#i swear that wasn’t intentional i thought they would fit because of certain stuff like bobby with venus and love and all😭

[hyenaa-euphoria]

stuffss for the red giant auuu!! :P

[kuroopaisen]

rascal. (bokuto koutarou)

➵  maybe pirates aren’t so bad, after all. 

wc: 5.6k

warnings: f!reader, copious amounts of fluff, tomfoolery 

a/n: rachel darling i remember you were the one to request pirates, so here it is!  you’re an absolute sweetheart, and thank you for always popping into my inbox and being as lovely as you are! i hope you enjoy this! ren and remy, thank you so much for your help on this fic! 

Inheriting your aunt’s tavern wasn’t exactly a blessing.

If anything, you planned to sell it off after a year or two. You were only going to work it for a year out of respect – it was giving you the opportunity to secure some sense of financial freedom, after all.

Not that it was the act of running a tavern that you were uncomfortable with. Not at all – you’d never had access to this much money before, and it was less gruelling work than that of the farm.

And it helped you stave off getting married for a few years – thank the gods.

The issue was one of reputation. Your aunt’s – no, your tavern – was known for playing host to patrons with less than sterling character. It was known for servicing ‘unscrupulous fellows,’ as your father had grumbled. In that very same breath, he’d told you that you had to take it – the money was too good to pass up.

So, you’d moved to this bustling port city, intent on making at least something during your first few months. You’d hoped that the reputation of your patrons was all hearsay; rumours spread by competitors, or maybe gullible travellers.

Unfortunately, your father was right.

Pirates. Pirates, everywhere. How your aunt had built up a client base composed primarily of these seaborne rogues, you weren’t sure.

But you were wise enough to keep your opinions to yourself. These men would be lining your pockets for the foreseeable future, after all.

Had you been scared, at first? Yes! Absolutely terrified! But you had to accustom yourself to it – and fast.  

You even knew a few by name; regulars who always seemed to come in at least twice a month or so. Some came weekly, which always made you doubt just how much seafaring they actually did.

Some even brought you spoils from their ‘travels’. Goods like wheat and barley, mostly – stuff that you were wise enough to turn a blind eye to. Most of the time, you would just donate such things to the local orphanage. They had better use for such things, anyway.

You were sure that a few of them, blinded by their drunken haze, couldn’t actually tell the difference between you and your aunt. But it was no matter; whoever your aunt was, she was tough as nails. That wasn’t a surprise, though. She had left this place simply because she wanted to go travelling around the world. You wondered, more than once, if she’d actually run off with a pirate.

There was a certain group of regulars that confused you, though. Admittedly, you were quite fond of them, but you had no idea if they were pirates, or just some old chums. They always came in at least once a week, and they were never short on gold.

But they treated you well, and always made a habit of hanging around the bar.

Their leader was striking, a tall, muscular man with a pair of sparkling golden eyes and the world’s brightest smile. He certainly had the look of a pirate – that typical white shirt that revealed a little more of his chest than maybe it should, the sun-kissed skin, the sword slung around his waist.

But his personality only half fit the bill. Loud, gregarious, bold – but sensitive, childish, naïve.

And yet despite all that, you could tell that he was in charge. Things always seemed to come back to him, no matter what. Even if his stunning black-haired friend – likely the first mate, if they really were pirates – seemed to call most of the shots.

Not that it mattered, in the end. They paid up, and that was enough.

“So, what do you think of pirates?” This leader, who you’d surmised was called ‘Bokuto’, asked, tilting his head to the side. He looked a little like a bird.

A ripple of exasperation ran through his friends.  

You laughed. “Why do you ask?”

“Rumour is they’re your main clientele.” Another one of the men – possibly called Konoha, if you remembered correctly – smirked at you from over his flagon.

“Ah,” you smiled, propping your elbows on the bar and resting your chin on folded hands. “It’s hard to tell these days.” You’d play the game, if you must.

“Huh?” The lot of them frowned at you; were they offended, maybe?

“I like my pirates traditional, see,” you sighed, adding a touch more exasperation than necessary. “You know; eyepatches, big feathery hats, peg legs… but nobody who comes through those doors looks the part.”

Konoha and some of the other men snorted, but Bokuto perked up.

“Wouldn’t pirates be bad for business?” Konoha raised an eyebrow at you. “Driving off other clients, and all that?”

You shrugged, biting your cheek. “What use is respectable clientele if they’re not willing to pay for an entire barrel of ale?”

Some of them laughed at that. What a relief; it meant they weren’t paying attention to the discomfort behind those words.

“I just wish they looked like pirates.” You shook your head, standing up to full height again. “If you’re going to be a pirate, you may as well dress like they do in all those romantic tales.”

“So you’re upset that they’re not meeting your personal tastes?” Konoha chuckled. “Isn’t it bad to ogle your clientele?”

“Well, they see no problem with ogling me, so I think it’s only fair,” you shrugged, waving a hand at him. You barely felt the sentiment, but you weren’t about to be vulnerable in front of a pirate.

A small racket erupted from the lot of them, a cacophony of responses that ranged from concern to amusement. You took the opportunity to turn away from them, a serene smile masking your face.

You liked those boys. You really did.

But it certainly felt remiss to befriend a group of pirates. Even if they did pay your bills.

✧ ✧

“Is he okay?” You asked, handing Akaashi two flagons.

“Hm?” Akaashi blinked, a small frown touching at the corners of his mouth.

“Your captain.” You nodded in the direction of the man in question. He was sitting on the other side of the tavern, very conspicuously not looking at you. That in itself was abnormal. But what really made it weird was the eyepatch. And the pointed leather hat adorned with an obnoxiously big feather. Those were both new additions to his get up.

“Oh,” Akaashi sighed, placing the flagons on the bar. “He’s fine.”

“But… his eye…”

“He’s still got both of them, don’t worry,” Akaashi said, shaking his head. “He thought he needed to change up his image.”

“Change up… his image?”

“He wanted to look more fearsome,” Akaashi deadpanned, his eyes flicking down. “More like a true pirate.”

You giggled at the thought. “So, you’re really pirates, then?”

“You already knew that,” Akaashi smiled softly.

He was the cleverest one, that was for sure.

Your eyes found their way back to Bokuto. He seemed to be struggling with his new costume, constantly readjusting the eyepatch and pushing the tip of the hat back up so it wouldn’t obstruct his vision. Occasionally, he would screw up his nose a bit. Not really the look of a fearsome pirate captain.

“I see he hasn’t sawed his leg off, though.” You bit back a smile.

Akaashi chuckled at that. “No, he’s not unreasonable enough for that.” He raised an eyebrow at you before turning to look at his captain. “He did some asking around. Got a good scope of all those romantic pirate stories you were talking about.”

“Really?” You scoffed. If this was his attempt to woo you, it surely was the most creative yet.

“Well, tell him that I don’t like my pirates reticent,” you smiled, winking at Akaashi. “I much prefer it when they talk to me.”

Akaashi laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Will do.”   

Within five minutes, Bokuto was back at your bar, the eyepatch replaced by his typical brilliant smile. The hat remained a part of the ensemble, but you didn’t mind. You were quick to assure him that you preferred it that way.

✧ ✧

“Bokuto.”

“Yeah?”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“It’ll be fine!” Bokuto beamed at his first mate, scratching the underbelly of the parrot sitting on his shoulder. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Birdmeat?”

The name ‘Birdmeat’ had come from the suggestion that Bokuto should name his parrot after his favourite food. He was the only one who failed to see the issue with it. 

“I fail to see how a parrot is supposed to impress a woman,” Akaashi muttered.

“It’ll impress her because he can speak, duh,” Bokuto scoffed, as if he’d just said the most reasonable thing in the world. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Idiot!” The bird squawked, flapping its wings. “Idiot!”

Bokuto’s face fell. But for once, he let it slide. “Just you wait, Akaashi,” he beamed, pointing a finger at his first mate. “This will impress her.”

It did not, in fact, impress you.

“What if it shits?” You grimaced, gazing at the gaudily coloured bird with an expression that could only be described as thinly-veiled contempt.

“It… won’t.”

“It will.”

“Akaashi—”

He just shot Bokuto a look that said, ‘I told you so.’ The fact that it was empty of any malice or self-righteousness just made it more infuriating.

“I’d be… willing to let it slide if it was… restrained, somehow,” you said carefully, your mind running through all the possible ways this could go wrong.

It was just a bird. It couldn’t cause too much mayhem.

But, it belonged to Bokuto. The human manifestation of havoc.

And that made you nervous.

Bokuto nodded vigorously, turning to Akaashi. “We can manage that, right?”  

“Uh.” Akaashi looked at you. There was something about his eyes that made it seem like he was apologising. “Do you have any rope?”

Five minutes and a lot of squawking later, and the parrot had a tenuous rope wrapped around it’s belly like a harness. You’d felt too bad about tying its wings or legs up, so you’d made Bokuto swear to not let go of the rope. He’d been resolute, promising that he’d be very mindful of his little companion.

Finally, it seemed, you could get back to business.

“One spiced mead, please!” Bokuto beamed, hands on his hips in some sort of pose.

You swallowed down a sigh. You’d be damned if this man wasn’t entertaining – perhaps even charming, in his own way – but by the gods did he give off the impression of a disaster waiting to happen.

Just go about your business, you thought to yourself. It’s fine, Bokuto’s got a grip on the rope. It’ll be fine.

“Here,” you sighed, placing the flagon on the bar in front of him.

In his enthusiasm, Bokuto used two hands to pick it up. 

Two. Meaning one wasn’t holding the rope.

And Birdmeat knew.

Even Akaashi wasn’t fast enough.

It sprung off Bokuto’s shoulder, landing in his flagon with an undignified splash.

Bokuto shrieked, swatting at the parrot with one hand. Akaashi had dove head-first at the ground, missing the rope by a mere margin.

“Bokuto!” He yelled.

Bokuto flinched, realising a moment too late that he’d let go of the damn bird.

Birdmeat shot straight up, its wings flapping at full speed.

You should’ve trusted your instincts.

Chaos erupted.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto shrieked, flailing his hat in the air.

The man in question looked like he had just left this mortal plane. You had half a mind to join him.

The bird was still flapping around the tavern, squawking at the top of its little lungs.

The rest of Bokuto’s crew was on their feet, staring at the bird with some sense of dumbfounded resignation. A normal day for them, you supposed.

“That fuckin’ bird just shat in my ale!”

Oh no. Oh no.

Laughter erupted from one end of the tavern – likely that poor sod’s friends. But you didn’t have time to worry about that. You’d just give him a free drink or two later. Your main concern was stopping that little fucker from doing anything worse.

The last thing you wanted to do was try and calm a pirate who had bird shit running down his forehead.

How were you even supposed to catch a bird? Did you have a net?

Your other patrons had noticed by now, their expressions ranging from amusement to annoyance to anger. Multiple voices were crying out, but you couldn’t quite tell what any of them were saying. All you could do was watch the parrot fly higher and higher, the short leash of rope rising well out of reach.

The bird clattered onto one of the rafters, its claws skittering across the wood. You’d never get those scratches out.

“Idiot!” It squawked. “Idiot!”

You could’ve sworn it was looking at Bokuto.

“Do you have a plan?” You hissed, head whipping round to him.

Bokuto glanced at you sheepishly, his cheeks red as anything. “Maybe?”

Why did that make you feel worse?

“Akaashi…”

“Please don’t tell me…”

“It’s the only way…”

You looked between the two of them, frowning. “What? What are you planning?”

“Trust me,” Akaashi sighed. “You won’t like it.”

You didn’t.

Bokuto’s ‘plan’ was to prop Akaashi on his shoulders, hoping that would be high enough to reach that damn parrot’s leash. And admittedly, that wasn’t the worst plan. But this was Bokuto. Anything could go wrong.

Poor Akaashi looked like he knew that quite well. 

You watched in horror as he stood himself on one of your stools, giving you an apologetic nod in the process. You stared at him, dumbfounded. Bokuto dashed forward, turning around so his back was facing his precariously balanced friend. 

“Be careful,” Akaashi mumbled, swinging his legs over Bokuto’s awaiting shoulders. 

Bokuto nodded with a grunt, clamping his hands over Akaashi’s knees as if to stabilise him. It certainly didn’t make you feel any more at ease. 

This was a disaster waiting to happen. You just knew you were about to watch someone split their head open on the floor of your tavern. 

The lumbering form of Akaashi-plus-Bokuto ambled towards Birdmeat, each wobbly step taken with great purpose. 

You watched, rapt with horror as they inched closer to their target, one of Akaashi’s hands outstretched and the other planted on the top of Bokuto’s head. 

Birdmeat cocked his head.

Akaashi leant forward, swiping at the air. He grabbed the rope, giving it a careful tug. Birdmeat flapped its wings, scrambling as it fell backwards off the scaffolding. 

One more yank and it was against Akaashi’s chest, caged in by his arms. 

A confused cheer rippled through his crewmates as they crowded around him. 

You frowned as you watched them squabble amongst themselves for a bit, fingers pointing and voices raised as they disagreed over who should have to deal with the bird. 

A hush set upon the tavern, each and every pair of eyes turned to the small gaggle of men bickering amongst themselves. You were sure that your patrons were just as worried as you were that they’d accidentally let it go in the midst of their bickering. 

You weren’t about to let that happen.  

“Get that damn thing out of here,” you grumbled, pointing at the door. A few more moments of bickering, and the bird had safely traded hands. One of the men, a shorter fellow you’d come to know as ‘Komi’ nodded, scampering out the door with the parrot safely clasped between his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Bokuto mumbled, drawing his knees up to his chest.

This was their captain? This big, muscular behemoth of a man who was sitting on your tavern floor, curled up in a ball?

What kind of pirate crew was this?

“It’s… okay,” you sighed, pressing two fingers to your eyes. “Nobody got hurt, so…”

Bokuto braved a look at you, his golden eyes round and pitiful. Hell, even his hair seemed like it had deflated. How was that even possible?

“We’ll help you clean up,” Akaashi said, giving you a quick bow. “I deeply apologise for the commotion.”

You waved your hands at him, overwhelmed by the sudden formality. “No, no, it’s fine!”

Maybe you should’ve been angrier. Maybe you should’ve been more upset. But something about this was just… delightfully absurd. Nobody but Bokuto would’ve thought that this was a good idea. And it was nice to have some excitement that didn’t involve cutlasses for once.

“Just… just help me clean up, okay?” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll call it even.”

A week later, a poster took pride of place above the bar. It read, in big, bold lettering: “ABSOLUTELY NO PARROTS, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. EVER.”

Akaashi had made it himself.

✧ ✧

Bokuto liked to think of himself as a well-mannered man despite his disreputable occupation.

He’d even tried to get Akaashi to market them better; something along the lines of ‘debonair,’ the whole ‘criminals, but with a conscience’ shtick. Akaashi had refused, calling it a waste of time – they were pirates after all, and regardless of how moral their conduct was, they were going to have a bad reputation.

But that didn’t stop Bokuto from trying his very best to be a rogue with a heart of gold.

And he was currently debating whether or not punching an asshole in the face challenged or reinforced that identity.  

“Akaashi—”

“Don’t do it.”

“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Bokuto whined, pouting at his second-in-command.

“She’ll be mad at you if you start a fight,” Akaashi murmured, taking a sip of his ale.

Bokuto huffed, head whipping around to look at you again.

To anyone else, you looked unbothered; smiling like you usually did, laughing at each poor joke directed your way. But Bokuto could tell that something was off. That you were uncomfortable. And he didn’t like that one bit.

He’d been watching long enough to identify the source of your discomfort.

Some dude that he’d only seen a handful of times, but had seen enough to know that he distinctly didn’t like his aura.

“Akaashi, I’m gonna do it.”

“Don’t do it.”

“But he’s making her uncomfortable,” Bokuto whined, looking between Akaashi and the bar with a certain hint of desperation.

“Maybe you should ask her about it before doing anything brash,” Akaashi sighed, rubbing one of his temples with two fingers. “Walking up to some dude and punching him in the face isn’t a good way of impressing your crush.”

“I don’t have a crush!”

“Sure you don’t, Bokuto,” Akaashi said, taking another sip from his mug.

“Psst!”

You raised an eyebrow at him. Was he trying to be subtle? Because leaning the entire top half of his body over the bar wasn’t exactly understated. 

“Yes?”

“If I started a fight with that dude, would you get mad at me?”

What? Your eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes growing wide. “Bokuto, what the fuck?”

“Not, like, a proper fight,” he mumbled, pouting. “Just, like… a warning.”

“A warning?” Why did he think that sounded any better?

“Like a territorial thing!”

You blinked. “Bokuto, what are you talking about?”

“Well, like… if he feels unwelcome here, he’s not gonna keep bothering you, right?” Bokuto asked, tilting his head at you. He always looked like a little owl when he did that, eyes big and round and far more innocent than they should be. Wasn’t he a pirate captain?

But there was something charming about his simple logic. And something touching about the fact he was this concerned.  

“Look,” you sighed, reaching over and taking his hand. You didn’t miss how his entire face bloomed red, right up to his ears. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ll be okay.”

A thought crossed your mind. A foolish thought, really. But one you didn’t abhor.

You leant forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Bokuto looked like he’d ascended. His golden eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, his mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ as he gaped at you.

You giggled, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go. “I’ve got a sword out back anyway.”

Those words yanked Bokuto back down to earth. 

“Wait, really?” For some reason, he couldn’t quite comprehend it. But the thought of you wielding a sword made him… feel things he was rather ashamed of.

You giggled, picking up a flagon and turning to one of the barrels lined up against the wall.

“I know how to use it, too.” You shot him a wink. “My father thought that’d be a pertinent skill for me to learn, seeing as I was moving all the way out here.”

“Right.” Bokuto nodded, almost a little too vigorously. “Right.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” you smiled, handing him the flagon. Spiced mead. His favourite.

You had to take his hand and wrap it around the handle, shocked and flustered as he was.

“Off you go,” you tutted, waving him towards his friends.

Somehow, he managed to walk all that way without tripping.

“Oh come on,” Konaha groaned, rolling his eyes.

Bokuto wasn’t looking at them. He couldn’t, really. All he could think about was you – about how pretty you were, how soft your lips had felt against his cheek, how you smelt like whiskey and cinnamon and freshly baked bread.

Gods, having a crush was hard.

✧ ✧

“Do you… like it?” Bokuto stood on the other side of the bar, cheeks flushed and hair dishevelled with intoxication.

You’d faced many things in your time as a tavern wench. You’d believed that it meant you’d be ready to face any kind of situation, no matter how bizarre or off-beat or unsettling it might be.

That was naïve of you.

Because as you stood in front of Bokuto, very expensive-looking necklace in hand, you didn’t know what to say.

 “I…”

The necklace really was beautiful. It looked like a sapphire of some kind; a rich blue gem grafted into an oval. The faintest of glows emanated from it, adding an air of ethereal dignity that you didn’t quite know how to comprehend.

You were uncomfortably aware of your surroundings. Of the dingy walls, the rafters that definitely needed a touch-up or two, the general stink of sea and men and drink.

You were uncomfortably aware of yourself. Dressed in some prettied-up rags, your hair pulled out of your face with a strip of cloth, your entire body coated in a slick of sweat and dirt.

You shouldn’t be holding something this expensive. It was wrong.

Hell, you didn’t even know where this came from. You didn’t know how he’d gotten his hands on it.

“I can’t take it,” you said decisively, reaching for one of his hands.

He jumped, but the contact was enough to catch him off guard. You turned his palm upwards, placing the necklace in the centre and gently curling his fingers over it.

“It’s too… much,” you said, shaking your head. You tried to smile at him, but you knew there’d be a melancholic touch to it.

“I’m sorry,” he frowned, casting his eyes downwards. “I just… I wanted to say thank you. For putting up with u—with me.”

“If you want to say thank you,” you mused, crossing your arms over your chest. “How about you teach me to sword fight?”

He puffed out his cheeks as he pouted at you. You weren’t sure if he’d meant to do it or not. “I thought you said you knew how to use a sword.”

Those words had been seared into the back of his brain for the past two months.

“I mean—” You swallowed, straightening your shoulders. “I do, but not well…”

Bokuto blinked at you, completely unsure of what to say.

Did he want to spend more time with you? Absolutely.

“Okay.”

The word left his mouth before he’d run through all the options. Did he trust himself not to make a complete and utter fool of himself, should the two of you be alone? Absolutely not.  

But when you smiled at him like that, maybe he didn’t mind the thought of humiliating himself.

✧ ✧

“It might be better if you held it with two hands,” Bokuto mused, his own cutlass falling to his side as he took a step closer to you.

You sighed, lowering your blade. “Right.”

Gods, you were tired.

Bokuto had made good on his agreement without complaint. If anything, he seemed a bit too enthusiastic about it. He’d shown up a good three hours before opening, and had launched into his lesson before you’d even had time to process what was going on. You hadn’t even had your sword at the ready.

But it had gone well, all things considered. So well that you’d insisted on doing it again.

This was now your fourth lesson. You had a lot to learn, and Bokuto certainly wasn’t a bad teacher; so long as you could wrap your head around what he was saying.

And usually, you’d be able to have a good time.

But today was different. Today, you couldn’t put up a veneer of joviality. There was too much to worry about.

“Hey, are you alright?” Bokuto pouted, tilting his head at you.

You flinched, drawn out of your own thoughts by his voice.

You hadn’t heard those words in a while. You hadn’t really had time to make friends in this port city, let alone find people who gave a damn about your well-being. You’d just been so busy, running the tavern. Its reputation hadn’t helped you in the social sphere, either. It was hard convincing people you were worth their time when you were known for supplying pirates with their ale. No, the only people who looked out for you were back home.  

Like your poor father.

No. No, don’t.

It set upon you before you could stop it. The lump in your throat. The tremble in your hands. The burning at the corner of your eyes.

It took only a second for you to come undone.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Bokuto started, his sword clattering on the ground as his hands came up to clutch your shoulders. That was enough to shock you back to the moment at hand.

“I’m sorry!” You gasped, covering your face with your hands. Gods, this was embarrassing. What sort of tavern owner cried in front of her own damn customers?

“Don’t apologise!” He cooed. “You don’t have anything to apologise for!”

Oh, but you certainly did. Before your days running the tavern you might’ve completely broken down in front of him, dignity be damned. But you were much better at holding your composure now. Several months of serving pirates would do that to you.

“I’m…” You took a deep breath, clenching your fists. “Can we finish early for today? I’ve just got… a lot of things I’m dealing with right now.”

Bokuto gazed at you sadly, running gentle hands up and down your arms. “Of course.”

“Sorry to bother you,” you said, keeping your voice as stable as possible.

“You can… talk to me,” he murmured, squeezing your arms gently.

You looked up at him. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew you might regret it later.

But fuck, you needed to talk to someone.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “My father’s ill.”

“Oh.” Bokuto’s whole demeanour deflated. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the look on his face.

“And… and all the money I’m earning out here is being sent home for treatment,” you sighed. “They’ve even called in some mages to have a look at him, but that gets… expensive.”

“I can imagine,” Bokuto frowned, unsure of whether or not he should wrap his arms around you. Would that make it worse? Make it better?

“That’s not even taking into account the cost of running this place.” You bit your lip, gesturing to the tavern in question. “Or how expensive it is to subsidise my family. Mother’s income alone isn’t near enough to help them get by…”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. He didn’t need to hear all this.

“I’m sorry,” you swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey now.” Bokuto shook his head, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you into his chest.

You flinched in surprise, but you didn’t move away. He was warm – and muscular. And it had been a long, long time since anyone had held you like this.

“I told you not to apologise, didn’t I?” He hummed, resting his chin on the top of your head. “It sounds like you’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”

You nodded weakly. Your arms were trapped between your body and his, but you really, really wanted to wrap them around his waist.

“You can just relax for now, okay?” He said, giving you a little squeeze. “Take a breather.”

He loosened his grip a bit. Just enough for you to manoeuvre your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to him.

He’d intended to let you go, fearing that this was all too much for you. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

But no matter how fast his heart was beating, or how embarrassingly red the entire top half of his body must be, he wouldn’t deny you this moment.

Not if it might just help you smile.

✧ ✧

“Hey, hey, hey!”

That bright smile really did nothing but bring you relief, didn’t it?

“Hello, Bokuto,” you smiled, fighting off your exhaustion. It was about an hour or so until your official opening time, but you certainly wouldn’t begrudge his company.

He half-ran up to the bar, smile in tow. It hadn’t faded even a little bit since he’d opened the door.

“What’s got you so happy?” You chuckled, looking him up and down.

“Well,” he grinned, voice a little more theatrical than usual. “I spoke to the fellas.”

“Huh?”

“Hello,” Akaashi nodded.

You jumped. Where had he come from? Had he even walked through the front door? Or had you just been so distracted by Bokuto?

Oh, but you had something else to worry about.

A fat sack of coins, sitting on the table you’d just been cleaning.

“What’s this?” You frowned, looking between the two of them.

“I may have mentioned that you were… having a bit of financial trouble, and we decided that… we wanted to help in any way we could,” Bokuto mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “So we went around to the other guys who come here and we asked them to throw in a little cash.”

Your eyes focused on the bag again. How much was there? You pulled the string at its neck with a trembling hand, daring a look inside.

Shit, were these all gold?

“I can’t take this.” You shook your head, holding your hands up like a shield. “It’s too—"

“Aha!” Bokuto pointed a finger at you, a triumphant grin on his face. “I knew you’d say that!”

You blinked at him.

“You see, this isn’t a gift! This is a combined tip from all of your patrons! Money given willingly, as a thanks for your service! So, you have no reason to feel bad about accepting it!”

You stared at him. Of course he’d come up with something like that.

“You deserve to be happy,” Bokuto said, cheeks flushed as he struggled to meet your gaze. “And… you’re not going to be happy if you’ve got all this stuff to worry about. So… so hopefully this’ll help.”

Your body moved before your mind did.

You weren’t sure how you cleared the distance between the two of you, but your arms were around his neck, pressing your body against his. The poor boy froze, both heart and mind doing backflips.

“Thank you, Bokuto,” you smiled, loosening your hold around his neck and moving back just enough to get a proper look at his face.

He looked like he was about to burn up, but he was beaming. Strange and chaotic and silly as he could be, you really were fond of him. Fond of the amusement he brought to any and all who interacted with him. Fond of the weird way he looked at things, so optimistic and kind. Fond of how he seemed to bring light with him whether he went.

You noticed, not without some amusement, that Akaashi was no longer in the room.

You could certainly take the hint.

Your hands came up to cup his face, and you marvelled at the look of tentative excitement in his eyes.

“You’re a bit like a typhoon,” you chuckled, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips.

You didn’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Is that… a bad thing?” He mumbled, hands absentmindedly finding their way to your waist.

“Not at all,” you smiled. You stood on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his with the most chaste of kisses. You lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, revelling in the sharp little breath he took.

When you met his eyes again, there was a new glint in them. One you rather liked.

“Can you… do that again?”

You laughed, rubbing one of your thumbs over his cheek. 

If you hadn’t inherited this den of rogues and rapscallions, this wonderful mess of a man wouldn’t have come crashing into your life. Life was a funny thing, wasn’t it? You’d been so ungrateful when you’d first arrived, and now look at you. Kissing a pirate. You could never have predicted it. 

But maybe pirates weren’t so bad, after all.

[foxmoulder]

Why did he stop trying?

This is my first msr ficlet, and the following events are supposed to happen a while after FtF. I apologize in advance because there might be some grammar/spelling mistakes. I'm not a native english speaker and I hope you understand and enjoy the story anyways. Feel free to point out what I could improve. :)

1592 words | tagging: @today-in-fic

/// After almost turning into a cocoon for an ET to grow, Scully took a week off to herself, even though she knew a week was too much and she would probably get back to work after three days. It was friday night and she decided to go out for a drink or two, just to refresh her mind remembering how was it to have a normal life instead of chasing for paranormal activities, government secrets and all of the other weird stuff she never believed could happen and yet never found a scientific explanation for.

The working hour has just finished when Mulder was sitting in his office working on a few reports he needed to turn in. He thought about calling Scully to help him with a case he didn't quite remembered well (and perhaps to hear her voice), but decided not to bother her during her day off. He would spend the entire night at his office if needed, just to finish the late reports.

It was around 11 p.m. when Scully checked her watch and decided to get a taxi home. She left the money on top of the bar and left, realizing only then how drunk she actually was. The entire night she kept thinking about her choice of being a FBI agent and how, back then on day one, she had no idea she would go through all that she went so far. And she knew that there was nothing else she could expect happening to her, but deep down she felt a warming comfort knowing that, no matter what, Mulder would be there for her, just like he's always been. 

Her legs seemed not to be following her brain as she walked off the bar, constantly needing to hold onto something for support. She was not used to getting this drunk, but she couldn't help since her mind was spacing out of this world, thinking about so many things that happened to her - specially one: Mulder walking into her life. 

She got inside the taxi and told the driver the adress, realizing right after that she gave Mulder's adress instead of her own. Her head was resting on the car window and, as much as she hated to admit to herself, there was a question inside of her that kept popping into her mind all the time. 

Why did he stop trying?

She was walking down the hall of his floor when she saw door number 42 and knocked.

"Mulder?" she was yelling as she kept desperately knocking "Mulder, it's me!".

No one answered and she was too drunk to keep standing there and knocking his door. She turned her back to the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. Her legs close to her body, she was holding her knees and her head completely thrown back, resting by the door. "What am I doing here, anyways?" she told herself, not finding any strength to stand up and leave - and not even bothered by that. 

Ten minutes later, Mulder was walking down the hall when he saw a woman in front of his apartment. He quickly realized it was Scully and ran to get to her.  

"Scully? Are you ok?" he said as he bent down to help her up. She stretched out her arms so he could grab her. He easily noticed she was drunk like he never seen before, her sweet perfume was completely replaced by the alcohol smell.

They were both standing up and Scully was completely supported by him, he was even having some trouble holding her and getting his keys. As he opened the door, shutting it right behind him with his foot, he grabbed her with both his arms, lifting her from the ground and taking her to sit on the couch. 

He crouched down in front of her, smoothing her hair behind her ear. "Are you ok? Can I get you a glass of water?".

"No, Mulder. I'm fine... I just... It's ok" she said realizing she was still drunk and yet with no courage of asking him what's been on her mind for the past week. 

He noticed she was confused, drunk and that she had no intention of doing anything at all. She didn't look like she was going to get up and go home. He wasn't sure about what to do to help her, but he knew she needed a shower. Something about it sort of bothered him, since he didn't know how exactly she would respond to that considering her state.

"What about a shower? I can get you a clean t-shirt and you can sleep in the bed. I'm used to the couch, anyways" he smirked. She smiled back to him, nodding her head yes.

Scully failed trying to stand up and he helped her, guiding her by her shoulders to the bathroom door. With her own feet she took off the black heels she was wearing, turning to him as she held his shoulders in hope to balance herself. She started unbuttoning her red shirt with a certain difficulty. He was kinda embarrassed but helped her and couldn't help but notice her lacy white bra, which held her delicate breasts perfectly, almost as if they've been sculpted. He tried not to focus on admiring her body, even though she didn't seem to care. It's not like he haven't seen her naked before, even under awful circumstances... He helped her take off her black social pants, seeing that her underwear matched her bra. He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath, hoping to save the image of her in lingerie on his mind. 

She was completely naked, her back facing him, as she was walking to the shower, failing her steps, when Mulder instinctively held her by her waist, guiding her to enter the shower. 

Scully was standing inside the shower, the hot water running through her body, making she feel so comfortable she could stay there forever. He went to the room to get her a towel, as well as a white t-shirt and blue shorts that he knew it would never fit her tiny body. He changed his clothes to a gray t-shirt and sweatpants and sat on his bed, waiting for her to finish her shower.

When Mulder heard her closing the faucet, he entered the bathroom and handed her the towel, but instead, she got off the shower and turned her back to him so he could wrap the towel around her body. He couldn't help but to subtly smile at her gesture, even though she couldn't see. He let her dry herself and went back to the room. 

As she was entering his room he handed her the clothes he had picked and she grabbed from his hands, already returning the shorts.

"You know I could fit both my legs in just one side of this shorts, right?" she smiled at him and he laughed back at her. She was right. Her hair was wet, and she had the gray towel he gave to her, tangled around her body so softly he wanted to hug her for an eternity. She was still a bit drunk, but able to stand up without help now. 

Scully gave him a look that meant she was about to change from the towel to the t-shirt and she didn't want him to look. Which made no sense, but she was now more aware of herself being naked in front of him. She dressed the t-shirt that covered half of her thighs and decided to wear the same underwear, since she was not wearing the blue shorts.

She walked out of his room to find him laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She sat on the end of the couch, lifting Mulder's feet, putting them on her lap. 

"I guess you're probably wondering why I'm here..." she said with her head down, playing with his feet almost giving him a massage. Mulder raised his chest, leaning on his elbows, so he could look at her in a better way. 

"Well, I surely wasn't expecting to rescue drunk Scully sitting by my door. Always thought it would be the other way around" he smiled at her.

Scully gave him a shy smile and felt this fervent urge to ask him what she knew she couldn't keep living without the answer. She was still a little drunk, she had already gave him the privilege to see her in lingerie. She knew that asking him wouldn't change things between them - but at the same time she wanted it to change. 

"Mulder..." she could feel her voice shaking. He bent his head to the side trying to look at her face as a response. "Why did you stop trying?". He seemed confused by her question.

"Trying to...?" he asked, contracting his eyebrows. He was still confused... was she talking about aliens? 

"To kiss me. You know... after that day..." she was looking down, embarrassed and her chest felt like someone that just ran a marathon. She could swear her heart would pop out of her mouth.

He smiled so big. He was so happy to know that she was expecting him to kiss her. And that it wouldn't bother her in any ways.

"Scully..." she looked at him and saw his big smile. She raised her eyebrows hoping to hear something that would warm her heart - and deep down she knew she would. "Not a day went by that I haven't thought about kissing you".

[tintentrinkerin]

Harness & Spears

Chapter 5: Father’s Eyes

missed a chapter? Check out my Masterlist or AO3

Researching for a case a year after they quit first feels weird to Sam, he has to get used to all the programs, his usual agenda. Today it’s so much easier with some computer skills. No more libraries, no more grainy scans of articles in local papers. Today, you just have to open a search engine app on your phone or a computer and you will be able to find dozens of cases in an hour or two. Of course, there’s still the work of sorting the wheat from the chaff, but Jack is a big help. They sit in the library together and go search for cases. Cas is really sweet to them, just like a butler he offers hot beverages and sandwiches, even though Sam must really hold him back to go full on “Yes, sir”. They want a case, and there are hundreds of them, but also, after Jack became God he brought all the hunters back that Chuck had banished. Donna and Jody, a couple now, as they announced just months after Jack’s ascend, and her girls, all in the hunter business. They heard from Eileen sporadically, but after all that happened and how uneasy Sam felt about the whole manipulation (and he was absolutely certain Chuck pulled the strings there, even though, when they originally met, Sam was drawn to her - but nothing more), she kept her distance and operated in Ireland and also all over Europe. The hunters from the other universe also just hunted in small groups. Charlie and her girlfriend retired for good. And Sam was still bitter about his own behaviour - projecting ‘his’ Charlie on this woman, who was so much different. He knew she hacked some computers every now and then to prank some potential Dicks. Sam was connected to the hunters, most of them. He has been clear about him and Dean, Cas (and later Jack) not going hunting anymore. But now things changed and Sam needed to check if any other hunters were on the cases him and Jack might find interesting. Running in another couple of hunting buddies is not a problem on a personal level, but the mutual sabotage will happen. It’s Murphy’s Law. That’s why Sam has a plan. They will take cases other hunters wouldn’t like to do. There are several reasons for hunting in the first place and reasons which cases to pursue and which not. Let noble monster hunting and cleansing the world be some hunter’s motivation, revenge, the thrill (some people really were that sick and hunted monsters for the kicks) and of course. The money. Oh yes, the money. But the Winchester conglomerate doesn’t worry about money, that’s why Sam won’t look for cases that have to do with wealthy people or towns announcing rewards. Also, when he knew the kind of monster and that a lot of hunters were after these creatures for killing their kin or loved ones, he better didn’t interfere. You could hunt monsters for their venom or psychic abilities, their blessings or whatever. Something a friend of Dean did not so long ago and got himself killed for it.

It shouldn’t be anything exotic, the New Age brought new monsters, at least that’s what Jack says.

“I was God, yes, and I knew everything that Chuck knew, but believe it or not, not even Chuck knew all of his creatures. His mind is packed with the stuff he wanted to do or not to do - if you ask me he was a little like George R. R. Martin. Got lost in his own massive universe and all the detail. I tried to give all of it structure, that’s why some things on Earth changed, but after some time I thought my head would explode and I uh, outsourced some good stuff in new universes. Amara is way better in doing all of that, she created way more universes and new forms of life as I did. She and her brother - don’t get me started.”

Jack looks exhausted. “Does it sound weird, Sam? That I wanted to be down here with you, all of you, but especially you, and give Amara all that power?”

Sam smiles about Jack’s outbreak and that he obviously read Game of Thrones. “No, it’s not weird. You were with Amara and I bet she’s very pleasant company but she wasn’t what you longed for. You didn’t want to be God who’s in every drop of rain, and all that. It was noble and pure hearted and generous of you to try, but you were allowed to fail. But, speaking of Game of Thrones, I have a few questions regarding--”

Sam is rudely interrupted in his chatter with Jack when Dean comes into the library and sits down two chairs away from Jack. Jack immediately gets up.

“Uh, Sam, I will -errm, go pack my bags. I think you will find a good case.”

Sam sighs.

“I’ll be with you soon, baby. Just gimme a minute.”

Jack is quick as a flash and out of sight within seconds.

Dean scoffs while thudding his mug on the table. Coffee pours out and stains the wood.

“Easy on the furniture Dean, it’s not your enemy”, Sam says without looking up. He can’t show Dean his face right now or he will just erupt. He feels the heat in his cheeks and a hot tickle up his neck. Since Dean threw a mug after Sam yesterday they haven’t seen each other and to be frank, Sam could totally renounce any other encounter with Dean for a while. Plus, Sam has a hickey, because Jack went a little passionate, clingy and possessive last night, for whatever reason.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you and… baby. ” The last word is like venom. As always. Dean wants to start another fight.

“I remember that I heard you calling Cas ‘daddy’ multiple times. You think that was really soothing for my wild imagination?”

“You call Jack what he is. A baby.”

“Another word, Dean, and you know I’ll knock you out. I have enough of your bullshit. You act like a jealous housewife. No, wait, more like a cuck!”

Dean scoffs and leaves.

“Do whatever you want, but don’t do it when I’m around or I’ll tear him apart.”

Sam sits here in shock. He has heard a lot from Dean about Jack, he has always been nasty to him and yes, even threatened to kill him twice, even was willing to execute him as part of Chuck’s evil plan. Yes, he was bitter about Mary and hell, how bitter Dean has been as Jack brought so many people back. All the ‘others’: Bobby and Charlie with her girlfriend. All these people. He brought Eileen back, and Dean thought it was to make Sam happy (and yes, that has been Jack’s intention, but ultimately it didn’t) and he was resistant to the arguments, that Mary was happy with John, she didn’t want to go back in this world she never felt like she fit in. He couldn’t be comforted by the messages Jack as a medium brought to Dean, that Mary loved him no matter what and that she will be happy when they meet again. Nothing could’ve soothed Dean’s aching. Sam understands that he’s hurt, but now, it just feels like Dean is angry at Jack for simply existing and then being so bold to love Sam.

Jack brought Cas back for Dean. He had risked a feud with the Empty that could only be avoided by Amara and Jack forcefully put the Regent of the Empty asleep. The Empty wasn’t sealed though, Rowena still reigned in hell, and still demons went to the Empty. But there are no angels on Earth anymore, Jack has naphil powers and even Cas regained some faint strength back, but Jack didn’t make new angels.

Jack really built a world in which it was possible for Dean and Cas to be together, he risked being invaded and maybe killed, since no one knows how really powerful the Empty was.

Why is nothing Jack does, no matter how universe shattering, unbelievably cosmic and holy and insane it is, not finally letting Dean the old grudge go?

It seems like everything he does just makes it worse.

Sam hides his face and in the safety of his own palms he allows to cry in fear for his own spiteful brother and soulmate. This will end badly if they don’t find a way to reconcile.

“You have to stop that, Dean” Cas says when Dean is back in the Deancave.

Cas is in his robe, nothing beneath. He looks pale and a little skinny. The last weeks have been hard on him and Dean knows it’s his fault. He makes his angel boyfriend sick. And yet he’s sick himself, and he’s kicking and fighting, with talons and teeth, words and throwing things after his brother. Also, he erupts the second Cas dares to mention it.

“Stop with what?”, he asks.

He picks the remote and wants to turn on the TV, loud metal music blasting but with a snap of a finger, the TV silent and it won’t turn back on.

“Castiel. Don’t fuck with me, I swear, I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re ‘not in the mood’ for weeks, maybe months. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Why won’t you let me help?”

Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously as he faces the seraph.

“Help? How could you help? My brother fucks a toddler.”

Cas sighs and it sounds so endlessly sad. Defeated. Dean doesn’t want to see it, acknowledge it, that he is indeed very wrong. Jack is no toddler, Jack is no brat, Jack is so mighty he could really smite the whole bunker with a hiccup still, even though he’s not God anymore. Dean should be so damn careful. Dean should see how much Jack begs for his forgiveness and his approval.

But Dean can’t. And Dean won’t.

“Dean.”

Dean is so full of sorrow and fear, it hurts to hear his own name so gentle, so loving yet somehow fatherly. Cas loves him and Dean should be happy. He has been happy. The Empty had taken him away and Jack had fought to get him back. So they could be a family.

But this isn’t family to Dean. He’s around the person he loves the most, the person he loves with a burning, blinding insanity. He will never be happy like this.

Cas dares to come closer, around two steps away, offers Dean a hand. Dean can’t even look at him but he takes Cas’s hand and then pulls him in a desperate embrace.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, Cas. I don’t want to fight with you.”

It’s been a while, actually the last time Dean slept with Cas was the night when Jack asked him if Sam gay. This question is carved under his skin and if you look closely, you can see them shine through like thin red scars.

The streak won’t break today either.

“Will he ever stop hating me?”, Jack asks.

He has his suitcase packed, same as a backpack with snacks, water, headphones, his teddy Marvelous Marvin, a powerbank and, something he’s very proud of - his own angel blade. The only angels on earth are Jack and Castiel but the blade kills monsters just as well. He kneads the bundle of the purple blanket in his lap when he looks up to Sam.

Sam’s still tense from before, his eyes red and narrow, Sam must look like he didn’t sleep much or has been on a bender.

“I don’t know… I wish I knew what’s wrong with him.”

With a deep sigh Sam sinks beside Jack on the mattress. The bed creaks and a spring nudges in Sam’s butt cheek. Either they need a new mattress or they move in a room together, but Sam doesn’t dare to talk about these things yet. So far, he’s happy about the privacy. But he’s also constantly longing for Jack - a stalemate.

Jack leans against Sam’s shoulder and shyly feels for Sam’s hand. Sam is too glad to take it, intertwine their fingers and kiss Jack’s knuckles.

“It makes me sick, Sam. I’m afraid all the time he’s around. I’m afraid he might want to…”

“Hurt you?”

Jack nods, his lips a thin line.

“I won’t let him. And most of all, you won’t let him. Right?”

Another silent nod.

“Don’t worry about it now, our bags are packed and I found a case. I told you about the parameters I used to find a case no one else would investigate, and this one here is especially weird, but not weird enough for us to follow, and a bit boring, but not boring enough for us to NOT follow it. We’ve been to haunted houses before, right?”

“Yes, it’s mostly vengeful spirits or poltergeists, right?”

Sam nods. “Yes, exactly. Sometimes triggered by the plans of tearing the house down, the same can happen with big bodies of water, when they are threatened to be dried out, spirits of people who drowned will start going on a rampage. Haunted houses are like level 1 of every hunter. Rocksalt, shotgun, holy water, fire. Boom, ghost gone.”

Jack frowns a little. “Really, we’re going on a case that any newbie hunter could solve?”

Sam chuckles.

“Yep.”

It’s absolutely a thinly veiled reason to go on a hunt, but it’s the same that Dean and Cas did weeks ago when Jack sneaked out. In the end they also ‘just’ took on a vampire nest with five vamps and their Creator and the rest of the time they had a blast in Vegas, why should Sam not do the same? He wants to be alone with Jack, because Dean definitely ruined the pleasant experience of the tantra massage. Sam had been so happy back then and oh, crap, he was close to do more to Jack than just the massage. He wouldn’t have slept with him on this massage table, that was utterly uncomfortable, but he had been turned on so bad, that didn’t happen very often.

Sam really falls for Jack deeply and seriously. It’s a wonderful and frightening feeling at the same time.

Jack slides on Sam’s lap and straddles him, arms tight around his neck. Jack squints a little when he’s so close, his big blue eyes will never cease to amaze Sam.

“How can you not be Castiel’s son?”, Sam blurts, his hands cupping the naphil’s face and brushing away some strands of hair.

Jack’s mouth opens slightly, his tongue sneaks out to lick his upper lip.

“I am Castiel’s son.”

“I know, I just mean, genetically. You have his eyes. Does that sound stupid, baby?”

Jack shakes his head with a grin, his neck and face turn tenderly pink.

How did the biggest monster of all create this perfect boy?

“No, not stupid. I like the way you look at me”, Jack silently admits and the blush turns berry red.

“How do I look at you?”

Sam kisses Jack’s parted lips, feels the hitched breath and how Jack tightens up his back.

“First you looked at me with fear, when I was born. Then you looked at me in sympathy, in worry… Then gentle, loving. Just now, longing… You see a man, not a child, right? That’s the look in your face how you look at someone beautiful you want to be with…?”

Sam’s big hands creep under Jack’s pullover and Jack sighs, a light shudder down his spine and this tiny, quiet noise of content.

“You are beautiful, and yes, I want to be with you. All the time”, Sam whispers, he sounds rough, feels like he needs to clear his throat.

Jack lays his hands on Sam’s and guides him down his sweatpants. Sam squeezes. A slight gasp.

“We will have a lot of time for fun stuff once we’re out of here.”

That makes Jack jerk up, jump and drag Sam on his feet.

“Come, Sam! I can’t wait to be out of here.”

[ask-the-riders]

One in the Same (ending scene with Nightmare and Nyx)

I wanted to at least post the ending of this fic here, for anyone who might be interested in it but didn't wanna read the full thing (since it's a smutfic and all ^^")

Night's a very overprotective dad and has to make sure Nyx isn't running off to go do certain things (if you catch my drift) with a guy, so yeah, it might be just a smidge suggestive in terms of the subject they really briefly discuss, but if anything, it's more or less her saying "ew gross why would you even think that"

Also,, pretty much anytime they refer to Connie, they call her Chimera (since that was her name before she became a rider)

In his castle, Nightmare sat in his personal library, nestled on one of the end cushions on his sofa. With a book sitting open on the coffee table in front of him, he sighed deeply, his teeth upturned into a wicked grin. That was certainly an eventful "meeting" he'd just witnessed. Now that he knew how easy it was to make Conquest cave, he was beginning to consider going to visit her dreams again, sometime in the future. Thanks to Shattered, he now knew that she could give him the exact combination of negative feelings he'd been searching for, and now he had no real need to pursue anyone else for it.

"Father, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't bother any of my followers." 

Upon hearing the unannounced female skeleton's voice, Nightmare lifted his gaze to the doorway, finding his daughter staring at him with cold violet eye lights that were ringed with grey. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and by her posturing, she was genuinely irritated with him. He arched a brow bone, attempting to feign ignorance, "Oh, I'm sorry, she was one of your followers? I had no idea." Nyx narrowed her sockets at him and scoffed, "Bullshit. You had an ulterior motive, and for your own benefit, you ignored our agreement."

Nightmare hummed, entirely unapologetic, "Well I wouldn't say I 'ignored' it... It was more like I 'forgot'." Nyx invited herself into the library, sitting in a chair across from her father, "Oh, please. You? Forgetting something? I highly doubt that." The guardian of negativity snorted in amusement, "Well I mean... I've been around way longer than you. I'm allowed to forget things sometimes." Nyx rolled her eye lights, not even the slightest bit convinced, "Father, don't. Don't even start. This is coming from you, someone who remembers nearly everything he reads in almost full detail. You also happen to be the one that swears up and down that he remembers everything about the first shadow I gave life to, back when I was only four years old." Nightmare couldn't help but chuckle softly; Despite not looking as monstrous as him, what with her clear lack of black goop and all, she was definitely his child. That snarky attitude was recognizable anywhere. 

He sighed, his smile almost pleasant as he tilted his head and looked at her, "And I do. It was just a tiny little thing. No bigger than my hand. It had free will, too. It wasn't like the ones I made." Nyx stared at him intently, her arms folded neatly in her lap, "You didn't allow them to possess free will. That's why. My followers though. Chimera. How about we discuss her some more?" Nightmare's pleasant smile fell and he let out an exaggerated groan, his tentacles swaying and flicking in agitation, "Fine, fine. What all do you plan on lecturing me about today?" 

His daughter chose to ignore the tone he spoke in, responding in as flat a tone of her own as she could manage, "Chimera is mine. She follows me for a cause completely different than yours. For someone who has no problem invading territory that belongs to others and helping himself to their personal belongings, you're possessive, and you always throw a fit when someone invades your space and touches your things. A bit hypocritical, don't you think?" 

Nightmare blinked, surprised at how she'd so casually called him out. Trying to force back the surprise and remain neutral, he rolled his eye light, "And? This castle and the surrounding land is mine. Everything within these walls is mine. All the staff I've gathered? They're mine too, and I'll do as I please. Chimera is a reincarnation of Dream, and anything pertaining to him has nothing to do with you." 

Nyx arched a brow bone, "She's not a reincarnation of your brother, though. She's an alternate. Therefore, she's technically not the Dream you've been trying so hard to murder, all these years. Also, Father, consider: I met her before you. She followed me before she knew you even existed. She would dismember a thousand people if I told her to. She has no personal ties to you, which means the agreement we made was broken, thanks to you." 

The guardian of negativity scowled; There had to be a loophole to the agreement. There HAD to be. Without giving him a chance to argue, she spoke again, "If you touch her, be it real life or within the dreamscape, I'm taking one of your staff as my own. Touch her child, and I'll take them all. Maybe you don't take me seriously because I'm your daughter and I'm quite a bit younger than you, but I'm warning you. What I lack in experience, I make up for with my resources. You rule a castle, and have control of... what is it, seven people now? I have an entire kingdom, with a population of more than ten thousand."

Nightmare gawked at her, in shock that she'd even consider threatening him. He wanted to be outraged and he wanted to snap at her, but his anger quickly fizzled out and he burst into hearty laughter, a wide grin plastered on his face as he leaned back in his seat, "Shit, Nyx. I think you might've watched me a little too closely when you were a kid. Not that threatening me was a good idea, but I'd expect no less from you, at this point." 

Nyx couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at her teeth, shattering the dead serious look she'd just been wearing only moments ago. She shook her head and sighed deeply, "What can I say? Nobody in the multiverse can yell as loud as you. It just made it easier for me to listen and take notes." Her father beamed, almost appearing proud, and she fought the urge to laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

She stood from her seat, taking a moment to smooth out her dress. Quickly piecing together that she planned to leave, Nightmare almost seemed disappointed, "Leaving so soon, are we?" Nyx merely nodded, offering him an apologetic smile, "Unfortunately, yeah. I've got followers to look after, a kingdom to rule, business in the dreamscape, all that good stuff." The guardian arched a brow bone, watching her curiously, "Business in the dreamscape? You never use the dreamscape. What kind of business could you possibly have there?" 

The princess sighed, shrugging her shoulders, "Oh, nothing too important. I just have some cleaning up to do, since you decided to go and make a mess of everything." He stared at her intently, "Nyx, how do you intend to access the dreamscape? She's awake now." Nyx arched a brow bone, wearing the smallest of smiles, "Who said I was going to see her? I had someone else in mind." Nightmare pushed further, almost intrigued, "Such as...?" His daughter offered him a completely innocent smile, her tone teasing, "Oh, no one important. Mmmn... let's see, I think his name was Retribution." 

Nightmare's stare hardened and his tentacles flicked again, the tips sharpening, "Of all people, why him? You could pick literally anyone else." Nyx hummed, "Um... Because I want to?" She started making a beeline for the doorway but stopped as one of his tentacles wrapped around her arm, "Nyx, I need you to swear to me that you're not planning on doing something weird." 

Nyx hissed, swatting at his tentacle as if trying to make it release her, "Like what? You honestly don't think I'd have sex with him or anything, right?" Nightmare growled, "Nyx, swear to me right now that that's not what your plan is." Nyx threw her arms in the air dramatically and groaned, "I SWEAR that's not what I was gonna do. To be honest, it's gross that you would even think that, Father. He's another version of you, so ew, no, I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole." The guardian's grip on her began to loosen and she scoffed, "And besides, he's not even my type." 

Nightmare sighed deeply, "That's right, I forgot. I'm assuming your type consists of idiots named Killer." Nyx's cheekbones gained a faint purple blush and she rolled her eyes, "Oh please, don't insult me like that. I wouldn't touch Killer with a ten foot pole either." Her father hummed, clearly not believing her, "Uh huh, sure. Whatever you say, my little hellion." Nyx let out an irritated huff, her cheekbones still flushed a faint shade of violet as she opened a portal, vanishing through it without looking back. Nightmare was silent as the portal closed behind her, feeling pretty at ease until he heard someone rapidly approaching the open doorway, calling out, "Nyx... Nyxie, hang on a minute, you forgot your-" Killer appeared in the doorway, immediately freezing in place as he noticed Nightmare staring at him, his voice much softer, "...Garter." 

He quickly stuffed the lace garment into his pocket, praying his boss hadn't seen it. Judging by the scowl he was wearing, however, he had seen it. Just great. Nightmare growled lowly in agitation, a clear warning that he wasn't in a joking mood, "Tell me, Killer. Do you want to die?" Killer shook his head, "No, Boss." He'd usually pick and tease a little, but when it came to the guardian's daughter, he was completely serious. There was no room at all for any sort of joking, and if Killer tried, the consequences would be deadly. Nightmare hissed, "Then toss that in the trash and get out of my sight." Killer was quick to pull the garter out of his pocket, dropping it into the nearest trash bin before shortcutting away.

[kissjane]

hii, maybe you could write enemies to lovers for davenzi? or whatever you feel like tbh, i’d read anything you write

i hope you feel better soon <33

Okay then!

I’m still not really a 100%, but we’re getting there!

It was just a sign of David’s never-ending bad luck that he got paired up with Matteo Florenzi. He hadn’t even wanted to come today, but Laura had chased him off the couch by throwing the empty tubs of ice cream he’d been eating non-stop since Marcus broke up with him to his head. And usually a meeting of his university’s film club cheered him up.

But of course, today of all days, they weren’t just going to watch a movie and then discuss it. No, in their wisdom, today’s organizers had decided to do something different, “because we’ve got so many new members, guys, so it’d be cool to get to know each other!”. And then, obviously, they’d had to do some random pairing up which ended with him being forced to discuss a whole bunch of stupid questions – Who is your favourite director? Really? How was he supposed to limit it to one, or even fifty? – with fucking Florenzi.

In all honesty, as long as Florenzi wasn’t anywhere near David, he seemed pretty much okay. He was quiet and thoughtful and he was friendly towards everybody, smiling a lot – but whenever he caught sight of David, his smile would morph into a horrible glare.

David sighed as Florenzi shuffled closer, and sat down heavily in the chair next to David.

“Right,” he mumbled, not looking at David, “let’s get this over with.” He consulted the page he had crumpled in his fist, to see which question he’d ask first. “Okay, so who’s your favourite director, then?”

Of course, that was the question he had to pick. David could launch into a monologue taking up the whole twenty minutes they were supposed to do this for, but Florenzi would no doubt accuse him of not giving him a chance to speak. So he pondered, thought carefully, weighed the whole catalogue of people like Tarantino and Spielberg versus the inspired single moment of geniality of Hugh Hudson or Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, considered just going for Jim Jarmusch because Only Lovers Left Alive still was one of his favourite films ever made, and –

“You know,” Florenzi cut into his thoughts with a sneer, “I don’t really want to do this, either, but you could just say it if you’re gonna be an ass for the whole twenty minutes, so I can go out and text Jonas until this whole thing is over.”

“No, I – a” David tried to defend himself, but Florenzi’s eyes were so cold and his lips pinched shut so harshly, he felt it would be useless. And it was even more painful to consider that the same eyes shone like the ocean in moonlight whenever Florenzi was with somebody else, and that his mouth looked eminently kissable when he smiled – something David has only ever witnessed from across the room.

“You know what? Nevermind. Go text Jonas, for all I care. You can hate me all you like.”

“Sexist assholes who defend harassment deserve to be hated,” Florenzi mumbled as he dug out his phone, and that – well, that was uncalled for, surely.

“What?” David hissed. “What did you just call me?”

“If the shoe fits,” Matteo shrugged, not even looking up from his phone, and that did it.

David grabbed the plastic rectangle and bend over to Florenzi, when he shrieked to give it back to him.

“The shoe fucking definitely doesn’t fit, and you will take that back!”

Matteo still looked unimpressed.

“Oh, it doesn’t, does it? You don’t have to pretend. I heard you, loud and clear, on that party we went to with this club when I first joined.”

David thought about it. Matteo had only joined a few months ago, and after the second or third meeting he’d attended, the whole group had decided to go to some party. It had been held by some rich kids some of the members knew, and there had been loads and loads of liquor. David couldn’t really drink because of his meds, but a lot of their group hadn’t been used to strong drinks and there’d been way too many drunk people to keep track of.

“What are you talking about?” he gritted out to Matteo, who was now looking downright angry.

“You don’t even remember? You don’t even remember how some asshole drugged Hanna” – he waved to where his friend was sitting, talking animatedly to another girl – “and tried to drag her upstairs with him? You don’t remember laughing about it while I was trying to comfort Hanna, telling him that drunk girls aren’t worth it anyway and how she would regret blowing her chance?”

“What the fuck? I never said that! I would never – that’s just wrong, Florenzi, I’m not –”

Florenzi just raised an eyebrow.

“You must have misheard! Or it was somebody else! Or you were a bit out of it yourself!”

“I was sober as fuck, asshole. I hardly ever drink because – because I struggle with some stuff you don’t need to know, because you are a prick who preys on helpless girls!”

“I don’t! Fuck! You’ll take that back!”

He was aware he was almost yelling now, and some other groups were looking at them irritated and hushing them.

“Do you want me to go and ask Hanna?” Florenzi whispered, clearly not willing to let things go, and – David stopped to reconsider. Florenzi was obviously very certain of himself, if he was willing to go get witnesses.

“Who was the other guy, then?” he asked, and Florenzi’s face changed into something victorious.

“So you admit it then? I don’t know the other dude, but you better keep him away from me, because I owe him a punch in the face for what he did.”

David racked his thoughts about that party. They’d gone to the house of a mate of a mate of somebody, and David had felt out of place. He didn’t even really talk to anybody – except for some guy David hadn’t even known, but who’d looked pretty handsome in ripped jeans and a leather jacket. They’d hung out by the stairs for a bit, David wondering if he should flirt a little, when the guy had started telling him about how his girlfriend had gotten drunk and kissed some other guy right in front of him. David had laughed easily with him, telling him she probably had been too drunk to think straight and she’d feel sorry about her actions when she sobered up – oh. Wait.

“That’s not what I was talking about! He told me his girlfriend had drunkenly cheated on him! That’s why I was saying it probably didn’t mean anything if she was drunk and that she would regret it later!”

Florenzi wanted to retort, but he bit his lip instead, thinking things over.

“I promise you, Matteo, I would never approve of harassing anybody, drunk or not! Or trying to drug them, or whatever! I didn’t know that was what was going on, or I would have punched him myself, I swear.”

Florenzi hummed.

“You really didn’t know? About him harassing Hanna?”

“I didn’t!” David pleaded. “I would never, Matteo. You can ask anybody.”

“Hmmm, okay, maybe,” Florenzi hesitated. “Hanna said you weren’t like that, but she didn’t hear you that night. I just thought everybody was too blinded by your smile to see your true colours, but maybe –”

“I don’t really think people are blinded by my smile, anyway,” David said when Matteo cut himself off to consider.

“Yeah, right,” Matteo murmured again, and – was that a blush?

David suddenly felt very hot.

“I wouldn’t mind it, though,” he whispered, watching Matteo intently. “I mean, if people were. Some people at least. Especially pretty boys with blue eyes.”

Matteo looked up sharply, and it was definitely a blush on those pale cheeks.

David wanted to say something else, find out if this could lead somewhere –

“Okay, guys, thanks for playing along!”, a female voice cut in. “Let’s go next door to actually watch a movie, now!”

There was shuffling and creaking of chairs and footsteps and lots of talking and laughing, but Matteo didn’t move, and David didn’t want to, as long as Matteo didn’t.

“Do you – we can sit together during the movie?” Matteo then finally asked, his eyes warm but unsure.

“Yes,” David replied before Matteo finished the question, and he stood up, reaching out a hand to Matteo to pull him up too.

Matteo grabbed it, and they went into the dark hall together.

[veliseraptor]

I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way but I think I have a withdrawal for your Loki stuff,,,, I know you’re into other fandom right now and gosh I feel bad for even sending this bc my intention is not to make you feel bad or to rush you, I just want to ask, could I pretty please get a little snippet for whatever Loki fic you have in process? No ass kissing but I haven’t seen anyone write him better than you do and I miss you and your Loki fic. Again I hope this doesn’t sound like I rush you

It’s okay, anon! I mean, I feel guilty but that’s not your fault, that is my fault for the ways in which I feel obligated toward people in fandom and I’m. Trying to not do that and just focus on what Brings Me Joy and whatnot. But I’m truly flattered by the sentiment and also sorry that you’re missing it. 

But I’ve got plenty of Loki fic floating around here that I can share with you, so here, have a long snippet that’ll hopefully give you a little bit of ease in this time of me being thoroughly sucked into another fandom.

this being the first three scenes of the fic the first steps stumbling forward, sometimes known as “100 pages of ostensibly Steve/Loki fic and not only no kissing, but also Loki is still solely referring to Steve by his last name only.”

A ship full of Aesir landing on Midgard’s northern hemisphere was, apparently, “a humanitarian crisis.” From what Loki gathered, that meant mostly a great many arguments ensuing about who was going to deal with them, which really seemed to be about if anyone was going to.

Loki almost wanted to see what would happen if someone tried to tell Thor they had to leave. At least so far, though, no one actually had. Perhaps they recognized that there was no one on their planet with the means to actually enforce that decree. At least not for certain.

Not that their entire reception was hostile. Almost as soon as the situation became clear humans began arriving, some simply to gawk but others seemingly with intent to help. Crews of camera-people and reporters swarmed - mostly around Thor, but others like flies around the miserable remnants of Asgard’s people.

Loki, for his part, kept his distance from them. Eventually he supposed someone might mention his name, but until then he planned to avoid that particular difficulty.

He did go to spy on Thor’s meeting with Stark, who had arrived with much fanfare, stepping out of his suit with a too-wide grin and turning to wave before turning to Thor and promptly doing a double-take.

“Buddy,” he said. “What happened to your hair? Also your eye-”

A small smile played around the corner of Thor’s mouth. “That’s a long story.” He glanced past Stark like he was looking for someone else. “You’re alone?”

Stark’s expression did something tight and complicated. “Long story.” He glanced over his shoulder at the snapping cameras. “Can we go somewhere else? Talk in private?”

“Yes,” Thor said. “This way.” He gestured Stark toward the makeshift headquarters they’d set up back inside the ship, and he walked inside fiddling with the bracelets on his wrists. Loki slipped in after Thor and took up a position in the corner of the room to listen.

The moment the door closed the last of Stark’s bravado fell away and he turned to Thor looking exhausted. “As good as it is to see you, and as much as I’m - really sorry about--” He gestured awkwardly at their surroundings, “--I gotta tell you that you have the worst timing.” He walked over to the table and sat down. “Where’ve you been? Caught some selfies of you on Instagram the other week - in New York, and you didn’t come say hi - but you still had two eyes at that point.”

One of Thor’s hands rose briefly, still self-consciously, to touch his eye-patch. “Yes,” he said. “I was on Earth. Briefly. As I said, it is a long story. Why do I have poor timing?”

Stark rubbed his eyes. “So, uh, right now? There’s this thing called the ‘Sokovia Accords.’ Basically the idea is to make sure superhumans are, uh, supervised.” Thor’s expression remained impassive. Stark glanced away. “So, see, then you show up with a whole...whole bunch of homeless superhumans, superaliens, and everyone’s not quite sure how you fit into this, what kind of compliance they should be demanding...it’s a whole thing. Secretary Ross - you’ll meet him, he’s awful - he says that Asgard should be under US protection because you were an Avenger and the Avengers were a US team, sort of-”

“‘Were’?” Thor said, just as Loki was thinking it, but he thought he’d already figured it out.

“Yeah,” Stark said after a beat. “There was a bit of a falling out. The point is...you and your people are a problem with a capital ‘P’, as far as the governments on Earth are concerned. And I swear to god I heard something about you bringing the Hulk with you too, which is just - hang on, you’re not serious.”

Loki had gathered enough from this conversation, so as much as he wanted to see Stark’s expression he slipped out. He felt Thor glance toward the door opening, but Stark was too busy making incoherent noises that were either excitement, horror, or both, to notice.

**

Thor came and found him paring slices out of a small and slightly sour apple. The taste wasn’t pleasant, but at least it was fruit.

“You were eavesdropping,” Thor said, not quite an accusation. Loki gave him a quick, wry smile.

“And?”

Thor sighed, but he didn’t actually seem upset. After a moment he sat down next to Loki. “What did you think?”

“I think,” Loki said, “that your friends have done a better job of tearing themselves apart than I ever could have.” Thor gave him a hard look and Loki raised his eyebrows. “What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Loki,” Thor said chidingly. Loki shrugged.

“I think it doesn’t change much,” he said. “Midgard’s governments were never going to be happy. They still can’t do very much about it.”

“It also means they won’t help. Or are reluctant to help.”

“True.” Loki glanced down at the half eaten apple in his hands. “Not quite the welcome you expected, hm? Almost makes you wish someone had already conquered this planet.”

Thor’s jaw tightened. “Our people are suffering, Loki.”

Loki held up his hands. “I wasn’t being flippant. Or, I was, but not because I miss the gravity of our situation.” He sighed. “You are just going to have to convince them of our good intentions. While maintaining our independence from the kind of control Stark was describing, as I doubt that would end well.”

“Simple enough,” Thor said.

“And I,” Loki said, “will continue to stay out of the way. If you are now a possible threat…”

Thor rubbed his remaining eye. “Tony thinks that they will ask that the Hulk be turned over.”

Loki barked a laugh. “I’d like to see someone tell Hulk that. From a distance.” Thor’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Is Stark planning to try?”

“No,” Thor said, sounding faintly puzzled. “I asked if he wanted to speak to the Hulk, but he refused. I have no idea why.”

“He’s ashamed of something,” Loki said promptly. “I’d really like to know what. Though not enough to actually pursue it.” Thor frowned at him again. “What?”

Thor shook his head and then pushed himself to his feet. “I have another meeting with this ‘World Security Council’,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Loki said. “Perhaps you should remind them that you’ve saved their planet...how many times is it, now? It’s always possible someone will remember to show some proper gratitude.” He pared another slice off the apple and popped it in his mouth. “If not, you could always set a few nearby trees on fire.”

Thor frowned. “I’m not going to threaten them into submission.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been tempted.”

Thor gave him an exasperated look and left. Loki eyed the rest of the unappetizing apple and almost threw it away, only to remember that their food stores were pitifully limited and largely reliant on the relief crews.

Waste not, he thought wearily, and ate the rest of it. It was almost a pity he’d had a solid three years of soft living to get used to luxury again. He’d lost all the good lessons of the three before that.

By the looks of things, he’d have plenty of time to get them back.

You could always leave, whispered a faint voice, not for the first time. There’s a whole universe to wander.

But if he walked away now, Loki didn’t think he’d ever be able to come back. He’d made his decision, for better or for worse. Besides, it wasn’t as though he had a whole lot of options for other places to go where he wouldn’t be risking his neck just by showing his face. Which...was the case here, too.

Loki made a face at the core he was holding and bit it in half hard enough that his teeth clicked together.

**

The trouble with having to avoid any and all public appearances was that it severely limited what Loki could actually do. He was skulking about like a thief, confined to administrative tasks behind the scenes.

A not insignificant part of him resented it. He wasn’t proud, but there it was: he had always hated feeling invisible, and now more than ever. He’d gotten too used to the spotlight, just as he’d gotten too used to comfortable living. He should have known neither would last.

He reminded himself it was his own fault. That did not particularly help.

Valkyrie seemed to be having the opposite problem. Asgard’s people were in awe of her. The humans were even more impressed. She, meanwhile, appeared to be trying to avoid both.

This meant they spent a fair amount of time together, since her green best friend was a bit of an attention-getter. (Thor had tried to get him to stay out of sight, but it hadn’t gotten him very far. Still, based on Stark’s reaction, someone was suppressing that bit of news. He had to wonder who.)

“You look cheerful,” Loki said when he found her in - surprise, surprise - the ship’s bar. It was empty, but she seemed to find it comforting just the same. She scowled at him.

“Some Midgardian reporter wants an interview. An interview.”

“Are they going to shoot photos of you? Ask about your fashion sense?”

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Is that what they do?” She paused. “How do you know anything about Midgardian news?”

Loki shrugged. “I stole some magazines from one of our generous volunteers. They’re appalling. I don’t recommend them.”

Valkyrie shook her head and stared at the empty bar. “You’re lucky,” she said. “No one’s trying to talk to you.”

Loki barked a laugh. “Yes,” he said, a little bitterly. “Lucky.”

“You are,” Valkyrie said. “If they were trying to talk to you they’d probably be trying to kill you. Right?”

Loki gave her a flat stare. “Thank you for that.”

She shrugged. “Just saying. You should be ready for that to change at some point. Someone’s going to start talking about Prince Loki and then you’re going to have some problems.”

Loki knew that was probably true. He’d thought about it a few times - he was almost surprised it hadn’t come up. Thus far the limited contact between most of the Aesir and any reporters - Thor had been careful about limiting access to their camp - and Thor’s explicit request to the Asgardians that they were to keep Loki’s name off their tongues had spared him, but that wasn’t likely to last forever. At that point...there would be some difficult decisions to make.

Some bleak part of him wondered what Thor would choose to do if Midgard’s authorities asked for his head.

“Thor’s not going to let them kill you,” Valkyrie said, apparently guessing his thoughts.

“Mm,” Loki said. “Even if it is me or Asgard’s safety here?”

“Thor doesn’t like ultimatums. He really wouldn’t like that one.” She leaned back. “I get all the fretting about that. ‘Oh, Valkyrie, what am I going to do about Loki? We can’t keep him secret forever!’”

Loki had to snort at her imitation, but he didn’t know how to explain to her that he was too aware of the fact that Thor had reached the end of his rope with him, the feeling that he was still walking a narrow bridge above a chasm and there was nothing to catch him if (when) he fell.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Valkyrie said.

“Have you left any alcohol in a five mile radius?” Loki asked caustically. She smiled a little toothily.

“I said you could use some,” she said. “Not that I had any.”

“Helpful.”

The toothy smile faded. “Make you a deal,” she said. “You come up with a way that I can avoid all these people who want me to be a hero, and I’ll threaten anyone who comes after your head with Dragonfang. Sound good?”

Loki gave her a crooked half smile. “I think I can figure something out.”

[thestarsociety]

uh oh, it seems i've slipped and fallen for y- wait where are you going, don't run, please come back

rating: G word count: 1k summary: lou has a revelation. quinn has a crisis. kira is having the time of her life. bella would like her friends to stop being so dramatic.

“Saw you on the news yesterday,” Kira said when Quinn sat down at their usual lunch table. It was at the side near the door, next to a couple of tables of loud kids to reduce the chances of their conversations being eavesdropped on.

“Oh. In a bad way?” he replied, unzipping his lunchbox and pulling out a sandwich and an orange. It wasn’t uncommon for certain opinion pieces deriding the Moonlighters to gain traction.

“Nah, good way. Mostly reporting on the people you protected from those drones downtown. Got an interview with a kid.” She looked down at her tray of school lunch. “Eugh, carrots today.”

Bella silently handed her a sprig of grapes from her bag. She nodded. “Press loves kids.”

Quinn hummed in acknowledgment.

“Hey, listen, that’s good news, better than most of the press we’ve been getting,” offered Bella.

Quinn frowned, pulling his sandwich out of the plastic bag. “Screw what the press says. We’re helping people, that’s what matters.”

“Yeah, we know that, but certain dicks in high positions in the paper don’t agree.” said Kira, stabbing her spoon in the air.

Quinn swallowed his bite. “I know you know, it’s just... frustrating.”

Kira straightened up suddenly. “Yo, Lou incoming, let’s ix-nay on the uperhero-say.”

“You are so unsubtle it’s not even funny.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

"Guys," Lou announced, slamming his tray onto the table. "I think I'm in love."

Everyone paused. Quinn took a particularly aggressive bite of his sandwich.

"Is that right?" Kira said, placing her chin on her hand. "Do tell." She popped a grape in her mouth.

"With who?" Bella asked, unwrapping the tinfoil from her muffin.

"Signal."

Quinn choked on his bite.

"Signal? Like, local superhero Signal? Like green rollerblade bitch Signal?" said Kira inrcedulously, ignoring Quinn's coughing fit.

"Woah, you alright, Quinn?" asked Lou, patting him on the back a couple times.

"Fine," Quinn croaked. "Just swallowed wrong," he continued, pointedly avoiding Kira's delighted expression as he took a sip from his beat-up red water bottle.

"And, uh, yeah, what other Signals do you know?" continued Lou. "He's not a bitch, though."

"What exactly brought this on?" asked Bella tentatively, scrunching the tinfoil between her fingers.

"And what makes it different from your regular superhero fanboying?" added Kira.

"Okay, A: rude, but you got me there, and B: I just—"

"Why are we talking about this again?" said Quinn, rubbing his face, his shoulders tense.

"Don't be a killjoy, Q, let the man talk about his crush," cooed Kira, with the same caught-canary smirk on her face.

Quinn glared at her and tore off another bite with his teeth.

"As I was saying: you know the recent robot attacks? I got caught in one of those, on Breckenridge street near the 7-11. They were just swarming everywhere, divebombing like crazy. It was scary, honestly. But then—"

Quinn let his head drop to the table. Lou paid him no mind, continuing his story with wild gesticulation.

"Signal comes crashing in, with all his swords swirling around, and slices one that was diving towards me! He's just— so cool. He's agile, too, and fast on those skates— he could just weave right through em, and soon they just gave up and lifted off. And— listen. I swear. I swear he made eye contact as he was kicking those robots to shit. It was magical."

"Fancy sword tricks don't make someone a good crush," said Quinn, slightly muffled.

"He's not too bad to look at, either," said Kira. "If you like the whole Christmas color scheme thing and the mask."

"Please stop talking."

"Okay, no, yes, he is hot and the sword tricks are very cool, but he's— he's kind, too. After the wave subsided I saw him go and talk to everyone who was out on the street, help them up, offer to walk them home. He made this cat to dance around to make a little kid laugh."

Bella and Kira looked at Quinn, who had since unstuck his face from the table and was looking intently at the scratches on his water bottle, red-faced.

"Okay, snarky comment rescinded, he does seem pretty cool," said Kira.

"Glad you're seeing the light," Lou said, happily spearing pasta off of his tray.

"I just don't think it's a good idea to put this guy on a pedestal. You don't know him, what if he, like... hates chocolate or something?" said Quinn.

"I can give up brownies," Lou said. "For true love,"

"You're just setting yourself up for disappointment.”

"Whoah, don't get jealous there, Q," said Kira.

"I am not jealous of—" Quinn started, whacking his sandwich onto the table. "of— anyone. I am not jealous."

"I'm just saying, just because Signal saved Lou and not you doesn't mean you have to get snippy."

"Kira—"

"I am not snippy," Quinn said. "Okay, actually, I just remembered I need to go study for my math quiz," he said, piling his stuff onto into his lunchbox and slinging on his backpack. "I'm gonna go to the library. This has been great, see you later."

The three watched him go.

"Must be weird," Kira muttered to Bella. "Being jealous of yourself." Bella fixed her with a ‘not so loud’ look.

"I thought he was studying yesterday?" said Lou.

Bella and Kira exchanged a look. ‘Studying’ was Quinn’s go-to excuse for hero activities.

“He left his orange, too,” Lou said, picking up the offending fruit.

“Eh, he’ll survive. He’s not so close to scurvy yet,” Kira said with a shrug.

“He usually gives ‘em to you, anyways,” Bella pointed out. “You can probably have it.”

“Right,” Lou said, frowning. “He seems kinda stressed out about this test.”

“Maybe we could do a study group for the next test? I usually understand stuff better when I can talk it out with people,” Bella said.

"We can ask him about it after school," Kira said, a light in her eyes that said 'I am going to tease the hell out Quinn about this for the foreseeable future'.

Bella had a bad feeling about this.

[ggukcangetit]

Dreamcatchers Chap 3

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Synopsis: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. Basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama

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Acknowledgement: shoutout to @stutterfly​ for designing this beautiful banner which i am completely in love with and stare at for no particular reason throughout the day

A/N:  reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios​ prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

18th December

Ahreum parked her motorbike outside the bakery and checked her phone for messages. There were none. This wasn’t unusual in itself, except for the fact that she had been supposed to meet him 2 hours ago at the other end of town. Which meant that he was hiding from her. 

“Where is he?” she asked, walking up to the counter and heaving a tired sigh.

Seokjin pressed his lips together, trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to break out. Ahreum was definitely a force to be reckoned with - usually bright and overflowing with energy, there was only one situation that caused the optimist in her to hurtle towards a speedy demise. 

“Can I interest you in some raspberry choux au craquelin?” He picked up a tray with freshly baked pastry and waved it enticingly in front of her.

“This doesn’t work on me, Seokjin. Although-” she picked up a few and wrapped them in some paper napkins - “I’m sure Yuri would love to try these. Now, where is he?”

Seokjin sighed and took off his apron. “He’s in the room right at the back where I do the accounts.”

Ahreum sighed and walked around the back of the counter, heading towards the rooms at the back of the bakery. Seokjin had three areas at the back - his kitchen (really no one other than him was allowed in here), the store room (which was way too small to fit even one full grown person in it), and the accounts room (where a certain someone had taken to hiding whenever things got a little too difficult). 

And sure enough, a mop of curly black hair was visible from the door to the accounts room. On any other day, Ahreum would’ve found his shenanigans extremely hilarious; but she was really not in the mood for any silly games today.

“You were supposed to meet me two hours ago.” Her voice was soft but it still made him jump up and nearly knock over the PC he had been fidgeting with. 

“Fuck!” he gasped. “What the hell? I nearly died!”

Ahreum rolled her eyes as she helped him up. “Don’t be dramatic, Tae. It’s really not as attractive as you think.”

Be that as it may, there was not much that could be considered unattractive on Kim Taehyung. He was somewhat of a social media celebrity thanks to the aesthetically taken pictures of his undoubtedly handsome face - all of which Ahreum had taken. In fact, when Ahreum had shown Yuri some of the pictures from her instagram page, she had gasped rather loudly.

“He’s literally a piece of art!”

“I mean, yes, he’s definitely conventionally attractive,” conceded Ahreum, a little annoyed that her photography was almost completely being ignored. “But what do you think of the pictures?”

“‘Conventionally attractive’? Is that the best you can do with your Literature & Creative Writing degree?”

Ahreum peered over his shoulder to see what he was working on so intently, only to find that he was-

“Playing a game?? You ditched me to play a fucking PC game?” she gasped, whacking his shoulder hard. “What the hell is wrong with you, Kim Taehyung?!”

“No!” He held his hands up to protect himself from further blows. “I just started playing a few minutes ago! I swear!”

“Why’d you ditch, then?”

“Because…” he trailed off, looking away guiltily. That, in essence, was the entire problem regarding Kim Taehyung. He ran at the sight of any kind of responsibility or hard work. Correction - any kind of hard work that wasn’t related to his hobbies. 

“You were supposed to finish reviewing company policies today so that you wouldn’t be unprepared when you meet your dad tomorrow.”

“I know.” He looked downcast, switching off the PC monitor. “I just-”

“If this isn’t what you want to do, you should just tell them.” Seokjin walked into the room, untying his apron carefully. 

“I don’t know,” sighed Taehyung. “I’m not sure if this is what I want to do, but I don’t know what else I could possibly do. I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be like me, Taehyung,” sighed Seokjin. 

Taehyung let out a humorless laugh. “Eomma and Appa sure are trying their damned best that I do become like you. At least, like you till you ran away.”

Seokjin snorted. “They’re tenacious, if nothing else.”

“Are you ever gonna come home?” asked Taehyung, looking up for the first time.

“No.”

This had never been an easy topic of discussion. Mr. and Mrs. Kim were owners of the largest financial consulting firm in Busan. They were well-liked in society and highly respected for their unusually ethical business practices. So it was a huge shock when their elder son - who had gotten an MBA and possessed all the qualities of heading a large company - had left home suddenly, leaving only a single note.

This is not the life for me. I have dreams of my own. I don’t think I can stay in touch. Please forgive me. 

There were many tears shed, but recovery was quick as a new successor had to be found. Thus, the Kims’ younger son - the one who had lived a charmed and carefree life while his brother learned about business techniques and the history of the company - was suddenly thrust into the front line. 

Naturally, when Taehyung had run into his brother a few miles outside of the metropolitan, running a cozy bakery, he had been less than thrilled. Ahreum still remembered the angry tears that had rolled down her friend’s usually cheerful face. Seokjin, on the other hand, looked so conflicted that Ahreum thought he might just combust on the spot. It had taken a few weeks, but the brothers had eventually reconciled. Taehyung had made a deal with his parents - he would attend all meetings and grooming lessons as long as he was allowed to live somewhere else. And that somewhere else happened to be Seokjin’s small, but tastefully done up, apartment. 

Taehyung usually had 4 meetings in a week; all ending by 4 pm so that he could drive home before nightfall. The rest of the days, he was free to do whatever he pleased. This arrangement had worked well for almost 3 months, but Taehyung’s free-spirited nature could only hold out for so long. He had been reaching meetings late, forgetting to complete paperwork, and even sneaking out early if he could manage it. Seokjin had requested Ahreum to make sure his younger brother attended all his meetings because he was always managing the bakery at those times. Seokjin himself made sure that Taehyung didn’t forget to do any of the work that had been assigned to the younger boy during his meetings. 

Today, however, Ahreum realised that her friend was at his breaking point. He had done everything in his power to avoid her so that he wouldn’t have to prepare for the meeting. Not just that, Seokjin-

“Why’d you let him hide here?” Ahreum turned towards the older Kim brother, her hands on her hips - a sure sign that her patience was running thin. “After the dozens of lectures you gave me about making sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to, you go ahead and help him play hooky? What the hell, Seokjin?”

Seokjin didn’t know how to explain to her that he felt guilty. Guilty that his younger brother was suffering like this, guilty that his parents were so desperate that they had decided to entrust the future of the company to a young boy who had missed his final university exam because he had found a stray puppy during his morning cycle rides (and had promptly decided to adopt it). But Seokjin couldn’t leave behind his dream - his resentment towards his family had been growing with each passing year, and the drastic move and change in communication had been a desperate attempt to stop himself from hating his family forever. Caught between doing right by his own self and by his parents and younger brother, Seokjin often questioned if any of this was worth it. 

But rather than explain all this to his brother’s friend - who had pinned him with a rather glowering look - he did what he always did in difficult situations. He avoided answering directly and used humor to deflect everything.

“I was cleaning up your mess, unfortunately. I’m not the one who lost him during a fixed study session, Ahreum. You should be thanking me,” he grinned, dodging the pencil Ahreum threw at him. “But since I’m such a generous, handsome, charming, and talented individual, I’ll let it slide and pack two large boxes of pastries for you to take home. One for your friend and the other for Namjoon. No charge, it’s on the house.”

Ahreum rolled her eyes while Taehyung giggled at his brother’s speech. 

“I’d better get 4 large iced teas along with the pastries,” she said, finally relenting. Seokjin winked at her and went back to the front of the store to get everything prepared.

“I’m sorry for ditching you,” Taehyung said softly, his black curls falling over his eyes. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Maybe we should try and figure out a different system. How many more of these meetings and lessons do you need to attend, anyway? Why don’t you ask your parents if you can reduce the number of meetings in a week?”

“I guess I could,” he replied, thoughtfully. “By the way, did you see Jimin on your way here?”

Ahreum shook her head. “Nope. Was I supposed to have?”

“No… it’s just that-” he checked his phone absentmindedly. “He hasn’t been answering any of my calls or texts since last night.”

“Since when does Park Jimin start his day before 3 pm?” scoffed Ahreum. “He’s probably hungover at some girl’s apartment.”

 “Aw come on, Ahreum. He’s been so much better recently,” whined Taehyung. “And I’m not saying that just because he’s my best friend. He barely parties anymore - unless it’s a business appointment. He’s been helping his dad with the business as well. Unlike me, he actually goes to work 5 days a week.”

“Wow, let’s give him a medal for doing the bare minimum.” 

Seokjin appeared at that moment, holding two bulging pastry boxes and a cup holder with 4 cups of iced tea.

“Tell Namjoon to drop by sometime, or that’s the last eclair he’ll be seeing!” he yelled as Ahreum strapped on her helmet and bade goodbye.

xxx

Jeongguk sat at his desk, his mind straying to that night in November. He could clearly recall the murder - the young woman on the ground, blood leaking from the multiple stab wounds all over her abdomen. She lived on part-time jobs, her demeanour quiet and unassuming as recounted by the handful of employers who had managed to recall her face. It was not surprising that she did not have too many possessions of her own, her life neatly tucked away into a one-room storage on the ground floor of a run-down building. But it wasn’t all of this that kept distracting Jeongguk from almost everything in his life - it was the picture of a three year old girl, the only evidence of life in the entire room, smiling brightly at her mother. The mother who lay in a pool of her own blood, and the little girl who had been missing since that day. 

“The ramen’s gone cold? Things must have really changed since I last saw you, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk turned around at the sound of a familiar voice, his eyes lighting up in surprise.

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?” he asked, getting up and hugging his friend. “Why aren’t you in Seoul, putting bigwigs behind bars?”

“Let’s get some lamb skewers. My treat.” Jeongguk grinned at the suggestion, the grisly murder and the missing girl temporarily forgotten.

20 minutes later, they were sitting at a hole in the wall diner that Jeongguk hadn’t been to since he had been promoted to Detective Inspector. 

“Are you telling me that our own Min Yoongi is now a father? The same guy who instilled fear in the hearts of the juniors by narrowing his eyes at them?” 

Yoongi laughed, his gummy smile appearing for the first time. “She’s almost 4 weeks old. Sometimes I’m not even sure if she’s real. But then Eunbi puts me on diaper duty and there’s no way that smell can’t be real.”

“Knew she was something special the day she called you out on your bullshit,” grinned Jeongguk. “The famous Min Eye Narrowing technique didn’t work on her.”

“Yeah, she told me to stop pulling all-nighters and get a new prescription from my eye doctor,” recalled Yoongi, adjusting his glasses. “Turns out the famous Min Eye Narrowing technique was just plain old myopia.”

“But enough about me,” he continued, once Jeongguk had stopped laughing. “Why was that ramen sitting out and getting cold?”

Normally, Jeongguk wouldn’t discuss the details of a case with anyone else. But Yoongi wasn’t just anyone - they had trained at the same police academy in Seoul and the older boy had quickly understood that 18 year old Jeongguk wasn’t a standoffish troublemaker; just extremely homesick. Even after Jeongguk had moved back to Busan, he and Yoongi still kept in touch with each other, no matter how sporadic.

Jeongguk sighed and explained the details of the November case. “I just can’t let it go. Where is that little girl? We haven’t found a body either - so there’s a chance she might still be alive. It’s just- I think I’m going crazy.”

“I understand,” said Yoongi, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “That pathetic partner of yours can’t be of much use either, I’m sure. Still don’t know how they promoted Song to Detective Inspector. I’ve always maintained that he’s one shot away from becoming an alcoholic.”

“Well you weren’t wrong,” said Jeongguk, with a resigned chuckle. “They relieved him of his duties a couple of months ago.”

“Oh? Who’s your new partner then?”

“Some annoying Captain America wannabe,” grumbled Jeongguk. It was a well-known fact that he was a huge Iron Man fan and had not appreciated the ending of Civil War. “Choi Yuri - she’s from Seoul.”

“Choi Yuri?!” asked Yoongi, his eyes widening comically. “Your new partner is Yuri??”

“You know her?” asked Jeongguk, frowning.

“Of course I know her! We worked together for almost 3 years!” exclaimed Yoongi. “Wait, why’d you call her a Captain America wannabe? You hate Steve Rogers.”

“I do not hate Steve Rogers. I hate Captain America. There’s a difference.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you don’t like Yuri.”

“She’s too by-the-book.” Jeongguk frowned, his fingers twirling the chopsticks absentmindedly. “Perfect first impression, perfectly friendly to everyone, perfectly punctual; Goh absolutely loves her. I’m sure she’ll get in the way of the investigation because of her need to follow procedure to the t.”

Yoongi frowned. “That... doesn’t sound like her. I mean, she’s definitely punctual but she’s never made a great first impression. She usually comes off as reserved, aloof - haughty even.”

“Maybe she’s changed,” shrugged Jeongguk, not particularly interested in the personality changes of his new partner.

“She has. I didn’t think that incident would have affected her like this. But…” Yoongi trailed off, staring at nothing in particular.

“What incident?”

“The reason she was transferred from Seoul. Hasn’t she told you?”

“No.”

“I don’t know if I should…” muttered Yoongi, his face reflecting his inner conflict. “But if knowing the truth makes it easier for you two to work together, then…”

Jeongguk frowned, wondering what exactly the big mystery was.

“We were investigating a homicide and it led us to a very high profile family in Seoul. It was quite clear that the eldest son was involved in the murder. I was Chief Inspector at that time, and we were getting a lot of pressure from above to wrap up the case without involving the family. But Yuri was determined to pursue the investigation. She had even rented an apartment closer to work so that she could devote more time to the case. One night, when she got back to her apartment, someone attacked her. It was quite brutal and she needed a couple of surgeries and two months of therapy after that. We eventually had to drop the case against the eldest son. Right after that, Yuri got her transfer letter. I didn’t know she had been transferred here, otherwise I would’ve told you about her. She’s a smart detective, Jeongguk. Just try and work with her. Maybe she needs some time to adjust to getting back to work after that entire fiasco.”

Jeongguk was stunned. He would never have thought Yuri had gone through something so traumatic if Yoongi hadn’t told him. Her outward demeanour hinted at nothing of the sort, and he felt a small bubble of guilt forming in his stomach.

xxx

Yuri sat at her desk, going over the autopsy report for the twentieth time. There were no leads (other than a very uncooperative Park Jimin), no physical evidence, no concrete motive - things were looking increasingly hopeless. On top of that, she still had to contend with an asshole of a partner. 

“Yuri?” Seulgi ran up to her desk, slightly out of breath. “Where’s Jeon?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think we may have something.” Seulgi pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “After the autopsy concluded that Eunwoo hit his head after being pushed, I wondered if there was a proper fight preceding that. So I examined his clothes and hands once again - to try and find any evidence of a scuffle. And I did. There was dried blood, not a lot, put enough for me to run a test on it. And you know what I found?”

“It wasn’t Eunwoo’s blood.”

“Exactly. Which means...?”

“It might be from the person who fought with and then shoved him to his death.”

“Unfortunately, the blood on the sleeve doesn’t belong to anyone in the system so I would need a sample to test it against.” Seulgi waved a hand in front of Yuri, trying to get her attention.

“Oh yeah… Sorry. Yeah, a blood sample. Our only suspect right now is Park Jimin. But we let him go yesterday because we didn’t have anything concrete to hold him.”

Seulgi frowned. “So what are you waiting for? Ask him to come in and provide a blood sample.”

“It’d be completely voluntary, though. He has every right to refuse,” said Yuri, closing her eyes in frustration. She had a feeling there was no way Park Jimin would cooperate with her now when he had blatantly refused to provide an alibi earlier. 

“I know you’re new here, Yuri,” said Seulgi. “But Jimin’s an asshole. Everyone knows that. He’s evaded the law so many times because his father has the best lawyers on his payroll. That’s why he’s not in the system even though he deserves to be - he’s bought his way out multiple times.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” asked Yuri, genuinely curious.

Seulgi’s body stiffened at the question and she stood up suddenly. “I’m just stating facts. I don’t know him personally.” 

Yuri could see that she had touched a nerve. “I’ll try and get him to give a blood sample. How long would you need to run the test?”

“I can have it done the same day if I get the sample early enough.”

Yuri pocketed her phone and keys, swiping the half-empty bottle of water from her desk, and walked towards the exit. Her mind was thinking of how exactly she could convince Park Jimin to willingly provide a blood sample. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake off the wariness she felt around young sons of influential businessmen and politicians. She no longer knew what the right step forward should be in an investigation. Something that was instinctive and almost second-nature to her, had been robbed from her and she had no idea how to get it back. Her continuous second-guessing would eventually show in the investigation, and she had no doubt that Jeon would jump at the chance to expose her inadequacies. Once again, she felt alone and vulnerable; somehow trying to survive while her weaknesses were laid bare for anyone to pick at. She had never felt this powerless since graduating from the academy.  

In her distracted state, Yuri almost ran into heavy incoming traffic. Almost. Fortunately, someone grabbed a hold of her and yanked her back by her elbow before she could become roadkill.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much! I-I wasn’t looking where I was-” she stopped short as she realized who had pulled her back to safety.

“Yoongi?!”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not the one who was heading directly into peak traffic,” said Yoongi, rolling his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah I’m fine,” she said, still trying to process everything. “What are you doing here?”

Before Yoongi could reply, another voice spoke up. 

“Why don’t you guys go ahead and catch up? The coffee shop across the street isn’t too bad. I need to attend to some paperwork anyway, so don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later, Yoongi.”

Yuri stared open-mouthed as Yoongi grinned and thanked Jeon for lunch.

“So, coffee?”

It had been a few months since Yuri had seen her friend and senior. He didn’t look too different, except for the bags under his eyes. Maybe he had become a little thinner as well.

“You didn’t tell me why you’re here,” said Yuri, once they had both gotten their orders. 

“I came to pick up something for the little one,” said Yoongi, opening a packet of sugar and offering it to her.

“Shit. I totally forgot! The last time I saw you, Eunbi was approaching her due date! How is she? And how’s baby Min doing?”

Yoongi scrunched his nose at the last question. “Baby Min is a horrible way to address anyone. Let’s not do that. Eunbi’s fine, and so is the little one. We still haven’t decided on a name yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of a really beautiful name,” Yuri said, smiling softly. “There’s no need to rush.”

“How are you?”

Yoongi’s question was simple. But they both knew that the answer to it was anything but.

“I don’t know.” The frown on her face told Yoongi that a direct approach was not going to work.

“I heard that you haven’t been getting along well with your new partner,” he asked instead, suppressing a grin when her eyes lit up furiously.

“About that,” said Yuri, crossing her arms over her chest. “How do you know Jeon?”

“Jeongguk and I trained at the same academy. I was a couple of years ahead of him. But we have a mutual love of lamb skewers that helped us bond. He’s a good kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” muttered Yuri. “Didn’t think I’d ever doubt your character judgement abilities, Yoongi, but I’m gonna have to disagree with you on this one. Jeon’s an asshole. And he’s made things really difficult for me, even though it’s barely been three days since I started here.”

“I won’t lie,” chuckled Yoongi. “He didn’t have the best things to say about you either. But I think I know you both quite well. And I think you’ve both got bigger things weighing on you right now which have clouded your personalities. I’m not saying you should go ahead and become best buds right away. Just… keep an open mind.”

Yuri remained quiet, not sure how she felt about what Yoongi had just said. It annoyed her that her friend didn’t appear to be on her side completely. 

“I can see that you aren’t liking what I’m saying and the annoyance has already started to show on your face,” said Yoongi with a twinkle in his eye. “So I’m just going to say one last thing on the issue. The 2nd November case that Jeongguk’s been overseeing - I want you to go over it. You might be able to help.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

“I know that you’re scared. Your fear is completely understandable. But that’s just a part of you - maybe a bigger part than you would like, but a part nonetheless. You didn’t choose this and you definitely didn’t want this. But it’s something that you are going to have to accept eventually. The scars that are formed unknowingly, unwantedly, mistakenly - they are all part of your constellation.”

It was strange. Yoongi hadn’t told her to overcome her fears - he hadn’t even asked her exactly what it was that she was afraid of. But his words had struck a chord somewhere. 

When they parted outside the station a little later, Yuri stared at her friend while trying to decide what to tell him. In the end, she settled for something professional whose meaning was deeply personal to the two of them.

“I’m sorry they demoted you.”

xxx

hey everyone! hope you’re enjoying the story so far. feel free to drop a message/ask if you have any questions/thoughts on the story.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: punch drunk princess; jay white [m]

Notes:

okay so.. this one was another sent to my main’s ask. but it was sent so long ago that I honestly forget who exactly sent it, oops? Anyway, this belongs to the whole vamp x human universe that I created for Jay White and my oc, Esme. Maybe one day I’ll make something out of it.

Summary:

Jay put a glamour so strong on Esme years ago that she’s totally forgotten him. But when they’re reunited because he sought her out and chose her to do his interview Jay decides that maybe he wants to remind her exactly who he is and what they were to each other. Fingering and hand jobs, body fluids. Mature.

Pairing:

Jay White x OFC, Esme

Warnings:

hand jobs and fingering, body fluids, risky sexual situation, use of mental manipulation / a glamour and some pretty intense bickering and banter back and forth.

Esme took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down the black leather strapless dress. One quick glimpse at herself in the mirror and she was ready.. Well, as ready as one gets to go out and give a tempermental self proclaimed vampire an interview.

… just get out there,  let him do his promo and  don’t ask any of the questions on the no ask list. It’s not that hard, Esme… she reminded herself as she reached for the door handle and took two long and deep breaths to center herself  a little bit.

Having never met a man who claimed to be a decades old vampire before,  Esme was torn between believing the stories she’d heard and thinking the man was all show and no go; secretly leaning more towards the latter if it really mattered.

Given the men  she /had/ encountered -and been let down by, it wasn’t a real stretch for her imagination.

“You’re on in ten, Essie.”

“Mark, we’ve discussed this. It’s Esme.  E-S-M-E. Surely you can remember a four letter name and stop trying to make it cute?” Esme’s tone was sharp and Mark, the stage hand winced, but Esme just fluffed his hair and  straightened his tie. “Is my coffee ready too?”

“Already out front.” Mark assured her.

Esme stared at the black velvet curtain separating her from the professional wrestler she was about to interview.

“Four seconds.” someone called out and Esme started to make her way to the curtain. When she stepped through, she took her seat quickly.

The man sitting next to her was decked out in a designer leather  trench coat, leather skinny jeans and a pair of pretty pricey biker boots that she was almost certain she’d seen in a top end boutique that she shopped right next to. She didn’t realize  she was staring, - or that he was staring right back, until he cleared his throat and chuckled, leaning in ever so slightly.

Esme got the distinct sense that it was more to throw her off or unsettle her than anything, but there was this underlying note of seduction there that she’d have to have been the most oblivious person in the entire world to miss.

She smirked calmly as he whispered,  “Y’ look tense, princess.”

“Not  tense at all, sir. Let’s just do this interview  with no cute stuff and no outtakes, yeah?” Esme whispered back, careful not to let on just how much the man was truly getting to her.

She’d been warned about him before she’d been told that he specifically chose her to give the interview and asked if she  would,  so she was not about to let him play whatever game he was going to try and play to make her lose her level of professionalism. She took a sip of coffee and almost the second the cup was level with her lips, her mind was absolutely flooded with all this mental imagery..

The man sitting next to her, standing behind her, cock standing tall and straight, one hand tangled in a fist full of her hair and the other hand wrapped around his shaft, guiding it over her dripping cunt, teasing her with a shallow thrust here and there. She nearly choked and he chuckled from beside her, reaching out to pat her upper back as he muttered calmly, “Thought y’ were like steel. Nothin  could rattle ya.”

Esme gave a non amused glare, he gave a playful wink and clearing her throat firmly, Esme asked the first question on her spoon fed list from his personal manager. “Are you happy with the block you’ll be wrestling in for G1 Climax this year?”

“Very satisfied, yes.” Jay answered, studying her intently. Seeing her on a screen and being face to face  with her again after all this time were… two totally different things  and if he said he wasn’t beyond affected by being around her same as he had been that last night with her, he’d be lying. The thought had him shifting in his seat and he raked his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying like hell to keep the mental images flooding his mind from doing so right now.

After all, he didn’t need Esme knowing the deepest inner fantasies he may or may not have had about her before the interview even took place.. The way he wanted to sweep all the shit off  the  top of the table they currently sat at, tearing down that dress, letting his mouth roam over those perky tits.. Grab a handful of her ass… No, he wanted to reach between her legs and rub her cunt til  she was arching her back and whimpering; begging him for more, telling him not to stop.

She tensed next to him  and he gave a satisfied smirk the second she did,  glad that she couldn’t see it. If he had to suffer the mental imagery, it was only fitting she suffer it too.

The program went to commercial and Esme leaned in, a smug look of determination in her eyes as she whispered calmly, “I don’t know what your game is, Jay White.. But it stops now.”

He met her gaze with the most innocent of looks and a haphazard shrug as he chuckled. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. It’s Esme, right? Pity.. you know  my full name. I don’t know yours. Maybe we should change that?” for the moment, Jay was pretending not to know her beyond having seen her show. In reality, he knew her… Oh,  he knew her quite well..  And it stung a little that the glamour he’d used on her years ago after a very intense and passionate night together worked so well that she didn’t even feel some tiny spark or  shred of recognition.

… well  I’ll just ‘ave t’ change that, given that I’m back and I aim t’  make her all mine…

“That’ll be a hard pass from me, Jay. Pretty sure you’re like the rest of the men I’ve had on to interview from that profession.” even as Esme said it, she had this feeling somewhere deep down..  There was something tugging at her mind she couldn’t quite make sense of..  This sense of familiarity where Jay White was concerned.

“You mean like yer last boyfriend, yeah? No, nothin like him. For starters I’m more ‘f a man in one of my fingers as he is overall.. To do th’ things I heard he did behind yer back…Only a coward sleeps around on the woman he supposedly loves.” Jay met her shocked expression with a smug look and Esme’s mouth opened and  closed because for  the first time in probably her entire life,  she had absolutely no quick comeback. She muttered the word jackass under her breath and Jay leaned in, mused against her ear quietly, “Tell  me somethin,  princess?” - he knew he shouldn’t ask the question, because he didn’t want to have it confirmed that yes, he  had done such a good job with the glamour  he put her under while she slept  the morning after  their night together that she’d completely forgotten, but he… had to know.  So, he asked.

“I have a name.” Esme started to correct, but then her eyes met his and she felt this… Sudden lucidity washing over her.  She couldn’t even really remember what she’d been so irritated by  in regards to him by the time the fog wore off. She shook her head and stared at him a few seconds, curious. “Well?”

“Do y’ even remember me at all?”

Esme raised a brow  and bit her lip, wondering why he’d ask her such a strange question when she’d never met him before in her entire life.

“ I’d have to have met you first to remember you.” Esme answered calmly. The show picked back up and Esme started her interview again. Jay watched her intently, mulling over just how good he’d glamoured her all those years ago after their night together.

The problem was, even recalling the night with her… Bought it all rushing right back to the surface.

Esme nearly choked on her coffee again when her mind was flooded with another round of erotic mental imagery.

Her hands tied to a metal bedpost that looked vaguely similar to an old frame she once owned.. Legs spread wide.. The feeling of facial hair and a warm, wet and oh so thick tongue as it trailed slowly up the inside of her right thigh. His eyes as he stared up at her. The white of his fangs  as his mouth turned upward in that devil’s smirk. The feel of his hands  against her bare skin.

The way he fucked her with his tongue - and on two separate occasions that same night,  his cock. The way he pulled her hair and the way he lie there holding her in the semi darkness of the room for a few hours after that night.

Esme tried to keep her face blank and the tension out of her body, but the mumbled swear  was definitely heard by Jay and all he could do was smirk to himself a little, calmly answer the question she’d asked and flash her his best flirtatious grin.

Her side brushed against his and it was like a jolt. She tried not to react in any way, but she tensed before she could stop it. When she felt his hand squeezing her thigh,she bit down on her lower lip just to keep from purring at the contact. Sad to say, yeah.. It had been a while.

By the time the interview was over, she found herself thinking, she was definitely going to need a long and cold shower. When Jay leaned in and whispered against her ear quietly, “You’ll remember exactly who I am soon enough,  princess. After all, I am the one who erased the memory t’ start with..Only I can fully restore it. Maybe I will, princess..” in a slightly smug tone,Esme boldly met his gaze and raised a brow..“You really believe you erased my memory? Well okay then..  whatever helps you get by, Jay. And I do believe, sir, you have me mistaken with someone else. Because I’m telling you, I have never met you until your publicist reached out, saying you requested me  to do this interview.”

“Oh no.. I’d never forget the way those legs feel around my waist.. Or the way it feels to wrap my hand in your hair and tug on it as I take you from behind.. Tell me somethin, princess… Do y’still have that little birthmark on yer bum? The slightly heart shaped one.”

Esme’s cheeks flushed bright red and despite her best efforts, warmth pooled to her cheeks and between her thighs. Her panties were soaked. She clenched her thighs tighter, trapping Jay’s hand just as it slid between them. Jay shifted in his seat as he felt the sticky warmth coating her inner thigh. His hand crept higher and Esme jumped a little in her seat, thankful for the front of the table being made to look like a desk and thus, being totally hidden from view. Her heart started to beat wildly against her chest and she took a labored breath.

Jay stopped, meeting her gaze with the calmest look on her face.

Irked by it, she decided to get a little payback. She lowered one of her hands covertly, slipping it right into his lap. The second he felt her hand rubbing at the bulge strained against his leather jeans, he gave an audible grunt and smirked to himself.

Esme bit down on her lip just to keep from whimpering into her mic as she felt Jay’s thick digits brushing the soaked cotton covering her cunt to the side. As his fingers trailed lazily over her folds, she fought desperately for composure.

Jay wasn’t going to allow it, apparently because nearly the instant she got herself reasonably composed, she felt two of those thick fingertips working her open. Just to see if he’d stop if she called his bluff, she shifted in her seat, bucking against his fingers as she did so. As all this transpired, the two of them were masks of composure, carrying on the interview as if absolutely nothing else was taking place.

Esme started to rub at the bulge strained against his jeans a little harder and faster as soon as she felt Jay’s own pace changing and heard him swear under his breath.  She worked the zip down  and her hands slipped into his silk boxers, circling his cock, pumping up and down slowly and lazily, lingering long enough at the tip to trail a fingertip over it. Jay’s legs opened wider to give her more room and his fingers continued to fuck in  and out of her cunt, his thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing a  circular motion. He bucked as carefully as possible against her hand, biting his lip. Esme smirked and slowed  down her strokes drastically under a warning look from him during a third break.

Jay  slowed down the movements of his own fingers as he felt her starting to tighten and tense at his touch. He leaned in and muttered so that no one could hear, “Goin t’ give me somethin’ t’ taste?” as he sped back up. Esme did the same, groaning as she felt his cock throbbing in her hand, felt the warm and stickiness of his seed as it lazily drizzled down his length. Her own orgasm shattered through, leaving her no choice but to dig her  toes into her shoes and grip at the edge of the table they sat hidden behind  as it  took over. Jay felt her cunt tighten around his fingers and he felt  the spasms, the warmth of her release as it flooded her panties and covered his fingers. Slipping his fingers out, he smirked as he cleaned himself up as covertly as possible -careful to make it seem as if his hands were merely resting in his lap out of sight.

The interview was ending and on shaky legs, Esme stood. She felt like she’d explode if  she didn’t get somewhere with a locking door  and collect herself.

Jay stood too and as soon as he went in for  the handshake, he pulled her against him; suddenly not giving a fuck how it looked on screen. His tongue dragged along the outer edge of her ear covertly and he whispered; “Was good to see you again, princess. You’ve no idea how much I missed you.. We’ll be together again soon enough.”

Esme stood there, floored by his  words.  About five seconds into it, she was hit by all  these crystal clear memories.. Of a night that until just now, she’d long forgotten about. Given  the nature of her memories of Jay White from back then, she was hard pressed to figure out why in the hell she’d managed to forget all about him, but somehow she had.

… seeing him must have stirred it all up again, that’s all…  she shrugged off remembering as a mere coincidence and from where Jay lurked out of sight around the corner, he  smiled to himself while rubbing his chin.

Oh yes.. He would most certainly be seeing her again very,  very soon. Because just like last time, he thought  to himself with a smirk, she would invite him in… After all, she had to be curious what a repeat of  the last night, which he’d just restored the memory of, would feel like….

[fairyjeff]

Mime Hunters United || Kaden & Jeff

TIMING: Beginning of April PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup and @fairyjeff SUMMARY: A hunter and a “warden” fight a hefty friend. 

Jeff had an inkling that this was a poor choice, but Deirdre had said that Kaden wasn't even a Warden. He was another kind of hunter, even if he said he was going to bring iron in case the fucking mime was a goddamn fairy. Now that he thought about it, maybe Kaden was right and bringing some iron to kill the goddamn thing was the right way to go. Still, Jeff made especially sure that all his glamours were in place - shadow, tongue, and wings. Somehow, he didn’t think Kaden would appreciate what he was either. He leaned against his truck until he saw another man approaching. “You Kaden?” Jeff called, pushing off his truck. “It’s Jeff. You down to find some fuckin’ mimes?”

Kaden was surprised to finally meet someone else who took this mime shit seriously. He’d faced a lot by himself, sure, but he wasn ever a fan of going up against an unknown force by himself if he could help it. Especially since he was fairly certain this weird mime monster was at least controlled by fae magic if it wasn’t fae itself. Good thing he ran into that warden online. “Yeah, it’s me. Good to see you, Jeff,” he said, extending a hand to shake as he walked up to who he presumed was another hunter. “Hell yeah. You got a weapon? I have a few extra knives on me if you need one.” Probably best not to delay this too much longer. “Which mime place should we check? There’s too fucking many.”

Jeff shook Kaden’s hand. It was so nice to see that not all hunters went after fairies. Kaden clearly wasn’t a warden, or he would have had a pretty big fucking problem with him now. He patted his pockets for a second, before pulling out a smaller hunting knife some uncle had gotten him for one of his teenager birthdays. ‘Boys like knives’ or something. Jeff didn’t particularly have a strong opinion on knives either way. He looked at Kaden, “ A few knives? You really came prepared, huh?” Jeff thought for a moment, before his face darkened slightly. “The Stripe Club,” Jeff said, lip curling as he said name. “Better place than any to start, bet that fuckin’ mime that hovered out my window was from there.”

“Of course I did. I heard enough stories.” Kaden wasn’t aware of many hunters, if any, who didn’t own a minimum of five knives, so the comment caught him off guard a little. Well, maybe he was newer. Not like he’d seen the guy around the Silver Bullet any so that must have been it. “Here, take one, just in case,” he said as he handed his current partner in mime one of his plainer knives.  “The Stripe Club?” He ruminated on that a minute. “You mean the fucking mime strip club? Fucking abomination,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.” Kaden led the way, knife in hand, not sure how to track a mime demon. When they got to the alley outside the club, he honestly wasn’t sure where to start. Normally he’d look for signs or tracks but, what did those consist of for this… thing? He started looking around carefully, anyway, listening deeply, trying to pick up on anything he could. Granted, if it was a mime it would be silent, wouldn’t it? Shit. “See anything?” he whispered to his companion.

“This town is a fuckin’ abomination,” Jeff said. “Fucking mimes everywhere, damn thing pressing it’s goddamn face against my window for two weeks straight... “ He scoffed, disgusted. He followed after the shorter man, knife in his hand. He wasn’t sure if they were actually planning on stabbing the mime - was that allowed? Well if it was a demon, surely there had to be some extenuating circumstances. It was pretty fucking dark in the alley…”No…” Jeff whispered back.  Something skittered across the damp pavement behind him and he turned around. Glowing eyes flashed and Jeff’s hand tightened around his knife before - “Oh! Hey,” he swatted Kaden with his free hand, and pointed. “Look, it’s just a raccoon. They’re kinda fucking cute for dumpster divers - hi buddy!” Jeff said, immediately distracted by the fuzzy friend… At least until suddenly, the fuzzy friend was gone with a sickening crunch. Jeff stopped, and replayed what had just happened in his head. A long tongue thing had shot out and tanked the animal - Oh no. There it was. In all its glory. Looking at them. Except… “Kaden!” He whispered. “I found it! Except… I don’t think it’s the one outside my window… That one’s bigger. Why’s it just looking at us.”

Kaden’s head shot towards the sound of scuttering and saw the fuzzy round raccoon. For a moment he was relieved. Only a moment, however. Because the fucking mime demon descended from fucking nowhere and opened its waist to reveal a gullet lined with sharp teeth. And that was it for that poor raccoon. “Yeah, I fucking see, alright,” he whispered to his companion, his face going a little white watching the whole scene. Putain. It was worse than he’d possibly imagined. Well, and a little… heftier. It’s size didn’t stop it any from twisting and crawling in fluid but staccato motions right towards them. It didn’t look satisfied by the raccoon. Putain. He’d encountered a lot of monsters in his time, but nothing like this. Nothing. Well, no time like the present. “Cover me,” he shouted as he took off running towards the beast, knife out. The creature saw, and sped up, nails screeching against the asphalt in a decibel that made him want to curl up and cringe. He didn’t hesitate, just dodged to the right from the teeth and brought his blade down to slash the beast. Only there was less slashing, more bending. His eyes grew wide as he looked down at his knife, now in a lovely 90 degree angle, then back at the monster. It was unharmed but far from unphased. It turned towards him, yanked him by his knee and pulled him to the ground, all without making a single sound. It bent back and the fangs appeared again. Kaden winced and shoved his broken knife towards it with one hand and covered his face with the other and hoped for the fucking best.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Jeff didn’t get the chance to voice his opinion though, before Kaden sprang forward, yelling at him to cover him. Cover him? What was this? A video game? He didn’t know how to do that. He just punched stuff! Oh god, did that Mime have fangs?? And in the wrong place? What the fuck? Jeff considered all the research he had done before moving, and decided that he wouldn’t have moved here no matter how many fucking fairies there were. Finally, he rushed forward to help poor Kaden as he watched the knife bend. Uh-oh, Kaden was a hunter, he probably had really good knives. Jeff jumped forward,in front of Kaden, his fist connecting hard with the mimes face - ow. “Fuck!” he swore, his hand throbbing in pain as the Mime stopped and seemed to just stare. Time to fucking go. Jeff cussed loudly again, turning to stoop and grab Kaden, intent on dragging his friend away. And it worked too. At least, until it didn’t. The mime thing grabbed his leg. “HEY! Let go!”

Kaden thought this might be the end. His time had come. And it had come to a fucking mime demon spawn of all things. Putain de bordel de merde, what a shitty way to die. He braced himself for the teeth only… nothing. Beyond some swearing. He looked up to see Jeff shaking his hand out. “Did you just--” He didn’t get a chance to ask, he was being dragged out of the line of fire. For the best, really. He was just about to scramble up to his feet and take off running when he felt a tug at his ankle. Fuck. The shit had him by the shoe. Without hesitating, Kaden used his other foot to shove the bottom of his boot from his heel. Damnit, they were wll broken in and fit snug. Maybe too snug. He struggled as the monster dug its nails farther into the leather, intent on dragging him back towards its mouth. One big shove and the shoe flung off his foot and into the face (??) of the monster. No time to admire the damage. One shoe left, Kaden stumbled to his feet and started running. He assumed Jeff would follow suit if he hadn’t already. No monster was worth this.

“Let fucking go, you piece of shit!” Jeff’s hand still hurt, and his brows furrowed as the stupid mime didn’t let him tug Kaden away. Jeff gave another stubborn tug before Kaden took matters into his own hands and let the damn thing have his boot. Oh. That was probably a better decision. His plan was just to punch it until it let go. His throbbing hand told him that was a shitty idea. One shoe down, Kaden got up and ran away. Jeff only looked at the hefty beast before turning and following soon, patting his pants pockets as he ran after him. “My car’s closest!” He said, finally locating the keys to his truck. “Let’s drive away and hope we never, ever fucking see it again!!”

Kaden nodded silently while sprinting behind Jeff to his car. He hopped into the seat the second the door was unlocked, then leaned back in the seat trying to catch his breath again. A quick look out of the back window as the car took off and he could see the hefty mime beast scuttling out from the alley. “Putain,” was all he could manage to say. That was close. Too fucking close. The last he saw of the monster before they sped away, it hinged itself back again and swallowed his boot whole. “I liked those fucking shoes, too.” He sighed. Suppose a shoe was a small price to pay for their lives. This mime shit was harder to kill than he imagined. Fuck. He turned back to face forward in his seat, lamenting his broken knife for a moment. “Next time we try bullets.”

[trippydooda]

here’s a second part of the Woosan fic i started. it’s basically a rough draft and i plan on changing some minor things in the one i post to AO3, but alas have some stuff.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San

Rating: idk, T? it’s safe for minors lol

Word Count: 3,261 

A blanket is handed to him, but he refuses it. It’s not as if he’s shivering from the cold anyway. No, Wooyoung is sitting back on the wretched bed he woke up on, feeling the smallest and weakest he has in his entire life. 

The shivers wrack through him in waves, and he ends up choking a handful of times, though he really can’t pinpoint the cause of those either. The two beautiful strangers who somehow have to do with him being here sit on either side of him, the first with something akin to a sad expression, the other unreadable.

Wooyoung is tired of the silence. “Where am I?” He asks, but it comes out as a pathetic whisper rather than a strong demand.

The second man speaks up, “A mansion far away from where you call home.” He lifts a finger in front of him that’s still somehow directed at Wooyoung to not speak, and continues: “You were found by San dying in a slum alleyway somewhere, and for some reason instead of finishing the job he decided to save you.”

Slowly turning his head to who he assumes is San (the still silent one), Wooyoung mutters, “Oh.” Only a few silent moments have to pass before the rest of the declaration weighs heavy on him. He whips his head back around. “Finished what job, exactly?”

“You were dying, dear,” the second man flashes a smile and a flutter of eyelids. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the sarcastic undertone. “And our friend here should have just killed you.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows. He elects to ignore the obvious insult to instead ask, “And how exactly was I saved? This certainly doesn’t look like a hospital.”

“Ah, there. That’s the right question.” The second man settles himself back onto the bed so he’s no longer looking at Wooyoung. He’s not sure he could have stood those red eyes any longer anyway. “It’s more fun to have you guess, though.”

Wooyoung huffs indignantly. He’s tired, annoyed, and still so fucking confused. He doesn’t want to guess, he wants to be told. And right now he feels like telling this other stranger to sod off, because at least this “San” was nicer. So far, anyway. Still, he wants confirmation enough to calm the boiling in his veins enough to spit out, “Well you all seem like a bunch of stereotypical fantasy book type vampires.”

A laugh erupts out of the second man, one that seems fairly devoid of any true humour, and Wooyoung scoots closer to “San”. The latter man flinches slightly and tenses, but it doesn’t feel like one of cautious anticipation. More like the clench of muscles of someone ready to fight. Wooyoung sure hopes he’s not the one to be fought. “Ah, I wonder what sort of things that sharp tongue of yours would say if my teeth were sunk into your pretty little ne—”

“Enough.”

Both Wooyoung and the man flinch at “San”s sudden forceful voice. Having been now hovering over Wooyoung, the second man scoffs under his breath and removes himself from the continuing quivering Wooyoung. His eyes, Wooyoung notices, have also morphed into that deep black and Wooyoung is idly wondering how close he was to death (again?) when the man rolls his eyes. “You’re always so protective of your playthings, San.”

“I said enough, Mingi.” “San” (Wooyoung should probably drop the quotation marks) practically growls.

Mingi glares down at Wooyoung, his lip upturned. He wordlessly exists, all swift movements and even a somewhat graceful slam of the door behind him. Wooyoung is thankful he’s gone, he really is don’t get him wrong, but now he’s alone with San. And he doesn’t know how to feel about San. It was easy with everyone else—they clearly wanted to kill him. But Wooyoung doesn’t know how to process the information that San precisely thought the opposite, that Mingi said he “saved” him. He’s never been good with compliments or praise, and he somehow thinks that saving his life—however it actually happened—it’s just completely out of his realm of contemplating.

“Sorry about him,” San smiles, and it’s genuinely sweet. His eyes remain brown, and so now Wooyoung is wondering if this colour madness is just that—a product of his own madness.

“Where am I,” Wooyoung asks again, because Mingi wasn’t very helpful. Plus, he figures San will be more forthcoming, less of a sarcastic ass.

Turns out he’s right. San heavily sighs, cards his fingers through his hair, and… Pouts. Wooyoung blinks dumbly at it. “This is sort of a… Safe haven”—Wooyoung scoffs, San ignores him—“for people like me. Like… You. It’s hidden behind a sort of seal if you want to call it that, kind of like a spell.”

“A spell,” Wooyoung echos.

San nods enthusiastically, snapping his fingers because he seems to think Wooyoung is following along (he’s absolutely not). His smile falters slightly, though. “Mingi is slightly right, on one count. I had saved you, yes, but that was under the pretense you would become like me.”

“A vampire,” Wooyoung mutters, voice completely monotone.

San nods again, albeit more slowly. Wooyoung is afraid of what sort of circumstance warrants such a change in demeanor. “I know it’s… A lot, but I did it with the best intentions.” He lopsidedly smiles at Wooyoung and the latter’s heart positively melts. He supposes if some freak was going to “save” him in such a way, at least this one was pretty. “I truly thought you’d just be like me, like Mingi.” Wooyoung hates the unsaid “but”.

The roundabout is only slightly irking Wooyoung, but he’s able to at least be patient with San. Now that he knows the sort of other heathens that run rampant in this little tree shop of horrors house, anyway. “So I’m not a vampire then.”

A shake of the head this time. “No, no you’re not.”

Wooyoung thinks. He thinks because San looks just as tired and confused as he is. Thinks because he really hasn’t clearly yet since waking up dead, and so he thoughtfully raps his index finger against his chin. He tries to remember the times he was a kid and poured through all sorts of fantasy novels and shows, and tries to recall what he knows about vampires. He remembers, though, what the one vampire had said about him: halfling.

He’s unaware he’s muttered it aloud when San perks up next to him. “That fits, actually. That’s the best way to describe it at this point.”

For the first time the whole night (as Wooyoung assumes it is, don’t vampires like, hibernate in the day?), Wooyoung really looks at San. He appears perhaps even the same exact age as Wooyoung, but if he’s going off fantasy vampire lore, the guy is probably in his hundreds. And looking fantastic at that. His skin looks impossibly smooth, eyes deep with emotion and lips curled into a sincere smile, even if it seems to be one of pity rather than joy. There’s a hint of a cherry red underneath San’s hair, and it sort of hits Wooyoung rather belatedly that San is just his type. Way better than any Tinder fuck he’s gotten recently, anyway.

And here he is, practically snuggled in bed with the guy.

But dammit Wooyoung, this is not the time to be horny, you need answers. And Wooyoung has plenty of questions to last (another) lifetime. So he picks one if not to just ignore the strange static that’s building between them. “Someone called me an omega,” he blurts, and it makes San softly laugh.

“Gunna talk my head off with questions, eh?”

“Absolutely,” Wooyoung blurts once more.

San lightly shrugs. “That’s fair.” Wooyoung swears his skin flushes when he stammers out, “B-But, the omega thing. There are some things that probably aren’t talked about in vampire school.”

“That absolutely doesn’t exist,” Wooyoung breathes, and shares his first pure laugh with San. He still doesn’t know if he should be hating the guy, honestly. It’s becoming increasingly harder to even entertain the thought.

“Well whatever,” San bats the air. “I just don’t think they really—er, anyone really—talks about how society for us really works.”

Wooyoung scoots closer, knees brushing against San’s. “Enlighten me.”

A breath escapes San’s nose that could definitely be a laugh, one so impossibly soft Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about it right now. “The person was right when they called you an omega. Before you blather about that whole thing, it’s not the sort of ‘omega’ you’re probably used to. You can’t get pregnant, go into heat, none of that. It’s simply a rank.”

“The lowest of them, then,” Wooyoung softly laments, turning his gaze to the bed.

It shoots up instantly the moment San replies with: “The opposite, actually.” Apparently Wooyoung’s awestruck expression is enough for him to continue without delay. “Omegas are thought to be the highest for us. They’re pure, untainted, and elegant. They think clearer than ravenous alpha or power seeking beta. They possess a certain poise and aptitude for the political, but even with all this they get treated like dirt.”

Wooyoung expressively frowns. “But you said—”

“I know,” San snaps. It makes Wooyoung shrink. “Hundreds, thousands, of years of alphas trying to overcome what they think their weakness is has led omegas to be somewhat of an anomaly. We changed so they’re rarer, less omegas lived to procreate, and as a result there are practically none left. It also just so happens omegas… Taste good.” San looks off anywhere that definitely isn’t Wooyoung.

Right, the whole blood drinking thing. Right.

Wait, no, not right, what the shit?

“So what the hell do I do?” Wooyoung asks, swallowing down his shivering panics. He figures it’s the most practical question he could possibly ask.

San looks back at him, eyes soft and pleading when he says, “Trust me.”

¥¥¥¥

Even though San assures him it’s safe now, that he’s “taken care” of things, Wooyoung still refuses to leave his room. At least, he assumes it’s his. In any case, no one has come to see him besides San, and certainly not that Mingi fellow. Wooyoung shivers at the memory, but also wonders why he was so willing to obey San as well. If he was going to admit it (which he isn’t presently), the sort of powerful aura San carries is… Well, unbelievably attractive.

Yet he’s still confused about this whole omega business, not to mention he doesn’t really think he’s come full to terms with his… Predicament. Is he dead? He doesn’t think the afterlife would be especially honest about where he was, but then again he has no frame of reference either. Just blind faith—just his trust in San, as feeble as it is. So he spends most hours (he’s lost track of them) curled into himself, fumbling to locate his heartbeat every few hours when he can’t feel it anymore. It’s his only way of holding on.

He thinks of his friends, how they must be worried about him. He’s not realised he’s shaking quite violently until San enters the room, and Wooyoung can finally breathe. It doesn’t even take him rising his head to know it’s San—his San, as his brain sometimes flutters to—he can just feel his presence like a blanket wrapping securely around him. The thought makes Wooyoung shiver again, though this time he’s not really sure what for. He’ll figure it out later.

A clatter of a plate being set down makes Wooyoung finally peek out from his blanket cocoon. Very recently being wrapped as tightly in linen as possible has brought him extreme relief. He blinks at the plate though, silver gilded and a rather hot looking cup of soup sitting innocently in the middle. “You must be hungry,” San says, though it’s more of an exasperated breath.

Wooyoung blinks dumbly when he says, “I’m not hungry.”

San sighs. “You’ve been here nearly a week”—Wooyoung whimpers—“and you’ve not eaten a thing. It’ll make me look bad if you starve to death.”

Wooyoung thinks on this. If it’s been nearly a week, how is that he’s not ravenous? Because he isn’t lying to San, he’s honestly not hungry. He hasn’t been, even though the soup looks tantalisingly good the longer he stares at it. “I thought vampires didn’t eat people food,” he mumbles, not even really realising he’s said it out loud. He yelps at his own bold proclamation, slinks back into his covers. San just laughs, and it’s too light and airy for Wooyoung to think about right now.

“We don’t, but you’re not fully like us.” The last bit sounds sad almost, and the confusion that has plagued Wooyoung since being here is crawling rather speedily up his conscience again.

And he really shouldn’t care, to be honest. Not when he’s not even sure if he should be thanking San yet, because he’s not even sure he was saved. Does saving someone entail trapping them in a room like some sort of failed Disney princess? Wooyoung doesn’t know, and he also doesn’t know why he reaches out an apprehensive hand to curl around the bit of San’s arms he can see from under his blankets. San tenses ever so slightly, but the overwhelming relief, like this is what Wooyoung has been starving over, when he can feel San go pliant under his touch—it’s maddening. It’s maddening because Wooyoung doesn’t understand.

As if San is reading his thoughts (he really could be, Wooyoung never really paid attention to the little snippets of vampire lore), he says quietly, “You should be careful.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows together and pouts even though San can see neither. “Maybe I would be if you told me why.”

Just from the way San’s arm wiggles uselessly in the air, Wooyoung can tell he’s rolled his eyes. “You’re an omega,” he explains like Wooyoung should already have this whole thing down.

“So?” He asks, withdrawing his hand to sit up fully, and sees San is staring holes into his soup. Wooyoung would gladly offer it up but… Vampires, and all that.

Without looking away San replies, “I’m an alpha.”

“And? You said none of that weird stuff existed.” With the way San tightens his fists Wooyoung is fully aware he’s treading on stormy waters. It’s a little exciting while also being downright terrifying, and it’s really no wonder he’s gotten himself caught up in something like this. The only difference is Wooyoung had imagined a lot more drugs and guns. “Besides,” Wooyoung continues, because San has stayed silent, “You were the one that didn’t kill me. You said omegas tasted good, right? So I’m thinking I’m in the clear with you.” He’s come to sit with his legs crossed, hands neatly folded on his lap, utterly satisfied in what he thinks is a perfectly sound argument.

It is, apparently, not.

San finally looks over at him, the brown eyes he had been using for Wooyoung (he’ll have to ask about that later, assuming he survives this) having turned to a deep red. Wooyoung doesn’t know what that could possibly mean, but for someone who is not really a vampire and therefore more like somewhat spoilt live stock, it can’t be good. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” He finally asks, and Wooyoung would definitely have replied with something snarky if it weren’t for the fact that a slender finger runs down his cheek.

So Wooyoung’s brain sort of short circuits, “panicked gay style”, as one of his friends once put it. “Wh-What?” He stammers out, having lost every ounce of cocky confidence he had going super well before.

His precious soup lays forgotten as San fully turns his body, a hand now caressing his cheek instead of just a finger. San looks at him through a thoughtful pout, eyes dashing all over before they rest neatly right in Wooyoung’s gaze. The red is still there, still bright and confusing, but there’s something soft as well. Or maybe that’s just Wooyoung’s wishful thinking. Yet the way San is holding his chin now is nothing but dripping with affection, and the way he walks closer to the bedside so he can breathe Wooyoung in is anything besides the feeling of a murderous monster. Perhaps murderous in a different way, Wooyoung belatedly thinks when their foreheads press together.

When he smiles, Wooyoung can see sharp fangs. It’s right then he thinks he has, in fact, probably gone too far, but the heat that coils inside of him just at the sight is betraying him rather efficiently. San says nothing as he leans his face into the dip of Wooyoung’s neck, hovering right over the place where he was first bitten by that freak of a date. Wooyoung swallows thickly when he feels soft lips press just as softly over the wound, and he should probably stop this but something like his attraction to the vampire and blunt curiosity stops him. San says nothing as he drags his upper lip over it, resting teasing fangs as if to make a bite of his own. A tongue flattens down next, and Wooyoung can’t help the whimper that leaves him, nor the way he holds onto San’s hips as if he’ll crumble if he doesn’t.

The door swings open right as Wooyoung feels San’s bottom lip skidding up to meet his top in what would have been a downright awful-but-wonderful kiss, and Wooyoung’s eyes flash open to see a rather incredulous Mingi staring at them both with some measure of disgust (it’s mostly directed at Wooyoung, though, he thinks). “The council is waiting for you, San,” he spits, and gives Wooyoung one more definitely I’m-going-to-end-your-life glare before he leaves, stomping down the hallway and certainly not closing the door.

A growl comes from the spot in Wooyoung’s neck where San is still nuzzled, but when he pulls back there is no anger in his expression. It’s turned to unreadable, which is new. Wooyoung doesn’t really like it. “He has an uncanny habit of entering at the worst of times,” San says, a laugh ghosting on Wooyoung’s face. His expression is still unreadable, but it’s at least somewhat softer now.

They stay silent for a solid five incredibly awkward seconds before San clears his throat rather audibly, removes Wooyoung’s hands from where they were still clutching San’s sides, and sets them in Wooyoung’s lap. He just as awkwardly pats down the sleeves of Wooyoung’s sweater before clearing his throat once again. “I have to go,” he says, “I’ll come back as soon as I can, omega.”

Wooyoung blinks, can only muster the strength to do that, as San turns to leave, but is able to blurt out, “Wooyoung.” It’s right before San has fully exited the room, one foot having frozen inside when he peers his head back in. “My name,” Wooyoung explains. “So you… Don’t have to call me omega.”

“Wooyoung,” San echoes with some thoughtfulness. It’s all he says before he leaves as well, albeit silently down the hall.

Two—no, three—things enter Wooyoung’s mind in rapid succession. One is that he’s certainly in too deep with this San, and they’ve barely held a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes and didn’t involve Wooyoung’s confusion. The second one is that he’ll have to stand to close the door and he’s not sure if his legs will even work after all that, and third…

His soup is probably cold.

[woofools]

Years ago I had a creative writing assignment while I was neck-deep in a Yin Yang Yo! hyperfixation, so I basically lifted a bunch of characters from the show, put them in a human AU setting, and changed their names.

BUT, I was talking with @yuckisalesbian, who was like “hey I’d read that!” This one’s for you, pal.

So here it is! A (sort of, very very loose) human/modern day AU! (Names changed back for clarity.)

Please be merciful this was written a while ago, as I’ve said. Beware of swears.

There was a series of crashes and the sound of glass breaking, then a muffled glugging noise. A pause, then, in unison,

“We’re so dead.”

Yo didn’t move from his spot in bed. He wasn’t sure of the exact time (checking it would require moving), but he was sure that it was too early for this shit. He entertained the thought of ignoring the sounds of rising calamity and just dropping back off to sleep, but then the smoke alarm went off. Regretfully, he had to let the fantasy of further sleep drop back to the hopeful abyss it’d sprung from. The noise, if nothing else, would keep him awake.

He still didn’t move, though.

There was the sound of feet approaching at a semi-frantic clip, and then he heard his door being thrown open.

“Heeeeeyyy, Yo, buddy, you awake?”

It was Yang. Yo grunted.

“Cool, that’s cool, so um, hey! Quick, completely random question that has absolutely nothing to do with our current situation: where do we keep the fire extinguisher?”

Yo heard Yin frantically yelling for her brother from the kitchen, and grumbled, “Back of the closet.”

“YANG!!”

“’KaycoolthanksYobye!”

And with that, his door slammed shut.

Yo stayed where he was for another thirty seconds, this time trying to convince himself that two twelve-year-olds could absolutely handle a fire on their own. Absolutely. In no way did they require his help. None at all.

Yang was distantly yelling, “How do you work this thing?!” as Yin screamed, “Squeeze it! Squeeze it!”

Yo groaned into his pillow, and pushed himself upright.

*****

An hour later, after the fire had been put out, the shards of dishware had been disposed of, and the half-gallon of milk had been mopped off the floor, the three of them sat on the sofa eating cereal out of pans (all the other bowl-like instruments were either broken or dirty). The twins kept glancing at each other. Yo braced himself.

Sure enough, after a minute or so of mental-twin-communication – or whatever the hell he was witnessing – Yang began, “So hey, Yo—”

“No,” he said through a mouthful of cereal.

Yin sputtered. “We haven’t even asked you anything yet!”

“Still no.”

Yang stuck his lip out. “Why not?”

Yo gave him an unimpressed, annoyed look. “Because I have to buy a new microwave.”

Both twins deflated.

“We were trying to make you breakfast,” Yin offered meekly.

“So you could butter me up for whatever you’re trying to ask for? Stick to something noncombustible next time.”

He watched the pair deflate further, staring dolefully into the last dregs of their cereal. Ah, and there was the guilt, right on schedule. Which he felt was (mostly) unfounded; he was fairly certain they weren’t as broken up as they were pretending to be, anyway.

And yet, here he was, falling for it.

“What were you gonna ask me?” he half-groaned.

The fact that they both instantly perked up only added to his “they’re just putting it on” –theory.

Yin began, “So our school’s hosting this thing—”

“—it’s kind of like a talent show—” Yang threw in.

“—and we signed up for it—”

“—because who’s more talented than us?—”

“And families and stuff can come to watch—”

“Yo, you have to come watch us!”

“Come see us do our bit pleasepleaseplease!”

They said all this very fast, and at roughly the same time. Yo reeled.

“…Lemme get this straight,” he said slowly. “You two were planning to bribe me into coming to see your school thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much.”

“Which won’t actually cost me anything other than my time?” Yo went on.

“Uh… yes?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Yo wasn’t sure what to make of the outrageously hopeful faces boring into his soul. “That’s… that’s not something that needs bribing…”

“That mean you’ll come?” they asked in unison.

“I– yeah, knuckleheads, that means I’ll come.”

He rode out the mini-explosion of joy and excitement by grumbling that this was probably the stupidest reason they’d had to date for inadvertently destroying his kitchen.

*****

The twins left for a nearby park shortly after finishing their cereal, claiming they needed to go practice their act. They refused to tell him what the act was exactly, because for some reason kids relished the idea of surprises. Yo, who was old, took surprises with a mixture of apprehension and distaste. But it was making them happier than he’d seen thus far, so alright, fine, whatever. “Surprise” it was.

Yo was grudgingly heading out to Sears to pick up a new microwave. Microwavable meals had been the majority of what they’d been living on, so not having a usable one around the apartment would only make life that much more difficult. As the “adult” it was his sad duty to put aside his plans for the day to go get one. As compensation, he decided that this meant that there were two kids who wouldn’t be getting an allowance for the next three months. He hadn’t bothered to mention that to them yet. That should be a fun conversation.

He stood waiting for the elevator, absently swinging his keys, when a voice down the hall suddenly decided to take a metaphorical cheese grater to his eardrums:

“Yo? That you down there? Oooh how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

He heard the woman shuffling down the hall towards him, and weighed the merits of pretending to have a heart attack and die. She linked arms with him before he could make up his mind.

“Hello Edna,” he said stiffly instead.

“Oh, Yo, it’s so good to see you, I was getting so worried! I never see you out and about lately, and whenever I go to check on you, you aren’t home!”

“Really? Huh. What a strange and completely unintentional happenstance.”

“I told my Herman— I said, ‘Herman, if poor Yo doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to need you to do something Herman!’ And d’y’know what he said? He said, ‘Yes Mother!’ He’s such a good boy, my Herman, he was worried about you too—”

“Interesting,” Yo grumbled, internally demanding God tell him why the elevator was taking so long.

“So you gonna to tell me where you been? Where you going now?”

Not seeing a way out, Yo said, “I have to go get a new microwave.”

“Really?! Why’s that?”

The elevator doors finally opened, but just as Yo was about to (happily) excuse himself, he realized what had taken it so long in the first place: a couple of guys were trying to move a couch. How they’d managed to cram the thing in there was a mystery to Yo, but now it seemed to be his unhappy privilege to get to watch them try to wriggle it out.

Despondently, he replied, “Kids blew up the old one.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got those kids living with you now…” Edna’s grip on his arm suddenly got a little tighter. “So, what are they anyway? Niece and nephew? Second cousins?”

“Uh… no? They’re… y’know, mine.”

“Really.” Unless he was imagining things, her tone had iced over just a touch. “Adopted?”

“…Yes and no…”

“What?”

This was undeniably the last thing Yo wanted to be talking about right now. But then, talking to Edna was undeniably the last thing he wanted to be doing period, so in a way it kind of fit. “They’re my real kids – biologically, I mean – but I’ve only really been their ‘parent’ since last year.”

“Ah. And the mother?”

“Gone.” And fuck you Edna, because that was all he was saying on the matter.

But apparently that was good enough for her, because all she said was “I see,” and then resumed snuggling into his arm, warm and bubbly as ever. “I’ll bet she just took the kids and ran, didn’t she? How horrible for you! Well, I guess she got her just desserts, isn’t that right Yo? And now you have your precious little babies back!”

Yo didn’t say anything this time. He was too busy trying to convince himself that it was indeed a real person hanging off him, not some cartoon escaped from a kids’ show.

“But you said they blew up your microwave? That must be something they picked up from their mother’s side, I’ll bet you any money— Y’know Yo, if you want, I could send Herman over to talk to them for you— OOH! We could have a family dinner together! The three of you could come by tonight, I’ll make my famous creamed pork just for the occasion—”

The guys had finally freed the couch, thank Jesus. Swiftly untangling himself, Yo said, “Sorry, I’ve got plans,” and practically leapt into the elevator. The last thing he saw as the doors closed was Edna looking as though she’d just had her favorite treat snatched out from under her nose. Sighing in relief, he slumped against the back wall of the elevator.

He’d made a solemn promise to himself that the only way he’d ever have dinner with Edna Laskey was if someone’s life hung in the balance. He had no intention of breaking that promise today.

*****

Yang stuck the landing from his jump off the monkey bars, then spun around to face his sister, arms outstretched in showmanship. Yin nodded, smiling.

“Nice. I still think we should have some streamers though…”

Yang made a face. “We don’t need any stupid streamers, Yin. The act’s fine the way it is.”

“Says the guy who wanted to use rocket packs…”

“It would’ve been cool!”

“Uh-huh. Tell me again, where did you think we were going to get the rocket packs?” Yin asked, head tilted challengingly.

Yang pouted, and didn’t answer.

“I rest my case.”

“…still would’ve been cool…”

“Still would’ve been completely impossible, meathead.”

Yang stuck out his tongue, and his sister returned the gesture. Then his face lit up.

“Okay wait hold on… If we did use streamers—” (Yin squealed,) “—Lemme finish. If we used streamers, then could we also add some fight moves?”

Yin suddenly looked much less enthused. “‘Fight moves’?”

“Yeah, like karate kicks and stuff. We could throw ‘em in at the end.” Yang took the opportunity to display his karate-kicking prowess, with copious amounts of “hi-yah!”s and “chee-hoo-wah!”s for good measure. With a final, vicious kick, his sneaker went flying off.

“Nice going, dork-butt,” Yin said dully as she watched the shoe fly through the air.

The park they were in was, unfortunately, at the top of a high hill. At the bottom, there was a Walgreens and an attached parking lot. The twins watched the shoe plummet from the sky before rolling down the hill, right underneath the maroon Impala parked at the edge of the lot.

“Aw crud,” Yang groaned, stalking down the hill. His sister hopped up from where she sat and trailed after him, snickering.

Upon reaching the car, Yang ducked down and stretched his arm as far as he could. Which, since he was a twelve-year-old, wasn’t very far at all.

“I can’t get it,” he grunted. “Can you reach it from the other side?”

Yin circled around the car and imitated her brother’s actions, with similar results. “Nope,” she called back. “Try crawling under on your stomach.”

Yang grumbled irritably to himself, but nonetheless dropped to his stomach and began trying to worm his way under the car. Yin straightened up, using the door handle as leverage.

The door opened.

Yin stumbled, landing hard on her rear. A chunky Manilla envelope fell from the car and landed in her lap.

“What’re you doing?” Yang asked from under the car.

“The– the door opened.”

She heard rapid shuffling from under the car. Seconds later her brother came from around the front, hopping on one foot as he tried to tug his sneaker back on. By that point she’d already gotten to her feet, and was just about to toss the envelope back into the car and slam the door.

“What’s this?” Yang asked, plucking the envelope from her hand.

“It fell out of the car,” she said, trying to snatch it back. Yang dodged her hand and retreated several paces.

“Whatcha think’s in here?” he asked, holding it up to the light as if trying to see through it.

“It doesn’t matter dorkasaurus, it’s not ours! Give it back!”

“Lighten up dorkasaurus-rex,” he said, lifting the metal tab, “I’m not gonna hurt it.”

“Yang, don’t—!” but he’d already lifted the flap.

“Holy—”

Yin moved to her brother’s side and peeked into the envelope he was holding. Her jaw went slack.

The envelope was filled with thick rolls of hundred dollar bills.

“Put it back, Yang,” Yin begged. “If the owner comes back and catches us holding this—”

Yang hastily resealed the envelope and lobbed it back into the car. It landed in the center of the bench seat in the back, on top of a pile of blankets that had been heaped there. Yin could also see what looked like a champagne glass full of water (??) in the cup holder, and several journals strewn about the floor. As she wondered what any of these things were doing in the back of an Impala, she noticed, through a crack in the blankets—

She screamed and grabbed her brother’s wrist, dragging him back up the hill as fast as she could manage and ignoring his alarmed questions.

As she’d looked at the pile of blankets, she’d seen an eye looking back.

*****

Yo didn’t know up from down when it came to appliances, so after thirty minutes of futilely trying to compare microwaves against each other, he broke down and just bought the cheapest one they offered. As he exited the store with the box under his arm, he felt his cell buzz insistently in his pocket. The ID read “yin.”

“Y’ello?”

Of all the things he could have possibly expected to hear on the other end of the line, frantic, hysterical sobbing wasn’t on the list.

“Yin?”

She was saying something, repeating it over and over, but he’d be damned if he could pull a single legible word from the mess.

“Yin? Yin, you gotta calm down, what happened? Yin—?”

Yin gave a sudden loud exclamation, there was a sharp sound he couldn’t quite place, then silence.

“Yin…?”

For a horrible second, Yo thought the call had gotten dropped. But there was what sounded like shuffling from the other end; was that someone messing with the phone, or some kind of weird feedback? Then, a distant, very male, very adult voice said,

“That just won’t do, now will it?”

The line went dead.

*****

The cop had a bristly blonde mustache that hovered over the stubble covering the rest of his chin. His paunch threatened the integrity of his shirt’s buttons, and he had sweat stains under his arms. He paced absently in front of Yo while his partner sat off to the side behind a table, watching them. After another moment of silence, the mustached cop said, “Tell me what happened one more time.”

Yo’s fists clenched involuntarily, but he steadied himself with a deep breath. “I woke up this morning to a lot of noise because my kids had accidentally blown up the microwave—”

“No,” interrupted the cop, “from the beginning.”

Yo faltered. “That– That is the—”

“Where’d you get the kids in the first place?” the cop’s partner specified, the fluorescent lights creating a shining spot on his balding head.

“From… Their Mom went missing a year ago—”

“And what was your relationship to her?” asked the first cop, who was now standing directly in front of Yo, staring down at him.

Yo shifted a bit in his uncomfortable plastic seat. “Is there a professional way to say ‘one-night stand’?”

“Did you know your ‘one-night stand’ had gotten pregnant as a result of that night?” Mustache asked.

“…yeah. She told me.”

“But you didn’t want kids, did you?” asked Mustache, sneering.

Taken aback by the cop’s sudden hostility, Yo blurted, “What does this have to do with—?”

“Answer the question,” Baldy interjected.

Yo was quiet for a second, feeling suddenly disoriented. Eventually, he managed to grind out the half-lie, “No. Not at the time.”

Mustachio looked grimly triumphant. The queasy feeling Yo had gotten when he’d first heard Yin sobbing over the phone now had company: a twitching, pulsating kind of foreboding. He was having a harder time working out the origin of this new feeling, though.

“Keep going,” Mustache pressed (though Yo was starting to realize he most likely knew all this already). “How did you end up taking care of the kids you’d previously abandoned?”

“Their Mom had gone missing, and there was no one else to look after them,” Yo said, feeling like a child being grilled by a particularly sadistic teacher.

“So she did,” said Mustache, now falling heavily into the seat in front of Yo. “We had a look at the file before we brought you in, didn’t we Brian?”

Baldy nodded, producing a folder from somewhere underneath the desk and handing it to his partner. Mustache casually flipped through the papers inside.

“Mom was supposed to pick the kids up from school. Never showed. They had to walk home. Called the police four days later when she still didn’t show up. Kids didn’t have anyone else to stay with, so they briefly went into foster care. You, Mr. Yo,” the cop’s eyes darted up to observe Yo briefly, “were on their birth certificates as their biological father, so you were contacted. You showed up, the situation was explained, and after all the legal issues were ironed out, the kids were packed off to live with you. That sound about right?”

The cop’s steadfast refusal to focus on the fact that two children had just been abducted in favor of rehashing a year-old case made Yo’s frustration (and phantom sense of dread) increase by a factor of five. He nodded stiffly and hoped he would get to the point.

Mustache carelessly tossed the folder back onto the desk and pushed himself out of his chair. “Kind of suspicious that both your kids and their mom would inexplicably go missing, don’t you think? Especially only about a year apart from each other…”

He resumed his pacing, speaking almost thoughtfully. “Here’s what I think happened: I don’t think you planned on so much as calling this woman after you were done with her, so when she calls you saying she’s pregnant, you panic and hit the bricks. Years down the road, she tracks you down. Maybe she’s in desperate need of money. Maybe she just wants you to finally do right by your kids. Doesn’t really matter the reason; you want nothing to do with it. Angry accident or preplanned move, one way or another that girl ends up dead.

“I don’t know how or where you got rid of the body; that’s an issue for another day. Bottom line is you thought that was the end of things. But then you get the call. They tracked you down. There’s no one else to pawn the kids off on. And you don’t like that.

“Now the story as I see it can go one of two ways at this point: either you’d decided before they’d even moved in that they wouldn’t be staying with you for long, or you’d tolerated them until they made your microwave go bang, and then that set you off. Either way, you decided to do exactly what you did the last time you had a problem you couldn’t get rid of. Isn’t that right?”

The cop was staring at him with savage triumph, every inch the person who thought they’d seen through and dismantled a cunning ruse. Yo stared back in dumbstruck silence. He understood the foreboding he felt now, and understanding only made it stronger.

The police thought he was responsible for the disappearance of his children.

They weren’t going to help him.

*****

It was 2:00 am before the police finally let him leave. They didn’t have enough evidence to hold him, so when hours of trying to bully a confession out of him didn’t work, they let him go with a warning not to leave town and the promise/threat that they’d be in touch. By the time Yo got back to his darkened apartment, he was so numb that a faraway part of his consciousness questioned if he was still even a real person at all.

He closed the apartment door behind him, but paused as he went to lock it. Slowly, he removed his hand from the latch. He went to walk away, but stopped as he got to the corner of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, looking back at the door.

Sliding against the wall, he sat down on the floor and stared at the door.

He sat there for hours trying to convince himself they wouldn’t be coming back through it. He didn’t listen.

*****

Yin was sitting on the couch, trying to read a book. Yang was also sitting on the couch, trying to annoy her by imitating various bodily functions. Usually the twins’ squabbling set him on edge, but right at that moment Yo couldn’t have cared less. They were home, bickering like they always did, unhurt and whole. They both went silent when he hugged them, but then Yo wasn’t normally a hugger, so their surprise was justified. He suspected he’d be doing a lot more of it from this point on though, if he ever let go of them to begin with—

The phone rang.

Yo jolted slightly, and looked around, disoriented and groggy. He was on the floor, slumped against the wall facing the door of the apartment. Where had the twins gone? They’d been here, he’d felt the weight of them in his arms, heard their voices, they’d been here—

He stood up, head sent spinning, and stumbled down the hall. They’d gone to their room. They were just in their room. He ignored the phone.

Yin’s bed was neatly made, while Yang’s merely had its blankets haphazardly thrown back up over the bed. But they weren’t there.

Reality came smashing back down on his head. They weren’t there. They hadn’t been there all night. He didn’t know where they were.

The phone rang and rang in the background. Yo made no move to answer it. Eventually, it went silent. They weren’t there.

Haltingly, he pried himself away from the doorway. He wondered, dully, distantly, what he should do with himself now. The question was met with an agonizing barrage of white noise.

The phone rang again.

Yo stared at it for a couple of seconds before slowly reaching over and lifting the phone from the charger. He answered it with nothing more than a small “hm?”

“Took you long enough,” snapped the person on the other end. For a moment the white noise returned to completely consume the scope of Yo’s thoughts, and then he was white-knuckling the phone as he held it to his ear, eyes wide. The voice on the other end of the phone was the same one he’d heard when Yin and Yang had gone missing.

“You’ve misplaced a pair of things, correct? Did you know to find things you’ve lost, sometimes it helps to retrace your steps back from the place you lost them?” The voice paused. “In case you happen to be a complete imbecile, be at the park in twenty minutes. If you’re late or bring anyone with you, we won’t be speaking.”

They hung up before Yo could get a word in.

[adore-holland]

Under Renovation |T.H.| - Chapter 1

Pairing: Tom Holland x Celeb!Reader

Warning: Swearing? Angst.. Mentions of vomit

Word Count: 2162

Disclaimer!: This was written before we found out Tom has a girlfriend. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

A/N: Hope you enjoy! This was mostly just setup, trust me you’re gonna get some Tom stuff soon enough ;)

Teaser

Chapter 1:

The ceiling above you seems to move in new patterns every second. Dark circles and stripes race across the the white paint in the pitch black room. You can make out the sounds of loud music and laughing people out on the streets of London. It’s Friday night, and you’re laying at home, in your bed, following stupid patterns on your ceiling - What has your life come to?

With a groan, you run a sweaty hand down your face. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping for the weird patterns to go away. No luck - the insides of your eyelids take over for your ceiling. If you could just tune out, disappear for a little bit.. get some sleep. As if on queue, you let out a yawn. 

It’s the seventh night in a row, that you haven’t been able to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, and your body is suffering from it. Large dark bags under your eyes, slumped shoulders and an almost complete loss of appetite. 

You desperately turn on your side, pulling a pillow over your head, hoping to just get some peace and quiet. You squeeze your eyes shut, welcoming sleep like an old friend. Except, sleep seems to be mad at you. Because the quiet only fills up with memories of cheerful laughs, and whispered “I love you”’s. Something in your stomach tightens at the sound of his voice. You always thought his voice was perfect. Smooth like honey, dripping in the love you thought he held for you. 

In all honesty, you had never told him how much you adored his voice. Well, he knew you loved it - and that the sound of his voice was enough to calm you down when the world was too overwhelming. What he didn’t know though, was just in what ways you loved it. 

No! No. You will not allow yourself to remember it… him. So you make a conscious decision to avoid any thought of the butterflies that went wild whenever he leaned in to whisper in your ear; or the way your heart would pick up speed for just a second whenever he said your name in whatever accent he felt like in that moment. 

Fuck.

With whatever strength you have left in your exhausted body, you throw the pillow off of you, welcoming the loud sounds of London. You turn around to lay on your stomach, listening intently to the sounds of the partygoers, chasing away his voice. There’s a group, nearing your apartment complex down below. Your condo is high up, but the deep concentration allows you to hear snippets of the conversation. 

“We should tell them…” The deep voice says with a concerned tone. You only hear the girl giggle as a reply. A conversation, so much like the ones you and Tom had so long ago. When you first got together, 3 years ago, you couldn’t figure out whether or not to announce to the world that you were a thing. Most nights discussing it were spent drunk, staring lovingly into each others eyes, forgetting the world, forgetting who there even was to tell. The two of you, together, were all that mattered in those moments.

Again! You want to scream out in frustration, but your throat is already sore from crying. You turn back around and quickly sit up. Your throat is tightening quickly, itching more and more every second. A silent yelp escapes you as you get up. Tears sting behind your eyes as you hurriedly make your way toward the bathroom. You make it to the toilet just in time, bile rises up your throat, and you throw up - pure stomach acid - you haven’t eaten enough lately to throw anything of substance up. 

:)-(:

An incessant noise wakes you up. Your head is pounding, and as you slowly blink your eyes open you realise why your back hurts so much. You’re sat next to your toilet, leaning against the tile wall. Your legs are sleeping, folded in weird angles beneath you. You sigh deeply, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes for a second. The noise returns and you realize it’s your phone ringing. Slowly untangling your sore limbs you fight to get up, and walk back into your bedroom. You take it one step at a time, the pounding in your head worsening with every sudden jolt up through your body. 

“It’s y/n,” you mumble into your phone, rubbing your temple with the other hand, fruitlessly hoping to lessen the pain. 

“Hey! Hi! You’re up.” It’s Matt, your agent. “You remember that movie you turned down a few weeks ago?” You barely get to reply before he continues. “Well, exciting news, they are coming back to you with the part. They truly believe you’re the perfect fit.”

“Matt… I don’t think I’m up for a movie right now.” You eyes glance to the side. You still need to remove the picture of you and Tom on your first christmas together from your nightstand. You squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the pain it brings and the tears that well up.

“Honey.. I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, so I’m not gonna force you to say yes to anything. I’m just telling you that I believe this movie is a good idea for you. How about we go out for lunch a little later? Talk it over, you read some of the script and then you can decide?” There’s so much concern and care in his words, that you almost want to vomit at the sound. When did you become so fragile, that even Matt’s extreme tenderness brings you to tears?

You really don’t feel like lunch, but you know you need to get out of the house. And maybe having someone watching you eat will help you actually… eat something. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Despite the complete lack of enthusiasm in your voice, Matt’s mood picks up all the same.

“Great! I’ll meet you at Louis’ Diner at 1 then?”

“No!” You startle yourself at your sudden outburst, but continue all the same. “Ehm… Sorry. Not Louis’ please. I’ll meet you at Little Bay.”

 :)-(:

Despite your less than excellent mood, the weather cheers you up a bit. It’s warm; even for late spring. Yourself and Matt are sat outside, at a small table under a cute red parasol. Bees hum as they busy themselves with the flowers around you. It almost feels like the week you spent hiding in your apartment made you forget the peace people and life brings you.

“So… The movie is a musical about a dancer? I haven’t danced in ages.” 3 years to be exact. Your career picked up around the same time you started dating Tom, whose career also seemed to be on the up and up, and you just didn’t have time to continue dancing that intensively anymore. You loved it though - You danced before you could run, and your heart leaped at the excuse to get back to your roots.

“See, that’s where you’re perfect for the part! Because you CAN dance! But just like Lia Morrison in this story, something is stopping you. Due to a motorcycle accident with her fiancé, she broke her left leg and hip.” Matt smiles at you, bald head shining in the sunlight. His grey top clings to his muscular torso, and his dark arms work furiously in large movements, as if whatever signs he’s making with his hands will help you understand what he’s saying. You feel a small smile tug at your lips at the sight of him. Your heart jumps slightly at the feeling of a smile after so long.. until you remember the last time your heart jumped like that.. the last time you smiled.

“Yeah, I got that part. But it’s a love story?” The summary he gave wasn’t very useful, still you feel dumb asking questions you know he already gave you the answers to.  But as much as you hate to admit it, the movie is starting to intrigue you. You had been quick to deny the part the last time Matt brought it to you. Two reasons especially made you turn it down.

1: Shooting starts in Los Angeles a few days before Tom gets off from shooting, so you wouldn’t get to spend any time with him.

2: You didn’t feel like doing a sex scene when you knew you would be attending the premiere, and watching it with Tom.

-Neither of those reasons are really a problem anymore.

“Yes! It is. So, the fiancé doesn’t get hurt. But he breaks up with Lia because she lets her injury consume her. She basically loses the will to fight for what she loves. She suddenly doesn’t wanna recover so she can dance again. She basically ends up catching herself ruining her own life, and then falls in love with her physical therapist.”

Something about the character, Lia, draws you in. You get the position she finds herself in, the devastation of losing something you thought you never could - brown eyes flash through your mind, a wide smile, hurried kisses. No.

You let out a small sigh, running a hand through your lose hair, searching Matt’s face for… something. “You really think I can do this?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course you can.” His smile is almost as wide as his face, and he blinks rapidly.

Old trick Matt. Instead of the usual laugh he used to lure out of you with said trick, you only huff out a small breath of air, and his smile drops immediately. His big hands find yours on the table. He holds your hands softly in his, slowly, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands. The feeling is comforting, familiar, and it makes your eyes sting with tears.

“Y/n.. I know what this part is asking of you is.. a lot. If you really can’t do it, no one will force you too.” His honey golden eyes hold so much care in them, that you feel your stomach coil at the sight. If only someone else were giving you that look. “But this pain.. it won’t last forever. The earth keeps rotating, and I just wanna make sure that you turn with it. This movie.. I know it brings back certain - memories -, but it isn’t about him. It feels like it is, I get that. But it’s about Lia getting more bent than ever before, but never breaking - And it’s about you, y/n, it’s about you, and the strength you and Lia share.”

Your head is spinning, everything he’s saying hits you like a stack of bricks. Not broken, but bent - but different all the same. You never subscribed to the idea of pulling your act together; the very idea would mean that you were responsible for spilling everywhere. You’re not. That doesn’t mean it isn’t still messy, or that it doesn’t drain you to clean up after someone else; even if the mess you. 

Daniel and yours conversation pop up in your head. Strength comes from tearing the muscles, letting them heal, over and over again. This role.. this movie, you already know it’s gonna tear you apart, but you need it to.

“Yeah,” you manage to croak out your answer, and Matt squeezes your suddenly freezing hands, “Yeah, I wanna do it.” The tears in your eyes disappear as you say it. You draw in a deep breath, filling your lungs, and your head clears as a result. You can do this, it’s not a matter of convincing yourself. You can do this, not doubt about it. Tom Holland took a lot from you, but he won’t take everything.

“Great, I’ll contact them right away then.” He squeezes your hands one last time before standing up, phone in hand, and walking a few steps away to call the casting director. To pass the time you pick up your own phone, scrolling through your twitter feed. Your notifications are insane, more than a thousand mentions. Your brows furrow as you start scrolling through some of them. You don’t read most of them.. Tom is tagged too, and you don’t feel like seeing your fans shipping you.

You scroll mindlessly through them, until you come across one with a photo attached. Clicking it, you almost drop your phone. Tom is very visibly on a date with someone. His hand is in her back pocket as they walk close together. They’re looking at each other, eyes shining, smiles bright.. Her blond hair glistens in the sunlight, and he looks so happy - smile showing off the creases around his mouth you always poked to make him smile when he was sad. You don’t recognize her, and in a way you’re glad because of it.

A week. He broke up with you a week ago. You finally know why.

[sansy-fresh]

Handlebars

a oneshot commission for one @silverdragonms <3

tags: GlitchedDeath (Error/Reaper), Geno-Turned-Error, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Soulmates AU, Roommates AU, Permanent Injury, Happy Ending

ao3 link

Somehow, this was even more awkward and uncomfortable than Reaper had thought it would be when he sent the ad out. Sure, living with another person you barely knew was going to be weird from the get go, he knew that coming into it, but… this crossed the threshold of weird and into supremely uncomfortable status.

See, he knew his roommate. Or, at least, the person his roommate used to be. Geno, good old Geno, with gnarly ass scars on his eye and always wearing the scarf his dead brother used to wear. He was a pretty metal guy, something Reaper could respect. He and Reaper had been going steady for a few months when it happened.

A car accident, that’s what he’d been told. Somebody hit Geno’s squat little smart car with a pickup and sent it flying. Reaper might have laughed if he wasn’t sitting in a hospital room chair, holding Geno’s hand and waiting for him to wake up.

Geno’s bones had been blackened by the fire that erupted from the burning car, his eyelights blurred and damaged from the smoke. He was almost unrecognizable, if Reaper hadn’t known every part of Geno intimately. And yet… when Geno woke up, he didn’t know who he was.

It’d been hard, watching his significant other devolve into tears and snatch his hand away, screaming for someone to come save him. Reaper had left, sneaking out with a shortcut back to the house he’d shared with his brother. The last he’d heard about Geno, when he finally let go of the hurt and asked, was that he was now going by Error and didn’t remember a bit of his old life.

Reaper had requested they not tell Error about him, and moved away. Anubis helped him move to a city that was hours away, far from the hurt and temptation that was trying to get his Geno back.

Of course, when he was still on his brother’s dime for paying the rent, things were fine. But Anubis had moved to an even farther away city, and while the two of them stayed in contact, Reaper understood completely when his brother stopped paying his rent. He made enough money with his side gigs that he’d have probably been fine, but it was always better to be safe than sorry, in his opinion.

He’d left the Want Ad for a roommate up for a few months, and in the end received only a single application. The handwritten letter for approval had been chickenscratch to read, but he’d gotten the gist. Rent was coming up, groceries were running low and his last job had been two weeks prior, so Reaper had picked up his phone, texted a quick “You’ve been picked to be my roommate.” to the number listed on the application, and waited for them to show up.

When Error showed up to his front door the next day, Reaper had been… very confused. He’d stuttered through his greeting, Error giving him a weird look as he explained that he’d been the one to send in the application.

Well. Since he didn’t really want to let Error know that they had a… history , together, Reaper’d had little choice but to accept. So Error moved in, and they’d studiously avoided each other ever since.

If Error remembered seeing him (being afraid of him) in the hospital, he never showed it, instead keeping to himself and always leaving his portion of the rent in an envelope on the kitchen counter when it came time to pay. Which, that suited Reaper just fine, since seeing what used to be his lover still ached deep in some untouchable part of his soul.

But of course, there were always pitfalls in the road. Such as, the weird moments where Error decided he wanted to be a part of Reaper’s life, whether Reaper wanted it or not.

Such as now.

“But no one else said they could go, right?” Error asked, a bit of a whine to his voice. Or at least to Reaper it sounded like a whine, but he could have been biased, after listening to Error try to harass him into letting him come with him to a death metal concert for the past hour and a half.

“You’re right. They did. So I figured I’d just go by myself, make a night of it.” Reaper said through slightly clenched teeth, packing his to go bag with a little more vehemence than the activity really called for.

There was a huff, Reaper’s eyelights headed for the ceiling as Error crossed his arms.

“I won’t be a bother! And you shouldn’t go alone, who knows what kind of people might be there!”

Reaper felt his entire body tense up, before he made himself relax. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just let him come along?

In the end he agreed to let Error come, if only so he’d stop looking at him like a kicked puppy. Error had happily, or as happily as he got, packed his own bag and a bottle of water and the two of them had taken off.

Of course, he’d known the entire time it was a bad idea. There was no way Error would enjoy the loud, intense music and vocals, or the push and pull of the crowd that surrounded them. Error was an introvert at best, and a social shut in at worst. There was no way he’d be able to handle all those people screaming lyrics all at once.

He was proven right, unfortunately, when Error turned pale about an hour in and hurried for the nearest bathroom. Reaper dutifully followed him, an “I told you so” on the tip of his teeth before he saw that Error was squatted down, head between his legs. Damn fool was having a panic attack, and it was the old, nearly forgotten love he had for him that had Reaper moving forward, placing one hand on Error’s chest and pressing him up against his own.

Error was so out of it he complied, Reaper exaggerating his breaths to get Error to breathe in deeper, breathe out calmer. It’d worked with Geno, and it seemed to work with Error equally, until the blackened skeleton finally breathed easily on his own.

They sat there, in the cold bathroom for a while, the music making the walls tremble around them as they sat in silence.

“How did I know you?”

Reaper’s eyes blinked open, previously on the edge of dozing off. He certainly wasn’t now, Error blinking back at him with a near innocence in his gaze. Reaper knew better, and answered accordingly.

“When, exactly, are you talking about? Cause I’m almost positive I never met you before you moved in, y’know, and-”

Error slapped his arm, turning to get up in his face with uncharacteristic anger. “You know exactly what I’m talking about asshole. You knew exactly how to calm me down, so you knew me before, now tell me how I knew you!”

Reaper sat, mouth open, before he gently pushed Error away and off of him. “I’m not dealing with your bullshit. Find your way back home yourself.” And with that he took a shortcut to the nearest bar, fully intent on getting wasted.

~.~

Shortcutting back to the apartment, Reaper was ready for a long sleep and a hard morning, shuffling into the dark living room and hissing when the light was suddenly flipped on. He glanced up from under his fingers, only to find a near furious Error waiting for him, pajamas on and arms crossed.

“You are going to fucking explain to me what our relationship was, or I swear to the stars I’ll leave and never fucking look back.”

Reaper wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out, wanted to hurt the person that had, albeit unintentionally, hurt him. But he was so tired, so exhausted, he just wanted to sleep and forget this night had ever happened.

So he waved Error off, hiccuping as he jerked a thumb back to the door. “No one’s stoppin’ ya. Go ‘head.” It would hurt, his Geno leaving again, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t survived it the first time. It’d hurt like a motherfucker but he’d survive.

Error stared at him, gobsmacked, before the tears began to fall, his eyes scrunching shut as he wailed, “JUST TELL ME!”

“WE WERE SOULMATES, OKAY??” Reaper huffed, all the air knocked out of him as he stared down a shocked Error. “We were soulmates. Ya didn’ remember me. Tha’s all.”

Error’s mouth hung open, gaping as he tried to make sense of what Reaper said. Then, without another word, he turned and sped back down the hall to his room, the door slamming shut. Reaper winced at the loud sound, hand coming up to cradle his skull as he switched the light off and headed for the kitchen.

Ginger ale was a balm to his soul, easing the nausea enough that if he laid down, he’d likely not have to get back up again. Sipping at his little cup of the stuff, he shuffled down to his room, pausing outside of Error’s door just long enough to catch the sound of muffled sobs before he moved along, wincing.

He settled on the edge of his bed, sockets stinging as he sipped at his ginger ale until it was gone, setting the cup on the bedside table before laying down. He didn’t know how to fix things, doubted Error would want to live here any longer knowing what they were. If he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay, that was for certain. Even if Error did stay after this, things would be even more awkward and uncomfortable than they’d already been.

Reaper turned on his side, hiccuping as he blinked away the tears. It didn’t matter how he felt. Not when his soulmate was in the other room sobbing because he didn’t remember him. Of course, since when had his own feelings mattered?

Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, barely covered with a ratty sheet as he finally let the tears fall.

~.~

It was the light that woke him up first, the pressure on his chest second. Reaper blinked at the light coming through his curtains, cursing his own laziness in not just buying black out curtains like Anubis had suggested. He only noticed the pressure after it shifted, a puff of displaced air hitting his chest as whatever it was moved.

He glanced over, and was shocked to find Error laying next to him, a large pillow and a thick blanket between them, blocking any actual physical contact. It was so familiarly Error that for a moment, Reaper was unsure what was wrong about the situation.

At least, until Error’s sockets suddenly popped open, his blurred eyelight constricting as he looked up at Reaper. He looked scared, shocked, and most of all guilty. Reaper wasn’t really sure what it was he had to feel guilty about, except maybe pushing him the night before, but...

After a long moment of awkward silence, Reaper opened his mouth to say something, some sort of deflection, but Error beat him to it.

“I just… I felt safer in here…” His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he gripped the blanket that covered him from chin to toe. It was one of the blankets Reaper remembered Geno favored.

Reaper’s eyes widened, Error blushing as he glanced away, before turning his back to him, clearly intent on hiding away even if he didn’t get out of bed.

Reaper studied him for a moment, taking in the tense shoulders and trembling hands, and gave a mental shrug. “Okay. Just wake me up when you want breakfast.”

With that he turned over himself, closing his eyes and giving Error plenty of room in case he wanted to get out of the bed. There was a brief movement, then what felt like Error settling in behind him once more, sighing.

Reaper shook his head, but couldn’t help the tiny smile on his face.

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Ten

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

--

In the end, you had to promise that you'd stay a night in the castle before he agreed to stay out of the water. King Jeon tried to talk with you, joke with you, but your mind was whirring.

It didn't make any sense to you. Perhaps that just so happened to be a common turn of phrase in this century - "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse" - but it seemed unlikely. How was it, then, that a man apparently from this time knew a modern-day movie quote?

"Come on, I didn't invite you here to sit all glum like that. What's the matter, my sweet maiden? I would think you'd be happy since you managed to take away all the joy from this trip like you wanted."

Your eyes flicker up to the young man as he stands above you, blocking out the sun. You were shivering and probably looked less attractive than a wet sewer rat, curled up on a rough-hewn picnic blanket. He stood in front of you, practically glistening like a Greek God, looking perfect as always. It made you even more bitter than you already were. "Excuse me for wanting to protect my King. It's not like it's my job or anything."

He scoffs, turning his face away from you in disbelief. "You know, I didn't bring you here expecting that you'd ruin all my fun."

"No. It seems you were expecting me to take all my clothes off and freeze to death in the water." In the near distance, further around the edge of the lake, his guard shot you a warning glare. That man had impeccable hearing, it seemed, and you frowned pettily at the way he shook his head at you, barely focussing on the fishing rod he was working on with the other soldiers. Maybe you should be speaking more politely to the ruler, but you could barely speak at all with your lips going numb and your mind whirring at an alarming pace, trying to work out what exactly was going on.

The man standing in front of you shrugs, runs a hand through his dark locks to squeeze some more water out, and moves to sit beside you. You jump at the sudden proximity of his skin on yours, but the way his arms have somehow been warmed in the sun is a welcome relief to your clammy, goosebump-covered flesh. "There we go," he says simply, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders, "I do believe you're so grouchy because you're cold. Perhaps your vital organs are shutting down and your brain is too frozen to see reason. Surely there's no other explanation for why you'd be so rude to your King, hmm?"

You resist the urge to glare at him, too grateful for the warmth he provides. "Sure." You fix him with a curious stare. "How did Jin become your healer?"

He looks down at you, eyelashes clumped into stars that frame his glittering eyes. You become a little lost in those depths, unable to tear your gaze away. "He approached me one day," he answers simply. "A long time ago, when I was barely thirteen. I had technically been King for several months at that point after my mother... passed away, and he told me every good leader needed a man to look out for his health. 'What if danger befalls you suddenly, and you do not have time to seek out a shaman or a healer from his home? A kingdom cannot afford to lose it's ruler so easily.' So, I gave him a place to stay, and he's been loyal to me ever since. In many ways, he raised me. I don't have any family, you know."

Suddenly, your conspiracy theorizing seems far-fetched. "I didn't know that," you answer quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Ah," he dismisses, "we all have our origins. As painful as they might be, they make us who we are today. They give us wings to fly. I do believe I wouldn't be half the ruler I am today without his guidance." King Jeon lifts his gaze to the edge of the water, where the leather-clad guard squeals at a flopping fish his companion waves in his face. "Seokjin and Hoseok. Those two... I owe them everything. It's not easy being where I am. Some days I wish I wasn't at the center of my own universe, you know?"

You think of your own adventures; how much strife they've caused you. The strain on your relationship with Jimin that never existed before, the pressure to impact history itself. "I get that," you reply honestly. "I don't think you should be so hard on yourself. You have two men who love you, and a kingdom of people who are grateful for your reign. All you can do is count your blessings and take things one day at a time."

He laughs lightly out his nose, patting your shoulder absentmindedly. "You, my kind healer, seem to be wise beyond your years. Why is that?"

You hide a grin. If only you knew. "I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose." You can barely stand the way he looks at you now. Like nothing in the universe exists. Like he's watching the sun rise. You break the stare and pick at the tufts of fabric on the felt blanket. "Your Highness, I want to thank you again for letting me work for you. I... I can't really explain, but it's very important to me. So I appreciate it."

He hums, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, as much as you stubbornly try to avoid it. "Y/n. Look at me." You glance up quickly and then drop your eyes back down. "That's a royal decree, little madam."

"Okay, fine. But it's not fair that you get to whip out your privileges every time you want something."

He chuckles at you, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you force yourself to keep looking at him as ordered. The you one week ago would only want Jimin to look at you like this, not a random stranger like King Jeon was. The you a week ago would never have this weird feeling in her stomach every time she looked at someone other than Jimin. "Y/n," he repeats, and you can't help but wish he'd say it one more time, "when we're like this, just us two... You don't have to call me Your Highness. Call me Jungkook."

Your eyes widen slightly. You'd never even thought to wonder what his first name is, you realize. Jungkook. It fits him. "Jungkook," you recite experimentally, heart leaping at the bright grin he gives you as a reward.

"Fine, then," he says loudly, breaking the intimate moment between you two, and catching the attention of the other men at the same time, "you've worn me down, you cruel mistress. I suppose we'll head back now, after all. Perhaps our next outing can be somewhere with a little less water, hm?"

A cold shiver runs down your spine when he breaks away from you to stand up, but you mask the odd streak of disappointment with a smile. "Sure."

--

"Woah, this is so exciting! You're basically royalty, Y/n!"

You let out a hearty chuckle at Taehyung's enthusiasm. "Not really." The two of you were in a lushly decorated but fairly small bedroom, the same one you had found yourself in before, when Taehyung had locked you in it. You were glad that this time you were here on your own free will. "Yoongi got the message?"

"Yeah, he's there now. I can't believe you let him go to the future instead of me, Y/n. It's heartbreaking."

Not the most ideal of situations, you had requested that Yoongi sneak through the doorway to your time with the express purpose of sending a text to Jimin that you were sick, and that he at no costs could come out to visit you. Hopefully it would keep him away overnight while you were gone, and you were desperately hoping Yoongi didn't get up to too much mischief while he was there. "Yoongi promised me he'd go straight there and back, no detours. You can't tell me that if you really traveled two hundred and fifty years into the future that you would be able to resist the temptation to explore?"

The boy purses his lips, then lowers his shoulders in defeat with a dramatic sigh. "Yeah, fine, you're right. Maybe one day?"

You can't resist those puppy eyes. "Maybe," you allow. "If I can figure out who the hell is trying to kill the King."

"Oh, yeah!" he gasps, throwing himself into a heap on the bed with a squeak of the springs. "Did you save his life again?"

"That's the thing," you say with a frown, joining him with less energy, "nothing happened. I mean, I did make sure he never really went properly swimming in the first place, so perhaps he really just would've drowned on pure accident, but... I really can't work out what's going on. I had a suspicion, but I'm not so sure."

"Well, what's your suspicion? My lips are sealed, I swear!" You aren't so certain as to the validity of that comment, but you have faith that the only person he'll blab to is the one man who's already in on it.

"Fine. I was thinking it was Jin. Think about it," you protest when he opens his mouth to question it, "nothing happened today, but Jin wasn't there. If it wasn't for me being invited, he would've gone along, and maybe Jung- King Jeon would've drowned because I wasn't there to stop him swimming."

Taehyung frowns, and scoots further up the bed to cross his legs. "It just seems like you don't think Jin is a very good healer. Which, honestly, sure. That could be true. But..." he breaks off into a sigh. "Listen, I so wish this was exciting and dramatic, and there were murder attempts and stuff. But maybe the King's life is at risk purely because we aren't as evolved as you. Maybe there's no ill intention. Maybe this is just the way it is." His eyes lower, and the corner of his mouth sinks. "I've been thinking a lot. About the inevitability of fate. What if we're messing with something that should never be messed with? What if all of this is futile?"

Your nose twitches, eyes stinging slightly. "I don't want to think about that. I need to save him. Someone I love very much will die if I don't. At least, I'm pretty sure that's how this works. Fuck, I wish time traveling came with a manual. This is a nightmare."

He smiles softly at you, and silently leans in to snake his arms around your middle and give you a hug. You blink tears away and pat his back awkwardly, grateful for the contact. When he hears a sniffle, he tightens his grip. "Don't cry," he mutters into your shirt, "everything will be okay. Even if  the King still dies, I'm happy that you came here. For the first time in my life, I have a friend."

"Yoongi's your friend," you answer reflexively.

"Yoongi turned me into a pig. He tolerates me on good days."

You grin, wrapping your arms around him and returning the hug. "Then I guess that makes us best friends. I'm glad you're here, Taehyung. I'm glad I met you."

His grip gets impossibly tight. "Me too."

--

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