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tricksters-captain · 5 years

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FP Jones/Andrew’s Family/Riverdale imagines - Oh Dear Part 33

A/N: Thank you for all the support in reporting the girl who stole this story on Wattpad and all the encouraging messages I have received. Here is the chapter you so patiently waited for.

MASTERLIST LINK (HERE)

Overall Summary: You’re Archie’s older sister and you have a thing for a certain Serpent.

This chapter: Based on season 2 episode 21 - Riots are breaking lose, Fang’s is losing blood, the Ghoulies are back... What more can happen?

Pairing: Reader x FP Jones, Sister!Reader x Archie Andrews, Daughter!Reader x Fred Andrews

Word count: 4,758

Warnings: Smut, violence, strong language

Previously:

“Ready?” Jughead asked everyone.

“Ready.” You all replied.

“Ready.” You whispered to yourself again, trying to tell yourself that it was the truth.

The doors were swung open by Jughead and Sweetpea as you all moved together.

The shouting was deafening once you hit the cold air of outside.

FP rushed forward to Jughead’s side to help keep the crowd off him and a few of the physically bigger serpents did the same on your side to protect you and Sweetpea.

That didn’t stop people from clawing and grabbing at you though.

You hissed as you tried to shrug hands off you.

How could people want Fangs that badly?!

JUSTICE FOR MIDGE

The words pierced your head as bodies collided against yours.

“BACK OFF!” You bellowed as loud as you could over the crowds chanting.

Suddenly, a loud thud crashed against the ground behind you.

“Archie!” You yelled as he tackled Reggie to the ground.

You tried pushing Fangs away from the boys as you spotted Reggie’s firearm.

“FANGS!” The words seem to leave your mouth the exact same time as the shot fired.

You didn’t know if the shot had hit anyone right away.

FP had automatically gone to push you behind him to protect you. It seemed like a matter of seconds before you finally noticed where the shot went.

“Fangs! No!” You were the first one to notice that it was indeed Fangs who took the bullet. You tried fighting against FP as he had started pulling you towards him to get you away from it all.

He finally let go when everyone dived to stop Fangs from falling.

“Call an ambulance now!” FP pointed back at you.

You scrambled for your phone, ringing 911 with tears rolling down your cheeks as the blood soaked Fangs shirt.

“I need an ambulance at the sheriff station now! Someone’s been shot.”

You waited for the ambulance. Seconds like felt like hours as you watched the blood pour from wound and soak anyone’s hands who touched him.

“Put him in the car, the ambulance is taking too long, he’s losing too much blood” You suddenly remembered you had drove there and like Archie did with your dad, you decided to take the boy yourself.

“Get him up. Make some space!” FP scooped the boy up and told the Serpents to back away. There was chaos everywhere as fights started breaking out between Northsiders and Southsiders.

You sprinted to your car and pulled it up as close as you could before FP placed Fangs inside; climbing in beside him and Jughead following swiftly after.

You didn’t care for the speed limits as you raced to the hospital. There were far more illegal activities going on that night. The police would be swamped.

Once at the hospital, you swerved your car into the nearest empty space to the doors without blocking any roads.

“Help us! We need a doctor!” FP roared as you and him tried to drag the boy through the crowded hospital.

“Ma’am!” Jughead rushed towards a nurse.

“Wait your turn!” She waved him away.

“He’s dying! He’s been shot!” You snapped, gaining her attention immediately. She looked at your bewildered but your outburst caught the eye of a nearby doctor.

“What’s going on?” The doctor approached.

“He’s been shot. In the stomach.” Jughead explained, pointing to Fang’s blood-soaked shirt.

“Hey, get me a gurney.” The doctor ordered some nurses who soon complied.

You held onto Fang’s hand as he was wheeled away from the crowd.

“Hey, hey, you’re going to be okay.” You told the boy as you ran along side the gurney. The look in his eyes were pure fear.

“We need you to stand by whilst we do our best to stop the bleeding. He’ll have to go into surgery as soon as we can get him in.” The nurse told you as you stopped in a small room where two older gentlemen were asleep in their beds.

“Okay.” You stood back and let the nurses do their job.

Fangs passed out whilst they applied a bandage and a drip.

You knew that was the time to leave.

You crashed into FP as you made your way out of the hallway.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going in such a rush?” FP grabbed held of your forearms to steady you.

“I gotta find Archie.” You told him, taking a step back so his hands would free you. You could never think straight when he was touching you.

“No. Stay inside, I don’t need you mixed up with the riot out there.” FP argued, pointing his thumb over his shoulder back towards the crowds.

“I can’t just––”

“Call him.” FP argued, taking out his phone. You took his phone and dialled Archie’s number. Your phone had died after you called the ambulance.

“Arch? Are you okay? It’s (Y/N). Please tell me you’re inside.” Fortunate for you, he answered.

“No, I’m looking for Reggie. The serpents saw him with a gun, they think he shot fangs but I know he didn’t. The gun never went off.” Archie seemed to rush as his words as he panted. You could tell he was running around looking for the jock.

“Archie, get inside now. These riots aren’t safe; someone’s been shot, for God’s sake. The hospital is crawling with injured people, I can barely move in here, and I don’t want to end up looking after you too.” You argued. The anxiety about your younger brother being out in all this made your skin crawl.

“You know I can’t right now. I’ll find Reggie then get somewhere safe, I promise.” Archie hung up almost immediately after he spoke.

You scoffed and handed back the phone to FP.

“Now I definitely have to leave.” You tried walking past him but he grab held of your biceps and pushed you against the wall.

“You’re needed here.” He said, his eyes locked on yours. “We need someone on the inside when Fangs wakes up. You aren’t these boys pumped up on rage and violence. You’re smart.”

“But—“ You tried to fight against him but he wasn’t having any of it.

“I know you’re still angry but believe me, if you get arrested there’s nothing you’ll be able to do.” FP finally dropped his hands from your arms when you sighed in defeat.

“He’s out there alone, FP.” You lowered your head but looked up with your eyes. FP recognised this look, it was a look you always had when you were feeling helpless/useless.

“Archie Andrews? That boys never alone.” FP was right but the voice inside your head still fought with you.

“I better check on Fangs, see when he’s going into surgery.” You couldn’t help the small voice that left your mouth. FP watched you walk back the way you came before Jughead finally found him.

Fangs was awake but barely. He held out his hand to you and you took it.

You brought his fist to your lips and kissed them as you sat beside him.

“Any minute now. Then you’ll be all better and ready to kick ass again.” You tried to fill the room with positivity but a dark cloud loomed over Riverdale that night.

The nurse came shortly after.

“We have to take him now or he may not survive. He’s lost a lot of blood.” The nurse informed you.

“Okay.” You nodded but kept hold of the boys hand until the point where you had to stay behind.

“I’m sorry. You have to wait here.” The nurse said as she stopped you.

You clung onto Fang’s fingers until you couldn’t stretch any further.

“I’ll see you when you wake up!” You called after the boy, tears springing to your eyes.

You rushed back to find FP and Jughead to tell them he’s gone into surgery.

“Now we wait.” FP placed his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor.

“In unity there’s strength.” You took Jughead’s and FP’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

That’s when you saw Minette enter the station.

Your anger made you break away and head to the bathroom to avoid the useless sheriff.

You scrubbed at your hands to rid of Fang’s blood but it seemed to stain.

You let out a shaky breath as you closed your eyes and leaned against the sink.

“Fucking Hiram Lodge.” You hissed under your breath. You had a gut feeling he had something to do with all of this chaos.

As you left the bathroom you saw Hal, Betty’s father, be taken away by a doctor as he bled from his shoulder.

“FP, I just saw Hal. He looked hurt.” You approached FP again once Minetta had vanished and with Minetta so had Jughead.

“I better call Alice and let her know.” FP tried Alice but her phone was off so next he tried Betty.

“She’s on her way.” FP hung up the phone.

“What’s next?” You folded your arms over your chest and leant against the wall behind you.

“I hate to think.” FP grumbled.

“Where do you plan on getting the million dollars to pay for this lunatic bounty?” Veronica had one hell of an evening already. She couldn’t believe her mother was putting out wanted signs with a bounty as if it were the old west.

“Your father has secret funds.” Hermione chased after Veronica through the apartment.

“My ass, he does. And if Daddy thinks he can use my money for one of his Machiavellian ploys, he better think again. Because I'm taking back what I got from the St. Clairs.” Veronica’s rage fuelled her attitude as she locked herself in Hiram’s office.

“Your father already told you he'd put that money in a trust for you!” Hermione tried to bring her down from her cloud of anger but it only made it worse.

“He stole it, you mean!” Veronica slammed the study door shut and locked it.

“Veronica! Veronica! You're wasting your time. Your money is not in there. Veronica, just open the door and we can talk about this.” Hermione tried her best to open the door but breaking it down would only make it a reason to tell Hiram what she was doing.

Veronica ignored her mothers pleas and searched throughout her father’s office before finally managing to break her way into his locked desk.

She picked up a folder that immediately caught her attention.

Lodge Industries: October Surprise

Her eyes grew wide as she gawked at. pictures of her mother and Fred Andrews kissing followed by an article that bashed both Fred and Hermione.

Hermione dropped the folder onto her fathers desk and shook her head in disbelief.

How could he do this to his own wife? His own family?

She continued to search the desk when right at the back she felt a brown paper envelope.

“Here we are.” Veronica knew that Hiram usually used brown envelopes for extremely important secrets such as a cheque for all her money.

She furrowed her brow as the envelope read in Hiram’s handwriting.

“(Y/N) ANDREWS”

Veronica couldn’t help but open it.

What she found was even more shocking than the scam against Fred. Even more scandalous.

There were photos of her boyfriends older sister all over FP Jones. A secret relationship.

She couldn’t help but flick through the pictures and at the bottom of the bag there was a hard drive which Veronica could only imagine was a copy of the photos.

“This is wrong.” Veronica knew that Hiram was probably using the photos to blackmail both FP and (Y/n). She was disgusted by her father’s depths of cruelty.

She decided to take the photos and throw them into the fire pit. She kept hold of the hard drive and tucked it into her skirt.

She needed to know what else there was.

Veronica took the folder that was titled October Surprise and planned to confront her mother on it.

She didn’t know who knew about you and FP and so she kept the USB to herself.

You hated waiting. It was painful.

It was even worse as you watched FP pace back and forth in the hospital. He had gotten hold of Fang’s parents and tried talking to them about what happened.

That’s when he got a call from Jug.

“What’s up?” You asked as he grew rigid.

“The Ghoulies are back. They’re at Pop’s and your brother is inside.” FP was honest. There was no point in hiding things that you'd find out eventually.

“What?” You felt the colour from your face drain.

“I’ve got to go and get back up. The serpents are all at the Wyrm.” FP started to leave when you caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.

“You can’t come––” FP went to say but that’s not what you were going to ask.

“Take my car.” You thrusted your keys towards him. “Go get your bike back at the station, you’ll be faster on that.”

“Thanks.” FP took the keys as you dropped his sleeve.

There was a moment as you hesitated on what to say next...

You looked up at the man’s face before you enveloped him in your arms.

“Be safe.” You pleaded as you hugged him. “Help my brother.”

FP paused for a moment, shocked by the show of affection after so long.

“I promise.” FP whispered, kissing your forehead as his hand cupped your cheek.

You watched the man leave and then it was just you.

You were alone.

Waiting.

“Any news?” You asked a nurse as she walked by.

“No. I’m sorry. He won’t be out for a while.” She sent you a look of sympathy before she left to deal with another injured citizen.

You received a text a while later from FP.

You had sat down by now and found someplace to charge your phone.

FP: Archie’s safe. Pop’s safe.

You sighed and leant your head back against the wall, smiling to yourself.

At least something is going right.

You laughed as you saw Kevin post on instagram the photo he had taken at Pop’s with the caption ‘Hot Riverdale Dads to the rescue’.

You screenshotted the photo and saved it to your camera roll. That's one for the picture albums.

Your phone lit up with a text from Archie saying that Dad was glad you were safe and at the hospital which was Archie’s way of saying Fred was happy you weren’t in the riots, taking part.

You didn't respond but you found it a little odd that Archie called you because of it.

“Arch?”

“It’s Dad! The Blackhood was here...” Archie could barely get his sentence out before you were running to the house.

You grabbed a bike in the parking lot that had the keys left in it and tried your best to remember what FP had taught you about riding a bike.

You dodged through people and mounted the sidewalk many times to reach your house quickly.

“Dad!” You threw the bike down and ran to the house, your yell had been heard by Archie which made him swing open the front door.

You slammed into Archie with a tight hug before embracing your dad.

“You’re okay?” You asked, frantically searching the man for a wound.

“I’m fine. He tried to get a shot in but––” Fred pulled his shirt to reveal the bullet proof vest.

“Thank God.” You finally relaxed. “You scared me.”

“I could say the same about you. Thank god FP told me you were at the hospital.” Fred almost made you feel guilty. You hadn’t really thought about what he would be thinking during this insane night.

“Yeah, I’ve been with Fangs and then waiting for Fangs. His surgery is taking longer than I thought.” You must've looked worried when you said that because Fred surprised you with what he said next.

“Looks like you could use a drink.” You followed Fred to the kitchen where you both opened a beer. Archie, however, stayed in the front of the house securing the front door and windows.

“Riverdale’s going to shit tonight.” You whispered against your glass bottle.

“Riverdale has dealt with riots before. They can deal with it again. We’ll come back stronger. The Lodge’s are pushing fear into this town. We need to push that fear out of Riverdale.” Fred sounded like he was already thinking about his next mayor speech.

“Easier said than done with the Black Hood still publicly taking shots at you.”

“The Black Hood can’t hide forever.” Fred stated.

You guessed he was right but then again the Black Hood made it this far.

You felt your phone go off and a text from Jughead asking you to come to help him at the Wyrm.

You hugged your dad and Archie one more time before turning your back on them.

“Where are you going?” Fred asked, confused at your sudden need to leave.

“I know you’re okay now. You need to go somewhere safe or lock the house down. I’m not finished outside.” You admitted.

“The hell you are.” Fred tried to parent you but even a small part of him knew he no longer had any control over you.

“Dad, you aren’t my only family anymore.” You reach up and place your hand on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes with as much love and honesty you could muster. “I love you but I have to go.”

And he let you go.

“(Y/n)!” Toni called your name as soon as you entered the Wyrm.

You embraced her tightly only to see Cheryl come up behind her.

“Cheryl?” You hugged her as well as she went in for one.

“The Blackhood attacked her at Thistle house. I told her she’d be safe here.” Toni explained. You looked at the girl with wide eyes as she remained so calm.

“It’s fine. I wounded him with my exceedingly excellent archery skills. He won’t be back for me anytime soon.” Cheryl almost boasted, and to be honest you were kind of impressed. “Oh and then Toni was taken by that blonde skank of an ex-serpent.”

“Penny?” You asked Toni,

Toni nodded.

“My bow once again assisted me and Junior Jones in helping her get back though.” Cheryl added, kissing Toni on the cheek.

“God everything is happening tonight.” You muttered, looking between the two girls.

“(Y/n).” Jughead was soon beside you with a (slightly) relieved look. “Come on. It’s bad.” Jughead ushered you towards the circle of Serpents in the middle of the Wrym.

“It's time we end the Ghoulie scourge and that traitor, Penny Peabody permanently.” SweetPea announced to the room.

“Sweet Pea, two hours ago your fight was with Reggie Mantle. Now you want us to go to war over territory that we don't even control anymore? This is Hiram Lodge's problem, not ours.” Jughead stood forward with you by his side.

“So you're just gonna hand over Sunnyside Trailer Park, our home to Penny and the Ghoulies?” Toni jumped in quickly after Jugheads words.

“Toni, I don't want us to die.” Jughead stood forward, away from your side. “A rumble with the Ghoulies right now? - It's a suicide-run.”

“It's better than a coward's death.” SweetPea argued,

”Don’t you call me––” Jug growled, squaring up to the boy as they snarled their teeth.

“–– Don't we have to defend ourselves?––”

“––Calm yourself That's enough!” FP cut off both of the boys and silenced the room with his entrance. You felt yourself sink into the crowd to avoid his stare. “I just got a call from the Sheriff's office. Fangs, uh...He didn't make it. He's gone.”

“Fangs is dead?” Jughead sounded just as heartbroken as you felt when you heard the words fall from FP’s lips.

“And we will mourn him, hell yeah, we will. But first, we will honor him. From what I just heard, it sounds like we need to put it to a vote. All those against going to war with the Ghoulies?” FP gave out the option. No one raised their hands.

“And all those for giving them hell on the battlefield tomorrow?” FP rose his fingers in the shape of a snake’s fangs.

You watched the room around you flood with the sign.

All you could see now was Fang’s fear in his eyes when you promised him he’d be okay.

You rose your hand.

“It’s decided.” FP dropped his hand. “Now, lay low and fan out. Prepare yourself. No more rioting tonight, we’ll have enough violence trying to keep our home tomorrow.”

You did as you were told and you left. You returned to your trailer on the back of one of the older men’s bike’s that lived in the trailers beside yours.

“You better toughen your skin, girl. Tomorrow won’t be any high school brawl. It’s gonna be hell on earth and if we’re lucky, we won’t be the ones burning.” The old man warned you before leaving you to join his wife inside his trailer.

Your whole spine went cold with anxiety.

You’d never fought for anything before.

Tomorrow was going to challenge you but you were ready. You were going to protect your home.

It wasn’t long after you decided to climb into bed, automatically changing into FP’s henley that you still had, that you heard a knock on the door.

You weren’t slow to get up and answer it.

It was FP.

“Can I... Uh, Can I come in?” FP cleared his throat as he wiped at his nose. You didn’t need to be stood as close as you were to see the thoughts running around that man’s mind about the battle tomorrow.

“It’s late. What happened to laying low?” You asked, letting him inside the trailer.

“I’m rallying the reserves. We need as many as we can get. I just came by to, uh, to see – to ask – uh...”

“I’m fighting tomorrow, FP. You need the man power and I won’t sit on the sidelines.” You knew what he was there to ask.

FP kept his mouth shut for the first time in a long time.

“I was with Fangs before surgery. I could see how scared he looked when the nurse came and said it was time. I promised him that it would be okay.” You could feel your voice start to shake as tears threatened to spill over your eyelids. “But it wasn’t okay. He’s dead. He’s dead and I couldn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything so I’m going to do something this time.”

FP stood frozen as he watched the tears fall down your cheeks. You look so small and fragile like this. He didn’t want you fighting. He didn’t want you hurt.

FP finally snapped out of the trance he seemed to be in when you looked away from him and towards the window.

He reached out and pulled you to him; resting his chin on the top of your head.

He had to fight his own tears as he felt your body tremble against him.

“I can’t have you in the front line. If anything happened to you – I – I...” FP’s throat felt tighter than the noose around the Southside Serpents neck.

You pulled away from the man just enough to look up at his face.

“I’ll be wherever I’m needed. This is my home. You can’t stop me this time. I won’t let you. I came here all those months ago to help and I will help.” You weren’t angry at the man but slightly annoyed that even in this time of desperateness and need, he tried to keep you away from it all.

FP’s eyes drifted to your lips as your words went through him and your fire set his skin ablaze.

He closed the gap between you to your surprise but the shock affection didn't stop you from going further.

You deepened the kiss, reaching your hands up to the back of his neck as you pulled yourself upwards. FP lifted your thighs up around his waist and threw you back onto the couch.

You gasped as his teeth grazed down your neck as the man’s hand gripped onto your jaw.

FP was speedily trying to part your legs as you wrestled with his belt.

You winced as the older man’s member thrusted into you. You clawed at the man’s back.

His skin against yours was like electricity after being apart for all this time.

Your fingers combed up through the back of FP’s head, bringing his sleek hair forward as the heat between you built with every thrust.

“God...” FP’s breath was hot against your shoulder as his forehead fell against you.

His voice was enough to send an orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck...” You threw your head back as he rode you through your high, finishing shortly after.

He collapsed against you, your sweat mixing with him.

You shifted so that the positions swapped and you were lying on his chest, cuddled into him.

“Hey.” FP lifted your chin to look at him with his index finger. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

You knew that his apology was heartfelt. You could feel the nerves in his chest as you laid against him.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.” You kissed the man’s chest and closed your eyes. Forgetting for just a moment that the world around you was in fact crumbling down.

FP’s phone went off and he had to lean down to his jeans to get it.

“Betty?” FP was confused to why Betty would call him at that time of night. “Are you and your Mom okay?”

“Mr. Jones, is Jughead with you?” You could hear Betty through the phone.

“No, he's at the trailer. Why?” FP straightened up, forcing you to move away from him.

“I'm just really worried about him. He called to say how much he loves me and it almost sounded like he was saying goodbye for good.” Betty said.

FP hung up the phone and rushed to put his jeans back on.

“What’s going on?” You automatically reached for your own jeans which you had thrown on the arm chair earlier that evening.

“I think Jughead’s gonna do something foolish.” FP didn’t even look at you as he tugged on his jacket. “God dammit, Boy!” FP slammed his hand against the countertop of the kitchen.

“Come on, let’s check if he’s at the Wrym first. He may be getting ready like everyone else.” You wanted to be optimistic but you knew how boys like your brother and Jughead had such a tendency to play the hero.

You clambered onto the back of FP’s bike as you tugged your jacket on.

FP was quick to dodge and drive through the streets to the Wyrm only to find the bar full of many Serpents but not Jug.

“Toni, where was Penny hiding out?” FP asked as he stormed towards the exit again.

Toni didn’t hesitate to answer and with that you and FP were burning rubber faster than kindle takes light.

FP threw himself off his bike when you stopped.

“FP! Wait!” You struggled to keep up as he went ahead.

“Jug?!” FP called out. “Where’s my boy?!?!!”

You chased after the man as he pushed through the bushes, searching for Jughead.

You almost crashed into the back of him when he came to an abrupt stop.

The man fell to his knees as he let out a soul ripping roar.

There on the ground, bloody and broken, was Jug.

You stood away from the man at first as he began to sob.

“FP...” You whispered, your voice barely audible. “FP... FP, come on. We need to help him.” You finally reached forward and touched the man’s shoulder.

He leant into your touch. You held the man against your stomach as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at Jug any longer.

“Come on.” You tried to encourage the man and the sound of bikes finally broke through to him as he decided to scoop Jughead up into his arms.

You followed behind, tears flowing down your face without you even realising.

“Be alive, Jug.” You silently prayed.

You rose your gaze from your feet to the Serpents in front of you and FP.

You noticed Archie was there and you ran to him, hiding your face in his chest as he took sight of what you used to call Jughead.

His body went hard against you as you felt the air escape Archie’s lungs...

(NEXT PART)

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lu-undy · 4 years

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Chapter 26 - SBT

Here it is!

"And there we go. Darts are back to full."

Mundy put them aside. He had worked all morning in the back of his campervan on making more ammunition for when he would go to the old sugar factory up North. He wasn't sure when was the best time to go or what he should expect.

"Guess there's one way to find out."

He exited the back of his van and jumped at the front.

"Right, let's go."

The hunter started the engine and drove away from the lake. A bit under an hour later, he found himself in the dirtiest neighbourhood of town. The sound of his heeled boots resonated on the pavement. Kids ran past him and Mundy watched as people were coming and going. He passed the alley that Maurice had taken him through a few weeks ago, and as it was lunchtime, he saw the poorest souls of the city lining up for some warm soup.

"Speaking of the devil..."

He stopped and turned at the familiar voice.

"Ah, Maurice. I was lookin' for you."

The beggar was exiting a house on the side.

"Just in time." Maurice said.

"Oh, you were lookin' for me too?"

"Not exactly, but how can I help?"

"I got a few things to ask you." Mundy answered.

"Then let us go in." Maurice opened the door to that same house again. "After you."

A few minutes later, the hunter and the beggar were sitting underground.

"Go ahead." Maurice said as both took a seat.

"First things first, how's Eric?" Mundy asked. As he recalled the events, he had brought the poor man to Maurice in the early hours of the morning that day.

"Him and his family are safe, he is out of Duchemin's sight too, don't worry."

"Ah, that's good to know, thanks mate."

"His thigh is much better too. The doctor said that it would be a matter of days and he might even not have a scar after a few months."

"Perfect."

"But tell me, Mundy, did you manage to get the animals you were after?"

"Well, I went to get the 'gators."

"Did you find them?"

"I did, yeah. I found them and a few extra corcs that belong to the West reserve."

"Ah, congratulations then. You must feel proud."

"Yeah, well…" Mundy seemed hesitant.

"Ah, I see. You will be truly satisfied when you retrieve all of the animals, hm?"

Mundy bobbed his head left and right.

"Yes and no. When I went to get the alligators there was a bloke there. He wasn't Duchemin's."

"Ah." Maurice faked his surprise.

"Turns out he wasn't in for the alligators, but for Duchemin himself."

"Hm-mh." Maurice nodded.

"You know the bloke?"

"I might. Was he very well dressed, suit and tie? Expensive Italian shoes?"

"I didn't pay attention to his shoes, but yeah he was wearing a suit and tie, and a weird ski mask."

Maurice's bushy eyebrows jumped.

"A man of tradition he is…" He mumbled to himself.

"So you do know him?"

"I used to, yes. Now, I am not so sure. More than a decade flashed between then and now..." Maurice raised his eyes to Mundy. He wanted that sentence to echo in him. The hunter looked away for a second. Without saying it, Maurice was really saying that it was the same for Mundy. More than a decade flashed between then and now...

"Who is he? What is he?" The Aussie finally broke the short silence that weighed a lot, strangely enough.

"Ah, well, those questions both require long answers. What did he tell you about himself?" Maurice couldn't hold back a smile. He was literally quoting himself from his conversation with Lucien.

"Well, I don't know. But the bloke sure knows how to fight. I saw him bounce off a wall and practically unscrew one of Duchemin's men's jaw with his foot while having his hands cuffed! Complete madness! And then he tortured Eric…! Put his tiny butter knife in his thigh and didn't think twice about it!"

Mundy paused to catch his breath. He removed his hat off his head and put it on the large oval table.

"And that's just what he does. When he speaks, he's colder than a snake, brrr!" Mundy shook his shoulders as shivers shot through his spine.

"What is your point?" Maurice asked.

"He wants Duchemin too." Mundy answered. "Does that make him an ally?"

"I don't know." Maurice answered. "Did he seem like one?"

"He helped. Well, he did save me from being shot behind that pillar…"

Maurice's lips pursed up in a smile.

"Why are you not telling me more about him?"

"Because that is none of my concern. I am merely here to provide the information I can to you."

"And to him, it seems, eh?"

"It does seem so."

"Why does he want Duchemin?" Mundy asked. "When he tortured that poor bloke to know where Duchemin was, he… He looked horribly insensitive. It's like he wasn't feeling an ounce of the pain that he was causing."

"He is very cold-blooded, indeed. That makes him extremely efficient."

Mundy frowned and nodded.

"Doesn't tell me why he wants Duchemin."

"For very different yet very similar reasons to you." Maurice answered.

"Pff…" Mundy smiled and rolled up his eyes. "You couldn't make less sense if you wanted."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Maurice asked to change the subject. Mundy raised his eyes to him and left them hanging there, from over his yellow sunglasses, before nodding.

"Yeah, the old sugar factory." Mundy started. "Apparently that's where Duchemin has the rest of the stolen beasts. I'd like to know how many and what sizes."

Maurice's eyebrows jumped.

"I see. Give me a few days and I will see what I can learn from there."

"Right. Anything I can do to repay the favour?" Mundy asked.

"Favour?" Maurice repeated. "What favour?"

"Your help. I'm not paying you, nor am I helping you out in any way. Maybe I can do something for you?"

Maurice chuckled gently.

"No, Mundy, nothing you can do."

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do, eh?"

The Aussie grabbed his hat off the table and put it on his head as he stood up and headed for the door to leave.

"Actually, one thing, Mundy."

"Yeah?" He stopped sharp and turned.

"Take a break while I work on getting you some intelligence. You look like you could do with a quiet day, maybe two."

"Well, I… Thanks."

Both men nodded at each other and Mundy left.

-- Later that day --

Mundy was laying on top of his campervan, on the roof. His hat was covering his head as he napped there. The sandwich he got for lunch had put him to sleep very easily and all he had needed after that was a good nap next to the lake. The shy waves softly rolled to the shore and they repeated their languid motion until the hunter had fallen asleep.

He slowly opened his eyes and felt the sun cook him gently. He loved that feeling. All the warmth he wasn't getting from fellow humans, he got from the big day star that is the sun. Mundy pushed his hat away from his face and took a deep breath.

"Gosh…"

Maurice's words came back to him.

"You look like you could do with a quiet day, maybe two."

Mundy had been about to explain why he had big bags under his eyes. But decided against it.

It was the nightmares. They were unbearable as of late. He had wild visions. His parents, the farm, fire. Flames that devoured, consumed. His father with a rifle. His mother screaming. The pan of mac'n'cheese overflowing. Black. Red. Orange. Yellow.

Black again, silence, darkness. And his father's voice.

Crazed gunman.

No. He wasn't a crazed gunman. No, no! He treated nature with utmost respect, he… He did his best! He never killed for fun and he never accepted killing contracts! It was only scaring poachers away!

You should have stuck to playin' the saxophone, son. Honest job, honest pay.

But there was nothing dishonest about trying to save the wildlife! And if he didn't do it, who would? No one! Everyone cared about animals but never enough to actually get out there and save them! And Goddamn it! If only animals could speak, then we would hear their pain and anxiety as we burn and destroy their lands, as we hunt them for their very skins or their bones! Imagine! Being hunted for your skin!

Why don't you care about people? You could help the community out.

By doing what? I'm shit with people.

That's because you never really tried.

Yeah, I did, countless times. Dad, I… People are complicated. They lie, they're never straight and I never understand what they want with me…

The disappointment in his father's eyes screamed in his head louder than church bells. It was deafening and burning his eyes. Mundy looked the other way, his cheeks crimson. His father and him never understood each other. Never. And his mother? She tried, she was always particularly sensitive when it came to her son. But his father would always dismiss it, take it for a woman's weakness.

"Stop!"

Mundy roared as he put his hands on his ears and sat up in a flash. He breathed heavily and grasped his hair left and right.

"Nnh!"

He hated to hear it again, his father's disappointment. It ripped his heart apart. He wished he could explain himself to him more, maybe this time he would understand…? But no, there was no way. Apart from going to the cemetery and talking to a bit of stone, there was no way. And then Mundy thought about all the conversations he wouldn't have with his parents, the meals he didn't and wouldn't share, the chicken and geese of the farm that he dearly missed. But what pained him the most was of course, the words he would never hear his father and mother say…

Mundy got off his van's rooftop and slipped in his campervan. He put his hands in his pockets and saw the black suit that was hanging from the bed rails. It had been a bit more than a week now and he hadn't found it in himself to hang it back in his cupboard. Mundy stared at it silently for a moment. He sighed and felt something in his pocket again.

"What…? Ah."

First the suit. Now the leaflet. Stars were aligning.

-- Evening --

"Have you made your choice, Sir?"

"Ah, yeah, I'll take this chocolate dessert of yours."

"Anything else with that, Sir?"

"Uh, no, thanks."

The blue leathered menu went from naked hands that showed decades under the sun to white gloved ones, and the waiter disappeared, leaving the man with the ponytail in peace at his table.

Mundy quickly did the ribbon to tie his hair again before leaning back on his chair. He looked up and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. Through the impressive chandeliers, he could see the paintings. Little plump angels playing some kind of ancien trumpets, clouds, golden streaks of paints that shone beautifully despite the age of the establishment; all that in a very light pink background that must have been much brighter a long, long time before.

Take a break, Maurice had said. Well, the van had decided that the best thing for Mundy was to come back to that filthy posh place that is the Queen Victoria. Mundy himself wasn't particularly up for it, neither was he strongly against it. He just didn't like that he had to wear a suit for it. Although, now that he thought about it, it wasn't as narrow as the last time he had put it on.

"Does this table suit you?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, thanks."

Mundy's daydream was broken by the voices of the people at the table in front of him, a young couple. The waiter pulled the chair for the girl to sit and gave them both menus before leaving.

"How did you manage to get us a table here?" The young man asked his girlfriend when the waiter was out of earshot.

"Oh, I have my ways…" She smirked.

"Do you?" He played along and she nodded, chuckling. "Nah, seriously tell me." He insisted.

"The bloke who sings." She said and Mundy's ears pricked up. "He's a client at work, and a friend. I made a bet with him and he owed me a table here."

"Woah… What was the bet?" The young man asked.

"He said he could be hired here and I didn't believe him. So I said to him that if he did get hired, then he'd owe me one dinner here."

"I see. Well, please do make more bets like these, eh. But uh, was the bet not to have dinner with him?"

Mundy half smiled. He could hear the young man's worries in the tone of his voice. He knew that the poor bloke feared that his sheila would have preferred to have dinner with that fancy singer.

"No, yes, I mean. Charlie, it's not what you think…" She said and put her hand on his. "You'll see him when he starts singing. He's old enough to be my dad…! No, he is just a friend, don't worry."

"Right… Otherwise I guess all I have left is to try and sing better than him, eh?"

Mundy smiled. He was happy for both of them but he wished that they really knew the amount of luck God had blessed them both with. Maybe they knew, surely they didn't, or at least they were too busy staring in each other's eyes to dwell on that thought too much. No, that could wait. Now was their time, the time of him and her.

"Your dessert, Sir."

The waiter's voice pulled Mundy's eyes from the couple in front to him to his own plate.

"Ah, thanks."

His eyes went one last time to the lovebirds table as he started eating the dessert. They were sitting left and right from the candle. The flame was dancing in balance at the equilibrium point in the middle of the invisible thread that held their gaze into one another. Mundy looked at the candle on his own table and raised his eyes. There was no one in the empty chair in front of him, he sighed.

"Ladies and gentlemen…!"

Mundy raised his head to the stage as the lights went down low. He put his spoon on his empty plate and listened carefully.

"Tonight, our dear Lulu and his orchestra have prepared something in his native tongue! Lulu? The floor is yours…!"

The thick red curtains slowly rolled left and right and there he was. Under a bright spotlight, wearing a dark blue suit this time. The light only showed him on a piano. He looked at the microphone and took a deep breath before starting. But he didn't sing, no, he spoke.

"I would like to dedicate this song to the half that I lost ten years ago now. She was… the light of my life, the one who brought peace to me, who made a man of me. I…" He raised his eyes. "C'est pour toi, mon amour."

[This one is for you, my love.]

Mundy couldn't even gulp down. The intensity, the force with which that man spoke…! The Aussie felt himself sink deeper in his chair. But what caught his ear was the accent. Now that he thought about it, it was very similar to that other French bloke.

The singer lowered his eyes to his fingers. He let them slowly sink on the keys in slow, mellow arpeggios. A sad song was coming, that was sure.

Hmm… Mundy liked it already.

{To the reader: this song is called "La Solitude" by Barbara}

"Je l'ai trouvée devant ma porte

[I found her at my doorstep]

Un soir, que je rentrais chez moi

[One evening, as I was coming back home]

Partout, elle me fait escorte

[Everywhere, she accompanies me]

Elle est revenue, elle est là

[She has come back, here she is]

La renifleuse des amours mortes

[She can smell dead loves]

Elle m'a suivie, pas à pas"

[She followed me, step after step]

Mundy wasn't understanding the lyrics but he could feel them because Music doesn't need to speak to be understood. No, she went beyond words and plucked on the Aussie's heartstrings directly.

"Elle nous fait le coeur à pleurer

[She makes us such that our hearts will cry]

Elle nous fait des matins blêmes

[She gives us pale mornings]

Et de longues nuits désolées

[And long, sad nights]

La garce ! Elle nous ferait même

[The bitch! She even makes]

L'hiver au plein coeur de l'été

[Winter come in the middle of summer]

The singer was handsome, sublime. He had that elegance, that charm that made everyone just hang on to his very lips, breathe when he did, hold their breath when he spoke, just to be sure to catch all of his music, his poetry, his heartbreak.

"Dans ta triste robe de moire

[In your sad, iridescent dress]

Avec tes cheveux mal peignés

[With your dishevelled hair]

T'as la mine du désespoir

[Your ugly mug that shows despair]

Tu n'es pas belle à regarder

[You are ugly to look at]

Allez, va t-en porter ailleurs

[Come on, go take away]

Ta triste gueule de l'ennui

[Your ugly mug that shows boredom]

Je n'ai pas le goût du malheur

[I don't want to taste your misfortune]

Va-t-en voir ailleurs si j'y suis."

[Go away and see if I'm somewhere else.]

His fingers were more confident and the singer looked away to catch his breath for an instant. Mundy didn't even realise but he himself was leaning back on his chair, his long legs were flowing in front of him and he had put one foot on the other. He was… relaxed. The music had soothed him, yeah, it had brought him some peace. But oh, what was that? The singer was now facing the microphone again, his brow was furrowed, his eyes screwed shut. It was hard to sing those words out of him.

"Je veux encore rouler des hanches

[I still want to roll my hips]

Je veux me saouler de printemps

[I want to get drunk on spring]

Je veux m'en payer, des nuits blanches

[I want to spend more sleepless nights]

A coeur qui bat, à coeur battant

[With my heart beating, my heart racing]

Avant que sonne l'heure blême

[Before the pale hour rings]

Et jusqu'à mon souffle dernier

[And until my last breath]

Je veux encore dire je t'aime

[I want to say I love you again]

Et vouloir mourir d'aimer"

[And want to die of love.]

Oh… Mundy thought he might actually have understood that. He couldn't really say but it was something in the way that the man in the impeccable suit and poetic hair was singing. There was the despair and frustration, the pain of the loss of a loved one that he wouldn't find ever again. The contradiction of knowing that this was certain, definitive, but still craving to wake up the next day and find that special person/people there.

"Depuis, elle me fait des nuits blanches

[Since then, she makes me spend sleepless nights]

Elle s'est pendue à mon cou

[She hangs herself around my neck]

Elle s'est enroulée à mes hanches

[She laced herself around my hips]

Elle se couche à mes genoux

[She sleeps on my lap]

Partout, elle me fait escorte

[Everywhere, she accompanies me]

Et elle me suit, pas à pas

[And she follows me, step after step]

Elle m'attend devant ma porte

[She waits for me at my own doorstep]

Elle est revenue, elle est là

[She has come back, she is here]

La Solitude, la Solitude"

[The Solitude, the Solitude]

Mundy's eyes snapped wide. The singer opened his eyes. Tears were running down his cheeks. He bit his lip and sniffed away from the microphone but Mundy saw it all and more importantly, the last words resonated in his head.

"The Solitude."

That same ungrateful mistress that had the Aussie chained to his van, the same that had him wander hopelessly in the desert for years, the same that had him surviving but not living; because she had starved him of his senses. She had stolen his nose and mouth to prevent him from tasting anything but the bitterness of the misery she put him through, she had stolen his eyes to make sure he would see no one else but her, like a jealous, overly possessive wife that nonetheless gladly cheats with the first man to come…

That singer, he had put words, sounds, music, on what Mundy's despair had been for the entire past decade. How…? Each sound he uttered broke both of them. The singer, and the spectator, the Frenchman and the Aussie, two worlds from continents that should never have met and yet, they did.

And who was to blame? That same insolent and perverse mistress. Solitude.

The singer finished the song with a solo on the piano. He spoke to the microphone all along.

"J'aimerais te revoir, un jour,

[I would like to see you again, one day]

Juste une fois,

[Just one more time,]

Un soir

[One night]

T'enlacer,

[To hold you in my arms,]

Fondre sous la chaleur de ton corps."

[Melt under the heat of your body.]

Mundy felt his throat shrink around a hot, unpleasant ball growing bigger and bigger, constricting his airway. He had been holding his breath, his fists were clenched like steel on his lap.

That man who was murmuring to the microphone had no idea what he was doing. He had no clue that there, in the crowd, there was a man in a black suit, and yellow tinted glasses; a fully grown man who had killed, gutted and eviscerated more creatures than all of the people around them. And yet, that man in the ponytail was clenching his jaw, gritting his teeth and contracting his core.

His eyes glistened under the candle.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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hutchhitched · 4 years

Text

Too Familiar (Part 10)

Happy Monday, Everlarkers! While I was hoping to get this chapter to you sooner than this, I’m really excited that it’s finally done. This is the last full chapter of Too Familiar, and a short epilogue will post next Monday, August 3 to wrap up the story. You can also read the story on AO3. For those of you reading it on tumblr, the rest of the story can be found here. I love hearing from you, so feel free to send me your thoughts.

Trigger warning: mature themes (including infidelity and minor character death).

____________

“Mama Kat, when’s Dad going to be home?” Elam asked as he tossed his keys on the counter. She grinned when he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Hunter’s Little League game should be over in an hour or so,” she answered as she cut a pear into thin slices. “Probably pretty soon after that. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to talk to him about graduation,” he said as he buried his head in the fridge and then emerged with a sports drink.

Katniss swallowed hard and stilled her suddenly shaky hands. No matter how much she knew logically that time had passed, she couldn’t convince herself that Elam, the sweet boy she’d met so many years ago when her relationship with Peeta was rocky and unsure, was graduating from college in a few weeks.

“Anything I can help with?” she asked, her voice unsteady and wavering.

Her stepson shook his head, and she dropped her eyes to the counter. Madge wasn’t a common topic of conversation in the house. For everyone’s sake, they avoided mentioning her as much as possible. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean Peeta’s ex-wife was far from anyone’s mind. Elam’s graduation would be the first time they’d all be together since he’d graduated from high school, and Katniss squelched the anxiety that bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

“Just trying to figure everything out,” he mumbled before heading into the living room and plopping in front of the TV.

She almost asked him if he planned to stay for dinner, but she didn’t want to risk upsetting him. Elam rightly loved his mother, and Katniss had no desire to come in between them. She was content to be his dad’s wife, the mother to his half-siblings, and Mama Kat. Never his mother. Not the person who’d raised him from birth and had never remarried. The most Katniss could hope for was to stay in the shadows when the family gathered together and hope for the best. After all, each of them were adults, and there hadn’t been a blow up for such a long time. Madge seemed to have forgiven them as much as possible for their affair, and Peeta had long since apologized and groveled for his transgressions. More than anything, Katniss had worked really hard to be a good wife and build a solid foundation for their kids, including Elam. If nothing else, the three children enjoyed a home with a deeply loving, committed relationship at its center—no matter how terrible the beginning.

Dinner was almost ready when the door burst open and Hunter bolted down the hall and threw himself against her stomach. Jasmine followed behind, twirling her hair around her finger with a bored expression plastered across her face. Her daughter was the very picture of teenage angst and spending the evening with her dad and kid brother wasn’t on her “cool” list.

“Hi, sweetheart,” her husband said as he entered the room, his bulk taking up a considerable amount of space. Peeta kissed her cheek and tossed the groceries he’d picked up on the way home onto the counter. “Tiny, baby, can you help me put this away? Hunter, shower and change. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Daaaaaaaaad…”

“Momma, dinner is soon?”

She grinned at Peeta addressing her as a mom. It still thrilled her that she’d given him two wonderful children—in spite of how much they sometimes drove her up the wall. “Very soon.”

Peeta pressed his side to hers as he emptied the grocery bags and handed the food to their daughter. The contact promised things to come after bedtime, and Katniss blushed slightly at the thought of them making love. They were intimate much less frequently than they had been earlier in their relationship, but she craved the physical connection that they’d been unable to deny when they were younger. Peeta didn’t last as long as he used to, and she wasn’t nearly as flexible as she’d been years before. Even so, they still managed to find release in each other’s arms as often as possible—even if that wasn’t nearly frequently enough.

“Elam’s here,” she muttered under her breath. “He wants to talk about graduation with you. Probably figuring out how to stagger us with Madge so nothing happens.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised. “After dinner. We don’t have many more opportunities to have all of us together anymore. It’ll be worse once he starts his job.”

Peeta did as he promised. They sat down together for dinner, and everyone (even Tiny) filled the others in on the highlights of the past week. As Katniss readied Hunter for bed, started the laundry, and set the alarm so she and Peeta wouldn’t be late for work the next day, Peeta talked to Elam in the living room, their voices low and rumbling for almost an hour. She was in the middle of preparing for bed when Peeta slipped into their bedroom and came up behind her.

“You’re still so gorgeous,” he said as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against him. His lips roamed her neck, and she arched her back when he rubbed his groin against her ass. “I need you tonight, Kat. It’s been a week. My dick’s gonna fall off, and my balls are going to shrivel up and disappear.”

She snorted at his hyperbole. It had been several days since they’d had sex, but he was hardly going to die from it. She’d jacked him off one morning as he brushed his teeth, and she knew he masturbated in the shower almost every day.

“You poor baby,” she teased as she ground back against him and braced herself on their bureau. “How will you ever survive without getting laid?”

“Thankfully, I’ll never have to find out.”

“That’s so true,” she breathed and spread her legs.

He grunted as he penetrated her, thick and heavy as he pushed into her from behind. His hands cupped her breasts as he rocked his hips until he was buried deep inside her. When she shivered, his right hand dropped lower and stroked her nub until she whined in the back of her throat.

She knew they needed to be quiet. Their teenage daughter and pre-teen son didn’t need to hear their parents fucking so loudly they woke everyone on the block, but it was hard to keep her pleasure quiet when her husband impaled her on his dick so hard she was constantly balanced on her tiptoes and rubbed her clit so hard her arousal leaked out around his cock.

“God, I love you,” he growled against her temple. “I love you so much. So much…”

“Peeta,” she panted before she turned to begging. “Peeta, give it to me. Please.”

He came then, spurting warm and thick inside her, and she reveled in the way he broke against her. His muscles locked, and he lost lucidity as he babbled and panted and grunted. She wasn’t much better. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled when she tried to walk.

“You know, that was a lot easier when we were younger,” she teased. “Somehow, we got old.”

Peeta chuckled as he tugged a pair of boxers over his hips. “We’re not in our thirties anymore.”

“We’re not even in our forties,” she scoffed and frowned at the gray hairs that peppered her dark braid.

“Older and wiser, I guess.”

She grinned as he climbed into bed, and she cuddled up against him. “We’ve come a long way. It’s almost liked we figured out how to be in love or something.”

“Love wasn’t ever the problem, sweetheart. I’ve always loved you. Even when I was stupid and married to someone else and treated you terribly, I always loved you more than I’ve loved anything else. I’m so glad we stuck this out, Katniss,” he murmured sleepily. “I’m so lucky you loved me back.”

“How could I help it?” she yawned. When he didn’t answer, she closed her eyes and slept.

They woke the next morning sore and exhausted, and that continued each day as they prepared for Elam’s graduation. Nervous, Katniss reached out to Madge and offered her help in arranging the party. Surprisingly, her husband’s ex-wife asked her to come over to discuss the plans.

When she knocked on the door, Katniss shifted from foot to foot. The two women hadn’t seen each other for so long, Katniss wasn’t sure what to expect and internally berated herself for reaching out to the other woman voluntarily. Things had gone well enough between the two of them for so long, she hated to rock the boat, but she supposed her stepson’s college graduation was enough of an event warranting the two meet face to face.

“Katniss,” Madge said when she opened the door, “come in.”

Peeta’s ex-wife looked older since they’d seen each other last. Madge’s face was gaunt and hollow with sunken eyes and pale skin that was just on the wrong side of porcelain. Instead, her coloring edged toward sickly. As Katniss entered the house, she didn’t miss the almost imperceptible shaking of Madge’s hands.

“I have to say, I wasn’t sure you’d want my help,” Katniss said carefully as she moved through the entryway and perched on the side of the couch. “I’m glad we can agree that Elam’s happiness is worth any uncomfortableness of our own.”

Madge smiled wanly and motioned to the pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table. “Help yourself. I don’t have much energy today, so…”

“Are you okay?” Katniss asked quietly. “I know I haven’t seen you for a while, but you seem a little off.”

A flash of anger flitted across Madge’s face, and Katniss dropped her gaze to the tray of refreshments. The last thing she wanted to do was upset the other woman, but Madge did look much more peaked than Katniss had ever seen her.

“I’m…” Madge waved her left hand vaguely in the air, and Katniss sat back with a glass in her hand. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. Have been for a while, but I need to get through this graduation before I can worry about that. After all, Elam’s the apple of my eye—all our eyes, isn’t he? We’ll put on a brave face and pretend everything’s okay.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” Madge insisted, but her face betrayed her inner thoughts. “Sure, everything’s just delightful.”

“Madge, I know we’re not the best of friends or anything, but it’s obvious something’s going on. I’m happy to listen if you—”

“If I need to confide in someone? If I need to share my innermost thoughts and vulnerabilities with the woman who stole my husband almost twenty years ago? I mean, it’s been so long, why would it matter now? Surely, we can just let bygones be bygones, right?”

Katniss pursed her lips at the other woman’s sarcasm. It wasn’t pleasant, but she knew better than to rise to the bait. Madge had invited her over, after all, so there was a reason she wanted her here.

“I’m not expecting anything. Just offering to listen if you have something to say.”

“I don’t really need help with Elam’s party,” Madge admitted. “You’re welcome here, of course. Elam adores you—even if it makes me squirm a little.”

“Okay?”

“Katniss, I’m sick.”

“Do you want me to leave so you can go to bed?”

Madge shook her head. “Not that kind of sick.”

“Oh,” Katniss answered lamely, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“I have cancer. Ovarian. It’s stage four. The prognosis is…” Her voice trails off, and Katniss twists her hands as her insides mirror the action. “Well, it’s not good.”

Katniss cursed under her breath and blinked back sudden tears. There was certainly no love lost between them, but this was beyond anything she’d imagined. She’d expected Madge to be a part of her life as long as she lived.

“Have you—have you tired chemo? Radiation?” When Madge shook her head, Katniss added, “Drug trials? Anything?”

“The doctor says it’s too late. It’s metastasized— It’s— It’s too late.”

“We’ll get a second opinion,” Katniss insisted. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“Then a third,” Katniss argued, frantic with anxiety.

“Katniss, no,” Madge said softly. “I’ve made my peace with it. It’s why I invited you over.”

“What’s why you invited me over? I thought I was—” Her voice broke, and she stared at the other woman.

“I’m dying,” Madge insisted. “There’s no stopping this. It’s going to happen, and it’s terrible and shitty and awful, but it’s happening. Elam deserves to graduate without this overshadowing his accomplishment. I’ll tell him after. Once he’s gotten settled in his new job, I’ll break it to him, but right now isn’t the time.”

Katniss nodded, unable to speak. She pressed her hand to her mouth because she was positive she’d scream if she dropped it.

“As much as I hate to admit this, you’ve been a really good mom to Elam. A good wife to Peeta. Despite how it all started, I’m glad my boys are happy, and I know you’ll be strong for them when I go.”

Katniss choked back a sob and shook her head. “This is absurd. This can’t be happening.”

“It’s happening.”

“No! No, it’s not,” Katniss snapped. “You’re supposed to hate me. I slept with your husband while you were married. I blew him when you were pregnant. I had an affair with him when you were a new mother. You’re supposed to loathe me, not expect me to replace you when you—”

“When I die,” Madge whispered.

“You’re not dying!” Katniss screamed, all attempts at control lost. “You’re not fucking dying.”

Madge’s eyes welled with tears, and Katniss had to bite her cheek to stop herself from another outburst.

“I am. I don’t want to. I don’t want to miss Elam finding himself, getting married, becoming an adult, a father, everything I ever wanted for him, but I am going to miss it. And Katniss,” Madge paused and swallowed hard. “Katniss, you cannot tell Peeta. Not yet. I have to talk to him myself because he has to be ready when I tell my son. Our son. All of ours.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” Katniss croaked. “You cannot expect me to lie to my husband. To Peeta. We’ve always been honest with each other.”

Madge shot her a withering look, and Katniss cringed in response. Honesty wasn’t exactly the foundation stone of her marriage, and the woman in front of her knew that better than anyone.

“You don’t have to lie for long. Not like in the past or anything. He’s graduating in a week.”

“That wasn’t called for.”

Madge sighed and raised a trembling hand to her forehead. “You’re right. You’re right. That wasn’t fair.”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. Madge sat with her eyes closed, breathing quietly and pressing her lips together to keep from crying. Katniss stared at her feet, unable to process the coming loss for their family. Because that’s what Madge was as much as Katniss had tried to ignore it. She was part of Peeta’s family, and, therefore, part of hers. More importantly, she was Elam’s mother, and her sweet stepson was going to lose his mother in the months to come.

“I need to rest. Maybe it’s time for you to go.”

Katniss nodded quickly and rose clumsily. It felt like the walls were closing in, and she needed air. She had to figure out how to get through the next few days without lying to her husband, without him seeing right through her and figuring out something was wrong.

“Madge…” she rasped and looked at her former nemesis. “I—”

The two women locked gazes as their eyes blurred with tears. Katniss reached for Madge’s hand, and the other woman stretched up and grasped her fingers tightly before dropping her arm.

“Take care of my baby. Promise.”

“I promise,” she breathed and broke for the door. Halfway home she pulled over and bawled at the unfairness of it all. For Elam losing his mother. For the pain she and Peeta had caused Madge. For the guilt in their marriage. For the broken relationships and lost time and mistakes and everything wrong.

The rest of the week dragged. Katniss brushed off Peeta’s advances with promises that they’d reconnect “later” and “after Elam’s had his day” and a million other excuses that felt as wrong as Madge’s prognosis. Clearly frustrated, Peeta huffed and pouted, but she ignored him until he stopped.

“I haven’t been this celibate since Tiny was born,” he teased the night before Elam’s graduation, and she shook her head and snorted.

“I think you’ll probably pull through, Mellark. It’s been a while since I’ve had to tell you to keep it in your pants, too, but here we are.”

He chuckled as he put his arms around her and drew her to his chest. “Can you believe my son is graduating from college tomorrow?”

“No,” she mumbled, “I can’t.” It wasn’t lost on her that he’d said Elam was his, not theirs. Not the way Madge had included Katniss in her son’s life only a few days prior.

“You realize what him graduating means, right?” he asked as he nuzzled her neck.

“What’s that?”

“That it’s been twenty-two years since I first ate you out,” he whispered in her ear as his hand dipped between her legs.

“Peeta,” she warned as he nudged against her skin.

“Lie down for me, sweetheart. Please.”

“Peeta, no,” she whined, but it wasn’t any use.

“Katniss, yes,” he insisted as he walked them backward and situated her on the edge of their bed. He dropped to his knees in front of her and tugged down her sleep shorts before spreading her legs and kissing up the inside of her thighs. When his lips met her slick heat, she closed her eyes and drove everything from her mind but the feel of her husband’s mouth on her pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” she hissed as she twisted the sheets in her fists.

Peeta moved slowly, deliberately, methodically. His tongue swept into her slit and licked and nipped for what felt like hours. Swirls coupled with penetration and heated breaths chased desperate groans and haggard breaths from her body until she was begging. Her back arched off the bed when he wiggled his tongue inside her and then pulled away. He blew softly on her wet lips and then buried his face into her again. He repeated the process, over and over, until she writhed under him. When he curved two fingers inside her as he sucked on her clit, she bowed and snapped. She tugged his hair as she shoved his face closer to her and wrapped her legs around his head. His tongue flicked her repeatedly as she came and then came some more. Katniss rolled her head from side to side as he continued to work her with his fingers and mouth. It felt too good to do anything but bask in the endorphins.

As she floated, she heard the distinctive sound of skin slapping, and she realized Peeta was jerking off as he kissed along her slit. She moaned and ground against his face. His pace quickened while she twitched under him, and it was only a few more moments before he stood up and leaned over her.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunted, and she drew him over her. Her hand wrapped around his, and he shouted her name. Hot stripes covered her breasts and face seconds before he collapsed on top of her. She wiggled against him, smearing his ejaculate across their bodies. With a tortured grumble, he licked himself off her face before kissing her deeply. She sucked the taste of herself off his tongue until he pulled away and started laughing.

“God damn.” His breathing was ragged against her neck, and she grinned when his thumb flicked her nipple.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she teased. “Even when I push you away, you figure out a way to weasel your way back into my good graces.”

“If by good graces you mean your pussy, then yes,” he answered with a broad smile. “I love you so much, Katniss. All these years later, and I still can’t get enough of you. Worth every hardship. Every dirty look. Every snide comment and brushoff. I’d choose you again every time,” he promised with a gentle kiss. “Every. Single. Time.”

Katniss bit her lips, but the tears came anyway. Overcome with emotion, she shook her head when he asked her what was wrong. Instead, she curled into his arms, sticky and sated, and fell asleep with her tears washing his chest.

She was still emotional the next morning when they woke and prepared for the graduation. She cried as Elam crossed the stage, and she teared up when she and Peeta gave Madge an awkward farewell. Peeta looked at her quizzically when his ex-wife squeezed her hand before they left.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he announced as they walked in the door, “Elam’s graduated, Tiny’s at work, and Hunter is at a sleepover. We’re alone in this house for the first time in ages. It’s time for you to spill it. What the hell is going on? You’ve been acting weird for a week.”

“I haven’t been acting weird.”

“Katniss, you haven’t said no to sex that many times since before Elam was born and we were still pretending we weren’t doing anything wrong just giving each other hand jobs and sucking each other off.”

It was exactly the wrong thing for him to say, and she sank onto the couch with a deep pain in her gut. She’d forgiven herself so long ago for their affair, but Madge’s illness brought forth all the old guilt and pain she’d repressed for the past two decades. Her marriage with Peeta had weathered a million obstacles—cheating, parental disapproval, a blended family, a workplace romance, raising kids, and self-loathing—but she’d never imagined she’d be back where she was the night Madge went into labor and all hell had broken loose. She’d been convinced then that Madge’s emergency C-section and brush with death had been her punishment for tempting Peeta during his marriage, but the cancer diagnosis… It didn’t make sense that Madge was the one with the death sentence when Katniss had been the one sucking the cock of a married man.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Katniss Everdeen Mellark,” he barked. “I know you better than you know yourself. Tell me.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” she insisted and moved to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. “You’ll have to wait until she tells you herself.”

He followed her and surveyed her with curious eyes. When she refused to speak, he sighed and ran a finger through his curls that still fell over his forehead, even if they were a little bit receded from where they’d been when they’d met. He looked tired and beaten down, and she longed to smooth out the wrinkles in his brow and the laugh lines around his eyes.

“It’s something with Madge.”

“Peeta, I really can’t say anything.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “Just forget it.”

“Peeta,” she started, but he cut her off before she could get any farther.

“I think I’m going to meet up with Finnick. I’ll see you later.”

She stood with her mouth hanging open as he stormed from the house. She heard the car start and drive away before she was willing to believe he’d left. It was another twenty minutes before she admitted defeat and changed into old sweats and a stretched out t-shirt.

Three glasses of wine later, she was halfway through a horror movie when the front door opened.

She expected Tiny or Peeta, but it was Elam, face pale and eyes red-rimmed as she stood in the hallway.

“Oh, honey,” she said softly and held out her arms to him.

“Mama Kat,” Elam gulped. “My mama’s sick.”

“Baby,” she whispered and wrapped him in her arms.

The minutes ticked by as her stepson wept in her arms. Tiny returned and quietly escaped to her room when she saw her older brother crying. Sometime after midnight, Peeta slipped through the door and wobbled toward them. When Katniss shook her head, he stumbled down the hall and left them alone. In the middle of the night, she shifted Elam onto the couch and covered him with a blanket. With a kiss on his forehead, she turned and headed down the hall to her bedroom.

She expected Peeta to be asleep, but she wasn’t prepared for his bare ass to greet her when she walked into the room. He was completely naked, passed out and snoring. A bottle of lube was on the nightstand, and a soiled towel was on the floor on his side of the bed. For all the moments she’d loved her husband, her stomach turned at the sight of him. On the very night his firstborn needed comfort, he’d gotten drunk and jacked off while his son bawled in her arms.

Just as suddenly, a wave of sympathy and guilt flooded through her. Peeta had no idea his life was about to change dramatically again. He had no clue his first wife was dying, and his oldest child was about to lose his mother. On top of that, she’d lied to him about what was wrong. When Peeta heard the news, he’d have to deal with the shock of Madge’s terminal illness and his wife’s…betrayal, or whatever it was she’d done by hiding the truth.

She woke late the next morning to gritty eyes and the smell of coffee. Peeta wasn’t in bed, so she grabbed her robe and stumbled to the kitchen as she twisted her hair into a messy braid. Her husband sat at the bar next to Elam, both with slumped shoulders and untouched cups of coffee in front of them.

“What am I going to do, Dad?” Elam asked, his voice ragged and weary.

Katniss held her breath, but Peeta offered advice she wished she’d thought of the night before when Elam and wept on her shoulder.

“You’re going to live your life,” he insisted. “Your mother and I both love you so much, and we’re so proud of you. Mama Kat and your brother and sister and I are all here for you. We’ll always be here for you, and we’ll be your family once your mom is gone. You’re a good man, Elam, and your mom is always going to be with you, no matter what happens. She’s raised you so well, son.”

His voice broke then, and Katniss moved into the room to lay her hand on her husband’s shoulder. He turned to her and pulled her close as tears clung to his lashes. Elam pushed his cup of coffee away and announced that he was going to spend the day with his mother.

“You knew,” Peeta accused as soon as the door closed behind Elam. Shoving himself away from her, he looked at her with fire in his eyes and spat, “You knew, and that’s why you kept shoving me away last week.”

“Peeta, I—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Madge made me promise not to. It was her news, not mine, and I didn’t want to break her trust. Not after everything I’d already done to her.”

“You mean, not after fucking her husband while she was at home with a newborn? Not when we were screwing each other when I was going to therapy with her? When you rode my face the night before Elam was born? I’m your husband, Katniss, and we’re not supposed to have any secrets from each other! Not after everything we’ve been through to be together.”

“I didn’t—”

“What do you mean?” a strangled voice asked from the hallway, and they both turned to find a stricken Elam gaping at them. Peeta rose quickly and took a step toward him.

“Son—”

“What do you mean?” Elam repeated. “You were— You told me things started after… Oh my God. Oh my God! You were cheating on Mom? You lied to me?”

Katniss held her breath. They were on a precipice, and their decision to withhold the truth from Elam suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. Madge had agreed only because she wanted to be spared the humiliation of knowing her son was aware of the affair, but now the walls crumbled around them.

“I can explain,” Peeta said, but Elam backed away from them, his face a mask of disgust and fury.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want anything from you!” he yelled.

“Elam, stop!” Peeta cried, but it was too late. Elam was out the door, his tires squealing as he pealed out of the driveway and sped down the street.

Peeta stood outside for several minutes before returning to the house. Katniss watched as his shoulders fell and he plodded up the front steps and walked through the door. He was clearly shell-shocked, pale with red-rimmed eyes and a haunted look in his eyes. Katniss stood quietly, afraid to make a move until he indicated he was ready for her comfort, if that was something she was even able to provide. Peeta’s relationship with his oldest child had always been something only they understood.

“This can’t be happening,” he finally gasped and doubled over. “I’ve lost him.”

She rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Helping him to the couch, she steadied him as he collapsed into the cushions. Silent tears streaked down his face, and she clutched his hand, gripping it with a ferocity she hadn’t realized she could muster since she’d finally believed Peeta was really hers.

Except he wasn’t exactly. Yes, he was her husband, but he was also Elam’s father and Madge’s ex. He was her children’s dad and his parent’s child. He was a brother and a friend and an employee. He was hers as much as anyone she hadn’t birthed could be, but there were parts of him she’d never be able to understand, and this seemed to be one of them. As much as she loved Elam, he had never really been hers either, so how could she comprehend the loss Peeta felt as he watched his firstborn flee?

Things didn’t improve over the next few weeks. Calls to Elam went unanswered, and Madge’s condition worsened rapidly. Both Katniss and Peeta wanted to be there for her, but Madge insisted there was nothing they could do. She asked them to give her space to be with her son, who refused to be in the same room with his father.

“I promise I’ll make time for you to see me,” she promised, but the days passed with no invitation to visit.

“She’s going to die without letting us see her,” Peeta said one night, hopeless and broken. “I should have done this earlier. I should have worked harder to repair things with her instead of settling for an unspoken truce. And now…”

“Now, it’s about Madge and not us. She’s the one dying, and she gets to make the rules now. We get to make her last days as comfortable and stress free as possible,” Katniss suggested gently. “She knows we’re sorry for hurting her. We can’t do anything else now. It’s in the past, and she’s accepted that.”

Peeta lifted his stricken face to hers and whispered, “When she’s gone, I’ll lose every tie I have to my son. He’ll never forgive me once she’s dead. I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself either.”

Katniss swallowed the pain, too terrified to answer, too scared to admit her husband might be right. That Madge’s death would mean losing a part of their relationship that had defined them since the beginning. That Elam would walk away after his mother’s death and refuse to acknowledge them after learning of their betrayal.

“Madge will call for us, and Elam will come around. He’s hurting right now, and we need to let him know we’re here for him without pressuring him to respond. All we can do now is love him and trust that he’ll believe us when he needs that support.”

Unfortunately, Elam didn’t seem interested in accepting anything from any of them. As Madge grew weaker, he stopped responding to their children as well. As much as Katniss understood the anger her stepson must be harboring, it hurt her more than she could stand to see her children confused that their brother had disappeared from their lives.

Madge made arrangements for them to visit on Tuesday and Friday afternoons, and Peeta left work early both days to make the most of the time he’d been granted. Katniss joined him when Haymitch learned of their situation and allowed them leave for a family illness. Peeta sat at Madge’s bedside and held her hand. They kept up a steady stream of conversation, reminiscing about their high school and college days when they’d been young and in love, before Peeta had met Katniss and Madge realized her marriage was failing. They talked about their son and his accomplishments, and Peeta broke down when Madge admitted she’d urged their child to forgive his father.

Katniss watched sadly, heartbroken that they’d wasted so much time in anger and hurt. Madge was funny and smart, self-deprecating and kind, but most of all she forgave them graciously every time the subject of their affair surfaced.

“I don’t have time to hold a grudge anymore,” she said softly. “You love each other more than we ever could, Peeta. You deserve to be happy. Stop punishing yourself for something you wouldn’t change, and don’t give up on our son.”

It surprised Katniss that the visits with Madge became a solace to both her and Peeta as the other woman weakened. Elam never allowed himself to be seen, but it was comforting to know their son was safe and loved and an active part of Madge’s final days. Peeta offered to help with arrangements for memorial and burial, but Madge declined. She and Elam had made the arrangements, and she urged them to accept his wishes.

“But Madge,” Peeta begged, “I should help him with this. You both deserve to be supported through this.”

“But that’s not what Elam wants, and I want what makes him happy. He’s an adult now. You have to let him come to you when he’s ready.”

In the end, they agreed to Madge’s requests and allowed mother and son to spend as much time together making decisions and sharing memories as possible. The days ticked by, and Madge lingered, frail and fading, far longer than any of them expected. Still, it was too soon when the call inevitably came. They were at home, watching the late news after the kids’ bedtimes, when the phone rang. They exchanged looks before Peeta answered. He spoke softly into the phone for a few minutes before he hung up and turned to face her.

“She’s gone.”

“Elam?”

“No. That was the funeral director. Elam didn’t want to talk to us.”

“When is it?”

“The day after tomorrow. We’ve been asked not to attend.”

The words hung between them for several moments, both smarting from the sting.

“That’s not what Madge would have wanted,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he replied wryly, “but she’s gone, and now Elam gets to make the decision.”

“Peeta, honey.” She reached out to him, but he shook his head.

“I need to be alone for a while. I’m sorry.”

She waited until well past midnight, but he didn’t return. At work the next morning, he was quiet and withdrawn, and he barely said anything to her at home. He loved on their kids and tucked them into bed but barely kissed her goodnight. That continued until the day of the memorial service, and, although they didn’t attend, he sat vigil during the time others paid tribute to his ex-wife. The distance grew between them for weeks, until one day he turned to her and she said, “You came back.”

Slowly, and with many lost days, they grew back together. Their home life stabilized, and they raised their daughter and son to smile and dance and laugh. They celebrated milestones and loved each other unconditionally, but there was always an empty seat where Elam should have been.

Year after year after year passed without him.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #too familiar #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

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legendary-raptor-trainer · 5 years

Text

jw zombie apocalypse au Owen’s pov

2 days earlier

11:35 am

It has been two days since I returned from my last deployment, and recently I started helping one of my brothers move to their new apartment in one of the noisiest areas of the city. And said brother, it's taking too long to get out of the house.

*Sighs and taps the steering wheel with my fingers * * The phone starts ringing * I answer the call, it's my other brother, Joshua. We are triplets, and I am the eldest, Peter is the middle one.

"Hey, man! What's up?"

"Owen, where are you?" Joshua said hurriedly and panting.

"I'm with Peter in his old house, why?" I frown, something is off, I can feel it in my gut, but maybe it's just my paranoia. People tell me that sometimes I worry too much and said that's part of my job. With both of our parents' death, I feel like I'm responsible for those idiots. Maybe I shouldn't, but that's who I am. That's what the teams taught me. To always look out for my brothers and sisters.

"Shit! Listen, man, get away from the city. I don't know what's going on, but— damn it, not the car!" In the background, I can hear grunts and screams. Something bad was happening there. Maybe a shooting or a car bomb. "Do not enter the city, bro!" He’s running, that’s for sure. "I repeat, do not enter the city. Stay where you are, I'll found y-" The call was cut off.

"Josh?" I frown and look at my phone. There's no signal.

I hear a chopper, and I look up. It's heading for the city, carrying an m-134.

What the hell is happening?

From the corner of my eyes, I see Peter walking out of the house with a box. He’s looking at the chopper too.

Fucking finally!

"What took you so long?"

"Zoe called— what do you think is happening?" He pointed at the chopper, it was farther now, but I still could hear it.

"Just get in the car! We're getting Josh." Peter runs to the passenger side and climbs to the car, as soon as he closes the door I turn on my car and drive as fast as I can.

"Why?"

"I.I don't know, but something's happening in the city. We need to get to him."

On the way, we see more choppers, all carrying weapons. Even I spotted three vipers (F-16) overflying the area.

I have a bad feeling about this. Those aircraft are only used for adversary/aggressor measures.

"Check under the seat. There must be a gun down there."

"Why are you carrying a gun in your car?" I give him a stern look. In moments like this, I wonder if he's my brother. I'm fucking a Seal, and he doesn't expect me to carry a weapon with me?! If my time in the Navy teache me, something is that I must always be ready for battle, in or out.

"Right, stupid question. Sorry." He nods, grimacing, and searches for the gun.

In front, there's a barricade, cops, and soldiers telling people to back away. Something terrible is happening, and I don't like it.

"Wait here," I grab the gun from Peter's hand and hide it under my shirt. I walk to the barricade, and I can feel the anxiety in the air. People are trying to coax the soldiers to let them pass, to let them get to their friends and family.

"Hey! Hey!" I ask one of the soldiers; he's probably in his early twenties. "What's happening here?"

"Sorry, sir, but I'm not authorized to- Listen, kid. You're talking to an E-9 here, so tell me what going on?" Before he could answer me, to my right, we hear people screaming, and some started to run.

"Get them out of here!" One soldier screamed.

It was all chaos. People were running and screaming in panic. The soldiers started moving towards all the commotion and firing at something or someone.

Holy shit! What's in the hell is that?! Right there, twenty meters away from my position, an actual freaking zombie is munching on a woman's arm.

This can't be happening. It's only a dream. Nothing of this is real. Maybe we just stumble into a movie set, and these guys are just actors acting as zombies... but they look so authentic. A grenade explosion breaks me out of my shock, and I run back to the car, opening and closing the door quickly. Peter is gone, his seat empty.

No, no, no! Goddamit Peter, I told you to wait! I can't leave him here— One zombie crashed against my window, the stench quickly filtering into my car even with the door closed.

*Wrinkles my nose* Oh, god! He stinks! Jeez!

More zombies start coming to my car, surrounding me.

Okay, forget, Peter! I have to get out of here. I’ll search for him later.

I turn on the car and hits the accelerator, going backward, hit the break, and spins the car and drive back to safety... I hope.

****

They're everywhere. The suburbs, the supermarket, the park. What the hell is going on?!

I've been trying to call Claire for the past twenty minutes, but there's no signal. I hope she's at home, or maybe she went to the base, she'll be safe there too.

God, this is getting scary!

I park my car three blocks away from my house. The street is empty, no sign of zombies... yet.

I ready my gun just in case. If movies and videogames had taught me something about zombies is that they can appear at any time if you let your guard down.

"Claire," I call for her as I enter the house. Nothing. With my gun raised, I check the living room, the bathroom, and—"Owen, what are you doing?" She calls me from the kitchen, and I shake in surprise, heart beating fast.

Oh, thank lord, she's okay.

"Get your things. We need to get out of here." I say as I walk inside the kitchen and start grabbing canned food. She looks at me as if I lost my mind.

"Owen, what's happening?"

"No time to explain. They will get here soon. We need to leave, so go grab your stuff." I said, voice firm, there was no time for arguments. I leave all the food over the kitchen counter while Claire rolls her eyes but goes to our room, hopefully, to grab clothes. I check the street from the kitchen window, still no sign of zombies.

I followed Claire to the living room, canned food in my arms and sprawled it all over our bed, then proceed to grab a few shirts and jeans and put it all on my knapsack and the food on another one.

I looked at Claire and was about to say something when I hear grunting outside and catch the ugly stench of decaying flesh.

"Fuck," I grabbed Claire's hand and my things. She barely had time to grab her bag when we walked out of the room and to the front door. We needed to get out of here now.

Outside I counted at least eight zombies, our neighbors judging by their clothing, walking on our front yard. Too bad I didn't have more weapons here apart from my Glock.

"Oh my god! The Mills!" Claire gasped, covering her mouth in terror and disgust. They started attacking our windows, breaking them in the process, and I did what I do best— apart from sex, of course—, shoot the bad guys.

Holding tight to Claire's hand, and shooting at the zombies head, I kicked the door open and ran to the car. More hordes of zombies were coming our way.

"Get in the car! Get in the car!" I yelled, and Claire climbed to the passenger's seat and closed the door, I did the same while I shot at one last zombie before closing my door, turned on the car and like the rest of the time, drove as fast I could.

"What the hell was that?!" Claire yelled hysterically, tear in her eyes, and shaking in terror. "You just killed our neighbors! Tell me what's happening, dammit?!"

"Two answers, zombies, and we're on the same page. As far as I know, we need to get somewhere safe. I'll be leaving you at the base, then I have to find Peter and Joshua."

"I thought you were with Peter."

"I was, lost him near the city— the idiot. I told him to wait, but he never listens to me!” I waved my hand, angry. "Why he never listens to me?! Why Claire?! Dammit!" *ragged breathing*

"Owen, calm down— I'm calm, Claire! I'm calm.” I looked at her and sighed. “Let’s get you to safety first, okay? Okay.”

****

Two hours later. First day

“So you’re telling me, you don’t know what the fuck is going on out there?” I asked Lieutenant Commander Knope. The whole base was on high alert, military staff walking around all the compound, weapons ready, and the central command filled with officers giving orders back and forth to everyone. Apparently, this wasn't just a local incident. It was getting worldwide.

"Same thing as you, Owen. Communications down, people going nuts on the street, it's getting worse and worse." He gave a stern look, and I did the same. "So, I won't be sending one of my teams to rescue two civilians when all the world is on chaos."

I clench my jaw. "They're not only two civilians, sir. They're my brothers, and I ain't leaving on their own!"

"And I admire that, Grady. But I'm your command officer, and if I say your team can't go, it can't go! Do you understand, soldier?!" We looked at each other in anger. I wanted to punch him in the face so hard. "I said, do you understand Master Chief Grady?"

"Crystal clear, sir," I replied, clenching my jaw and squeezing my fists.

"You're dismissed." He turned his back at me, and I stared at him furiously.

I walked out of there and to Bravo Team room quarters. I left Claire there with the guys, and like me, they all wanted to go and rescue Peter and Joshua. Those two may not be part of the team, but they were part of the family.

"What did he say?" Kevin asked me just as I entered the room and closed the door behind me. He was the taller of the team, brown hair, and a long beard. He was an expert with anything related to electronics and weapons.

"Bullshit, as always. Gear up. This will be a rescue op." I said as I grabbed my kit and was met by Blue, my german shepherd and honorably member of my team.

"Woah! Woah, stop there, Ken doll! Do we have permission to do this 'saving private Ryan' thingy? Or we're doing this behind daddy's back?" Sonnie asked. He was your typical goofball-cowboy of any social group... and gamer. This was maybe the best day of his life.

"What's up, Sonnie? Are you afraid of zombies eating your brain slowly piece by piece?" Barry teased him, my best friend, and my second in command.

“I’m just sayin’ if we’re doing this just to piss off daddy for not letting us go to the prom or because mom gave us the green light?” Everyone stared at him. Sometimes it was hard to understand what he was saying.

“Just gear up. We’re leaving in 10.” I ordered, putting on my anti bullet vest and checking all my ammo. Then put Blue on her vest too.

Claire walked to me with fear in her eyes. I had seen that look a lot of times, just before every deployment, but this one was different.

"Owen... Look, I know they're your brothers but... No one knows what causing all this, and we don't—Stop. Don’t even say it. They’re alive. I can feel it, Claire.”

The three of us have always had a connection. There's no way to explain how or why, but we have still know what the other one was feeling if he was sad or happy. Guess sharing mom's belly for nine months did that to us. And part from Claire, I've always found comfort when I'm with them. And if one of them dies, or both...

“You’re going to get in trouble, Owen. You’re about to disobey an order.”

“I know what’s on stake here, but this has to be done, or I would never forgive myself. I made a promise, and I plan to keep it."

Claire gulped, holding back the tears. “Just be safe, okay? And come back to me.” I nodded. I had no plans of dying today or tomorrow. Giving her one last look, I called the boys and grabbed my helmet. Everyone was ready.

“I love you.” I kissed her before I walked to the door, ready to save my brothers.

****

8:48 pm. First day

Have you ever had to shoot one of your teammates to save your own life and everyone else? It's shocking and one of the worst moments of my life. But I had to... I had to or else...

"Hey, are you okay?" Barry offered me his hand as we both looked and William's body. I took his hands, still recovering from the shock, and stood up. Blood was all over my gear and face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." I whispered.

"Hey, Owen, man, look at me." Barry wrapped one hand behind my neck and shook me. "There was no other way, bro. There was no other way." I nodded, eyes wide open and adrenaline still making my heart beat fast.

"Hey, fellas! We have a stinky situation down here. These motherfuckers want to join the party, you all having up there!" We heard Sonnie through the comms. They had made us retreat to a corp building close to midtown.

"We can't hold them any longer. We're heading to your position!" Henry added.

“Copy, bravo four. We are on the tenth floor, apartment 45, near the elevators.” Barry answered for me as I leaned against the nearest wall, trying to control my breathing.

I just killed William.

I just killed one of my friends.

This can’t be happening. T-this can’t be real.

"Copy, bravo two. ETA five minutes."

I slid to the floor and closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of my beating heart. Blue sat next to me, resting her head on my knees.

“We can’t stay here,” Barry mumbled, and I opened my eyes again, looking up at him.

“Tell me something I don't know," I replied, sighing and getting up again. "We'll have to take shelter here, only for tonight."

We heard footsteps, and Henry, Sonnie, and Cully walked inside, closing the door and panting.

"They're getting up here. We have to block the door." Cully said, hands resting on his knees, and like me, all his gear was covered with zombies' blood.

"Oh fuck... not William," Sonnie whispered when he spotted our fallen companion on the floor.

"Ignore him, now we have to block the door."

We used everything we could find, chairs, tables, even a freaking fishbowl I'm sure is going to break at some point. We also moved William's corpse to another room and covered with a blanket. After the mission, we'll bring back his body to the base and give him a proper funeral.

"Do you think Knope noticed we're gone?" Sonnie commented while we were all sitting in the dark, listening to the grunts and guttural screams outside. They all chuckled except me. I can't shake off the memory of me shooting one of my friends. He was acting all normal, and suddenly he charged at me, growling and thrashing like a wild animal.

What the hell is happening?

****

When we woke up, the zombies were gone and slowly made our way to the city, looking for clues of Josh or Peter. We found Josh's car first, parked outside his workplace, ‘The West Bar.’ Broken windows, blood on the hood… his phone.

“Blue, sniff.” Blue did as I told her and sniffed my brother’s phone. She immediately picked his scent, and we followed her. But still, we didn’t find him.

At some point, we decided to split. That way, we could find them soon. Henry, Cully, and Sonnie went to the east side of the town while Barry and I took the west side, precisely where I last saw Peter.

We spent the night inside a toy store. Rotating guard every two hours so the two of us could rest— but if I’m honest. I didn’t close my eyes, not even for a second. Gosh, I can’t stop thinking about William.

The days passed, we killed more zombies, tiredness was starting to catch up to me, but the feeling that Joshua and Peter were still alive was the only thing that keeps me moving.

On the sixth night, when everyone was sleeping, I went back to the center of the city. We ran out of food, and I saw a supermarket there. So I went there to get supplies. It took me two hours to get there, Blue was with me, and she was tired. Then she freezes, ears upright and eyes focused on a car.

Follow the story here x

#jw zombie apocalypse au #jurassic world #jurassic world rp #owen grady #owen grady rp

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jeonggukingdom · 6 years

Text

sonder (m)

▽ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (feat. Yoongi) | 1st person POV

▽ Genre: Romance, Angst, Fluff, Light Smut - Photographer!AU

▽ Summary: [ˈsɔn.dər] the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own. You meet Kim Taehyung for the first time on a rainy winter day. At that time you had no idea who he was nor what he’d turn out to become but, even then when you didn’t know anything about him, you were being healed by his presence. Who knew you could fall in love like that, at random and all at once.

▽ Word Count: 17.229

▽ WARNINGS: portrayals of mental illness such as depression and anxiety. There is a panic attack scene in there and pretty toxic thoughts happen frequently in the first half of the fic so if any of those things are triggering for you, refrain from reading this, please. | Graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, unprotected sex.

▽ REQUEST: kim-taehvungs said:Taehyung and sonder?? ❤️ in honor of tae day 😁

This is the story of how I found love in the darkest hour of my life. I fell in love with him and then with myself and, ultimately, I fell back in love with life itself.

I met Kim Taehyung for the first time on a rainy winter day, the coldness was seeping through my clothes, reaching past the flesh and rattling my bones.

Admittedly, though, the quivering of my limbs was not only due to the low temperatures the winter was granting to us all but, on a larger scale, it was due to the pain I was feeling, spreading like ice within my heart to squeeze it shut and promptly break it in half.

My eyes were fixed on the street in front of me and on the people rushing through the city: so many different lives mingling together, even if just for an instant. So many people with different appointments, places to get to, homes to return to.

It was the first time I found myself wondering: when was the last time I had stopped? When was the last time I halted my steps and simply looked around me or, even better, up to the sky?

My vision suddenly blurred with unshed tears I wouldn’t allow to fall on my cold cheeks, at least not until I was securely confined in the four walls of my house. I gulped them down heavily and wondered, again, how many times have I passed these streets and never noticed someone sitting there in deep suffering, how many times have I not cared about it or, worse, how many times have I not even noticed it?

It was a peculiar realization the one that hit me back then, sitting on a drenched bench while barely covering myself with an umbrella: the world doesn’t care, the world doesn’t stop and wait for you, the world will always keep on spinning. For every life that stops, there is one starting at the other end of the world, millions upon millions of complicated lives much like my our very own and even if they intermingle from time to time, those lives are never still on spot in time. Everything will always keep on moving.

The thought back then scared me a lot because it felt like I was standing still while everything else was still going and I feared that, if I stayed still for too long I would never be able to go back on the spinning carousel.

A shiver ran down my spine and I tried to detach myself from the scary thought by fixing my eyes on a random young woman across the street. She had long slick hair black as coal, eyes kind and brightly shining with a joy I envied, lips full and stretched into a genuine serene smile. She was seeking repair in front of a shop entrance and she was hugging tight to her chest a little kid. The rain and the cold didn’t seem to affect her in the least, in fact, it almost felt like she was happy about them so she had an even bigger excuse to squeeze her little baby like that.

I tilted my head to the side and wondered how old could she be, if she was living a happy life like how I imagined she would, if her partner treated her well, if she felt loved and had a family that cherished her, if she had a decent job to return to the next morning.

I realized back then how many different things shape a person into what they are and how they present themselves to the world.

It was the sound of clothes rustling next to me that stopped my spinning thoughts from circling on themselves and I found myself peeling my gaze off of the young woman to fix it on the person suddenly sitting right next to me.

It was a young boy, probably in mid-twenties — just like me — and he was looking right in front of him, a warm cup of store-bought coffee in one hand and an umbrella in the other, both covered by thick-looking gloves.

The mysterious boy sported a quite relaxed expression on his face and he seemed to be rather oblivious to my presence which conveniently granted me the possibility to stare at him with my new eyes. The thoughts came back spinning all at once as I studied him, wondering about his entire life and how he came to be the person sitting right next to me on a such gloomy day.

He was undoubtedly handsome — skin of molten gold, almond eyes of shining onyx with long lashes framing them nicely, a cute mole under his right eye and a seemingly cute one on the tip of his nose, lips pink and full and slightly pulled downwards as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, pensive.

His clothes were simple but looked quite expensive: all jet black and combined with a duffle bag resting on his feet, looking quite packed and heavy. A tourist, maybe?

I couldn’t understand why he looked so intriguing to me at that moment but, whatever the reason may have been, it turned out it was almost impossible for me to peel my eyes off of him and his lean figure.

He looked calm, deep in thought but still serene and it made me wish I could absorb his energy through osmosis or something as simple and natural as that.

The thought made my head spin a little, or maybe it was the lack of sugar in my system but I was glad I had decided to sit on the bench or, by then, I would have surely collapsed on the ground.

I wasn’t sure what I was feeling in that moment, but I knew it was too much to handle all at the same time and the realization worked almost like a catalyst, breaking bad the sense of despair and hopelessness that drove me to that bench in the first place.

The pain seemed to crush on me like ocean waves on rocky cliffs and before I knew it, tears were back in my eyes, blurring the edges of my vision.

In shame, I found myself refocusing my gaze over my lap while trying to gulp back down the tears. I had no intention to make him notice me and especially not my tears or the distraught state I was in.

I never understood why society has thought all of us that hiding pain and suffering is something to strive for in order to demonstrate strength but, hiding tears and bad thoughts has always felt like something embodied within me just like the color of my eyes or the texture of my hair.

The stranger sitting next to me cleared his throat all of a sudden and I went rigid on my spot, frozen in place with dread filling my heart as I dared to take a tentative look to the side.

I was scared he had noticed me, I was scared he was going to say something, anything.

But relief filled me instantly as I realized he was still looking up the street with music playing loudly in his ears through his headphones.

I could make out the nice tune of the song he was listening to and it seemed to me like the singer was gifted with a dulcet timbre that really suited quiet and relaxing songs.

I couldn’t make out the words of the song but our proximity allowed me to gather enough to deem it as a rather emotional song.

At that moment, it felt like I was a snake and the stranger’s music the pied piper luring me in. I didn’t know why I was so drawn to that music but it worked like magic on both my tensed body and my inner turmoil.

I stayed there for long minutes that felt like second to me, sitting by the stranger while stealing glances at his face and tunes from his phone.

Time slowly started to lose meaning and the world at the corner of my eyes slowly faded away, leaving place only for the music and the person sitting next to me, barely an arm away from my hand.

It was the boy himself that broke the spell I had fell under. He suddenly stood on his feet and turned his back on me, slowly walking away with my gaze fixed on his back until I could not see him anymore. The mysterious boy disappeared into the night just like he had appeared.

Night. That was the thought that woke me up from the spell and only then I realized the sun had been gone for a while by then and the people that were once roaming the streets had almost entirely dispersed to reach their respective homes.

I sat there for a moment, left in my loneliness again with one question roaming in my head: was the boy even real? Or had I simply imagined him being there? Or, even, had he been an angel sent down on Earth to guide my lost soul?

I kept asking myself those questions as I got up from my seat and slowly walked the dreadful steps back home.

The bench wasn’t that far away from my destination but I moved as slowly as I could, trying to put off the inevitable.

Eventually, I found myself standing in front of my apartment’s door with a sinking heart in my chest.

A sigh escaped my mouth from my parted lips as I stared at the door almost sensing the darkness seeping under the wooden surface and the coldness of an empty house oozing out through the walls. I shivered, already prepared for what was out to come.

At home, I was completely alone and in that silence, my thoughts had ventured to dark places more than once. Places I really didn’t want to visit ever again.

That night, I put a fake smile on my face and opened the door to my house as if someone would be waiting for me inside, ready to welcome me home after a long day.

I thought that if I tried to smile hard enough soon I would have started to believe it was real, somehow.

The light flickered on as I quickly pressed the button on while I closed the door behind my back. The TV was next — the loud distraction was always the highlight of my nights at home.

My stomach churned as I opened the fridge to prepare myself a simple ham and lettuce sandwich, a dinner I was quite fond of when I still had an appetite.

Regardless, I tried to eat all of it because I knew, even if I wasn’t hungry at all, my body was starving. I couldn’t remember the last thing I ate that day nor when it was and I knew I had to. The moment I would stop catering to my body’s needs was going to be the moment everything else would come crumbling down along with it.

I walked around the house with the sandwich in my hands and the weight of my loneliness sitting on my heart and stomach.

I knew I had brought this on myself and yet, I couldn’t accept the fate I waved with my own hands.

I had put my entire life on hold, my affections, my lover. I discarded everything in function of my career. And where did that career led me to, in the meantime? Alone and unemployed.

Back then I thought that if I could accomplish myself at work, I could focus on building back my relationships after that. But a few years and a broken heart after, what I was left with were guilt and regret.

Tears streamed down my eyes all at once, finally free now that I was away from prying eyes, and the saltiness of them mixed with the sandwich in my mouth, almost making me gag and choke.

I cried for hours that night, exhausting myself to the point sleep came easily and on its own accord. I fell asleep on the couch, fully clothed and with make-up smeared all over my face but for once in dreamland, there were no nightmares, no fear.

That night, for the first time in a while, I dreamed of a peaceful place and a mellow voice singing nicely in my ears. I dreamed of the boy sitting next to me, his face calm and relaxed and a smile stretched on his lips. That smile, to me, was one of an angel.

The air was oddly warm that afternoon, the sun shined up into the cerulean sky and the streets were filled with the laughter of little kids dragging their parents to the closest parks. It was almost a miracle to have that type of weather in the midst of winter but I welcomed it with open arms.

I filled my lungs with the nice and warm air while dragging my feet on the bitumen, eyes fixed on strangers’ faces with my new set of eyes. It had become a constant by then for me to look at people, to make up names and lives for them and distract myself from my own life and the problems that came with it.

My neighborhood had always been quite busy during the day. The presence of shops and cafes at every corner encouraged both the people living around the city and the tourists visiting nearby attractions to walk down its streets.

Even so, though, after a while I became acquainted with many different faces I could recognize in an instant and, in some twisted way, it almost felt like I knew all these people even though I had never talked to them and I had no idea what their name was or how old they were.

I sat on the first vacant bench I could find that day and, casually it happened to be the one you had set on that day you met the mysterious boy.

A pout formed on my mouth as I recalled his presence and my reaction to it. I had thought about those moments a lot and even if it had been days, I could still remember every detail vividly.

A part of me still wondered if I had only dreamed about him in that distraught state of mind and that part of me had brought me to that street in more than one occasion in the hope to catch a glimpse of the boy again.

I had no idea myself why I was so fixated over the idea of finding him since I barely knew him but there was this pull in my heart, this ache within me that made me want to see him again. I wanted to thank him for sitting next to me, even if he had probably barely registered my presence. I wanted to thank him because he had been there on one of the hardest days of my life, contrary to anybody else.

That day under the rain had been the peek of my despair after a week of unemployment and unsuccessful beggings on my part to be taken back at work, even at half the salary I used to work for.

I sighed loudly, trying to push away the sense of humiliation that came with the memories of all the things I said and done to get my stupid job back. It had been all in vain, all of it, from the moment I had stepped into that company to the moment I walked out of it for the last time.

A couple walking across from me gathered my attention then, they looked happy, laughing together with eyes brimming with love and happiness and the sight made my heart clench because, once, I had that too and I threw it all away for all the wrong reasons.

That girl’s face seemed to twist and morph into my own in front of my eyes and you watched that boy turn into Yoongi, my ex-boyfriend.

Min Yoongi had come into my life with the force of a hurricane, he had forced me out of my shell in high school, he had dragged me to a college in the big city in order to support my dreams — whatever they were — he had encouraged me to take that job interview. He had been the anchor of my life, the reason I was who I was and yet, my younger and more-foolish-self had let him go at the first hint of our relationship coming in conflict with what my job required of me.

I watched the scene unfold in front of my eyes with a trembling heart. The boy across the street was laughing in nervousness and I imagined the sound of Yoongi’s one ringing in my hears, I imagined his gummy smile and the way his eyes used to shine whenever he looked at me, I recalled the way his lips would feel against my skin and how they’d taste against my mouth.

Suddenly, there were tears in my eyes, blurring the outlines of that couple and I quickly dried my face, trying to conceal them from prying eyes.

It was right at that moment that I met Kim Taehyung again.

Much like that rainy day, the boy appeared out of nowhere and he sat right next to me without speaking a single word, hell, without even looking at me.

I stared at him for long seconds, mouth slightly agape as I struggled to keep my hands on my lap and not simply reach them forward and brush his skin to make sure he was real, flesh and bones and all that.

Under the glow of the sun, he looked far more radiant than the first time I saw him.

I noticed his strong jawline for the first time and the way his nose slightly pointed upwards towards the tip alongside with two little earrings hanging from his left ear.

That day he was dressed in light denim and a simple t-shirt but he still had that heavy-looking duffle bag at his feet and I stared at it for more than I should have, trying to come up with a list of things he could have tucked inside of it.

My eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment as I moved my attention back up to the boy’s face noticing how he was looking straight ahead. I followed his gaze out of pure curiosity but the moment I saw the couple I had been looking at standing exactly across from us, I felt my breath get caught in my lungs. Did he see me cry while looking at them, I wondered but, of course, I could not voice out that question.

I watched with dread the boy across the street kneel in front of his girlfriend, roses tinting his cheeks in embarrassment as he fished out of his trousers a red velvet box. It happened in an instant: the scenes overlapped and I was thrown inside my own memories again.

It had been a long day at work, I was beyond tired and only in the mood for a nice bath and a well-deserved night of sleep.

When I finally arrived home, I found my boyfriend waiting for me, a big smile on his lips and the nice smell of food filling up our place.

“Happy Anniversary, baby,” he said that with his dulcet tone that made my insides warm every single time. That night, though, what I felt was my heart sinking in my chest because I had forgotten it was our anniversary a hundred percent.

Yoongi kissed me sweetly and shook his head before I could utter even a single word.

“It’s ok, I knew you wouldn’t remember, I know how busy you are at work these days.”

His voice was calm, his demeanor relaxed even though he should have been disappointed or pissed or both, really. When did Yoongi start giving up on me remembering dates? Hell, when was the last time I did remember our anniversary or his birthday or anything else on time, really?

Guilt filled my heart as I watched him smile at me and I couldn’t muster up the courage to apologize.

I did what I could do: even if I was tired and not in the mood for anything, I sat at the table for him, I ate all the delicious food he so sweetly prepared for us, I forced myself to talk about my day and to listen to his, I forced myself to laugh and smile for him and reach for his hand and hold it with mine. Because I loved him and I wanted to give him at least something.

I felt heavy. Heavy with tiredness and guilt and shame. Yoongi deserves someone better than me, that’s the thought that kept repeating itself inside my head that night.

If Yoongi could see the bad thoughts through my eyes, he never said anything about it but kept on this evident facade of fake happiness we had going.

At first, I couldn’t understand him but as the dinner slowly came to an end, his motives were suddenly clear.

I watched him in utter shock as he knelt before me, a red velvet box in his hands and a shining diamond ring waiting for my hands to take it.

Yoongi’s eyes were shining and his voice was quivering a little with all the emotions I could see swirling in his intense gaze.

“Will you marry me, ______?”

I had no idea what to say, I didn’t even know what I was thinking or even feeling. It was all so sudden, so all at once for me to handle and I panicked.

Words died down on my mouth as I tried to speak them, not even knowing myself what I was going to say and I watched with dread in my heart has his face fell, understanding pretty quickly that I wasn’t going to give him the excited response he had been waiting for.

“We don’t have to get married right away,” he said, his voice sounding small and almost defeated and I hated it, I hated myself for doing this to him.

“It’s just a promise that we will, one day when we’re ready.”

I should have said ‘yes’ at that moment, I should have chased the fear and doubts away and simply say ‘yes’. But I didn’t.

I couldn’t marry Yoongi then, not in a couple of months and maybe not even in a couple of years.

“I can’t,” I whispered, voice trembling as I struggled to find the right words to make him understand, “You know how much competition I have at work... I don’t have the luxury to lose focus now that I’m getting closer to the top.”

He closed the velvet box shut, wetting his lips as he slightly shook his head.

“I know that. That’s why I said we don’t have to get married right now.”

His eyes closed for a moment and when he opened them again I could see impending tears in them. There was so much pain behind those black irises and I wanted to erase it all, take my words back and forget this ever happened.

“Would you marry me, though? In three years, or five... hell, even ten! Because I would wait for you, ______. But would you ever marry me?”

He was almost shouting at that point and I flinched at every word he spoke but I didn’t blame him. He was right, it was all on me, I was the one betraying his trust, I was the one pushing him away.

“I don’t know,” I said, and I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it, even if it was the truth. I loved him, I really did, but I was so scared and so ashamed.

I knew even back then that he deserved more than me, someone that would remember his birthday or their anniversary. Someone better than me.

I will never forget the tears on Yoongi’s face the moment I pronounced those words. I will never forget how he got on his two feet and turned his back on me, unable to look at me for even a second longer.

“We are done, ______,” he had said, his voice strangled by the tears that were unmistakably falling on his cheeks.

I wanted to get up from my seat, grab his arm and engulf him in a tight embrace and never let him go again. I wanted to take my words back and marry him on the spot if that would keep him from leaving.

But I didn’t, because he deserved better.

Reliving that memory brought back tears in my eyes and my heart seemed to break all over again as I watched that couple hug and kiss in the middle of the street.

That should have been us, I thought to myself, biting my quivering bottom lip to suppress the sob that was menacing to burst out of my mouth.

It was the tune of a sweet song that peeled me off of my bitter thoughts. As soon as I heard it, I knew it was that same song the angelic stranger had played during our first encounter.

When I lifted my eyes to look up at the boy next to me, I found him looking at his phone, seemingly unfazed by the loudness of the music in his ears.

The singer’s voice was mellow and sweet and it almost felt like she was cradling both my rattled mind and my broken heart.

Much like the very first time I met him, I found solace in his presence and in his music and I lost myself inside of the moment, successfully forgetting all about my past and the future and the entire world around us.

But his spell was fragile and it quickly dissipated as he stood on his feet, shutting down his phone ready to walk away from me a second time.

I’m not sure what got into me back then but I found myself opening my mouth and, before I knew it, I was getting up on my feet to stop the boy from leaving again.

“Wait!” I had blurted out, immediately regretting my decision as I watched him turn around with a bewildered expression on his face.

His eyes were gentle as they fixed on me and maybe it was their warmness or the little smile stretching his lips as he looked at me, or maybe it was none of the above and I just needed something to prove to myself he was real and I wasn’t completely out of my mind just yet.

“What’s your name?” I found myself whispering. Upon all the things I wanted to ask, I asked the silliest and as I realized how weird it would feel for him, I hunched my shoulders in a poor attempt to make myself small and, luckily, disappear inside myself.

The boy tilted his head to the side but kept smiling down on me. He reached out his hand and I quickly took it into mine, quite eager to feel the contact of his skin on mine.

“Kim Taehyung, nice to meet you.”

It’s hard to say how me and Taehyung fell into our peculiar routine: two strangers sitting together on a bench, studying the world around them with nice music playing in their ears.

That night, when my hand enclosed his warm one, I felt an inexplicable spark of electricity running through my body and, ever since, I started feeling this sort of pull of his soul on my own.

It almost felt like I was constantly orbiting around him, too close to pull away yet too far away to actually merge with him.

Taehyung was novelty and distraction for me, he could take away the bad thoughts and sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he could even make me smile. I relished in his presence on a daily basis and I ended up anchoring myself to him as if he was a lifesaver.

Weeks had passed since our very first encounter but sometimes they felt like entire years. We spent most of the days together and when I wasn’t with him or talking to him, I was thinking about him.

Kim Taehyung, 25 years old and very talented photographer, became the center of my entire world.

I had never seen him in the neighborhood despite the fact that we lived relatively close and a part of me wondered if we really didn’t meet before or, rather if I simply never noticed him before. Like I never noticed many other things.

Our encounter, just like everything in life, had been a coincidence made possible by many strings in our lives pulling in the same direction.

I lost my job and he took a vacation from his own. It was something dictated by casualty, of course, but the more I spent my time with him, the more I was convinced it was all written in the stars.

What amazed me about Taehyung was his kindness, the gentle way in which he spoke and explained his beautiful point of view in things, and most importantly his extraordinary ability to understand me with a quick look of his eyes.

Taehyung could see the world under a different light, I understood that quite immediately and maybe to be a good photographer you do need empathy and good idea on people but, every time something was up in my mind and he’d understand without me needing to say anything, I was still impressed.

For my entire life, I had struggled to speak up my inner thoughts, too afraid to give voice to them, too afraid of confrontation and judgment.

Yoongi had been the man pushing me out of my comfort zone constantly, he was the one that encouraged me and supported me at all times and I loved that but, then, I found Taehyung and I didn’t need to force my self out of my shell, he just needed to look at me and, just like that, my thoughts were clear to him. It was refreshing and in a time where my mental health was very poor, I relished in how safe he always made me feel.

That day we were sitting inside a coffee shop, seeking refuge from the bristling cold wind and, like many other times, my eyes were trained on the street outside, observing the frantic coming and going of people.

Taehyung was sitting across from me, his eyes always following my gaze to try and see the world through my eyes. I could always feel his gaze on me or the way he would tilt his head to the side, following my eyes to look right at what I was looking at.

At that moment, I was looking up at the leaden sky, a sigh pending on my lips as I was expecting rain to fall on the streets at any given moment consequently pushing my mood even lower. I quickly realized that it’s true what they say: the weather really does impact our mental health.

Just as if on cue, the rain started pouring down in big drops all over the neighborhood and the poor running-for-cover people that were caught in it without an umbrella and were trying to save their clothes from getting soaked.

The sound of clothes rustling was what gathered my attention and just as I was about to turn towards Taehyung, I heard the familiar shutter sound of his camera.

A little smile stretched on my lips as my eyes fixed on him as he was looking at the pictures he just took of me.

It was not the first time Taehyung had taken a photo of me while I was distracted and at first, I didn’t like it much because even though the pictures were always beautiful to look at, I hated the way my face looked permanently sad in all of them.

I knew even back then that if I were to ask him to show me his photo, after the nice lightning and the cut of the picture I would have been quick to pick up on how my eyes looked dead, void. It was a recurring theme in his pictures of me and, albeit them being objectively gorgeous, seeing my sadness and my sense of loss so nicely depicted on the screen broke my heart a little more every single time.

Which is why, that time, I didn’t ask him to show it to me.

“How are you calling this one?” I decided to ask, instead, focusing more on the artistry behind the picture than the subject itself.

Taehyung smiled and looked up to me, humming a little as he thought it through.

“I think I’ll call it ‘Sonder’, do you like that?”

“Sonder?”

He hummed and tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixing on the clouds up in the sky.

“I read this beautiful word somewhere the other day. It’s supposed to describe the feeling you get when you realize all these people around you have a complex life just like your very own. To you, they are just passersby but they have families and friends, they have problems and jobs and thoughts of their own in which you are just a passerby as well.”

Taehyung shrank in his shoulders, his bottom lip suddenly trapped under his teeth and he looked up at me nervously almost as if he were a puppy caught doing something wrong.

“You told me you like to watch people on the streets and make stories for them,” he said, looking quite embarrassed by his own words as he studied my expression.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, smiling at him as I took into consideration his words. Sonder, was that what I felt that day when I first met him? That feeling of both dread and amazement that hit me once I realized the world didn’t orbit around me any longer?

“Why did you sit next to me that day?” I suddenly asked, my thoughts circling back to the very first time I met him. The question had been pending on my lips for weeks, and then, I had finally gathered the courage to voice it out.

Taehyung exhaled loudly, shutting off his camera to put it away and give me his undivided attention.

“You looked sad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper and sounding sweet and warm like hot chocolate, “I thought you could use some company, even if it was in the form of a stranger sitting next to you.”

“Oh,” my eyebrows knitted together as my hands started to warm up around my half-filled cup of hot coffee, “Then... why didn’t you say anything?”

It felt stupid asking these questions then, when we already knew a lot of each other, when I had started considering him my closest friend, even, but there was this part of me that feared that our friendship had blossomed out of pity and that part of me would have been crushed if that were to be the case.

“I doubt you would have wanted that...” he looked down at his own hands and hummed to himself, “I wasn’t even sure you’d want me there sitting next to you and I didn’t want to intrude too much... I just wanted to make you feel like you weren’t alone.”

His voice and his kindness almost brought tears to my eyes and I found myself sending a silent ‘thank you’ to the heavens that had made it possible for me to find Kim Taehyung in this world. Or rather, for him to find me in my darkest hour.

Taehyung reached for one of my hands across the table and I let him take it into his own, relishing in how comforting and warm it felt when his thumb caressed the back of my hand.

I let out a bitter laugh, recalling how I had cried right in front of him that night and his grasp on my hand seemed to tighten at the sound.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How stupid I must have looked crying alone in the streets under the rain.”

“You didn’t look stupid to me, just... lost.” His voice was soft and it warmed my heart — something that seemed to happen a lot whenever Taehyung talked to me.

“I was very lost... I still am.”

Taehyung hummed a little and then smiled sweetly at me with that pureness shining in his eyes that could make my heart melt and pump faster in my chest every single time.

“You may be, but being lost sometimes is not the worst thing in the world,” he said, his eyes fixing on our intertwined fingers, “I’ve been lost many times before and at first it’s scary but I think that when you’re lost, that’s when you actually get to know yourself better.”

I shrank in my shoulders, shaking my head a little because I genuinely doubted that would turn out to be the case for me. I had never been extremely talented in pretty much anything, I had always been average at best in some aspects of my work life and I always had to work twice as much as everybody else to achieve the same goals.

“I don’t know... I’m not a talented person, I was never even a dreamer to be honest, I just wanted a very good job, that’s all.”

Maybe at some point, I did have a dream and that was to be on the top of the food chain in terms of work and position but even that one, it never felt like a genuine dream but more like a need to prove myself and my worth to everyone else out there.

“You can’t know that. I had no idea I was good at photography until I picked a camera for the first time and started experimenting with it.”

He always gave me those encouraging smiles whenever he talked to me and they always made me believe in myself a little more every time. Taehyung was like a magic mending potion for my shattered heart.

“Also, who said we all have to have these big dreams? Who says we have to achieve a career that is supposedly good in the eyes of our society? We are allowed to simply dream about being happy in our lives, whatever we end up doing.”

Taehyung started caressing my knuckles with his thumb, knowing all-too-well that that was a touchy subject for me. He was always so careful with me in both the way he touched me and the way he spoke to me. I was like this delicate and fragile porcelain doll he was scared to break if he stared at me for too long.

“It’s your life, _______, you should live it however you want it without caring about what anybody else thinks of you. As long as you’re happy then, fuck everybody else!”

Sometimes Taehyung talked like an old wise man and it always made me smile because he was young, just like me, yet he could give some of the greatest advice I had ever heard.

“I guess,” I said in a whisper and he smiled again, releasing my hands with a contented nod of his head.

“Do you want to listen to some music?” He asked a few moments later, already pulling out his phone and his most precious possession after his camera: his headphones.

The smile returned on my lips as I nodded my head yes and he was quick to come and sit next to me, sharing his headphones with me so that we could both relish in the sweet melody humming in your ears.

It was my favorite song in his collection and it was the one I had heard that very first time I met him, sitting on the bench next to him.

“Did you turn on the music hoping I would hear it, that day?” I asked all of a sudden and he turned his head towards you with a sheepish smile on his lips.

He hummed a little, biting down his bottom lip as he pondered his next words.

“I used to be hurt a lot by my peers in school, I was a really sensitive kid,” he explained, fixing his eyes on the white table, “My mother used to lift up my mood with music whenever I was sad. She would hum some relaxing tune in my ears until I would calm down and... it worked every single time.”

I stared at him as he poured out this confession unknown to me so far. I knew his mother had passed away a few years ago so I never really asked about her, fearing to cut open a wound not fully healed yet.

His voice was bitter as he recalled those sweet memories and I recognized immediately the feeling lingering between each syllable he pronounced. It was longing.

“I still listen to music when I’m sad or upset,” he continued, forcing himself to smile, “I guess it’s a habit that stuck with me,” his laugh sounder bitter then and I felt my heart break for him because I wanted to take all of his sadness away but, sadly, I could not. Taehyung to me had turned into a bright star in the darkest night and whenever his light deemed, even if for a short moment, my heart seemed to shatter at the sight. If I could have chosen to protect only one person on Earth from then on until the end of times, it would have been him even back then.

“I thought maybe it could soothe you too, just like it does with me.” He finished off with a little shrug of his shoulders and I knew it was to dismiss the bad feelings clutching his heart.

“Thank you,” I said, even though I would have loved to say more and I would have loved to hear more about his mother.

“You don’t need to thank me, _______, I didn’t do anything special...”

“You did. You were the only one that noticed me or at least, the only one that cared about me even though I was a stranger to you.” I tilted my head to the side and nudged his shoulder with my own, planting a smile on my lips to bring back up his blinding one.

“But that’s not the only reason why I’m thanking you.”

Taehyung looked at me, his expression rather oblivious and it was something nice to look at. For once, I had managed to surprise him with the flow of my thoughts.

“Thank you for telling me about your mother.”

He smiled down at me and nodded his head, unable to find the right words to say out loud to explain the feelings residing in his heart but he really didn’t need to, I already knew everything. Understanding Taehyung was starting to become easier and easier with each passing day and without me even realizing it, I was slowly becoming able to read him like a book, just like he could do with me.

I scooted closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes in contentment as I started to lose myself inside the familiar tune of what I had started considering as our song.

My eyes closed for a second and I took in all the air I could muster before sighing loudly, my gaze fixing back on Taehyung’s frame as he walked away from me, step after step until I couldn’t see him anymore.

It had been months since our first encounter and at that time, the little equilibrium I had found was being tested for the first time.

It was something I knew was going to happen, eventually. Taehyung was leaving for Japan and he was going to be out of reach for a whole week and the sole thought scared me to no end.

I knew it wasn’t right to lean on so much on another human being, I knew I couldn’t expect him to always be there for me whenever I needed him and yet, I was simply not prepared to be on my own again just yet.

My heart sank in my chest with every step he took and when I watched the plane get up in the sky and successfully bring him far away from me, I found myself crying like an idiot in the middle of the airport.

His words kept ringing in my ears and I tried to anchor myself on them, trying to remember that he was only one phone call away.

I inhaled loudly again, trying to calm myself and force my legs to move and bring me back to my place or even on the streets, just anywhere but there.

I was trying to remember how I used to be able to be all alone every day. Before Yoongi came into my life I had no friends, my parents were very busy with work every day and the hours I didn’t spend at school were spent in complete loneliness and back then, I didn’t mind it at all, in fact, I kinda loved it.

But then Yoongi came and changed everything for me and now, years later and with no work to distract myself, I was simply unable to be completely alone with my own thoughts.

The thought of Yoongi made me reach for my phone inside my pocket and I was a heartbeat away from actually dialing his phone number like I had been on the verge of doing for the past week or so.

There was this urge in me I had been fighting since the moment I lost my job and everyday that passed after it, resisting it was harder and harder and in that moment, without my anchor next to me, the pull seemed to be stronger than ever.

I missed Yoongi, I had missed him ever since that night I let him get out of my life and I knew it was selfish to even think about trying to get back into his life but I still couldn’t stop my mind from going there. I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be his again or even what my life would have been like by then if that night, instead of refusing him I would have made a completely different choice.

I sighed and locked my phone again, shaking my head as I pushed the thought back again. It was not fair for him. I was the one that broke his heart once, not the other way around, and I had no right to toy with his feelings again, especially not when everything came from a dark place. I knew that I was choosing him then because, at that point, the reason that was holding me back before was gone and not because I had genuinely changed my mind.

I also knew that if the situation had been reversed, Yoongi would have made a different choice than me that night because he loved me enough to even give up his own career for me. Something that I hadn’t been ready to do and, quite frankly, I probably would have never been inclined to do.

I was selfish and I felt guilty for what I did every single day and, worse, I was scared about not being able to control myself one day and actually cave in to the desire of hearing his voice, seeing his face, be embraced by his hug.

I wandered about the city alone until darkness fell on the streets and my body was so tired there was no chance in hell I wouldn’t easily fall asleep that night.

My home was silent as usual as I stepped back into its confinement, the lights dim as I moved across the corridor to reach the kitchen and prepare myself some tea to sip on while watching, or pretend to, some TV.

Yoongi was still a present thought in my head that night as my phone rang loudly next to me. There was this fraction of a second where I thought, and wished even, that it was him calling me.

Of course, it wasn’t. But a smile spread on my face nonetheless because it was Taehyung and he was bound to make everything better, as always.

“Hey there, stranger,” I said, forcing my voice to sound as bright as possible.

“How are you doing?” He asked and despite his effort, he wasn’t really good at concealing the concern laced in his words.

“I’m ok, I was about to go to sleep... how did the flight go?”

“It’s been nice, I guess, you know I get bored easily,” he said, chuckling a little to lighten up his own mood.

“The crew for this shoot is amazing though, and the concept we are going to shoot is so fun I wish you could see the incredible scenery they have set for us.”

“Ah, make sure to take some photos for me, though!”

He hummed and then silence fell between us and usually it wouldn’t really be a problem but, that night, it feels heavy and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” he said after a while, taking it upon himself to break the ice. At that moment, I truly hated myself for doing this to him. He shouldn’t have been feeling guilty about his job, about living his life. I wasn’t his responsibility and I surely wasn’t a little kid who couldn’t be left alone, despite my actions lately may have suggested otherwise.

“Don’t, Taehyung. It’s your job and I’m going to be ok.” My voice was stern, way more than I intended it to be but it felt as if I had to be harsh on him in order to ease his mind.

And maybe, I thought, if I say it strongly enough I will believe them myself.

“Don’t worry too much about me, ok?”

He stayed silent for a moment and when he sighed, I could imagine him nodding his head while sporting a not-so-convinced expression on his face.

“Ok, but call me if you need me. You can still count on me, even if I’m physically away, ok?”

“Yes, dad, I will,” I laughed at my own joke and he followed suit, albeit it sounding bitter and the sound put at ease my own heart as well.

The call ended up there and as I lied down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I started thinking about this situation being positive for me. It was indeed a test for myself but maybe it could help a great deal in the long run. I desperately needed to be my own anchor again, just like it used to be before Yoongi came along.

For a few days, everything seemed to be smooth and my mental health was not better but at least steady. And then, one night, the bad thoughts came again uncalled for and spurring out of absolutely nothing at all.

All I wished for, at that moment, were Taehyung’s arms around me and his soft voice whispering in my ears.

With trembling hands, I dialed his number and as soon as he picked up, I realized I shouldn’t have done that. I could hear music in the background and I was quick to pick up on the fact that he was probably out with his colleagues, enjoying his life a little.

I shouldn’t have made that call, I knew it but all it took for Taehyung to understand me was me taking in a shaky breath.

He called my name softly, affection and concern mingling together in his voice. Maybe it was that mix or maybe it was the guilt but as soon as I heard his voice, I started crying.

I felt awful, vulnerable and useless and most importantly so fucking selfish.

“I’m sorry, Tae,” I whimper out, closing my eyes while shaking my head. I was ashamed and disgusted with myself and the more those type of thoughts entered my mind, the worst I felt.

“Hey, hey, don’t apologize. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I don’t know.... the usual?”

Sometimes something triggered the bad thoughts, sometimes my crisis had an actual motive behind it but, sometimes, there was simply nothing wrong and I just feel like absolute shit and it infuriated me because at that moment, there was no fucking reason to be sad. And yet, there I was, crying and unable to help myself.

In a way, I found it fitting that I had to go through all of that. There had been a time in my life when I didn’t understand, when I thought that people that said they were depressed were simply being lazy or wallowing in self-pity instead of reacting, being strong and move on. I didn’t have a single clue those years back and then, I could finally understand all of them. I deserved it, for being a terrible person. That’s what I thought.

Taehyung hummed in the receiver because he could understand. He knew that sometimes, there is no reason and that is ok because it is not something anyone can control nor decide.

I thought I could fight it on my own, I thought that if I screamed to myself that I should react, that I should stand on my feet and simply keep moving on it would go away. That night, of course, I was proved wrong again.

“_______,” his voice was as sweet as sugar as he called my name and I hummed in response, my body tensing as I feared his next words because a part of me already knew what they were going to be, “You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, Tae.”

“Yes, so you won’t hate me even if I say something you don’t want to hear, deal?”

I couldn’t answer that because if I did, I would have prompted him to speak those dreadful words I really didn’t want to hear.

But of course, there was not a chance I could ever start hating Taehyung, especially not when he was just trying to be a good friend.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but I want you to know that it comes from a place of love and I will be there all the steps of the way, you understand?”

“Tae...”

“________, I hate to hear you like this, I hate to see your eyes get sad and I hate to see you cry or know that you’re in pain and not being able to help you. I wish I had all the answers and the ability to make it all go away but I don’t. But there are people out there that can, there are professionals that can help you better than I can and I want you to get better, not for me or the society or whatever, I want you to be happy for yourself.”

Tears were flowing on my cheeks harder than ever and I found myself unable to respond because there was a lump in my throat trying to strangle me and for just one second, I wish it could.

I didn’t know why I felt so ashamed by the idea of therapy yet, I did. Maybe that was a token of society too, just like everything else.

Maybe it had to do with having to admit that I wasn’t strong enough to do this all by myself when I was taught all my life that I needed to be in order to succeed in life.

I didn’t know but it hurt to admit that I needed help, that I wasn’t enough to save myself and even if I knew all along, admitting it out loud and to a stranger felt like setting it in stone.

Of course, Taehuyng was right, I knew that and deep down, I knew it even before he mentioned it.

“I’ll think about it.”

My response wasn’t a definitive yes but it wasn’t a strong no either and that, for me, turned out to be the turning point of my life.

They say, after all, that admitting you need help is the first step towards recovery.

Ten days had passed since Taehyung had returned from Japan and I had never been more relieved in my life to see someone’s face before. The week we spent apart was neither heaven nor hell but rather a limbo studded with ups and downs.

Still, I felt somewhat proud of myself for overcoming it and with that blissful feeling of accomplishment, I turned to seek the help of a professional, just like Taehyung had suggested a couple of times.

Finding a therapist was not an easy task and not even a pleasant one. Seeking help equals to admitting that something is not working inside of you and the idea of admitting it out loud still frightened me beyond rationality.

Sometimes when I was home alone, looking through a list of names that meant absolutely nothing to me, I thought a lot about giving it up. There was this toxic thought playing in my head like a mantra: if I ignore this long enough, it will probably go away.

But of course, that wasn’t true at all. You can’t ignore an elephant stuck in a small room and expect it to shrink on itself and disappear on its own accord.

It was during the very first days of spring that I woke up one morning, sun shining up in the sky and, on a whim, I took that list of contacts and ringed the first name that sounded nice on my lips.

The voice of the secretary had made me jump, almost as if I didn’t actually expect someone to pick up the call and, before I knew it, I had an appointment scheduled by the end of the week.

My very first session was awkward.

I spent the entire hour sitting on a comfortable white couch while torturing my own hands in nervousness as I tried to speak up my thoughts to the stranger sitting in front of me.

My therapist, Kwon Yuri, was a beautiful woman gifted with a sweet voice and a reassuring smile able to ease up my heart as I tried to open up to her.

She was very gifted at her job, I could tell that from the very first moment I walked inside the room.

I was anxious, scared out of my mind and I felt on edge during the entire hour but, without even realizing it, I kept talking the whole time about all the things that came up to my mind just to avoid the awkward silence that would have arrived the moment I’d stop talking.

When I walked out of her studio that day, I felt like some of the weight I usually carried around had been lifted from my chest.

I had been lucky to find someone that suited me right on the first try and I was relieved and happy and proud of myself for taking that very first step and that day, I gingerly walked home, ready to call Taehyung and tell him all about my first experience with the therapist after sending him a quick text on my way out of the building.

I still remember how excited I was for something finally turning right in my life after losing my job and I still remember how genuine the smile on my lips had been for the first time in months.

I remember because that day turned out to be the worst one of my life.

When I walked in front of my door that day I had no idea of the storm that was about to come crashing on me.

The white envelope nicely lying on the floor was the first omen that shattered my frail happiness, scattering it across the ground in thousands of pieces I already knew I wouldn’t be able to put together on my own after.

There was a part of me that knew immediately, out of instinct. And then, there was the other part that refused to believe it and needed a proof that it was all real and not another fruit of my own imagination.

My fingers were quivering as I reached down to grab the envelope and to open it, my heart beating frantically in my chest.

I felt the blood draining from my face as soon as my eyes landed on the elegant cursive printed black over the white thick paper.

The words sliced my heart like letters engraved on a tombstone and they soon disappeared, covered by a veil of hot tears I had neither the capacity nor the will to stop from flowing out.

I still had some hope left in my heart that I could get him back, there had been this fairy tale scene playing in my head every time I thought about meeting him again, talking to him and making him mine anew and at that moment, everything came crumbling down and I was presented with the harsh reality.

I wanted Yoongi to be happy, I really did, but I always wanted him to be happy with me. It made me sick to know that I had thrown him away for nothing and it made me even sicker to know that I couldn’t be genuinely happy for him even then after he was free and out of my life for good.

This is why I don’t deserve happiness, that was the thought that kept playing in my head like a riff from a popular song. In the span of a second, all the little progress I had made in those months and in that afternoon alone were nullified.

Days upon days to achieve a step forward and a millisecond to be thrown a thousand steps back.

I suddenly couldn’t feel my hands around the white piece of paper and as soon as I realized that, they started quivering beyond control and my mind went completely blank. I needed to get out of that hall, of the building, of the entire street. I just needed out.

The card fell from my hands and I turned on my heels, running away from it and from everything it represented, almost hoping that if I left it behind maybe the pain wouldn’t follow me down the street, around the corner and ultimately up to his house.

I ran like my life depended on it and in the span of a few minutes I was frantically knocking on Taehyung’s door, desperation filling my heart and mind.

As soon as the door pried open, revealing a baffled Taehyung behind its frame, I fell completely apart.

Strong arms were quick to engulf me and I lost myself in his embrace, face pressed flushed on his chest as he dragged my trembling frame inside his house.

“What’s wrong? You were fine ten minutes ago...” Taehyung’s voice was barely above a whisper on top of my head and even though he tried to sound calm and unaffected, he couldn’t conceal how worried and confused he was as I cried my heart out in his embrace.

I wanted to tell him everything but the lump in my throat didn’t allow me to speak and nothing but strangled sobs seemed to come out of my trembling lips.

Seconds stretched into long minutes full of tears and shaky breaths and as my friend kept me there with him, trying to distract me from my own thoughts, I kept sinking further and further inside the darkest recesses of my mind.

In that far away place there was no hope, no happiness, no future. Because I didn’t deserve any of those things.

“Hey, hey, stay with me, _______.”

Taehyung released me from his hug to cup my cheeks and look inside my eyes but still, I couldn’t focus on him at all. I was lost inside myself without having a single clue how to get out of that terrifying labyrinth and meet him on the other side.

I could hear my own breathing getting labored, I could feel the way my body started to seek oxygen and how my limbs suddenly seemed to turn into clay.

It felt like my heart was literally about to explode inside my chest and my ears were buzzing loudly, covering almost entirely Taehyung’s voice. For a moment, I thought I was going to die there and then.

“I can’t breathe,” I finally uttered, my hands trying to find purchase on his shoulders, his shirt, literally anything that could keep me standing and I could tell he was scared out of his mind because he had no idea what to do to calm me down.

“I know, you’re having a panic attack,” he said, his voice slow and as relaxed as possible. His face looked soothing and calm but his eyes, oh his eyes were so beyond terrified and so was I. I was scared of everything but mostly, of my own spiraling thoughts.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his forehead coming in contact with my own, “Just focus on me, ______.”

His words somehow breached through my erratic mind and I stared at him, at his beautiful eyes, and I pushed all the thoughts away, trying to sweep away my consciousness inside the onyx tint of his irises.

The silence enveloped us, broken only by my erratic breath and as I stared at him, eyes red and still flowing with tears, I finally mustered the courage to say the words out loud and make it all real.

“Yoongi is getting married,” I said it all at once, in a strangled whisper that ripped through my heart with the force of a hurricane.

The pain was immeasurable, every single fiber of my body felt tense and tired and like it didn’t belong to me any longer.

“It’s ok, it’s going to be ok, I promise, ______, you’ll get through this,” Taehyung voice was still soft, a low hum that had always been able to soothe me before but that night, everything just felt so hopeless and pointless. “We’ll get through this, together.”

Taehyung fingers felt like towers around me, my sole shelter from the cold and cruel world. His touch was delicate on my skin as always but that night for the first time, I actually felt like my skin had turned paper thin and my bones as frail as wood burned down to ash and it made me wonder if it was possible to be destroyed even by the gentlest of touches or, even, if it was possible to die out of nothing but pain.

Taehyung lips were on my head, kissing my hair and skin to keep me there with him, anchored in the moment without drifting away again, too far for him to reach me.

I don’t know how it happened but at some point, my heart rate started turning slower and my breath less shallow, guided by his deep voice, humming the familiar tune that brought us together in the first place.

If Taehyung had thought about the fact that I should have called Yuri before running to him, he never said anything that night nor the days after and I was as grateful then as I still am now.

We both knew that at that time, I couldn’t handle saying those words out loud again.

The silence that fell between us was nice and I didn’t try to avoid it or fill it with empty words but rather, I relished in its presence and the peace that seemed to bring to my still rattled mind.

It felt like someone had suddenly turned off the power inside of me and all that I had left to feel was, well, nothing at all.

I drank some water as Taehyung wanted me to, I took a warm bath he prepared for me and then I slipped inside one of his clean pajamas that smelt exactly like him and crawled inside his bed without realizing I was doing any of these things.

His arms around me and the calm beating of his heart under my ear, as I pressed my head against his chest, were the things that lulled me to sleep that night.

Incredibly, there were no nightmares that night, no bad thoughts following me in my sleep, no nothing.

Maybe, thinking about it now, that’s when it all started, without me even realizing it.

Or maybe it all started the moment he grabbed my hand for the first time.

I don’t know how or when I fell in love with him, I just know that one day it seemed to happen at random and all at once.

Spring had been a turning point in my life that year. It started with my heart breaking in thousand pieces and it ended with me coming back to life, slowly but surely rebuilding my self-confidence and my love for life itself.

After that one night cradled inside Taehyung’s arms with no hope for the future, I struggled to go back to what normal represented for me back then but, with his help, I kept moving forward.

During the day I could do well, distracting myself with my current hobby of looking at people, I could spend the mornings or the afternoons with him or cleaning up my house as a way to stop my brain from ever going there.

The nights were harder. Everything looks scarier and bigger and more hopeless when the light is out and shadows dance on your walls and inside your heart.

But I kept fighting, not really for my self but mostly for Taehyung.

I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to bring some peace to his heart because I knew, even if he never said anything, that he was constantly worried about me and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to taint his soul and dim his light with my darkness.

So I kept trying, I kept going to Yuri for counsel and therapy and after a while, it all seemed to move in the right direction.

I was constantly scared, though. Every time I felt even a little bit happy I was terrified of what would happen next to take it all away again.

My moments of happiness were always very brief because laced with fear every single time but, after weeks, I started to let my guard down, I started to believe that maybe God could be magnanimous even on me that didn’t really deserve to be cut some slack. But I was miraculously granted that peace of heart and mind after a while and I knew I had Taehyung and Yuri to thank for all of that.

During that period of time, I finally gathered the courage to tell everything to my parents after so many months.

It had been deteriorating to hide everything from them but at the same time, it had been part of my initial strength. I could never bear the thought of disappointing them nor the thought of going back home with my tail between my legs.

I was strong enough after those many months spent next to Taehyung and coming clean felt liberating.

That was the period where I started to laugh and smile again and meaning all of it. Was starting to feel careless again and like I could enjoy life a little and at night, when I was alone and not thinking about Yoongi and his marriage approaching, I felt grateful about everything. Even the bad things that happened to me because those things, made me realize how many important parts of my life I had been letting go.

Those hardships were turning into my own strengths and after talking with Yuri, I started looking out for jobs again.

It wasn’t easy to start back from scratch but she helped me every step of the way. It was ok not to find a good job immediately, it was ok to fail some interviews and it was ok to turn down some offers because I didn’t feel comfortable with what was required of me.

That day I was sitting inside a new coffee shop, waiting for Taehyung with a glass of iced tea in my hands and hope inside my heart.

The place was bright and had a nice view on the streets outside, just like how I liked it, and it smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. The music was soft and so were the voices of the other customers relaxing all around me.

My lips were stretched into a smile as I took in as many people as possible. There were kids still in their uniforms, hanging out together before going home to study some more, there were couples taking pictures and whispering to themselves, there were colleagues enjoying a break from work.

The bell at the door ringed and I turned my head just in time to see Taehyung, standing there with the most blinding smile ever, walking towards me.

His hair was blonde at that time and he used to part it a little in the middle so that it wouldn’t cover his eyes nor his eyebrows.

He looked like the sun himself in his white buttoned t-shirt and simple jet black pants and it was during that period that I started to realize my heart liked to somersault in my chest whenever my eyes landed on him.

He sat across from me grinning from ear to ear and I could feel the heat reaching my face under his scrutiny. It was weird, realizing what my body was telling me back then.

I had felt nothing but friendship for Taehyung in the past six months but at some point down the road, everything started to shift.

That was the first day I thought to myself: I’m in love with him.

“So? How did it go?!”

Taehyung beamed at me, his eyes looking at me expectantly as he reached for my hands to interlaced them with his own.

I was suddenly reminded why we were meeting in that place and my smile deepened, encouraged by the pride blooming in my heart.

“I got it! Tomorrow it’s my first day of work!”

Taehyung had jumped on his feet to come and hug me at the other end of the table and I didn’t care that people were looking at us or that it looked very awkward when I was still sitting, unsure on where to put my hands exactly.

It felt wonderful, it felt normal.

That had been my new dream in the past months: find a job I might actually enjoy and that won’t pressure me in being the absolute best.

I had found this job application for a concierge in one of the most luxurious hotels in town.

I had been into hotel management my entire life: my parents owned a small one back in Daegu, I had taken my degree in college and I had worked in the PR team of a great company that owned half of the most famous hotels in the entire country.

I didn’t have a lot of experience when it came down to the concierge position and I went in the interview without expecting much but, eventually, I got in and I was over the moon with joy.

It was a fresh start, a new opportunity and it was also a dream come true.

Back when I came into the city I had wanted to be the very best, I had wanted to achieve being on top of that great company that had thousands of hotels under its management and I wanted it because I thought that was going to be the position that was going to validate me to the whole world.

Many months after I realized that I enjoyed a lot more the human contact that came with being behind a desk inside a hotel.

I loved to talk to people, I loved to study them and understand them and provide them with what they wanted even before they could ask for it.

Working in an office had been like swimming in a tank of sharks and in comparison, my new job promised to be a nice walk in the park with a gentle summer breeze ruffling my hair.

That day marked the first day of my new birth under far more benevolent stars.

The summer breeze was warm against my face but it was still a nice reprieve from the blazing hot weather that afflicted the city that summer.

It was exactly two weeks prior to Yoongi’s wedding but my feelings towards the event had completely changed over the past months.

There was not a single day I didn’t think about him, his marriage, and what it would be like to watch him take another woman as his wife but, at the same time, the bitter thoughts had slowly went away as I found my heart beating faster for someone else.

Still, I counted the days down to the event because I knew that it was going to be another turning point in my life. A moment of closure for both of us, I guess.

I wasn’t going to go to the wedding and I didn’t think Yoongi would have been expecting me to go in the first place. I still think he just wanted to let me know he had moved on and he was happy, something he obviously deserved. As I said, we needed closure and his wedding was definitely going to be one.

It was a Friday evening and the sun was still shining up in the sky, as scorching as ever for at least a couple of hours more, and I was walking down the familiar streets of my neighborhood.

I had walked those steps a thousand times, there wasn’t a single niche of those streets I didn’t know by heart and yet, I could always find something new, something different to notice.

It had been months since I first started working at the hotel and I found out that instead of dying down, my habit of looking at other people and studying them became even stronger. In every corner of the town, there was something to see, something to suggest to other people to go see and try for themselves.

Knowledge about the city and the best places for tourists to go to were quite fundamental in my job and everyone knew I excelled at it.

It was fun thinking about it then but, that one day in the coffee shop with Taehyung when we talked about my dreams and my non-existent talents he had been right. He had said that there would be a path for me, I just didn’t know about it yet.

Everything he said to me turned out to be true: I got better, we went through it all together, I had a new life now and one that I thoroughly enjoyed. I was still seeing Yuri every week for counsel, we all knew that I was doing better but that I wasn’t fully healed yet and that was ok. I had learned that asking for help didn’t make me weak at all, in fact, it only made me stronger.

My heart was content that day and not just because I had a great day at work but mostly because Friday meant movie night with Taehyung and I couldn’t wait to finally see him and relish in his presence.

My feelings were as strong as ever by then but I never dared to speak those out loud, too afraid of a rejection to do so. I loved him, that was clear to me, but I could not lose him over my unrequited feelings, especially not then when I was finally getting better.

So that day, with a full heart and a happy smile on my lips I walked up the stairs that lead to his apartment and let my self in with the spare key he had given to me the morning after my discovery of Yoongi’s wedding.

I found Taehyung sitting in his kitchen, hands in his hair and teeth troubling his bottom lip.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, hesitantly, walking the last few steps that separated us.

Taehyung had always appeared like the sun itself to me and I wasn’t really prepared to see him suffer nor crumble. I felt immediately anxious and concerned for him and it made me wonder how he had managed to stay beside me all those months without ever running away or giving up on me.

“Oh, ______.”

His voice sounded rough like he had been yelling before my arrival.

He looked confused to see me there and my eyebrows knitted with surprise, Taehyung never forgot about movie night, not a single time, and the fact that he had at that moment made me fear something terrible might have happened.

“It’s movie night,” my voice sounded small to my own ears because I suddenly felt like I was intruding in his life too much, even letting myself inside his house instead of knocking at his door and check if I was welcomed in there in the first place.

“Fffuck, I forgot.” Taehyung hissed at himself, shaking his head as he fixed his eyes on the ceiling, probably as baffled as I was that he forgot in the first place.

“It’s ok, we can have a rain check... I’d rather know what has upset you so much, though. Am I allowed to ask?”

“Of course you’re allowed to ask, you’re my best friend.”

I tried to ignore the way my heart shrank as the words best friend left his mouth and I tried to focus on him, for once.

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he started drumming his fingers on the table in clear nervousness.

“Do you remember I told you I had this shoot today for that big brand?” He asked, opening his eyes to fix them back on me and I nodded, encouraging him to explain further.

“Well, my model got sick and canceled like two hours ago or something and I’ve been trying to find someone else to model for me in the meantime but it’s too short of a notice and nobody is bloody available right now.”

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he couldn’t fathom himself how things turned out to be.

“When is the deadline?”

“Tomorrow,” he let out a bitter laugh, his eyes fixed blankly on the wall behind my back, “Serves me right for scheduling this shoot so close to the deadline, uh?”

I hated the way he was being so harsh on himself but I could understand how he was feeling, I had been in that dark place many times before.

I knew how important this deal was to him, it was like a dream coming true and he had just watched it all disappear through his fingers like sand.

“Have you tried asking for a few more days to that company? It wouldn’t be that hard to find a model by tomorrow or even by Sunday, no?”

Taehyung shook his head, fixing his eyes back on my face.

“This was just a preliminary step. It’s like a competition and the best photographer will get to do the actual shooting for them.”

I don’t know how the idea came to me at that time, hell, I didn’t even realize what I was saying before my words were out and hanging in the air.

“Does that mean the photos don’t need to be taken necessarily in a studio?”

“I guess so, why?” Taehyung’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion and, honestly, I was rather confused as well by the course of my own thoughts but the truth is that even back then, I was ready to do anything for him if it would mean granting him happiness.

“Then use me,” I said, in a breath and with my heart beating hard against my ribcage, “All you need is a camera and a model, right? Then I can be your model.”

“_______ ...,” his voice trailed off and he got on his feet, scratching the hair behind his neck.

“I know I’m not as pretty as a model but I won’t be the focus of the pictures anyways, no? We could make this work!” I wanted him to at least try. I couldn’t guarantee him success in his endeavor but I could allow him to say that he had tried, at least.

“No, it’s not that, it’s...” Taehyung diverted his gaze from my face and fixed it behind my back again as if he was struggling to speak the words out loud, “It’s supposed to be a nude photoshoot.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell between us and for a moment I feared he could hear the loud noise of my heart beating so quickly in my chest.

I couldn’t believe it myself when I opened my mouth and spoke my next words but I never regretted them, not even a second after I had said them.

“Ok, I can do that.”

“What? Are... are you sure?”

Taehyung’s eyes were as big as saucers, looking at me like he didn’t know me at all and the sight was so amusing I found myself almost giggling at his expression.

Honestly, I couldn’t even blame him, I was being absurd and completely out of character for myself but I wasn’t going to back up and surrender. For once, I wanted to be the one helping him instead of the other way around.

“Yes, I’m serious.”

All hilarity left me as he nodded his head ‘yes’ a few times, wetting his lips as he kept looking around while trying to think about all the possibilities available for him to make this photoshoot actually work.

In the span of thirty minutes, I had found myself standing in his bedroom, a shining necklace around my neck and my nudity barely concealed by one of his bathrobes.

Taehyung had all sort of things lying around in his apartment and as I was getting ready fixing my own make-up and getting undressed, he had prepared a ring light in front of the bed, nice fresh white covers on the mattress and red petals scattered all over its surface to set the mood for the entire shoot.

Candles were lying around the room creating dancing shadows on the walls in the dim light, adding to the whole sensual vibe that was supposed to come out of the photos.

I gulped down heavily as he turned to look at me while I entered the room.

“Are you sure you really want to do this?”

I noticed the way he was gripping hard his camera, conflicted by the desire to submit his photos in time and the one to protect me.

I nodded my head ‘yes’ a couple of times, taking a few steps forward to stand next to him. I wanted to prove to him that I could be his anchor too, just as he was my very own.

I undid the belt of my bathrobe and stripped naked in front of him, carefully walking towards the bed knowing oh-too-well that his eyes were trained on my exposed body.

When I turned towards him I could see the bright red tint of his cheeks even in the dim light and I couldn’t stop my insides from twitching at the sight.

Taehyung cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away from me for a few seconds to regain his composure.

Following his directives, I lied in that bad that night posing for him in nothing but a necklace and I loved every single second of it.

I loved how he would look at me, how his voice would sound rough at times and I loved to feeling of his hands on me when he helped me adjust my poses so that I could look absolutely perfect on camera.

The hours stretched inside that room until it was dark outside and the fresh wind came to grant reprieve from the scorching temperatures of the day.

Goosebumps gathered on my skin as the cooling air hit my exposed body and I noticed how Taehyung swallowed hard as my nipples perked up under the caress of the breeze.

“I... I think I have enough pictures... you... you should get dressed, we can still watch that movie if you want.”

His voice sounded suddenly small and he moved his gaze away from me, giving me the privacy he thought I needed to get dressed again as if he hadn’t been staring at my naked body for the past few hours.

I was unsure whether I was allowed to pose my next question but there had been this thought in my head ever since he snapped his very first picture of me.

“Tae... can I ask you for a favor?”

Taehyung tilted his head backward, trying to look at me without really looking at me.

“Oh? Sure... anything.”

“Would you take a picture of me? I mean... one that you would artistically take if I were a model?”

I must have truly seemed like a stranger to him that night, coming up with all sort of things I never showed signs of being willing nor interested in doing before.

But Taehyung was never the type of person to turn down the offer of taking pictures of people so it didn’t come as a surprise to me that he agreed to my sudden request.

His face seemed tight with nervousness all of a sudden but his voice was still gentle as always as he directed my body again, adjusting the angles of my legs and arms the way he wanted them to be like.

I looked at him the entire time, unable to pry my eyes off of him when he was so absorbed inside his own world.

I wanted that picture because I wanted to forget about all those he had taken in the past months depicting me as this permanently sad girl. I wanted my rebirth to be immortalized as much as my downfall had been and most importantly, I wanted to see myself the way he saw me.

The picture he took for me that night was absolutely gorgeous and a pretty stark difference compared to the ones he had taken before.

I was happy, I felt accomplished and proud of myself and as I stared down at his photo, I spoke the words that changed our relationship forever.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!”

“Yes, you’re gorgeous.”

It was evident that it slipped out of his mouth and that he didn’t mean to say that out loud. I watched the color drain from his face and a panic expression morphing his features as he turned in my direction while the words hanged in the air between us.

“Tae...”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Tae, don’t apologize I’m-”

“We-we are friends, I know that and I didn’t mean to cross a line or to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, Tae, let me talk, I’m-”

“I-I will go in the living room so you can change, ok?”

He wouldn’t let me talk, too panicked and lost in his own trail of thoughts to stop and actually listen to what I had to say.

“Kim Taehyung!”

He moved past me, turning his back on me to escape the room as fast as he possibly could.

“I’m in love with you, you bloody idiot!”

I don’t know why I said it like that or why in that exact moment instead of waiting for him to calm down and for my heart to stop beating so erratically but even that sudden confession I never desired to take back, not back then, not ever after.

I watched him turn towards me, his mouth agape as he struggled to make sense of my words and if the moment hadn’t been so serious and my heart hadn’t been on the line and on the verge of auto-combustion, I would have found it almost comical.

“What did you just say?”

“I love you, I’ve been in love with you for months.”

His mouth was on mine before I could even understand what was going on. His camera had been discarded somewhere on the floor and his hands were both on my cheeks, guiding my chin upwards to meet his lips and sigh into his mouth.

I had desired and dreamed about that moment so many times before and reality didn’t fail to live up to my imagination in the slightest.

Taehyung’s kisses were almost desperate as if he had been waiting to do that for ages and then, when he finally had the chance, he couldn’t stop savoring my lips and make them his.

Suddenly, my nudity didn’t feel out of place but, rather, his clothes did and I undressed him as fast as I could, eager to kiss and caress every inch of his naked skin.

Taehyung was lean and toned and absolutely gorgeous and the way he looked at me in those moments, as I couldn’t pry my eyes off of him, made fire spark within me.

There was a burning passion shining in his eyes that reflect my very own and, truthfully, I couldn’t believe it was all because of me. I would have never thought, even in my most unrealistic dreams that my feelings for him mirrored his very own for me.

My body lied in his bed once again that night but, then, his own body was on top of mine, stroking every part of me like he wanted to claim it as his own, like he wanted to memorize every inch of my skin to perfection.

His hands felt like heaven on my supple flesh and his tongue felt scorching hot against the turgid buds on my chest.

I couldn’t help the sighs that left my mouth with every single one of his ministrations and my heart completely exploded in my chest as he whispered those desired words in my ears while his hands descended to my sex.

“I love you, ______.”

His digits moved with utter precision on my mound, drawing figures eight on my clitoris as he lavished my neck with his gorgeous mouth.

I had never felt as desired as at that moment, with Taehyung claiming every part of me as if he was afraid this was all a dream he was bound to wake up from.

One of his fingers slipped inside of me with ease, then, as I whimpered his name in need and it was welcomed by my aroused sex quite eagerly.

He grunted against my neck, biting down the skin at the sensation of my juices nicely coating his finger.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, ______.”

I had no idea Taehyung’s voice could sound so low and passionate during sex and I certainly had no idea the effect that could have on my body nor the response it was going to give to him as he whispered my name again whilst curling his digit inside of me.

I felt another one of his fingers intrude my sex and I arched my back for him, silently pleading him to give me more and make me come undone.

My sex was dripping profusely for him and soon the squelching sounds of my own arousal started filling the room alongside with my strangled whimpers and his low hums of appreciation.

His fingers felt heaven-sent and I was totally unprepared for the feeling of three of them inside of me, scissoring and curling without hesitation, perfectly guided by my sounds of approval.

I came for him for the first time that night with my mouth morphed to spell out his name and my hands tightly grasping the wrist responsible for my release.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” I said a few moments after between our long kisses, successfully making him grunt in anticipation.

He had been evidently hard for a long time and a part of me suspected he had started growing hard little by little since he had started taking pictures of my naked body.

His cock jumped out of his boxers as he dragged them down for me, finally releasing himself from his confinement.

If the angry red tip was anything to go by, I bet he had been dying the entire night to come on the bed and fuck me. The thought of his trying to conceal his desires the whole time and the way he was presenting to me at that moment only seemed to add more fuel to the fire burning inside of me.

I opened my legs wider for him, welcoming him inside my arms as he stared down at me, his eyes boring into mine as he aligned himself with my sex whilst teasing my entrance with his tip, nicely coating it with both my arousal and my orgasm.

His eyes were still on mine as he pushed himself inside of me for the very first time.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” the strangled moan that left his lips at that moment made my walls contract around him and he closed his eyes, breathing hard on top of my lips as he tried to keep his hips still on top of mine.

My arms circled his neck then, dragging him towards me so I could kiss his heavenly mouth and buckle my hips to encourage him to move inside of me.

First times with a partner had been hardly flawless for me in my experience. It was hard to read each others’ bodies well, it was hard to pick up on what the other liked or wanted but that night, it was all different.

The infinite love residing in my heart made everything feel absolutely perfect. Every sigh and every moan, every single one thrust of his hips and the words he spoke to me felt like utter perfection that night.

His love-making was slow and deep and I could feel every single inch of him claiming my sex over and over again until my legs quivered for him and I came twice as hard as the second time, or the third.

We made love to each other for so long that night I started losing the perception of where my body ended and his started and after we claimed each other up to exhaustion that night, tangled in each others’ bodies and the filthy covers of his bed, we marked the beginning of our beautiful life together.

#btssmutclub #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenario

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Stay Ch. 17

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Violence, death (background character), wee bit of fluff

A/N: Y’all are the most patient readers a writer could ask for. Like you literally just send me nothing but love and support and never get rude or pushy like I know some folks have to deal with. Tbh I feel so lucky to have all of you in my pumpkin patch.

I know it took a while but Budapest... well so many things start happening here and that’s all I’m gonna say.

I hope it was worth the wait!

Tags are open!

January 2008

Budapest was cold as fuck in the winter. Miserably cold. The kind you swear just makes you stupid because you feel sluggish and irritated constantly.

Or… maybe you just tried to convince yourself of that because it would make the absolute shit show this job had spiraled into easier to stomach.

“Hey!” You scream out into the empty corridor from your tight cell. “Y’all won’t get shit outta me if I freeze to death.” Silence is your only answer. You send your sixth sense out to try and find anyone but come back empty. You’re either completely alone or they’re just too far away.

Groaning you huddle against the cold concrete wall, shivering. You were a tough bitch but… three days of this shit with next to no food or water was getting very old… and maybe a smidge more dangerous than you anticipated.

With nothing else to do you run over everything in your brain, hoping backtracking will lead you to some kind of solution.

This gig was low level, small crime syndicate looking for a way to infiltrate their larger rival. Honestly, standard stuff. You took it because you wanted something quick to kill time while you plotted out your next move. The more you dug though, the more you realized the syndicate that hired you was like an iceberg and you were apparently the fucking Titanic.

On the surface they were small, unassuming, nothing immediately indicating danger in any way. Only once you were drowning in the freezing water did you start to see the scope of something much much larger. The rival you were supposed to be looking into had nothing on these guys.

So far you had found threads leading to everything from paramilitary groups in the Balkans to human experimentation and trafficking. Each thread led to something new but what you couldn’t find was who the hell was spinning them. Sure, these groups were good enough to sort of stand on their own but they were far too stable to be doing so. There was a source point somewhere, you just couldn’t fucking find it.

Being able to suss out even the toughest answers was your thing. When you couldn’t it drove you crazy. And maybe it made you a little reckless. If you had been sensible you’d have walked away, or at least just done the job you were paid to do. But no, you couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“And now you’re gonna freeze to death in a fucking cell in Hungary.” You say out loud to no one.

You can see the sunrise through the window at the end of the hall, thankful that you can at least track the time you’ve been here. Your head is foggy from hunger and dehydration. How many days was it before you die from lack of water…

Hours pass and you let yourself drift off, unable to dissect the situation any further. After a bit, you hear someone… running. Your eyes creak open to see a burly man at the door to your cell.

“Get up!” He hisses in heavily accented English.

“Why?” You drawl. This is clearly not the response he was anticipating.

He tosses a black cotton sack into the cell, “Put it on if you want to get out of here. If not I leave you to starve.” You note the gun in the front of his waistband, unsecured.

“I’ll die of dehydration before starvation but,” you slip the sack over your head, “whatever.”

With a grunt, he opens the cell and jerks you to your feet. His fingers dig into the flesh of your upper arm as he pulls you from the cell. Under the hood, a smirk curls your lips.

You raise your hand to your mouth, feigning the sound of a yawn. Then, you blindly reach up for the man’s face. When your fingers feel the stubble you force your power into him. Images flash but you try not to hold them. You don’t give a fuck about his information you just need him down.

He cries out and stumbles to his knees, flinging you away from him. Immediately you rip the sack off your head and spin to face him, his nose is bleeding but he’s not dead. You run at him and land a hard kick to his face, sending him to his back and pluck the gun from his belt. Before he can attempt to regain any balance you fire one shot into his head.

The crackle of a walkie-talkie meets your ears. You fish the device from the dead man’s pocket.

“Heinen?! What’s happening? We need to move now. Where is the asset? Heinen, come in!”

“Cheers, Heinen.”

You have no clue where to go but you can’t just sit here and wait either. Carefully you make your way through the building, all senses on high alert. There are a few other empty cells and some storage rooms. Cautiously you head up a shallow flight of stairs, aware that you could be met with a gun to your head at any moment.

It's quiet… they likely didn’t waste many resources to guard one unsuspecting woman. You can just make out the front of the building, afternoon light streaming brightly through the barred windows when you begin to sense others. They’re outside… blocking your damn exit.

You’re trying to sort out how the hell you’re going to get out of here when something like a small explosion sounds outside. There’s a cacophony of curses from the men. Distant shots meet your ears.

The front door clicks open and three men stumble inside as bullets ping off of the thick glass. Immediately you duck down a short hall and into the doorway of a reeking bathroom.

“How the fuck did they find us!?” One of the men bellows in German.

“Does it fucking matter?! You, go find that lazy fuck Heinen, maybe we can use the woman.”

Over my dead fucking body, you think. The third man grunts something you can’t quite make out and you sink further into the stink.

“Heinen!” He yells out, “You better not be fucking that bitch!” You can’t deny the sick satisfaction that rises in you.

Another small explosion rattles the glass and you try to think of who the hell is firing at these guys. Regardless of who it is you curse them because they are making a shit situation so much fucking worse.

After several minutes you hear the walkie in your pocket crackle. Fuck. Frantically you shut the device off, breath caught in your throat. Suddenly unbothered by the rotten sewer stink you retreat to one of two stalls and press your back against the wall.

You can just barely hear the other two receiving the news that Heinen is dead. A beat passes and one of them, the second man to speak earlier you think, calls out, “Remember alive!” Small victories you guessed. Though… alive could sometimes be worse.

It takes a while for the two men to finally head down the hall to the bathroom. Anxiety and fear swirl in your chest. You let it. The feeling rising, getting worse and worse, threatening to cut off your air supply with panic. You allow yourself think of every terrible thing they could do to you, let yourself be inspired by the things men like them had done to you…

This is still new, still something you’re feeling out, but when the men finally make their way to the bathroom you release your emotions like a wave. An almost numb sense of relief floods your body, your mind crisp and clear.

One of the men begins to wheeze in a panic attack. You peek around the stall as the other man turns to his companion, flustered and unsteady himself. This is the only window you’re going to get. Aiming you fire at the man with his back to you, planting a bullet in his neck.

Gurgling he hits his knees. The other screams, his own emotions mixing with the ones you slammed into him, causing him to truly lose it. You fire as he bolts catching him in the back.

As you stalk out you look down at the man you hit in the neck, flopping like a fish, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. Without a second thought, you kick his head hard to the side. A sick popping noise and he stops moving.

Slowly emotions trickle back into you, your body seems to warm with them, heart starting to pick up a rapid tattoo rather than the calm steady thrum from after your release. Good. This wasn’t over. Once again you try to pull on anything that will make your emotions rise, fears, memories, the whole lot. When a bullet hits the wall beside you, you don’t have to try anymore.

Blindly you fire back down the hall and fling yourself behind a desk. Another shot ricochets of the top and you flinch. Balling up the terror rising in you, once more you force it from your body.

There’s nothing for a moment. You notice the commotion outside seems to have quieted. A muffled sob comes from your left and then the thud of a punch. You don’t dare move.

The sound of shuffling meets your ears. Just barely you lean around the desk. The third man isn’t as offset as the other two had been but he’s certainly dazed. You fire at him and miss. He takes cover and fires back, just barely grazing your arm.

Before you have time to register the pain there’s a blinding flash and the door falls in with a crash.

Your ears are still ringing, dust and smoke filling the air, as you lean to see if the men are still there. The third man pops up to fire toward the door and you take your shot. You don’t even wait to see if it lands before crouching once more.

A bullet hits the wall in front of you before you hear a bevy of shots ring to your left. You’re almost ready to try forcing this new wave of emotion out… not quite though. Without aiming you fire behind you, trying to get a feel for the direction of this new threat.

Instead of being met with bullets an arrow plants itself in the wall, a light pulsing near the tip. You have absolutely no time to think before the flash bomb goes off.

Temporarily you’re blinded, ears ringing, and immediately in the shock the emotions you’d been planning on weaponizing flee from your body. You lay, stunned, and drained behind the desk. All you can manage to think in your stupor is that arrows were significant.

Something soft, warm, and somehow familiar presses against your lips. Automatically you feel your mouth open in response, returning the kiss. That warm thick feeling of love snakes through your limbs. Slowly your eyes open, still out of focus from the flash but it’s Natasha.

“Y/N?!”

“Am I dead?” You ask as she pulls away.

A tense laugh bubbles out of her, “Not yet baby.” Gently she helps you up, leaning you against the wall.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Clint says collapsing next to you. “Didn’t know it was… well, you.”

His thigh is bleeding you note, “Pretty sure y’all just saved my ass. So we’re square.” You look over to see the man your shot in the bathroom seizing from one of Natasha’s Widow’s Bites.

“Friend of yours?” Clint asks catching your stare.

“Fuck no.”

“Then what the hell’re you doing here, Y/N?” His stare is intense.

“Could ask y’all the same thing.”

“Come on babe,” Natasha gives your hand a squeeze.

“Personally, I was being held in a cell downstairs.” Nat and Clint exchange a look. “Your turn.”

“We were tapped to take out this syndica-”

“Nat…” Clint’s voice holds a warning.

“What? If she’s here she probably already knows more than we do.”

“Likely true.” You agree.

“Anyway, they were getting their hands in some high-level stuff. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be best to weed them out before they got too big.”

You snort, “For being one of the world’s foremost intelligence agencies, S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to miss a lot.”

“What’s that mean?” Clint’s brows raise.

“Lot’s,” you groan a bit pushing away from the wall. “Can you walk?”

“Yup,” he stands, slowly.

“I’ll happily give y’all the skinny on everything. Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

Natasha glances at the man on the ground groaning. “Sounds good. First though… wanna help us out?” She flashes you that sultry smile you can never say no to.

“Fine.” You kneel next to the man’s head and lay a hand on his forehead. He’s mostly unconscious but you can pull information from him anyway. Though he doesn’t have much.

When you’re done you stand, “Got it. I say leave him, he’s no one.”

They agree and you take the guns off the other man and the three of you make your way via back alleys to the rundown hotel they’ve set up in.

“Budget cuts?” You ask, plopping down on the creaking bed.

Natasha laughs, “Cover.” She pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and you catch her hand, kissing her leather covered knuckles.

Clint clears his throat. “I’m gonna shower. When I’m done, Y/N, you’re going to give us the rundown before-”

“Clint-”

He cuts Nat off. “Look, I almost took more bullets today than even I’m comfortable with and I’m not about to lose my pension because Fury thinks I’m sheltering a fugitive. No offense, Y/N.”

“None taken.”

“Good.” A smirk curls his lips, “I’ll make it a long shower though,” he winks and closes the door to head to his room.

“He doesn’t think you’re-”

“Honey, I know.” She sits beside you and kisses you hard before you push her off. “God knows I fucking missed you but… I’ve been in a cell for three days. I really need some water and a shower myself.”

“Oh! Shit! Yeah.” She blushes a bit and you can’t help but smile.

She stands but you tug her down for one more kiss, “I love you, Natasha.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

That water is the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted. Once you’ve downed two bottles you both get in the shower.

Cramped though it may be feeling her skin next to yours, hearing her gasps as you make her come, it’s feeding you more than any meal. Hours ago you thought you were about to check out. Now, this… Fate was a funny cunt, you’d give her that.

When Clint knocks you’re on your second protein bar, the only food Nat had in the room. You tell them about the job, what you’d found out, how you couldn’t find the source point. As you run everything down you can see the wheels spinning in both their heads, connecting your info with what S.H.I.E.L.D. had given them.

“Guess that’s why they sent us in,” Clint taps his fingers on the table thinking. “Thought we could take this one out and scare whatever bigger entity is actually running shit.”

“Nah,” you can’t buy that. “Taking them out will just drive the rest deeper underground. If they thought this group was the source point maybe…” Or maybe taking this group out was a message to the other satellite groups you found… Something churns in your gut but you can’t name it… yet.

“Maybe we got bad intel.” Natasha chimes matter-of-factly. “Not the first time.”

“Not the first time?!” You don’t try to hide your frustration. “How many times have you been sent into a gunfight with shit information, Natasha?” Your blood boils at the thought.

“Babe… I’m a spy… Shit happens.”

“Shit doesn’t have to happen. Not if your intelligence people-”

“You’re the best intelligence person there is and you ended up in a cell.” Clint’s voice is level but there’s a hint of reproach. “It happens.” You shake your head and stare at the wall, unwilling to argue.

“Well,” Clint sighs, “we still have a job to do.” Natasha nods in agreement. “You want in Y/N?”

“Hell yes.” You’d be more than thrilled to burn the assholes that kidnapped you.

Burning them… isn’t really how things go down.

“By the way,” Clint is huddled next to you behind the smoking hulk of a car while the assholes shooting at you reload, “if I die here, I’m going to haunt you.”

“Why me?!” You pop up and let loose a few well-placed shots to flush some of them out.

“Because I need to fucking blame someone!” He nocks a bomb arrow and aims for the now repositioning attackers. It goes off, taking out two of them.

“Nice.” You bump knuckles before fleeing for new cover.

“Also,” you crouch next to a reeking dumpster, eyes on the roofs above you, “blame your boss. He’s the one with bad intel.”

The two of you head up a rusty fire escape and look at the roof across the street where Natasha is fighting two men. She’s holding her own well enough but still. You lift your gun, gauging if you can make the distance.

“I got this.” Clint pushes your hand down and a shock arrow flies from his bow, lodging it in one of the men’s backs. This distracts the other man and Nat kicks him off the roof.

“Thanks!” She yells. Your coms are busted.

Five hours and a hell of a lot of collateral damage later and the three of you limp bloody and bruised to a rendezvous point they’d been sent earlier.

From the outside the building looks like a long empty shop front, windows looking into nothing but a dusty abandoned space. As soon as you’re in the front door though it’s clear this place is reinforced like a fucking bunker. The steel door clangs shut, the windows are clearly some kind of tech as they don’t even exist from the inside of the space. The interior is actually clean and sterile with a few uncomfortable chairs, cots and some kind of med station toward the back.

Sighing Natasha pulls you into her arms. Both your lips are bleeding, faces bruised, you just can’t be bothered enough to care. You took those fuckers out, none of you died, and she’s here in your arms.

“You two are gonna make me barf.” Clint collapses into one of the chairs.

“Oh come on,” Nat smiles at you. “This wasn’t so bad.” He doesn’t respond, just flicks her off.

“Well,” a familiar voice chimes from the back of the room, coming from an unseen entry point. “That was a mess.” Nick Fury looks you all up and down with one judgmental eye.

“Jobs done though.” Clint doesn’t bother to stand.

“Yeah. With how much damage.” His gaze holds yours. You feel your back stiffening in defiance. “Any chance you’re the reason what should have been a simple clean up almost took out a quarter of Budapest?”

“Aww, you must think I’m something real special to be worth grenade launchers.” Natasha squeezes your hand in warning. “But no. This would have been messy regardless because whoever fed you your intel doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It was no small syndicate and with a whole hell of a lot more firepower than these two were prepared to handle.”

“Honestly, Fury,” Clint limps over to your side making the three of you a united front, “if Y/N wasn’t here to warn us what we may run into we’d likely be dead.” Natasha nods in agreement.

Silence hangs while Fury processes. “Huh. Well, I guess a thank you is in order.”

“Oh, more than a thank you will be in order,” he looks taken back by your tone. “I’m thinkin’ you’re gonna be obliged to cut me a fat check after the intel I’m gonna hand you.” You can feel Natasha’s stress but Fury looks amused.

“Any chance we can negotiate? I do have a budget to think about.” He actually almost smiles.

“Well… you could pay… or you could take it as a goodwill gesture and pull back on the terms you laid out at Barton’s place.”

Now Fury does smile, “As if either of you listened to me anyway.” You return his smile. He was good.

Natasha looks like an embarrassed teenager. He laughs, “I may have one eye but I see everything, Romanoff.” He turns to stride back, “Get cleaned up we’ll talk after.” He disappears into a previously unseen room.

“Told you he’d warm up,” Clint says with a smile elbowing Natasha.

Even if you’re on decent enough terms, sitting across a table from Nicky Fury is intimidating. His presence effortlessly commands respect in the way only someone who’s more than paid their dues can manage. You’d likely never admit it but you genuinely liked this man and despite not being able to read him… you maybe trusted him.

“And you’re sure all these factions are linked in some way?”

“Positive.” You hold his gaze, unwavering.

Sighing he stands and paces the small conference room a few times. You remain seated, staring at the assorted diagrams and notes you had whipped up to demonstrate what you knew to be true. Something big lurked in the shadows…

“Look,” his voice is low, heavy with something you can’t quite name, “I’ll deny this if you ever tell anyone but we could really use someone like you and-”

“No.” Hearing those men refer to you like you were nothing more than a tool to be used had been a reminder that you didn’t need. You’d never be someone’s dog again, no matter how good they seemed.

“Not even gonna hear me out?”

“It’s nothing personal but… I just can’t.”

“Not even if you can have a nice set up with your girl?” You glare at him, angry that he’d use her against you. “I may not necessarily approve as far as national security is concerned but it’s clear you two have something.”

“Not even for her.” You gaze is ice. Not wanting this to continue you let the mix of terror and conviction burning in your veins seep from you just a touch, trying to aim it right for his chest. Fury coughs, expression surprised, to say the least.

“I can’t… I won’t be on a leash. Plus… I need to follow this through. Something about it…”

“Understood.” He rubs his chest setting down and a small bit of satisfaction sparks in you. “How about freelance?”

“Well, now you’re talkin’ my language, sir.”

His mouth ticks up just a touch. “You find any information that may be a threat to American citizens, involve my organization, or my people you come to me. No one else.”

Your brows raise. “Don’t trust your own?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

You nod in understanding. “That it?”

“And I may have a side project come up soon that I think you’d be good for. A little initiative… Nothing solid yet but may be worth considering in time.”

“Alright. You got a deal.”

Both of you stand and shake. Before you can open the door though Fury’s hand reaches out holding it closed. You turn to him, questioning.

“You ever read Moby Dick?”

“Um… yeah?”

“When you’re hunting monsters remember, it’s easy to become an Ahab. Don’t let it happen.”

You nod somberly, dread suddenly curling in your stomach.

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf @itsqueenofchains

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel fic #queer fic

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mistyyygoode · 5 years

Text

The Lonely Hearts: 1 - Therapy

This is rewritten, with some new things added. I hope you guys enjoy this version! There will only really be one change throughout this story, which you will read soon! And thank you to everyone who has given me support over rewriting this! It makes me more excited than before. Updates will probably be once a week, maybe twice if I'm lucky!

__________

Shelby took a deep breath before she turned the handle to her new therapist's office. She chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the room. She saw a brunette sitting in the waiting room, who was staring at her phone intently. She stared at her for a moment, almost mistaking her for Audrey, but she knew it was impossible – the woman was dead.

She walked up to the front desk and signed herself in.

"You're a little early." The receptionist said. "There's still one more patient in front of you."

"That's fine," Shelby replied before walking over to the sofa opposite of the woman and sat down.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" the brunette woman asked.

"Uh... possibly...?" Shelby said nervously. It made her extremely anxious when people recognized her.

"Have you ever come to the butchery?" the other woman asked.

"Butchery?" Shelby asked with furrowed brows.

"Never mind." The other woman waved it off and returned back to her phone.

The door to the left side of the room opened up, and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out. "Allison."

The brunette woman stood up, shoved her phone into her purse, and walked over to the door, following the doctor inside.

Forty-five minutes passed before the door reopened. Shelby looked over and looked at the two for a moment.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Shelby." The doctor said.

"Okay," she nodded softly.

The brunette – Allison – looked at her for a moment before it dawned on her. "You're Shelby Miller, from that show!"

"Uh... yeah..." Shelby said awkwardly before looking down. She bit her lip as the other woman walked toward her.

"Sorry, you probably get that a lot."

"Not really, actually. At least not anymore." Shelby said.

"Wait, I thought you died?"

Shelby looked up at the other woman. "I almost did. I, uh, no one said anything after the show ended." She explained. "I didn't want anyone to know..."

"I'm sorry," Allison said again. "I'm Ally, by the way." She extended out her hand with a small, inviting smile.

This was the first person who seemed friendly towards Shelby, besides the people at the daycare center, since she had moved. It gave her a small sense of hope for the town. She shook the other woman's hand and smiled back at her. "It's nice to meet you."

Ally smiled before taking her hand back. She dug through her purse before handing over a card. "This is a card for the butchery I was talking about. Stop by any time."

"Thanks," Shelby said softly.

Before the brunette could reply, the door opened again. "Shelby, you can come in now."

"See you around." Ally said before walking toward the exit.

The blonde stood from the couch and walked to the door and stepped inside the large office. She looked around the room, observing her surroundings. She saw the man already sitting down, gesturing toward two seats in front of him. She sat down, looking down at her lap, and not up at him.

"I'm Doctor Vincent, or you can simply call me Vincent." He said.

"Okay," Shelby said.

"Is this your first time coming to therapy?"

"No," she said as she finally looked up at him. "After I lost Rachel, my first baby, Matt and I went to therapy. It wasn't individual therapy though." She explained.

"Would you say it was a good experience?"

"I guess." Shelby shrugged. "It didn't last very long. It was only maybe four or five sessions before we moved, and we never saw anyone else after that."

"Did it resolve any issues between you and Matt?"

"There weren't any issues between us at the time. I felt guilty for what happened, as did he. It helped a bit with that, but..." she looked back down, swallowing her emotions. She wiped her tears away before they could fall. "I still feel that way sometimes."

"Shelby, you cannot blame yourself for something like that."

"Yeah..." she sighed.

"I've looked through your past records," Vincent said, changing the subject. "I see you were diagnosed with PTSD a little over two years ago. You've had on and off depression symptoms for years, and after you gave birth you suffered from post-partum depression. You've taken anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. Are you currently taking anything?"

"I take Trazadone and Valium."

"Both for sleep?"

"I take the Valium if I have a panic attack," Shelby said softly.

"How often would you say you take one?" Vincent asked as he started writing all this down.

"At least once a day..."

"What sets you off?" he questioned.

Shelby took a deep breath. "Anything... sometimes it's random, and sometimes – especially since I've started to unpack things – memories."

"What kind of memories?"

"Of Matt... of what happened."

"At the house?"

"Yes." Shelby nodded.

Vincent continued to write for a moment. "For you, what do you want to see happen with your therapy and medication?"

"I'd like to not feel like I don't want to sleep because of the nightmares I have."

"Anything else?"

"I don't want to have a panic or anxiety attack every time I see something or think of something that brings back a memory. I just want to be normal again... I want to be there for my baby..." Shelby sighed as she looked down again. "I feel like I'm not being the best mother I can be for her."

"No one is normal, Shelby. As for your daughter, I'm sure you're trying your best." He said.

"I know... I am..." she sighed again. "But I mean back to myself. Back to who I was before all this shit happened."

"What do you do to help your anxiety or mood?" he asked.

"Yoga... playing with Marie. She keeps me occupied most of the time."

"How old is Marie?" Vincent asked.

"Almost two," Shelby said with a small smile.

"That's a very special age."

"It is."

"Okay, besides Marie, you said you like yoga. Find somewhere in town and start going. I want to see you again in a week. During this week, I want you to try and unpack your house or apartment, find a yoga studio and roam the town. Okay?"

"Okay," Shelby nodded.

They wrapped up the session, and Shelby started to drive to the daycare center where she had dropped Marie off for the first time. It always made her anxious to leave Marie anywhere that wasn't with family. She parked her car outside the building before heading inside.

As Shelby stepped inside, she heard a squeal from the other side of the room before she saw Marie run straight to her.

"Mama!" Marie smiled as she wrapped her tiny arms around legs.

"Hi, baby." Shelby smiled as she leaned down to pick up her daughter.

"She was good as soon as you left." Madalyn – one of the caretakers at the daycare, a shorter, redhaired woman – said as she walked over to Shelby. She handed the mother her daughter's bag.

The mother smiled as she caressed her daughter's dark curls before taking the bag. "Really? Were you a good girl for Madalyn?"

"Mhm," Marie nodded before nestling her head into Shelby's neck. "Miss ya."

"Awe, baby..." Shelby pouted. "Thank you for getting us signed up so fast."

"Of course. I know it's hard as a single mother." Madalyn said with a small smile. "Are you bringing her by again tomorrow?"

"Possibly. I need to go to a job interview and run by some other places." Shelby said.

The other woman nodded. "Okay, we'll see you tomorrow, Marie." She said softly.

"Buh-bye," Marie said softly as she waved at Madalyn.

"Ready to go shopping with Mommy?" Shelby asked as she started to walk to the door.

"Yeah!"

Shelby smiled as she unlocked the car, and placed Marie in her car seat in the back. She moved to the front and got into the driver's side. She drove to the grocery store near the apartment.

She got Marie out of the back after she parked. She put the girl into the front of a basket before heading inside. They gathered the essentials, food, Marie's pull-ups, and a box of hair dye.

"Waz dat?" Marie asked as she stared at the box.

"It's going to change Mama's hair."

"Ooh!" The little girl giggled. "How?"

"It's going to change the color," Shelby explained as they walked down the candy aisle.

"Mine?" Marie asked as she put her small hand on the top of her head.

Shelby nodded with a small smile. "Just like yours, baby girl."

Marie giggled again before pointing at some Dum-Dum suckers. "Mama!"

"Baby, that's sugar. You know you can't have a lot sugar." Shelby said.

Marie pouted as she crossed her arms. "Pwease!"

Shelby sighed before grabbing the bag to see how much sugar was in one bag. "Okay, just only one a day." She said as she placed the bag into the cart.

"Yay!" the small girl squealed.

Shelby smiled as she walked them to the front of the store to check out.

After getting her bags, Shelby made her way to the car. She put Marie and the bags in before heading straight home. She made herself and Marie dinner. The two sat in front of the TV as they ate.

After dinner, Shelby gave Marie her nightly bath and read her almost a whole book before she finally fell asleep. Once she knew Marie was down for the night she went into the small bathroom and started the process of dying her hair. After a 45-minute wait, she took a shower to wash the dye away. Once she dried it, she saw it was a medium brown, which was a close color to Marie's hair. She smiled before heading to her bedroom to get ready for bed and take her pills.

As she waited for her nighttime pills to kick in, she decided to unpack the rest of her bedroom. After nearly every box was broken down, and every piece of clothing was put away, Shelby fell down in her bed. She let out a heavy sigh as her eyes closed.

"One day at a time," she told herself.

#american horror story #american horror story roanoke #ahs cult #ahs crossover #Shelby Miller #ally mayfair #ally mayfair richards #fanfiction #fanfic #lesbian fanfic #ahs fanfic #1 #the lonely hearts

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dr-gloom · 6 years

Text

The Pumpkin King

Day 3 of Sander’s Sides Spook Month! (yes, all these titles are part of Nightmare Before Christmas songs, I’m obsessed, sue me)

Prompt: Pumpkin Carving

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: none

Words: 3,138

Summary: Halloween is coming up and Patton wants to carve pumpkins with his friends-turned-roomies. Virgil hasn’t even looked at a pumpkin in years, and the others are about to find out why.

Tags/Warnings: Human AU, pumpkin carving, lots of angst for like the first half, mentions of cancer, minor character death but it’s just mentioned

Enjoy!

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Ah yes, October. Virgil’s favorite month, no contest. He loved it all; the fall festivals, the decorations, haunted houses, caramel apples, black-and-orange everything, the pop-up Halloween stores that had hundreds of costumes and dozens of jump-scare props, pumpkin pies and Halloween movies.

And carving pumpkins.

That was arguably his very favorite thing about October. He loved the entire process; going to a pumpkin patch at seven in the morning, still yawning over a cup of coffee (or hot chocolate when he was a kid), scouring the field for the perfect pumpkin, holding onto it as they drove home, taking it home and planning the perfect carving, waiting for the perfect time to carve it so it didn’t rot before Halloween. Sometimes if his dad didn’t mind, he’d carve it early and just get a second one to carve so they’d have a fresh one for Halloween. His dad would always do it with him, even when he’d grown well past the years of needing an adult present as a safety precaution. It was their thing, their special activity that they shared.

It was never really a competition, not really, but they would always joke with each other that they’d completely wipe the floor with the other. They’d see who could find the best pumpkin, rubbing the other’s nose in their perfect find on the way home. They’d tease each other with vague whispers of what they were planning to carve. They’d sit back to back so neither could peek at what the other was carving, and once they’d both finished they’d spin around with their newly-made Jack-O-Lanterns like a Texas quick draw. Virgil’s dad always insisted that Virgil won, even when Virgil knew his dad was more skilled (particularly when Virgil was just a kid); he was just nice like that.

Virgil’s dad had been the one to teach Virgil about carving. Not just pulling a picture out of a book and tacking it onto the pumpkin to make a connect-the-dots outline, but to really consider what you wanted to make, to think in more three-dimensional terms and create something that could glow in the dark and give off the impression that you were looking at real art. His dad always said a true artist could make beauty out of anything. Virgil always thought his dad must be the best artist in the world, then.

Then the best artist in the world got stomach cancer. Stage 3.

His dad had been complaining of a stomach ache, and being the overly-anxious, loving son he was, Virgil insisted he see a doctor after it lasted more than a day. His dad had waved him off, saying that he probably just had a stomach bug and that he’d be fine. It wasn’t interfering with his work or his life, it was just kind of inconvenient. Virgil chose to trust his dad; he was the adult, he knew what he was doing, right?

He insisted he was fine when the stomach aches had only gotten worse.

He promised he was okay when they lasted a month.

He was barely eating, because he’d get full quickly, and it was making him lose weight. Too much weight. He looked gaunt, and it scared Virgil. He was the one who was supposed to look malnourished, not his dad. He was supposed to be the one not getting any sleep, not his dad.

But neither of them were supposed to vomit blood, so when he’d walked in on his dad doing it he’d nearly fainted. He hadn’t even hesitated to haul his dad to his feet (gently, have to be gentle, you don’t know why he’s throwing up blood and you don’t want to make it worse) and walk him to the car. Virgil had just gotten his license last week and he thanked every god and deity he could think of for that as he buckled first his dad and then himself, starting up the car. It’d been the most nerve-wracking time he’d ever been behind the wheel to date. When his hands wouldn’t stop shaking he’d gripped the steering wheel so tight his fingers were white.

Hours later, the doctor finally gave the diagnosis to Virgil and his dad in a too-white room. He’d assured them that with the right treatment, and a little luck, his dad would be just fine, and would live to see Virgil’s kids graduate.

The next few months were torture. It felt like Virgil was going from bed to school to the hospital in an endless restless loop. When it used to be next to impossible to fall asleep before 2 AM, now Virgil struggled to stay awake with his dad as they waited in a hospital on late nights. Eating endlessly, shoveling crap food into his mouth any chance he got turned into eating once a day, twice if his dad gave him The Look. His dad was always tired, almost always sick. Well, how could you not be sick when you had cancer? But despite the nausea and pain and discomfort, his dad was always smiling, always cracking jokes and making puns and trying to keep the smile on his son’s face.

He hadn’t lived to see Virgil graduate.

Virgil had never been one to trust doctors.

Near the end, Virgil had managed to get a job. Now that he didn’t have a dad to worry about, any time not spent at school or sleeping was spent working. He was never home long enough for the silence to get to him. He did his homework at work during break and between classes. He only set foot in the house to go straight to bed. He no longer replied to texts sent by friends, didn’t give his concerned teachers more than a grunt when they asked how he was doing. It was none of their business.

He graduated two months after his dad passed away, no one in the bleachers to cheer as he grabbed his diploma.

He’d had to give up the house, unable to pay the bills and mortgage on his meager salary. His boss gave him three days off to pack up and move once he’d managed to find an apartment. He packed up his room, the bathroom, the living room and kitchen, a couple things from his dad’s room; the rest was sold to pay for moving expenses. He’d ended up moving clear across the city and was no longer spending every waking moment away from home. The next few months were a blur, any time not spent working or sleeping was spent simply zoning out in front of the TV.

The first time he’d walked into the grocery store and seen the boxes full of pumpkins, he’d cried.

The next week, however, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed to the nearest pumpkin patch. He’d walked around for nearly two hours, looking over the pumpkins as if expecting the perfect one to just jump up and shout “Here! Pick me!” He’d been zoning out when he almost walked right into a boy and his father, out looking for pumpkins. He’d apologized quickly and continued walking, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to their conversation.

“Hey, look! Over there, I found it!”

“Wow, that’s pretty big, you think you can pick it up, buddy?”

“Of course I can, dad, I’m strong!”

Virgil grabbed the nearest pumpkin, paying the old woman who was running the pumpkin patch, and left.

He’d been sitting there for hours staring at the pumpkin, willing it to tell him what to carve, but as the clock ticked the hours away and the sun set in the sky, Virgil was beginning to grow frustrated. He picked up a tool, pumpkin already gutted, and blindly started working. He let his thoughts race, not paying any mind to what he was doing, letting his hand carve through the pumpkin without a thought. When he finally comes out of his mind, he looks at the pumpkin. His dad’s smiling face stares back at him. He silently pushes his chair back and heads to bed.

The next day, the pumpkin is mysteriously smashed at the bottom of the stairs leading to Virgil’s apartment.

“And I haven’t carved one since then.” Virgil shrugs, his hands fidgeting in his lap, refusing to look up at the other three. The silence stretches on, making Virgil’s anxiety ramp up. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve just carved the damn pumpkin. He hears shifting and he can’t take it anymore. He has to know. He looks up, surprised to see not just Patton, but Roman and Logan crying as well. He blinks, mouth opening and closing but unable to force any words out.

It’s Patton who finally breaks the silence, throwing himself into Virgil’s arms and hugging him tightly. Virgil can’t make out much of what he’s saying, blubbering through his tears and rubbing his face into Virgil’s chest. Virgil awkwardly hugs him back, rubbing his back and looking at the wall so he didn’t have to see the other two crying. “It…. It’s okay, Pat, really.”

“It’s n-not okay! That- That was your d-dad and you loved him, and y-you carved pumpkins together and h-he’s gone, and I was t-trying to replace him! I’m s-so sorry!” Virgil pulled Patton back, holding him by his shoulders to look him in the eye. “Whoa, whoa. Hold on. You were not trying to replace my dad, Pat. You had no idea. Everyone carves pumpkins, it’s like, a necessity in October.” Patton’s lip quivers. Logan discreetly wipes his own tears, adjusting his glasses before speaking up.

“Perhaps, if you are up for it, carving a pumpkin can be a sort of cathartic way to both grieve your father and move on.” Virgil looks up at Logan, brows knit together. “I understand that this was an activity that you participated in with your father, and therefore it’s very special to you in that regard. You’ve built it up to this grand thing that must meet your expectations, but that is no longer possible without your father. Perhaps the point is to embrace this fact?” Virgil’s mouth quirks to the side.

“Still not following.”

Logan smiles a bit and continues. “Rather than focusing on how participating in pumpkin carving is no longer the same, and seeing it in a negative light, perhaps you should embrace this difference. Yes, it will never be the same, because he’s gone, but that doesn’t mean it can no longer be enjoyable. Perhaps by carving pumpkins with us and building new positive experiences, you can both use the activity to mourn your father and let go of the pain you’re holding close to your heart.”

Patton had stopped crying to listen to Logan, and now all three men were staring at Logan. “That was… Really smart, Logan.” Roman muttered, blinking as he realized how that probably came off. “I mean- you’re the smartest of the four of us, but that was… Emotionally smart? Oh, you know what I mean.” Patton giggled softly. Logan huffed softly, not actually offended. “Yes, well, even I can have my moments.” He looks down at Virgil, who’s still sitting on the couch. “So? Does that sound like a good idea?”

Virgil looked down at his hands, picking at his cuticles. Patton reached over and took Virgil’s hands, giving him The Look. He laughs shakily and nods. “Y-yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. Just… If I start crying and anyone says anything, I will leave.” Patton looks at him with sad eyes and Roman just nods, arms crossed uncomfortably over his chest. “Of course, we understand.”

With that, the other three move to the dining room to set up the pumpkins, setting each one on a cutting board in an effort to keep some of the mess off of the table. Patton finds the tools, setting them in the middle of the small table well within reach of each person. Virgil rests his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands and taking a few deep breaths. He hadn’t even bothered to buy a pumpkin since that time, did he really think he could just sit down and carve one without feeling…. What? He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling right now.

Something kept coming to the front of his mind, though he tried to ignore it. Would dad forgive me if I did this? It was a stupid thought; it wasn’t like his dad ever made him promise not to carve a pumpkin without him, and like he said, everyone carved pumpkins – they didn’t own the exclusive rights. Yet somehow it felt like he’d be betraying his dad. Virgil takes another deep breath, scrubbing his eyes in irritation. Come on Virgil, get over yourself.

The couch dips next to him, and Virgil looks up to see Patton giving him a soft smile, eyes full of concern. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, kiddo?” Virgil looks at his hands and nods. “Yeah, I am. Really. Logan could be right, and if he is, I should at least try, right?” Patton hugs Virgil from the side, smiling into his shoulder. “I’m proud of you. I know this can’t be easy.”

Virgil huffs in amusement. “Yeah. Self-help and growth and all that shit.”

“Language.”

Virgil really laughs at that. “Right, my bad.”

Patton stands up, holding a hand out to Virgil. Virgil takes his hand and stands up, letting Patton lead him to the table and taking the only empty spot at the table. The four chat easily as they work, and Virgil lets himself focus on what he’s working on, occasionally adding his own comment to the conversation. The others don’t bug him or pressure him to contribute more, letting him work in peace, and he’s thankful for that. It’s not that he’s having a hard time, he just really wants this to be perfect.

Patton is the first to finish, and no one is surprised to see that he carved a cat. It’s the typical silhouette, no detail, and that was perfectly fine. Simplistic, but cute; very Patton (in the best meaning, of course). Logan finishes his next, showing the others. Patton is still sitting at the table so he can talk to the other three, and he gasps loudly when he sees Logan’s pumpkin. “That’s so cool! … What is it?” Logan’s pumpkin seemed to have a bunch of circles and lines carved out of it. Logan pushed his glasses up his face to hide his smirk, but Virgil definitely saw it. “It’s binary code, wishing all who look upon it a happy Halloween.” Patton squeals, jumping up and running around the table to hug Logan. “Awww, Lo! That’s so sweet! And educational!” Logan blushes slightly and adjusts his glasses again. “Yes, well… Thank you, Patton.” Patton hums happily and sits back down. Roman is next, having carved a more detailed version of the Disney logo. Of course. The three men look at Virgil, the final person to reveal his pumpkin, and Virgil glances up briefly before going back to his pumpkin with a simple, “Not done.”

Logan shares looks with Roman and Patton, who shrug at him, and the three wait patiently. Conversation flows seamlessly as they discuss Halloween plans, how work is going, gossiping about coworkers, and everything else under the sun. The four of them had always clicked perfectly (somehow) and never had much trouble finding something to talk about. It was late into the night when Virgil finally sat back, the sound of his tools being set down making the other three go quiet. Virgil simply stares back at the pumpkin with a considering expression, and after a moment Logan scoots his chair over to better see the pumpkin.

Roman and Patton take the hint and get up, walking behind Logan and Virgil to see the pumpkin as well. As soon as Patton can see it, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Roman is oddly quiet. Virgil can’t help but find the silence a bit unsettling, too reminiscent of the silence that had preceded their pumpkin carving. He spares a sideways glance at Logan, trying to read his expression. He looks… surprised? Awed? Virgil can’t quite tell. He gathers up the courage to tilt his head back and look at the other two. He takes in Patton’s shocked face and Roman’s blank expression and pales, turning back to the pumpkin.

“It…. It’s not that good, I know. Like I said, it’s been years. I could’ve done something simple I guess but I just… couldn’t. Sorry.” A hand rests on his shoulder, and he looks up at Patton, who’s shaking his head.

“Virge, it’s…. It’s amazing.”

Roman squats to be eye level with Virgil, looking at the anxious male before glancing back at the pumpkin. If anyone was going to be honest with him, it’d be Roman. Virgil braces himself. “It’s not just amazing. It’s perfect.” Virgil’s eyes widen, and he looks between Roman and the pumpkin. “Are we looking at the same gourd, Prince? Look at the faces-“

“I am, Virgil. This is honestly the best picture of us I’ve ever seen. Aside from a photograph, of course.” He straightens up, shaking his head with disbelief. “Your dad taught you how to do that?”

Virgil looks over the carved faces of himself and his best friends, shrugging slightly. “Yeah, mostly. He taught me the techniques. I am an artist…. He was too.” Patton’s arms wrap around his shoulders from behind and he leans back into the contact, smiling slightly. He guessed it was pretty good. His thoughts are interrupted when Patton whines sadly, sighing. “…Pat?”

“It’s gonna rot, Virge. That’s so sad!”

The four go silent as the words sink in. Virgil had never really considered how impermanent his carvings were; it hadn’t seemed like much of a loss. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t broken the Jack-O-Lantern of his dad all those years ago. Logan takes out his phone and reaches in front of Virgil’s face, startling him into leaning back. The tell-tale shutter sound of the phone’s camera is heard before Logan pockets his phone again. “There, now we shall have proof of this masterpiece even once it has decomposed.”

The four of them move to grab their pumpkins, carrying them out front and setting them along the walkway, sticking candles in them and lighting the wicks.

“Can we watch Corpse Bride?”

“That’s not really a Halloween movie, Pat.”

“Anything by Tim Burton is a Halloween movie. Change my mind.”

“….. Okay, you have a point, but did you two just hear what I heard? Did Dark and Stormy just meme?”

“Maybe so.”

A groan. “Logan, not you too!” The front door shuts, cutting off the rest of the conversation.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #halloween #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders

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alchemisland · 6 years

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The Moors Mutt - II

https://www.wattpad.com/676844776-the-moors-mutt-ii

II. Limbo

Rising early, if rising it was and not merely stirring from a wakened restive state, I walked a barren stretch. At pale dawn birds like Aztec idols flighted at my stirring. Cold light stained the pasture either side. Sleepshod, the road to Cairn Cottage found me quiet company. Even the tinkers were not yet to the road in their triskeled wagons.

When the machine architect of our world was in infancy, men of old, men of renown, used more than sight in their primitive observations of our world. Already we, we as mankind, had realized what appeared as reality was deeper yet than simple tangibility. Further back towards the chaotic and infinite churn of the burning epoch, when mankind had not language to manifest destiny and lived subordinate to Echidna's descendants still fearsome on the plain, parts of the brain which one day became memory centers first stirred to life, elongating the possibility of human memory. Scent still is brother to memory.

The air was heavy with scent when I relinquished vision, only for a short time, and let wind corral me. The breeze carried faint lavender.

A pebbled stretch I crossed stirred a memory of my late father and a codex of heroic tales he purchased, whose high adventure stirred me like nothing prior. At six, maybe seven years old, tales of old Arabia appealed greatly. Fabulous kingdoms wrought of yellow stone against a tangerine haze, swirling tarot sun bemused of countenance, scorpions armoured like chargers sending rodents to their redoubt, the cloying madness of it all. I visited them in dreams, jumping from the path of unruly camels, watching the impenetrable waves humbly part in the wake of Royal palanquins.

Their heroes were unlike our knights. More often broody boys who preferred quill to falchion. Brooding teenagehood made me relish the stranger stories, tales without lessons existing solely to unnerve, speaking on the bleak lives of Tartarian wizards. Older, into adulthood, I came to enjoy Greek tales most. The tragedy of Ajax in his lover's plate leaking on the golden sand moved me. Waves, caressing the moored fleet in passing, bursting against the shale where the pyre burned. Since, when I hear crunching pebbles, I think of soldiers marching on the beach at Troy.

I heard the crunch of a trap and waited hopeful until the crude plume fixed atop the horses head appeared like the mantle of some deposed pagan lord. Ixion's disc four times divided had been fixed to bear this chariot. Its trundle ground debris to powder. I hailed the man, a being of wind, every strand of hair or cloth lank enough to lift stood in disarray. A peak stole his brow, but a smile waved me aboard. He never spoke, though carried me within shouting distance of the manse.

Inside chaos reigned. Lady Sizemore's estate was measured first in paper, not coin. Hundreds, thousands of jaundiced sheets, all in disorder busying every surface. Before a single coin changed hands, a great many hours I spent hauling boxes, within which were more boxes where spiders large as potatoes spun temporary wonders above the invoices.

I wonder what effect prolonged tedium has. Such thoughts are entertained in the avoidance of work that should never be given lucid credence. An entire day dedicated solely to translating letters in incomprehensible cursive, it felt ridiculous. My mind, perhaps reflecting its surroundings, felt dulled, unfocused. So long I stared, when I pried my eyes I found feint margins plastered across reality.

The previous night's visitations I had pondered, ultimately chalking to anxiety. Nothing substantially portentous. Unfortunately, another day was required before I indulged my cryptozooligcal fancies.

Darkness in ravenfeather arrived prematurely. I gathered my belongings, wondering where the time went, then ran to the track and the sounds of the the last husbandmen bound for Sperrin. I found easy passage. Too easy perhaps; I was cursed to endure indignity on a wagon halfheartedly scraped of its stinking contents; with my legs lolling over the side, I was soaked in every splash. I arrived back mud-caked, a shambling golem. Lar tended bar. I wondered had he stirred in my absence. Anticipating my thirst, two mugs were set.

I dropped my satchel, enjoying relief akin to weightlessness by contrast, and we drained tankards like soon-to-war Saxons, speaking of weather. I asked had anyone noteworthy visited, mostly from politeness. When asked had the room served, I replied it had done so more than adequately. Again, politeness.

Not wishing to seem overeager, I spared him my dream. If the tale was relayed to me, I should say how convenient the very man hoping to find the beast would experience a vision.

Besides, in the unlikely event we found a mangy badger after I'd described a prehistoric horror.. perish the thought.

'Do we depart tomorrow?' Lar grunted, pretending to clean.

'Short delay actually. I'd have said from the doorway, only for the ale calling. Alas, labour remains. My charges lust for satisfaction. They are at Rome's gates! Distant cousins write in droves. By air, land and sea their letters come, squeezing through grates, shimmying down chimneys. Forget the beast, if they find me I'm dead.'

'We sank tankards enough last night. I've seen folks pale on the dizzy morning after the night before. If this delay is to spite me, let me allay concerns, I'm the man for this job. We're the men for this job.' He shot a glance at Fergus, a pale lance cleaving his brow.

I looked to my empty cup then longingly at his selection. Lar fingered a cask, but reached further back and took another instead.

'My god, man. Boil a pot and toss it down your trousers. No such notions occurred to me. We're expedition mates! I didn't make a dent in the work, really.' I raised a silencing finger to hear the splash of ale. 'There you have it. Mystery solved. If the mystery of the beast is this easy, we're laughing.' I inhaled its aroma. Fruity, potent, sickly almost. 'This expedition diary I mean to publish, any thoughts?'

Lar's measured tone returned. Careful as a tiptoeing sinner, he asked 'You good?'

I smiled. 'Only Ben Adhem saw the book, ask him.'

Lar stove the ashen helm crowning his cigarette, plunging the embers into the cold bronze bowl. 'At writing.'

'You should say! I tease, I tease. To answer your question, yes is the answer. Humbly, in my hand, the pen is like the master mason's chisel, from whence grand cathedrals spring forth from their less divine constituent parts.' Lar was fumbling for his tobacco already and I thought what small use that vice would be in peril.

'I'm convinced.' Lar spoke quickly, stumbling over the words to get them out. I took no offence at his zeal to change the subject. 'Do you have a manuscript at hand?'

'Not with me, unfortunately.' He stifled a sigh of relief. 'Upon returning home one story heavier, I'll ensure you receive signed copies of every one. I'll sing them My favourite tub of Lar. Yours literately, Beastman. That way you'll know it's me.'

Lar's ale, a home brew, was a swift agent, promising to travel from your mouth to the toilet's in twenty minutes. I joked he might patent it for a medicine. Call it the Midas touch. Everything it touched turns to gold: toilet seat, floor, shoes if you weren't careful.

I spied Fergus. His thumb led a blunt edge across the ribbed bark of a sprig, from which he had carved two lidded eyes and a pursed mouth.

Lar lit a cigarette from the flared end of the last, then discarded it on the ashen pyre.

Lar had to raise the hatch spoiling any hope of a dramatic exit, but I hovered over the stool while I spoke. 'Departure two days hence, on the strict proviso no unpleasant libel suit comes once the story hits print. Rest assured, I'll include nothing untoward, but I reserve the right to artistic licence. Print the myth.'

'Libel is a city crime.' Anticipating my desire, Lar walked while he spoke. I mirrored his step, slipping through the open portcullis to sleep, perchance to scream.

Lying in bed, I wondered what to include in my chronicle; exciting details only, or every charged exchange? Nobody asked how the shipwright felt constructing thousands of ships without prior notice. They only wanted Achilles. The reader will concede, I have included much of the mundane.

Well-oiled, I slept easily. Set like a star I saw things past, dark present and murky future, useless without chronology, stifling their prophetic nature. The beast came again, shaking the ground.

Waking, it seemed I fell to the mattress from a height. Not far enough to endanger, but enough to worry the springs. I lurched, took my journal from the bedside locker, levered its purple tongue to split its leather cuirass and let it whip to a clean page.

One mark on the opposite face demanded attention. A black circle, subtle as a bearded chin, formed by the swift fury of a graceless wrist, its blackness total.

How strangely the lines blended. One moment a nest of fastened rat tails, one mark indistinguishable from another, the next a clear set of growing rings. In its swirling centre around the maelstrom's eye, the paper tore with the fury of the quill.

I found the pockmark on every page. Someone strained greatly to make an impression so indelible. First I thought Fergus with his ham hands, unknowingly forcing the nib through the page. When he had the chance, or the notion? It seemed unlikely. Throughout the workday it was with me, resting once for a moment unattended on the desk.

Despite concerns, I knew no progress could be made at this hour. For now it seemed safe to be about my duties without much extra precaution. I returned the journal, pulled the duvet across my shoulders and turned to sleep, when suddenly a violent jolt racked the shutters so fiercely they juddered back into place with a great thunk.

I winced toward the disturbance and found mocking empty blackness. As my head sank back into the pillow, a shuddering pulse shook the building. A rippling seismic attack. Unlike quakes from within, which sally in waves, this was a single detonation, like a dying star; one magnificent shockwave that stirred everything in the world at once, only for a moment. I stemmed panic, falling to courageous platitudes that would embarrass the most shameless Kipling-mimic. Without panic, I deduced more likely my head sharply turning had disturbed my equilibrium, giving the walls the appearance of motion. As if in answer to my doubt, dust sprinkled from the rafters.

Nothing else came. I waited, steeled. I pretended to be brave and at some indeterminate point, felt into a brave slumber.

Lar, blackbird that he was, rose early. He emerged from the fugue state that best pleased his constitution and stretched, his wingspan filling the alcove.

He found me in my linen cell, bewhaled as Jonah.

'Terrible day.' He drew the shutters. I pulled the sheets down over my face to the sight of Lar's stocky silhouette in the dirty light. Tapping his pipe twice on the sill, he plonked one cheek on the ledge and struck a match. 'Anything you want from town? I'm going to get supplies. I should be away most of the day. There won't be a return trip before we go. Speak now or forever hold your peace.'

'Ambulo in pace.' I tapped my journal, 'I have everything.'

'Do you have a mac?' The rain beat harder.

'No, we're English, some Irish. Although I heard tell that a distant branch traded their roses for thistle stalks.'

Lar shuddered, ill-humoured before midday, despite protestations he needed no proper rest. 'I mean a waterproof.'

'Oh give me credit. That's humour.'

'We in the smiling countryside call it idiocy. There's a time for revels. Unless you've been up all night, dawn isn't it.'

'I don't have one and I'd like a loan if that's what you're asking, thank you. I didn't sleep well now you mention it' I tossed my feet onto the cold ground and felt for a sock.

Lar watched the rain spilling in romantic sheets. 'You'll need an ark to get back. It's like a bog when it rains. No one will be able to get you. Not me, not the constabulary, nor anyone else. If the weather worsens, make sure you get back in time. Otherwise, everything will be closed until further boatice.'

'Boatice?' I said.

'Now that is humour. Rain, boats, further notice. Get it?' Lar left more spritely than when he entered.

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sherlockxreader · 7 years

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A Time Of Change - Chapter Two - New Home

Title: A Time Of Change Chapter Two: New Home Summary: Ava Bradford. Behavioral Analyst of the Miami Police Department. Or former Analyst after the events of the past force her to journey to England and take up a job away from the family she had created. Here, she struggles to keep to herself and her life quickly takes over as she readies for her future on Baker Street. Author: Alexa @alex-awesome1023 Words: 3,352 Characters/Relationships: OC x Sherlock Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Past Physical Abuse, Nightmares Author’s Notes: So I’m a very visual person when it comes to story telling, my fics will have gifs and pictures to best represent and hopefully help you guys see what i’m trying to get across. The chapters might be a tad too long but hopefully they go back to normal length but there will be some longer than others. I don't have a designated schedule for updates yet but I'm thinking every Friday or Sunday. If you have any question or comments please feel free to share. None of the pictures are mine, the credit goes to the wonderful people of google and Tumblr P.S. I’m going to post my work on @sherlockxreader from now on. -Alexa

Original Character Ava Bradford is inspired by Zoey Deutch. Enjoy!❤

After about five minutes filled with non-stop talk of the cab driver's life story about his kids in Kingston, and how he never sees them because of the wife, you try to pass the time by deducing him a little. You look at him from behind, noticing the traces of shaving cream behind his left ear. He lives alone so there’s no one to point it out to him. You look to the front of the cab and notice the photograph attached to the dashboard. Family photo of children, a young boy and girl, the boy’s face looks like him. It’s obvious there was a third person to the left of the photograph but it had been cut along that side to remove most of the woman’s image. Divorced, a nasty one telling by the frame; it’s new but the photo is old. He thinks of his children but doesn't get to see them. A father cast away. She took the kids, but he still loves them. How dull. His clothes are also old but they’ve recently been laundered. Everything he's wearing is at least, what ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. Why? You make eye contact with the man and quickly smile. He returns with a thin grin but his eyes were void of anything, completely dead. As if you’re mouth had a mind of it own, it speaks your voice, prodding upon the cabby’s now exposed nerves.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen your kids?” You asked, focusing totally on him and his body language.

“Oh um…. It’s been about three or four years.” He said, his head turned slightly to the left so he could hear. Noting the twitch in his shoulder at your question as well as the clearing of his throat, you could immediately tell that this was a difficult topic for the man. It’s still hurts. Interesting. But there’s more, what is it? He’s a father that has been cast away 4 years ago. He still loves his family but doesn’t get to see them. His clothes are old yet preserved to keep up with appearances. What is i... Oh. Oh that… that is interesting. Very interesting. You couldn’t help but flash a small grin but hiding it before he could see.

“Is that around the same time they told you that you were sick?” It was more of a statement then a question. You locked eyes with him and you see his eyes change.Your phone sounding an alert that you have an email breaks the stares you both share. Quickly letting your train of thought go back to its normal pace, you turn your attention to your phone. You saw that your new boss, the Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, had emailed you the files of the case they were currently dealing with. He was in need of your expertise.

Looking through the email, you saw that there were in fact three different files and you also noticed that the deaths of those people all appeared as suicides. You wondered why Scotland Yard would investigate suicides of all things but due to the media causing panic for the people, that was probably the reason. People had a funny little way of making havoc out of a grain of sand. Taking out your little black book for notes, you read through the files that were displayed on your phone screen, writing the important details into the book.

The first victim was Sir Jeffrey Patterson, a common business man, who was found at a high-story office building on an empty floor on October 12th in the evening. The cause of death was asphyxiation. You watched the press conference that was held the morning after where the wife explained how he was a happy guy who wouldn’t do this and about how this came suddenly - blah blah blah - however, you did notice the women standing on the far left of the screen, trying to hide tears. You smiled at the image. “The mistress. He was cheating.” This information wasn’t helpful at all though, judging from the behavior of the wife and the mistress, they didn't murder him.

The second victim was only 18 years old. His name was James Phillimore and he was last seen by the friend he was walking with the night of his death. He was found in a sports centre on November 29th. The cause of death, asphyxiation.

The third victim was Beth Davenport, last seen at a public venue and found on a building site in Greater London on January 28th. Death also by asphyxiation. According to the police, there is no connection between the deaths, however, there were sources that said otherwise, and you would have to agree.They all completely disappeared and reappeared, dead, hours later, all dying in what seemed to be in the same manner. But how did they all end up where they did and what was killing them?

You read through the case files once more, taking mental and written notes throughout the articles. You couldn’t think of anything practical that would help the case, well you did but you could do nothing about it while sitting in a cab. Trying not to get frustrated a yourself you locked your phone and took in the sights passing by while you could.

While looking at the streets of London, you thought of Will and how you and him would stay up late and talk about the future, where you’d end up together. You look down to the ring on you right ring finger, twisting it around out of habit. God how you wished he was here with you, congratulating you on going to London and getting the job you always wanted. He was always there for you when you needed him. Feeling a smile creep on your face you sighed, wishing you could go back to those days when everything was carefree and peaceful. When he was still here.

The feeling of the taxi stopping is what pulled you back to the present. Getting out of the cab, you looked at the building, seeing your new home… 220B. You helped the cabbie get your luggage out the back. “Thank you so much for your time and I hope you get to see your children soon. You should try talking to them and your ex wife and tell them the situation you’re in. Try to spend some time with your family, so you can cherish and treasure the moments while you can.” You said, smiling and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“T-Thank you miss, I’ll think about what ya said.” He muttered out, looking at you like you had three heads and told him to suck an egg.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, wondering if you got the fare wrong or said something you shouldn’t have said.

With a half grin, chuckling to himself, he replied. “Oh no miss. Nothin at all. I’ll make sure use my time wisely. You ‘ave a nice afternoon.”

You waved good-bye to the driver and bid him a good day, a genuine smile upon your face as he drove off. Looking up at the building of your new home, you adjust the strap on your shoulder and knocked on the door. Not long after, a woman in her late seventies answered the door.

Taking a quick glance you saw that she wore a lacy, high collared, black blouse, paired with a sweater and a purple shawl thrown over her shoulders. She was dripping with elegance. No wedding band. Does have engagement ring that's at least 50 years old though. The design and wear of the ring itself probably means that she was engaged but never married. Maybe she eloped when she was younger? She reminds me of Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter. Bringing yourself out of your deductions, you greeted her with a smile and introduce yourself.

“Hi, I’m Ava who called about the flat. I’m so sorry I didn't call before arriving, it just slipped my mind as I was reading my case files for work.” You took your bottom lip in between your chattering teeth in anticipation, hoping that you hadn’t made a bad first impression.

With a kind and warming smile she ushered you in out of the cold. “Oh that’s quite alright dear, please do come in. I'll make you a nice hot cuppa.”

Dragging your half frozen arse and heavy luggage into the foyer, you took a moment to look at the old, dingy wallpaper and the Victorian style of the whole ground floor, relishing in the dark hardwood floors and staircase leading up to the upstairs flat. Mrs.Turner closed the door and then lead you up the stairs to your new awaiting living quarters. Letting her lead the way, you both walked up the tiny staircase and you couldn't help but bathe in the Victorian setting of the stairway. It was old but also charming and homely. It was the change of scenery you needed. You watched as Mrs. Turner got out a key from the pocket of her sweater and unlocked the old, red, wooden door, the paint peeling in the corners. What a bold color of a door. You huffed out a laugh to yourself and followed her in.

You stepped into the room after her and looked around the flat. It was nothing special, having two windows that looked out into the streets of London. You noticed a sandwich shop across the street, next to a jet black door with a crooked knocker. How convenient but who puts their knocker on crooked? You looked over at the door next to the shop, squinting your eyes to try to make out the numbers above the infernal knocker. You could just barely make out the numbers.

“2...2...1B. So that’s where my aunt lives.” You say loud enough for Mrs.Turner to hear from the kitchen.

“Oh yes, and the very handsome and clever Sherlock Holmes.” You could practically hear the smile on her face as the words left her lips.

“Oh?” You quirked the corner of your mouth, looking over your shoulder at the older woman.

“You should see him dear! Very serious and so kind I’ve heard, at least from Martha.” You smiled at the thought of the two old friends gossiping about the man in the flat as you paced around your new apartment.

“It seems this Sherlock fellow is quite popular around here.” You said crossing your arms and leaning against the opening of the kitchen, watching Mrs. Turner finish preparing the cups of tea and a few cooki- biscuits. Biscuits. If I’m going to be invisible here I have to start using their language.

“I’m not surprised that you’ve heard of him so fast but yes, you could call him popular with the people he’s helped.” She said with a content smile.

“Helped?” Your eyebrow rose in question. “What do you mean helped?”

“He has helped many people around here. He is especially good with legal problems, he once helped your aunt with her husband’s murder charge in Florida two years ago.” She was turned towards you gesturing you to sit at the two person dining table. Florida two years ago? I wonder what part?

“He helped Mrs. Hudson’s husband out of a murder charge?”

“Oh no dear, he ensured it.” Your eyebrows rose into your hairline and your mouth gaped like that of a fish.

“So… so what, is he like a lawyer or a cop of something?” You asked before sitting at the table, sighing at being able to take the weight off your travel tired feet. Mrs. Turner had set the biscuits on a dainty little plate in reach of your hands and the lemon scented shortbread filled you with contentment as you took a bite from one of the sugary snacks. As you chewed, you couldn’t help but to ponder about the ever increasing mystery around Sherlock.

“Oh goodness no, he’s more of a Private Detective. He helps others with problems that need to be taken care of discreetly.” Mrs.Turner took the seat in front of you and sipped at the hot cuppa. So this Sherlock Holmes solves crimes and helps the locals with legal problems that need to taken care of discreetly... So a specialist. Interesting. “But he can be quite rude when he’s dealing with clients or people in general.” She added stopping your train of thought. Your brows furrowed at the comment.

“Well to put it simply, he’s a complete ass.” She said bluntly, looking over her cup before taking another sip. You couldn’t help go wide eyed at the women and nearly fall of your chair because of the sudden burst of laughter that came from your lungs. After all, you’ve never heard an older lady use such language, it took you by surprise. She giggled along beside you and when you had both calmed, she looked past you whimsically, a petite smile gracing her features. “But I will tell you dear, he’s a bit of a lady killer. With those cheekbones of his and his eyes… oh they’re going to be the death of me.” Your lips curled slowly, the gleam in your eyes akin to that of the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Is that a crush I hear in that voice of yours? Are you fond of this man, Mrs.Turner?” You asked with a sly grin. She seemed to come back from whatever daydream she was having, a rouge blush tainting her cheeks as she settled the teacup back onto the table. Your smirk only grew at this revelation and you just couldn’t believe it.

“Oh don’t give me that look, you will see what I’m talking about when you meet him.” She retorted with a light shake of her head.

“Well, I guess I’m gonna have to be the judge of that.” You said before sipping the now lukewarm beverage, feeling the cold outside wash away with the tea.

Relishing in the warmth of the moment, you relax further into the chair. You talked to Mrs.Turner for a good while about different things, like the rules of the flat and the rent, which weren’t a lot and manageable; don’t be loud, have your rent on time, don’t slam doors, and don’t block the walkway or foyer. Mrs.Turner, after a while, saw herself out to go take care of the paperwork on the flat. You took your suitcase up to your room and began to unpack, starting with making your bed.

However, the second you put the fitted sheet on the mattress, your phone went off, startling you and causing the sheet to flick up from the corners and tangle in the middle of the bed. You were scowling when you picked up the device, your face dropping as you looked at your phone to see ‘Unknown’ at the top of the screen, your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't push away the thought that came as a whisper in your mind. What if it’s him? You try to make your voice as steady as possible as you answer the call. “Hello?”

A husky, British voice came on the phone after a few seconds silence. “Is this Ava Bradford?”

“Yes… this is she.” You replied hesitantly, your grip on the phone turning your knuckles white as the tension grew.

“This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. I’m calling about the case files I sent you earlier today.” The voice said and you physically relaxed at his words, the tension rolling off of your shoulders and falling to the floor as you sat on the unmade bed, letting a breath out of your lungs that you didn't know you had.

“Oh yes, sorry. Hi, um, yeah I got the files and have been over them. I was also told that I needed to come in soon. I can be there in a few hours after I unpack a bit if that’s okay.” You bit your nails out of habit and stared out of the window from the rickety bed. I need curtains.

“Yes well I was wondering if you could possibly come in sooner than that? It might be better if you got to meet the team before hand and see what evidence we have on the case so far, it might help you get a reading on it.” Greg said in an exasperated tone, like he just sat down after a run.

“Oh um… yes that shouldn't be a problem I just need to clean up and change. Send me the address and I should be there in no time.” You said trying to sound as content as possible when in reality you had begun to feel stretched thin.

“Alright I’ll text you the address and when you get here, come to my office and I will get you set up.” He said with a kind of excitement in his voice.

“Ok, thank you so much and I will see you soon. Goodbye.” You said, hanging up the phone without hearing a reply. Falling back and laying flat on the mattress, the still rumpled sheet under your head, you stared at the ceiling trying to calm your nerves. Calm down, you're not going to make it if you keep letting your fears and weaknesses show. It gets you nowhere and you’re not going to last. You can't break yet, not now.

Getting up from the bed and having a quick shower, you put on what you thought would be appropriate work attire. Your white “Boyfriend” fit T-shirt, a dark grey loose necked hoodie, and your pink winter coat, and your legs clad in a pair of basic, ripped, black jeans and you favorite converse you’ve had ever since you were a freshman in high school. A pair of black converse with little drawing you did in class AP Chemistry when you were bored. You remember when you got the generic sneaker like it was yesterday, your own quirks making them unique to only you. You had become apart of the family and the siblings wanted to give you something together, they settled on these converse because you had always wanted a pair. You remember the youngest, Nina, giving you the polka dot laces because she wanted them the be “pretty”.

As you laced up your peculiar shoes your phone alerted, notifying you of a message. Seeing that Greg had sent you the address of Scotland Yard with another message underneath.

It’s Greg. This is the address and when you get here just tell them your name and the receptionist should let you up.

You texted him back saying; Okay leaving now.

You grabbed your keys out of the little white bowl on the chipped, baby blue side table next to the door and left your new home, locking the door behind you. Mrs.Turner must have heard your footsteps coming down the stairs because she was coming out of her flat as you got to the bottom.

“Are you heading out so soon dear?” She asked as she saw you fixing your jacket to get ready for the bone chilling weather that awaited for you almost tauntingly

“Yes ma’am. The boss wants me there a little early so I will see too the paperwork later on. I don't know when I’ll be back so don't wait up.” You said over your shoulder getting ready to open the door but you paused and quickly stepped over to Mrs.Turner and engulfed her in a quick hug. “Thank you.” You whispered softly.

She was taken back by the sudden embrace but returned the gesture lovingly. “Anything you need love. Be safe and don’t be too late.” She said with a motherly smile.

“I will. Bye.” You said as you open the door and leave, immediately feeling the London air freeze your nose, making you hug your jacket closer to your body. Closing the door behind you and walking to the curb, you waved down a taxi.

“New Scotland Yard please.”

#A Time Of Change #sherlock x reader #sherlock #sherlock x reader masterlist #fanfic

53 notes · View notes

percywinchester27 · 7 years

Text

Stroke of luck (Part-4)

Word count: 3200-ish

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: None. Fluff mostly.

Series Summary: Dark highway, middle of the night, a bad boy driving an Impala, and a Damsel in distress. Too cliche? Think again.

A/N: I still like where this story is going, hope y’all too :) Beta’d by the amazing @sdavid09. I would be so doomed without Shanna, y’all have no idea. Feedback is REALLY appreciated <3

This is also for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s hiatus writing challenge, week three. The prompt was- “Could you be any louder?”

Catch up: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

It would have been the slowest day of your life had it not been for the pit in your stomach that accompanied a nagging sensation that something was wrong. All you wanted to do was shut the shop and run back, but there was a wedding order for the evening, and thanks to that, there were a shit ton of flowers in the back yard. Jessie, your assistant, had mysteriously disappeared on you, too.

You paced up and down along the length of the shop, the fragrance of the flowers doing nothing to calm you down today. In a moment of retrospect you couldn't help but wonder what your dad would have said if he had lived to see the daughter he raised as a hunter, work a vanilla job like a florist. Maybe he wouldn't have minded, maybe he would have. You could never really be sure with him. You'd never really known what went on in his head.

But all the pacing and thinking wasn't helping the pit. You knew something was seriously amiss. It had happened to you before. Your gut instinct never failed you.

The clanking of the bell, as the door opened, pulled you back from your worrying. You automatically adjusted your features into a pleasant and detached smile you saved for your customers. Today, it faltered. Thankfully, you were in luck because this particular customer was a regular.

"Hello, Mrs. Henley," you greeted her.

"Hello, Darling," she smiled back genially.

"The usual?" You asked, immediately setting to work when she nodded. Her order had been the same everyday for the last 6 years- a dozen yellow daisies, cut to the same length with no embellishments whatsoever. You wondered what she needed them for.

"How's Violet doing?" She asked conversationally. "I swear that girl just devours all those books. Not a day goes by when I don't see her going past the house and into the library, always with a new book in hand. She'll just wave and say 'what's up Mrs. Henley?' Not a day goes by, Y/N, not a day. My morning doesn't start without seeing her."

"I'm glad she makes you happy, Mrs. Henley," you smiled back while wrapping her flowers.

"One bright ray of sunshine that one, I tell you. You did a great job with that kid," she told you.

"I did the best I knew. And I didn't really know much."

"It's what motherhood does to you. It makes you grow up too soon. I bet her father would regret runnin' away from you now, if he ever knew what a gem stone his daughter is," she gave you an exaggerated pat on the back.

"Yeah, if only he ever knew." You met her eyes as you tied a knot around the flowers. Mrs. Henley was a nice old lady, and you knew she meant well, but it hurt you to not say something in Dean's defense. She was a customer though, and you had long resorted to letting the rumors about you flourish. The more outrageous they became, the less people asked you about them.

"There you go," you handed her the flowers.

"Thank you, Darlin'," she drawled pleasantly. "I like both of you girls. I know how much you love your lil' one… I'm actually surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be with Violet."

"Vi's in school. Why would I be with her?" You asked, the pit in your stomach making its presence known again.

"Why, did you not hear?" She leaned in animatedly, but her voice was sad. "The Fletcher's kid was found dead at the school today. They let all kids go home early, that's how I know. Didn't she call you?"

"No, she didn't. That is terrible news. What happened?"

"Don't really know yet, Hun."

"I'm gonna head home," you muttered, grabbing your bag and heading out of the counter, Jessie would have to manage the delivery. "Thank you, Mrs. Henley, for letting me know."

As you drove, you tried to calm yourself down from the irrational anxiety. If something had been wrong with Vi, she would’ve definitely called you from school. So she must be alright. But then why hadn't she called when she had reached home? Maybe because she knew about the wedding order, and didn’t want to worry you. That would be your kid… Worry, worry and worry for you. That must be it, you placated yourself.

You jumped out of the car the moment it screeched to an halt in your driveway.

"Vi?" you called out. No reply. "Violet?" There was some scuffling from upstairs.

"Sam?" you tried again, knowing how much your daughter loved it when you called her that.

"Y-Yeah," your girl answered. Her voice sounded hoarse.

You pushed the door to her room and found her huddled in her bed, wrapped in a thick blanket. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were red and cheeks were blotchy.

"Hey," you whispered softly, climbing into the bed next to her, and pulling her in your arms. "What happened, kiddo?"

"Aaron," she sighed heavily.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She turned her head and buried it in your lap.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," you said, running your fingers through her soft blonde hair soothingly. "I didn't know you were such good friends with him."

"I wasn't," she muttered. "But he died right in front of me, and then the police kept me locked up like I was the one who killed him or something. They didn't believe a word I said either."

"Wait a second, back up here!" you pulled her up, making her face you. She looked weary. "You saw it all?"

"I don't wanna talk."

"Nope! You can't drop that bomb and not talk. How dare those dicks not believe you? And you said they kept you locked up? At the PD? I'm gonna go down there and kick some ass."

She shook her head. "Not in the PD, at the school itself. In the detention room."

They were so gonna have it from you. You hated the police. You’d had fair share of trouble with them in your hunting days. They were ignorant jerks for most parts, but detaining a kid was below their already rock-bottom low standards. "You have to tell me what happened there Vi." You squared your shoulders.

She dropped hers, resigned.

Vi told you what had happened. The purple light, the cloaked figure and the hex bag. You were proud of how composed she sounded. She knew exactly what had happened, and deduced the most accurate conclusion- witches. Obviously, the police hadn't believed her.

"They made me pee in a cup," she said, face pinched.

"Dicks," you shook your head. It probably wasn't the right way of raising your kid, but you weren't the sort of person who behaved differently on the streets than in front of your child. Having a sixteen year old kid hear you swearing was more acceptable in your books than have them see that their parents live in double standards.

Right now, colorful language was least of your concern. There had been three mysterious deaths in the past couple weeks, and both the police as well as the people were being extremely shady about it. Something didn't quite add up. If Aaron's death was anything to go by, the town had a coven at their hands. This was not good, for SO many reasons.

"How did you get out? They wouldn't have let you go without a parent."

She giggled unexpectedly, then rolled over as the giggling gave way to a fit of laughter while you stared at her in confusion. It took her a few minutes to sober up enough to be able to talk.

"There was this FBI agent, he broke me out of there."

"What? FBI?" This was just getting worse and worse with every passing second.

"Yeah," she giggled again. "He was super fun. You should have seen the way he talked the officer out of it. It was hilarious, and-"

"What did you tell him?" you interrupted.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean, what did he ask you about the murder?"

"Everything, and you know what? He believed in me mom!" Her eyes lit up. "He actually agreed with me."

Shit! Hunter.

"Did he ask you how you knew about all of this?" Please say no, please say no.

"Um, I might have said that we are superstitious," she looked guilty. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

You sighed. She had been through one hell of trauma, and she was only a kid. She didn't even know hunters existed.

"No, you didn't, babe. Did he enquire more about us?"

"Nope," she brightened a little. "Don't worry mom, he was nice, and I told you he would be. He was the same man-"

"Okay, kiddo, listen," you cut her chatter, getting ready to leave. "I'm heading to the morgue to check the dead bodies. If this is really a witch killing, we need to help these people, and find the witch."

What you didn't tell her was that you needed to help the two of you, as well. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone from that circle again. It would totally uproot your life if you got yourself or your daughter mixed up with that crowd again.

"What will you do if you do find the witch?"

"Kill her." The words simply slipped past you, and for a moment you were scared of meeting you daughter's eyes. You can't just randomly confess to wanting to kill things like that.

However, when you finally looked up, there was a glint of anger in her eyes. "Good," she nodded, and for a moment, she looked exactly like her father. "But you can't just waltz into the morgue like that."

"Remember Ethan?"

"The date from hell?"

"Yep that one." You cringed on the insides even thinking about it. "He works at the morgue. Maybe I can ask for favors."

It was Vi's turn to cringed visibly now. "Eww!"

Yeah Eww..

"Hey mom?" she called as you started to leave. "Be careful, okay? And kick it in the ass."

"Of course, honey," you winked, as you closed the door behind you. Your daughter was one tough cookie. You couldn't have been prouder.

Dean’s POV:

Dean couldn't fucking keep the smile off of his face as he strolled around the campus aimlessly. Sam will find him after he was done with whatever he was doing. For the life of him, Dean couldn't remember the last time he’d had so much fun. It felt like being back in his twenties. He did wild stuff like this all the time. He had lost count of the times he and Sam had done something stupid, ended up in prison, or in a clash with the authorities, and had busted out.

Even before that, when he was a teenager, it happened sometimes. Lesser then, but it happened nevertheless. He would sneak. Those were the best memories of his life.

"Pssstttttt…" Dean hissed. No reply.

"Pssssttttttt…" he tried again. If he got any louder, he was going to wake up everybody in the goddamned motel. He so didn’t wanna see Y/N's dad's face at 2 in the night.

The window opened slowly, creaking a little. Dean thought he was dead, until Y/N's sleepy face appeared.

"Dee?" she asked groggily. "Is that you?"

"Um yeah…" Suddenly he felt extremely stupid. What was he even doing here?

"Come closer, I can't hear you," she whispered.

Awkwardly Dean walked over to the window. "Hey can you come out for a bit?"

"There's a salt line at the door that dad made. It'll definitely get all screwed if I open a door. I can't make one like him. He'll know… and I think the door creaks…" she mused sleepily.

Dean wanted to kick himself. What was he thinking turning up like that at the motel she was staying in? There was no reason why she'd want to meet him at 2 in the night. But he had to, especially today.

"…C'mon?" Y/N hissed a little louder.

"What?" Dean asked, paying attention to her again. He was just making a bigger fool of himself every passing minute.

"I said give me your hand, dumbass!"

"Why?"

"I'm coming out through the window. There's a basement or something below. The window is higher that I can jump. So, give me your hand!"

"You wanna come down?"

"Are you always this stupid? Or is today a special occasion? Of course, I'm coming down." She rolled her eyes and Dean grinned.

Well, it was a special occasion. He extended his hand so she could catch hold of it. He just couldn't keep the damn grin off of his face.

"Thank god you're at least pretty!" she teased him, as she lowered her hand to meet his. Her eyes were shining with the laughter she couldn't hold, and Dean could swear they were the most beautiful pair he had ever seen.

She used the other hand to brace herself against the sill, as she hoisted one leg over the ledge. Her skin somehow shone in the bright moonlight trickling through the trees, and her soft hair fluttered as the wind swooshed against the open window. Dean couldn't help but notice that she was dressed only in a pair of shorts and a flowy tank top.

Soon she was sitting awkwardly on the sill, one hand resting against the frame and other holding Dean's.

"Now what?" she asked, trying to judge the distance. The window was over six feet high from the ground.

"Jump!" Dean offered.

"Are you kidding? I'll break something."

"No, you won't. Just jump! I'll catch you!"

"Shhh…" She hushed him. "Could you be any louder? Alright, I'm coming."

"On the count of three, then," Dean encouraged. "Okay… One…Tw-" She jumped, falling straight into Dean's arms, her soft chest pressed against his, as her hands clutched his shoulders in an effort to find a grip. Dean staggered a little but held on to her all the same.

"Hey? What happened to waiting till three?"

"I knew you'd catch me either way," she smiled. It was hard to be sure given the darkness surrounding them, but Dean thought he could see the tell tale signs of a shy smile.

He set her down on her feet, but did not let her go. If anything, he pulled her a little closer. "Happy birthday, Y/N/N."

He saw her eyes go blank for a fraction of second before a wide, surprised grin slowly stretched across her lips. "Holy shit! You remembered!" She was looking awed, and her eyes, her beautiful eyes were shining… glistening.

"Of course, I did! How could I not?"

"Well, I forgot about it myself."

"I did not." He let go of her then, reluctantly, still keeping a firm hold on her hand. "Sammy wanted to come, too, but one of us had to stay back just in case dad returned early. He'd freak the fuck out if he found an empty motel room." Dean was secretly glad that Sam couldn't make it. It was a weird happiness, and seeing Y/N smile, he was starting to realise why.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, too coyly for him to fall for it.

"If you're expecting me to say 'of course not, honey' and kiss you, I'll do it, Y/N." Dean winked.

"You're an idiot!" she giggled, slapping his chest, and tugging at his arm to lead him towards the back. "Let's get out of here. You're breaking me out, right?

"Yep!"

"Where are we going?" She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice.

"To that lake you've always wanted to visit." Dean directed her towards the Impala he'd somehow managed to keep for the week. "I have a blanket and a couple burgers in there."

"This is the best birthday present ever." She was outright laughing now. Such a beautiful sound. It made Dean giddy with happiness.

Once they were both around the edge of the motel, Dean pulled her back. "I didn't forget, Y/N," he said, pushing a small flower into her warm hand, relishing the softness of her palm. Then he did something he had only imagined before. Y/N hadn't exactly said a no earlier, so he leaned forward, his heart pounding against his chest, and lightly brushed his lips against her cheek. She froze for a second, before her cheeks raised into an adorable smile, Y/N leaned into him. Emboldened by her reaction, Dean kissed her once more. This time on the corner of her mouth. "Happy birthday, Y/N," he whispered. "A very happy seventeenth."

"Dean?" Sam's voice pulled him back. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you."

"I was… I was caught up with something."

"Did you talk to the witness?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "I knew that kid. I found her stranded in the middle of the night yesterday. And guess what? I busted her out of there." He jerked a thumb towards the detention room.

"You did what?" Sam's eyes widened. "Dean, you're not supposed to interfere. Let the police handle it."

"She's a kid, Sam! They were keeping her in there for actually telling the truth. In fact, she knew it was a witch," Dean said proudly. "And guess what? Her name's Sam, too. Pretty smart for someone named Sam, eh?" He chuckled.

"Sam you say? Her name was Sam, and she knew about witches?" Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, said her mother was superstitious or something. One hell of a brave kid."

"If it's really a witch, I'm gonna go check out the morgue. They must have the hex bag found with the body." Sam mused. "I called ahead suspecting that, but instead of tomorrow, I'll just go over now."

"Alright," Dean agreed, flinging the keys of the Impala to his brother. "You go on. Meet me back at the motel we saw on our way in. I'll grab us some grub." He was still smiling as he headed past the parking lot.

Sam, however, didn't know what to make of the situation. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he couldn't help but mull over what his brother had told him. Dean said that the witnesses' name was Sam, and she knew enough to know a witch had killed the boy. But Sam had talked to the officers and seen through the files. The witnesses' name there was labeled 'Violet Y/L/N.' Sam couldn't get rid of the queasy feeling in his stomach as he drove off towards the morgue. Something didn't quite add up here… Or, rather, it all added up too well.

If you want to add yourself to the taglist for the series, there’s a link to my taglists in the bio of the blog. Can be accessed only via a computer! ;)

Stroke of luck taglist:

@sdavid09 @grace-for-sale @kas-not-cas @bellastellaluna @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @benjerry707 @tiny-friggin-human @kaylynnw428 @anarchyrenegade @clairese1980 @quixoticcat @sea040561 @chumi-la-chula @girliciousdreams @sofiadiaz04 @soul-of-verity @redeyedvixen @earthtokace @that-never-happened @deanwinchesters-67impala @deevvoon @wackiekebab @brihughes4 @ilsawasanacrobat @deansgrenadelauncher @ohgodwhybloggg @i-just-wanna-live-gc @gabavaldman @betterlatethennever@torn-and-frayed @lavieenlex @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @thedevilinthedetails @raventonks19 @sonofabitch-spn @mayasmedberg @escabell @kathaswings @mogaruke @brihughes4 @docharleythegeekqueen @impandagrl @luna-plena-venandi @jotink78 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @deanssweetheart23 @adaliamalfoy @melonberri @maui137 @winchesterprincessbride @prairiebirdie @dustycelt @its-my-perky-nipples @laurenisnot @iamnotsaneatall @aiaranradnay @escabell @feelmyroarrrr @scrumptiouswinnie @thevioletthourr @mrswhozeewhatsis @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @sandlee44 @thebitterbookeater @applepienjackdaniels @anokhi07 @plainoldblogs @silver-and-green @meeshw777 @liveyourlifemeraki @redunicorn10

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader angst #daddy!dean #stroke of luck part 4 #sol part 4 #sol #ana writes dean #anawritesspn

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