari wonders if the noise is leaking from one of those rooms. But no, it sounds much too close. Carrying on, he passes by a pile of firewood and a stump bearing the ax that made it. No, not from there.
Finally, Ari finds himself at the base of a tall, spindly steel tower. It’s an awkward marker for where the family property ends and the land suddenly drops off in a fair cliff, overlooking miles and miles of untamed, monster ridden wilderness. The tower is made up of lattice girders, spaced out at the base and joining together as the reach the top. The whole thing seems oddly squashed - as if a giant had grabbed it and squeezed - and it leans in a way that doesn’t seem safe.
“I found the source of the ticking,” he says to no one in particular, for no particular reason.
With an eye on the tower should it decide this is the opportune moment to finally keel over, Ari pokes around the tall grasses and tangled wild flowers. He swears the ticking is buried here at the tower’s feet. Finally, as he pulls aside a clump of weeds, a tiny gear comes into view. Nestled among the plant stalks, it fidgets in place, emitting that steady tick.
“Stan?” Ari excitedly whispers - though a beat later, he’s not sure why he felt the need to whisper since no one is around.
There is no response from the evil king. Feeling as if it might stop or disappear in a blink, Ari reaches out and gently plucks up the gear from its weedy nest. He lays it out in the palm of his hand. Overall, it seems completely ordinary. It fits neatly in his hand. It’s a dark, well-worn iron and has bits of dirt stuck in its crevices. If it wasn’t clicking on its own, Ari would have assumed it just fell off the tower. Naturally, he wonders if this gear bears any relation to that which he found (and broke) in the church basement.
Before he can think about it for too long, the ticking suddenly stops and the gear sits still.
I broke another one?
Ari wiggles hand in hopes of jiggling the gear back to ticking, clicking life, but the thing sits motionless, tickless, clickless.
I broke another one.
And of course, Ari’s now not sure if there was ever any noise at all. Perhaps it was all in his head. He wonders if hallucinations and mental breakdowns are typical symptoms of having one’s shadow possessed by a reincarnated evil king.
Anyway, Ari decides to pocket the little gear for now, just in case it start up again. If Stan will ever decide to talk to him again, maybe he can ask about it. But helpful answers don’t seem to be the evil king’s forte.
Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale
NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.
#okage shadow king#osk#boku to maō#zener works#sony#sony entertainment#playstation 2#playstation 4#video games#jrpg#rpg#writing#fanfiction#fannovel#fanwork#fanart#novelization
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Blind Journey
(A Never Again missing scene. AU / Episode dialogue taken from the closed captioning on my disc.) Rating: Adult
Mulder stops to fill up the gas tank, grabbing a few bottles of water some sunflower seeds and a ham and cheese deli sandwich. All this is loaded into the car, before he uses the restroom. He hesitates to wash his hands - is he imagining that her scent still lingers on the fingers of his right hand? He can almost hear Scully asking him if he knew how many different germs are left on public surfaces.
Fuck it, he's not ready to lose that connection just yet.
Back on the road, driving south Mulder replays their heated conversation over in his head. He knows he blundered, his sarcasm in full force, he can’t really pinpoint a specific reason. Frustrated at the forced vacation? Shocked when Scully wandered away during his questioning of the informant at the Vietnam Memorial? Scully’s attention to detail is so much a staple of her work ethic - it was actually quite vexing to him. Sexual frustration? Still -
“That’s your assignment while I’m gone. I want you to run an INS check and a Bureau NCIC check on these individuals. All of whom now reside in the “Little Russia” section of Philadelphia. I’ve also made arrangements for travel so you can administer eye-to-eye surveillance on their activities.”
“I’m not going.”
“What do you mean?”
He’d sat across from her as she relayed her ‘Rocky and Bullwinkle’ summary. He’d watched her lips and was instantly aroused.
“So you’re refusing an assignment based of the adventures of Moose and Squirrel?
“Refusing an assignment? It makes it sound like your my superior.”
Jesus, Scully! He’d stood anger taking hold as he stomped to the file cabinet. Yes, they are partners, but the fact is he’s the senior agent of the department. He can delegate tasks to those agents assigned to him. Where is this coming from? He trusts her, completely.
“Do what you want. Don’t go to Philadelphia. But let me remind you that I worked my ass off to get the files reopened. You were just assigned. This work is my life.”
“And it’s become mine.”
Devastation rippled through him so quickly. What’s she saying? Scully what are you saying?
“You don’t want it to be?”
Please don’t say it. Please don’t leave.
“This isn’t about you. Or maybe it is, indirectly. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lost sight of myself, Mulder. It’s hard to see, let alone find in the darkness of covert locations. I mean, I wish I could say that we were going in circles, but we’re not. We’re going in an endless line - two steps forwards and three steps back. While my own life is ... standing still.”
He didn’t want to say it, but the words crept past his lips unhindered.
“Well, maybe it’s good that we get away from each other for a while.”
No dammit, no! It’s not good. He has a horrible feeling everything will change.
“Where will you be?”
“Ironically enough, it’s personal. It’s a … place I always wanted to go. What I anticipate to be a spiritual journey. I hope to … discover something about myself. Maybe you should do the same.”
He’d left the room and immediately wanted to turn around and go back in, but he didn’t. Instinctively he’d sought the darkness and waited for her. He didn’t have a plan, but when she’d fallen into his arms … nature, instinct took over.
The memory was powerful, his erection instantaneous, he pulled over to the side on the mountain road he was travelling on. He hadn’t seen any cars in the last 10 minutes and he hoped it continued.
Mulder flung his jacket over his lap and grabbed a handful of napkins. Unsnap, unzip - his erection in his right hand, hard so hard. The hand that had delved under her skirt, into her panties - fingers gliding and circling along her clit. His longest finger burrowing into that tight hot channel...Scully. Oh God! Scully! Stroking twice, no three times almost there.
She’d been so wet and hot. Scully! She’d come apart in his arms and screamed his name into the hand muffling her mouth. Mulder! Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding as on the fourth upward stroke it happened the orgasm hits him.
His orgasm is powerful, exhilarating - yet draining, he feels weak. He throws the napkins with drying dead sperm soaking them away and tucks his spent penis back inside the fly of his jeans - carefully zipping and snapping.
Reaching into his jacket pocket he finds the little bottle of hand sanitizer Scully slipped in there one day. She’d joked that with his penchant for sticking his fingers in ‘evidence’ it’d be a good idea to have a bottle when water and soap weren’t available. He opened the cap the strong antiseptic smell makes his nose twitch, squirting a little into his hand he rubs away Scully’s DNA and his own.
He get out of the car with his phone in hand and started dialing.
“Oh, hey… Scully, it’s me… I-I’m just calling to see how you’re doing, and uh… Give me a call on my cell when you get a chance… Just let me know where you’re at…”
The call drops, the signal gone. What more could he say...
He questions his actions and her reactions. Why did he do it? Why now? He knows she climaxed in his arms, but how much of that was a natural physical response vs. a direct response to it being him? She could have pulled away, said no - he’s never forced a woman in his life. Is that what he did?
Getting back in the car he realizes he feels adrift in more ways than one their seeming unspoken communication when questioning a suspect, when working a case is broken. Their verbal communication is even worse…
Why didn’t she say no or stop?
He sighs before pulling back out on the road. Maybe he should get used to it again… being alone. It’s the vision he always had of the future, finally finding his sister, looking for proof of the unknown yet trying to bring justice to as many victims as possible, until he was finally fired for good or possibly dead.
Until Scully strolled into the basement office - he didn’t think it could be any other way… He wants to be wrong about that old vision. Please be wrong.
Thanks to @cultureisdarkbeer for the beta
Thank you to everyone who liked or re-blogged my fic BlindSpot - I don’t have everyone here, just a small portion. Everyone inspired me to write a 2nd NA fic. I hope someone out there enjoys it!
@today-in-fic, @itotallygazeatscully, @baronessblixen, @piper-scully, @monikafilefan, @skullsmuldon, @patienceaintmystrongsuit @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor
#msr fanfic#msr smut#xfiles#the xfiles#never again#Fox Mulder#Dana Scully#mulderbation#xfiles season 4
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⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ Chapter II
gang!au, gang member!han jisung, florist!reader
chapters: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X
a/n: this was,,, uh very difficult to write;; see notes at the end for the meanings of the flowers. please beware because this is a fairly heavy chapter!! ʕ ´•̥̥̥ ᴥ•̥̥̥`ʔ
masterlist
warnings: angst ohmygosh so much angst, blood/bruise mention, allusion to abuse, gun mention
Jisung was a mess when the both of you arrived at his Grandmother’s house. You knew that he was trying his best to compose himself, but you had never seen Jisung this way. He was trembling with anger, speaking quickly as he tried to explain the situation to his grandmother. His hands were in fists, about to turn white when you took them into your own and massaged them open. His grandmother was understanding, leading the both of you into a spare bedroom without saying more than a few words. Jisung held you until you pretended to fall asleep, the hum of his heartbeat comforting you. And when he thought you fell asleep, he laid you down gently and pulled out his phone. You felt hazy and dizzy, the crying had exhausted you, so you could only make out a few words from the angry conversation he was having on the phone.
“Do you think..” he said angrily in a hush tone, “There’s gotta be something we could do...What do you mean? They’ve crossed a fucking line now!”
You stared at the monkshood that you kept under your pillow, it was beginning to wilt and die- but the message it conveyed did not. It had been a week since the incident, and it had also been a week since you’ve last seen Jisung. You had called and texted, but he nearly never answered. And when he did, he was vague and curt, assuring you everything was fine. You told him you wanted to call the police, and Jisung had immediately called- pleading you not to, and to wait for him to sort some things out. You were confused, and hesitated to agree, but if there was one person you trusted, it was Jisung. You shoved the monkshood back under the pillow and rubbed the tears welling up in your eyes. In the meantime, you learned that Jisung’s grandmother had a bakery only a few blocks from your now ruined flower shop. As you stepped into the kitchen, she motioned you over to sit and have some tea.
“He’s a good boy,” Mrs. Han said suddenly, “But he can get into trouble.”
You swirled your tea, unsure of what she had meant. “I owe Jisung a lot,” you said quietly, “He’s the first friend I’ve made since I moved her.” Mrs. Han looked at you sadly, taking a long, slow sip of her tea as she played with the petals of the arrangement you had recently made for her. “You’re nice,” she said, “I just wanted to warn you.” She sighed, getting up as she finished the rest of her tea and smoothed out her apron. “Do you want to help me make some bread?” she asked, smiling softly, “It might get your mind off of things for just a bit.”
You kneaded some bread alongside Mrs. Han as she retold you some of her stories with a little Jisung. “So you could imagine our horror when we found the videos he posted online,” she laughed, “He was grounded for the longest time. I still haven’t seen Jisung as embarrassed as he was that day.” You smiled, trying to imagine a pre-teen Jisung cursing at a camera, trying to be all intimidating when he looked like a baby squirrel. Finally, she put the bread in the oven. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think you should go for a walk,” she suggested, “I love your company, but you haven’t been outside all week.”
And so you did. The problem is, you had nowhere to go. No one to see. You had moved here alone, with no contacts. And when you arrived, all you worked on was your shop and your flowers. So that’s where you went, telling yourself you just wanted to see how far along fixing the shop the contractors where. As you approached the familiar streets, the apartments and the stores that filled them, you didn’t expect to see Minho inside your shop. When he noticed you entering the shop, the wind chimes you set on the doors swaying and making noise, he looked more than surprised.
“Uhh,” he paused, “What are you doing here?” You closed the door gently, afraid the cardboard would fall out of place. “This is my shop,” you continued, “What are you doing in here?” He paused, leaning on the counter that still had a mess of glass and flowers on it. “Jisung gave me the keys you gave him,” he explained and paused to then quickly add, “I’m here...investigating.” You began picking the flower stems off the flower, careful so your hand would avoid the broken stand’s sharp edge. “Investigating..,” you bit your lip, “Investigating what exactly?” You looked up, making uncomfortable eye contact with Minho as he frowned. He tapped his fingers as he tired to give you a formulated response. “I can’t really tell you,” he finally said, “It’s not something you need to know.” You clutched a white chrysanthemum in your fist, tears threatening to fall out of your eyes. It was getting hard to breathe again, your chest tightening. You didn’t want to confront Minho, you didn’t want to fight him, and even as your vision got blurry- but that’s exactly you did do. You wanted to trust Jisung, you did, but it was getting harder and harder. You stood there, tears streaming out of your eyes faster than you could manage to wipe them off with your sleeve. “It’s my store,” you said between breaks, “I should know! I- I deserve to know! It’s not fair!” You felt like a child throwing a tantrum. It’s not fair. The phrase echoed in your head as Minho shook his head, sadly. His gestures and voice softened as he told you he’d wait until you had gotten some of your things to leave.
You walked past a pile of trashed anemones as you made your way up the stairs, discovering a mess even worse than a week ago. You held your breath, trying to control your breathing, making an attempt to appear strong and sure of yourself. But you weren’t. You felt as though you had lost everything and anything that could’ve possibly mattered to you. Last week, your room had been a mess, yes but the furniture wasn’t tossed around. Your clothes weren’t all over the floor- your journals, your books, the pages littering the bedroom floor. But most of all, a bundle of fresh marigolds sat in a pretty vase upon the only upright furniture in your room- the vanity. You sat in the seat, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were puffy and swollen, lips still trembling and upturned eyebrows digging concern and sorrow into your forehead. You rubbed the petals, watching it fall on top of the vanity slowly.
You did your to take only what you need back to Ms. Han’s place, but only because Minho insisted that you couldn’t stay there. Minho didn’t want to let you fix the furniture, claiming that there was a need to preserve the crime scene. Because that’s what it was, a crime. Someone had broken into your home and your shop, trashed it, and stole all your money. But you did anyway, not out of rebellion, but because you wanted to pretend it was all okay. That everything was normal, it felt like if you acknowledged that everything was going downhill, and very very fast at that- that you would truly come undone. You’d lose everything you had fought for, betraying the very reason you had moved in the first place.
“Do you know anyone that might do this?” Minho suddenly asked from behind you, “Like anyone, anyone at all?”
You looked at him in fear through the mirror, shock sending fear up your body and making the hair on the back of your neck rise. It brought back a flood of memories, and you were angry at yourself for not thinking of it before. The thing was, you had tried to forget about it. You had done everything, your best to repress and reject the most horrific two years of your life.
“Yes,” you said with a shaky breath, “I do.”
It made your stomach drop to have to go back to that time in your life, it made you tremble with fear. You didn’t want to think about how he could have found you, how he could know where you were right now and what you were doing. If he was watching you as you thought about him. The truth was, you had gotten into a big mess two years prior, and were still paying the price for it. You didn’t know at the time that he imported and exported drugs, and you especially didn’t know how violent and obsessive he could get.
“We’d only gone on a few dates,” you explained quietly, “A few texts, that’s all. But once I found out that he messed with drugs ‘n shit I tried to turn him down as nicely as I could. But he was angry-”
“Was he in a gang?” Minho cut worriedly, “___, was he in a gang?”
You turned to face a fidgeting Minho. “I think so,” you sniffed, “I think it was called N/S?” Minho just short of jumped off the bed, and grabbed you by the wrist. “We have to go,” he said quickly, “If I had known that it was this serious, I wouldn’t have even…” Before you left, you shoved a bunch of the love letters in your jacket pocket and before you could finish stuffing them in, you and Minho were running down the stairs and into the streets.
That’s when it started. The gunshots. They echoed and ringed in your ear. You had been in this situation before, running in vain from something you couldn’t escape. Minho pushed you behind a corner as he pulled a hidden gun from the inside of the waistband of his pants. He shot up into the sky a few times before pulling you and running. The ride on Minho’s motorcycle was more than dangerous, it was life-threatening. He was speeding, not even bothering to put on a helmet- he was making sharp turns and running every light he could.
“I’m gonna kill Jisung,” he said under his breath, “I’m gonna kill him dead.”
It was a few minutes until you had reached Ms. Han’s house, and Minho instructed you not to leave until you had gotten the okay from Jisung. You stumbled into Mrs. Han’s house as she took your shaking body into her arms.
“I told you that boy was trouble.”
You replayed the scene in your head multiple times, and it got scarier every time. But you had stopped crying, instead you stared at the love letters in your lap trying to deduce if they were malicious or not. You didn’t think he’d be able to find you here, in an isolated town, far from the capital, halfway across the world. But he did, you don’t know how, but he found you. You felt trapped, suffocated. You almost died by his hand once, and this time, you weren’t so sure you’d be able to escape again. As you shoved the letters into the nightstand, before you could slam the drawer shut, you heard a thump on the floor.
It was Jisung.
A bleeding, bruised Jisung.
You scrambled to the floor, picking him up. “Please don’t tell my grandmother,” he laughed bitterly, “I think she’ll kill me.” You helped him sit against the wall as you scrambled to find a first aid kit. It was hard to see through your tears, but you braved through, wanting to be strong for Jisung. You cleaned his cuts with rubbing alcohol, fingers trembling, wincing when he winced. “You’re pretty good at this,” Jisung commented, trying to make the tension in the air lighter. “I got into a lot of trouble when I was younger,” you responded, “I had to take care of myself.” You put the gauze down to wipe your tears. “How did this happen?” you asked, “Who did this to you?” You continued to wrap his arm when he took your face into his hands suddenly.
“Hey,” Jisung said softly, “Hey, look at me.”
And you did, his signature sunflower smile plastered on his face. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, your tear stained cheeks, and finally your lips.
“I’m alright,” he said finally, “I’m more than alright.”
You continued in silence as you finished cleaning up and taking care of him. The both of you falling asleep in each other’s warm embrace.
But as the sun shone on your face through the blinds the following morning, you saw an empty space where Jisung was supposed to be.
♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥
white chrysanthemum: truth
anemones: forsaken
marigolds: cruelty, grief, jealousy
i hope u enjoyed!
#han jisung#han jisung fanfic#han jisung imagine#han jisung imagines#skz han jisung#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#skz fic#skz fluff#skz angst#skz han#stray kids han#han jisung stray kids
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