#catch me staring at all these new graphics for the next 7 business days because they're so gorgeous

[inspireswar]

— you never knew lyanna as i did, robert. you saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath.

a semi-selective & headcanon-based lyanna stark from a song of ice and fire. as written by vic. oc and crossover-friendly. ©

[deanstead]

Somebody’s Watching

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request by danipearl16: Request- Jay has a girlfriend that nobody knows about and then they get a case where she’s being stalked and her stalker is killings women that seem to remind him of her and it turns out to be her ex-boyfriend from high school and Jay starts going downhill a little bit because he’s worried about her. Also his girlfriend is more on the younger than his side by 7 years

Word Count: 4,365

Warnings: cursing, mention of sexual assault/misconduct (non-graphic), mention of non-con touching, stalking, minor OC death, mention of injury, angst, fluff

A/N: Please beware of the triggers before you continue reading! I changed some parts to fit into the storyline but I still hope you like what I did with it! I’m pretty excited about this fic so I really really hope yall will like it! It’s my first time writing such a detailed case in so I hope it turned out well? Please hit me up and let me know what you think! Love yall!

---

You looked up from where you were sprawled on the couch, fiddling with your phone. Jay was sitting at the table, a small frown across his face as he pored over case notes.

Jay usually didn’t bring his work home with him but they’d just closed a big case and he had spent a whole week in the district. So instead of spending more time there to finish the paperwork, Jay had opted to bring it home instead.

You smiled to yourself just as Jay looked up. “Sorry babe.” He said, making a little face at the papers strewn across the table.

Chuckling, you climbed off the couch and moved towards him. You stood behind him, looping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I missed you.” You whispered.

Jay turned slightly, tugging you so that you now landed in his lap.

“Missed you too.” He whispered, smiling as one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you securely to him, another hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Sorry I’ve been busy.”

You shook your head, smiling.

You’d been dating for a while but no one else knew. Both of you had agreed to keep it on the down low, partly because of your age difference. Even though you had agreed you’d keep it quiet at least for the first few months, it had been a lot more than that and it had been going so well that you didn’t really want to purposefully invite anyone into this world that Jay and you had created for yourselves. Rather than keeping it a secret, you guys just hadn’t made the effort to tell anyone or publicize it to the world. This also meant that when he was stuck at the district, you didn’t get to see him but on such days, Jay was always mindful about checking in.

“What’s on your mind?” Jay asked.

“Just thinking I’m lucky to have you.” You responded, leaning in to try to give him a hug. Instead, Jay stroked your cheek and pressed his lips to yours. “Now, I really need to finish this.”

You laughed. “Go forth.”

---

Jay had taken a few well-deserved days of furlough, which he had mostly spent curled up with you. You didn’t have any complaints, it had been just what you both needed.

But Intelligence couldn’t catch a break. It was Jay’s first day back and now, he was already walking up to a crime scene.

Jay pushed the yellow crime scene tape upwards, letting Hailey walk through ahead of him before following behind her.

“What do we have?” Jay asked, approaching the spot where Adam and Kim were standing.

Kim turned. “Kate Whitewood, 22, stabbed multiple times.”

“She’s not in the system. No priors, nothing.” Adam added.

“No belongings on her?” Voight asked, looking around.

Adam shook his head. Jay frowned. “There’s barely any blood here.”

Kevin nodded, jogging forward to join them. “This is probably just the dump site. She must have been killed elsewhere.”

Hailey stood from where she had bent to examine the body. “She has defensive wounds on her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find skin under her fingernails.”

Jay bent forward slightly. “What are those? Marks around her neck? We need to get her to the ME to get the exact cause of death.”

“Kim, bag her hands and get forensics to run a deluxe.” Voight said, as Kim nodded.

“My CI works this street, let me see what I can find out.” Jay said, turning away.

---

“So Kate was last seen at this bar right in town.” Hailey said, walking in and sticking a screenshot onto the board, which showed a camera view of the street outside the bar.

Kate could be seen on the image, her head turned slightly as she waved to someone, a man standing by her side. Hailey tapped the image.

“We can’t find this guy. His face is always turned away from the camera, facial recognition is out.”

Voight nodded. “Jay, have you heard from your CI?”

Jay nodded, resting slightly against Hailey’s desk, his arms crossed in front of him. “My guy says there haven’t been any deals going down. I think we can rule out drugs or gangs. Streets have been quiet ever since that big bust we did last month.”

“It was 28 degrees out last night, ME couldn’t find the exact time of death. But there were signs she was raped, signs of asphyxiation and five penetration wounds from a knife.” Kevin said, opening the file he had gotten from the medical examiner earlier.

Voight turned to Kim. “Who was she?”

Kim sighed. “Kate was a hard worker, she had just started her job as a receptionist at a dentist’s office in South Loop. Dad’s MIA, Mum’s remarried and relocated to New York so she’s living on her own.”

“Have we found who she was with last night?”

Adam nodded. “I’ve gone through her phone. Looks like she was meeting her friend Grace at the club last night.”

“We need to talk to her. I want to know about the last day of Kate’s life. Timeline. Check all sex offenders in the area. Comb her social media. Let’s go.” Voight instructed.

---

Jay knocked on the main door, glancing sideways at Hailey. The door swung open.

“Grace Archer? I’m Detective Upton, this is Detective Halstead, can we come in?” Hailey asked.

She furrowed her brows. “What’s this about?”

“You’re friends with Kate Whitewood?” Hailey asked, without directly answering her question. She nodded and without missing a beat, Hailey continued, “We need to ask you a few questions about last night.”

Grace stepped back to let them in, her face falling as she led them to the sitting room.

“I heard from her parents. The whole thing’s horrible.” Grace whispered, wrapping her hands around herself.

“Can you tell us what you remember?” Jay asked.

Grace looked up. “Kate’s boyfriend had broken up with her a few months ago, so I took her out. She needed to get out again.”

“Were you approached by anyone?” Hailey asked.

“Several.” She answered.

“Anyone that stood out?”

Grace paused, trying to recall. “Kate didn’t even really want to go. She barely looked at the guys… except…”

Hailey sat up a little. “There must have been something about this guy that she left with, something unique. We have a photo of him on the surveillance tape. Flashy?”

Grace nodded, “Yeah, he had this like... attitude… like he was hitting on us but he was making a joke of it at the same time.” She paused. “The last thing she told me was that she had a great time… I shouldn’t have forced her to come out.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hailey leaned over and patted Grace comfortingly on the arm. “Thanks for talking to us. Please call us if you think of anything else.”

As Jay walked out of Grace’s house with Hailey, he looked at his partner. “This guy’s confident, he’s smooth and it doesn’t look like he knew Kate or Grace.”

---

For the rest of the day, the team had almost combed through the whole of Kate’s whereabouts before she had disappeared and all they had was a big fat nothing.

Jay typed a quick text to you to let you know that he wasn’t going to be able to come over tonight.

You read the text, smiling a little. Jay was busy but it was cute that he always kept you informed. You stopped walking, typing back a reply to tell him it was okay and to do what he had to do, before you kept her phone back into your pocket.

You walked along the street, the same street you walked on every night, frowning a little. You turned around, scanning the street behind you.

You could swear that it was like someone was watching you, or following you. But the street was empty. This wasn’t the first time you had had this feeling - like the little hairs on the back of your neck were standing but you had nothing to back up this feeling you had.

Holding your bag tighter against you, you pushed yourself forward, quickening your footsteps, only letting up as you passed the safety of your apartment building’s front door.

As you passed the threshold of your apartment and closed the door behind you, you pulled out your phone, staring at it for a while. Part of you wanted to call Jay, to hear his voice and have him tell you that you were just tired, imagining things. But the rational part of your brain convinced yourself that everything was okay, reminding you that Jay was so busy and deep in a case, he really shouldn’t have to worry about you.

Ultimately, you put your phone on the counter, chuckling at yourself. Maybe you really were too tired.

---

By the next morning, another body had turned up, not two streets away from the first dump site.

Jay felt an uneasy feeling spread in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the photo of the new victim that was already up on the board. They had a serial killer in Chicago and this guy’s victim type had physical characteristics that were scarily similar to you.

“Jay.” Hailey broke Jay out of his thoughts. “Emma Green, 23, strangulation marks, six stab wounds.”

Jay turned to his partner and nodded. “Did they go to the same club?”

Hailey handed Jay a file. “No, but look at what we picked up on the surveillance camera.” Jay opened the file, studying the photo.

“This is our guy isn’t it?” He pointed at a male figure who was standing next to their second victim, his face still hidden from the camera, wearing a plain cap.

“Hey guys, I might have found a link.” Kim said, walking in. “I checked the employee records and there’s a bartender that works in both clubs and he was on shift on each day our victims went missing. He’s got a prior for aggravated assault and harassment.”

“We’ll take it.” Jay said, grabbing his jacket and heading out of the district.

Hailey fell into step next to him, glancing at him. “Jay, you okay?”

Jay nodded. “Let’s just get this son of a bitch.”

They travelled the rest of the way in silence. Hailey seemed to pick up that this case was affecting Jay differently but she didn’t press further, allowing Jay to lead the way into the closed club.

“Ben Carlton?”

The bartender looked up from where he was, his eyes falling onto the police badge that was hung around Jay’s neck.

In a sudden motion, he ducked out and ran.

“Hey, stop!” Jay yelled, as both he and Hailey launched themselves after him, Hailey shooting out the front door to try to head him off.

“5021 George, I have a suspect fleeing on foot.” Jay called into his radio, sprinting after the bartender.

The bartender barely made it onto the next street before Hailey flung herself at him around the corner, rolling onto the ground as Jay pulled out his gun. “Don’t move!” He yelled, as Hailey pulled the bartender to his feet.

“Let’s go.” Jay snarled.

---

“It wasn’t me!” Ben yelled as he sat in the interrogation room, facing Jay and Hailey.

Jay sighed internally, watching Ben’s reactions and the way he was answering the questions Hailey was shooting at him.

“Those were mistakes, I didn’t do this!” He yelled again.

Jay pushed himself upright, getting up from where he was leaning against the wall and pushing the photos of the victims onto the table. “This. Look at this. We can place these girls at the bars you worked at just before they died.”

“Look.” Ben said, looking up at Jay. “I saw them but they left before I even finished my shift.”

Jay glanced at Hailey. “Who did they leave with?” Hailey asked.

Ben looked from Hailey to Jay. “Look, I don’t know the guy, he’s not a regular. But he’s white, about their age. I noticed him because he headed for them the moment that he walked in. Like he knew they were there.”

Before Jay or Hailey moved, a knock came from the door.

“You guys gotta see this.” Adam said, sticking his head in.

“Sit tight.” Jay said to Ben, following Adam outside, where Kevin was waiting as well.

Kevin handed the file to Jay. “We got another one.” Jay flipped open the file, which told him what he already feared. Another victim, of a physical type that not only matched the first two victims but also you.

Jay looked up. “His cooling off period is getting shorter. We need to get this son of a bitch.”

---

The feeling was getting a little stronger that someone had been watching you.

You glanced over your shoulder but as usual the street was empty. Maybe you needed to stop staying late.

You turned back towards the front. There were sounds of footsteps but you swallowed the lump in your throat, quickening your pace as discreetly as you could.

It definitely felt like someone was following you now. You were almost running by the time you rounded the corner, colliding with someone.

You gave a yelp of surprise.

“Y/N!”

You had collided with Jay.

You let out a breath, spinning around to look over your shoulder.

“What’s going on? You okay?” Jay’s eyes snapped from you to the empty street behind you.

You turned back to look at Jay. Now that he was standing in front of you, it didn’t seem that scary anymore - maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

You shook your head, taking one last glance behind you. “What are you doing here? You finished the case?”

Jay smiled but the smile didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just wanted to check in on you. I have to go back soon.”

You reached for his hand without saying anything and that’s how the both of you walked back to your apartment, your hand clenched securely in his, almost like the both of you had a tight bubble around you.

You could tell Jay’s mind was far away, and it was even more unlike him to come see you in the middle of a case. You knew there was something troubling him but you weren’t one to press. Jay would tell you when he felt he could or he wanted to.

Instead, you just squeezed his hand.

Almost as if you were prying him from his thoughts, Jay looked at you and smiled. He pulled you closer to him, tucking you under his arm.

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, without looking up at him, just as he escorted you to your door.

Jay turned to look at you and nodded. “I will be, once this case is over.” He leaned forward to give you a kiss. “If anything happens, you call me, okay? No matter what.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded at him, watching him disappear into the elevator before you retreated back into your apartment.

---

Intelligence had been tirelessly chasing down leads but they now had four bodies and Voight was getting pressure to solve this quickly as well. They needed a break in this case and fast.

“Okay, let’s regroup, what do we have so far?” Voight barked.

“All four victims were raped and found with multiple stab wounds. We know he picks up his victims from bars and appears non-threatening enough that his victims are willing to leave with him.” Jay said, getting up.

Hailey headed to the board, frowning. “We dumped their phones but we weren’t able to find any connection between the victims other than their physical type.” Hailey cast a look at Jay, which Voight didn’t miss. “I think he’s working his way up to something.”

“Hey guys?” Kim spoke up as she walked back in, flipping open the file sitting on her desk. “I went back over the first murder to see if we missed anything. Look at this.”

Kim pulled in her chair, zooming into the photo. “This badge here on his jacket, it’s barely visible so we missed it the first few times. I sent it to the lab to see if they could enhance the image and this is what I got.”

Kim clicked and up popped the crest of a high school. “Look, it’s not just a general badge. Look at the year.”

“Okay, that is the crest for Lincoln High. It’s a jacket given to those who graduated that year.” Kevin said, frowning at it.

“I’ll run the list of students who graduated in that year.” Jay barked, heading straight for his desk, his fingers flying across his keyboard.

Cross-checking was the worst job ever but the moment Jay’s eyes landed on your name on the list of graduates, he pulled it together, eliminating the women, men who had moved out of state or country, until finally he only had three names on the list.

“Okay, I have a Steven Miller, Charles Shoemaker and John Marlin.” Jay finally spoke up as everyone looked up. “But only Steven Miller has priors.”

“For harassment, sexual misconduct, and attempted assault. Sarge, this has to be our guy.” Jay looked up at Voight.

“Do we have an LKA?” Voight asked.

“Already on it.” Adam said.

“Go pick him up.” Adam nodded, motioning to Kevin as they headed out.

Something was bugging Jay. Steven Miller. That name was…

Fuck.

Jay pushed back his chair, entering Voight’s office without knocking and closing the door behind him.

“Sarge.”

Voight looked up, frowning a little at the look on Jay’s face. He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking up at Jay.

“I’ve heard Miller’s name before. It was bugging me, but I remember now.”

Voight sat up straighter.

“I’m seeing his ex-girlfriend.” The words slipped past Jay’s lips. “Sarge, everything makes sense now. The physical type, the way he’s building up because his actual target…” Jay trailed off.

You had told Jay about Steven just once. You hadn’t gone into detail but you had told Jay about the short period that you had been together with Steven – his need for control over all aspects of your life, how he had always been a little rough, how he hadn’t taken any form of rejection well, and how you’d ended it the day he struck you.

“Take Hailey.”

Jay was already halfway to the door.

---

You had left early today.

It had been a while since you had done such an early shift but you’d been feeling more and more uneasy while walking home at night and the news coverage on the murders that were happening at the moment didn’t help.

You didn’t need Jay to tell you that you looked exactly like those girls who had been murdered. It was clear as day.

You fiddled with the key in the lock, opening the door.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you registered the person standing in front of you. In your house.

“Steven.” You muttered, your voice trembling, barely registering the butt of a gun heading towards your temple before it went dark.

---

Hailey hadn’t said anything but she knew something was off.

“Jay, what’s going on?” She asked. “How do you know this girl’s the target?”

Jay didn’t answer but pressed harder on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. The ringing tone going off through his bluetooth speaker in the car making him feel even worse.

“Jay.” Hailey said again. “I’m your partner.”

Jay glanced at her now. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Hailey’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

Jay let a beat of silence passed. “Miller’s her ex. I should have seen the signs, the physical type, everything, I…”

“Jay. She’ll be fine. Come on.” Hailey reassured him, as he turned his truck onto the familiar street.

“She’s still not answering.” Jay said, through gritted teeth. He’d been trying to call you since he had left the station.

Without hesitation, Jay bounded up the stairs, Hailey right behind him. From down the corridor, Jay could already tell your door was slightly ajar.

“Hang back.” Jay whispered, pulling out his service weapon.

Jay quietly approached the door. “Y/N?” He opened the door with his foot, freezing as his eyes landed on you, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your eyes frantic as Steven held a knife to your throat from where he stood behind you.

Jay gritted his teeth, using his foot to slam the door shut, knowing that Hailey would know what to do.

“Step away from her.” Jay growled, pointing his gun directly at Steven.

Steven smiled. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Put that down.”

Jay grinded his teeth but didn’t move. You felt the cold blade of the knife press against your skin and inhaled sharply.

“Put. It. Down.” Steven repeated.

“Okay, okay.” Jay said, glancing at you before putting his hands above his head, disarming his gun and putting it down onto the floor.

Steven smiled again, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Jay growled.

“I don’t think you���re in a position to tell me what to do.” Steven answered.

“Jay, I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jay looked straight at you. “It’s going to be okay. You focus on me, you hear me? I’m right here.”

“We broke up a long time ago, what the hell are you doing?” You asked. You were afraid, hell you were trembling, but this was crazy and you had to help Jay to find a way out of this.

“We wouldn’t be broken up if he hadn’t come between us.” Steven snarled, moving closer towards you, his lips almost touching your ear.

Jay growled. “Leave her alone.”

Steven looked back up at Jay again.

“What, you mean don’t do this?” Steven asked, crushing his lips against yours.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Jay yelled. “Is that what you did? How you forced yourself on all the other girls? What do you want, Steven? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“All I wanted was to be with Y/N! But you took her.” He spat.

“So you decided to go on a rampage?” Jay asked. You saw him twitch like he was looking for something so you started talking, as much as it made you want to gag.

“Steven, why didn’t you just talk to me?” You asked, trying to distract him.

“Talk? All you care about is him!” He yelled, lifting the knife and pointing it at Jay.

It happened in a split second.

The moment he lifted the knife, Jay yelled, “Now, Y/N!”

You threw yourself forward, covering your head with your hands as you heard the gunshots go off, just two. You weren’t sure who was shooting but you didn’t move until you heard Jay’s voice again.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s over.” Jay whispered.

You looked up, Jay’s face hovering above you.

“Jay…”

Jay nodded, “It’s okay, come here.”

Jay pulled his arms around you.

“He…” Jay shook his head, shielding your view of Steven’s now motionless body. “Don’t look back, come on.”

Jay tried to lead you out of the apartment, barely making it to the main door before his teammates appeared. “Jay!” Kevin called, as he spotted both of you.

Jay nodded. “Thanks.” Kevin nodded, his eyes lingering on the way Jay was holding you close to his side before making way for Jay to lead you back down to the ground floor where the ambulances were waiting.

Jay led you all the way to the waiting paramedics, not even leaving your side to get himself checked.

You weren’t hurt, not really. There was a little open cut from where Steven had pressed the blade a little too hard when he had been agitated but other than that you were fine. Well, that, and that disgusting feeling that came with remembering how Steven had pressed his lips against yours.

Voight approached you and Jay. Jay squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back.” You smiled and nodded.

Jay and Voight talked in low voices until Voight turned to look at you. “And she’s okay?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah, she is. I just need to…”

“Do what you need to do. We’ll finish up here.” Voight said, nodding and clapping Jay on the back.

---

The paramedics had dressed the wound on the scene before Jay had brought you back to his apartment.

After getting you into a clean change of clothes and some warm food in you, you had ended up back in your favourite place in the world – on Jay’s couch, in Jay’s apartment, encircled in Jay’s arms.

You lay your head on Jay’s chest.

“So this was all because of me?” You asked in a low voice.

Jay sat up, looking at you. “What?”

“He killed all those women… because of me. I got them killed.” You whispered.

“No, no, baby.” Jay propped himself up, but didn’t let you go. “This is not your fault. Steven he… he did this, not you.”

You looked up at him. “He even… in front of you… he…” You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, you felt disgusting. He’d kissed you, he’d done it in front of Jay and he’d ruined everything.

You hadn’t said that much but Jay just tilted your chin upwards and kissed you. “Jay…”

“I’ll take it all away.” Jay whispered. “I’m sorry, I should have been there sooner.”

You shook your head, swiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks.

Jay cupped your cheek again, pulling you into his chest. You balled your hand around his shirt, gripping at Jay.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Jay whispered.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you ever again.” He half snarled, still caressing you gently.

You leaned into his embrace, closing your eyes as the sound of Jay’s heartbeat gently lulled you back into the feeling of safety and security.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Three

If you had a home, it would be Bucharest, even though you despise the place. It was the first place you went when you got free, because you know he’s here somewhere, conducting his evil machinations from the shadows, shielded by layer after layer of vile men across the globe doing his dirty work. There are plenty of men out there deserving of your particular brand of justice, but no one more so than the Viper. Sometimes you think that, if you can just find him and take him out, you might be able to move on—try to make a normal life for yourself, whatever that looks like. You don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen if you finally achieve your life’s goal and it’s still not enough for you.

You remember everything about the day you learned of the Viper’s existence. You were just 7 years old, one of many little girls packed into a shipping container. You had no idea how long you’d been in there or how long you would be in there. It smelled rancid, and there was never a moment of quiet. Most of the girls were screaming or crying, but a few (like you) were silent, just observing. You don’t know who sold you from your orphanage and shipped you off to Dreykov and you never will. What you do know is that you had no family to miss and no one to miss you, so you didn’t understand what the others were so upset about. From the very beginning, you adjusted to life as a Widow almost effortlessly, which is its own form of tragedy.

Others, though, they were stolen away from people who loved them. This seemed a foreign concept to you when you heard about it from the tiny, sobbing girl huddled next to you in the shipping container—the girl who told you about the Viper, the girl who would become your first and only friend until Dreykov took control of all of your minds. Once you were given the serum, your memories were locked up inside your own heads—none of you could have talked about your past lives even if you’d wanted to. Your words were not your own. You didn’t know what was real and what was planted there. Sometimes you still don’t, and nothing terrifies you more than that.

You have no idea how many little girls the Viper funneled to Dreykov over the years, but it was probably a decent amount. His real bread and butter had always been sex trafficking, and he’s still doing it—on an even larger scale if your intel is correct (which, of course, it is). But he won’t be operating for much longer, not now that you’re so close you can almost taste the venom. You were barely 8 years old when you decided you would kill him, and now you have your chance. You are so close, closer than you’ve ever been, but he keeps slithering out of your grasp. And so you’re in Bucharest, again, looking for answers, again. But you have other business, too—almost as important, if not more so.

You head to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you’ve made sure the inside is comfortable enough for the women and children who live there. The matron greets you at the door and you hand her this month’s envelope, which contains enough cash to feed everyone for the next two months, keep the lights and the water on, and some extra to fix the plumbing issues that have been plaguing the building since you bought it.

The building can house about 40 people comfortably—it’s not nearly enough, and you’re determined to create as many safe spaces as you can, but it’ll do for now. For now, you have to select your charges according to a very strict criteria: they are all women and children (and the children of women) who have been bought and sold by the Viper. Some of them escaped on their own; some of them had assistance from you and the very few people you trust in the city. But all of them have suffered, and all of them have information that you need. Individually, it’s not much, but the more women you talk to, the more pieces of the puzzle you have to work with.

Besides for the cash drop, today you’re here to see the newest resident: Irina, a 19-year-old beauty your Bucharest contacts had managed to snatch from one of the sex clubs. Irina was delivered to the Viper at 12, and her life since then has been an endless nightmare that you can’t think about for too long without feeling physically ill. She’s sitting by the window in the living room, cupping a steaming mug of tea, when you approach her. You walk towards her slowly, and when Irina looks over at you, there is recognition in her eyes even though you’ve never met.

“You’re the Widow,” she says.

“Not anymore,” you reply. “But if that’s what you’d like to call me, go ahead. May I sit?” She gestures to the seat opposite her and you settle in for a chat. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Irina. Is that ok?”

“The others told me you’d be coming.” She speaks softly, her voice hoarse from screaming or crying or both. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll never catch him, you know.”

“I disagree,” you say, “but I need more information.”

“Alright,” she agrees, “if you think it will help,” and you begin the gentlest of interrogations.

Irina tells you that for the first several years after she was taken, she hadn’t heard anyone mention the Viper. She thinks that a lot of the girls probably knew about him or came directly from him, but no one would talk about it because it was too dangerous or traumatizing (or both). Things were different at her last club, though. When you ask her how many of the girls at Delirium knew about him, she tells you that several of them had passed through him somewhere along their journey. One of them—one far too young to be working there—even admitted that she’d been with him only two months earlier.

Finally, after all this time, you’ve got a clear line from point A to point B. You feel it in your bones that Delirium holds the answers, that if you can just get in and poke around a bit, you’ll be able to find him. You take Irina’s hands in yours and thank her for her help, and then you hear it: heavy footsteps coming down the hall. No woman or child in the building weighs enough to make a sound like that, and no men are allowed on the premises. You know who it is before you see him.

*****

Bucky watches you enter the building from his position on the roof across the street. His contact had told him that there were whispers of a Widow safehouse at this address, though no one would dare set foot within 10 blocks of the place to find out. Bucky doesn’t believe the rumor, though. He knows you work alone, that you pride yourself on it. He assumes this is just one of many places where your targets meet their ends, and he knows enough about Bucharest to know that there are a lot of men in this city who fit your modus operandi.

Still, something is off. It’s not an empty building. There have been women and children coming and going all morning, and nearly all the apartments seem occupied. Why would you choose to do your dirty work in a place with so much activity, with so many innocents around? That seems not only impractical but beneath even you. He’s lost in these thoughts, checking each window with his binoculars, when he settles on a beautiful young girl staring out the window, looking desperately sad. She turns to look at someone he can’t see, and then he sees you emerge from the shadows and take a seat opposite her.

There’s a softness to your face—a gentle kindness—that knocks the wind out of him. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you, analyzing your body language and facial expressions to try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is the last thing he expected to see, and he tells himself that this woman must be hiring you for a job—except the woman is nothing but a broken child and doesn’t look like someone who would be taking out a hit on somebody (and certainly not someone who could pay for one).

It’s unnerving, watching you this way, and Bucky is no longer sure that what he’s doing is right. There’s something about your interaction with this girl that makes him feel like a voyeur, witnessing an intimate moment that he should not be seeing but that fascinates him nonetheless. Still, he’s here, you’re his mission—albeit one he took upon himself—and he needs to finish it. By this time, Natasha and Steve are almost certainly on their way, and Bucky needs to get to you before they show up. He went rogue and committed to this plan; now he just has to execute it. He’ll deal with the consequences later.

Bucky makes his way across the street and around the back, where children’s toys litter the small yard of weeds and dirt. When he gets to the back door, he notices that it isn’t the usual ancient rusted lock that one finds on the old buildings in this neighborhood; it’s brand new tech. There’s a pretty decent security camera setup around the building, too.

What the hell is this place?

Bucky has two choices: he can rip the door off the hinges, or he can scale the building and climb in the open window on the top floor. You’re going to be homicidally pissed either way, so he might as well not destroy any property—you may be a monster, but the other tenants here look like civilians, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their security in his quest to bring you in.

Bucky makes it into the building and weaves his way through the hallways. Along the way, he runs into a few women, and each one of them freezes when they see him. They are shocked and deathly afraid—a look he knows far too well—and they scurry back to their apartments and lock the doors. With his hair cut short, baseball cap pulled down, and leather jacket and glove hiding his prosthetic, it doesn’t seem possible that all of these women would immediately recognize him as the Winter Soldier. That’s what it feels like to him, though, and it’s a gut-punch sensation he does not like at all.

When he gets to the sitting room, the girl you are with has the same look of terror, and for a moment, so do you. But you snap back to yourself quickly—having gone from soft to terrified to hostile within a span of about 15 seconds. Before he can react, you stomp towards him, grab him by the jacket, and hiss, “Not here.”

Bucky hears you speak to the girl in Romanian, “Don’t be afraid, Irina. He’s a friend,” although he knows you think him anything but.

The second you get him into the hallway, you’ve got your knife to his throat. Even with your cold blade nicking his skin, Bucky fights the impulse to disarm you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He knows that he’s intruded on something here, though he doesn’t know what, and he actually feels guilty. He could break you in half if he wanted to, but he lets you pin him to the wall—lets you feel like you’re in control.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you growl.

“You know why I’m here,” Bucky replies, but he doesn’t know—not really, not anymore. “What is this place?”

“It’s somewhere safe,” you say, “or it was until you showed up. No boys allowed, Soldat. Time to go.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him around and throw him through the nearest door, and before he can regain his balance, you kick him straight through the window and into the yard two storeys below. The fall is nothing to Bucky, and he knows that you know that, but it certainly made a statement. He looks up at the broken window he’d just crashed through and sees you peering out with a satisfied smile on your face.

Bucky calls up to you, “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

“I mean it,” he says, and he actually does. “You can pick the place.”

He watches as you consider his offer, weighing your options—you obviously don’t trust him, but it’s clear that the sanctity of this location is important to you. Now that he’s violated it, you can’t just let him wander off. You agree to meet with him that evening—in public, at a club in Old Town.

“Come alone, Soldat,” you call down to him, “and if you tell anyone about this place, I’ll throw you out a higher window.”

Bucky tries to hide his tiny smile but he knows you see it, just like he sees the little quirk of your lip just before you disappear. He hoists himself off the ground and brushes himself off. When he turns to leave, he sees a little girl holding hands with her mother. He has no idea how long they’ve been standing there, but the girl is pointing and giggling at him.

The little girl asks, “What happened to him, mama?”

“The Widow’s bite,” she replies.

*****

“He’s not going to hurt her, Natasha,” Steve says as he prepares the Quinjet for landing.

“She might not give him a choice,” she replies, strapping herself in. “What the hell was he thinking coming here alone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “There’s something about this girl that’s really gotten under his skin.”

Natasha looks at Steve, asking the question with her eyes she wouldn’t dare say aloud, and he picks up what she’s putting out.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. All of that programming… it’s gone. You know that. He’s just Bucky now.”

Natasha nods in agreement, but a part of her still has questions—not whether the deprogramming worked, she knows that it did, and she trusts Bucky with her life. No, Natasha’s concern is what is going on inside Bucky’s head. He was doing well, he was adjusting, he was finally ok, but the existence of you seems to have triggered something in him that the words never had. The words made him cold and empty and ready to comply, but you—you make him think, and Natasha knows how dangerous it can be to dwell too much on things you’ve left in the past.

When Steve and Natasha arrive at Bucky’s old apartment, it’s empty, but there are small signs of life—the indent of a head on the pillow on the floor in the corner, an apple core just starting to brown. He’s been there, and recently. Natasha and Steve don’t know who he would still have contact with in Bucharest, so they are left with nothing to go on. Bucky knows how to cover his tracks, and he left them just enough crumbs to get them to Bucharest but not enough that they could find him when they got there.

“He wants us to trust him,” Steve says, “to wait for him to bring her back here.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, Steve. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs and looks out the window. “I have no idea,” she replies, and that’s when she sees it: a piece of graffiti spraypainted on the wall of a building down the street—a coiled snake ready to strike.

The memory hits Natasha like a freight train. She knows that symbol. She knows what it means. She knows exactly who you’re looking for and it seems absurd to her now that she hadn’t thought of it before.

“Let me make a call,” she says. “I think I know why she’s here.”

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part♜Pt.11

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (6.8k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and death, character death

➟ A/N: This is the final part! Thank you all for reading this series and for giving it so much love <3

gif credit.

➟ Full Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10[M] Part 11

“You saw someone outside the house last night?” 

Seokjin’s arms are crossed, wide eyes swaying from you to Namjoon. 

You nod in response, “The way they were dressed, it really blended them into their surroundings. I thought maybe the lack of sleep was playing with me, but then Namjoon saw it too…” 

You peer over at your husband, who hums. “We couldn’t find them afterwards.” 

Seokjin shakes his head, appearing to still be caught within bafflement. Jimin suddenly emerges, his eyes drinking in the distress in the room. 

“I’m assuming there’s no good news?” He wonders, and Namjoon turns, raising an eyebrow in his direction. 

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing.” He sighs, roughly running a hand through his locks, “He keeps saying it over and over again, that we’re fools to think he’s pulling the strings…” 

Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, back sinking against the wall. That’s when he catches it, a sharp glint residing behind Seokjin’s glasses. 

“What?” He immediately asks as the man raises his head, shaking his head. 

“He wasn’t too forthcoming with me either, but….” His eyes suddenly sway and Namjoon follows the gesture, “He seems to really hate you.” 

You stare at Seokjin wide-eyed. 

Before you have a chance to retaliate, he beats you to it. “I’m not saying that it’s because of you per say, but more so because of your lineage….” 

“Being a L/N?” Jimin ponders, and Seokjin hums, furrowing his brows. 

“It seems he wasn’t quite happy with your marriage to Namjoon and from the looks of it, Taehyung wasn’t either.” 

Although you can somewhat grasp what Seokjin is implying, his next question catches you off guard. 

“How was Yonghwa killed, Y/N?” 

Your mouth opens and closes from the straightforwardness, but you can see Seokjin’s gears turning, so you ultimately decide not to hesitate. 

The history of your families is known to many. Trade and manufacturing seeking to forge a union between their two sectors. Yonghwa and Namjung were supposed to go through with the deal, but all hell broke loose on the fateful day when Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood with Namjung being visibly shaken. Revenge was rampant between the two families, your marriage to Namjoon ultimately becoming the peace offering to end years of hatred. 

“Yonghwa was murdered.” You state in a monotone voice, as if told the story numerous times, “The day he and Namjung seeked a union, Yonghwa found out that the Kim’s were building weapons they hadn’t agreed upon.”

“Yonghwa therefore decided not to go through with the union, but was murdered by Namjung who wanted to cover up his tracks.” 

After you finish explaining, your eyes drift up. Namjoon is staring at you in disbelief, orbs oscillating. 

“What is it?” You immediately ask. 

Seokjin relaxes his narrowed eyes and clears his throat, “Yonghwa was killed...but not at the hands of Namjung.” 

Namjoon continues, “The L/N’s were involved in illegal exchange through their trades, and Namjung found out during the time he was making a deal with Yonghwa. He attempted to reason with Yonghwa, but he was held at gunpoint.” 

“Through the scuffle they had, Yonghwa ended up accidentally shooting himself.” Jimin finishes, confusion drawing from your eyes. 

“W-What?” Your eyes glance at the two of them frantically, “But there’s no way, Yonghwa was found in a pool of his own blood.” 

“And Namjung was left shaken.” Namjoon adds, “He meant to forge a union, not kill the head.” 

“That’s‒….” You shake your head, utterly lost from the conclusion. It seems too foreign to you, like someone has erased years of history from your book and shoved something else in instead.

A thought lingers in your mind and your eyes snap up, gazing at Seokjin, “Why are you asking me about Yonghwa?” 

Namjoon glances up at him as well, confused from the inquires. Seokjin smiles, crossing his arms. 

“I have a hunch that I need to confirm,” He eyes you, “‒and what if I said that the two of you are telling the truth?” 

You and Namjoon share a glance, the latter speaking, “How so?” 

“Yonghwa was killed. This is the one point in your stories that stays constant,” He begins, “But the part where your stories diverge is the reasoning behind his demise.” 

“Y/N said the Kim’s were building weapons that Yonghwa didn’t agree with, and Namjoon said that Namjung found out about the L/N’s illegal activities. This led to both parties disagreeing with each other, and it wouldn't be so surprising for a fight to ensue, with both taking rightful actions to prevent themselves any harm.” 

“Yonghwa was prepared to kill Namjung at the cost of saving his business while Namjung needed to get rid of Yonghwa’s knowledge.” 

Seokjin pauses for a moment as you and Namjoon nod in response. His smile widens, curling at the corner of his lips. 

“Now the reason why I brought this up.” He clears his throat, a playful look in his eyes, “The moral of this story is that there seems to be no victor and no loser. Both families were involved in things they shouldn’t have been and were prepared to take lethal actions to protect that information, even to the extent of making the other family look historically bad in comparison.” 

Your eyes widen and Seokjin asks the question that has you stumbling for an answer. 

“So why the need for a union?” He wonders, “What was the point for such a union, when both families were already so against each other to the extent of making up false tales?” 

“Why look for peace when there’s no room for it to begin with?” Namjoon replies, and Seokjin nods. 

“Your company’s visible shareholders seem to despise the fact that you married Y/N, and I’m sure other members of the company weren’t thrilled from hearing about her lineage.” He honestly professes, “So why would they suddenly be okay with you marrying a L/N for the sake of a union?” 

“It would have to do something other than their hatred for each other….” Namjoon mumbles, squinting his eyes, “Something important enough that they would purposely need a marriage between me and Y/N.” 

Seokjin hums and Jimin abruptly sputters out an answer. 

“Something like a liability!” 

Namjoon glances at him appalled and he hurriedly rambles before he loses the thought, “Going based off of Seokjin’s theory, Namjoon would be wedded to a L/N, someone who would have created stained connections with her own family because of the marriage and be resented by members of the Kim family.” 

Jimin huffs, “Essentially she would be nothing but a liability to Namjoon’s title as the next heir…..” 

Three sets of eyes stare at him in bewilderment, and Jimin sheepishly smiles from the attention. Seokjin’s pupils light up again, a spark residing within them. 

“But who would benefit from all this?” He mumbles, “Who would benefit most from seeing you fail, Namjoon?” 

Namjoon stares at Seokjin as silence reigns heavy in the room, no clear answer forming within his mind. 

Your lids slowly flutter open. 

The entire room is dark and murky, night long having fallen within a couple of hours. You had long spent hours conversing with the others about Hoseok before ultimately deciding to question him more the next day, with Namjoon coaxing you that all of you weren’t far from understanding his intent. 

Yet your eyes squint through the dark, peering around the room in confusion. There’s sounds of feet shuffling against the hardwood of the floors, faint voices growing louder and louder with their shouting, some tinged with urgency while others not being able to fathom disbelief. 

It doesn’t take long for you to immediately reach for Namjoon, jostling him awake. Once he’s conscious, the two of you are scrambling out of the sheets in an instant, his hand wrapping around yours as you head towards the commotion. 

His backside suddenly halts, freezing in place. 

You catch onto the scent right away. 

It’s putrid and familiar….too familiar. 

Shifting forward, horror sinks into your eyes at the source.

Hoseok’s form is slumped against the front door, eyes lulled back and red soaking the outskirts of his clothes. A trail of scarlet follows him, leading up into the torn apart room he was residing in. 

***

Silence lingers uncomfortably long in the room. 

It’s stifling, tension feeling heavy on your shoulders and muting your words. Slightly fumbling with your hands, your eyes flicker up for the briefest of moments. 

Seokjin is against the wall, arms crossed against the blood stains that litter his torso. He stands opposite from where you and Namjoon are seated, adjacent from where Jimin leans against a table, in a similar condition as his hand balances against his cheek. 

Hoseok’s corpse has been removed, but you wrenched your eyes away from the multiple gash wounds that littered his torso, the overwhelming scent of blood bringing a rise of nausea to surface from your lips. 

Jimin is the first to clear his throat, peering over at you and Namjoon. “You were right, there was someone roaming outside.” 

“He was silenced.” Seokjin sighs, unraveling his arms and placing his hands in his pocket. You catch the slightest hint of remorse in his features, wondering if he was too late in arriving at the incident.  

Jimin shakes his head, “But why….?” 

“And why make it so brutal?” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts in, making Seokjin hum with a grimace. 

“This just proves that he knew something important….” You whisper. 

Seokjin hums, planting an exasperated hand against his temples. Although somewhat cruel, you understand his frustration. 

Hoseok was the only link in finding out who wanted Namjoon killed and sought out for your marriage, and now that he’s gone, you’ve hit a complete dead end. 

There’s a soft knock against the door that results in all of your eyes hiking up. Jimin steps forward, gesturing for you to be at ease as he answers. 

As the door closes, Jimin abruptly blinks, before snapping his eyes up. 

“Namjoon.” 

He stands up right away and Seokjin curiously leans over, “What is it?” 

“It’s a picture…” He states, “A picture of the weapon assumed to be used on Hoseok….”

Seokjin suddenly leans even closer, carefully plucking it out of Jimin’s fingers. He holds the same astonished expression, eyes flickering over in Namjoon’s direction. 

“I think we know who was after you, Namjoon…” 

The picture is passed over to him and you sweep your irises over it too. It’s a simple picture of a knife, but it’s one that has your eyes narrowing. 

“I’ve seen this knife before…” You whisper, mind scattering around for an answer. The intricate details and the curved edge seemed far too familiar, but you can’t wrap your finger on it. 

Your eyes flicker, recognition suddenly dawning upon you. 

“Taehyung!” You snap your fingers, recalling the time he attempted to take your life, “That’s the knife Taehyung had....” 

“It’s a custom knife.” Namjoon states, his gaze steadily hardening, “Only a few were manufactured by the Kim’s.” 

Your eyes threaten to fall out from their sockets. Your gaze oscillates from Namjoon to Jimin and then Seokjin, realizing they’ve already connected all the dots.  

“H-How does this make sense?” You shake your head, “That would mean that someone from your family i-is trying to….” 

Namjoon hums, gaze connecting with your own. There’s something unsettling brewing in his orbs, a fine line between anguish and pure rage. 

“I now understand why Hoseok decided to keep quiet.” He grits, “And why we haven’t been safe here.”

***

Your footsteps are hectic, nearly sprinting through the walls. Your hands shove against your bedroom’s door, eyes falling upon your husband’s turned back right away. 

The sound of a gun cocking has your eyes widening and you immediately scramble forward, hand wrapping around his shoulder. 

“Namjoon.” You softly call out. His brows are still intensely furrowed and jaw tensed, his gaze focused on filling the cartilage to the handgun til it’s stuffed to the brim. 

Concern drips from your stare, and you shake his shoulder again, voice firmer, “Namjoon.” 

He spins around, rummaging through his bag for another gun. You huff, grasping onto him and knocking the weapon out of his hands. 

You force him to look at you. “Namjoon!” 

“What?!” He sharply snarls, but you are unfazed. It’s obvious to you ‒ the way his form is seething with anger, the way his hands tremble as he shoves bullets into his gun, the way there’s an inkling of pain residing within his irises, begging to release him from his torment. 

You don’t say anything, simply softly shake your head in response. Namjoon lets out a scoff, a strained laugh escaping his throat. 

Your arms loop around him, resting your head against his chest. 

“I’m a tool, Y/N.” His shoulders crumble down, “Just a tool.” 

“I know.” You whisper, noticing how his anger dissolves into anguish, his form no longer tensing underneath your hold. He raises his hands to embrace you back, breaths steadying. 

With a deep sigh, he breaks away from you, an appreciative smile looping on his lips. 

You return it, but a new voice draws your attention. 

“You won’t accomplish anything going there like this, Namjoon.” Seokjin leans against the doorframe as Jimin draws closer behind him. You assume they must have followed after you when Namjoon suddenly left the room in a fit of anger, declaring that he was leaving to settle things once and for all with his father. 

His father, who eventually decided that Namjoon wasn’t good enough to be the next heir, who wanted him to be wed to you, placing a heavy liability on his ties and waiting for him to crumble underneath the title so he could have a new heir. 

But he wasn’t able to anticipate that you would turn out to be a spy, and that Namjoon would refuse to leave you, fed up with being used solely for the family business. 

You sigh, keeping a gentle hand on his back. 

“We need to think this through.” Seokjin reminds. 

“But how?” Namjoon shakes his head, “I’ll constantly be in danger‒ all of you will be in danger.” 

He glances between you and Seokjin, with the latter humming, “You’re not wrong about that, but we have to play our cards right.” 

“So what‒” Namjoon jokes, “I should just wait to be killed first?” 

There’s a twinkle in Seokjin’s eyes, a smile widening all the way to his cheeks. 

The moon rises, casting a shadow against the isolated building’s walls. 

You carefully thread through the empty hallway, pacing back and forth. A gun remains strapped to your waist, hidden underneath your clothing as your alert eyes sweep through the vicinity. 

It’s a small building, one that is barely guarded and nearly hidden compared to the others. It carries two floors, one of which contains the norm of offices, only a mere handful of workers that rigorously work throughout the day, but the numbers dwell during the peak of the night, barely a hushed murmur coming across from the doors or walls. 

Namjoon has informed his father that you and him will be temporarily staying in the building for safety reasons after Hoseok’s incident, and that tonight is the night that you’ll be staying in the reclusive area. 

Prior to figuring out pieces of the puzzle, Seokjin had come up with the plan of making you and Namjoon come off as vulnerable, essentially luring his father into the building. Upon Namjoon’s slight persistence, he had suggested that the former confront him about the entire matter. 

You had thought it was risky, too risky in fact ‒ but when Seokjin and Namjoon had abruptly shared a glance through your discussion, you knew there was more to the story than they were letting on. 

Trusting them with the matter, you agreed with the notion and were assigned to guard the area under the pretense of Jimin’s suspicions. You couldn’t figure out who the woman was that Hoseok interacted with, so alongside with ensuring no one gets in, you have the task of keeping an eye out for any unwelcomed surprises. 

It’s dead silent and pitch dark, the majority of the light sources cut off. Your footsteps make no sound against the soft wood, long having trained yourself to go unheard in case you were caught as a spy. 

Your eyes continue to sweep around the area, looking around for movement. 

You suddenly freeze. 

Creak.

Head snapping up, you carefully press your ear against one of the doors in the hallway, listening in again. 

Creak.

Your eyes widen. 

Feet quietly gliding against the ground, you carefully peer into the room through the glass opening, noticing an open window and someone fumbling around with the walls. They seem to stumble as they do, almost seeming lost until you realize that the lack of light source makes it incredibly hard to see. 

Biting your lower lip, you shuffle closer to the door, carefully waiting. 

Light pours through the room. 

Your pupils enlarge, mouth falling agape. A smile curve on her lips as she reaches for the door, but you’re close enough to reach out for her by the time it yanks open. 

Your hand meets her shoulder. 

She jolts, a gasp escaping her lips as she swivels, the light illuminating her fear-stricken features. 

You innocently quirk your head to the side, brows knitting together. 

“Geongmin?”

“Y-Y/N!” She stammers, swallowing hard as if she had seen a ghost. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Although naively surprised, there’s a cutting edge to your tone, taking advantage of her terror. 

“I‒uh, my father!” She hastily says, as if nearly forgotten the answer, “H-He needed me to bring his forgotten briefcase back home.” 

For the briefest of moments, you narrow your eyes. 

You hum understandably, “I see….” 

Granting her a small smile that she hesitantly returns, you take a clueless step back, whirling around. 

You glance around, “I can offer you some help in finding it, if it’s somewhere nearby then‒” 

The sound of a trigger cocking halts your steps. 

Although your voice is laced with tender surprise, your expression says otherwise. “Geongmin?” 

“W-Where is he?” She sputters. You casually swivel around to face her, barely flinching at the gun that is inches away from your eyes. 

“Who is he?” You press forward. 

“My brother!” She nearly yells, your blank expression drawing more unease from her, “Where is he?!” 

A long exhale leaves your lips, “About that….” 

It happens within a flash. Your fist slams into her arm, a cry slipping from her lips and the gun dropping from her hands. You swoop it up in an instant, pinning her against the wall as she’s distracted from the pain. 

You tightly hold her hands within one of your hands, the other pointing the gun at the back of her head. 

Your fingers curve around the trigger, “What has he promised you?” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

You angle the gun so that it presses lightly against her scalp, her entire form jolting from the action.

Your voice is firm as you ask again, “What has your father promised you, Geongmin?” 

Her breaths are ragged, “H-Heir! The title of h-heir!” 

Tilting your head to the side, you listen to her intently, “M-My father said Namjoon was weak! That he couldn’t handle being the next heir, especially after being married to someone like you!” 

Your shoulders slump down, a deep sigh leaving you. Although her declaration is vile, her words sound confusing, as if fear was taking over her mind completely. 

There’s suddenly a flicker in your eyes, recognition filling you. 

It’s a mere gamble, but you loosen your grip on her, taking a step back. She watches you in astonishment and you drop the gun to the ground, kicking it to the side and away from you. 

The fear doesn’t leave her form in the slightest. 

“Do you desire being the heir?” Your voice has become soft. 

“W-What?” Your question seems to confuse her even more, her mind spinning, “What kind of question is that?!” 

You pursue your lips, noticing how for someone that should desire to kill you, she doesn’t rush towards the fallen gun. 

“Do you want to inherit the business?” 

It’s almost like she wants to break into a fit, tell you that you’re wrong and that you’re merely some spy that’s in the way. 

But the words don’t manage to leave her. 

“What is it that you want to do, Geongmin?” You gently ponder. 

“Why are you asking me all these questions?!” She repeats, sounding frustrated beyond belief. Streaks of tears are streaming down her eyes, her hands trembling. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. 

“Because I know obligation when I see it.”

The confusion doesn’t leave her as you step over to pick up the gun again, handing it to her. 

“Here.” You merely say, looking at her puzzled gaze she sends at the weapon, “Finish the mission you were sent on.”

You stand back, right in her aim of fire. Although your expression is confident, you hope she doesn’t notice the faint tremble lodged within your hands, inches away from the gun submerged within your clothing. 

Her eyes are completely blown out, still swimming with confusion. It’s not long before she points it right at you, rage consuming her features in an instant. 

You stare right back at her. 

The gun never fires. 

It slips from her hands, crashing onto the ground as more tears pool from her eyes. 

“I-I c-can’t….” She weakly mumbles, shaking her head. A low sigh of relief leaves you before you bend down, picking up the fallen gun.

Your eyes flicker, “You regret killing him….don’t you?” 

She nods weakly, and a smile curls on your lips. 

“I’m glad you made this choice on your own, Geongmin.” 

You extend your hand towards her, granting her the chance to choose again. She stares at it for a moment, a million thoughts racing through her head. 

She reaches out, clasping onto it. 

Heavy footsteps pound into the room. 

The door is securely locked, before he treads closer, eyes narrowing. 

Namjoon sits in a large chair, his eyes focused onto the table before him. At the sound of footsteps he snaps up, a smirk curving on his lips. 

“Father.” He remarks, “I’m surprised to see you here.” 

His father doesn’t return his smile, simply humming in response. 

“Hoseok was killed recently. You need to be more careful from now on.” He snides, standing across from him, “Especially with that pesky spy living in your quarters.” 

“That is my wife you are speaking about.” Namjoon sharply interjects, voice no longer holding warmth. His father sends him a seething glare, reminding him of the time he declared he wasn’t going to get rid of you. 

“How long do you expect to keep her around? She’s a L/N, for all you know she could have dug around all of our secrets and exploited the information.” He hisses, planting his hands against Namjoon’s table, “She’ll be nothing but a burden to you in the future, you’ll be mocked by her lineage and she’ll destroy your business.”

Namjoon furrows his brows, an amused smile wanting to etch onto his lips. He’s aching to spew his knowledge about how his sister was likely pressured into taking over his space as heir, her mind filled with twisted information about the two of you by the person standing directly in front of him. 

But he keeps it together, intrigue swirling in his orbs instead, “Who would you think was attempting to take my life then? Y/N?” 

“Of course it’s her!” His father roars, “She’s been feeding her family information about us, and now she wants to take over the business by having you killed!” 

“Really?” 

His father stares at him like the simple question in itself was ridiculous. “You should have listened to me before and gotten rid of her.” 

“But my answer wouldn’t change.” He smiles, pressing his buttons further, “She was my wife then, and she is now. What will you do if I wish to stay married to her?” 

His smile doesn’t waver. It seems to do the trick, his father’s face colouring into a shade of red at his son’s stubbornness and only serving to heighten his fear. The notion should fuel his need to get rid of Namjoon, to realize that the son sitting before him isn’t made out to be the tool that he’s always wanted. 

Namjoon’s smile barely moves, even when a gun is pointed in his direction. 

“Then this will be farewell.” 

Two guns aim for him on either side. 

In an instant, his father’s eyes widen. Namjoon continues to smile, watching Seokjin and Jimin step closer. 

Rising from his seat, he clears his throat. 

“I’m not a pawn, father.” He states, “I have my own wishes, and they won’t always line up with my role as heir.” 

He shakes his head, “The hatred between us and the L/N’s is just two families blaming each other to cover up their own tracks, and should have ended ages ago, even before I married Y/N.” 

He walks over to where his father glares at him, “Now it’s time you make a decision too.” 

Namjoon raises his arm as Jimin hands him a computer and Seokjin brings a chair, planting his father down onto it. Opening the screen right in front of the man, his eyes are met with a list of endless codes, but what’s most prominent are the ones that would surely infiltrate into an extensive database. 

His father’s eyes hold terror in them, “This is….” 

“The company.” Namjoon finishes, pointing to the screen, “These codes are functional on many bases and can hack into anything, even something as highly secured as the company’s database.” 

“You’re going to destroy everything.” 

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle, “I’m going to destroy what’s left of it.” 

“You’re insane.” His father snarls, “You’re going to ruin the Kim empire and throw away this goldmine for what?!” 

“My freedom.” Namjoon simply replies, his dark eyes pushing the computer closer to him.  

His father’s face is an angry shade of scarlet, but as metal presses further into his skull, his fingers press against the keys and allow the authorization. At the sight of the last code unlocking, Namjoon’s shoulders visibly relax, an exhale of relief leaving him. 

Seokjin quickly takes it away, packing away the computer into a bag before peering at Namjoon. 

They share the same thought, “We need to find Y/N.” 

Namjoon hums, preparing to leave the area as fast as possible. 

However, he doesn’t notice how his father’s face twitches at the mere mention of you, eyes boring daggers into his son’s skull. 

Namjoon turns and it happens within a flash. 

Jimin is on the ground, scarlet hands clutching onto his leg as a gun is pointed in Namjoon’s direction. Seokjin’s eyes widen in an instant, but he’s too late when multiple bullets are fired, all lodging into Namjoon’s chest. 

There’s no way to describe the terror that strikes you. 

Tears unconsciously roll down your features, a hard knot constricting around your throat. You can only watch in horror as a staggering Jimin and Seokjin huff, dragging Namjoon’s limp form onto a bed. 

Streams of red are dripping down his black suit, three pieces of metal embedded within his chest. Your trembling hands come closer, noticing that he was luckily still breathing. 

“His lungs haven’t been damaged.” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to speak as you peer up at him, “We’re going to need to take the bullets out.” 

Seokjin quickly filters around the room, searching for supplies as Jimin leans against the bed. You notice the trail of blood beneath his legs, eyes widening. 

“Jimin, you’re‒” 

He simply shakes his head, gesturing towards Namjoon first. You hesitantly nod, taking a couple of steps back as Seokjin returns. 

A shaky exhale leaves your lips when Seokjin opens up Namjoon’s shirt, your quivering hands coming up to cover your mouth as you spin away from the sight. 

“Y/N…” Jimin’s gentle voice beckons, but you can’t seem to look behind you. “Y/N, why don’t you wait outside?” 

Although concern is flooding through every fiber of your form, you solemnly nod without hesitation. 

Exiting the room at once, you attempt to calm yourself down, eyes flickering up to see Geongmin staring at you with a troubled gaze. 

She sits with you throughout the silence, your mind completely numbing from the recent events. 

***

Over the course of the next few days, you are dangling between concern and worry. 

You’ve been residing within the Kim household in the duration and haven’t spoken to yet even seen Namjoon during that time. Although relieved that his wounds weren’t fatal, you were told that he was still unconscious and that healing from them would take considerable time. 

In the meanwhile, Seokjin and Jimin had informed you that the person responsible for his state was his father. After getting rid of the remains from the company, something Namjoon had always planned to do, his father had shot Jimin and intended to kill Namjoon. 

In response, Seokjin was forced to take immediate action. 

You took in the news with a bitter taste in your mouth, but were glad to see Jimin slowly recover from the incident. 

Upon returning and being in the household that you and Namjoon had eventually abandoned, you were confronted with the presence of his mother. At first, you were unsure of what to say, not comprehending if she knew about the prior incidents, or if like Namjoon’s father, she held a deep scorn for the two of you. 

However to your surprise, she hadn’t seemed taken aback, instead appearing fatigued, dark circles beginning to round her eyes and creases maring her forehead. It made you think back to the first time you had met the women, her elegance and straightforwardness towards you always catching you off guard. 

She had asked you about how Namjoon was doing and you had given a simple direct response, but there was a sad smile on her lips, one that had made your chest tighten. 

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. If that’s what you’re thinking.” At your perplexment, she continued, “I think it was for the best to let go of the company...at least now we can move on from holding up this Empire with our lives.” 

She faintly chuckled as you remained next to her, silently listening.

A sigh leaves her, “I’m in pain not because of my husband’s death, but because I let it get to this point. To the point where I would have lost my entire family for a mere business.” 

She softly shook her head, “I’m tired, Y/N. I’m very tired of all this.”

Her words had echoed in your mind. She hadn’t spoken to you after that, but Geongmin had soon informed you that she had never seen her mother express so much remorse before. 

With the entire Kim Empire now gone, they were simply just a broken family left behind. 

The breeze blows against your hair, the flowers underneath your toes brushing against your skin. 

Night has fallen and for a considerable amount of tossing and turning, sleep hasn't welcomed you throughout the evening. You ultimately decided it would be best to get some fresh air, desperately needing to relieve some of the restlessness you were facing. 

The pale moonlight shines down on the bed of flowers, the wind whisking past you more crisp during the night. A warm smile tugs on the corner of your lips as you kneel down, gently touching the array of white, lilac purple and petal pink flowers beneath your feet. 

Running your fingers through the stems your hand halts, circling around a certain white flower. You pursue your lips, reaching out and cautiously wrapping your fingers around the base, squeezing it tightly for a moment. 

“I don’t think my mother will be fond of the idea that you stole one of her flowers.” 

You nearly jolt, breath hitching at the sudden voice behind you. That’s when your eyes enlarge, grip loosening immediately. 

Swiveling around, the astonishment doesn’t leave your form as you rise up onto your feet. 

Namjoon stands before you, leaning against a wall with a hand pressed against his chest. He sheepishly smiles when your eyes connect, briefly glancing at the ground for a moment before looking up. 

“You know, these flowers have a history of blooming in the seasons of‒oof!”

He doesn’t get a chance to enlighten you about his knowledge of the plants, your form crashing right against his as you wrap your arms around him. Namjoon lightly chuckles, pushing your strands back and slowly circling his arm around you. Your grip on him only tightens, a fact that he’s quick to remind you of. 

“Y/N.” He strains. 

You suddenly realize your husband had recently suffered having multiple bullets penetrate through his chest cavity. Immediately stepping back, a string of apologies tumble from your lips. 

“I-I’m so sorry!” He grimaces while holding onto the wounds, but still continues to smile at you. Your eyes are drawn to the thick strips of cloth wrapped around the area, tucked underneath the button-down shirt he had clumsily through on around his shoulders.

Your eyes suddenly narrow, “If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that you’re still healing‒…” 

Namjoon sheepishly smiles and your eyes widen. Before you can say anything, Namjoon steps forward and places a finger against his lips. 

“You need to go back.” You hurriedly coax, voice dropping down into a whisper. Namjoon continues to smile, not moving the slightest. 

You press your hands against him, slowly pushing him, “Namjoon, you need rest and‒” 

“I know.” He whispers, grasping onto your hands right away. “I came here to see you.” 

“You were worried...weren’t you?” You flush underneath his gaze, averting your eyes. His smile widens for a brief second, before it drops down and he leans closer to you. 

“Y/N.” 

You look up, eyes connecting with his. You’re taken aback with the stern appearance they take on, narrowing with intent. 

When he speaks, they’re of mere facts, “I’m conscious again, and I’m able to walk…..” 

You hum, not quite understanding what he was intending to say to you. “The company...I’m sure Seokjin and Jimin told you what I did.” 

“You destroyed it.” You state and he nods, “It’s gone now and the Kim’s don’t have any means of continuing on with their busine‒” 

Life flickers into your eyes and at the sight of recognition in your eyes, Namjoon solemnly smiles. 

“You want to leave….” You whisper and he hums. 

“It’s been on my mind ever since, I wanted to ask you in a better manner but given the circumstance…” He glances down at his injury. 

“The moment I woke up, I needed to talk to you about it.” 

“I see….” You mutter, staring down at the ground. Namjoon continues to gaze at you, concern in his eyes. 

At your silence, he ponders, “What are you thinking?” 

“I don’t know, truthfully.” You whisper, “It sounds….wonderful, incredible actually‒ but….” You stare at him, “Can we do that...? Have a fresh new start?”

For some reason, you almost want to laugh, “Are people like us even allowed to have something like that?”

“Maybe not.” Namjoon truthfully says, and you peer up, taken aback from the grim in his voice, “But I don’t see any harm in trying.” 

You silently stare at him. 

You’re not a spy anymore ‒ and Namjoon is no longer the heir. 

You’re finally free, no longer someone else's tools to use. You can be whoever and decide to do whatever you want, no family history dictating it for you anymore. 

The carefree thought brings a smile to your lips, and when you look up to see Namjoon softly smiling, you wonder if he’s pieced it together too. 

Without hesitation, you take Namjoon’s hand. 

Epilogue

The sun brightly shines in between the clouds, spreading across the expansive field. 

It reaches your skin as you bend down, a small basket in your hand as you rummage around for the potatoes you recall planting somewhere. 

There’s a faint rustle from behind you and you blink for a moment, turning around with narrowed eyes. You hear it again, but this time you can see two small legs running towards you. 

A tender smile spread across your features. 

The rustling abruptly cuts off, the sound of loud thud replacing it and low cries begin to echo out instead. 

You rush forward, the basket in your hands long abandoned. 

“Seokmin!” 

The young boy continues to cry, large tears leaving his wide eyes until you bend down, scooping him up into your arms. His cries subside a little by the action and you muse at his clumsiness, acknowledging that it was a particular trait he surely hadn’t gotten from you.

Namjoon emerges seconds later, planting his hands against his knees as deeply heaves.  

“I’m sorry, he was excited to see you and‒” He pants, drawing closer to see Seokmin tucked away in your embrace with dried streaks down his cheeks. “Is he alright?”

You nod, attempting to brush away the hair from the boy’s eyes. Namjoon reaches out and you hand him over, bending down to retrieve your basket. 

You look up to see Namjoon playfully poking one of his cheeks, your son squirming around his arms as small giggles leaves him. 

The display has a smile curving on your lips. 

There was a time when you dreamed about being happy, to live a life on your terms without being at someone’s beck and call, every decision being fueled by your own conscious thought rather than programmed and ingrained obligation. 

However, that’s all it ever was ‒ a dream, a mere fantasy tucked away in the corners of your mind that you had long forgotten about. Yet somehow in some way, you and Namjoon managed to fulfill it. 

It didn’t come to you all at once, a normal life being far from the reality you were uncomfortably close to. That type of life was something that never quite suited the two of you and as a result, you had your fair share of struggles. 

You can still remember the nights you had spent with vicious nightmares, old memories plaguing you and not letting you forget that you still had marks littering your body, your own two hands long having been tainted. It would make you question if you even deserved any of this, deserved to actually be content with what you have. 

You would like to say that the adjusting process was easier for Namjoon, but there were a handful of times where he would wake up in a cold sweat, his whole form quivering next to you. It was those days you truly learned about Namjoon’s past for the first time, of the things he did or more so, was forced to do. 

You started to wholeheartedly believe it, that this ‘life’ you wanted to build together could never be possible and that a part of you will always unconsciously remember times you wanted to forget. 

That was until your son was born. 

At first, it was a whirlwind. You hadn’t expected to get pregnant so soon and you weren’t sure of how Namjoon would react to the sudden news. Fortunately he was ecstatic once you told him and it granted you some sense of reassurance, but you could clearly see it within his warm eyes and you know he could see it reflected in yours. 

Was it even possible for people like the two of you to bring another life into the world? 

You had attempted to push that thought away as far as you could during the process and luckily when Seokmin was born, something had changed within you. 

“Y/N?” 

You blink, noticing Namjoon was staring at you with concern. Seokmin is looking over as well, appearing much better compared to when you found him. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. Leaning down, you redirect your gaze towards your son. 

It still astonishes you that aside from the eyes and the hair, he appears to be an exact replica of his father, “Are you feeling okay?” 

Your son nods, a spark lighting in his eyes. 

“Mom!” He excitedly says, “Dad said‒ Dad said you were a spy!” 

You stare at Namjoon wide-eyed, who looks at his son with the same expression. 

A low chuckle leaves you, “Um, he did…?” 

Namjoon puts Seokmin on the ground and gestures for him to continue playing, turning around to you. 

“Namjoon, we said we would wait.” You whisper. 

“I know‒” He squeezes his eyes shut, “It was just a slip of the tongue.” 

You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh, “It’s alright...he’ll have to find out someday.” 

“Are you referring to the time we’ll give him the chance to choose his own last name?” 

Namjoon gazes at you amused and you share a smile with him. 

“You know, Seokjin and Jimin have been wanting to see him.” He reminds you, “They still can’t believe we named our son after them.” 

“Seokmin is a nice name.” Namjoon raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you and you laugh at his expression, “We should visit sometime soon, especially because….” 

You lean closer to him and Namjoon can only stare in confusion when you whisper in his ear. Immediately, he jolts back from you, staring at you in astonishment. 

“R-Really? Are you being serious?” You nod with a smile and Namjoon is brimming with ecstasy, “Y/N, that’s amazing!” 

You point a finger towards him, “But I want to name this one.”

Namjoon chuckles, pulling you into his embrace, “Of course.” 

[hogarthwrites]

house sitting for two chapter 17

chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 16 pairing: Sam Drake/Reader (m/f) genre: smut, slow romance, mutual pining warnings: graphic sex, alcohol words: 2,901 summary: You're unsure about dating someone else and it makes you guilty about still being in love. You make your mind up when you run into a certain someone one night.

Sam and Sully had gone to Las Vegas. “Just because,” Sam reasoned. He needed to forget how empty he felt whenever it was nighttime and he was lonely in bed.

Instead, he and Sully gambled, outsmarting each other in their own games. At the end of the night, Sam would go to the nearest bar to drink. That’s where he was reunited with Victoria, an old flame he had just before Panama.

Victoria – or Vix – as he called her, was a nice enough woman. She was as loud as he remembered her and he genuinely did have fun with her, and there was an understanding between them: it was just sex.

He'd take her to his RV every night, and every single time he fucked her, he thought of you. As he dug his fingers into the soft skin of her hips, he closed his eyes, imagining you, drowning out the sounds of her moans. He couldn't understand how he became so attached to you but no other person.

It was then the telephone started ringing. Sam sighed, considering his options. He wasn't close yet and he wasn't in a hurry so he got up and hobbled to the phone.

“Yeah?” Sam leaned against the wall, expecting it to be Sully calling from his five-star hotel room, but there was no response.

“Come on, Sam, don't keep me waiting,” Victoria whined. “I was so close.”

“Just a second,” he turned away from her. “Hello? Hello?”

The line cut out, leaving Sam confused. Must've been a wrong number.

He drove Sully back to California the next day, feeling a little sad about being back in Paso Robles. It didn't stop him from looking around as he drove, hoping to get a glance of you – that is, if you stayed in the area.

“I've gotta say that was the first Vegas trip I've been on where I haven't made any life altering decisions,” Sully mused. “Hell, that was the mildest experience I've had.”

“Jeez, Victor, sorry I made it lame,” Sam joked. Deep down they knew they were too old to get shit faced drunk and make horrible decisions just after a few nights in Las Vegas.

“Ah, maybe next time,” Sully picked up his bags as Sam parked in front of his mid-century style home. “What's next for Samuel Drake?”

“Uh,” Sam thought. “Gonna visit a special lady named Irene, then hopefully my business partner can find another job for us.”

“Oh, Irene,” Sully chuckled.

“Ah, so you know her,” Sam smiled.

“The ‘70’s were a wild time, Sam,” Sully winked, confirming yours and Sam’s suspicions.

“Well, good for you, Victor. She's still single, just so you know.”

“Right,” Sully laughed. “Hey, maybe you should go up to Los Angeles, just see the sights. Weather’s nice this time of the year.”

Huh , Sam thought to himself. He hasn't been in LA in years. It won't hurt to stop by.

“Sure, Victor. I'll send you a postcard.”

“There's an open house this weekend,” Stephen said over the phone. “I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, I'm totally cool with it.” You lay in the hammock of your backyard, smoking a cigarette and mindlessly scrolled through social media. Sam was always on your Instagram, giving you just a glimmer of hope.

“I'll call as much as I can. I love you.”

You paused, chewing on you lip. “I'll see you soon, Steve.”

You felt the tiniest pang of guilt as you felt a bit of relief to be away from Stephen for two weeks. As much as you tried, you couldn't love him. Sam was still in your mind and everytime you had sex with Stephen, you thought about Sam. It just didn't feel as good.

It didn't stop you from being racked with guilt. You didn't want to be with Stephen, but you didn't want to be lonely.

I'm a horrible person and I had the audacity to call Sam a selfish bastard, you let out an angry puff of smoke. Maybe we are a lot more alike than I thought.

You groaned as you slid off the hammock hanging on your back porch and padded your way into your kitchen to get a drink. The silence was overwhelming while you poured yourself a glass of orange juice.

You retired to your room and climbed into your cold, empty bed. You hated the silence. You missed Sam’s voice as he talked on and on about something that excited him.

You read and reread the letter he wrote you in the hospital. It was short but it was enough to make you miss him every time.

I'm sorry. No one's ever done anything like that for me and I feel horrible. Please get better. I'll make you pancakes like I promised long ago.

I love you,

Sam

The landline phone caught your attention. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hear his voice just for a bit.

You hastily got up and walked to the phone, mind racing as you picked up the receiver. You assured yourself it was fine and that Sam never had a caller ID.

Here goes, you held your breath as you dialed his number, dreading the ringing tones.

It kept ringing and you were scared it'll go to voicemail, but after a while, Sam finally picked up.

“Yeah?” He was out of breath.

Just that one word made your heart leap. You opened your mouth to say something when you heard someone in the background.

“Come on, Sam, don't keep me waiting,” a woman said in a sultry voice. “I was so close.”

“Just a second,” Sam called out. “Hello? Hello?”

You hung up. That was a terrible idea.

Irene was overjoyed to see Sam, peppering his face in kisses.

“Oh, you've grown so tall!” She joked. “It's so nice to see you, Sam.”

“You know I can't stay away from my favourite weed lady,” he chuckled.

“Are you staying long?”

“Nah, just dropping by to say ‘hi’.”

“Well ‘hi’ to you too,” she smiled.

She gave him a pan of banana bread (and some weed) before he left, asking if he ever got to see you. He wished he did.

You lay on the floor of your living room, music blasting on the stereo as you had a pity party. You had to end things with Stephen as the guilt was becoming too much for you to bear.

You had put the ring back on, staring at it as you held your hand up. You needed a drink.

The fluorescent lights of the store were a little too bright for you and you trudged to the fridge, ignoring the guy manning the cashier.

“You look like shit again,” he remarked.

“‘Kay, thanks for the input, Troy,” you muttered. Asshole.

You grabbed a few bottles of beer, hugging them to your chest. Just another Friday night.

“Sorry, I need a pack of cigarettes… Or two,” you heard a familiar voice. You peeked behind a shelf of condoms.

It was Sam. What the hell is he doing in LA and in this particular store too?

Fuck. You began to panic, glancing down at yourself. The grey sweatpants and your stained DIY shirt you painted years ago wasn’t the most flattering outfit and it didn't help that your hair was a mess.

You wanted him to just go, but through your panicked state, you dropped one of the bottles in your arms, catching Sam’s attention.

“Y/N?” He looked at you curiously.

“Heyy, Sam,” you sheepishly stepped away from the mess on the floor.

“Clean up on aisle two,” Troy mumbled, grabbing the broom and a mop.

“Sorry, I'll pay for that,” you tiptoed past him.

“No, I'll pay for it,” Sam looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Your heart leaped when you met his gentle eyes. “That's a lot of bottles.”

“TGIF, right?” You awkwardly laughed. Idiot.

“Can't argue with that,” Sam smiled.

Troy totalled up yours and Sam’s purchases after a lot of whining. Sam helped you carry your bottles of beer.

“Where ya heading?” He asked.

“Home. It's not too far from here.”

“Come on, I'll give you a lift,” he nudged you.

“No, it's fine,” you shook your head.

“You don't wanna see my snazzy new tiny home?”

“Tiny home,” you chuckled. “Yeah, sure I'd love to see it.”

Sam had a nice little RV with his motorcycle secured on it. It wasn't too fancy inside; his books were neatly organised on a small shelf by the sofa/dining area, the plants you left him on a box by the window, and a large bed in the back with just a curtain for privacy.

“Wow,” you looked around. “What made you wanna get an RV?”

“Eh, just wanted to be able to move around easier,” he shrugged as he sat in the driver's seat. “It's not permanent, but it's been alright so far.”

You took the seat next to him, fastening your seatbelt.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“Its just a few blocks away. Go west.”

It was supposed to be a short drive, but it felt longer to you. You didn't know what to say and neither did Sam, just Spandau Ballet softly playing on the radio filling in the silence.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “LA… Why? You planning on being in Hollywood?”

You shrugged. “I've always lived in smaller towns, I thought a bigger city might be an experience.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Do you like it?”

“It's been alright,” you shrugged again. “I haven't gotten around to exploring as much. Oh, it's just here.”

You pointed at the one-story Spanish revival house you've been staying in. Sam parked in front and you picked up your paper bag, heavy with the bottles.

“Let me help you with that,” Sam reached out, his hand touching your arm. It was enough to make you feel hot all over.

He locked eyes with you and for a moment, you thought he was leaning in to kiss you. You instinctively closed your eyes, waiting, but nothing happened.

When you opened your eyes, Sam was holding the paper bag and walking towards the door.

Oh, you were disappointed. What was I expecting?

He walked you to the door, his eyes on you the entire time.

“I missed you,” he said, making your heart leap again.

“Sam,” you looked up at him as you reached your door.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I just… Couldn't get you out of my mind in months, I had to say it.”

“I missed you too,” you softly said.

This time, you felt his lips on yours, and you instinctively kissed him back. There were butterflies in your stomach, but the moment didn't last.

Sam stepped back, his face a little flushed. You felt your cheeks heat up as well.

He held out the paper bag to you. “Um, good night.”

“Good night…” You whispered as he turned to go back to his RV. “Sam, wait–”

He looked back, and you walked towards him.

“You can park in my driveway for the night… Or however long you're going to stay here.”

“I don't want to be a burden–”

“What? Sam, it's me. I…” You bit your lip. “I want you here. Maybe we can hang out.”

“Okay,” he smiled.

You took a deep breath as you closed your door behind you, your heart still racing. Sam kissed you and for the first time in months, you felt… Happy?

You placed the bottles in your fridge, no longer interested in drinking them, then changed into cleaner clothes for bed. You peeked out your window and saw the lights were still on in his RV.

You wanted to go to him, to kiss him more, to hold him again, but you thought of Stephen. True, he wasn't your boyfriend officially, but he trusted you. But still…

You found yourself in front of Sam’s door, and as you were about to knock, Sam opened the door.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

You stood, staring at each other as if you both couldn't believe it. Sam pulled you into his arms, and you kissed him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you in, closing the door behind him with his foot.

He sat you on the table, his hands sliding down to your ass.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck.

You sighed as he left cool kisses on the hot skin of your neck. He pulled you close and you wrapped your legs around his waist again.

“Sam,” you whispered as he began lifting your shirt.

“What–what is it?” He rested his forehead on yours.

“Should we be doing this?” You asked, trailing your finger down his chest.

Sam kissed you. “I don't know, but it feels so right.”

Your shirt and your shorts were discarded somewhere around his RV and Sam had your legs over his shoulders as he kneeled in front of the table. He gave your clit a few licks, his eyes on yours the entire time.

“God, I missed this view,” you ran your fingers through his hair.

“What, your new boyfriend doesn't eat you out?” He gave you a smug smirk.

“He’s not my boyf–”

Sam continued licking your clit, closing his eyes as he pushed his face further against your pussy. It was getting too much for you and you tugged at his hair.

“More, Sam, more,” you moaned.

You felt him smile against you as he began sucking on your clit softly, switching between sucking and licking. You bucked your hips against him but he held you down.

Sam gave a satisfied hum as you came, your thighs squeezing his head.

“How was that?” He stood up, leaning over you on the table. It was then you noticed that he was still fully dressed, but the tent in his grey sweatpants was hard to ignore.

“I think I've been missing out on Samuel Drake,” you chuckled.

He pulled you up and carried you to the bed bridal style.

“Wait, Sam,” you sat up as he climbed over you.

“What?”

“I've been having sex.”

He blinked at you. “So?”

“And you have too, I assume?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “So?”

You pushed him away. “So put a condom on.”

Sam gave you an amused smile. “You know you're the only person I've never had safe sex with.”

“Good to know,” you stuck your tongue out. “But put one on.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, standing up.

Sam held the condom up before climbing on top of you to kiss you. “Happy?”

You took off his shirt and he climbed out of his sweatpants, cock glistening with precum. It was enough to get you wet.

He ripped the condom packet open and slipped it on with ease. Sam gave you soft, sweet kisses as he began pushing inside you.

You both gasped at the sensation, Sam had his lip pinned between his teeth as he pushed deep inside you. He began to thrust slowly and gently cupping your cheek.

“Harder,” you whispered, desperate for more.

Sam groaned as he began pounding into you, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts. He kissed you hard as he collapsed on top of you, rolling over so you were on top of him.

“I wanna see you,” he said, moving your hips against his. “I wanna see you fucking me.”

You placed your hands against the headboard, bouncing on his cock. You moaned out his name loudly; something you've been wanting to do for months. It felt so good to finally have him under you and all you wanted was to make him feel good, to make up for all the lost time.

Sam pulled you in to kiss you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I missed you too,” you sighed between kisses.

“I forgot how good you feel,” he kissed your neck.

His hands slid down to your ass, spreading then as he rammed his hips up against yours. You grabbed at the pillow at his head, crying out loud. His finger dipped into your asshole and you moaned out.

The dual sensation was enough to make you cum, and Sam wasn’t far behind. He kissed you hard as he came, holding you close.

You were breathless as you rolled off him and he took the condom off, dunking it into the trash.

The bed dipped as he climbed back in, lying on his back next to you.

“Wanna see something cool?” Sam smiled.

He pressed a button and the rather large sunroof opened up, letting in more of the moonlight and the dim streetlights.

“Oh, that is cool,” you grinned. “Why didn't you show me before we fucked?”

“I don't think your neighbours would be too happy seeing us fornicate if they happened to look out the window.”

“You think they can really see us?”

Sam shrugged, putting an arm under his head and stared up at the sky with you.

“Do you wanna go out tomorrow?” You asked.

“Are you gonna give me the Grand Los Angeles tour?”

“Honestly, I haven't even toured it myself,” you sheepishly said. “It hasn't really felt like home.”

“Well,” Sam looked up in thought. “Maybe we can start with Santa Monica? I believe it isn't too far from here.”

“Okay,” you took his hand in yours.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 9

A/N Okay I’m excited for this one because we’re meeting my favourite character and if you’ve read my lil notes while I was writing a few weeks back you’ll know right now who it is hehe

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Zach Herron was the kind of young man who made an impression on you. Honestly, he had that popstar look that any nineteen-year-old boy should have to really make it in the industry; the fluffy brown hair, big brown eyes, and cheeks that would make any young girl or old woman alike want to pinch them. He had promise, he had the look, he had charisma, sure. The only catch was that he had no fucking talent. He could sing well, this was fair to say I suppose, but he just sounded like any other choir boy. He didn’t have that special gift that Jonah and I always tried to reach for when it came to our clients.

So we denied his demo.

His agent pushed him on us in a few emails and even a phone call and she sounded nearly desperate to get this young guy a record deal but Jonah and I knew what image we wanted for our brand and just another pretty boy who had a mediocre voice was not who we wanted to sign.

We were persistent in our decision.

We only met the kid in person once. He showed up uninvited to our studio and demanded to speak to us. We stayed firm but fair with our choice to decline his demo.

To be brutally honest with you, dear reader, he lost his fucking mind.

Zach wasn’t one to take no for an answer – I assumed his mother coddled him a bit too much as a child and he wasn’t used to not getting his way – and when he realized we weren’t changing our minds, he lost it. I’m talking screaming and swearing and completely destroying my office until we had to call up security to restrain him and escort him out of the building while he cursed us to hell and back the whole way into the elevator.

“You’re going to regret this! You’re going to regret this until the day you die!”

The kid was literally fucking psycho.

It made perfect sense to add him to this list of potential suspects.

We had his work address from when he first sent in his information (along with a ton of other things we needed to know as potential record owners to a new artist) so Jonah and I drove right into the heart of Los Angeles to confront him. Was it the smartest idea? Probably not. But I mean we weren’t going to walk in there and directly ask ‘did you murder my wife’ but at least we could figure out some sort of verdict.

The bars on the window of the shop were not unlike a lot of places downtown, theft rates high in some neighbourhoods so smaller businesses opted for safety over aesthetics. Jonah and I stepped inside the small store together to find not a lot of customers filling the aisles. Probably suspected for a Tuesday after lunch hour. The smell of fresh cheese and meat waved through the air and I forced myself not to cover my nose. Could you blame me when I had been staring at a dead body all morning? Fresh meat wasn’t my first choice of a preferable scent at that moment.

Standing's Butchery was an unfortunate destination in that sense but if we were trying to prove my innocence then it was an important step.

“Should we buy lunch while we’re here?” Jonah asked me.

“No.” I answered easily. “I want a damn salad after this morning.”

Zach was behind the counter at the far end of the restaurant, his hair tucked in a hair net and his gloved hands busy behind the glass display case. He didn’t notice at us when we walked in until we were nearly directly in front of him.

His brown eyes raised to us, flicking between Jonah and me a few times, before coolly dropping his gaze back to the large chunk of steak he was filleting.

“Come here to beg for me back?” he asked egotistically.

“Not a chance.” I answered easily.

“Your lame-ass record company is going to swim with the fishes without me.” Zach said flatly. The knife hit the chopping board loudly before he pulled it back and slivered it down another strip of steak. “What can I do for you jackasses then?”

“Where were you around 7 last night?”

Zach’s eyes raised to mine, knife pausing mid slice before he focussed back to his work, “None of your business.”

“My house was broken into and I’m trying to figure out who I need to report to the police.” I said. It was only a half lie.

“I wouldn’t waste my fucking time breaking into your house full of useless fucking trash. What would I want out of it anyway?”

He didn’t look up as he sliced another thin fillet of steak with precision and a steady hand. He tossed the piece to the side and it hit the counter with a wet smack, a few splatters of blood streaking across the laminated granite. I focused my eyes on his face even if he refused to look at us.

“Doesn’t matter. What were you doing last night?” I tried again.

“I had a meeting at another record company.”

“Which one?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeah, it fucking is. Which one were you at, you fucking-”

Zach set the knife down hard against the countertop, cutting me off mid-sentence and his angry eyes bore into mine. He didn’t even glance at Jonah. Obviously his personal issue with one of us was decided.

“You already ruined my fucking dreams with your tasteless bullshit company thinking you can tell me ‘no’. Now you’re coming back here to interrogate me? I’m sick of you.” he waved the knife between us.

“Learn how to take criticism before you get yourself arrested for assault or destruction of property.” I retorted strongly. “Your attitude isn’t helping your case here.”

“There is no case.” Zach picked up the knife again and shook his head as he went back to slicing through the beef, “You’re pathetically obsessed with me, Seavey. You want to keep my name in your mouth so bad, so what, you want my dick in there next? At least that would shut you up. Fuck off.”

I scoffed loudly and tried to form a rebuttal, but he was continuing, his voice low to keep the sharp conversation between the three of us but thick with anger enough to make my blood pressure rise.

“I’m sick of seeing the two of you all over this fucking city; on every stupid fucking billboard and news channel. You don’t know what it’s like to suffer. You’re selfish pricks and you’ll get what’s coming to you sooner or later.”

“Tell your mommy to get you a mental test, you fucking psycho.” I spat. “If we don’t get a restraining order today it will be too fucking soon.”

“You came to find me, remember? Nice to see I have a little fanboy and his sidekick following me around like stalkers.”

“Fanboy my fucking ass, Herron.” I slammed my palm down against the glass display case. “Were you or were you not at my house last night?”

Zach looked back up at me but didn’t answer. The smirk on his face made me sick. He looked back down to his work.

“Just answer the question.” Jonah chimed in coolly.

“I was not.” Zach answered slowly as if he enjoyed seeing me angry.

“Fine.” I took a step back from the case, all too aware of his manager eyeing us and our confrontation from a few feet down the counter. I started back towards the door to the butcher without a look back, Jonah following quickly behind me. What use was my interrogation if all he gave me was snark and a denied accusation. Our darling fate would take care of him one way or another…whether he was responsible for Avalon’s death or not. I must say, though, if it was him, that was a disgustingly sick method of revenge for just a denied demo.

Zach called after us as I pushed open the door and stepped out to the sunbathed sidewalk, “And Seavey, tell your wife I say hello. If she wants a real man who knows how to work with meat, she knows where to find me.”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15 @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

[slightlymore]

Pride | Part 1

Pairing: CollegeStudent!Doyoung (main), Y/N, CollegeStudent!Johnny (not really a love triangle but you’ll understand better as you read lol) Genre: Series | Smut | Angst | Crack | Prob fluff if you wear magnifying glasses Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, throwing up (not graphic tho) Words: 4.5K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 THE END

"You think he's cute," smiled Johnny, knowingly. 

You looked at him as if he had just said something terrible. The corridor you were walking through was filled with people, either crying, laughing hysterically or high.

It was finals week. 

You sighed. "He is objectively good looking," you replied while doing your best shrug. Johnny rolled his eyes. "You can say it if you like someone, Y/N. It doesn't mean that you're going to date him or marry him just because you admit that you have a crush.”

He has been saying that for the past two years during which you refused to like someone. Johnny couldn’t understand why you didn’t want to go out with anyone. He thought that maybe you liked girls and spent a full 15 minutes soliloquizing about how it was okay to be attracted to the same gender. He then spent another 15 minutes talking about how it is possible to not be attracted to anyone at all and you had to reassure him that you were actually straight and you did have crushes before. It was just because you didn’t like anyone and he just had to leave you alone. 

Because you liked him. But you didn’t tell him this part. 

"Well, I don't have any crush to admit to," you replied to him while entering the exam room and sitting down. 

You were talking about this guy Johnny brought along for your last study session before hell started. He was studying some sort of engineering. The dude explained it but honestly, you weren't that interested and didn't listen.  You didn't talk much that day, everyone concentrated on their own work, so you actually didn't have any opinion on him. How can one develop a crush on someone just like that? But Johnny was sure about it. 

"I just think you would make a good couple," Johnny commented, sitting behind you. You ignored him with a huff. 

It was not only later that week, during the university party celebrating the end of the semester that you had the opportunity to talk to this Doyoung guy. 

It wasn’t necessarily natural but not awkward either. It was just chaotic. A whole disaster. 

For a split second, as your gaze drifted down, trained on the way your beer spilt on Doyoung’s white shirt, you thought that maybe it could be the start of a cute romantic story like the movies portrayed. Maybe Johnny was right. He would never date you, you knew that. It took you a long time to come to term with that, but you were ready. It was time to get a new crush and he was the right choice. But then you saw the dude’s eyes widening and darkening with rage and you knew that it wasn’t the case at all. 

“Just fuck off,” he replied as you tailed him to the bathroom, mumbling something along the lines of “oh my god, I'm so sorry”.  You weren’t that sorry. Actually, to be completely honest, seeing Doyoung’s mouth open as if in slow motion was pretty funny, but you weren’t that mean as to just leave him deal with that alone. “I know where the stuff is in this house. Johnny is my best friend,” you said to him with your arms crossed on your chest, standing in the frame of the door, as to explain why you were standing there minding his business. Doyoung washed his hands before swearing something under his breath, and just taking his t-shirt off completely, pulling it by the collar. His glasses got crooked in the movement and his hair got all messed up. “Yeah, as if I need help to find the soap,” he commented with a killing glare, fingers already squeezing the product and lathering it up. 

You closed your mouth and just stared at his naked torso without being able to say a word. He was just average, an average guy getting his top off, just like other guys were probably doing at that moment downstairs and just like other guys you’ve seen before. But for some reason, you didn’t expect Doyoung to do it. Not like that and not at that moment. You blinked a few times, rather awkward and unsure of what to do next. 

He didn’t need any help. You were just a creep watching a guy washing up. So with a single movement, you turned around and walked to Johnny’s room, hoping he wouldn’t get mad if you lent one of his shirts to the Doyoung guy. 

The room’s door was closed and you opened it fast as if it was your own house and walked over the closet without thinking. “Y/N!” you heard a thundering voice. You turned around in shock. Johnny was on the bed, not alone and doing something with someone which definitely required the closed door. 

You felt your cheeks burning. 

“Fuck,” you gasped. “No, wait, what? I meant, God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled putting your hands to your eyes but still watching through your fingers. 

“What do you want?” he asked. “Just leave.”

He wasn’t that mad but looked fairly irritated. 

 “I need one of your shirts,” you mumbled indicating to the closet. Your voice sounded very feeble even to your ears. 

“Hey, do you think I can borrow- whoa!” Doyoung barged in but suddenly stopped as if meeting a glass wall, eyes darting around from you to the bed and back to you. He was still topless but he was the less naked in that room anyway. “Guys, what the fuck. Just go away” Johnny whined, exasperated. The girl underneath him laughed. “I’m just going to take-,” you started, opening the closet and throwing the first thing you found to Doyoung’s face before closing it loudly and, grabbing the naked and shocked boy by the forearm, you walked out in a hurry. “Oh, no, babe, you got all soft,” you heard the girl say as you closed the door behind you. 

_____

You were a little panting. That was so embarrassing. 

And it was all Doyoung’s fault. 

“Okay but what the fuck is this?” you heard him laugh as he was putting on a floral shirt. “Just wear it and shut up,” you replied making him laugh even more. 

After he buttoned it all up he looked at you as if about to ask your opinion but closed his mouth upon noticing your gaze.

“It’s fine. There’s no need to feel so mortified,” he tried to reassure you. 

It was kind considering how he wanted to kill you just a few minutes before that. 

You shook your head. 

“I am fine,” you replied walking away. “You look very mad though.” Now he was the one tailing you. 

“Leave me alone” you commented, waving your hand in his direction as if getting rid of flies. 

You had to get away somewhere quiet and be alone for a second. You descended the stairs and eyed the backyard. It was cold outside and no one, besides people smoking, wanted to adventure there. 

You opened the glass doors and made your way to the swing. It was a very pretty one, those big swings that could fit almost three people. You and Johnny would sit there at dawn and watch the colours of the sky. 

As you got near to it, you almost couldn’t see anymore because of the tears that veiled your eyes. “Fucking-.” you mumbled wiping your face with your forearm. 

It made you so angry. You were so sure you were over him. What was going on? Johnny wasn’t dating anyone but he would hook up with different people, it wasn’t a secret and you knew. But the fact that he was always beside you, instead of some other girl, gave you hope. Seeing it with your own eyes was a cruel reality check. 

You weren’t over him at all. 

Still sobbing in your hands, you jolted and raised your head when you suddenly felt the swing move. Doyoung was sitting beside you looking at the noisy house. Without saying anything he handed you a water bottle. 

You looked at his hand for a few seconds, almost confused, then accepted it. The boy then sighed and took a sip out of his beer. 

You expected him to ask questions or to try and cheer you up. But he just stayed there, not saying anything and you had nothing to do besides copying him. 

After a few other sniffles and last cheek swipes, you realized just how cold outside actually was. 

“Let’s go inside, you’ll catch a cold,” you told him with hoarse voice while standing up and straightening your pants. 

“So what? Would you be sorry?” he replied getting up as well. 

You scoffed. “I would feel in debt with you. I already marinated you like a piece of barbecue with that beer before. I don’t need any other stuff to feel guilty about.”

“You got me a shirt. Not the coolest one, I’ll admit, but still a shirt. You don’t need to feel sorry for marinating me.”

“I didn’t say I was sorry,” you explained walking towards the warmth of the house. With the corner of your eye, you saw Doyoung smiling. 

Making your way through the crowd. you suddenly didn’t know what to do and you couldn’t remember what were you doing before that. 

Having fun? Dancing? 

You thought about it for a second and walked towards the kitchen counters. Doyoung followed you and rested his body weight on his elbows while looking at your movements.  “I don’t need a babysitter,” you poured yourself a whole glass of vodka. Doyoung’s lips tightened in a perplexed smirk, eying the big ass glass. “That’s not how you drink that.”

You ignored him and drank half of it in one go. The boy didn’t say anything but you could tell he was impressed and perhaps slightly worried as well. 

“Where are your friends? Aren’t they waiting for you?” you asked him before finally downing the whole drink and slamming the glass on the counter maybe a little too harshly. 

“I’ll leave when you get to yours first.” “Mine are having sex upstairs. They won’t be here any time soon” you replied.  

Doyoung went silent for a second. 

“Then you’ll have to hang out with me,” he said in the end. 

You looked at his intense eyes. They were judging the hell out of you trying to pour yourself another drink. Then he raised his gaze.  Yours was daring him to stop you. 

He didn’t. He just watched as you got drunk by yourself. 

_____

You couldn’t remember how the party ended. Or if it did at all. Or how come you were floating on the road directed to the apartment you shared with your roommates. 

Laying on your stomach, legs wrapped around something rather solid, you could swear that there was someone’s hair in your mouth. 

“If you puke on me I’m going to sue,” you heard someone’s deep voice very close yet far away. 

Trying to open up your eyes you understood what was going on. 

Doyoung was giving you a piggyback ride. You laughed. 

“I can’t believe it, she thinks this is funny,” he commented under his breath before stopping and adjusting your weight on his back. You jolted at the movement and felt your stomach doing something. 

“I feel like throwing up,” you mumbled. “Fuck you if you do,” he said. 

You laughed again. Everything was so amusing. You couldn’t recall why you were so sad before. 

“I’ll throw up on you,” you warned him with a chuckle. The boy sighed and let your legs down. You tried to stand up but almost fell on the side. 

“For fuck's sake,” he grabbed your arm. You wiggled around for a bit before finally standing straight. 

“I think I’m fine,” you started. “I don’t think I need to-”

But you did need to. And you almost did on his shoes. 

“Shit,” he jolted away,  looking at you disgusted for a moment before giving in and holding your shoulders. 

After you were done, your head magically felt much better as well. You looked up at him then at your bag on his shoulder and laughed. 

“Nice bag.” He rolled his eyes and opening it up he retrieved your water bottle. 

“What time is it?” you asked as you rinsed your mouth. 

Doyoung looked at you with hands on his hips. “Late.” What a mom.  You put a piece of chewing gum in your mouth and got up a little wobbly. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He looked fakely shocked. “Wow, you’re sorry? That’s a first.” 

You smiled. “I can be sorry sometimes.” Then you checked your phone. You secretly hoped that Johnny would call or ask if you got home safely. But there were no missed calls or messages. 

“Johnny is still busy,” Doyoung said, reading your mind. 

You recalled seeing him during the party, through the drunken fog, as he approached you and Doyoung, commenting something around the lines of how great it was to see you two together. You remember smiling while ignoring the girl he had his arm around on. 

Sighing, you let your phone fall in your purse again and just started to walk away. 

“Slow down,” Doyoung ordered linking his arm with yours. 

You scoffed. “I can walk,” you tried to slap his hands away.  Doyoung didn’t budge and gripped your harder. “Yeah, but not straight.”

Then you didn’t say anything else, the only sounds were your breath and your shoes on the asphalt. 

“I’m comfortable with you,” you heard yourself whisper after a while. It was so silent in that neighbourhood that you felt like keeping your voice down. It resulted in a confession. Doyoung laughed unfazed. “I see.” “I mean, the silence is comfortable,” you went on trying to gesticulate but failing. “And you don’t try to talk me out of stuff or give me advice,” you added. 

“I don’t even know you,” he explained. “Also, there’s nothing to say,” he shrugged. 

“Why are you taking care of me?” you asked after another silent moment.  “I have morals.”

You snorted. 

“Do you find me attractive?” you asked again. 

Doyoung sighed as if talking to a toddle. “I don’t know you. I have no opinion.” 

“Yeah, but objectively,” you went on, unable to understand when ending a conversation in the drunken haze. “Like, you’re objectively handsome. Am I objectively beautiful?” you mumbled stopping for a moment, touching his chest then touching yours as if he needed some visual representation of what you were talking about. Your head was still so light that it was difficult to think. You could see that you were embarrassing but the alcohol got rid of all of your inhibitions. 

“Yes,” he replied dryly, dragging you slightly to the side to not make you stumble into a road hole. 

“You don’t mean it.” 

Doyoung rolled his eyes. “Why are you asking me then?” 

“I just want to know if-,” you started but stopped as your voice got stuck into your throat. 

“God, don’t tell me you’re about to- yeah, alright, good, great, amazing. Fucking awesome,” Doyoung sang his irritated mantra as you stopped to sob uncontrollably in the middle of the road. 

“What did I do to deserve this,” he whispered under his breath again as you crouched down. 

“Hey, come on. It’s not like he doesn’t like you because you’re ugly or something,” he said crouching down beside you and trying to look at your face.

“Then he doesn’t like me because-” you stopped to sniffle “-I’m stupid!” you whined loudly. 

Doyoung whined as well but out of frustration. “Just let us arrive home first, alright?” he said trying to lift you up. 

“Let me go!” you whined again pushing his arms away. 

“It was so fun when you were out of it,” he commented when finally succeeding in putting you on his back again. Exhausted and completely drained out, you let him do it and just wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling powerless. 

“I know you’re upset but don’t choke me,” he warned you. 

_____  Doyoung thought he was a strong guy. 

Independent. Someone people could lean on. 

He would joke about his friends falling in love at first sight or cry over a partner that wasn’t even that awesome in the first place. 

He was so sure he wouldn’t have that fate that, when he saw you, it felt like a cold shower turning his world upside down. 

You wouldn’t remember it. It happened some months ago. He was minding his own business in the university main corridor when he heard a cry and raised his eyes. A girl was on the floor, books and pens all spread around her and a big guy was hovering over her. 

“Watch where you go next time,” he was saying. 

Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows ready to intervene. He was pretty sure that the guy had to watch where he put his fucking feet. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” asked a voice. 

“And who the fuck are you?” the guy replied in the same tone. In front of him materialized a girl with hands on her hips and flaming eyes. A guy she was with was helping the fallen girl to stand up. 

“Someone that’s going to whoop your fucking ass if you don’t apologize right now,” you said. The guy laughed. “You heard her, big boy,” Johnny said with a monotone voice.

And that was it. The guy actually apologized. 

Doyoung was impressed. Was it his tone or his gaze? He looked so cool just now that it made Doyoung almost mad. 

“Why do you always butt in?” you asked Johnny with a huff. “I had everything under control,” you puffed your cheeks. 

Johnny laughed. “Of course,” he replied ruffling your hair. You faked being irritated by the gesture but as Johnny turned his back to you, Doyoung could see the way you smiled.

He didn’t want to check up on you but for some reason, you were always under his eyes. Walking to class, having lunch, fighting with Johnny as he smiled at you. He would hear your voice in the crowd and without wanting to he would turn his head as a reflex. He would catch you laugh and it really irritated him that it wasn’t his jokes to make you so amused. 

“Are you in love, Kim?” his friends would joke when he didn’t listen to what they were talking about or when he unfocused his gaze thinking about apparently nothing. Doyoung would snap out of it at their nudges and slap their hands. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” he would say. 

“Then why are you getting so irritated by it? It must be true.” someone would comment.  “Is it that girl over there?” one of them asked, once. 

Doyoung secretly cursed at himself for staring so much. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said, acting as if concentrating on his work. 

“You mean Suh’s girlfriend?”  “Oh, they’re not dating” the first one replied. “He’s on my basketball team. He said they’re just friends. You might have a chance Kim,” he smirked at Doyoung.  

The boy scoffed as a reply and the conversation died there. 

But his heart was feeling more alive than ever. You and Johnny weren’t dating. He could really have a chance. He could date you. He could date you? Doyoung could date? Holy shit.  He could just go there and talk to you and you would smile at him the way you smiled at Johnny, right?

Yeah, right, he would reply to himself sarcastically. As if you would be interested in him in the first place. 

That was all he could think during his insomniac nights when he would indulge in thinking consciously about you. It was the only time in the day when he admitted to himself everything. In the morning he would forget about it and would act as if it never happened.

But then he officially met Johnny. 

He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t hate him but he objectively didn’t have a solid reason to actually despise him either (besides being a blind idiot and not realizing how his best friend was in love with him), so he tried to make an effort to be friendly as he offered his hand for Doyoung to shake. 

It was a small party. Doyoung wasn’t so big on parties but it was the last one before the finals so he thought he could use some fun. 

No.

In reality, he hoped to see you there, but no one should know that, not even his conscious side. 

You weren’t there. He didn’t ask but his friend did and he had to stop himself from punching him on the teeth. Because Johnny picked up on that and looked at Doyoung with a knowing gaze. 

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked. 

Doyoung took his time to reply and sipped on his drink. “I’m starting to revise tomorrow.”

“Great,” Johnny said hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “Y/N and I are revising as well. Meet us in the library.”

Y/N. 

He never realized that he didn’t know your name until that moment. Doyoung thought about it the whole night and rolled it on his tongue when he finally was able to be alone. 

_____ You barely looked at him. God, it made him feel so upset. 

Doyoung was sitting there, in front of you, watching you scribble away with furrowed eyebrows and when you had to look up, your eyes were on Johnny all the time. 

Doyoung wasn’t sure you even remembered his name. 

He gave in, he admitted to himself that he had a crush on you, he actually did something that involved feelings and now he felt so fucking stupid. 

He was an idiot. 

He felt so embarrassed. Especially as Johnny would look at him with that gaze of his as if being sorry. 

Stop fucking pitying me, he would scream in his mind. 

Doyoung made an effort and didn’t think about you for the whole week afterwards. Or so he liked to lie to himself. He knew he actually didn’t do much to win you over or something, but seeing how he never did anything at all, it felt a lot anyways. Everyone used to say how prideful he was, or cold, or something else that wanted to be an insult but what Doyoung interpreted as a compliment. He was strong. He was independent. He didn’t get stupid crushes. 

_____

This time Doyoung really hoped you wouldn’t be at the party. 

You weren’t there last time so it was natural to think you wouldn’t be present this time either. 

But he was wrong. 

He saw you already as he entered the house and had to close his eyes for a second to catch his breath. It made him so mad. 

He was so fucking mad. 

He hated it. He hated feelings. He hated everything. 

And then you spilt your beer on his shirt. 

He lost it. 

As he was washing himself up and you turned your back in the corridor upstairs he felt guilty to have spoken to you that way. That was your first real conversation and he acted like a fucking douchebag. He followed you. He wanted to let you help him as you offered yourself to. Maybe he could apologize. 

And then he saw your face, mortified and shocked. 

This is not ideal at all, he thought when he saw what made you look like that. 

Not ideal for you, but, he was ashamed to admit, ideal for himself. That was the ideal situation for you to snap out of your unrequited crush on Johnny and maybe, just maybe, look finally at him. 

But then he saw how your soul almost left your body. He saw you going downstairs and almost run into the backyard, not being able to hold yourself up and just crush down in an agonizing cry. And he thought that it wasn’t indeed an ideal situation even for him. Because he hated seeing you like that. Fucking John Suh, I swear-, he cursed at him while following you. Doyoung couldn’t understand how Johnny wasn’t in love with you. People could have different tastes, alright, but it was unfathomable to Doyoung to have you around so often and not wanting to kiss you every second. He wanted to say something. He wanted to help. It was painful to see you in love with someone else but it was even more painful to see you suffering because of it. 

But he couldn’t think of anything nice to say. 

And then you worried about him catching a cold and he felt so touched that he almost wanted to cry himself. 

Yet he acted like a douchebag about it again. 

His hands itched to grab that motherfucking vodka bottle out of your hands but he had no right. And when Johnny came down with his lady he felt like pushing him on the ground and just beat him up.  

It didn’t take a long time for you to pass out on him. Doyoung held you by the shoulders and thought about sitting down with you, but there was no space. He wanted to take you away from that place as soon as possible. But he had no right even this time.

“John,” he called. The boy turned around and looked around before realizing whose voice was that. “Yeah,” he replied. 

“She needs to go home.”

Johnny looked at you for a moment, asleep on Doyoung’s shoulder. 

“Damn, you’re right. I’ll give you the address” he took out his phone. 

“Are you letting me taking home your passed-out best friend? You barely know me,” Doyoung couldn't help but comment. 

Johnny looked up surprised. “I trust you,” he paused. “But I can ask somebody else if you’re not feeling like it.” His gaze was intense. He was warning Doyoung to be careful or he won’t be alive the next day. 

It was enough for Doyoung. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.” _____

You woke up with your head hurting as if you’ve banged it on the walls all night. 

It was the doorbell. It sounded like satan’s laugh and it drove you crazy even if it ringed just once. 

“I’m coming,” you mumbled, walking towards the entrance door barely able to see. 

It was Doyoung. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked confused. Doyoung rolled his eyes at you and walked in without being invited. He made his way to the kitchen where he freed his hands of what he was holding: breakfast and coffee, a small bag from the pharmacy on the other side of the road. 

“Eat then take these pills,” he ordered placing the stuff on your kitchen counters. 

You walked over him even more confused. “How do you know where I live?” 

He looked at you as if you said that the earth was flat. 

“Do you remember anything from last night?” 

You thought about it for a second and the mental exercise made your head feel even worse. You took the coffee and gulped a few times. 

“I remember seeing Johnny’s dong,” you joked trying to make the situation feel lighter. 

Doyoung didn’t laugh and looked at you with a weird gaze. 

“What?” you asked seeing him almost sorry. 

Then you remembered. Crying once, then getting drunk, puking on Doyoung, crying twice, getting carried home, whining about not wanting to go to bed, whining about not wanting Doyoung to go home, whining about wanting to sleep with Johnny instead of him, crying about Johnny thrice, whining when Doyoung wanted to go home again, then falling asleep. 

“Shit,” you sighed as you hid your face in your palms for a moment when the realization hit you like a truck and then looked back at Doyoung. 

He acted as if nothing big happened and you found yourself thankful for his ability to hide feelings. 

You watched his hands as he took out some breakfast sandwiches. Then you watched his back as he opened the fridge and handed you a glass of water. 

“Drink some water first,” he said. And you obeyed. 

“I’m sorry, Doyoung,” you said after you drank it all up. 

“It’s alright,” he said. 

“And thank you” you added. “Really,” you insisted. 

He nodded as if accepting your gratitude. 

Then it got awkward. 

“I’ll go now,” he scratched the back of his head after the moment of silence. “Don’t forget your meds. You’ll feel much better afterwards,” he reminded you as he was already walking to the corridor. 

You didn’t know what to do. 

You owed him a lot and didn’t know how to behave after being seen at your almost worst. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you said hurriedly as he was almost outside the door. 

He stopped at your words. You got closer. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” you asked. 

Doyoung slowly faced you. 

You looked back at him, expectantly. 

“Let me take you out on a date.”

[charismaandcashmere]

In the modern world, it often seems like it’s harder than ever to accomplish your goals.

It seems like everyone has already done the thing you want to do — that your idea is already out there, that your niche is beyond saturated.

Want to start a blog? You’re up against a million rivals. Thinking about starting a podcast? So is everyone else and their mom. Hoping to write a book? With the advent of self-publishing, you’re not only up against authors approved by major publishing houses, but anyone, anywhere, with a laptop. Want to become a YouTube star? Better hope you get noticed next to the thousands of other folks uploading new videos every day.

There’s seemingly a million graphic designers, a million wannabe filmmakers, a million other, probably more qualified candidates gunning for the same job you want.

And that’s just in the marketplace. In your personal life, the competition can feel equally fierce. In the days of yore, you were just competing against people in your college or church to win the attention of a lady. Now you’re up against every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Tinder. The dating marketplace hypothetically stretches beyond your community to encompass your whole state, maybe even the whole country.

Yes, in both economic and personal spheres, demand seems high, and resources seem scarce. It’s enough to make you decide to give up and not try in the first place.

Yet this feeling of scarcity is just an illusion, a myth.

In truth, there’s never been a more opportune time to live. Not only because it’s never been cheaper and easier to write a book, share your art, or start a business, but because the average person’s ability to execute on the basics has never been in such short supply.

While opportunities to achieve your goals aren’t as scarce as you think, there are areas where true scarcity does exist: in common sense, in social skills, in manners, in reliability. There’s a dearth of people who know, or have the will, to do the stupidly easy stuff to be charming and successful.

Let me give you just one example. Both off the air and on, guests of my podcast will tell me, “I can tell you actually read my book before this interview and I really appreciate that. It’s so rare.” I don’t bring this up to toot my own horn, but rather to point out how ridiculous it is that this might even be something worthy of mention! An interviewer reading someone’s work before asking them questions about it would seem like the barest of bare minimum job requirements — a prerequisite rather than something above and beyond. And yet the majority of podcasters aren’t even taking care of this most basic of basics.

There are tons of people doing what you want to do, but how are they executing? In 90% of cases, not as well as they could be.

That’s your opening. And such openings are absolutely everywhere.

To take advantage of opportunities, people typically concentrate on stuff like building up their resume — going to the best school or getting the right internship. And certainly, these things can help.

But what’s missed is that it’s often doing stupidly easy stuff that’s going to allow you to make friends and land your dream job. It’s doing the stupidly easy stuff that almost no one else is doing that can most readily set you apart from the pack, and up for success.

What is some of that stupidly easy stuff? Below you’ll find a (non-exhaustive) list of the things it’s hard to believe people don’t do more often, and which have a huge ROI because most people can’t be bothered.

1. Send a thank you text when you get home from a nice party/date. In my opinion, this is the #1 easiest and best way to be a more charming texter. Yet almost no one does it. When someone has you over for dinner, or you take someone out on a date, once you part ways, they typically worry a bit as to whether or not you had a good time. And a party host wants to know their effort to throw the shindig was appreciated. So even if you thank your date/host in person at the end of the evening, once you get home, shoot them a confirming text saying, “Thanks again for the delicious dinner. We had such a good time!” Trust me on this, it’s stupidly, stupidly charming.

2. Write handwritten thank you notes, always and often. When an occasion was especially nice, instead of sending a text, write the person a handwritten thank you note and stick it in the mail. And send handwritten thank you notes for anything and everything else. Received a gift? Thank you note. Job interview? Thank you note. Someone helped you move? Thank you note. Someone went to bat for you at work? Thank you note.

Thank you note writing has become such a lost art, and receiving snail mail is so delightful, that sending handwritten appreciation has become one of the most effective ways to set yourself apart from the pack.

3. Edit your emails/texts before sending. No one ever catches all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes contained within their communications, but giving your texts and emails a couple reads before you hit send will tighten things up. These “clean” missives significantly contribute to making a winning digital impression.

4. Know how to make small talk. We spend so much time behind screens, that when we finally meet people face-to-face, our conversation can often be awkward and stilted. But being comfortable with small talk opens a tremendous amount of doors; sure, it starts out with the superficial, but it’s the on-ramp to deeper discussions — the pathway to relationships with potential lovers, new friends, and future employers. Fortunately, once you know the simple methodology that makes small talk flow, it’s easy to master.

5. Don’t be a conversational narcissist. Related to the above. The only kind of talk many people know how to make these days, is about themselves. Someone who knows how to listen and ask good questions comes off as stupidly charming.

6. Don’t look at your phone during a conversation. In an age of scattered attention, a person who can concentrate their attention on you, and fight the urge to look at their phone while you eat or talk — someone who can make you feel like the most important person in the room — is a charmer par excellence.

Can’t seem to pry yourself away? Check out our complete guide to breaking your smartphone habit.

7. Dress well for a job interview. You don’t have to show up to a job interview in a three-piece suit (unless the position calls for it); overdressing can make as poor a first impression as under-dressing. But showing up dressed just one notch above what current employees at the company wear will immediately set you apart from many other candidates. Well-shined shoes, a pressed shirt, and good hygiene will help too.

8. Come to a job interview prepared to ask questions of the interviewer. Whenever we post this article on “10 Questions to Ask in a Job Interview,” HR folks always weigh in with how “amazed” they are at the number of candidates who stare blankly when asked at the end of an interview, “Do you have any questions for us?” Know some questions to ask going in.

9. Take a woman on a real date. In a landscape of “What’s up”? texts and non-committal hang outs, taking a lady on a real date puts you head and shoulders above other suitors. What constitutes a real date? Watch this video and remember the 3 P’s: Planned, Paired Off, and Paid For.

10. Offer a sincere apology when you mess up. My generation seems to struggle with saying “I’m sorry” when they make a mistake. Numerous times I’ve had my order messed up at a restaurant, and when I bring it to the attention of the waiter or manager, they just shrug, say “Okay,” and fix it, without saying, “I’m sorry about that.” Then the other day an order of mine got messed up, and the manager took a totally different tack — comping my whole meal and bringing me a free dessert. That kind of treatment is so rare, it was unbelievably winning. I even found the manager after my meal to tell her so, and let her know I would specifically make an effort to return because of her gesture.

As it goes in the restaurant biz, so it goes with everything else. Most of your fellow employees will just say “Okay” when an error is brought to their attention. Offering a sincere apology that demonstrates you take responsibility and understand where you messed up and how it affects the company, will easily set you apart (so will immediately trying to make it right and preventing it from happening again).

And in your personal life, apologizing when you stumble is stupidly endearing. You’ll probably mess up again, and often with the same issue, but even when you can’t completely overcome your flaws, showing you’re at least completely aware of them goes a long, long way.

11. Follow through. I get a lot of emails from guys who want to do something with the Art of Manliness, like write a guest article or strike up a business partnership. They are excited! They are passionate! They are…MIA. They never follow-up or follow-through on their idea. I’ve often wondered what happens between their excited initial email, and their descent into silence. But whatever it is, it can easily be avoided by those committed to following through.

12. Be reliable. No quality today can more readily set you apart from your peers than reliability. Doing the follow-through just mentioned. Showing up on time (and just plain showing up). Meeting deadlines. Managing expectations and not overpromising. Promptly responding to emails. Keeping your word.

Are freelance graphic designers, artists, video/audio editors, app developers, programmers, contractors, etc. a dime a dozen? Surely. But a reliable creative professional or handyman? A pink unicorn. If you couple talent and skill with reliability, it’s stupidly easy to dominate your competition and your niche.

When you survey the economic and dating markets, they can seem incredibly oversaturated. Demand seems high and resources seem scarce. But when you take a closer look, you’ll find that while there are plenty of people all grasping after the same thing, there are only a few executing well on the attempt. Setting yourself apart isn’t complicated or hard; it often involves simply doing the stupidly easy stuff that everyone else overlooks.

Their obtusity is your gain; see through the myth of scarcity, take care of the basics, and the world is your oyster.

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 01

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 4.7K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: This fic took me more than 6 months to write. It’s been in development since January. It is, by far, the longest and hardest fic I have written yet and there’s still a lot of things I’m unsure about in terms of how the characters act and how they are characterised. But I put so much effort in that I think it’s a waste not to share it with you guys. So without any further ado, I present to you my latest project.

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death. 

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

You’ve come across Hanahaki before. After all, your brother is a doctor who specialises in treating it. But more than that- it’s a disease that comes from unrequited love, and since you are a wedding planner, it would be more surprising if you hadn’t encountered a few bruised hearts along the way. Weddings just seems to be a place where unrequited love exposes itself. A bridesmaid, with a bit of an unexplained cough in the days leading up to the wedding, or maybe a groomsman who looks a little pale on the day of the rehearsal dinner, or even once when the cleaners reported to you that they found the dreaded petals that are a hallmark of the deadly disease scattered all over the bathroom floor but cleaned it up before anyone could see. Before the wedding could be ruined. After all, nothing puts a damper on a wedding like one of its attendees suffering from the dreaded Hanahaki disease. But you’ve never encountered it in such proximity as you are in this moment- most people will hide the disease until they are able to get treatment, in the form of therapy, or even hypnotherapy or surgery in more severe cases. You usually don’t know about it until after the wedding but here it is, right in front of you, before you’d even started. The crimson rose petals look like blood splatters across the pristine white tiles of the bathroom floor.

 When the manager to your small event-planning business, the very man who had helped you start it up five years ago and had been your partner since, first asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding, you’d thought it would be a relatively simple affair. You certainly never could have imagined that your quiet business partner could be suffering to such a degree right beneath your nose. Outside the bathroom, the engagement party that he had invited you to is in full swing. You’d come to meet his best friend, your new client- she had apparently seen the viral video that launched your career as a wedding planner many years ago and begged Jungkook to invite you. Honestly, as long as she didn’t ask for a discount, you were more than happy to plan her wedding for her. Jungkook, though not the most reliable person in the world, and not even your favourite coworker, has a big heart and good intentions and you’d have to be heartless to turn down a favour to him.

 That was how this all started- at his invite you had worn one of your nicer dresses and made your trek to the engagement party with the intention of meeting your next clients. Only, when you had turned up earlier in the night, he had been nowhere to be found despite having invited you and you didn’t know what the bride-to-be or her fiancé looked like. After ploughing awkwardly through small talk with people you didn’t know and searching desperately for Jungkook, you’d opted to lock yourself in the small bathroom to try and call him.

Only to find him collapsed and surrounded by the eerie rose petals behind the door he’d forgotten to unlock. Jungkook gazes up at you with slightly fearful, unfocused eyes. They are bloodshot, perhaps from the effort of the hacking cough that no doubt accompanied such an episode. His hair, which is always a little fluffy and messy because he falls asleep at his desk and presses it into weird shapes by doing so, is a total mess now. It sticks up in every direction. You hadn’t noticed it before now, but he’s also lost weight- his cheek bones have lost that soft, round appearance they’d had when he’d first approached you to start a business together. Now his face is all sharp angles. And his entire body shakes with the effort he has just exerted.

“Jungkook,” You croak, and you wince at the way your voice comes out. “Wha-“

“Will you still organise her wedding?” He interrupts, as if your plans to organise his best friend’s wedding is the most pressing part of the predicament you are in. And not, you know, the fact that your assistant, your business partner, the person who’d helped you build your business up from the ground, is dying. In one of the most agonising, miserable ways that someone could slowly die.

“Is that important right now?” You cry. “How long have you-“

You are interrupted right then by a gentle knock on the door.

“Kookie?” You hear a soft, female voice call. “Are you ok? You’ve been in there a while.”

Jungkook’s eyes go round and slightly shiny with panic and the words die in your throat. The woman on the other side of the door is almost definitely the best friend he was talking about- his panicked reaction pretty much confirms it. And since he’s in the bathroom of her engagement party heaving deadly flowers across the sleek white tiles, she’s probably the cause behind his Hanahaki. Exposing his disease would probably be very, very bad. Yet, he’s barely strong enough to lift himself from where he is collapsed against the bathroom cabinet, let alone discard of the bright red rose petals that would expose him as not only being in love with someone who doesn’t love him back, but also to be dying from that love. The doorknob slowly begins to turn since you hadn’t remembered to lock it (although, neither had he).

You don’t know why you help him. Yes, he’s your business partner, but he’s never been more than that. The one and only time you’d ever made an attempt to get to know him outside of a work setting and invited him to come along to an event one of your friends was putting on, he’d politely declined and hightailed it out of there like you’d invited him to join some sort of cult. Your other employees had gleefully agreed and had the time of their lives, but not him. Since then, you’d gotten the hint that he only wanted a professional relationship and had never made any sort of attempt to cross that boundary again. Even coming to this party had been a difficult decision since prior to this request he had been so determined to draw a line in the sand. This is the extent of your relationship- so you have no obligation or reason to help him.

But you want to. Something about the way that he looks at you, fear-stricken and devastated, has your body responding before your mind catches up.

“He’s fine!” You call out to the voice on the other side of the door. The doorknob pauses in its agonisingly slow turn. “He’s just had a little too much to drink!”

“Who’s that?” The woman’s voice responds, sounding surprised and a little alarmed. Jungkook winces.

“I’m a friend of Jungkook’s.” You answer back. “It’s a massive mess in here, trust me, you do not want to come in right now. He’s vomited. Like, everywhere.” You explain in a flustered panic.

“He has? Oh my goodness- hold on, I’ll-“ The woman exclaims, about to burst in and ruin both her life and her best friend’s.

“Don’t worry about him, ok? He’s fine. I’ll take clean up and take him home- enjoy your engagement party!” You urge hastily before she can do it. There is a moment of silence on the other side.

“Kook,” The voice calls softly. “Is that true?”

Jungkook stares at you for a long moment in complete and utter bewilderment. Like he can’t fathom why you’re helping him. Honestly, neither can you. He’s not even been a particularly good manager. He always double books your appointments and keeps spilling food crumbs on the keyboard and breaking it when they get stuck between the keys. And the other week he broke the coffee machine and both Seokjin and Seri had had mental breakdowns as a direct result. Even if this business was only started because he helped you when no one else did, it had been in an entirely professional sense. He had made that much clear. And professionals wouldn’t help each other with a messy and complicated situation like this- if it were Seokjin you wouldn’t have even come to the engagement party.

“Yes.” He croaks. “I’m fine, Minah.” His voice is raspy and cracked, and it actually sounds like he’s been heaving his guts out. Which, he sort of has. Just, not because of alcohol.

“If you’re sure.” She answers and then she leaves- she is probably keen to return to her engagement party and not that keen to clean vomit off the floor of her fiancé’s bathroom.

The two of you are silent as you crouch down. There’s a dustpan tucked beneath the bathroom sink. You use it to gather up the petals and flush them down the toilet. You then turn to Jungkook- he looks like he’s just run a marathon while suffering from food poisoning. He’s pale and sweaty and the dark circles beneath his eyes look like bruises. Hesitantly, you tug the hand towel off the ring next to the sink and pass it to him.

“Was that her?” You ask. You don’t elaborate further- you don’t really need to. Isn’t he here, on the verge of passing out in the bathroom instead of enjoying the party thrown to celebrate his best friend’s happiness? That in itself is telling enough. He’s in love with his best friend. And, if the sweet-smelling petals and engagement party outside are anything to go by, she does not feel the same way.

“Yes.” He says. His voice is close to a whisper. “That was her.”

He lets out a soft, weak groan as he raises the towel and wipes the sweat off his brow. His hair clings to his forehead and his white shirt is slightly translucent because it is now sweat soaked. He’s a complete, total mess.

“How long have you…” Your voice dies in your throat, for some reason. This whole situation is a lot to process and you don’t even know where to start or what to ask. “How long have you been… like this?”

Of course, the real question is, how long have you missed this? How long has your partner been suffering, dying, without you even suspecting it? Perhaps he senses the sheer distress that builds up in you like a tsunami wave for he cannot look you in the eye as he admits his next words.

“Just over a year. Since she… since she started dating him.” He confesses. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

“A year?” Thankfully you have the presence of mind not to screech the words, but you don’t have the presence of mind to do much else. “You’ve been going through this for an entire year? Are you… have you been getting treatment?”

The disease is treatable, after all. Usually if the person affected can fall out of love, the disease stops progressing, and that is the aim of treatment. Though the side effect of medical intervention in severe cases like you suspect Jungkook’s is, is to lose all memories of the subject of the unrequited love. And while not everyone has to lose their memories to recover from the disease, it’s difficult- impossible for some- to fall out of love without such intervention. It’s why most people who suffer from Hanahaki must endure a combination of surgery, therapy and medication to help them move on. It’s a terrible price to pay for recovery, but the alternative is death.

But Jungkook does not assuage your worries with hasty assurance. Instead, he stares up at you almost balefully and that answers your question. How else could the disease have progressed so far? It looks like an entire bouquet was brutally murdered and left for dead on the floor in front of you. You feel slightly ill yourself- an entire year, suffering on his own. Not once, in that entire year, did Jungkook ask for help. He didn’t take a single sick day. He didn’t complain when you or your other employees got cranky with him for screwing up the rosters or breaking the photocopier or missing his appointment with the accountant.

“Why not?” You breathe, even as tears pool in your eyes and threaten to spill forth. Jungkook’s expression crumples.

“I couldn’t…” He can’t bring himself to say the words for a moment. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. Finally, he looks up at you, and he looks embarrassed. Ashamed. “I didn’t want to forget her. The doctors said that might be the only way for me to get better. She’s my best friend and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing the happiest moments of my life… and I was worried she’d get hurt if she knew.”

“Oh Jungkook,” You cry. “But why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you! We could have done something!”

He looks a little sheepish.

“I… didn’t think you needed to know.” He admits.

Oh.

Oh…

For a moment, you are speechless, but then you regain your composure. In all this, how could you forget? Jungkook isn’t your friend. He doesn’t want to be and has never wanted to be. Still… you thought that even though your relationship was to remain strictly professional, that starting a business together meant something- that you could, at the very least, be friends. Clearly not.

“Right.” You say, and you wince at the hurt in your own tone. Jungkook looks surprised to hear it as well. “No, of course. It’s not like we’re partners or anything, right? We’re on a strictly need-to-know basis. It’s stupid for me to care about you since you clearly don’t care about me, so obviously we wouldn’t share about this sort of thing-“

“(Y/N)-“ Jungkook weakly interrupts in a protest, looking surprisingly guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just-“

“It’s fine.” You cut him off hastily, though you avoid his gaze. “Let’s just get you cleaned up and go home, ok?”

Jungkook looks like it is not fine, but he is too weak and exhausted to protest or to try and convince you otherwise. Instead he is forced to focus what little energy he has left on getting home and you are able to act like you’re not upset until you are safely within the confines of your own apartment.

It is there that you crumble weakly to the ground and allow the question you’ve been avoiding the whole time to fill your mind.

What are you going to do?

++

Days end and days start, and life goes on. You still have to go in for work the next day regardless of what you discovered about your business partner. Thankfully, you don’t have to deal with him straight away- in the morning you take two clients on a venue tour to help them decide where they might like to hold their ceremony, and just before lunch Seri and Seokjin contact you demanding to try a new patisserie that opened up. They claim it would be a great place to trial cake testing and recommend future clients looking for someone to make a cake for their wedding, but you also know the two trouble makers just want to eat cake on the company card.

“Is… Jungkook going to come?” You question hesitantly.

“Does he ever come with us anywhere? He’s skipped five company dinners in a row now.” Seokjin points out impatiently. Seri has you on speaker and you hear her cheer her agreement. “Besides, he’s not the one booking things for clients, we are. He doesn’t need to know if the cakes taste good. We can bring him back one if it matters that much.”

That’s all the convincing you need- it means you can avoid Jungkook just that little longer. It is not like you think less of him, or anything, for being in love with his best friend, or that you are upset that he didn’t tell you. It’s more that you don’t know how to react. One of the reasons he didn’t tell you or the others was probably that he didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves, but you don’t think you can treat him the same when you now know he’s as sick as he is. Therein lies your dilemma- do you treat him the same, knowing he’s ill and requires more patience and kindness and perhaps more time off? Or do you make allowances for him? But what if he doesn’t want that? And are you meant to keep it a secret from Seokjin and Seri?

Those are the questions that plague your mind all throughout your cake-tasting session. Seri and Seokjin seem to notice your distraction.

“Is everything ok?” Seri, the more astute of the two, questions. She is the most recent hire- Seokjin had been complaining that his good looks were garnering more clients that just the two of you could handle and since Jungkook’s job lay less in the event planning side of things and more in the business management side, eventually he had agreed that you had enough clientele to warrant a third hire. Her efficiency and quick-witted nature had quickly won over clients and she brought with her almost as many connections (which were always helpful to have in this industry) as Seokjin did, which was saying something since Seokjin was the son of a very wealthy family. For a moment, you debate lying to her, but the weight of your discovery is too heavy to bear alone.

“Have either of you ever seen the Hanahaki disease before?” You question. Both pause to consider their answers.

“Isn’t that that disease from unrequited love? The one where you throw up flowers or something if the person you love doesn’t love you back? Of course I have!” Seokjin laughs. “You don’t get this beautiful without a few people falling in love with me.”

“Disgusting and ignorant comment aside, it’s a lot more complicated than that.” Seri protests in response to her co-worker. “It’s not if the person doesn’t love you back- it’s if you think they don’t love you back… Didn’t you see that news article the other day about the couple and that woman with self-esteem issues who ended up with disease even though her partner loved her heaps?”

“Pedantics.” Seokjin says dismissively. “Why are you asking though, (Y/N)?” He pauses mid-bite and then his eyes go wide with horror. “Wait… you’re not suffering from it, are you? Ugh, I always knew the thing you had for Jungkook would get you in trouble, I just didn’t think it would be this bad! I thought maybe since not everyone with unrequited feelings ends up with Hanahaki that you were probably safe but I guess I was wrong-“

“I do not have Hanahaki.” You cut him off icily and then blink a few times. “Wait, who said I have a thing for Jungkook?”

Seokjin coughs awkwardly and shovels an absurdly large mouthful of cake into his mouth to avoid answering. Seri looks contemplative.

“If you don’t have it, why are you suddenly asking about it?” She questions, perceptive and quick-on-the-uptake as always. You wince.

“Oh, you know…” You elaborate vaguely, complete with awkward hand gestures. “I think I saw some petals in the bathroom at that wedding I attended last week. You know the one, with the special car they wanted to drive that I had to go to thirteen different mechanics to fix.”

Both Seokjin and Seri wince with sympathy at the recall. Now that they’ve both been working for you for a significant amount of time, they are more familiar with the more specific and difficult requests some clients have when it comes to planning their weddings.

“Thank goodness it was during the ceremony you discovered it.” Seri exclaims. “Imagine having to deal with someone suffering from Hanahaki while trying to plan an intense wedding like that one?”

“What would you do?” You question, eyeing your cake in what you hope is a nonchalant and uninterested way. You’re trying to look like you’re just making casual conversation about a hypothetical situation rather than trying to ask for advice in a very real, very troubling situation. “If you did discover that? Like… say someone from the bridal party or one of the groomsmen had Hanahaki and you found out just after agreeing to plan the wedding?”

“I would quit, probably.” Seri admits, a hand coming up to flip her hair callously over her shoulder. “One of the reasons I’ve always respected you as my boss is because you always stress that some clients are not worth the money that they bring to us. And a wedding like that sounds like it wouldn’t just be stressful for me- It would be detrimental to our business and reputation. Probably wouldn’t make it to the wedding day, anyway.”

For a moment, you just stare at her, bewildered. But then the truth of her statement sinks in- how could you agree to plan this wedding, when things are just messed up before even starting? You like to pride yourself on your ability to see problems before they happen and fix them- it’s why you’re such a successful wedding planner. So, why would you plan a wedding that you knew would be trouble from the moment Jungkook approached you, hands trembling and eyes wide and imploring? No- no. This is not a wedding you want anything to do with.

There is still the issue that refusing to plan this wedding will not magically heal Jungkook. Who even knows how long he has been in love with his best friend? But you suppose there is only so much you can do for him while respecting his boundaries- as much as it hurts you to just leave him alone when you know that he has been suffering in silence for over a year, there is simply nothing you can do. You’ll speak to him and perhaps put him on annual leave until after the wedding is over. Perhaps he’ll finally get the treatment he needs, then, and then things will be back to normal.

You smile weakly at your two employees and both watch you cautiously, perhaps trying to discern the situation behind your vague but concerning questions.

“Thanks guys. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.” You tell them dismissively. “Just something to think about- who knows. Maybe we should implement a Hanahaki work policy.”

Any further discussion is stopped there with the arrival of the next cake, some sort of coconut cream masterpiece, and you think your employees have dropped it.

They really hadn’t though.

++

Of course, it’s one thing to decide not to do the wedding and an entirely different thing to tell Jungkook that. You manage to avoid the office for the rest of the day by dropping Seokjin and Seri off to finish their affairs and then exerting your rare privilege as the owner of the business to have the afternoon off.

Of course, packed as your schedule is, you can only avoid going into the office space you rent for so long. You’re debating on whether you should cancel on the clients you were meant to meet for a preliminary planning meeting that morning in your car when the door to the passenger seat swings open without warning.

You barely manage to restrain a screech and then you recognise the poorly ironed business slacks and wrinkled cotton button-down of your assistant. You’ve scolded him on numerous occasions for his poor attire at work, but he really does try his best. And after he’d set his apartment on fire trying to iron his business clothes and had to crash on Seokjin’s couch for a week, you’d finally just had to accept that this is how Jungkook dresses. Still, while you can forgive the poor attire, you don’t think you can forgive his startling intrusion into your morning dilemma.

“What are you doing here?” You gasp, with a hand clasped over your chest. Oddly enough, he’s grinning, despite his scruffy appearance. At least it seems that he tried to comb his hair this morning. Still, all the hair gel and grooming products in the world could not tame the wild mop that is Jeon Jungkook’s hair. You recognise and acknowledge his efforts, at least.

“I can’t wish my favourite boss a good morning?” He asks, oddly coy and playful, and you wince. Then his expression sobers. “You’re avoiding me, aren’t you?”  

“Well, I’m not exactly seeking you out, but avoiding is a bit of a strong word.” You retort with a slight cringe. “I prefer the term “procrastinating the inevitable confrontation we must have.””

Jungkook stares at you for a long, hard moment. Then his expression changes into a sort of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but you suppose is meant to be joking and amused.

“What confrontation?” He questions. “Are you going to lecture me on how to comb my hair again? Because I did. Comb my hair I mean. But that’s beside the point, because I’m here to-”

“Jungkook. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re sick. Stop… stop acting like nothing’s wrong.” You interrupt, unwilling to let him beat around the bush.

“It’s a treatable illness.” He points out with a shrug. “But that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to know if you’ll still plan Minah’s wedding for her. It’s really important to her- she saw that one video of that wedding we did back when we were just starting out, and it’s been a dream of hers since then for you to plan it-”

“How is that your top priority right now when you’re literally dying?” You snap, and you clamber out of the car. Your heels click noisily against the smooth concrete of the carpark as you attempt to scurry away from him. He’s quick to follow you though, his scuffed dress shoes squeaking against the ground and signalling his noisy pursuit.

“Please!” He begs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s really important to her-“

“I don’t care about her, Jungkook.” You almost snarl, as you whirl to face him. He narrowly avoids crashing into your back and stares at you in bewilderment. “I haven’t even met her face to face. I care about you. You’re my friend, despite all your attempts to pretend we aren’t. I owe all my success to the fact that you encouraged me when I was at the lowest point in my life. This business only exists because of your help. And I’m not going to spit on that by planning a wedding that will destroy you. So sorry, but no. I’m not going to plan her wedding.”

You plan to walk off then because you hear the familiar ding indicating that the elevator has arrived, but you pause.

“Don’t come into work today.” You warn. “As of today, you’re using all the sick leave, annual leave, whatever leave there is to take until her wedding is over. And then, once you’ve gotten treatment and are fit to work, you can come back. I know a good doctor, if you need one. But I can’t allow you, in good conscience, to keep working here when your health is so poor. There…” You hesitate. But then you draw a deep breath with finality in your tone. “There will always be a place for you here once you’re recovered. In fact, I hope to see you back here when you’re fully recovered.” You say. The silence rings following your firm farewell. You’re running late for your morning meeting anyway.

A hand wraps around your wrist, pausing your retreat.

“Please don’t do this.” Jungkook protests in a serious tone- it contrasts deeply with the earlier playfulness he had attempted to use to lighten the mood. You glare back with a cold authority that you hope reminds him of the fact that even though he helped you start this business, it is yours, and you are his boss.

“I’m sorry.” You say firmly. “I’m not planning this wedding. Go home and get some rest, Jungkook.”

The elevator doors slide shut and the last thing you see before they do are his eyes, wide and pleading.

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 7

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

Meeting Monika a few days before had put doubts inside Dan’s head. Every time he stepped into the office, the business card she gave him sits perched next to his mug of coffee and he can see it. Every time he goes to get a drink, he can see her name and the words literature department in small print on the bottom.

He should transfer.

But then the thought of transferring doesn’t seem all that appealing to him anymore and when he thinks about it in detail, his head feels like it is swimming. He’s grown so used to working with graphic novels over the last month that it’s hard for him to know whether or not he still wants to go back to editing literature.

It’s 9:30 in the morning and Dan is already having a crisis. He shuts the top of his laptop down and sits back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with palms. His eyes hurt and a headache is quickly taking residence in his temple. He feels like the coffee is no longer strong enough to help his brain fog.

It also doesn’t help that the past few days, all he can think about is Damien walking into Phil’s apartment with that kitten. Dan can still see it in the back of his head and he doesn’t know why it’s bothering him, but it is.

Clearly, Damien has a key to Phil’s apartment but what about the kitten? Did they live together and Dan just never noticed? Are they friends or are they…

The second thought makes Dan’s stomach twist and knot and he shakes his head because he doesn’t like that second thought. But why? He’s not doing anything with Phil, and he has no intentions of doing anything with Phil. So why does the thought of him being with Damien put such a hindrance on his body?

Is it because of Phil’s flirting? Phil’s insistence that they need to talk about the past. Maybe it’s the fact that deep down, when Dan turns his head and sees Phil sitting at his desk, he can vaguely feel the pouring of love into his heart. They’re the same feelings he felt ten years ago.

Dan groans inside his head and stands up from his chair, pushing it in and walking off to get a breather. He needs to maybe go outside for a moment and take in some fresh air. Maybe it’ll help clear his thoughts and rid his headache.

He starts walking down the hall to the elevators and before he reaches them, a hand comes up and grabs his shoulder and jerks him back. He quickly turns to see who just did that when he comes face to face with dark hair and dark eyes and he feels all color leave his face.

“Can I talk to you privately?”

Dan looks at Damien and frankly, he doesn’t know if he should go anywhere privately with Damien. The thought also scares him a bit. But Damien is technically, on a long list of hierarchy, one of his superiors so he knows he should listen if Damien asks him a question.

“Okay.”

Damien motions for him to follow him to an empty room just off the side of the break room and he shuts the door behind them.

“I need to talk to you about Phil.”

Dan cocks his head. What about Phil?

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, I’m not an idiot,” Damien snaps out, “I know who you are.”

Dan stands there, bracing his palms against the table behind him as he tries to steady himself, “I seriously don't know…”

“You have some fucking nerve to come here and work for Phil after what you did to him.”

Dan’s nostrils flared and his body geared up in the fight response he’s been doing for years every time someone mentions Phil, “I didn’t do anything to Phil. He’s the one who broke up with me.”

“I met Phil our first year at University,” Damien says, changing the subject, “and I befriended him because at the time, he needed a friend. He would tell me over and over again about the ‘boy that broke his heart’ or ‘the boy he can’t find’ or ‘the boy who got away’, and I listened to him talk about you for years. Talk about Dan, talk about how he was going to try and find you and reconnect. But you don’t know the hell he went through trying to mend his broken heart. He turned to drinking, sleeping around, to never being able to date. And you know why that is?”

Dan shook his head, slightly terrified.

“Because he could never get over you. You left an indent in his brain like a drug and he couldn’t ever figure out how to shake you. You caused him nothing but stress and pain over the last ten years and I’ll be damned if I let you come in and put him through that all again.”

“There is nothing going on between Phil and I,” Dan says, as stern as his shaking voice will allow him to be.

“So let's get something straight between you and me,” Damien said, ignoring what Dan had just said something. “Stay. Away. From. Phil.”

Dan opened his mouth to retort when the door to the room opened and they both turned to see Phil and a set of authors behind him, waiting to come in. Phil’s face reads one of confusion and Dan is sure his reads something entirely different.

But he doesn’t stay to allow either Damien or Phil to speak up. He pushes past them both and retreats to the bathroom where he proceeds to cry for an unspeakable amount of time. When he comes back out, Phil is sitting at his desk again, and when he looks at Dan, his face changes expression.

Dan knows it’s because he can see how red his eyes are and the tear stains that run down his cheeks. But he ignores the looks from the other editors and finishes going through the storyboard sent by his author.

***

Dan arrives back to his apartment later than he wanted to. But he stopped at Dominos and grabbed a cheap pizza so he could indulge his sadness in plastic tasting cheese and grease. He sets down the large pizza on his coffee table and is just about to fall into a heap on the floor when his doorbell rings.

He groans, quite loudly, as he rolls his eyes and walks back over to his door. He doesn’t even look through the peephole, he just opens the door and is about to ask, “what do you want?” when he sees Phil stood there.

“Oh hey! You’re home,” Phil says, “I have a question about…”

“Listen, Phil, now isn’t a good time.”

Phil furrows his brows but all Dan can think about is the ringing of Damien’s voice in his head over and over again. Stay away from Phil.  

“Is something going on?” Phil asks. “You were upset earlier. That’s exactly what I was going to ask about. I was wondering if you’re doing okay? I know Monika talked to you after the meeting and I guess I wanted to touch base if you were going through something.”

In the hallway, Dan sees people walking behind Phil so on a whim, he opens the door further and lets Phil inside. Phil shuffles inside and Dan shuts the door, “To answer your question,” Dan says, “I’ve had better days. But I’ve got a large pizza I’m about to eat.”

“Are you really thinking about transferring departments?”

The question catches Dan off guard, “You mean going to literature?”

Phil nods.

They walk into his apartment further and take a seat on the floor next to Dan’s pizza. Dan opens the box and grabs a piece and Phil looks at him with puppy dog eyes and Dan caves and lets him grab a slice.

“I liked working in literature,” Dan answers finally. “It was something I really enjoyed at my fa--last publishing company.”

“Dan, we all know that you used to work at your father's publishing company. You don’t have to try and hide that.”

Dan rolls his eyes and continues anyway, “I really liked working in literature. It was something I felt like I was really good at. And although I only worked for my father for a year, it still felt like I gained mass amounts of experience. I even got to edit some big authors too.”

“You’re a good editor,” Phil says between bites of pizza. “You’re really good at what you do. I’m actually really glad that you came to work for me because you are exactly the editor that I needed.”

Dan feels a blush creep on his cheeks. He finishes his slice of pizza and goes to reach for another when Phil does too and it’s suddenly like deja vu all over again. Except this time, they’re not reaching for a book. Their hands touch and briefly, Dan can feel Phil’s fingers drum against his skin. He gasps and goes to pull his hand back but then Phil connects them and their palms are sitting on top of each other.

Dan rips his hand away and looks up at Phil with a stunned face, “You don’t get to do that.”

“I can’t hold your hand?”

“No!” Dan gasps out. “We--there is nothing going on between us so no, you can’t do that.”

“It’s just holding your hand.”

“If you want to hold hands with someone, go hold Damien’s!”

When the words leave Dan’s mouth, he doesn’t even realize the meaning that they hold. Phil stares at him with a clear expression of shock and as soon as Dan sees that, he knows he has fucked up.

“There is nothing going on with Damien and I,” Phil says. “Did he say something to you? Is that why you were in the meeting room with him this morning and why you were so upset? What did he tell you, Dan?”

Dan sat back and rested his back against his couch. He wanted to ignore the question and pretend he didn’t just bring up Damien and suddenly would have to talk about him. He wants to shrug it off but he knows he can’t do that either. Dan looks at Phil, who is waiting for his answer and he says, “Damien told me a bit about you after we broke up.”

“And what exactly did he tell you, Dan?”

“He told me how much of a mess you were,” Dan says, although it comes out as more of a mumble.

Phil lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes, “I want to make something clear to you, Dan.” He pauses. “There is nothing going on with Damien and I. When we were in university together, we had a brief fling but it was nothing more than that. We’re only friends.”

Then why does he have a key to your apartment? Why did he have a cat running out of your door? Why is he being this way?

“I don’t know what Damien told you,” Phil says, “but I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you. Not once in the 10 years that we haven’t seen each other have I stopped thinking about you.”

Dan lets his head fall back as he fights off the tears threatening to fall. His chest heaves a few times to try and keep the tears at bay and he lets out a few quick breaths to try and help. It works for the most part.

“You laughed at me.”

Dan’s not sure when he speaks but the words come out and he can’t pull them back.

“Wha--what are you talking about?”

“The day we broke up, I went to your house and we had sex and when I asked you what we were and what your feelings were for me, you laughed,” Dan swallows back the tears. “That’s why I slapped you. That’s why I ran.”

Dan doesn’t want to turn his head and face Phil but he does and he sees a look of shock written over Phil’s face as his mouth falls open to process what Dan has said. It’s silence between them. Nothing more is said and in that moment, Dan wants nothing more than for Phil to leave so he have a proper cry because he really needs one right now and he’s not gonna cry in front of Phil.

When Phil finally goes to answer, Dan’s phone starts vibrating erratically on the floor next to them and he reaches down to pick it up. The number on his phone is that of his author and he immediately sits up to answer the call.

She has her next manuscript done and she’s thanking him for the edits. He feels better, hearing that from her directly over the phone and not from an email. He’d met with her once in person but it’s still better to talk over a phone when it comes to discussing her graphic novel.

She begins to speak about how grateful she is for him being her editor and he feels his heart beat a little bit faster at the compliment. He takes it with a smile and really, it’s the first time he’s smiled the entire day--at least that he can recall.

It was really exactly what he needed after such a shit day. That one moment of validation that made it feel like everything he was going through was worth it. The long work days, putting up with Phil and Damien. The constant work cycle that leaves him stressed more than he has ever been.

But in this moment, it’s all worth it. Every single part of it is worth it.

She hangs up and Dan puts his phone away and he looks down to see Phil helping himself to another slice of pizza, “What did she say?”

“She complimented me and told me she was lucky to have me as her editor.”

Phil’s lips curled into a smile, “What a nice compliment, but don’t let it get to your head.”

Dan just shakes his head and sits back down beside Phil, grabbing another piece himself.

“I should get going,” Phil says after he finishes. “But I think we should try and sit down and have another talk.”

“Gonna be honest, mate,” Dan says. “Don’t think I can.”

“But we have to eventually talk about this,” Phil presses. “We can’t ignore the elephant in the room.”

No, but Dan wishes he could.

“I know…”

Phil gets up and walks towards the door but stops before he gets to it and turns back around, “I mean it, Dan, when I say I never stopped loving you.”

He opens the door and Dan watches as it closes and for some reason, it feels like the end of the last chapter and the beginning of the next.

[sheithfictioncatalogue]

What are some WIPs you’re all looking forward to updates for?

In addition to the in-progress ones from this list we did previously (some are completed now, but still good!), here’s some new ones we look forward to:

Alex:

A Friend Indeed - CGotAnAccount @illunelurks

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 9k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content. Background ships: friends with benefits Matt/Keith

There are a few things Matthew Holt has learned over the past few years of being launched into space, kidnapped, thrust into an intergalactic war, and hailed as a hero of the universe.

Firstly, space is as huge and beautiful as he always knew it was – just twice as terrifying as he could ever have imagined.

Second, his little sister is in fact the smartest human that will ever exist and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.

And lastly, Shiro and Keith will never, ever get their shit together.

Beam me up, Hottie - lasersheith @lasersheith​

ongoing, 7/? chapters, 34k. (Teen)

Shiro’s life is kind of a mess. His job sucks and his best friends are moving across the country back to their hometown. All he really has is Star Trek until the Big Bang pairs him with an artist that just might change everything.

“Do you remember that event I told you about?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.

Laughing again, Matt sat his sandwich down. “You mean your totally-not-porn writing competition?”

Shiro groaned. “It’s not porn,” he hissed out quietly, “and it’s not a competition, it’s just an event.” He said, looking up into Matt’s judgmental eyes. “Look, you own 6 replica anime swords. It’s literally illegal for you to judge me for anything, ” he pointed an accusing finger at Matt’s chest.

Matt held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, ok. So what about your event thing?”

Shiro looked back down at his phone with an awed smile. “I got paired with my favorite artist…” He answered wistfully.

don’t call me baby (unless you mean it) - akaiiko @akaiikowrites​

ongoing, 3/? chapters, 36k. (Explicit) Contains: PTSD

Getting with Shiro is worth anything. Anything. So Keith is going to fake being the cliche with daddy issues - complete with stuffed animals, booty shorts, and an utter loss of dignity - until he makes it. Hopefully along the way he’ll figure out why it feels like being Shiro’s baby boy might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Keith has a moment where he wonders, somewhat blankly, how he bought this perfectly serviceable shirt and then promptly forgot its existence. Then he looks down. And remembers in a series of post traumatic flashbacks exactly why he’d blocked the shirt from his consciousness.

Namely, three words, in a font that isn’t comic sans but comes insultingly close to it, garnished with red glitter: Daddy’s Little Boy.

“Keith?” Very slowly, he turns to look at the closed door to his bedroom. “Keith, are you okay? I heard…” Probably some kind of vaguely strangled noise. But Shiro’s too nice to articulate that kind of thing. “Keith? If you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”

For All the Stars in the Sky - allyoop_1 @isabelladeltigre​, Wolfy_P_Smith

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 34k. (Mature)

“They’re good kids.”

They both take a moment to look over at said kids. Pidge has her elbows on the table, butt in the air as she finger smashes on her DS and Matt is picking at a tear in the booth and eating what comes out.

“Well,” Keith says, turning back to Lance. “They’re…kids. Probably human.”

Matt licks at the tear in the seam and Lance grins. “Debatable.”

Or: Keith has two jobs, two kids, and a million problems. Shiro’s not the solution to all of them, but he sure does help.

Make Believe - LittleWhiteTie @littlewhitetie​

ongoing, 5/7 chapters, 18k. (Teen) Contains: PTSD

In which, in order to form an alliance, Keith and Shiro need to fake a relationship and endure a series of related trials.

This was a terrible idea. An excruciating, tantalizing car crash of an idea. Keith should never have agreed to this. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He was never going to be able to come back from this.

Careful metal fingertips traced his jaw, tipping his face up to meet gentle, storm grey eyes. He was close, so close. “Everything okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.

“Of course,” Keith said. “Everything is fine.”

It was a bald-faced lie; everything was not fine. It was wonderful and devastating and nowhere in between.

my doorbell, when you gonna ring it? - spectrespecs @exitlude​

ongoing, 2/3 chapters, 35k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

Shiro, a chronic apartment renter, feels like it’s time for him to settle down and buy a house. He thinks so, at least. Keith, one of the finest real estate agents in the city, is the one tasked with finding Shiro a home. They both find a little more than intended.

a slow, dumb show - redluxite (wordstruck)

ongoing, 6/8 chapters, 19k. (Teen)

Shiro shrugs. “No.” His lips quirk in a little half-smile. “Are you going to ask me?”

Keith’s mouth curls, just a little. His eyes flick over to Shiro again.

“Why not?”

Shiro comically stumbles to a halt. “Sorry?”

There’s that amusement tucked in the corner of Keith’s mouth again, as he reaches out a hand to steady the pizzas in Shiro’s arms. They’re quite close together now.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

All Eyes On Us - Green_Destiny @green-destiny

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 32k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

K_Red and BlackLion are camboys for the same website. Unrivaled in their power but rivals to each other, a chance meeting at an official event pulls them inevitably towards each other, as much as Keith would like to resist, gravity is always, always stronger.

the peace-weaver - magisterpavus

ongoing, 18/20 chapters, 203k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content, trans Keith, sexual violence

You will be the peace-weaver, his mother told him, smiling though her dark eyes welled with unshed grief. The one who brings two bitter enemies together and ends the bloodshed and death between us, once and for all.

But men will always crave war. The Galra, most of all.

Akira:

every breath you take - arahir @arahir​

ongoing, 5/7 chapters, 32k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

Keith takes a swim, gains a secret admirer, and finds something to live for.

There’s a cut on his bottom lip, a row of tiny lacerations that smart when he pulls at them to get a better look.

He doesn’t notice the bruise on his upper arm until the next day. He catches the edge of it at the corner of his eye when he’s pulling on a fresh shirt: blue lines, like stripes, but when he turns and twists to see how they ring his arm, he realizes what they look like.

The lines are like fingers. It’s a handprint.

sweet sun, send me the moon - arahir @arahir​

ongoing, 2/? chapters, 8k. (General) Contains: graphic depictions of violence, temporary amnesia

Shiro still has one battle left to fight.

Keith’s body in his arms doesn’t twitch and his eyes don’t flicker. They’re open a little, Shiro realizes; dull, sightless slits of white. Not dead, though. He’s not dead. Damaged, yes, but they can fix this.

Kel:

The Alien at Camp Marmora - flukeloops

ongoing, 6/10 chapters, 19k. (Mature)

Shiro and Keith are back at Camp Arus and madly in love. Alfor has to take a week off to tend to personal matters and has left his friend Kolivan in charge. Kolivan presents the staff and campers with Camp Marmora: a grueling 5-day challenge that tests their bodies and maybe even their minds. Will Shiro and Keith’s fairy tale romance stand through it all? What will the challenge reveal about both of them?On top of it all, the longer Shiro stays in human form, the worse his legs hurt. He’s afraid that he and Keith’s worlds will drift too far apart if he has to live in the water.[SEQUEL to The Mermaid of Lake Altea]

Sweet Cherry Pie - keiti221 @starlightshirogane

ongoing, 8/? chapters, 18k. (Mature) Contains: nsfw content, abuse, stalking, implied/referenced rape/non-con, kidnapping, murder, threats of violence, threats of rape/non-con, death threats

After Keith shows up to perform at an event that didn’t actually want a male stripper, he spends the evening sipping wine coolers with the hottest detective he’s ever gotten his hands on. Unfortunately, neither of them have been particularly good at relationships - Shiro is always busy with work and Keith keeps attracting weirdos - but both want to make this one work. So what could possibly go wrong?

Shiro the Hero and the Happily Ever - Saasan @decidedlysarah

ongoing, 2/11 chapters, 8k. (Mature) Contains: nsfw content, a/b/o dynamics, mpreg

Shiro never thought he’d be able to find a mate, let alone have a family. As blessings keep piling up in his life, he thinks back on the road it took to get there. Keith had always feared mating, but being with Shiro is bliss–if only he’d be just a *little* less weepy-with-joy. Meanwhile, Lance and Pidge discover they will be having a family much sooner than expected. This story will follow the four of them on their path to parenthood and, because the author isn’t a dick (unlike DreamWorks), everyone gets a happily ever after.

See You In Court - arcadenemesis

ongoing, 2/5 chapters, 15k. (Mature)

If Shiro’s life were a movie, this would be the part where the music would swell and everything would slow down.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, just watching, but it’s not until another hotel patron brushes past him that Shiro comes back down to Earth. Thank God Keith hasn’t seen him yet. Meeting eyes from across the room seems romantic in theory, but Shiro’s pretty sure his open staring would be anything but in reality. Better going for a smooth introduction, he decides, steeling himself and walking over with confidence he doesn’t feel.

"Hey there, Wild Card.”

Takashi Shirogane is the best in the world at tennis, and the absolute worst at love.

(Or, Wild Card through Shiro’s eyes.)

[fallintosanity]

i wasn’t going to post tonight but whatever 

the mechanics of noctis trying to use materia are an interesting puzzle which is going to baffle everybody for a while

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

After the excitement of the coeurl mission, rescuing Yuffie, and the new apartment, the next several days passed quietly. Noctis did all his missions on Tuesday again, ignoring Cloud in that odd way he had, though at least he seemed to be over whatever had upset him on the Wutai trip. Cloud settled into his new apartment slowly, helped by Sephiroth being out of Midgar with President ShinRa on a trip to oversee the building of the mako reactor in Corel. That reactor was a whole different problem, but Cloud still hadn’t figured out how to address it. He had at least a year or two before it came to a head, though, so he filed it away for after they’d solved the mystery of Noctis Lucis Caelum. 

Finally Thursday, and Cloud’s materia class, rolled around. Genesis showed up a full hour early, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement as he helped Cloud set up the Training Room. They cleared out all but a trio of training dummies at the far end of the room, making sure to leave plenty of space for the summons to work. Cloud’s students trickled in as they worked, gathering at the opposite end of the room and murmuring curiously amongst themselves. 

Noctis was the last to arrive, yawning and bleary, about five seconds before Cloud would have started the class without him. He looked like he’d woken up ten minutes ago; his hair was still damp from the shower and - most tellingly - faint red lines marked his cheek like pillow creases. He dropped down to sit against the wall with the other Thirds, one arm over his mouth to cover another yawn. 

Well, it wasn’t really Cloud’s business if Noctis wanted to spend all day sleeping. Catching Genesis’s eye, Cloud jerked his head at the students to indicate they were ready to start. Genesis followed him out to the center of the room, and the chatter fell away, the cadets staring at Genesis in awe and the Thirds snapping to attention - except for Noctis, who had assumed his usual bored slouch. 

“Commander Rhapsodos is joining us today for a special lesson,” Cloud said. “Who here knows what summon materia is?” 

A soft murmur went around the students, and a few hands hovered uncertainly in the air. No surprise - summon materia was immensely rare. Genesis stepped forward, picking up the lecture. “Scientists and historians throughout the modern era have developed two primary, competing schools of thought regarding the nature of summon materia.” He paced as he spoke, his red coat flaring dramatically behind him. “You’re all familiar with the old gods, I’m sure: Odin, Ramuh, Shiva, and so on. Believed to have originated with an ancient nomadic tribe, the pantheon represents…” 

He kept talking, explaining the history of the worship of the old gods, but Cloud tuned him out. When Genesis had mentioned Ramuh and Shiva, Noctis’s head had snapped up, his bored expression vanishing. He was paying attention to the lesson now, clearly interested. He hadn’t raised his hand when Cloud had asked about summon materia, and come to think of it, Cloud couldn’t remember hearing Noctis invoke any of the old gods, so his interest seemed unusual. 

“—In the modern era, of course,” Genesis finished, “we’ve moved beyond the need for the old gods. Whether or not divine beings truly exist—” and here Noctis snorted quietly, his stormy eyes glittering with some secret amusement. Genesis ignored him, continuing, “they clearly have little to no influence over the planet any longer. But this is where summon materia comes in.” 

He produced his own Ramuh summon with a dramatic swirl of a hand. “The two schools of thought are thus: either the summons are all which remain of beings once worshiped as gods; or they’re simply idols, powerful fakes used by ancient priests to instill fear in their congregations. Whichever they are, however, summons are not to be taken lightly. After all, they contain the power of gods.” 

He’d been warming up the materia as he spoke: on the last word, he cast. Lightning flashed down from the ceiling of the Training Room, multiple bolts stabbing into a spot just in front of the dummies at the far end. A tower of earth rose from the ground where the lightning struck, some twenty feet tall; an even brighter bolt flashed through the room and when it vanished, a man in bone-white robes stood atop the tower. His long beard flowed in a phantom wind as he raised his staff, gathering the lightning into a single point - then turning it loose on the training dummies. Thunder echoed off the walls as electricity blasted through the dummies, leaving them scorched and smoking as Ramuh and his tower vanished with one last flash of light. 

Cloud watched with only half an eye, more interested in the students’ reactions. They all looked awed, eyes and mouths wide - except Noctis, who pressed his lips together in clear disappointment and turned away. Genesis must have been watching, too, because he called, “What’s the matter, Caelum? Does the power of gods not impress you?” 

Noctis flicked him a bored look. “Maybe if that’s what this actually was, but that was just a lightning spell with fancy graphics.” 

Genesis sputtered, while the other students snickered. Cloud sighed and stepped forward. “There’s more to it than just a lightning spell,” he said. “Casting a summon takes a lot more energy, and in exchange, they do a great deal more damage than a typical elemental materia. Especially the manufactured kind.” He gestured at the charred training dummies. “None of you would be able to do that kind of damage with the materia you have at the level you’re at.” 

Noctis snorted again, and a few of the other students shot him amused glances. Cloud belatedly remembered how Noctis had blown up the training room the first time he’d tried casting, and amended, “Unless something goes really wrong.” 

More giggles. Cloud ignored them and added, “Also, don’t forget the intangible benefits of calling another body onto the battlefield. Most monsters aren’t smart enough to understand what a summon is - all they see is another enemy. One that just hurt them, badly.” He held up his own new summon materia. “This is a Shiva summon,” he said, and tossed it at Noctis. “Why don’t you give it a try?” 

Wisely, the other students retreated to the far end of the Training Room without prompting. Cloud and Genesis stayed near Noctis, though Cloud put up a Wall around them just in case. Noctis rolled his eyes at them, but held out the materia, his expression one of deep concentration. Cloud braced himself for… something; he wasn’t sure what but he certainly didn’t want a repeat of Noctis’s previous disastrous cast. 

Nothing happened. 

Noctis’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he concentrated, but the materia sat silent. He was clearly trying - he even shook the materia a few times, as though that would have any effect - but it was obvious he couldn’t do it. Finally he scowled and chucked the materia at Cloud. “Guess I’m not worthy,” he said bitterly. 

He would have stalked off to join the other students at the back of the room, but Genesis grabbed his arm, his eyes narrowed. “Wait, Caelum,” he said. “Come with me. We’ll work on this while Commander Strife continues the class.” 

Noctis tried to protest, but before he could get the first word out, Genesis had dragged him away to the back of the room, motioning as he went for the other students to join Cloud by the training dummies. They snapped to it - Genesis had the look on his face that every SOLDIER and cadet recognized, that meant you’d better get out of his way right now. 

Well, Cloud could ask him later what had caught his attention and made him want to give Noctis a private materia lesson. For now, Cloud continued the class, letting each student try the Shiva summon. A few of them ended up collapsed in exhaustion, which wasn’t surprising given how young they were and how taxing even an unleveled summon was, but they all successfully cast at least once. Cloud dismissed the class and headed to the back of the room, where Noctis was holding Genesis’s Ramuh summon and scowling. 

“It’s not going to work,” Noctis snapped as Cloud approached. “I don’t understand what you think I can do differently.” 

“As I’ve told you at least five times already,” Genesis said with exaggerated patience, “you need to actually cast. Use the materia.” 

Cloud raised his eyebrows at Genesis, but the commander gave a quick shake of his head: not now. Noctis was holding out the materia yet again, an expression of mingled frustration and concentration on his face, but nothing happened. 

Noctis sagged. “Forget it.”

“Not just yet,” Genesis said. He plucked the Ramuh summon away from Noctis and replaced it with his Fire materia instead. “Try that one.” 

Noctis eyed it like it was going to bite him, but then heaved an exaggerated sigh and held out the materia. Just like his use of Thunder materia in previous classes, the casting was instantaneous, fire blossoming out across the back half of the Training Room. 

“There,” Noctis grumbled. “Happy?” 

“No,” Genesis shot back, and tossed the Ramuh materia back to him. “Now do that, with this.” 

“It’s not the same!” Noctis protested. Genesis just folded his arms, waiting, and finally Noctis sighed again and lifted the Ramuh materia. He visibly strained, the muscles of his neck tightening and his teeth grinding as he struggled to get the materia to respond. Cloud was honestly expecting nothing different this time, since Noctis hadn’t had anything close to success yet - so he was caught completely off-guard when lightning erupted from the materia in an uncontrolled blast. 

Electricity surged across Cloud’s skin, sparking between his back teeth and along his fingers, and he staggered. Genesis stumbled and caught himself against Cloud’s shoulder, his hair standing on end, his blue eyes huge with surprise. Together they turned to stare at Noctis— 

Only to see him on his knees on the ground, his hand pressed to the small of his back, gasping with pain. 

Cloud reached for his Restore materia. “Noctis—”

But Noctis smacked Cloud’s hand aside. “Get away from me,” he hissed, anger or maybe pain rendering the words barely recognizable. Noctis stumbled to his feet and away from Cloud and Genesis, his hand still pressed to his back, his body twisted and hunched. “I told you it wouldn’t work.” His already pale face was bone-white except for two spots of color high on his cheekbones; shame and fury darkened his eyes behind the messy fall of his bangs.  

“Caelum—” Genesis tried. 

Noctis snarled a wordless warning and stomped out of the Training Room, though the furious gait didn’t quite manage to hide a limp. When the door had closed behind him, Cloud turned to stare at Genesis. 

“I didn’t know that was going to happen,” Genesis said defensively. 

“What did you mean, he needed to actually cast?” Cloud asked. “He’s cast materia before.” 

Genesis shook his head. The motion sent his static-ruffled hair flopping into his eyes, and he scowled and began combing it with his fingers. “He’s not. Casting, I mean,” he added when Cloud frowned in confusion. “I can sense a materia being warmed up. Caelum doesn’t. He holds it, and an elemental blast occurs - but he’s not actually using the materia.” 

Cloud’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Genesis agreed. He finished brushing his hair into place and frowned at the door where Noctis had vanished. “It makes no sense at all.”

[lifeofmarvvel]

The Song Sirens Sing Part 7

Word Count: 1954

Warnings: Angst-- hopefully I actually did it properly this time...

A/N: What’s up? I’m back with the next part! School has swamped me and I haven’t really had any time to work on this between the last time I updated and this week. Speaking of which, it’s Spring Break for me! Part 8 might come out before the end of the week, but no promises. 

Series Masterlist

Part 6

“You’re telling me that you talked to a pirate, made an agreement to talk, and he never showed up?” Hill questioned you.

“Uh...yeah. That’s exactly what I just said.” You fidgeted in your seat.

“Are you sure he didn’t do that so the crew could follow you so they could capture more mermaids?”

You looked up, dead serious. “I met him at the festival- however long ago that was- when I got recruited. I don’t think an enemy of mermaids would be actively interacting with them at something like that.”

Hill crossed her arms. “We need to make sure. The wrong people find out about SHIELD and we’re down. We can’t afford that. We’re too close to taking down Strucker for that.”

“I understand that. I’ve been through training,” you grumbled. “Can’t you take my word for it? You said you had faith in me before I left.” Don’t take it back now, you thought.

Hill sighed. “I’ll run it by Coulson- see what he knows. It’s likely to match up, we just need the reassurance. Until then, you’re stuck on training. We don’t know how long it will take to track down Strucker this time. He’ll be aware that someone’s after him by now. Dismissed.”

You swam out of the room with a huff. Swimming without really paying attention to where you were going, your subconscious brought you to Clint’s house. He saw you approaching and stuck his head out. “Hey! How’s my favorite siren doing?” He smiled, then added on, “Don’t tell Nat I said that.”

He invited you in and you sat down. On the table was one of his bows and a quiver. He must have been leaving for a mission soon. “Not so great,” you said truthfully. “I feel like Hill doesn’t trust me even though she said herself that she had faith in me earlier. Why would she do that?”

Clint looked up from the drawer he was searching through. “Did your mission go wrong? Because in my experience, she only gets like that when a mission goes wrong.”

“So too often for you and Nat.”

“Hey!” He put his hand on his chest, grabbing a wire. “Our missions may not go according to plan but we usually get everything done.”

“Sure.” He swam over, rolling up the string and putting it in a small compartment in the quiver. He shook his head at you mockingly and shoved your shoulder as he passed by again.

“Sure to me never doing anything right or sure to that being the reason why Maria’s off?”

“Uh...both. Both are good.”

He shoved your shoulder again and sat down across from you. “What exactly happened? Spare no details. Unless it’s, like, ultra graphic. I don’t need that in my brain. I’ve had my share with how long I’ve been at SHIELD.”

With that, you launched into another retelling of what happened. And, like he said, you spared no detail, including the happiness you felt when you saw Peter, the concern when you noticed he was fighting, and the feelings his not returning brought. You hadn’t sorted that out and it would probably take a few nights staying up overthinking to do so.

Clint listened patiently, the corners of his mouth threatening a frown. Once you finished, he stayed silent, gathering his thoughts. He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought. Nodding his head to himself, he also glanced around the room before his eyes fell on you again. “Now, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” he warned, “but I think you should listen to Maria on this one.”

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The steady metronome of his fingers combined with his words and you scowled. He was right; you didn’t like his advice. You tried to stand but Clint’s hand shot out and pulled you back down.

“Nope. You’re not allowed to ask for my advice and leave because you don’t like it.”

You huffed. “Nobugtsit,” you mumbled to yourself. Your eyes focused on his hand, which was still clacking away on the furniture. It didn’t stop you from catching his expression.

“What was that?” Clint tilted his head, looking a bit like one of those land creatures he seemed to adore. What was it again? A puppy. Except he didn’t look over eager and curious- he looked ready to pry your thoughts from your head.

“Nobody gets it,” you said slightly louder. You could’ve sworn you saw Clint’s face flicker with something, but it was gone before you could decipher it. You opened your mouth to explain and the words tumbled out one after the other like a waterfall you once happened upon. “Sure, mer-human interaction is more common than they let the public believe, but that’s all platonic stuff. Or business stuff, ugh.

“The thing is, it’s not platonic. Well, maybe not exactly but it’s on its way. And nobody wants to take me seriously. It’s not just a crush- he likes me back! But all I get is ‘no, it won’t work’ and ‘you’re just a kid’. Everyone’s fine with teen mers dating but suddenly it’s oh so wrong because he’s not a mer. I’m [age] years old! I’m old enough to make my own decisions! I decided to join SHIELD but I can’t decide if I like a human or not? Get off my back! I know Peter and I know myself. We can handle it just fine!

“Okay, yeah, he’s a pirate but he’s the sweetest person I know! He’s genuine and he loves what he’s doing and his crew can’t be that bad if they’re trying to take down Strucker, too! Is it really such a bad thing that we aren’t the same species? Newsflash, it’s not like that’s anything new in nature, either. If it lasts as long as I hope, then we can just get a sorcerer or something involved. We can cross that bridge when we get there. It really isn’t as big as a deal as everyone is trying to make it out to be to me!

“On top of that, I’m mad at him! He didn’t keep his part of the deal! He said he’d meet up with me and he just walked right past me like I didn’t exist! He broke his promise! He doesn’t do that but he just did! It’ll be fine in the long run as long as this doesn’t happen again but Hill’s deal makes it impossible for me to do so! UGH!

“And stop with the finger drumming! It’s getting on my nerves!” You slammed your hand down on top of his with your final words, effectively quieting it.

Clint’s eyes widened and his mouth parted. Your stomach turned, your own eyes widening. You shot out of your seat. “I shouldn’t have said anything. See you, Clinton.” You were out the door before he could blink, leaving him to stare at your now empty.

Stupid stupid stupid.

All Clint had done ask that you take his advice seriously and you snapped at him. You didn’t even snap at him related to what he was going to give you advice on. You closed your eyes and dragged your hand down your face. This is not going well at all.

All Hill and Clint were saying was to stay away from Peter for a bit while things got sorted out. Clint wasn’t questioning your maturity levels or if you were capable of handling a relationship with Peter- though he definitely had a reason to do so now.

The stress must be getting to you. You paced back and forth on a familiar patch of coral reef. Joining SHIELD was a bad idea. Too much pressure to do well. Too much pressure on yourself about Peter. Too much pressure to show your maturity. Too much pressure to show you could handle it. Too much pressure, too much pressure, too much pressure. And you failed. Again.

That seemed to be the reoccurring theme ever since you met Peter. Fail. Scrape something together. Fail harder. Pick up more pieces. Fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail fail-

Deep breath. In. Out. It’s not Peter’s fault. It’s not your fault. It’s just the timing. It’s not Clint’s fault. It’s not Nat’s fault. In and out. Okay, so maybe your emotional maturity wasn’t as high as you had thought. That can be improved. Remember what Nakia taught you.

Nakia--

You needed to get in touch with Nakia. She was due for a visit from you and she provided a new outside look. So outside, considering she lived closer to Wakanda. Maybe things were different there- she would have a different culture to pull advice from. Maybe your situation wasn’t as isolated as it seemed. You could only hope.

Leaving a quick note in case Wanda comes to find you later, you took off for a small cave in the middle of nowhere.

Peter woke with a start, sweat dripping down his face. The ship swayed dangerously with the waves but he hardly noticed. He forgot his end of the deal. Leave it to the middle of the night days later for him to remember. Oh, (Y/N) wasn’t going to trust him now.

Things had gotten hectic aboard the SS Avengers. After Thor had spun a tale of him, his brother, a snake, and a knife, the crew had disjoined and regular duties called. For everyone else, that is. Peter stayed cooped up once again, making sure he didn’t have Siren Sickness.

It was outright ridiculous that they thought he stood a chance of getting it again. They’d talked- what, 2, 3 times now and he hadn’t gotten it. After the first time, he did have it, technically. The second, Shuri gave him another dose. Hmmpf. So maybe they did have no basis to believe otherwise.

But Peter was fine. He was fine. The only thing that could be counted symptom-like was how much he wanted to see (Y/N) again. That was hardly related- he’d been wanting to talk to her 24/7 ever since they talked in Wakanda.

Tony was still cautious. They were trying to figure out where Strucker was again- no easy task. Since Peter hadn’t left the cabin thanks to Tony, he had absolutely no way to contact (Y/N). As a result, he had no way to know if she knew where Strucker was- or whoever had sent her to The Poisoned Plunder knew. They sat at square one.

The ship lurched to one side. Peter’s stomach jumped to his mouth. Now he noticed the swaying. Nothing was worse than a broken arm, sea sickness, and Siren Sickness precations all at once.

Peter clambered out of bed and reached for the first bucket he could find. After spilling his guts, he leaned his head on his hand and took a few deep breaths. A hand touched his back gently and started rubbing. “You good there, kid?” a familiar voice asked.

“Jus’ the waves,” he mumbled back.

“Hmm.” The hand stopped rubbing and patted him a few times. “If that’s the case, I think a drink and some sleep will help. C’mon, up you go.” With Tony’s help, Peter stood and a few minutes later he was back in bed. “No dreaming about mermaids,” Tony joked.

“No promises. Maybe I’ll dream about you as a merman,” Peter joked back.

A soft laugh and then a “Get some sleep, Pete,” along with some rustles alerted Peter that Tony settled back into bed himself.

As soon as he clears me, Peter thought, I’m gonna find a way to contact (Y/N) and apologize. Before he knew it, he drifted off.

Part 8

[iamsonyeondone]

roommate // lee seokmin

☆+｡･fluffy!!

☆+｡･2.5k words

everyone knew who seokmin was

and when i meant everyone, i literally meant anyone who's seen him at least once

because he just has that really contagious smile and aura that's refreshing in this day and age

the ladies who run the stalls near the restaurant he works at always makes sure to drop by and give him a large tip

or the little kids who pass by whenever their done with school would always greet him

he exudes such a positive and calming aura that attracts people

and his boss is so glad he hired him because business has been booming ever since

seokmin was only looking for a part time job to help him pay his student loans and general living expenses

but even when he's nearly done with paying it off, he wouldnt mind working there for another extra few years

because maybe theres a certain someone who frequents the restaurant alot

who am i kidding?? of course its you

the person who always drops by and orders a fixed menu

sometimes you would try something different when there was occasion you wanted to celebrate

like that one time when seokmin took your order and it was unexpectedly different and asked you about it

"i just got a promotion for my job so i figured it would be nice to treat myself a little,"

and your smile sends him blushing because its full of genuine happiness

so seokmin sneaked in a dessert on the house because its not treating yourself if theres no dessert

(although the boss would have happily complied if seokmin just told him about it since you're a regular)

but one thing seokmin realizes is that you never really go there on a date, or at least thats what he knows

whenever he has a shift and you come by, youre either alone, with a bunch of friends or with family

he's never really seen you be intimate with someone at one of their tables

and maybe he's relieved to know that

that you're possibly single and that he isnt discreetly flirting with a taken person

and his way of discreetly flirting is doing little thank you doodles on your receipt or complimenting on your look that day

other than that he's never had the guts to do anything else

because you're a regular and he's only seen you at his workplace

but all of that changes when you settle for an order thats a little too much for a table of one

and that forced smile tells everything

"you sure you can finish it up? its more than i can even finish myself" seokmin attempted at a little joke while you chuckle softly

"im not sure, but i guess I'll try,"

and seokmin's heartbroken just by looking at your furrowed brows and your lips curling into a frown

and something just clicks within him to do something, anything

"maybe you would want to order takeout instead? and maybe let me take you out too?"

it was the cringiest line he had ever spoken, and his best friend jeonghan would probably agree

but you turn to him and giggle, a little surprised at his forwardness

"that sounds nice, but dont you have work?"

"im clocking out in about ten minutes, and thats when your food should be ready so is it uhhh,, a-"

"its a date then,"

when he sees your smile tugging more at each side, a small weight lifts off of his shoulders

and he's more than relieved to know that his attempt at taking you out on a date wasnt rejected

you told him you would wait for him at one of the nearby cafes

and when he walks in with your take out in hand, seeing you with a deeper frown while you stared into your glass of water

seokmin made it his mission to cheer you up by the end of the night, or at least as long as the date goes

"r-ready?" seokmin stuttered, wiggling the plastic bag in his other hand

you gave him a smile and a nod, walking side by side as the both of you walked out of the cafe

"sorry if this is a little intruding but is anything wrong? you dont have to answer if you dont want to," seokmin asked you, worry coating his every word

"maybe being kicked out of my apartment was the thing that happened," you chuckled sarcastically, taking another deep breath

his eyes grew wide, apologising profusely if he had gone a little too far

"you dont have to apologize all the time seokmin, it wasnt your fault," you reassured him, giving him a small smile

"but im sure youre upset, and making you upset on... on our date wasnt something i had in mind," he mumbled, scratching the nape of his neck

this time, your giggles were lighter and less forced

"then what exactly did you have in mind?" you raised a brow

without another word, seokmin glimmers with his wide contagious grin, asking for your hand before jogging to the park nearby

the both of you were panting by the time you guys reached the peaceful park, laughter filling the calm space

"did you plan on giving me exercise or?" you laughed, your hands resting on your knees while seokmin placed a small mat onto the grass

"not really. i wanted to hear you laugh and somehow succeeded," and maybe your heart skips a little from the way he smiles at you

and you blush lightly at his words, taking a seat next to him while he laid out the food

"i made sure to order your regular order in case you had a change in mind. because you never really order this- not that i stalk you or anything, you just come by the restaurant alot,”

“thank you seokmin,” 

for the rest of the day, you dont even realize the plastered smile on your face, or the worries you had been panicking over a moment ago

all you could think about was seokmin’s antics and his contagious smile

the sun eventually sets, leaving the both of you to head home

and then it clicked

“wait, do you have anywhere else to sleep for the night?” seokmin asked while the both of you walked through the park, towards the exit

“my family lives in another state and my friends already has a full house of roommates. i guess i can sleep in a motel for the time being,” you shrugged, as if it was an obvious answer

“why dont you... why dont you sleep over at my place. I live 10 minutes away from the restaurant and i have a guest room so you dont have to worry about it,” he suggested out of complete sincerity, only worry for what lurks along the motel allies

“that sounds nice but i cant let you help me more than i deserve-”

“but you do deserve more than this, so why dont you just stay at my place for one night? its only me anyways so you dont have to worry about any roommates, " he smiled

and that twinkling in his eyes, nearly pushes you to agree with him without hesitating

"I'll think about it. in the mean time, i should probably pack up my stuff,"

"i can-"

"thank you seokmin, and give me your number just in case,"

you took out a ballpoint pen from your pocket, handing it to him to write down his digits on your palm

and after a minute of stifling your giggles from the tickling sensation on your hand, you thank him once more before jogging off towards your apartment

although you didnt think you'll see each other so soon

as you stood at the end of a stairway that led to his apartment, you fiddled with your duffle bag on your shoulder, wondering if sleeping over his place was a good idea

its not like the both of you talked on a regular basis, and you only see him every week or so

so what made you feel like sleeping over at this cute waiter's house was any different than a stranger's?

at the sound of the swinging glass door from behind you, you turned your heel to face seokmin

but he was now dressed in his pajamas - an oversized graphic tshirt hanging from his shoulders and a pair of the fluffiest pants you've ever seen

"sorry it took so long, i didnt think you would call so soon so i needed to clean up a few things," he nervously chuckled

yet he was quick to offer his help with your things, mainly to avoid the awkward atmosphere that seemed to follow

after the small talk in the lift and eventually entering his home, you actually expected the decent cleanliness of his home

the decor was kept minimal yet sentimental but you did see some clothes trying to spill from beneath the couch

it didnt feel good to make him feel embarrassed after his rushed attempt so you swallowed your giggles

"the guest room is on the left and,, just make yourself feel at home. there's some drinks in the fridge and the toilet is across so if there's anything else you need, just knock my door," he reassured you before taking your duffle bag and placing it in your temporary room

although you had no idea how long you would stay over

a week at most?

oh boy were you wrong

the beginning of living with seokmin was filled with so much awkwardness

from seokmin catching a glimpse of you and your dripping hair while you came out of the toilet, to finding your undergarments in the washing machine

seokmin was nearly flustered 24/7 after finding your underwear and couldnt face you for 3 days straight

but things still progressed and the both of you began to be more comfortable among each other

seokmin cooking for you in the mornings before he started his shift while you repayed his kindness by cooking him dinner

soon the both of you could lay back on the couch together without having to nervously glance at the other or find a way to avoid the awkward silence

and by the time the both of you could be in a room without the tension, a whole week passed

and somehow finding a new apartment hadn't filled your mind during then

or maybe you were avoiding it because 1) you didnt have enough to pay for the deposit fee AND pay for rent after that and 2) with every day that passed, you felt more at home being seokmin's temporary roommate

And also because seokmin is getting so much cuter by the day

But when he asked you about your current search

And your left with having to stare at him with a blank face, your mouth gaping from the sudden unwanted question

Before you could come up with a lame excuse, seokmin reassured you that it was fine not to rush things 

“i like your company anyway, its better than coming home to an empty house and no food,” he chuckled

“but you can cook by yourself just fine, if not, even better than i could do,” you pointed out 

seokmin thinks for a moment but chooses to just shrug it off as he began cleaning up the dirty dishes in the sink

your chest doesnt feel as heavy with guilt, knowing that he didnt mind having you in his home

but how long will this last?

after an especially tiring day of work, back aching and eyes sore, you flop down onto the couch with a loud sigh

but you didnt expect seokmin to pop out from the hallway, thinking that he was still at the restaurant to clean up after his shift

“you sighed really loud i could hear you from my room,” he chuckled, attempting to lighten the tension as he entered the kitchen “something bothering you?”

you stared at the white ceiling as if it held some kind of magical power to relieve you from your exhaustion

“its just that i had to do a heck ton of work today plus that colleague i told you about was being a total asshat too,” you groan, thinking about the extra work you had to finish up which was in fact not yours

“want some instant noodles to cheer you up?” he spoke louder from the kitchen as you shouted back with a relieved ‘yes’

the two of you end up at the dining table, slurping on the noodles seokmin called the Power Up Set

“slow down yn! you’re gonna choke if you keep inhaling it like that,” he chuckled, with a wide grin on his face

“but its super good! and i might have skipped out on lunch,” you sheepishly confessed, knowing the worry-filled questions that were to come your way

“you’re gonna fall sick if you dont take care of yourself. i told you i could send you takeaway if you were too busy,” he nagged, forgetting his own ball of noodles

while you on the other hand gave all your attention to your now soup bowl

“dont make me remind you about the gastric pains you got from not eating breakfast with me,” he glared

“but seokmin,,,,” you groaned 

“what’s your mother going to say when i dont keep up to my promise of taking care of you?????”

and youre not sure why but a sudden choice of words even take yourself aback

“then i can just move out and find an apartment asap,” 

maybe it had always been lingering at the back of your mind, that your presence in his life was becoming a burden for him

but when you look back at him and its not his usual teasing smile

it felt like maybe he did really want you to move out

“im done with dinner, im going to sle-”

“you’re going to move already?”

sounded like he looked forward to it, you thought to yourself

“but then who’s going to watch the final season with me?”

wait what

“who’s going to help me cook dinner and give me the best hugs when the day is too tiring? who’s going to help me laze around when its cleaning day? i never thought i would ever have the time to admit this but i really like you, yn. and your presence here amplified it so much i have no idea what to do with mys-”

you cut him off by squishing his cheeks, for him to look right back at you so that you could check if seokmin was just trying to cheer you up

but roommates dont say that they like you to cheer you up, do they?

“are you going to slap me or kiss me i-”

“just hush already,” 

your lips collided with his, making your knees weak from the contact while he wrapped his arms around your waist

once the both of you pulled away, seokmin began laughing so loud out of happiness, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck

“so does that mean i can still laze around during cleaning day?”

“of course not, i was just trying to tempt you, you adorable dork,”

[writingwhizzbees]

A Plethora of Dates with Peter Parker #2

A/N: Hi, amazing people! I haven’t written on here in so long and now I have a lot of free time, so why not start again!? Here is my masterlist, if you like this and want to read more. I hope you enjoy! :-) Part 1

The Bookstore

Now, this was your favorite place to go with Peter! You would spend hours there just looking through all the books together 

Of course, you and Peter had to go through every section at the store... no exceptions! You could miss something new!

You two always started at the History section, but never paid attention to the books about wars or Presidents or the monarchy 

Nope! You only cared about the books that talked about conspiracy theories 

“Pete, Pete, Pete! Did you hear about the conspiracy that aliens made contact with humans in prehistoric times? And they taught early humans about technology and religion an-”

Old ladies always seemed to walk by and give you two weird looks when they heard your conversations

But you two didn’t care! You were too busy discussing the secrets of the universe!

“No way! That’s awesome!”

Peter would always act surprised at your new theory, even if he already heard about it. 

He just loved to hear you talk and get so excited about something; it was like music to his ears

Your favorite section to go to with Peter was the children’s book section 

 “Ah! My favorite novels: Click, Clack, Moo and The Stinky Cheese Man!” 

Peter always sat down on the floor and did a dramatic reading of one of the picture books 

Bonus: he (of course) had a different voice for every character

Double Bonus: some kids at the store would sit down next to you two and giggle at his wacky story telling! Peter was a hit!

At the self-care and relationship section, Peter was very hesitant to pull a book off the shelves 

One time he grabbed a book off the shelf without looking at the title, and it was a book on Kama Sutra

He looked through the first 7 pages until realizing what it was 

You laughed about it for days, and Peter had to hide his red, embarrassed face for days

After going through the science section, the fiction section, the graphic novels section, you two got very tired and hungry 

Thank the gods for that Starbucks in the middle of the store!

You two got your Starbucks treats (Peter usually got a huge chocolate chip cookie, while you got the rice krispy treat) and sat in a huge, lush arm chair in the corner of the store

With you in his arms, Peter held up the novel you two agreed on and you both began to read while eating your snacks

You are a faster reader than Peter, so when he is done reading the page, he usually taps your arm, signaling for you to finally turn the page

Putting the novel back after you read the first two chapters when a worker gives you and Peter a death glare, since you two stay there so close to closing time

You walk hand-in-hand back to your apartment and Peter can’t stop looking at you next to him

“I bought you something at the bookstore!” Peter beamed with a childish giggle following his exclamation 

“Oh, Pete! You didn’t have to! I didn’t get you anything! I feel so ba-”

With a quick softness, Peter interrupts you with a gentle kiss and pulls out a children’s book that he was hiding inside his jacket the whole walk back

He can’t stop looking at you with his big, brown puppy dog eyes as you take the book from him and quickly read the title of your gift 

“I Love You, Stinky Face” 

A Concert

Concerts aren’t really Peter’s thing: too many people crowded around him and sometimes, with this spidey senses, the loud music can make his ears ring and his insides vibrate on another level

So, of course, Peter had to wear his ear plugs to the concert!

Along with your favorite green sweater of his (he didn’t really know what to wear to a concert, but he looked so cute and that’s all that matters!)

When you two first got there, you started in the back of the venue, but being the aggressive person you are, you wanted to get to the front

Peter held your hand and walked behind you as you pushed through the crowd and fought for the front

“Oh! Sorry, Sir!,”  Sorry, ma’am! I didn’t mean to step on your feet!!,” [Y/N]! Slow down!” 

During the concert, you caught Peter slowly bending down to lower and lower heights 

“Pete! What are you doing? You look so uncomfortable!” 

“I’m afraid the girls behind me can’t see! They’re so short; I don’t want to block their view!” 

Even if the girls said they could see perfectly fine, he still crouched down a lil’ 

Peter standing there with his hands in his pockets perfectly still, afraid to make a fool of himself by dancing 

You grabbing his hand and making him sway along to the music with you, causing him to become a blushing mess (thank you dark room!) and swaying off beat 

However, when the band started to perform your favorite song, Peter couldn’t help but dance along with you. Your energy and excitement rubbed off on him!

 He tapped his foot and would occasionally do little jumps; he had no idea what to do with his hands 

Peter offering to record any song for you, since he was a little bit taller than you and had a better view of the whole stage (and he wanted you to enjoy the concert without any issues) 

When the band played a slow song, Peter’s arm slowly made it across your waist and he pulled you into his side

It was way too loud to talk to each other, so you two just stood there, enjoying the concert and each other’s company

After the concert, you two walked out of the venue and Peter finally took out his beloved ear-plugs

“Do you wanna go get some milkshakes?” you drooled

“WHAT?? WHAT DID YOU SAY? I can’t really HEAR you, babe!” the ear-plugs did not work as well as he thought they would. He was yelling like a grandpa

You giggling and covering his mouth with your hand while shushing him 

“You’re so cute!”

“WHAT? SAY THAT AGAIN?”

Game Night with Friends

Honestly, your friends are terrified of you both when it comes to board games 

You start the night off “easy” with Clue 

You always play as Mrs. Peacock and Peter always plays as Professor Plum

“I suspect...Professor Plum with the pistol in the ballroom. Peter, do you have any of those cards?”

You NEVER called him “Pete” during game night; only serious business here 

Peter getting offended that you suspected HIS character (even though it’s totally random!) 

“No, [Y/N]. I do not have any of those cards.”

Ned and MJ getting freaked out by how formal you both are

Every time you would mark something on your paper, you would catch Peter staring at you, trying to figure out where you are marking

“Peter is cheating!” you scream, “he’s cheating!”

“No, I am not!!” he would scream back and laugh at you when you accidentally show one of your cards 

You would always win Clue, though. It’s your childhood favorite. 

Ned and MJ are always so thankful when you finally switch to Scattergories, because who can be competitive at Scattergories, right?

Oh.. how wrong they are! 

“Okay! “Reasons You’re Late” that start with the letter “p”, I put putting your keys in the freezer and forgetting they’re there”

“Peter... no way. There is no way I am giving you any points for that answer”

“Ned? MJ? It’s a good answer right?!” Peter looks at his friends with desperation in his eyes 

“Sorry, Pete.. I gotta agree with [Y/N] on this one... your answer is pretty stupid,” Ned says with a chuckle 

Peter letting out small grunts and sighs the entire time (he’s so dramatic, ugh)

“For Things in a Kitchen that start with R, I put round spoon”

Peter basically standing up in his seat, “That’s a qualifier! No qualifiers allowed!”

“But-”

“NO QUALIFIERS!” 

Ending this intense night with the most intense game: Settlers of Catan

You two loved this game, but Peter always ended up getting very frustrated, because you always convinced Ned and MJ to go against him somehow

“Ned, I will give you two sheep for 1 brick.”

“Hmm.. any other offers?” Ned would look around and land his eyes on you

“Ned, I will give you two sheep for 1 brick!” you say with a smirk 

“DEAL!” 

Peter throwing his head back in frustration as you and Ned laugh with each other

MJ getting ahold of the robber and trying to decide whether or not to stop your brick flow or Peter’s log flow 

You making intense eye contact with her and shaking your head violently 

“MJ, please!” you begged, “Put it on Peter’s! I will buy you tickets to the Ruth Bader Ginsberg movie, please please please don’t” 

“No! Don’t listen to her, MJ! I’ll read that Sylvia Plath book you’ve always wanted me to read!” 

After careful consideration, MJ ended up putting the robber on Peter’s resources. 

Of course, Peter started to tear up. He was screwed for the rest of the game.

“[Y/N], if you win, you have to kiss me” Peter said with a small chuckle 

“Go away, Parker” you say while rolling your eyes

You won. Of course.

After MJ and Ned left, Peter sat on your couch and gave you a huge grin

“What are you smilin’ about, Parker? You just lost!”

“I don’t think so!” he said while reaching his arms out to you and pulling you on the couch next to him “I think you owe me something..” 

You roll your eyes playfully for the last time that night and giggle in his face before giving him a soft kiss on the lips

You end up making out the rest of the night until your parents come home

Peter thinks your aggressive and competitive side is really hot. How could anyone blame him?

A Picnic 

Oh, Geez! Peter has been planning this for weeks! He wanted it to be perfect

He first got the idea to have a picnic after watching the scene in Star Wars when Anakin and Padme had one 

After that, he immediately began to plan the food that he would put in the picnic basket

His special ham and nutella sandwiches (at first you thought it was disgusting, but it grew on you) 

Aunt May made her special creamy pasta salad

Peter went to the supermarket and picked out your favorite fruit and even made homemade chocolate chip cookies for you!

Aunt May thought the whole process was adorable; she couldn’t stop laughing at Peter as he slowly and carefully placed all the food in the basket

Peter picked you up at your apartment and you two walked to the nearest park 

Thankfully, not a lot of people were there! You two set the blanket down in the shade and sat down together

He couldn’t stop staring at you and how your skin glistened in the sun and the bright yellow flower you placed in your hair on the way there. You are beautiful!

“Ham and Nutella sandwiches? My favorite!” you screamed before stuffing your face

Oh, god. He was in love with you. He always knew that in the back of his mind, but in that very moment, that very small moment, it filled up his entire mind and he couldn’t breathe

I’m gonna tell her. I’m gonna tell her today, he thought to himself 

“Pete? Are you okay?” you asked when you noticed Peter wasn’t listening to you and was just staring straight ahead the entire conversation

“Wha- OH! Yes! I’m fine! Totally great! 100%! Awesome awesome awesome!” he rambled on 

You giggled and handed him a sandwich 

While you two ate and talked about your favorite shows, Ned’s new obsession with bolo ties, and Peter’s conspiracy theory that Aunt May is dating again, the sky began to turn gray

You two didn’t notice this change in weather until rain began to pour down on the Earth

“Oh god!” you screamed while getting up and running underneath a tree, Peter followed, but sadly, it didn’t protect you from getting rained on violently 

“Let’s run to that park shelter in 3? Ready?” Peter said while grabbing your hand

“1...2....3...” 

you two sprinted to the shelter while letting out high-pitched yelps as water drenched you and mud got on and into your shoes 

All you could do was laugh your butt off once you got inside the shelter 

You two were soaking wet and looked like you just got back from war

But Peter wasn’t laughing, He was just pacing back and forth with a sad look on his face

“Pete? Are you oka-”

“The chocolate chip cookies are ruined!” he mumbled “All the food is ruined! Oh, God! This is such a disaster” 

“Pete! It’s gonna be oka-”

“Of course this happens to me! I wanted it to be perfect, I wanted to tell you I love you and have the perfect date, but now Aunt May is going to kill me an-” 

Peter kept on rambling and rambling but WAIT? What did he just say?!

“Peter!” you walk up closer to him and grab his arm, hoping to get him out of his trance. He finally snaps out of it and looks at you

“What did you just say?”

“I said I wanted this date to be perfect”

“No, after that” you say with a huge smile forming

Peter squints his eyes and goes into deep thought, trying to remember what he said and when he finally realizes what he said, his eyes go wide and his face turns a bright red

“I-I.. I..” Peter stuttered while running his hands through his hair and looking down at the ground, tapping his toe on the ground “I s-said that I uh uh..”

Oh wow. Your boy was struggling 

You couldn’t wait any longer, so you moved closer into him and wrap your arms around him, your head perfectly on his chest, the warm feeling of him and his sweater radiated off onto you

You look up at him and go onto your tip toes to place a small kiss on his nose 

“Peter, I love you too” you whisper through a small smile 

Peter immediately looks relieved and breaks into a huge grin 

“Really?” he finally managed to breathe out 

“Of course I do” 

Peter wrapped his arms tighter around your body and lifted you off the ground and began to spin you around 

You let out a small squeal as Peter picked you up and set you down on a picnic table in the shelter

Before you could say anything, Peter pressed his lips against yours and tried to pull you even closer to him as he deepened the kiss

I mean.. you two basically made out the entire time until the rain stopped 

But, Peter would break the kiss multiple times just to say, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

You melting every single damn time he said it 

After the rain finally stopped, you two gathered the soaking wet food and the muddy picnic blanket and headed back to your apartment 

“I think that’s my favorite thing to say ever,” Peter chuckled  

The following week, Peter would just not stop telling you how much he loves you (you weren’t complaining!)

“[Y/N]! I have a secret!” 

“What, Pete?”

“I LOVE YOU!”

“I love you too, you dork!”

Tagged: @dr-fangirl-extraordinaire @capsarmguards @ohparkers

[sleepyverstappens]

Dancing Through Life (Chapter 1/?)

Title: Dancing Through Life

Pairing: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden

Rating: M (for later chapters)

Warnings (For this chapter): Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Non-Graphic Violence 

Summary:  Two boys, stuck in a small village in the Yorkshire Dales, until they found their unlikely way out, through ballet and each other.

(Read on AO3)

A/N: Well here it is, the first chapter of my robron ballet!AU, if you follow me on here you know I've been going on about this fic for ages. I was planning on only posting it once I had finished it completely, but I couldn't help myself. So here is the first chapter and I'm hoping to update this fic once a week (the first 5 chapters are finished, so we’ll see how the rest goes). I’ve tried to keep canon as a base, but I have played around with their ages a bit in relation to when things happened in canon throughout the fic (it’ll be pretty clear dw).

Chapter 1: Robert

Ballet

[ba-ley, bal-ey]

Noun

·         a classical dance form demanding grace and precision and employing formalized steps and gestures set in intricate, flowing patterns to create expression through movement.

 ---

  Robert had been only eleven when he left his home in Emmerdale to go to the Royal Ballet School in London. A farmer’s son doing ballet, Jack hadn’t wanted any part of it. But Sarah had seen the joy her son had found in it. Little Robert had always been dancing around in the fields behind their farm, making up his own silly dances.

“Robert stop fooling around and go help your brother feed the sheep,” Jack’s gruff voice called out to his son.

“But daddd!”

“Robert! No arguing just do as you are asked boy.”

 Jack had scoffed at her when she had brought up putting him in ballet classes. Why would he put his hard earned money into his son’s dance classes? No if he was going to pay for a hobby for Robert it’d just have to be footie like any other lad. But when Jack had taken him to his first practice on a cold Saturday morning Robert had refused to join in with the other young boys bustling about on the football field. Robert would instead be dancing around in the field totally missing the ball that was passed off to him. When one day one of those passes had hit his head hard, leaving Robert a crying mess, Sarah had decided that it had been enough. After the football debacle Sarah had brought up dance classes again and in the end Jack had given in, figuring that if Robert actually took classes he would soon get bored of it. But he never had, he just got home from each new class more excited than the last one.

“Mum! Mum! Guess what, we learned to do pirouettes today. Look mum, you have to find a spot on the wall,” Robert said pointing to the kitchen wall. “And then, and then you turn, but you need to keep looking at that spot until you can’t, and then you twist you head around real quick to find that spot again,” Robert explained excitedly as he clumsily showed his mum how to do it.  

 And then Robert’s ballet teacher, Mrs Walker, had brought up the fact that there would be auditions for the Royal Ballet School in Manchester soon. Sarah had been delighted to hear that Mrs. Walker thought that Robert had a chance. For the next few weeks Robert had worked hard on his audition, finding the perfect music to accompany his dance.

Then on the 18th of January, Robert still remembered the date clearly, his mum had driven him to Manchester for his audition. Robert had been so nervous that day, seeing all the other boys and girls around him who seemed far more capable than him. But he had danced with everything he had, hoping that it would be enough. And it had been, because he had been invited to the auditions in London. Robert and Sarah had made the long drive up to London from Emmerdale the next month. Robert had thought he had been nervous for the auditions in Manchester, but that day, surrounded by boys and girls from all over the country he had been so nervous he had felt on the verge of throwing up all day.

“You read it, I’m too nervous to read it,” Robert said to Sarah, it felt like his heart was trying to beat out of his chest it was beating so fast.

Sarah picked up the envelope from where Robert had dropped it on the table. The black Royal Ballet School logo staring back at her, before she turned the envelope over and opened it. She carefully read over the letter, trying not to skip to the end so as not to miss anything important. But seeing the big congratulations at the start of the first sentence had already put a big smile on her face.

“So?”

“Oh Robert darling, you got in! You got accepted to the Royal Ballet School, you’re going to London,” Sarah declared smiling brightly.

“Really?!” Robert squealed jumping up from his chair to give his mum a big hug.

 The wait for September to come around had been long, but Robert had enjoyed his summer holiday in Emmerdale. He had continued his ballet classes with Mrs. Walker, though she had told him that he would probably get taught everything again at the Royal Ballet School and come to find that he had learned all the wrong techniques. He had assured her that she had taught him very well, but had later on come to realise that yes she had been telling the truth. In his last few weeks in Emmerdale he had played around with his little sister Victoria at any given chance. He knew he would miss her a lot, even when she was being an annoying little brat. He had also spent a lot of time helping his dad on the farm with Andy. While even at his young age farming had never really interested him much he enjoyed spending time with his dad and brother.

And then the first of September 1997 had come and Robert had said his goodbyes to his family.    

Robert was stuffing the last of his possessions into his already overfull suitcase. Today his mum would drive him up to London, the city that would become his new home.

“Bye Viccy,” he said as he kissed Victoria’s chubby cheeks.

He looked up at Andy, his brother whom he had despised a lot of times. But they had managed to get along during the summer and they loved each other in their own way.

“Bye Andy, have fun with the animals. Make sure Betsy gets plenty of fresh hay.”

Betsy was one of the sheep Robert had come to love over the summer. She was a silly little thing, often running and jumping around in the fields, while the other sheep just grazed. In a way very similar to Robert, the boy that loved to dance around in the farm fields.

 The drive up to London had been long and Robert had fallen asleep by the time they had passed Sheffield, because he hadn’t gotten much sleep that night due to his nerves. As they had entered London his mum had woken him up so he could take in the city that would become his new home. Everything had been so much bigger than what he was used to back in the village. He remembered it from his audition in London, but now that he knew that this would become his new home for at least the next 5 years it had felt different.

Settling in at White Lodge had taken him some time. At just eleven years old he had been on his own for the first time in his life. No family close by and all these new people around him, but the routine of waking up early, eating breakfast in the dining hall and then going to school, had quickly become his new normal. He had made some friends early on and had had the time of his life. He got to do what he loved most, dance. Sure the hours of training were hard work, but he had still regularly wished he could be dancing instead of getting bored out of his mind in another maths class.

 And so most of his days were spent perfecting his pliés in the first three ballet positions, learning the right ways to move each muscle. Building up the strength and stamina for performances and working at the barre to learn to do basic movements such as tendu, grand battement and relevé.

He had loved his time at the Royal Ballet School, but also looked forward to his winter and summer holidays that he got to spent at home. Being back in Emmerdale had always been an adjustment. It would always take him a few days before his body clock remembered that he didn’t have to wake up at 7 am during the holidays.

Robert groaned as he looked at the time on the clock on his bedside table; 7 am. It was his first day back in Emmerdale for the summer holidays, but his body clearly hadn’t adjusted to the holiday schedule yet.

Deciding to make the most of his first day back home he stretched out his body and got out of bed. He shuffled down the stairs and walked into the kitchen, where his dad was sat sipping his morning coffee.

“You’re up early,” Jack stated as he looked up from his paper.

“Body is still on school schedule,” Robert shrugged.

“Well, want to help me milk the cows?”

“I guess.”

“You’re back on the farm now lad, not at your fancy ballet school, you need to put in the work just like the rest of ‘em,” Jack said.

 Robert might have been going to school at the Royal Ballet School now, but Jack still hadn’t really liked the idea of his son going there. Sarah had told him how impressive it was that their son had gotten accepted into such an elite school, but Jack had still thought of ballet as a thing for girls. So Robert had spent most of his time back home helping out on the farm. His mum had tried to make sure he had enough time to continue practicing, but his dad had kept him busy. And after his dad had gotten angry at him after catching him practicing his ballet moves instead of mucking out the stables, he had resorted to stretching and practicing as soon as he woke up and before going to bed.  

This whole spiel went on during each holiday he spent at home over the next few years. Robert hadn’t been able to understand why his dad couldn’t just support him. Surely by now he had to have realised that Robert wasn’t giving up on his dream to become a professional ballet dancer, but each school holiday his dad had pretty much forbidden him from doing ballet. Robert had hated his dad for it and after the first two years he had come to dread going back home for the holidays, no matter how much he missed his mother and little sister Victoria, the fact that he wasn’t allowed to dance left his heart feeling hollow every time.

 ---

 Then that dreadful day had come. November 16th, 2000. He had been working on his turn out in the arabesque with Mrs. Robinson when headmaster Connelly had walked in.

“Mrs. Robinson, can I talk to Mr. Sugden for a minute,” Mr. Connelly said as he walked through the open classroom door.

“Of course,” Mrs. Robinson said with a bright but unsure smile. “Go ahead Robert, we will work on your turn out again later.”

There was a strained silence as Robert followed the headmaster to his office, he didn’t like the look on the man’s face. He couldn’t think of anything he had done wrong. He had been to all of his classes on time and kept to himself during the weeks. It couldn’t have been about him kissing that girl Krysta over the weekend could it? How would Mr. Connelly even know, the girl didn’t even go to the Royal Ballet School, she just happened to be at the same place they had taken a weekend trip to.

“Please, take a seat Mr. Sugden,” Mr. Connelly said nodding to the ornate chairs that sat across from his burgundy desk.

Robert sat down, wondering if he should say something, but he decided to keep quiet. He figured if he didn’t say anything he couldn’t incriminate himself if he had done something wrong.

“You’re probably wondering why I came to get you,” the headmaster paused. “Robert, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Panic was rising in his chest at the man’s careful words. He was gonna get kicked out of school wasn’t he. He was gonna lose what had become his whole life over the last 3 years. The sound of the rush of blood going through his head almost made him miss what the headmaster said next.

Words that would forever be edged into his brain: “I’m sorry Robert, but I just received a call from your father informing me that sadly your mother has passed away.”

Those last two words echoed in his head.

“Passed away.”

“Passed away.”

“PASSED AWAY.”

All of a sudden he felt hands on his shoulders. “Breathe Robert, breathe. Follow my breathing okay,” he heard Mr. Connelly’s voice say from what seemed very far away. He blinked harshly, trying to get his eyes focused, trying to do what the man told him to do, breathe.

Slowly he got his breathing back under control, the rush of blood in his head fading away as the overwhelming heat he felt surrounding him turned to bitter cold.  

 The news about his mum had left him reeling. Mr. Connelly had told him what his father had told him over the phone. His mother had been caught in a barn fire he had explained. The headmaster had asked his assistant to get his gear from the ballet studio and had lead him to his bedroom.

Robert hadn’t cried until the next day when his dad had come to pick him up. His dad had never come with him to London, it had always been him and his mum. And his dad actually being at the White Lodge building was a stark reminder that this was all real, that his mum was really dead and this wasn’t just a dream.

 ---

 After the news about his mom everything had just seemed to get worse and worse.

His mum’s funeral had been a sombre affair, nothing like Robert had expected. Of course he knew funerals weren’t generally a fun affair, but none of his mother’s joy in life seemed to have been translated into the wake. He had only recognised a handful of people there, hadn’t recognised the man that spoken about his mum as if she had been the most important person in his life. She wasn’t, she was the most important person in his life. But he had sat there and accepted the condolences from the tearful people. He had mostly just felt empty, having cried out all of his tears during the days before the funeral. He thought back to the last time he had seen her; the day she had dropped him off at White Lodge after the summer holiday all those weeks ago. The last time he had spoken to her on the phone; two days before she had died. He was just glad that their last conversation had been a nice one and not a fight, he couldn’t bear to think about the last shared memories between them being bad ones.    

Now that the funeral was over he was back home on the farm. Since it was quite close to the winter break they had decided that staying at home until the next year was easier. And ‘it would give him some time to grieve before diving back into the rigorous schedule of the ballet school,’ his teachers had said.

Robert hadn’t wanted to grieve though, he had just wanted to dance and forget everything that had happened. He hadn’t wanted to be on the farm, the farm that had only been a safe haven because his mum had been there. But now he had been back there and she hadn’t been. And he hadn’t even been able to dance his feelings away, because his dad had still forbidden him from it. Worse he had tried to stop him from going back to the Royal Ballet School.

“You’re not going back to that school!” his dad yelled.

“What?”

“You heard me, you’re not going back to that stupid school Robert. I’ve indulged this silly fantasy long enough now, it’s time you learn to do some real graft.”

“No! You can’t stop me from going back! I’m getting better and better, I even won a competition last month!”

“I don’t care how good you think you are or how many trophies you win, you’re not going back, end off.”

“Please dad, I love it okay, I love it so much,” he paused and thought about his next words, maybe they would make his dad understand. “Please don’t take away my last connection to mum, please dad.”

His dad sighed, the fight gone from him at the mention of Sarah. A range of emotions crossed his father’s face; lingering anger, confusion, defeat and some softness.

“Okay, okay I won’t stop you from going back there, but while you are here you are expected to help out. No more skiving off work to practise, while you’re here you’re a farmer not a ballet dancer.”

“Okay,” Robert agreed reluctantly.

 After his dad had agreed to let him continue at the ballet school he had been helping out every day. He missed dancing a lot, he missed the feeling of freedom it gave him, he even missed the way his muscles ached after a rigorous training. But more so he missed his mum, his mother who had always encouraged him in his passion for dancing, who had always smiled at him so brightly when he came back each holiday full of enthusiastic stories.  

 ---

 The day Michael came to work on their farm Robert had been reluctantly helping feed the animals with his dad and Andy. The brunette boy with the bright smile and broad shoulders had immediately caught his attention.

Robert looked up as he heard someone approach the barn. A boy, who looked to be maybe one or two years older than him walked up to where they were feeding the sheep. The boy was already clad in the unflattering green overalls they wore on the farm, but Robert couldn’t help but notice how pretty he was. The boy pushed away a lock of brown hair that had fallen over his forehead as he began to talk.

“Morning Jack. What’ve we got planned for today,” he said with a bright smile, showing of the dimples in his cheeks.

“Morning Michael. We’re just finishing up feeding the cattle, maybe you can help clearing out the stalls.”

“Starting us off with the worst of it, aye,” Michael grinned, clearly not bothered about the work he had been put on.

“Farming isn’t just shearing sheep and milking cows, gotta take care of all of it,” Jack shrugged.

“I can help!” Robert chimed in, already taken by this new boy. His dad looked at him funny, he’d never in his life helped clear out the stalls. But before Jack could say anything about it, Michael had already replied with a ‘Great, come on then’.  

Robert followed Michael along to the stalls, dreading the work he now had to go and do, but feeling it was worth it to spend more time with Michael.

“I’m Robert, by the way,” he smiled at Michael as he took the spade that was handed to him.

Over the winter break Robert had come to look forward to the moment Michael showed up at the farm each morning. Spending time with the boy meant he could forget about his mum for a few hours. For the first time since that dreadful day he had been able to smile again; laugh even, when Michael would tease him about his lack of farming skills.

Michael had listened to him go on and on about ballet and his school. About the teachers he liked and the ones he despised. About the friends he had made and the snooty girls and boys he loathed. He had encouraged him to show off his skills, had been impressed by them. Michael had even let him teach him some of the moves. The boy had looked silly in his overalls in the middle of a barn full of cow muck, but it had put the biggest smile on Robert’s fourteen year old face.

Then one afternoon as the winter break was almost over, the second if not worst day of his life had happened. After a long day on the farm Robert and Michael were sat in the kitchen drinking some hot chocolate, to warm up from a day out in the cold.

“No really! I got a trophy and everything!” Robert exclaimed as he told Michael about the ballet competition he had won this year. “Come on, lemme show you,” he said, grabbing Michael’s hand as he dragged him up to his room.  

 It had all happened so fast, one minute he had felt his heart soar as his lips had touched Michael’s, relieve settling over him as Michael responded; he hadn’t been rejected. And then the next minute Jack had barged in. From one moment to the next he was shoved off of his bed, Michael was dragged from his room with a shout not to come back ever again. The edges of the old radiator had dug into his back as he saw Jack turn back around on him. The anger in his face had made him brace for impact, but he hadn’t been able stop it from happening.

He had ran from his room, had ran through the fields of the farm as fast as he could with his bruised body. He had kicked the wooden fencing at the far edge of their farmlands, had sunk down into the frosty grass and sobbed his heart out.

That night when he had walked into the kitchen for dinner his suitcase had sat on the table packed and ready.

He walked into the kitchen, hands and face still feeling frozen from sitting outside in the field for what felt like hours. But the sting from his hands soon turned into a different kind of sting; a harsh sting in his heart as he saw the suitcase planted on the kitchen table.

“What’s that for?” He asked confused, he still had 4 days left at home.

“I want you out of my house in the morning. If you want to keep fooling around at that stupid ballet school of yours, you have no place at this house anymore, no place in this family,” Jack said harshly.

“What? You’re kicking me out because I do ballet?!” Robert asked incredulous. “Andy killed mum and he can stay, but you’re kicking me out because I do ballet?”

“You know damn well why I want you gone Robert.”

 His father’s words had felt like a slap in the face, had felt worse than the fresh bruises covering his body. His father had kicked him out; had pretty much disowned him, because he had kissed Michael, because he had kissed a boy.