#it’s finding crumpled love letters in a bag at the back of your closet

[jjunberry]

return to sender

pairing! park sunghoon x reader

genre! pure angst

synopsis! your love letters get leaked and your latest crush is less then pleased to receive his.

for years you wrote love letters to the boys you had crushes on. of you never sent them. instead you hid them in a box and put said box in the back of your closet away from prying eyes. for awhile you grew out of the letters until you met him. park sunghoon.

he was new to your school and he quickly captured everyone’s attention. including yours. he was tall, shy, and so very handsome. you couldn’t stop your heart and how quickly it beat whenever you seen him.

you shared geometry together. he sat one seat in front of you. half the time you swear you only ever paid attention to him. as silly as it sounds you lived for when you had to pass papers back or up. the brief touching of his fingers against yours was enough to make your heart beat out of your chest.

the letter came after he said good morning to you. when you got home that day you locked yourself in your bedroom and blasted mitski.

you pictured him, his face, his voice and your pen hit the paper. confessing to liking his smile, liking the way he laughs.

dear sunghoon,

since the moment you walked through the door of class i knew i had feelings for you. how could i not? you’re kind, funny and you have a smile that is so beautiful. it lights up any room.

i wish i could say these things to you in person. i just don’t have the courage. i’m to afraid. i hope that in some universe we walk into class holding hands and you kiss my cheek before classes we don’t share.

you make my stomach fill with butterflies and cheeks turn pink. images of you fill my mind when i close my eyes at night. maybe in another universe i could call you mine. or maybe in this universe.

xoxoxo,

y/n

stretching out your wrist you sealed the letter and left kisses on the envelope. you ran your finger over the name and address before placing it in the box with the others.

your mom called you downstairs for dinner. with a sigh you paused the music and joined your family downstairs. without you knowing your little sibling snuck into your room and took the box of letters.

-a few weeks later-

you sat at your lunch table working on an assignment when someone approached you. it was taehyun. you liked him back in middle school. he placed an envelope on the table in front of you. your heart instantly dropped seeing the familiar envelope.

“i’m flattered really, but i’m not looking for a relationship at the moment. i hope you find a good boyfriend.” he smiled kindly before walking away.

you didn’t even get a chance to speak. you grabbed the letter and shoved your belongings into the bag. did that means the others got out?

you sped through the halls. you couldn’t even look at your fellow classmates. in biology you ignored jake even though he wanted so desperately to talk to you.

running to your locker you didn’t even stop when yeonjun called your name. all you wanted to do was go home and cry. this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

until it did. outside you were met with park sunghoon. he had a look on his face you couldn’t quite figure out. “i got something in the mail.” only then did you see your letter in his tight grasp basically crumpling it.

your heart was practically beating out of your chest. “sunghoon-“ “i don’t want to hear it. and i don’t want to date you! i would never date you.” your mind was racing with a million different thoughts.

“i-i.” he rolled his eyes. “please stop stuttering it’s embarrassing and so is this letter.” he threw it on the ground. tears filled your waterline. “i’m sorry.” you whispered. he scoffed. “you should be, all day my friends were laughing and making jokes.” his words stung.

your heart literally shattered. sunghoon took your heart into his hands and crushed it. the pieces of your heart fell. “do me a favor, don’t look at me anymore. don’t talk to me or my friends and don’t write anymore letters about me. i don’t want to date you. i never will.”

with each word you stepped back from him. he huffed and stormed off. you let your tears fall as you quickly boarded the bus and ignored the stares of your classmates.

once you were home you spotted the empty box and ignored your sibling. this wasn’t their fault but you truly wanted to be alone to cry.

park sunghoon and truly captured your heart then took it and smashed it.

-

requested! from anon <3 part two here!

author’s note! in collaboration with @jjunieworld please go read all for a bet

love, Echo🖤

© jjunberry

[luvh4nji]

𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 + 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

warning: none that i can think, however, i wrote this with bestfriend!bonedo in mind !

sungho ; a little shocked. he seems like the type to always be shocked whenever someone confesses to him, generally, but when he figures out it was you - he's a little speechless. he's so touched and you can tell through how he looks at you; his gaze is softer, more reverent. and it's in the way he touches you, his hands cupping your cheeks, making you look up at him, thumbs brushing over the crest of your cheek bones.

"i kept all of them." he tells you, showing you the box he keeps in his closet, filled with every letter you've ever sent him. some of the papers are more crumpled than other, as if they'd been used; folded and unfolded countless times. and he gives you this shy smile, reaching a hand over to grab yours, lacing the fingers together and promising to pay you back.

riwoo ; he gets so flustered. the thought of someone feeling so strongly about him that they write him a letter telling him how much they like him? he's honored. however, he seems like the type to already be pining for his best friend, so he doesn't take the letter as seriously as he would have otherwise. but once he figures out it was you, when he sees you slipping a letter into his duffel bag in the practice room, he's immediately interested, instantly confronting you.

"you wrote these?" he'd ask, looking at you with big eyes, as if he isn't fully convinced. "really? you really feel that way about me?" and he gets so overwhelmed when you nod, your face burning at the attention, he just walks over, his hands cupping your neck, making you look at him. "can i kiss you? i really wanna kiss you right now."

jaehyun ; he gets cocky. especially if he catches you slipping one into his bag. he'd walk up to you, giving you that crooked smile he has, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you flush into his side, lovingly teasing you for leaving him little love notes when you could've just told him. nevertheless, he loves it and when he lets you know how much he loves it, how much he loves you.

"you're so cute, y'know that?" he mumbles, rubbing his hand up and down your arm and cooing at how flustered you are. "but why didn't you just tell me. i thought i made my feelings pretty obvious." he jokes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger on the skin for a moment longer than needed. "lemme take you out. just the two of us i can show you how much i like you."

taesan ; it makes him so shy. the minute he finds the box of love letters under your bed in your room, all addressed to him, he can't help the blush that coats his features. he'd wait a little while before he confronted you about it, pouring over the letters when you weren't there, trying to commit every part of them to memory. and when he does finally confront you about them, he's still so shy, stuttering his way through it.

"i... i saw your letters." he blurts, pulling one out from the pocket of his coat, watching as your eyes widen in shock and abject horror. "i wanted t-to tell you that... i feel the same." and he'd definitely write you a letter in return, detailing how enamored he's been with you for years, starting the letters with dear love and signing them your dongmin.

leehan ; seems like the type to have a lot of admirers, so he's not too fazed when he finds the letter you left for him. but, as he's reading it, he can't help but notice how familiar the writing is, in both handwriting and words. he'd absolutely figure out it was you on his own, but he'd wait for you to say something. he doesn't want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable in anyway. you're is baby, after all.

"i know." he'd say, giving you a soft smile, his gaze impossibly gentle as he looks down at you. and he laughs when you ask him how he could've known, saying, "we've been friends since before i can remember, i'd be concerned if i didn't." but he stops when he realizes how shy you'd gotten, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "i liked it, y/n. i like you."

woonhak ; a self-proclaimed romantic, he loves it so much. he's definitely the type to run up to you after he gets the letter, excitedly telling you about how he found the letters he's been getting in his mailbox. it isn't until he notices how quiet you've gotten that he connects the dots. and then he's so sweet, and so happy, his best friend, the person he's been pining over for years, wrote him a love letter?

"you don't even know-" he cuts himself off, a big smile taking over his features as he gathers you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, his hold tightening as the seconds go by. "did you mean all that stuff? like really?" and he can't help but pull you in even tighter when you nod against his chest, voice muffled as you tell him you did. "thank god."

[hurricanewithmyname]

okay top three harry’s house tracks so far are grapejuice, matila, and little freak

[miracleonice87]

8 w dunn!

from the evermore prompt list

“I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / Staying friends would iron it out so nice” - closure

“Can we at least stay friends?”

At Vince’s words, you hurled one of his worn sweatshirts forcefully to the floor, where a crumpled heap of similar articles lay.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you spat hatefully as you whipped his way. “You’d love to be able to tell everybody that we’re still friends. Well, quick newsflash for you here, Vince, we’re not friends. In fact, I think we’re pretty much the furthest thing possible from friends. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m pretty sure I hate you.”

You threw the last line at him with a dry, distressed chuckle, watching as his green eyes flickered from sadness to confusion to disbelief as you spoke.

Welcome to my world, you thought to yourself.

As you turned back to your closet to finish ridding it of all remnants of Vince’s wardrobe, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, wishing he could find some magical rewind button to press.  

You felt physical pain as you ripped your favorite “Dunn” jersey from a hanger and discarded it onto the growing pile of clothing — even the shape of the letters on the back of the jersey made you ache.

“Can- can we just talk calmly about this? Please?” Vince begged, watching you shake out a garbage bag to stuff his belongings into. “This is just all… this is happening so fast. I don’t know how we got here. I don’t feel like we’re getting any closure here—“

“Closure?” you scoffed. “Is that a fucking joke, Vin?”

He blinked repeatedly and it occurred to him that you had never before spoken his nickname in such fury. What was worse, he realized, was that you very well may never speak his nickname again from this moment on.

“You might need closure, but I sure as hell don’t,” you spoke, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to keep it even. “I got all the closure I needed the moment I saw that text from her flash across your screen. It was over then, and I knew it. I don’t need your closure.”

Vince looked down at his feet, guilt and remorse and frustration washing over him at once as he recalled his gravest mistake once again. A fellow gamer he’d met only virtually through his streaming had begun texting him regularly in the last six weeks or so, and instead of distancing himself from her, he entertained it. He allowed himself to bask in her attention, in the affectionate texts she sent his way. The conversations were fairly innocent, but as Vince found himself smirking at the girl’s messages more and more, he realized it was going too far. Yet, he didn’t put a stop to it, and messages were soon being exchanged all day, every day.

Then, in the point of no return, Vince left his phone on the bathroom counter while he showered, and, when you popped into the bathroom to brush your teeth before work, you saw a particularly flirty text appear on his screen. Your heart split in two, and when you left the bathroom with wet eyes and without a word, Vince knew exactly what had just happened, wishing desperately that he could take it all back because nothing — nothing — was worth losing you.

And so, as you stood in front of him and kicked the trash bag his way, Vince repeated the words he’d uttered at least a hundred times since that fateful morning.

“I’m sorry.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed, exhausted of hearing the empty remark.

“You know what, Vince? Save it. Don’t stand here and pull the puppy dog eyes and beg for forgiveness,” you told him. “Take your things and go. Please. That’s the best thing you can do for me.”

You refused to meet his gaze, and as much as he hated himself for it, Vince still couldn’t think of a single damn thing he could say to save himself, to save what the two of you had. It wasn’t right, what he’d done to you, no matter the fact that nothing physical had happened between him and the girl, not even close.

He loved you so fucking much — he knew he always would — and he cursed the fact that he had let the stupidest mistake cost him everything.

Cost you everything. 

[winchester-fantasies]

Always and Forever

Summary: You’ve always been insecure, making you feel vulnerable especially when it came to your feelings for Dean Winchester. A particularly rough hunt leaves everyone shaken up and Dean reveals something you never thought you’d hear.

Word Count: 4028

Warnings: smut, fluff, light angst, insecure reader, shy reader, injury to reader, danger to reader, show level violence, death (not a main character), swearing

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

A/N: This was written as a request from @rainbowunicorns92 ! Can I request a Dean x plus size reader where the reader is really sweet, insecure and extremely nerdy, when a hunt went really bad and she got hurt and dean goes to patch her up and then he confesses his love to her? Fluffy smut maybe? Sorry if this sounds awkward I’m new to this! Love you’re writing ✨❤✨❤ Thank you so much for your request!! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and my Dean girl really came out in this one. lol Hope you like it! ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     Your stomach was in knots as you pulled your hair back into a ponytail at the nape of your neck. You smoothed the few flyaways at your temples, your hands trembling slightly. 

     A quick knock sounded at your door, and you turned away from the mirror to see who it was. “Almost ready?” Dean asked, poking his head around the door.

     You nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, good,” he said. “We’re headin’ out in ten.” He closed the door again, leaving you feeling even more nervous.

     You went to your closet, taking your heavy Carhartt from its hanger. You slipped it on before taking up your duffle bag and throwing it over your shoulder. You gave your room a quick once-over to make sure you’d packed everything you needed. Once satisfied you had everything you walked down the hall to the garage where Sam and Dean were already sitting in the Impala.

     “Took you long enough,” Dean grumbled, starting the Impala, the engine roaring to life.

     You didn’t say anything as you threw your duffle bag into the back seat and climbed in, closing the door a little harder than you’d meant to. “You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

     You sent him a half-smile and nodded. He seemed to accept your excuse as he backed out of the garage and sped out of the bunker’s driveway, tires kicking up dust in their wake. 

     You leaned back against the leather seat and stared out the window. Your fingers absentmindedly played with a string on your coat, the cold prick of uneasiness in your stomach only growing with each mile Dean drove. 

     Although the Winchesters had trained you thoroughly in both weapons and hunting, and you’d accompanied them on more than one case, your true skill lay in the lore and mythology part of hunting. You’d grown up in the life and while your parents were off on hunts, you’d bury yourself in the books they always kept with them. By the time you were thirteen, you knew more about monsters, gods, curses, and spells than many of the other hunters’ kids you knew.

     When your parents had both died on a hunt, leaving you an orphan, John Winchester had taken you in, raising you alongside his boys as one of his own. He’d seen your passion for learning and your knack for research and had continued to foster it in you. And by the time your eighteenth birthday rolled around, your knowledge of lore and mythology was so broad, you were practically a walking encyclopedia.

     You were always teased by the other kids for being a nerd, but you couldn’t help it. When you were buried in a lore book or researching something knew, you were in your element. Even now, more often than not, you could be found in the bunker’s library, pouring over the Men of Letters books and documents. And you couldn’t help but feel a little elated when those same kids who had endlessly teased you, were now some of the very hunters who called you when they weren’t sure what they were hunting. They knew you’d have an answer almost immediately, the information you’d studied extensively still fresh in your mind.

     But here, out on the road with Sam and Dean, hunting, you were completely out of your comfort zone. Normally you’d stay back at the bunker while the boys worked on a case, calling you periodically if they needed information. But the boys had needed your help on this one. There was a large group of ghouls in Wyoming, and they didn’t think they could go up against them alone.

     You’d tried to make an excuse to stay back, even going so far as calling some of the hunters you knew to go in your stead. But they’d all been busy with cases of their own. You’d finally resigned yourself to your fate, but it didn’t stop the fear roiling in your stomach. 

     Although you were usually somewhat nervous when you’d go on hunts with the boys, this one had hit particularly close to home. Your parents had died at the hands of two ghouls, and the closer you got to your destination, the more you worried you’d wind up facing the same demise.

**********

     You swung your fist hard, slamming your knuckles into the jaw of the ghoul. It crumpled to the ground giving you just enough time to bury your machete into its neck, decapitating it. You leaned heavily on your thighs, your breathing labored. Sweat dribbled down your face and dripped from the tip of your nose and chin. You heard a heavy thud come from outside, and you straightened up quickly before sprinting up the stairs, taking two at a time.

     You hurried through the crypt door and out into the open air. You stopped short when you rounded the corner to find the second ghoul towering over Dean, who lay sprawled on the ground. You scanned the ground around him, and your heart sank when you realized his machete had been flung a few feet away from his grasp. The ghoul raised a dagger, ready to plunge it deep into Dean’s chest. Sam was nowhere to be seen so you did the only thing you could think of.

      “Hey!” you shouted. The ghoul veered around, its face twisting in disgust when it saw you. “Yeah, you! Come on over here!” you shouted, taking a defensive stance even though your legs trembled. The ghoul turned and stalked toward you, its focus no longer on its earlier victim. 

     You raised your machete, getting ready to swing, but the ghoul was faster. A searing pain shot through your abdomen as the ghoul slashed your skin with its dagger. You dropped to your knees, the machete clattering to the ground as your hands clutched at your middle. Blood oozed between your fingers and all you could do was watch as the ghoul picked up the discarded machete and raised it to your neck, the monster’s eyes dark with bloodlust.

     You shut your eyes tight, waiting for the pain. You heard the swoosh of a blade in the air, but instead of the pain, there was...nothing. You gingerly opened your eyes to see the ghoul still standing in front of you, a shocked expression on its face. Tiny droplets of blood began to seep through a cut in its neck and then, without warning, it slumped to the ground with a heavy thud, its head rolling. 

     Your gaze found Dean, standing rigid. His face was hard and jaw set, machete still raised where he had just sliced through the monster. Tears abruptly started streaking down your cheeks as the gravity of the situation finally settled around you. In two strides, Dean was at your side, hoisting you up and wrapping his arms around your shaking frame. “It’s okay. It’s over,” Dean soothed, rubbing small circles into your back as you sobbed. 

     Dean pulled away once your sobs turned to whimpers. He frowned and studied your face intently. “You’re as white as a sheet,” he muttered. He looked you over carefully, his green eyes widening in both shock and fear as they settled on your abdomen. Blood was still trickling, oozing through your clothes and dripping to the ground. 

     “Shit,” Dean breathed out. “Sam!” he bellowed, just as his brother rounded the side of the crypt, bloody machete in hand. “We have to get (Y/N) back to the bunker! Now!”

     Without waiting for Sam to reply, he scooped you into his arms as if you weighed no more than a twig and practically ran to the Impala, placing you gently on the backseat. He motioned for Sam to sit with you, quickly shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to his brother. “Put pressure on her wound,” he commanded.

     Sam did as instructed while Dean climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. He peeled out of the graveyard and onto the highway, pushing the speed limit as far as he could. Your eyes grew heavy, and you struggled to keep them open, but it was as if you had no control over anything. Your mind was numb with pain and your body lethargic from all the blood you’d already lost.

     “Dean,” you murmured, your voice quivering. You turned your head towards the back of the front seat, the top of Dean’s head just peeking over the top. He turned, his face nothing more than a hazy image. 

     “Just hold on, sweetheart,” Dean said, his voice sounding far off and distant. 

     You tried nodding your head, but instead everything went black.

**********

     You groaned as the haze of sleep slowly began to fade away. Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked around, feeling slightly disoriented. You started to sit up, but you gasped as pain shot across your abdomen. That’s when everything from the previous day came rushing back to you.

     You jumped as the door to your room opened and Dean walked in. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Glad to see you’re up. I need to change your wound,” he said, holding up and shaking the first aid kit in his hand.

     “What?” you asked, nervously licking your lips as he came closer.

     “I have to change the bandage,” he said. “It was pretty bad,” he continued, coming to your bed and sitting down on the side of the mattress.

     He took out fresh gauze and surgical tape from the kit before he moved his hands to the hem of your shirt. “No!” you barked, causing him to jump and pull away quickly.

     Dean's eyes were wide with shock as he stared at you. “What the fuck, (Y/N)?” he snapped back. “What's wrong?”

     You swallowed hard, not fully trusting yourself to speak. Dean had patched you up many times in the past, but this time was different. Before it was always a cut on your arm or a scratch on your cheek. But this time…. This time it was somewhere you didn't want him to see. 

     You weren't exactly what most would consider a small girl. You were on the thicker side. There was no gap between your thighs; your hips were wide; there was a roll on your lower back every time you wore your bra; and your muscles weren't as tight as you'd like them to be, especially in your abdomen. You'd harbored feelings for the eldest Winchester from the first time you'd come to live with them and the thought of him seeing all your imperfections paralyzed you with fear.

     “I...I, um,” you stuttered, feeling flustered and a little bit vulnerable. “You don't have to do that, Dean. I'll do it,” you offered with a wide grin, praying that he'd accept.

     But you had no such luck as he shook his head. “You're not gonna want to do it, sweetheart. Trust me,” he chuckled. “It's a gnarly wound. Plus, it'll just be easier if I do it.”

     You were silent, trying to come up with some other excuse. Dean must have taken your silence as acceptance because he reached for the hem of your shirt again. 

     This time you shoved his hands away from you before you could stop yourself. Dean jerked back with an exasperated huff. “Seriously, (Y/N),” he said in irritation. “Why don't you want me to change your bandage?” he asked with a quick shrug and shake of his head.

     You averted your gaze, heat rising to your cheeks. You didn't want to tell him how insecure you felt so you crossed your arms over your abdomen, being careful to avoid the wound that was now throbbing. You hoped he'd understand as you looked back up at him with pleading eyes.

     He seemed to finally grasp what you were too nervous to say as his eyes softened. “Sweetheart,” he said, gently placing his hand on your arm. “You don't have to be afraid of me seeing you.”

     You swallowed hard, darting your eyes back and forth between his green ones, gauging whether or not you could fully trust him. Finally you sighed in defeat. Removing your arms from around yourself, you gingerly lifted your shirt up to reveal your stomach. You dropped your gaze, too afraid of the disgust you knew you'd find in his eyes. 

     “Beautiful,” Dean breathed out. You jerked your gaze up to find him looking over your torso with something akin to reverence. He caught your gaze and you blushed before looking away again.

     Dean cleared his throat as he busied himself with taking a few more supplies from the first aid kit. Once he had everything laid out, he moved his attention to your wound. He carefully pulled back a corner of the gauze that was taped to your skin before removing it completely, his fingers gently gliding across your flesh, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

     You gasped as your focus was momentarily diverted when your eyes landed on the wound. It was about an inch and a half long and ran straight across your lower belly. The boys had stitched it up, but the edges were red and inflamed. 

     “Told you it was bad,” Dean said, taking note of your shocked expression.

     He took the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured a bit onto a cotton ball. “This might sting a little,” he warned before dabbing along the wound. You hissed, but Dean was fast, making quick work of cleaning it. 

     Next he took some antibacterial cream and rubbed a few dabs of it across the irritated skin gently. You could feel your heartbeat pick up at his touch, and although it hurt, you didn't want him to stop caressing your skin.

     Finally he unrolled a long strip of the gauze and cut it before placing it carefully over the wound. He cut some tape off as well, placing it along the sides of the gauze.

     “You know,” Dean said quietly. You looked up, but his focus was still on the job at hand. “I really thought we were gonna lose you.”

     He went silent as he continued to work, and you thought he was done when he suddenly spoke again. “I really did. But the thought of losing you, of not seeing your smile, not hearing your laugh, not coming home to homemade pies and all the other sweet things you do. Not finding you buried deep in a lore book,” he chuckled. “It was too much.”

     Once again silence fell between you. Your head was spinning, and your heartbeat was beating wildly against your rib cage at his words. You never knew he noticed all those things about you or even cared about them.

     “I'm not much of a praying man,” Dean said, his gruff voice breaking through your thoughts. “But I prayed. I prayed harder than I ever have in my whole fucking life. I begged God to save you; to just keep you alive, even if it was just a little while longer.”

     Dean placed the remaining tape over the last piece of gauze, running his fingers along the edges to make sure it would stay secure. He finally sat back, his eyes locking onto yours.

     “Just so I could look into your beautiful eyes one more time and tell you that I love you,” he whispered. Your eyes fluttered and butterflies filled your stomach at his admission.

     He reached for your hand when you didn't say anything. He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. “Say something,” he murmured.

     You swallowed again, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “I...I love you, too,” you said, your voice tiny.

     Dean's face broke into a wide grin and before you knew what was happening, he leaned forward, grabbed your face and planted his lips on yours. You felt yourself blushing again once he pulled away. “Sorry,” Dean said sheepishly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I didn't mean to get so carried away. It's just that I've been wanting to do that for a long time.”

     “How long?” you asked quietly.

     “Since the first time we met,” Dean admitted, his cheeks growing a soft pink. 

     It your turn to grin, and with a surge of confidence you didn't know you had, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. Dean's tongue slid over your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to him as his tongue found yours.

     You were breathing hard once you finally broke the kiss, and you were startled to find that somewhere between the start of the kiss and now, Dean had settled between your thighs. 

     However all thoughts flew out the window when Dean started peppering your jawline with kisses. You moaned as he kissed down your neck and over your collarbone. 

     He reached for the hem of your shirt, and you sat up as he carefully removed it from your torso and pulled it over your head, tossing it over his shoulder before unclasping your bra and adding it to your discarded shirt. He leaned down, continuing his ministrations. He littered your breasts with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue gently caressing each nipple, causing you to moan and arch your back into him. He left your breasts once your nipples were taut, leaving a trail of soft kisses down your torso. 

     He paused for a moment when he reached the wound, glancing up at you with lust blown eyes. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss to the edge of the gauze, his eyes never leaving yours. “So,” he whispered before placing another kiss a few centimeters away. “Fucking,” he said with another kiss. “Beautiful,” he growled with one last kiss on the other side of the bandage.

     By now a mixture of desire and love was coursing through your body, and you reached out for him, needing to have him close again. His lips met yours once more in a passionate kiss. 

     He settled between your thighs again, the pressure of his bulge settling perfectly against your clit, causing you to roll your hips. He groaned at the friction, and he pulled back, meeting your gaze and searching your face. 

     “I wanna continue this,” he finally said. “But I don't wanna push you into anything you're not comfortable doing especially with you being hurt. We can wait until you're better and….”

     You cut him off with a crash of your lips against his. He was panting hard when you finally pulled away.

     “I want to,” you said, rolling your hips again. Dean groaned and shuddered, his eyes closing tightly.

     “Fuckin’ eh,” he growled. “You tryin’ kill me before we even get started?”

     You giggled and Dean chuckled, leaning down to give your nose a quick peck. “Let me take care of you,” he implored, his earlier mirth now replaced by a hungry look of desire.

     You nodded and gave him a shy smile. He leaned down again, giving you a soft kiss before leaning back onto his knees. His fingers slid into the waistband of your sweatpants, but he paused glancing up at you for permission. You nodded again, and he continued, sliding both them and your panties down your legs. 

     His eyes roamed over your naked body appreciatively and you blushed, fighting against the urge to cover yourself with the sheets. Dean seemed to sense your apprehension because he hummed, a smile on his plump lips. “I've said it twice, and I'll say it a thousand more…. So beautiful,” he said, his voice a throaty whisper.

     You shivered and the backs of your eyes stung. You'd never had someone look at you the way Dean was. He was looking at you as if you were a precious jewel. Like a treasure he'd spent his whole life searching for.

     Seconds later Dean had completely undressed and was crawling back up the bed towards you. He stopped once he was eye level with you, his forearms on either side of you, holding himself up. He stared into your eyes, a small smile on his mouth.

     “You ready?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone. You nodded slowly and bit your lower lip. Dean leaned down to peck your lips before lining himself up with you. 

     “Dean,” you moaned. Your hands gripped his shoulders and you shut your eyes as he slowly slid into you, giving you the time you needed to adjust. It felt so right, being with him. Here. Like this.

     He groaned once he'd bottomed out, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and lightly nipping at the skin. When you were ready, you raised your legs around his waist. He took the hint and started moving.

     You were sure he'd be rough and set a fast pace. But you were pleasantly surprised when his thrusts were slow and deep. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands gliding over his toned back, his muscles contracting with each rock of his hips. The realization of this strong man who could take down an entire nest of vamps alone or who could hit a man so hard his jaw would break was on top of you, dawned on you. But it didn't frighten you. He was being careful with you, showering you with love, and holding you like precious china.

     “Dean,” you breathed out as the first wave of pleasure assaulted you. 

     “I know,” he whispered in your ear, his breaths hot and labored. “I've got you,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. 

     He scattered kisses along your neck, one arm leaving you to run his hand down your side, over your hips and down to your thigh. He kneaded the flesh gently before bringing you leg over his waist, affording him a different angle.

     You gasped, your hands running up his neck and curling into his hair as he hit your sweet spot. His kisses continued, but he stopped abruptly and groaned as your walls began to softly clench around him.

     He snaked his hand between your bodies, finding your swollen clit. You arched your back as he rubbed small circles over the bundle of nerves, bringing you nearer and nearer to your release. With two more thrusts from Dean, you came, his name tumbling from your mouth.

     He wasn’t too far behind. His hips stuttered and with a deep grunt and breath of your own name on his lips he came, too, washing your walls with his seed. 

     He laid on top of you for a few moments, your sweaty bodies plastered together, trying to catch your breaths and come down from your highs. He pulled out gingerly and rolled to his side, pulling you with him. He wrapped his arm snuggly around you while you threw yours over his waist and rested your head on his broad chest.

     “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, too,” you whispered shyly.

     Dean’s grip on you tightened and he breathed in deeply. “Why did you never say anything?” he asked.

     “Seriously, Dean?” you asked with a laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly the forward type. Plus...I never thought I’d be someone you’d want.”

     It was Dean’s turn to laugh. “(Y/N), how could I not want you?” he asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, fuck! You’re the smartest hunter I know - you know your shit. You’re a badass hunter even though you don’t go on many cases. Not to mention you’re drop dead gorgeous.”

     You giggled, feeling the heat return to your cheeks. “You’re not half bad yourself,” you said, too nervous to say much else. “I love you,” you murmured, nuzzling your face into his neck and kissing the underside of his jaw.

     His hand ran up and down your side in rhythmic patterns. “I love you, too,” he whispered, his voice gruff and throaty. He smiled before placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Always and forever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If like what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[fleckcmscott]

The Find

Summary: Arthur and Y/N tidy up their wardrobe. What he comes across surprises him.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 3,664

A/N: This request comes from Karen - it’s the first one I ever got! Thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for beta-ing and helping me improve this piece by sharing her thoughts!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

If you’ve sent me a request and I haven’t responded, it’s because I am working on it and will answer once it’s posted!

Instead of allowing a lazy Sunday, Y/N decided they needed to do a project together. She had too many clothes, she claimed. And Arthur could use some new ones. Though he disagreed with her assertion, never having owned much, he went along with it. Such suggestions were part of having a girlfriend, he'd learned. Sorting through the bedroom closet would be a couply activity, anyway.

It turned out to be nice, better than when he'd kept house alone. Her smile was infectious as they rearranged everything, and it grew each time they inadvertently bumped into each other. He succeeded in talking her out of donating a sheer blouse, insisting it looked good on her. She replaced the dry cleaner bags on his Carnival costume with zippered nylon ones. Then she retrieved a wooden box from the top shelf, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to her.

Floral patterns were carved in its top and sides, and the center held a purple and yellow pansy, pressed under smooth glass. It was quite old, the corners worn, the front closure tarnished. The hinges released a quiet squeak as she lifted the lid. "These are my most important keepsakes," she said. Her degree was in there, the Christmas ornament her sister had made, and her divorce papers. The rose he'd brought when he'd come for dinner was now dried and delicate. And she'd held onto the cork from their first bottle of wine. The letter he'd written her after Murray was sealed in a clasp envelope to protect it.

Arthur's chest swelled. The small container resting on her lap was something she'd had long before they'd met, perhaps since she was a kid. It was astonishing he took up so much space in it. Maybe she'd like to keep one of the payment slips for the ring he was planning to give her. (They were currently tucked safely in his journal.) He wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her to his side.

The bleating of the phone interrupted them, right when he was planting a kiss to her shoulder. "Wait for me," Y/N said. "I'll tell them to call back later." He watched as she left the room, admiring the slight swivel of her hips. After a minute, "Mabel, what's going on?" drifted in from the kitchen. Ah, her sister. That would take a while. Sighing, he stood and continued alone, hopping on the step stool and humming as he went.

The shelf was dusty. The old law books were likely from when she went to college. He flipped through a photo album and set it aside to go through with her later. In the back corner, there was a red, paper gift bag, its top neatly folded closed. When he retrieved it, the weight surprised him, and he studied it with a curious expression. She probably wouldn't be perturbed if he opened it - she'd shown him her mementos, after all. Gingerly, he took a peek.

A carton was in there, a foot long. Pictures of women in athletic gear were on the side. They were holding a white object to their elbow, their calf, their lower back. He read the sentences on the packaging carefully. "Helps relax muscles." "Relieves tension." "Soothing vibrations."

Oh. Oh. Arthur crumpled the top of the bag quickly as he giggled, his cheeks on fire.

On her radio show, Dr. Sally had said the massaging wand was revolutionary. That it helped educate women about their own bodies, learn what they liked. Y/N hadn't mentioned owning one. It would have troubled him a few months ago. His insecurities would have told him it meant he wasn't very good. That he wasn't enough for her and never would be. But because of his ongoing treatment and comfort with her, those concerns were minor today. And he was intrigued.

The women he'd pasted into his journal were often touching themselves, ecstasy clear on their faces. Even though he still found those pictures arousing, he wasn't stupid and knew they were staged. Experience had stripped away the illusion. But the thought of Y/N pleasuring herself made him shiver and lean against the closet's door frame. His mind filled with images of her sprawled on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. The scenarios he'd pictured since they'd met were numerous. His mouth at the apex of her thighs while she tried to type papers for work. Her going down on him in the dressing room at Pogo's. Or his favorite, the one he'd gone back to most, joining with her completely as she fell apart, because of him and only him. If he asked, would she be willing to-

Upon hearing Y/N hang up, Arthur haphazardly tossed the bag back in its spot. He busied himself with the sweaters and shirts in the "keep" pile, folding and hanging them as needed. She started telling him about the call as soon as she came in. Caught between his natural bashfulness and the urge to blurt out what he found, listening was difficult.

She must have sensed something was off, because she stepped next to him and said, "You look warm."

He ducked away as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm okay." That was only half true. It was going to take awhile for him to figure out how to express what he wanted. But he shot her a grin. "It's just a little hot in here, that's all."

~~~~~

Y/N's seamed stockings finally sent him over the edge three days later. He'd noticed them when she put on her heels at the door, and ogled her as she strode down the hallway after their longer-than-usual kiss goodbye. It was possible she simply wished to be pretty (which she always was, no matter what she had on), to be professional, to make herself feel good. Still. She knew those nylons turned him on, and he chose to believe she wore them for him.

He made a quick call to her at lunch and said he was looking forward to tonight. There was strain lurking beneath her kind tone when she asked, "Why? What's tonight?" Nothing, he clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. He just missed her. She sighed, told him her day had gone sideways, that she needed to go. But she couldn't wait to see him later and loved him.

Both to relieve his own nerves and to cheer her, he resolved to make everything perfect for her to come home to. That's why, rather than cooking together, he was stirring minestrone and adding pasta. Why he'd already set the table and put the bunch of pink carnations (her favorite) from the grocery store in the middle. Why the wine was open and ready to serve. The kitchen radio had been switched to the sixties and seventies music she preferred. He swayed along to it, even as he hoped one or two slower songs would play so they could dance.

He'd been trying to find the right way to broach the subject all afternoon. Stuttering through his request wasn't his preference. It'd be fun to be playful - if he could gather his courage. God, it would be absurd if he couldn't. Shouldn’t courage come naturally if he hoped to spend the rest of his life with this woman? "Y/N, I was wondering if you could-" Cocking his head, he tried anew. "I love you, Y/N, and I wanted to know if-" Rolling his eyes, he retrieved bowls from the cupboard. "It's your fault I can't think straight." He took a breath, stretched his arms, and tried to focus. Nothing felt right. He'd have to improvise.

The unlocking of the door and the thudding of her bag to the floor alerted him to her presence. He laughed lightly as he tested the soup, enjoying the thrill of anticipation. She approached in his peripheral vision. "Arthur, you didn't have to do all this," she murmured.

The gladness in her words made it worth the effort. He poured a glass of wine for them both. "You were having a busy day."

She took a sip and braced herself on the counter. "I had to run back and forth from the office to the courthouse. We were missing copies of motions for tomorrow's hearing. My typewriter's ribbon ran out and we didn't have any replacements." A puff escaped her before she turned to him. "But every thing’s lovely now. Come here.” She pulled him in for a kiss.

Arthur tried to pay attention while they ate; he disliked missing a moment of her. But she was already driving him to distraction. The way her lips pursed as she blew on the food before taking a bite. Her caresses to the petals of the flowers. How she kept touching his sleeve. When she untied the bow at the collar of her burgundy blouse, opened the neck to reveal the start of her clavicle, his stomach flipped. "I wanted to- to ask you a question," he said softly.

"I knew something was going on." She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "You haven't said much besides 'yeah' and 'mhm.'"

Damn. He'd tried to be normal. "Sorry." A sheepish smile crossed his face and he smoothed back his hair. "I'm a little nervous."

"You don't have to be." There was excitement in her voice, barely contained, and she scooted her chair closer. "I'm sure I'll say yes."

He quirked a brow at her. "Um, okay." A sharp exhale as he sat straighter. "I've been thinking about this a lot." His gaze darted to hers, seeing it sparkling and filled with affection, before falling to his lap. He fiddled with his spoon as he forced himself to speak. "I found something. When we were cleaning."

A pause. "What did you find?"

The wine was sharp on his tongue when he sipped it. "The massaging wand?"

The blush on her cheeks traveled to the rest of her face and she hid behind her palm. "Oh my god," she laughed.

Having the advantage wasn't usual for him in these situations. It was refreshing. Luckily, she didn't seem upset, so he continued. "Dr. Sally recommended it on her show. You're beautiful. We both might like it. I mean, I know I would, but... Would you show me?" Her quiet nagged at him, so he changed his approach. "You turn on the light every time we make love," he teased. "Don't you remember when you came home and surprised me?"

She peeked at him, the corner of her lip lifted. "It's never even occurred to me. I can't believe it occurred to you." After a few moments, she cleared her throat. "I won't lie - it's...an arousing idea. And all this," she gestured at the table as she spoke, "has made me pretty hot and bothered." Her hand went to his inner thigh, fiddling with the seam. "Though I have to admit, I was expecting you to ask something else."

His eyelids fluttered at her caress. "What?"

Grasping the tie at the front of his pants, she finished her drink. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll ask me later."

~~~~

This was happening. It wasn't his imagination. Y/N was taking a fantasy of his, one that belonged in dirty magazines, and turning it into a demonstration of her love for him. Was it weird to be moved by something this lewd? He should be ashamed to have asked her. But he wasn't. And when he felt her smile as they lay in bed, his throat tightened. Their breaths were harsh as the pearlescent buttons of her blouse opened halfway under his ministrations. A soft moan left her when he cupped her breast, tweaked its taut tip through her bra, and she yanked at his shirt until he pulled it off.

She ground against his clothed hard-on and hastily unzipped her black skirt to slip it down. He swallowed thickly, following her movements, huffing at the sight of her dark red garter belt and matching panties. It wasn't often she donned those, preferring more practical undergarments. Had she, by some means, known what he was thinking when she'd gotten dressed that morning? The notion was silly but warmed him anyway. Relieved, he groaned and reclaimed her lips.

The dance of her fingers across the lean muscles of his chest caused him to suck in air, which he held while she skimmed past his ribs to his stomach. "I haven't done this in front of anyone before," she said, a little uncertain.

Arthur chuckled, letting her take his hand and guide it between her thighs. "I hadn't, either." He pushed the cotton to the side and fondled her slit, reveling in how she bucked into his touch. It was almost enough to get him to forget the show, to forget about his plan, to sheathe himself inside her without a moment's pause.

But she grabbed the vibrator off the stand and switched it on. Its buzzing was louder than he'd presumed, like a hornet's nest. Amusement must have shown on his face, because Y/N smirked and turned the wand to a lower setting. "Remind me to plug the clock back in when we're done," she said, shedding her underwear and kicking it off her foot. He settled next to her hips, boosting himself on his elbow to see her. Shyly at first, then growing bolder, she swiped and pulled at her outer lips. They drew back as they swelled and she giggled, running the pads of her fingers over herself. "You're the only one who could persuade me to do this."

He grazed her inner thigh, the straps holding her stockings in place, and pressed a kiss to her leg, observing as she lay the massager's rounded end to her core. Even as her pelvis arched slightly to meet it, she kept it in one spot - he'd thought she would have moved it around. The heat flaring in his groin was, thankfully, lowering his inhibitions, and he found he could ask, without anxiety, "Did you do it a lot?"

"I did this more after we met." He laughed happily, realizing he'd been the cause of her increased desire. A whimper fell from her as she moved towards the vibrator again, her frame trembling. Her brows pinched with every increasing undulation of her hips. "It's been awhile. I'd forgotten-," she gasped, "-how intense this feels."

When she began writhing, he watched the sway of her breasts, straining against her bra. Her stomach was quivering with every shallow breath, and he felt his own ardor heighten with hers. He leaned forward to get a better look at her folds. But, upon finding the toy covered her completely, he furrowed his brow. And it registered that he didn't need a prop involved; he just needed her.

Gently, he caught it, waiting until she met his gaze to turn it off and put it on the bed. "You're enough," he said quietly. "If that's okay." She nodded lightly. One of her legs spread to the side, the other bent at the knee. He shuddered as she held herself open, fingers drifting over her sensitive nub. "Are you - Are you thinking about me?" Say yes. Please.

Her explorations went lower, tracing the edges of her entrance, open and waiting for him, then dipping below to gather slick on her fingertips. "Yes," she hissed, tapping her bud repeatedly. She jerked towards her hand as she bit her lip. It was enchanting, watching her play herself like a well-tuned instrument. She seemed to know exactly how to touch her own body. What pressure to apply. How fast to go...

Her breast spilled out when she pulled down the cup of her bra, her head falling back into the pillow. Her thumb teased her areola and she keened. "You're all the way inside me." Another tug to her pebbled nipple, and the hand at her vulva hastened. "Your cock feels so good, Arthur. You fill me so well."

"Y/N, god." He hadn't expected pornography to spill from her mouth. Groaning, he pushed his briefs away and gripped his erection, running his thumb along the tip as he glanced from her face to her center.

The glistening of her arousal was spreading, a spot forming on the blanket beneath her. Her cries were becoming frequent, her body tensing. Her eyes opened and went to his length. "Get in me."

That took him aback. "What?"

"Get in me. Please." He scrambled out of his underwear and knelt between her legs, positioning himself so her thighs rested on his, and he held the soft skin of her upper leg. After a couple of quick pumps, he sank into her entirely, grunting at the sight of her reddened, desperate sex welcoming him. She stroked herself, first pulling at the clitoral hood, then circling it, more frenzied with every rut.

This was far superior to any photograph, any adult film he may have caught a glimpse of. Because it was personal. She was devoted to him, and he to her. And she was repeating his name, the syllables strung together and becoming unintelligible. Soon she wailed sharply and stiffened, her pulses gripping his cock. "Fuck me harder," she whined.

His movements stilled. While he wanted to give in, he feared harming her - he was stronger than his skinniness suggested. But she begged for him again, and he couldn't resist pressing her wrists into the bed on either side of the pillow. Their kisses turned hard while she brought her trembling legs about him and he plunged into her. A wanton cry escaped with each inch she moved up the mattress, with every pound of his hips. The sear of her surrounding him was intoxicating, and he took her nipple in his mouth, laving and sucking at it. Her body grew rigid and bent into him and she moaned, her muscles clamping around him a second time.

Their intimacy had traversed the scale from slow to fast, loving to urgent. But Arthur had only been unrelenting with her once. Her enjoyment hadn't been a consideration; she’d been a means to an end that night. And the guilt he'd felt afterward had prompted him to promise himself to not be rough without her explicit permission. Seeing her trust in him in action, feeling it in the embrace of her body, pushed him forward to give into what they both craved.

He threw his head back and fucked her, up on his knees, slipping his grasp from her wrist to entwine her fingers. He held her neck and the side of her face as he mashed their lips together, losing himself in her as he increased the punishing pace of his thrusts. His motions stammered, seeking his climax, going deeper and deeper still.

With one final shove he came, emptying into her with each throb as they clung to each other. His brain was foggy with pleasure, breath ragged and panting. Vaguely, he was aware of her tight hold on his ass, as if she coveted every drop of him. As he came down from his high, the last tendrils of pleasure fading, he squeezed her hand. The kiss he gave her was tender, soft. A stark contrast from how they'd joined moments ago.

Y/N was giving him that dazed grin, the one she usually had after lovemaking. But he felt the need to check. "Did I hurt you?" Averting his eyes, he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone.

She pecked his nose and raked her nails through his hair, her look full of adoration. "You could never hurt me." A giggle bubbled up. "I do need a minute to recover, though." He stayed inside her while he softened, nestling in the crook of her neck. "I'm proud of you," she said.

His eyelids shut and a toothy grin appeared as his heart clenched. "Why?"

"You weren't afraid to ask me. Well, even if you were, you did it, anyway." Her arms wrapped about his torso and she palmed his back. "And you trusted yourself to let go."

He dragged his thumb along the faint stretch marks at her areola. While what she said was accurate, he usually liked it softer. During the periods in which his anger or despondency nearly consumed him, when he thought he might erupt, he was afraid he would lose the ability to be gentle. So far, her love and support had helped bring that tenderness back, even if it took a couple of days. He ached for that to continue. "You know, when I- when I see things that aren't there... I always say the right thing. I'm funny. I know how to do good." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "But with you it's real."

Guiding him out and off her, she turned on her side. "Because that's who you are, Mr. Fleck. Don’t forget that. I won’t." She nuzzled his nose. "How else could you have broken through my shield enough to have this ridiculous pillow talk?" He chuckled as she tugged on a curl. "I lost that part of myself for a long time," she sighed. "I'd hate to lose it again."

"I won't let that happen." He pulled her closer, caressing the edge of her garter belt. "Especially if you keep wearing these," he said lowly.

Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts flush to him. "Let's be ridiculous until we're old and gray."

"Mhm." Tears prickled but he blinked them away, managing a wide smile. It was one of her hints that she wanted to be with him forever. He prayed she would accept his proposal next week. "Only if you promise to laugh at my jokes."

Y/N traced his jawline and kissed his dark brows, her gaze shining as she gave her response. "Arthur, I'll laugh with you for the rest of my life."

~~~~~

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[atsumiyass]

Leave you Lonley

Tooru Oikawa x reader

synopsis: in which Oikawa thinks hes doing the best for you, when in reality he just broke your heart.

warnings: angst, timeskip spoilers.

(thank you all so much for 80 followers! that means so much to me and admin mars we love you all so much <3)

Your relationship with Tooru Oikawa was something you wouldn’t give up for the world.

At first it was great, being fresh out of high school and still in a relationship wasn’t easy, but you both managed. With him being barley home because of volleyball and you working at a preschool, you barley saw each other. But you made time, having weekly date nights, and just catching up with each other on the couch every Friday night. It was great.

Until he packed up his stuff and left for Argentina.

The morning he left was like any normal one for you. The sun was shinning brightly though your shared bedroom windows, birds chirping, and the bustling city noise. You slowly opened your eyes and turned your body expecting to be greeted with Oikawas beautiful sleeping face.

Except, the spot was empty.

Being confused, you slowly got up from the bed. Walking out of the room towards the kitchen, assuming he had just woken up a bit earlier. It was Saturday after all. You saw what looked like a folded piece of paper on the kitchen counter and picked it up.

“y/n” the front read.

This wasn’t looking good, your heart started to race as you slowly opened the paper.

 “Y/n,

I’m sorry for this. For you having to wake up to an empty spot every morning, for you having to wait late nights for me to come home, for you having to be alone for half the time. It isn’t fair for you. I’ve decided that you deserve better. I got an offer to join the Argentinian League, so I’ve taken it. This is the next step in my volleyball career, and it hurts me that you can’t be by my side. But this is for your own good. My dear, I hope you find someone perfect for you. I’ll never forget the moments we’ve had, and please don’t hold this against me.  

With love,

Tooru.”

You reread the letter more then 5 times. Rubbing your eyes and even going as far as to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Tears kept rolling down your cheeks, not bothering to wipe them.

He left…he left you.

You crumpled up the letter and threw it in the trashcan, sobbing as you walked back to your now single bedroom. Making your way to the closet to see only your clothes inside. The tears wouldn’t stop. You checked every part of the house for any sign of Oikawa except for pictures, but the only thing he had left was the note. You were angry now. How could he leave and not bother telling you? After everything you both went through, he thinks he can just up and leave without saying goodbye? You grabbed a trash bag from under the kitchen sink and began gathering every picture with Oikawa in it.

Your first date, your most recent one, your picture with Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and Iwaizumi from 3rd year, everything was going away.

Just like he did.

After putting everything in the bag you took it out to the dumpster, throwing it inside. You stood there for a second, going over what you had done.

You had nothing left of him.

Before your neighbors could hear, you made your way back to your apartment. Closing the door behind you, making your way back to your bedroom and climbing back into bed. You curled up into a ball and kept crying. Saying how much you missed him and how you wanted him to come back, knowing good and well he couldn’t hear you. You took the pillow from his side and brought it up to your face. Taking in his scent for the last time. You cried even harder at this and hugged it tight.

For everyday after that, you wished you would see him again. Even though he had shattered your heart, you had hope.

But he never came back, hell you never even saw him again after that.

Even now, 10 years later. In a family home with 2 beautiful twin baby boys and a loving husband, you still missed him.

Did he miss you too? That’s something you don’t bother thinking about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[ladykatibeth]

“Missing”

Fandom: Sander Sides

Rating: Teen for swearing

Summary:The crown prince of the kingdoms goes on a quest to find his brother, meanwhile a famers kid meets up with a friend.

A/N: Will be continued,if you want to feel free to ask questions about the characters! I have my inbox open. Feel free to reblog.

Remus was Missing.

Remus was missing and Roman didn’t know where he was. Remus was missing, and he was gone for good this time, and Roman didn’t know what to do.

Remus was missing--his twin was missing. His twin was missing, Remus was--

Roman should have done something, noticed sooner. Or even noticed at all. Remus had always been loud, obnoxiously loud, Roman had remarked a couple of times. Remus had been a bit quieter than usual, the past week. But Remus had always had his ups and downs, despite what it might have seemed Remus couldn’t keep up his high energy forever. Every once in a while he ended up crashing.

Roman should have known though. Should have picked it out. Should have noticed. But he had been so busy last week. Well, busier than usual. There's always lessons, boring parties where adults talked about stupid things, and other such duties. But that week he had been preparing to do a speech, anxiously prepping and preparing. He had been so stressed, being crown prince was no easy task, honestly sometimes he just wanted to get away.

Maybe that's why Remus left.

Maybe that's why Remus left.

Maybe--

Roman could feel his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes were wet, why was he crying? Why couldn’t he breathe?

Roman felt a hand on his shoulder. He tensed as he suddenly remembered where he was. His hands were gripping the bed. The breath slowly returned to his lungs, maybe he had been cursed. Cursed by some breath stealing fairy. That would actually be a good idea for a story, he’d have to return to that later.

“Roman?” Right. Later. He looked up to see Logan looking down at him with a concerned expression on his face. Roman could almost find it in himself to smile. Logan would know what to do. Logan always knew what to do.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look like I'm okay?” Roman threw his arms around, nearly hitting Logan, who had started to sit down next to Roman.

Logan frowned. “I don't understand, you and I both know disappearing is not out of the realm of your brother's usual behavior. He runs off somewhere, every third week.” His frown deepened. “You both do, actually, no matter how hard I try to stop you.”

Logan had become Roman and Remus’s court companion, by nature of being literally the only other child that lived in the castle. The title wasn't exactly official, but that's what everyone had taken to calling him, almost affectionately. And Logan did the job as best as he could. Making sure neither one of them got themselves killed.

Logan also happened to be the son of Roman and Remus’s tutor. He excelled in almost everything, math, science, geography even English, though he struggled with the metaphors. Out of the three of them, Logan had always gotten the best scores. Roman might have called it favoritism if he didn’t know Logan so well.

Roman passed Logan the note he held crumpled up in his hand. In his despair he had almost forgotten it had been there. Logan carefully read over the material, his face changing only slightly, so slightly Roman wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't known what to look for. He squinted adjusting his glasses.

Of course, knowing what was in the letter himself helped. Roman had reread it over and over again, after finding it on his nightstand that morning.

Ro,

I'm leaving. For good this time. Don’t blame yourself, don't try to come after me, because I don’t want to come back. I don't know what I'll do next, maybe become a pirate? Or live in the woods in a cave,like a bear, and run around naked and eat wild plants! Who knows. I’ll decide later. Anyway, I’ll write to you if I find a way to from wherever I’m going. Say goodbye to Lo for me.

Ps. Don't show this to Mom.You know she’ll come after me.

Pps. If you show this to Mom I'll come back to the castle and bludgeon you. I am not above fratricide.

Roman had quickly hid that note under his pillow. And then he pulled it out to read it again, before sticking it back. He had been doing that all morning. He had at first felt angry, how dare he leave him to do this by himself, that hadn’t been the plan! That's what twins were for! So you didn't have to do things like stealing cookies from cooks, or running kingdoms, alone!

So that was that then. His brother was gone, he left, purposefully disappeared. Roman was going to tackle him if he found him. When he found him. Determination flooded into him.

Logan looked up at him. Probably seeing something in his eyes, he said “You’re going to go try to find him.” He looked at him disapprovingly.

Shit.

“I have to--!” Roman said. Roman drew short, and quickly looked around. He lowered his voice, “I'm going, and you can’t stop me!” Logan glared at him.

Roman glared back, harder. Logan maintained his gaze for a second then looked away, sighing. “Fine, then, I will accompany you.”

“You don't have to-” Roman said. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I know I don't have to.” He walked over to Roman’s closet and grabbed a bag. “Pack some clothes, I’ll make a list of things we need, and draft a plan.” He placed the bag down next to Roman.

For the first time today Roman smiled. He could almost taste the adventure coming up on the horizon.

-----

Patton couldn’t wait to see his friend! He had said they could meet up today. Patton was so excited he sped through his chores. And boy, there were a lot!

Not that Patton ever really minded that much. He loved the animals on the farm. And he liked getting up early, and getting to watch the sun rise. The only problem was that he had finished too early. By the time he had gotten back it was already twelve O’clock and he still had two more hours to wait.

It was currently 1:30. He still had thirty minutes to wait, but his friend was rarely on time. Sometimes he came early, but mostly he came “fashionably” late as he had called it once. Patton had laughed.

Patton was sitting by the edge of the forest, near his house. The grass underneath Patton's hands was soft, and the sun shone brightly through the trees. The wind felt breezy, tousling through his hair. Patton giggled.

Patton's thoughts wandered to when he met his friend. It was almost a year ago, Patton had been playing around near the woods. His mama had told him to never to go in them. So Patton stayed around them, sure to never get too close to the trees. But Patton had thought he heard crying.

At first he was able to convince himself it was nothing, just the wind rustling through the trees, but the sound grew louder until it could not be classified as anything but sobbing. All thoughts of getting in trouble fled him. Someone was hurting, he needed to help them.

He had wandered slowly into the woods, holding his breath. Barely making a sound. He walked on the path, trying to listen from where he thought he had heard the sound. If somebody was hurt he had to help. Nevermind the fear slowly creeping up his spine.

As he journeyed farther and farther into the woods, the volume of the crying would cycle. Just as he thought he was about to reach the person, it would decrease again. Patton was just starting to think that he’d been tricked when he heard movement in the trees.

He turned around.

Nobody was there.

He slowly turned forward.

A snake was hanging down from the tree, right by him. Patton screamed. He fell backwards and froze. The black and yellow snake drew up close to him. So close he could see the wrinkly outline of its scales. Its eyes were cat-like. The snake's head nodded to the side, an expression that, on a human, would certainly be read as amused curiosity.

Patton got up and ran.

He could feel air rushing past him. He was running on autopilot, passing through trees and ducking under vines. Low hanging branches and thorny bushes nicked at his skin. He nearly avoided tripping over a couple of twigs and branches. He slowed down to a light jog, before stopping and sitting on a log to catch his breath. Patton looked around.

Nothing looked familiar. Patton thought he had come out from his left side. He walked back that way. Trying to go the way he remembered coming from, turning left and right. Just as he thought he would never make it out of these woods, he saw light. Light! Patton ran toward it.

Only to find himself back in the same place he started.

He tried again, and again, changing directions, taking lefts where last time he took rights. But every time he found himself in the same place. It didn't help that the tree markers seemed to flip and change randomly. And Patton couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. “Why cant you just leaf me alone?” He tried to joke, but his punning fell flat.

He sat back down on his log, and started to cry.

He heard something move in the trees. His breath hitched, and he looked up. A boy about his age was sitting on a branch and looking down at him, lazily dangling a leg off the side of the tree.

His clothes were dark. Pretty fancy for the woods, Patton thought. The boy had a button down shirt, and a cloak wrapped around him. He had yellow gloves, and a hat Patton had never seen before. Patton thought he looked like a storybook villain.

“Crying is, absolutely, one of the best, most productive, responses one could have to getting lost in the woods.” Patton whipped his face with his sleeve. That was kind of a mean thing for him to say.

“Hello!” Patton said, trying to make himself seem happier than he felt. “My name is Patton!”

The boy looked sharply down at him and hissed a half-whisper, “Could you be any louder? I’d love for you to make it known to the whole world that I’m up here!”

Patton frowned. This convo wasn’t going well at all. He pushed forward, and half-whispered “Sorry, it's nice to meet you, what's your name?”

The boy tipped his hat. “You can call me Deceit.” They sat in silence for a minute.

“Well…” Patton began.

“Well?” Deceit said.

“Well, It's just, I'm kinda lost….”Patton trailed off.

“Clearly.”

“And you seem to know these woods a bit…..” Deceit’s expression didn’t change.

“So maybe,” Patton paused, “Maybe you could help me out?” The end of his statement went high.

Deceit must have seen the desperation on his face. Because he said, “Look, I'm not in the habit of doing favors for people, but I am willing to make an exchange.”

Patton gasped. A snake had appeared where Deceit once was. It slithered up the branch and down the tree. As soon as the snake hit the ground, Deceit reappeared.

So he was the one that scared him earlier!

“Here's the deal, I will help you home, if you agree to do me a favor.” Deceit held out his hand to shake it. Patton reached for it, automatically. Stopping just short of shaking it.

“Wait.” Patton had said tilting his head curiously “What favor?”

“You’ll know it when the time comes.” Patton hesitated for a moment, and then stood up and shook Deceits hand.

And in the end that had turned out to be a great decision! Patton had gotten a new friend! A friend that was running towards him right now. Now that’s a bit weird. Deceit doesn't runs, he just slithers all over the place. Patton giggled a bit at the joke.

His smile became tented with concern when he noticed Deceit had a look of panic on his face. Patton grabbed him by the arms. “Hey, hey, what's the matter, kiddo?”

“Patton, you have to hide me!” Deceit said.

[rosedavid]

i love me some good angst... so maybe 18 and/or 24 with tyrus? happy ending pls :)) ill only tolerate pain if its worth it in the end if you know what i mean

18.  "Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry.“

…

The thing is, TJ doesn’t need to know. Cyrus can handle it himself without making TJ worry incessantly about something that doesn’t involve him. Besides, it isn’t even that bad at first. Just a few insults, some insinuating comments, the works. It’s not a big deal, really. They’re just words, after all. 

Cyrus can handle it, which is why he doesn’t mention it to anybody else. 

It started off with a note. A note shoved between the slots in his locker, addressed to him in an unfamiliar handwriting. And the words were pretty rude, but Cyrus never had an issue with this before. It was just a dumb note from one person, anyway. So he crumpled it up, threw it in the trash, and continued on with his day. 

The notes continued. 

He started receiving them once a week, then a few times a week, then almost everyday. Anytime his friends were with him, he made sure to make up a hasty excuse before shoving the note deep into his backpack. It became a habit. Note slipped into his locker, take it without reading it, and shove it into his bag without another thought. The notes piled up, day after day, but Cyrus never read another one after the first. He wouldn’t give the person sending these to him the satisfaction. 

But it became harder to ignore them soon. He knows he should just throw them away the instant he gets them, but there’s something in the back of his mind forcing him to keep them. There’s some part of him that can’t ignore them. 

And so, one day after school, when the notes have built up in his bag so high that he’s forced to dump them out, he reads them all word for word. Every hateful comment, every harmful joke. He tells himself before he starts that he’ll let them bounce off his skin, that he won’t let the comments bother him. Despite this promise to himself, as he reads the scrawl of handwriting against notebook paper, he finds the comments unintentionally biting into him. 

Know-it-all. Loser. Girly. 

Annoying. Ugly. 

Worthless.

Soon, he can’t stop reading them. Over and over, he scans the words, swallowing back tears. Because even though they’re just words, they burn him. It hurts even more knowing that these aren’t just random insults, too. These are the very insecurities Cyrus has dealt with himself. The first tear falls, and he swipes it away quickly. Then, before more tears can come, he takes the pile of notes and shoves them in the back of his closet. He still doesn’t throw them away. 

He deals with it for the next few days, more notes stacking up in his locker. They seem to be coming more frequently now, all saying similar, hurtful things in their words. Cyrus can handle those. 

Then, it happens. 

Just like any other day, Cyrus finds another note in his locker, but this one is heftier than usual. Normally, he would wait until after school to read through them, but this one is urging for attention. He makes sure that none of his friends are around before slipping off into the library. He takes a corner in the back, knees curled to his chest, before he carefully pries open the folds of the letter. It’s full of a lot of insults, but then it gets worse. It gets more personal. It starts talking about him and his friends and TJ. 

Why would TJ love someone as ugly as you? You don’t deserve him.

The letter is too much this time. Combined with the onslaught of other notes he’s received over the weeks, this tips him over the edge. His fingers release it, letting it flutter to the ground beside his feet. Then, unable to contain his emotions any longer, he sobs silently into his arms. 

Because it hurts so bad. It hurts too much thinking these things himself let alone someone else thinking them. It hurts more than any injury or sickness. And it makes him hate himself just a little bit more. He shouldn’t be crying like a baby. He’s a wimp, just like the letter said. A joke. A nobody. 

The bell rings, but Cyrus ignores it. He can’t stop his tears now that they’ve started. Then, a voice. 

“Cyrus? Are you in here?” TJ whispers. 

It’s TJ, of course. TJ knows Cyrus better than anyone. He knows Cyrus was here this morning, and he knows that Cyrus would never be tardy for a class normally. 

Cyrus wipes at his eyes, trying to remove any evidence of his crying, but it’s futile. TJ finds him a second later, with his red eyes, splotchy face, and sniffling nose. He immediately crouches down in concern. 

“Cy? What’s wrong?” TJ asks.

The tenderness and kindness in his voice just makes Cyrus’s eyes water more. Soon, the waterworks start again at full force.

”Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry,” TJ frowns, bringing him into a hug. Cyrus clings onto him like his life depends on it because after this, TJ might not want to stay with him. 

“I’m being a baby, I’m sorry,” Cyrus sobs, attempting to stifle his tears. 

“Why would you say that? Crying doesn’t make you a baby.”

Cyrus merely shrugs in response, pulling out of TJ’s arms to turn away from him. TJ, noticing his odd behavior, refuses to give up. He opens his mouth to ask Cyrus a follow up question when he notices the fallen note next to them. He grabs it before Cyrus can protest. Just scanning the note, TJ can hardly believe the terrible insults written about Cyrus. 

“Who wrote this?” TJ demands to know, anger building. 

“I dunno,” Cyrus mumbles. “It’s not important. They’re just stupid notes.”

“They?! Someone has been sending you multiple notes like this?”

“It’s fine, TJ–”

TJ interrupts him angrily. “No, Cyrus, it’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay. I can’t–how could someone write this about you? None of this is true, Cyrus, not one word! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry like you are right now,” Cyrus replies. “I understand if you want to break up–”

TJ captures him in another, tight hug. “No, Cyrus, I don’t want to break up. I love you. And as your boyfriend, it’s my job to worry and take care of you. We need to take care of each other.”

“I love you too,” Cyrus snuffles into his shoulder. 

“We can’t let this go on any longer,” TJ tells him. “We’re going to the principal. When you suffer, I suffer, too. We need to take care of this, okay?”

“Y-you’ll come with me?” 

“Of course I will.”

[writeawaymrwick]

Knocking On Death’s Door (John Wick x Reader) - Part 1

Summary: It all started with a simple trip to drop off a few things from an old friend, but turned into opening the Pandora’s box of your dangerous past.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, moments of fear/anxiety, language.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on this blog, I hope y’all enjoy it! I’m also taking requests here~

There you were, standing in the evening rain adjusting your white beret and trying to stay warm in your jacket, feeling like a total idiot for coming here. Not that you didn’t like him at all. In fact, you considered him a relatively decent, yet quiet guy for your best friend. Note, considered.

You propped the heavy cardboard box on your knee and rang the door bell. A few rings later he thankfully showed up to the door. He was a bit disheveled, but you didn’t blame the guy. 

“Hey John, I’d thought I’d stop by,” you fidgeted with the box in your hands, “I was in the neighborhood, and um I….”

He kept staring without a word. You felt a lump in your throat.

“I found a few things that Helen left behind.”

A melancholy sparkle splinted the stare, and he opened the door further.

“I know it’s probably a bad time, right now, but back at the apartment, I found a note she left before she…” You paused and looked away. It seemed so long ago when you and Helen were roommates. 

He gazed at the box, and having heard her name, he softened his face. 

“Would you like to come in?” He said.

Dumbfounded at the prospect of actually being accepted, you nodded.

You stepped in and felt a draft of cold air; it seemed drastically colder inside than outside. The house, though modern in style, felt empty and nothing like a home, but a void furnished with the touches of decay. You almost bumped into a small yellow vase holding a semi-wilted daisy on the table.

Yellow was her favorite color.

“Coffee?” He said, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, thank you.” You shifted on the sofa. “I don’t think this will take too long.”

He abandoned one of the two cups in his hands, and flipped on the coffee machine. You sat bouncing your knee, and felt a weird vibe around this guy. Y’know, something that was just, off. 

He returned to a seat directly across from you and slouched a bit. He was always gangly, and it was made worse as he lost weight since you last saw him, which was to say, the funeral. His eyes were hollow and dead, complete to look like a walking nightmare.

“How’ve you been, since…” You dared not to continue. 

“Just taking it one day at a time,” he sighed. “And you?” 

His last words surprised you a bit.

“Managing,” you said, trying to come up with an adequate response, “things have been… tough.”

He gave a small nod.

Remembering what you came here for, you pulled out the piece of yellow legal paper from your pocket. “I found this in Helen’s old room, I’d thought you’d like to see it.” 

You gave him the paper. While he read it, you saw the lines of pen that read:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Y/N),

I know by the time you read this note, I’ve probably been gone for a while by now. But as soon as you get this note, find a small box under my bed that has my name on it. Please give it to John as soon as you can see him. 

Don’t let him open it alone.

With much love, Helen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helen.

He stared at that name for a few more seconds, but the coffee machine beeped him out of his thoughts.

“I brought a boxcutter,” you said, starting to get up from the sofa. “I left it in the car though, so I’ll be right back.”

“No. Stay,” he said, “I have one.”

He walked over to the vase that you almost broke, and reached inside to grab a knife.

That’s a little… odd. Paranoid much? 

You didn’t know John personally very well, but he was almost always cautious. As an added bonus, you could never guess what he was thinking, but that all the more made things a bit... mysterious.

He returned to the sofa and reached for the box, which though heavy for you, took him little effort to grab. With ease, he sliced it open and shifting through shredded newspaper, pulled out a smaller metal box, roughly the size of a bread loaf. There was a small keypad on the safe, and inscribed in metal on the back was a golden letter, C. 

You two barely studied it when you heard gunshots by the front door.

“Get down!” He slid you the knife and took a gun strapped to the holster hidden in his pants. “Hide, Now!”

More glass shattered, and you immediately went into survival mode. 

Upstairs? No, probably won’t make it.

Outside? Too dangerous.

Your palms felt clammy with the knife, but your eyes fell upon the door closest to you, with heavy coats hanging from it.

The closet—!

With little time to spare, you bolted for the closet and slammed the door. There wasn’t a lock, so you nestled yourself as close as you could between the coats and squeezed into the corner by a shoe rack. You could hear the cracking of bones, gunshots, and cries of pain from the outside. Your breathing became shallow. With your knees up to your chest, you could feel the pounding of blood in your ears.

Alright (Y/N), calm down. You tried relaxing, mind all over the place.

Your breathing continued to tense up, and you covered your mouth with a hand while clutching the knife with the other sweaty palm. Your face was covered in sweat and adrenaline coursed through your veins. 

Calm down, you can make it through this.

bang.

You gave a bitter chuckle. Bringing a knife to a gun fight. Horrible luck today.

Bang.

The shots seemed to be getting closer and you shrank further into the coats. Your head felt something hard against a pocket. You reached in and picked up the familiar cool metal. Yeah, horrible luck.

BAng.

You loaded the magazine, clicking it into place.

BANg.

Heavy steps. Right outside.

BANG.

The door.

With all the rage of burning adrenaline, you burst out and did something you haven’t done—and swore you would never do again—in years.

B A N G .

Shot point-blank, the man was dead before he hit the floor. And more goons, few alive and many more dead scattered the floor. You hid behind a wall while bullets whizzed by your ears.

Wrestling an intruder to the floor, John briefly aimed his gun at you. His look said it all, “What the hell are you doing?”

He shot the attacker instead, but was taken in a choke hold from behind. John struggled as a plastic bag covered his head, and you took a shot at the goon. Except it shattered the yellow vase right behind them.

Rusty. Crap.

John was struggling to breathe, and the color of his face turned purple. You repositioned the gun, and felt a bead of sweat roll down your face. 

Always aim for the center… Just breathe…

Bang.

The man crumpled to the floor with a bullet in his brain, and John ripped the bag off his head gasping while reloading his gun.

BANG.

You felt a piercing sensation on the back of your right leg, and half collapsed in the floor in pain. You turned around and tackled your attacker on his back. With your knife you stabbed him in the chest several times, with a few fatal wounds. Despite this, he tried crawling away, so as an added measure, you shot him in the head. Twice.

You were about to reload, when another crash came through the window. You felt the bullet graze your beret.

sHIT—!

You almost dropped the gun, but the knife clattered to the floor. You dove and hid behind the kitchen island, trying to dodge more bullets.

BANG.

The shootings stopped, and you peeked around the corner.

John was standing, gun in one hand, and clutching his lower side of his torso in the other. His face was covered in multiple bruises and cuts, which also littered his body. He looked like hell, but still alive.

You released a heavy breath as you stood up, and the door bell rang. There were flashes of red and blue lights outside. John nodded you to come, and with caution, opened the door.

“Hello, John. And…?” said the policeman, squinting, “…(Y/N)?” 

He sounded, familiar…

“Hello, Jimmy,” said John. Ah yes.

“Jim,” you added, “It’s been a while.”

“Neighborhood rounds?” said John.

“…Neighborhood rounds,” said Jim, “Working again?” 

“Goodnight, Jimmy,” Apparently that was enough.

“’Night, John. And (Y/N),” he added, “Don’t be a stranger,”

“Likewise,” you said, and John closed the door. You both heard Jim drive away.

You both gave a collective sigh of true relief, finally.

“We need to go,” he said, pocketing his gun while limping towards the garage. “Now.”

[fandomssmoothie]

The Beginning of the End: 0.5

Hey guys! This is our entry for Day 5 of @mmangstweek! It’s about MC and 707 set in a universe where things go horribly wrong before the reset happens. 

We hope you guys like it! ^^

____________________________

The Beginning of the End: 0.5

Day 5: Bad End | Bad MC

MC stretches her arms to the front, she’s tired and wants to ask him to stop soon. It’s been hours since the last stop and her back is starting to bother her. She glances at him, his eyes focused on the road, it’d be good if she could find the right words and tell him that everything will be okay and they’ll find Saeran soon.

Saeyoung’s eyes shift from the road to the GPS device attached to the dashboard. They’re getting closer to the red marker. His hands start to sweat and a mixture of anticipation and panic swell in his chest.

This is it. When they get there, he’ll find his brother, he’s sure of it. And together with MC, they’ll save him and bring him home. Saeyoung glances at the woman sitting next to him and he notices her moving in her seat yet again. It’s then that he realizes they’ve been driving for a while now and Saeyoung’s foot eases on the pedal, the car decelerating.

“We can do a short stop here, MC. Rest a little before we kick some butt.” He gives her a smile and a wink, knowing he needs the break to pull himself together, as well. Saeyoung wants to be ready when they get there, there can’t be any mistakes this time; he’s not going to be pulled away from his brother again.

She smiles. “Okay.” Her hand reaches for his trying to find his fingers and locking them with hers.

MC looks outside, the road they’ve been driving on has taken them to the middle of nowhere. She glances at the side mirror and notices a black SUV behind them, the vehicle is closing in really fast.

“Saeyoung…?”

“Yep?”

“There’s a car behind us, it wasn’t there a minute ago.”

Saeyoung’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror and sure enough, he sees the black SUV zooming towards them. This can’t be a coincidence; surely that car is bad news. But what’s going on, this isn’t part of the game. They’re supposed to follow Vanderwood, which would lead them to Saeran, then save his twin and bring him home with them. Both he and MC did everything right...they’re supposed to be in the Secret End route right now. What’s going on?

“MC, is your seatbelt fastened tight?”

She nods. “Yes, I’m okay.” She bites her lower lip, her heartbeat quickens but she’s not scared. If there’s someone she trusts it’s him, her love.

“Okay. Things might get a little bumpy, babe, I need you to hold on, okay?” Flooring the gas, Saeyoung grips the steering wheel tighter and the car lurches forward, creating some distance between them and the SUV. To his dismay, Saeyoung sees the SUV accelerating too, hot on their tail.

They talked about this before leaving the bunker, the possible dangers and what to do if they got in any kind of trouble. MC unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches to get the bag on the back seat.

“MC, no, go back to your seat.” Saeyoung says with rising panic, watching as the SUV moves to switch lanes. He swerves the car to the left to cut off the other car while trying his best not to make the car turn too sharply so MC doesn’t get thrown out of her seat. This is new to him, and the fact that MC isn’t wearing her seatbelt is making him feel anxious. He doesn’t know if they’ll reset, or if this is a new game, a new update. Still, he’ll be damned before he lets anything bad happen to her though.

“I’m sorry but we need this. Let me help you.” She sits back and struggles to get her seatbelt on again. “You won’t do this alone, I’m here.” MC doesn’t want to waste time so she forgets about the buckle and unzips the bag.

Saeyoung utters a curse as the car switches lanes again; it’s going to try to drive alongside them, and that can prove dangerous.

“Okay, 606.” Saeyoung replies, eyes flicking from the mirror to the road. There’s a sharp curve coming up. “You remember that forky suction thingy I showed you 5 nights ago? I need you to throw that to the car behind us. Click the button on top of it and just throw.”

The “forky suction thingy” is Saeyoung’s version of an electromagnetic pulse. He made a few adjustments to the standard EMP that the agency gave him and modified it to shut down a car in seconds instead of the gradual, sputtering death of the car’s systems and engines.

MC shuffles the contents in the bag until she finds the device. She turns around on the seat, kneeling. Sticking her head out of the window, she presses the button and without overthinking her movements she throws the EMP device/forky suction thingy. It lands on the hood of the van.

Saeyoung watches with glee as the car behind them just stops in its tracks. The windows are heavily tinted so he couldn’t see the driver’s face, but he can bet whoever is after them is now super pissed.

“We did it!” MC screams sitting back, once again trying to get her seatbelt to work.

“Yahoo!” Saeyoung exclaims, laughing. “We did it, 606! We--”

It happened too fast.

Their car turns around the curve. Saeyoung hasn’t been able to decelerate yet. Besides, he thought the worst was over. What he didn’t expect is another car speeding towards them from the other side of the road.

His eyes widen but before he can warn her, before he can move the car or stop--

When she looks up the sound of crystal shattering echoes and the whole world is spinning, her hands are trying to find him but there’s no way to focus. It’s like she’s flying, inside a twister, she loses control of her body and all she can think of is him… but every thought is replaced by sharp pain. She’s falling and everything hurts before she stops moving, there is a strong metallic taste growing in her mouth, she can smell grass and dirt before her vision blurs and everything goes dark.

In the driver’s seat, Saeyoung lifts his head with a groan. He doesn’t need to touch his head to feel the sticky liquid dripping down his face. One movement lets him know that his entire body is sore, and his eyes are blurry, his glasses shattered on the floor. But the red-headed hacker turns to the passenger seat, finding it empty. However, the windshield in front of her seat is cracked...broken. A large, gaping hole...a human-sized hole.

No.

Saeyoung’s hands hurt when he moves them, his wrist is probably broken. But he manages to unlock the door. He moves his legs but it’s as though all his strength has left him; Saeyoung crumples to the ground outside, his body hitting the pavement. Broken pieces of glass wedge into his skin but he grits his teeth and tries to get up.

No. 606...MC.

He grabs onto the door, trying to pull his body up...and that’s when he notices it. His fingers turning translucent, almost holographic. Saeyoung blinks his eyes, getting the blood out of his eyes in time to see the solid ground turn into strings of codes.

No. Not now. Don’t do this, it’s not supposed to be like this!

The sky turns dark, not because it’s nighttime but because everything goes black. A scream is ripped from his throat as the world around him disappears. Something red flickers in front of him and Saeyoung squints his eyes to read the large, bold letters:

RESET THE GAME?

But something’s wrong. Because underneath it are two options:

[ Yes ]  [ NY𝟄𝕾 ]

Game restarting…

MC blinks a few times before adjusting to the morning light. She stays in bed without moving, yes, overthinking and replaying the dream -- where she holds a warm hand, a beautiful smile lights up her life, soft lips kiss her and a voice says her name once and all over again.

What she would do to make it a reality… but no, her reality is other. In this reality the handsome guy’s missing, he’s replaced by a tyrant, a bleached hair guy who won’t ever say her name the way the boy in her dreams does. A sense of loss washes over her, something she can never understand.

The mirror tells her she had an awful night and her eyebags are as bad as her boss’. While she dries her face MC runs her fingers on the little scar over her left eyebrow, it’s a tiny white line that can go unnoticed easily. Her head hurts trying to remember where she got it, and every time she thinks she’s close to a memory the whole world spins and she’s thrown into darkness.

… and the only light she finds, the only hand she can reach is cold and cruel.

Three knocks on the door warn her that it’s time to go to work, before leaving her room she gets the hideous robe and puts it on and drinks the foul blue elixir. It doesn’t make sense, but she’s accepted her fate, all she knows is that she was bad, she made the wrong choices… she’s getting what she deserves.

“The redhead…” He growls when MC walks into the room, the boy stares at the screen, fingers furiously typing on the keyboard. He glances at her before going back to the computer.

“Get here, I need you to help me with this.” A sinister smile finds his lips. “This will be fun.”

MC turns on her screens. “Ready.”

On the other side of the screen, the red-haired hacker types furiously, getting past another firewall. Lines of code reflect on his glasses and he has to admit, he’s getting a little hungry…

The damp, cold secret passageway they’re hiding in doesn’t help; now 707 wants a warm meal. But he knows that’s a luxury they can’t afford to risk right now. Not when he and Vanderwood are in Mint Eye, trying to save the innocent guests the Savior invited to her little party.

“Madam~” he says in a sing-song voice. Beside him, Vanderwood groans.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

Vanderwood sighs. “Ya...to be honest, me too. Alright. I’ll go get us some food. Hopefully those goddamn Believers are all asleep.” The older agent slips on the robe they stole from the supply closet, pulling the black hood over his head. 707 gives him a small salute.

“I’ll watch your back, don’t worry! You know I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Vandy~”

Vanderwood gives him a deadpan look before the older agent moves, heading for the door on the wall that will lead him into one of the hallways in Mint Eye. 707 goes back to his laptop, confused when he sees the other hacker stopped his attacks.

Unknown laughs, he stands behind her, his voice filled with menace. “Now, do a good job for me and lure him just to where I can destroy him. If you do this right I might even give you a reward.”

MC swallows, it’s difficult to hide how frightened he makes her. “Yes, sir.”

[ Believer A606 has entered the chatroom ]

Believer A606: ....

His fingers stop, he freezes.

606…?

His heart constricts at the memory of his love, the love he lost and has been trying to find. But when he woke up to this new reset, he and Vanderwood were already headed to Mint Eye...MC is nowhere to be found, not even among the new players who joined Mint Eye.

But now...this. This can’t be a coincidence.

Hastily, with shaking fingers, 707 enters the messenger.

[ Believer A707 has entered the chatroom ]

Believer A707: Hello?

Her eyes read over the line, one, two… five times before she can move again. Why does it hurt…? It’s such a strange sensation, like she’s found a string, once she can pull at. It makes her anxious, curious, eager… What is happening to her…? There is a lump in her throat and she wants to scream, cry… for help.

MC’s hands are trembling, hands that are always reaching out, searching but never finding… The room starts spinning and she shakes her head trying to focus. Whatever she’s feeling she dismisses it. There are orders she has to obey now…

Believer A606: Believer A707…? Hello...

____________________________

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Yours Truly [Part Nineteen]

Summary: Sadie realizes that moving on from Chris may be impossible. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 2310 Warnings: None? A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post. 

September 8

Caroline,

Another Friday night at the Pratt farm. Chris and Emily have steadily gone out every Friday night since the school year began. While it’s absolute torture to know that their relationship seems to have been re-kindled in a strong way, I’m extremely grateful for the time with Layla. I can’t even begin to explain to you how much I’ve missed that little girl up until these Friday nights. She’s been asking for another dress lately, and the weather will be colder soon enough, so we’re going to shop tonight for some cute flannel prints, for dresses and pajamas.

I know we haven’t been able to catch each other by phone, and we probably will by the time you get this letter, but I’m so proud of you for deciding to go for what you deserve, C. You and Chris are going to be the powerhouse of this country, I can feel it. He has my vote, and not because you’re my best friend … well, not ONLY because you’re my best friend. He’s a smart guy, and I think he is going to do well. Not to mention, he’s going to have the BEST Chief of Staff in American history.

I’ll talk to you soon – just realized I’m late leaving for the farm!

Yours truly,

Sadie

Rushing up the steps of the Pratt house, Sadie nearly tripped in an effort to get to the doorbell quickly. She apologized profusely to Chris for running late when he met her at the door.

“Honestly, I just lost track of the time,” she admitted.

“It’s all right,” he assured, a smile tugging at either end of his mouth. “Emily’s not quite ready yet, anyway.”

“Oh, good,” Sadie replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

Chris nodded. “Layla’s in her room playing – she’s in a mood, I’ll warn you. Her homework is done, but she’s probably hungry.”

“We’ll get something in town, if that’s okay. I told her I would take her to look at flannel prints for dresses and pajamas for cold weather.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Still have the extra seat in your car?”

“I do.”

“Perfect.”

An awkward silence fell between them as they stood in the entryway. There was so much more they both had to say, but Chris was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Sadie couldn’t put her heart on the line again. Finally, when the tension came to be too much, she excused herself to go find Layla.

“You guys have fun and, uh, we’ll see you later.”

Chris gave a small wave, doing away with the disappointed look on his face as Emily met him at the door. Sadie told herself it hadn’t been disappointment, she was only seeing things; she pleaded with herself not to read more than was there into every little thing Chris did and said around her.

“Hey, Miss Layla,” she greeted, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

Layla looked up from playing with her dolls. “Adie! I didn’t know you were here!”

The little girl’s hug was a welcome reprieve from her confusion. “Just got here, sunshine. Do you want to play some more, or are you ready for supper and the fabric store?”

“I’m ready to leave,” Layla confirmed, putting her dolls away neatly before finding her shoes.

Sadie was glad that Layla was in a good mood for her, but it made her wonder what Chris meant when he had implied a bad mood. She decided they would go for fabric first, then they would pick up a fast-food dinner and talk about things on the way home.

The opportunity came a couple of hours later, with three bags full of fabric and supplies in the trunk, and the fast food bag on the front passenger seat. Sadie looked to the back to see Layla staring out the window, mindlessly kicking her leg against her booster seat.

“So, when I got to your house tonight, your daddy said you were in a bad mood,” Sadie mentioned.

Layla’s leg stopped kicking. “He did?”

Sadie nodded. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Layla sighed. “He probably thinks I’m grumpy gills because I yelled at Mommy.”

“Why did you yell at Mommy?”

“‘Cause I was mad. She never does anything fun with me, she just yells at me. I wish she never came back! I miss you, Adie.”

“I miss you too, but we both have to do our best to help Mommy adjust to coming back, okay? We have to be patient with her. And at least we have our Friday nights, right?”

Layla nodded but didn’t say anything else. Sadie pursed her lips together as she pulled back into the driveway. She couldn’t begin to fathom what confusion Layla was experiencing, and she couldn’t find the right words to comfort her.

After supper and a bath, Layla’s good mood seemed to return. She sat on the floor of the living room playing with her dolls again, while Sadie pinned the flannel to the appropriate patterns. Chris and Emily would likely be home anytime, but Sadie wasn’t worried about getting Layla to bed; it was Friday night, and Saturday mornings were for sleeping late.

Music played lightly around them from the iPod station, and both of them sang along when they knew the words. A familiar tune started to play, and Layla’s eyes lit up.

“I know this song! It’s the one you’re always humming!” she exclaimed.

Sadie smiled, gathering up the pinned pieces and putting them in a bag to sew at home. “You’re right, it is. One of my favorites to dance to, too.”

When Chris and Emily came through the door, Layla was in Sadie’s arms, and the two of them were twirling about the kitchen, dancing to that song Sadie had always been humming. Layla scrambled back down to the ground, took Chris by the hand, and pulled him into the kitchen.

“Daddy! It’s Adie’s favorite song, the one she always hums! Dance with her!”

Chris and Sadie stood there staring at each other, both slack-jawed and trying to figure out a way to hand the situation. Emily was not far behind Chris, a definite scowl crumpling her sharp features.

“Um, you know what, it’s supposed to rain tonight, and I’d like to get home before it does,” Sadie finally said.

“Yeah, looked pretty cloudy coming up the drive,” Chris said before clearing his throat.

Sadie gathered her keys and her bag of fabric and made a quick exit out of the house and into her car. It was indeed raining by the time she got home, but that didn’t matter; she trudged into her house slowly, wishing that, somehow, the rain would wash away every feeling and every memory she had for and of Chris Pratt.

With a beer bottle in one hand and her phone in the other, Sadie plopped onto her couch and dialed Caroline’s number. She was in her pajamas and would be finding a sappy chick flick to drown her sorrows in soon enough, but she needed a quick call with her best friend first.

“Hey, C. You busy?”

“Nope, not in the slightest,” Caroline replied. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

Sadie sighed and took a long drag from her beer. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Why can’t I get over Chris?” She explained what had happened before she left the Pratt farm, about the awkward greeting when she had arrived, and about all the crying she was still doing over the man.

Caroline sighed. “You can’t get over him because you’re in love with him. It’s not like you just had a crush. That’s going to make it that much harder to get over him. Believe me, I know.”

“How did you know that it was time to do this thing with Evans?”

“I was tired of fighting against my heart. I knew I was only staying with Charlie because of convenience, and I knew Chris had my heart. There was no sense in trying to hide from it anymore. The fact that he showed up at my door and confessed how he felt just made it that much easier.”

Sadie let out a deep breath. “I don’t wanna screw up Layla’s life, either. I don’t want to deal with Emily and Libby and their bitchy, manipulative asses.”

“Emily and Libby are just a minor inconvenience,” Caroline stated. “If what you have with Pratt is the real deal, which I think it is, then their opinions won’t matter. And you know you won’t be screwing up Layla’s life. She adores you.”

Sadie sighed, opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the knock on the door. “Just a sec.”

When she opened the door, shock was the only way to describe how she felt at seeing Chris standing there in the rain on her doorstep.

“Caroline, I gotta go. He’s – he’s here.”

“I knew he’d come to his senses! Call me later! Good luck!”

Sadie disconnected the call, not certain at all that Chris had shown up because of the reasons Caroline presumed. She motioned for him to come in the house, though she couldn’t help but feel a little irritated.

“Don’t just stand out there in the rain,” Sadie sighed. “You need a towel.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re dripping.” She went to the hallway closet, then back out to the living room. “Why are you here?”

Chris wiped the towel over his hair and face, then dropped it on the coffee table. “I had to talk to you.”

Sadie crossed her arms. “I told you, Chris, I can’t be the person you talk to about this. Maybe you should try talk to your wife.”

“My ex-wife,” Chris reminded her, “and I have been talking to her. Every Friday night for weeks. I’ve never told you where Emily and I were at when you were with Layla because I didn’t know how it was going to turn out. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it – I’ve hurt you enough, Sadie. I told you I loved you and then I pulled the rug out from under you.”

“You still haven’t told me anything,” Sadie whispered. She was afraid that if she spoke any louder, her voice would break.

Chris ran his hand through his wet hair. “You’re right. Sorry. We’ve been going to counseling. Emily said she wanted things to be better, and I wanted to give it a shot for Layla – same reason I know you walked away. When you told me that Emily only wanted me back because she didn’t want anyone else to have me, I brought it to counseling. It took time, I’ll admit, but when I saw how she was with Layla as time passed, and I knew you were right. Last week, I asked her about why she came back, and she couldn’t answer me.” He scoffed. “Just the same way I couldn’t answer you, I guess. Funny how people can say so much with no words, huh? Anyway, tonight, we didn’t go to counseling. We went to a lawyer and drew up custody papers. The divorce stands, obviously, but Emily is giving up her rights to Layla.”

Sadie, arms still crossed, leaned against the counter. “Have you told Layla?”

“Emily’s talking to her now.”

“Wow,” Sadie said, raising her brow, “taking some responsibility. Never thought I’d see the day.” She let out a breath. “I’m sorry, that’s probably not fair.”

Chris shook his head and stood in front of her. “No, you’re right. Emily is taking responsibility for her actions, and I’m here taking responsibility for mine. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time – longer than I’ve even known. I told you once that I had learned things from you this summer, and I didn’t get to answer you when you asked me what that was. You taught me that there are still good women in the world … women who care about family and love and important things in life other than themselves. You taught me that there are still people who can change your life, for the better. You taught me that I can love again, and I do. I love you, Sadie. I want to be with you.”

Sadie blinked against the tears welling in her eyes, causing a drop to run down her cheek. “You broke my heart, Chris.”

“I know I did,” he replied, voice low and hoarse. His calloused fingers came up to wipe away her tears. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me. Come back to the farm. Be with me. Show Layla what a mom is supposed to be like. Forever.”

Between his thumb and forefinger, Chris held up a ring. Sadie’s tears flowed still, but the purpose changed. She was no longer heartbroken; when Chris said that he wanted to spend forever fixing the mistake he had made, he was serious.

Sadie recognized the ring. Kathleen had shown her pictures before of Chris’s grandparents’ wedding day, and pointed out the blue-stoned ring that Chris’s grandmother had loved so much. Kathleen had refused to let Emily have it, but must have been supportive of Chris’s desire to give the ring to Sadie.

“I made mistakes, too,” Sadie said. “I walked away.”

“Because of what I said – well, what I couldn’t say,” Chris countered. “Let’s start over. Together. Just say the word, Sadie, and I swear, we’ll never be apart again.”

She looked at the ring, up to his blue-green eyes, and then around the room. She hadn’t ever expected him to come back, let alone with a proposal. With the pieces of her heart already coming back together, Sadie went up on tiptoe and whispered the word against his lips.

“Yes.”

Part Twenty

[missjanjie]

Ohana Means Family | Ninex

Summary: Hi! This is my secret santa gift for @artificialmeggie and im just like, surprisingly pleased w it so i decided to share it here too! Word Count: 2046 Rating: G

Read on AO3

“Christmas bells are ringing,” Nina sang as he strung lights around the tree. It was a miniature one - only around three feet tall - but that was all the landlord would allow. So, make the most of it he would. “Christmas bells are ringing. Christmas bells are ringing–”

“On TV – at SAKS.”

He turned around at the sound of the voice, smiling warmly at Monét. “You’re home early. Subway’s not delayed for once?”

Monét laughed and set his bag down on the coffee table. “Yeah, it’s a Christmas miracle if I’ve ever seen one.” He walked over and kissed Nina’s cheek, then looked over the tree with a nod of approval. “That’s gonna look so fucking fab.”

Nina beamed brightly and looped his arm around his waist. “With any luck, I’ll actually be satisfied with it by Christmas Eve,” he chuckled. “Is Bob picking up the twins?”

“Mhm, he just texted me that he’s on his way,” Monét confirmed, reading off of his phone. “You got everything else?”

“And not a moment too soon either, that sort of thing flies off the shelves this time of year, but it’ll be worth it to see their faces. We have to get it on camera, obviously,” Nina’s face lit up as he spoke, eyes wide with enthusiasm. But then he heard the front door open and his expression instantly changed to panic. “Hide the stuff!” he whispered harshly, grabbing the bag and shoving it back into Monét’s hands and all but pushing him out of the way.

Without a second to spare, Monét hid the evidence in the hall closet right before he heard two identical sets of footsteps running towards him.

Aside from getting married, adopting Ruby and Victoria was the best decision Nina and Monét has ever made. The pair were adopted by the couple at eighteen months old, and it was love at first sight. They were absolutely adorable with big, brown eyes and small dimples. Bob had even joked that they ‘looked like Vanjie’. But unlike their friend (or Uncle José as he was now called), the girls were very shy and reserved until they’d gotten acclimated to their Manhattan apartment.

Now, however, the girls were completely at home. They looked forward to returning to their dads every day after kindergarten, knowing there was always a warm embrace (and snacks) waiting for them. Of course, this was their last day before winter break, so the enthusiasm was increased ten-fold.

“We writed letters to Santa today!” Victoria announced proudly, her sister nodding in agreement and fishing through her Frozen-themed backpack to pull out her list - which was now crumpled and a bit ripped after its journey. She handed it over, along with her sister’s, with a bright, front-toothless grin.

Monét looked between the lists and laughed. “I told y’all, we aren’t allowed puppies in the apartment. Ask Santa again when we move out to the suburbs.” He was amused, but also excited. They didn’t mention anything like their big present, so it would catch them totally by surprise – which, naturally, was his and Nina’s goal. “Now, you two go wash up, Daddy left your snacks in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Papa!” they chirped in unison, taking their bags to their bedroom and hanging up their coats before washing their hands.

Once the girls were in the kitchen and out of earshot, Bob turned to Monét. “You got everything all set up? They’re gonna lose their minds.”

“You know it,” he beamed broadly. “We’ll FaceTime you on location.”

—————

“Okay, now these last gifts are from Papa and I, and we think you’ll like them very much,” Nina grinned as two identically wrapped presents were set in front of the twins. The wrapping job wasn’t perfect - they never got around to asking someone that knew what they were doing - but considering the twins tore it apart instantly, it didn’t really matter.

“Suitcases?” Ruby asked, tilting her head.

“Open them up,” Nina encouraged.

The twins, perplexed, obliged. But when they unzipped the luggage and found them already full, they were intrigued. They took out each item one at a time – sunscreen, bathing suits, autograph books, Mickey Mouse sunglasses, costumes of their respective favorite characters. They were curious and seemed to be enjoying their gifts, but not all of the puzzle pieces were fitting together just yet.

Nina glanced at Monét, then back at the girls. “Now, where do you think we should take these things?” he gently prompted, nudging his husband to start filming.

Ruby and Victoria looked at each other, the wheels turning and turning before it finally clicked and they shouted “Disney World!” in unison. Once they got the nod of confirmation from their dads, they burst into elated screaming and bouncing up and down, then finally running and giving them both big hugs. “When do we leave?” Victoria asked once the initial excitement died down.

“Next Friday!”

—————

“You really couldn’t get them in a coordinated look?” Bob had finally stopped laughing long enough to read Monét on the girls’ costume choices. “Come on, you have to admit the two of them next to each other looks hysterical.”

Monét huffed and rolled his eyes. “What do you want from us? Ruby wouldn’t go as Anna and Vick wouldn’t go as Lilo. So, we got Elsa and Stitch. More importantly, we got two happy five-year-olds that get to go to Disney World, we’re gonna take what we can get.”

Bob put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. But you gotta make that your Christmas card for next year.”

“Goodbye, Bob.” Monét shook his head and hung up. He looked over at the twins and - not that he would ever say as much - it was amusing to see the wildly different (save for the color scheme) costumes. Nina had told him that they should be happy that the girls were embracing their own interests and not adhering to liking the exact same things in the name of being ‘twin’ enough.

“Papa! Ruby bit me!”

“I’m being Stitch! Stitch bites!”

Okay, he thought. They better get going before someone got hurt. “Knock it off you guys, or we’re not going to the gift shop,” he warned as he ushered the girls downstairs to meet up with Nina, who was loading their things into the rental car.

Monét guided the two of them through the hall and into the elevator, then weaved their way through the lobby and into the parking garage where Nina was just closing the trunk. “Everything all set?”

“Good to go,” Nina beamed and gave a thumbs up. “Wait, wait, I have to take a picture.” He scrambled to get his phone out and gathered them up for a family selfie. “Okay, now we’re good to go.” Soon the girls were strapped into their car seats and they were on the road.

By the time they approached the park, the twins had started chanting in enthusiasm. “Disney! Disney! Disney!” All four of them were chanting by the time they’d pulled into the parking lot.

With a place like Disney World, there were so many things to do, it could be overwhelming figuring out where to begin.

“Let’s go down Main Street and take it from there,” Nina suggested. And with that, they embarked on their Disney adventure, stopping every few minutes to take pictures or point out interesting things. Nina took particular pride in all the trivia and Easter eggs he was able to talk about, whether or not anyone was actually paying attention.

The constant onslaught of distractions was probably what caused the subsequent events. Nina had stopped the family to watch the Dapper Dan Quartet, and after listening, he suggested they take a quick picture. But as he turned around, his expression dropped. “Kevin… where’s Ruby?”

“She’s right –” Monét furrowed his brows and looked around. There was only their Elsa, no Stitch. “Uh oh.” He briskly ushered the other two off to the side. “Vick, did you see your sister go anywhere?”

“Horsey.”

Her two dads exchanged perplexed expressions. “Horsey?”

“She sawed a horsey and wanted to go say ‘hi’,” Victoria explained matter-of-factly. It was probably for the best that she didn’t realize her sister was lost.

Nina took a deep breath, doing his best to stay calm. “She couldn’t have gotten far, let’s just go to guest services and find out where they can make an announcement.” He scooped the remaining girl in his arms as they made a beeline to the building.

“We need someone to make a missing child announcement. Her name is Ruby Bertin-Levitt, she looks identical to her, but in a Stitch costume,” Monét spoke quickly but firmly, gesturing to Victoria so whoever was searching knew exactly what to look for.

The young woman at the desk listened intently, and in a matter of minutes, an announcement was made throughout the park. “Have a seat right over there, I’m sure she’ll be here real quick.”

Nina sat down with Victoria on his lap. “Maybe you should go look for her too, the more hands on deck the better.”

Unsurprisingly, Monét was out the door before his husband had even finished the suggestion. “See, this is why we had child leashes when I was a kid. You don’t wander off when you can’t,” he remarked. There was no way in hell he was returning back without his daughter. He’d upend the whole park if he had to.

“Thank God she didn’t go as Anna,” he muttered to himself. “There’s gotta be five hundred fucking Annas here.” He’d always embraced how Ruby was the less conventional of the two, but he never thought it would come in handy, definitely not like this.

He was only about five minutes into his search when his phone went off. “Hello? What happened? Did you find her?”

“We got her, bring it in.”

Monét turned on his heel and bolted back into the guest service building. He was greeted with a sight that almost made him burst out laughing.

Ruby was standing there, not with Nina or Victoria, not even someone on the park’s security team. Instead, she was standing and smiling with a Stormtrooper as if they were best friends.

“Apparently she thought they were part of the ‘robot police team’,” Nina explained before he could even ask.

“I said I needed to find my Ohana,” she nodded proudly.

He chuckled and picked her up, thanking the person profusely before they left to go back to their designated route. “Well, we’re very glad to have you back. You got us all worried.”

She hid her head in the crook of his neck. “‘M sorry, Papa.”

“It’s okay, we’re just glad you’re safe,” he assured.

“Can we go on the small world ride now?” Victoria chimed in. To her, the whole ordeal only cut into her ride time. She looked over at her sister, who was excitedly nodding in agreement.

Nina and Monét looked at each other and laughed softly. “Okay, let’s go.” They all re-entered Main Street, this time with a much closer eye kept on both girls. “You two hold hands,” he added. “And stay where we can see you!”

All chaos aside, their first day of vacation was an overall success. Their arms were full of souvenirs and camera rolls full of new memories.

“Next time just put trackers on them,” Bob had suggested with a laugh when the story was relayed to him.

Monét rolled his eyes before looking over at his daughters, who were cuddled up on the couch and winding down for the night with a movie. “Oh shut up. We’re all gonna look back and talk about how it brought us all closer one day.”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“It’s Disney, the cheesiness is what makes it fun,” he looked over at Nina, who was sorting through which souvenirs were their own and which were for family and friends.

But then Nina looked up and their eyes met, and he smiled that room-lighting smile. And Monét's heart skipped a beat the same way it always had when he was with his husband, with the warmth and adoration that he’d shared with the man for so long. In the same way he knew it always would be. Because, well, ohana.

[squirrelly831]

Discovers He’s a Serial Killer and He Refuses to Let Her Leave [Wonshik and Sanghyuk]

A bit more on the darker side of things. It strays away from the idea of love and more to control and so I leave you with that as my warning. There’s violence and lots of it for some members. You’ve been warned.

I’m not playing… There’s violence. Not for the weak hearted. Kind of yandere I guess?

Enjoy~

Wonshik

Hayun stumbled down the street as she tried to sober up before she returned home to Wonshik, her husband. He had always hated when she went out and drank a lot, but she had celebrated a promotion her best friend received. Hayun smiled at the thought of her loving husband. She knew he didn’t mean any harm about his worry of her drinking. He was just a worrywart about her safety. Especially with all the killings that had happened in the area. Hayun sent her husband a text to let him know she was on her way home. As she passed by a home, she heard a hair-rising scream from a woman that made her freeze. She looked at the home that was filled with darkness before she decided to go and check on the woman.

Hayun knocked on the front door only for it to eerily creaked as it opened slightly. She pressed her gloved hand to the door and pushed it open to look into the dark entrance, “Hello? Are you okay?” When she got no response, Hayun entered the home. She clutched her phone prepared to call the police if anything stuck out to her. She peeked into each room downstairs as a creak sounded above her. With a shaky breath, she made her way up the stairs and down the dark hall. She reached the last bedroom, “Hello?” She pushed it open and her eyes caught sight of someone sprawled on the ground. “Oh god! Are you okay?” She rushed to their side only to realize that the person was deceased. A pool of their own blood. “Oh my god” she dropped her phone in pure shock and disgust. She could tell that one of the eyes had been gouged out and she felt like she would throw up at the gruesome scene.

“Why are you here?” She screamed at the sudden deep angry voice. She fell back as she looked to see Wonshik above her and the body. He was covered with blood splatter and he held a knife secured around his heavy duty gloves. His eyes were filled with rage and his chest rose and fell as he took deep breaths, “You shouldn’t be here, Hayun” he growled. He took a step towards her and she crawled back in fear. “You weren’t supposed to be out–I tell you over AND OVER” his bloody glove went to his head as his anger grew. He pointed the knife at her, “YOU NEVER LISTEN! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LISTEN?” He struck the floor beside her. Hayun let out a cry as he was at her eye level. Wonshik reached out to her, but she pulled to her feet and ran out of the home ignoring the scream of her name.

He didn’t know what to expect when he returned home after placing the body out to be found by someone else. What he didn’t expect was to come home to no one home. Wonshik had Hayun’s phone in his pocket, so calling her was a useless thought. He had brought home flowers to make up with what she had seen. “Hayun?” He called out in concern. He checked each room and his fear only grew as each was empty. “Where could she have gone?” A light bulb clicked as he rushed to their shared bedroom and he swung open their closet. “No…” A large amount of her clothes were gone.  “No… No…NO! FUCK!” He yanked out his own clothes breaking the bar at the process. “NO! NO!” Wonshik’s eyes dilated as he threw down the nightstand behind him. He threw the alarm clock against the wardrobe mirror shattering it as he tore apart the room.

Once he calmed down, he broke into sobs. You’re weak his inner voice spat so fucking weak. It laughed at how pathetic he acted. Bring her back. If she fights you kill her… or replace the bitch. Wonshik knew he could replace Hayun, but all he wanted was her.

Only her.

His anger consumed him. His love became his obsession. His sobs had ceased as he looked up. His eyes were dark. Almost lifeless. There was only one thought that etched into his mind, If I can’t have Hayun, nobody can. Wonshik was determined to bring her back by any means. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she tried to fight him.

Sanghyuk

Leslye only found out about Sanghyuk being a serial killer because he became a prime suspect of the serial killings that had happened. She didn’t believe it at first until all the days he was out at work late seemed to correlate with the murders. It explained why he had clothes missing or why there would be small specs of blood that were on his outfits. Or when he would burn his clothes in their fireplace that she never bothered to question. However, she never relayed the information to police. Leslye’s only thought was getting away from Sanghyuk. She didn’t know that he was taken off the list of suspects, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It all lined up too well to be some mere coincidence.

As she left, she decided to leave him with a letter that would later be her big mistake. She etched out her six word sentence in the paper and slipped off her wedding ring before she fled.

When Sanghyuk returned home, he had planned to make Leslye dinner as he beat her home from work. He whistled as he shrugged off his suit jacket and made his way to their bedroom. As he entered the room, he felt it feel spacious compared to usual, but didn’t think a thing of it. However, when he hung up his jacket, that was when he noticed the lack of clothes in their closet. Sanghyuk checked the dresser to see only his clothes before going to the bathroom to see his things inside. Did she have a business trip? No, she wouldn’t take that much– the shine of the wedding ring on her nightstand drew his attention. His eyes widened as he rushed to the nightstand and examined the ring. That’s when he saw the note.

I can’t stay with a killer.

Sanghyuk crumpled the paper in his hand as he looked about the room. She left him. She knew who he was and she left. Sanghyuk let out a laugh as he doubled over. His hand pressed against half his face as he let out a maniacal laugh, “She thinks she can leave me?” A short laugh left his lips. “Do our vows mean nothing to her?” He went to his nightstand and lifted the fake bottom and pulled out his butcher knife as his eyes darkened. “Till death do us part.”

It didn’t take Sanghyuk long to find where Leslye went. He had every intentions to bring her back home with him whether she wanted to or not. He hung outside her home behind bushes as he watched her enter her apartment. Sanghyuk couldn’t kidnap her in broad daylight as he knew he’d have to dispose of any and all witnesses which would allow Leslye to escape. So he waited until nightfall. He crawled through one of her windows with ease, “I always tell her to lock the windows.” He noticed her cell phone charging on the nightstand, so he unplugged it and pocketed it. Then Sanghyuk chuckled as he made his way to the sounds of the tv playing. Leslye sat in the dark with the light of the tv in front of her to brighten up the room. He smirked as he crept up behind her chair and wrapped his arm around her chest to keep her from jumping. Sanghyuk pressed the cold blade to her neck. Leslye tried to move, but Sanghyuk pressed her back tighter, “Relax, it’s only me, love” his breath blew over her ear.

A cold shiver went down her back as her blood ran cold, “Hy-hyuk, how–

“You’re easy to find, babe. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

“How di-did you get in?”

He chuckled darkly, “You have a habit of leaving windows unlocked. I told you– you never know who could get in.” He pressed the knife harder making a small cut in her neck. His other hand let her go and turned her chin to force her to look at him, “Understand this love and understand it well. I will never let you walk away from me. The only way you’re leaving is” he grazed the blade against her throat, “if I slice your beautiful throat in two. And toss you into the Han River in a body bag.” He felt her shake under his grip and he smirked. He knew he made his threat clear, “Do you understand, love?” She nodded quickly and he tsked, “Verbal.” The knife pressed to her throat, “While I’m in a good mood.”

“I understand” she choked on her words as her tears swelled in her eyes.

Satisfied with her response, he put the knife down, “You know, that look really turns me on. Do you fear me?” He gave her a loving smile as he waited for a response. His lips fell as she didn’t reply. Sanghyuk growled as he reached out and pulled her head back by the hair, “When I ask you something I want a response!” She yelped in pain as she hurried out a yes. Sanghyuk let her go and chuckled, “See, it’s not hard. Now” his voice fell an octave as he moved from her, “get your shit and let’s go home.”

Leslye jumped from the chair and fled to her bedroom. She planned to get her phone, but noticed it wasn’t on the charger. She was trapped… She threw her things back into the suitcases she first had them in before she returned to the living room where Sanghyuk was reclined.

He had her phone in one hand and his blade in the other. Sanghyuk looked back at her and his face lit up, “Ready?”

“Yes…”

“Great! I’ll get the bags” he hopped off the sofa and took the two suitcases from her. He slipped his knife into one of them. “Kiss.” She hesitated before she leaned up and kissed him. Sanghyuk put one of the suitcases down and pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. He bit her lip playfully, something he did often. When he pulled back, he headed to her front door. “Let’s get out of here!” He grinned as the two left the apartment and returned to their shared home. Sanghyuk wouldn’t let her out of his sight once they were home.

Hakyeon and Taekwoon || Jaehwan and Hongbin

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ VIXX MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

[duocreatix]

Written confessions: a Good Omens headcanon

I recently had the opportunity to read this fanfiction, in which Crowley had a British pop band in the 1990s and wrote songs based on his own anxieties about Aziraphale. It sounded so appropriate to his character as a whole that I began to think... what similar could the angel do to vent his own anguish over an impossible romance with a demon?

Well, he's a bookseller, right? Why not write a book?

Aziraphale likes to read, obviously, but that doesn't mean it's good with written words. I honestly can't see him sitting at the table writing an entire novel, risking being caught by his superiors, producing a written proof of a fraternization that shouldn't happen, or forcing himself to imagine his whole story as one of someone else, as many brilliant authors do without hesitation.

So why not dictate a book instead?

As I live in Brazil, I'll use common elements of my reality here, one of them being the great popularity of Spiritism in my land. Spiritism is a religion / doctrine (read about it here) originated in France that deals with the evolution of the spirit through incarnations, and books dictated by disembodied spirits (and psychographed by mediums) are particularly well received in my country. As a collector of first editions and misspelled Bibles, it wouldn't surprise me if Aziraphale, at some point in the 19th century, had come across Allan Kardec's "Bible According to Spiritism," even though Spiritism wasn't so well received in the UK.

Or maybe even Heaven itself could designate Aziraphale to keep an eye on this new movement, which meets various precepts of the Catholic Church, and the angel spends a season in France watching the maturation and establishment of the fascinating Spiritist doctrine, which goes on to help as many anguished souls as possible on their way toward the light. He meets mediums, teachers, and spirit guides, who recognize in the angel an enormous weight without identifying exactly the cause. And, obviously, they offer help.

He hesitates, of course, but the kindness and willingness are a trigger for his weary soul, needy of at least one friend who understands his problem (he and Crowley parted ways after 1862, after all). And then he vented for hours, days, for the first time in 6000 years without feeling constrained by the fact that he was a supernatural entity... weren't they all there?

After a long (and emotional) outburst, one of the guiding spirits makes the kind suggestion: "Why not turn your incredible life story into a book? We have several mediums willing to write everything you narrate about all your millennia with your friend, and you don't even have to sign your real name! It'll help put your mind in place and consider everything you two experienced in a new light."

The angel considers the offer with great care for days. There was a real possibility of being discovered (and obviously punished) by Heaven if any of them knew that he had freely given his flaming sword, his encounters with the demon, and - most seriously of all - their Arrangement. He would need to think very carefully about which facts could be told and which should be omitted... But nothing terrified him more than the prospect of being discovered by Crowley in person, having his feelings revealed, being rejected, blackmailed, end up alone again...

Then he remembers, with a bittersweet feeling, that neither Heaven nor Crowley are interested in books, so neither side would even dream about the existence of such records if Aziraphale were cautious enough.

Then Aziraphale accepts. And, for several sessions, he sits next to a gentle middle-aged woman and discusses all the encounters and mismatches between him and Crowley, mindful to create a pseudonym for both of them. What should be a single book turns into a trilogy, titled "From the Garden to the World," and is one of the best-selling Spiritist books of the following years.

Dictating books doesn't solve his problems, of course, but brings some peace of mind that the angel no longer knew, and helps him focus for the next decades ahead without Crowley. And when his stability is threw off balance in 1941, he once more seeks the same guiding spirit and writes a new tale, published as "Reflections on Ruins" in France.

The intensity of narration filled with repressed emotions and the transgressive love of protagonists on opposite sides in a tense period in history wins the hearts of millions of readers around the world, and the four works signed by the spirit Erza Fell are translated into six different languages. Always in touch with spiritual friends made during his time in France, Aziraphale receives through them hundreds of letters from people who have found comfort and answers to their own love difficulties reading his. The courage of these strangers helps him reinforce his own courage to go against his own principles and hand over a small tartan thermos to Crowley filled with holy water in 1967...

Crowley doesn't discover the existence of such books by the blissful fact that he never goes into bookstores on his own, except when he's looking for some specific first edition for Aziraphale... who strives to keep the demon away from any spiritist book that might cross his path. This changes, however, during the period when both are focused on their own roles as influences for little Warlock.

Mrs. Dowling has a weakness for historical novels, especially narratives involving soul mates and rematches through the centuries. On a visit to the US, she returns with all the books written by the angel, and spends days talking about the story to Nanny Astoreth, how the protagonists seemed deeply in love with each other, how many hours she had spent sobbing while reading the fourth book. ... "You need to read to understand", she says, pushing the first volume into the nanny's hands, "I need at least one person in this country who has also read these books to chat about them!"

Crowley sighs, accepts the book politely, and buries it deep in his carpet bag, staying there for the next few years until the eve of Armageddon. Fidgeting in his apartment, he looks for things to distract his mind, and finds the old bag of his nanny days tucked into the back of the closet. There weren't exactly many things there, just a lamp, a large mirror, extra pairs of shoes, a tape measure ... and a crumpled book that would make Aziraphale shiver.

The demon laughs at the cover, two hands holding an apple at the same time (gosh, how many memories ...), and the author's name - or would it be co-author? How did that work in spiritist books? - sounded curiously familiar, but the smile fades from his face when his eyes are drawn to a specific paragraph, right in the first pages:

"I never thought too much about the implications of having a demon under my wing, we were probably the only two beings capable of dialogue at that time in Eden, and the first storm was too long, too cold, to pass by myself, even if it meant passing with a vile serpent. The same serpent I hoped it would never leave my side for the next six thousand years. "

Crowley swallows hard, feeling his mouth as dry as a desert. This description invoked memories too old, too intimate, to be described by someone who hadn't lived them. But Aziraphale wouldn't have had the audacity to write his own experiences on Earth so openly, would he?

Well, there’s only one way to find out: reading the book.

 In the end, Aziraphale had indeed the audacity to write their story from his own point of view, the bastard.

It was odd, reviewing millennia of memories through someone else's eyes, but at least it helped him to understand the angel's attitude on multiple occasions and, even more surprising, the impact their fraternization had on his worldview (not enough, apparently, but bigger than he expected).

Bustling, Crowley finishes the first book in one hour and set out on a rampant search for the next three books in London, with no patience to order them online (who could say the world would still be there after Saturday?). Dozens of bookstores later, the demon found the only specialized bookshop in the region and, after intense negotiation with the seller (Why were all tallow owners so greedy???), he finally sits in his apartment with the stack of books on one side and two bottles of whiskey on the other.

Many hours go by, and two bottles aren't enough for Crowley to continue absorbing so much information (he summons other three), reliving scenes he'd like to forget ...

"I should never have used the term 'fraternize', but what else could I say with Heaven and Hell watching us, while the only constant being in this mutating world suddenly asks me for something that could erase him from all the planes of existence?"

(Oh, that afternoon in 1862, what he wouldn’t give to go back in time and cover his own mouth before saying that hateful "I don't need you"... He needed, God knows well how much he needed his angel and mourned over their distance through the following 80 years!)

It isn't any easier to read what comes after that day. The loneliness, the desperate need for something that would made Aziraphale less empty finding echo in Crowley's chest, an ache of empathy that a real demon would never feel in their eternal life. He finishes "Reflections on Ruins" with a sigh, laying on the ground and staring at the ceiling for minutes that looked like hours to him. The world hasn't changed, they were still one step away from Armageddon and the Antichrist was still missing, Heaven and Hell were just waiting for their moment tho start the war they longed for millennia.

But all he could think was how much he wanted to look at Aziraphale's big blue eyes once more.

Crowley inhales deeply ans sobers up before picking up his phone and dialing the number of the bookshop. He doesn't have a plan, but he can think of anything on his way to the bandstand.

[killitquick]

A Joke.

 Request: Can u please do 82 with Michael gray peaky blinders. 

Warnings: blood and death mentioned. 

Finn, Isiah, and Michael were drinking together down by the cut. It was a warm summers evening and the boys had a bottle of whisky between them. You were at home however writing a paper for class. You were studying to be a nurse and nothing was going to get in your way. Not even Michael Gray. This was going to be one of your last papers of the year and you wanted it to be good. So good that it would be Mindy Fabriello’s. She was dumber than a sac of hammers but somehow she managed to get by and somehow her paper seemed to be better than yours by huge margins. So you had sent Michael out to so you could just sit in silence and work in peace. 

You suppose it’s your fault for what transpired that day because you sent him away. You figured he’d go to the office and work on some business stuff for Shelby Ltd. but you were wrong. You had never thought that he would go and get dumb and dumber. 

Michael lay in the grass his hands behind his head creating a make shift pillow. His eyes were closed in blissful drunkenness and his skin soaked up the last few rays of the sun. Michael drifted in and out when he heard Finn start talking. 

“ Wouldn’t it be funny if” 

You were sitting in the living surrounded by notes, text books, and crumpled up pieces of paper. You notices the sun dipping down and sigh. You were becoming frustrated beyond belief and you had wished that Michael would come waltzing in through the door. You were hoping that he would come and take your mind off of things. At the thought of Michael you started to feel the familliar twinge of want start coursing through your veins. 

As if god himself answered your prayers you heard the door open and slam into the wall. You were confused for about a second before Isiah came running in out of breath with blood all over. 

“ It’s Micheal, he’s hurt bad” he wheezes out. 

Everything in your hands and lap drops too the floor. You stand up in a rush knocking over the coffee table sending tea all over the floor. You don’t even stop to put on shoes you just run after Isiah. You dress flows behind you as you run through Small Heath after Isiah.  When you get there you see Finn pacing also covered in blood. There’s something stick out of Michael and you can see the blood all over his creme coloured shirt you had passed him this morning. It’s all over his face and neck and you gasp at the sight.  You rush to his side and check to see if he’s breathing when he body lurches forwards. 

A scream erupts out of you and you propel yourself backwards. The sound of the boys laughter hits your ears and you catch your breath as you see Michael with a dazzling smile on his face.  You see his mouth move but you’re so confused you can’t wait hear what he’s saying. 

“ It’s just a joke baby, I swear” he laughs out. Hands clutching his sides.  

Your mouth opens and you plan to yell but all that comes out is a choked sob. The tears roll hotly down your face and you can’t contain it. You had felt everything in you stop when you saw him lying there, everything in you ran cold but you held on because you needed to. You’re training had kicked in and you went straight to work pushing down any feelings you may have had but the crisis had been averted and everything burst in you. 

The boys laughing die out as they watch you sob on the ground. Isiah quickly notices your bare and now black feet and he frowns. Finn was right it would be funny but now it wasn’t and he had felt the pit of dread start to grow in his chest. Your house wasn’t far from here and so he took off to your home to grab your shoes for you. Michael had never seen you cry and knowing he was the direct cause of it made his heart break. He thought the idea was a good one but he was also drunk.  He watched as your from crashed in on itself and he stumbled forward reaching for you. Collecting you into his arms he held you as you sobbed. 

“ Im sorry. Im so sorry” he repeats into your hair. 

Finn watches horrofied. He didn’t think it would go like this and he didn’t think he’d feel like this. He just stood there and watched as Michael tried to console you. He supposed the idea was a tad cruel and a sober Finn would have never even thought of it, but he had and it was directly his fault. Finn looked around for Isiah and saw he was running back towards the group with a pair of shoes in his hands.  

“ ‘ere, I got your shoes” you here Isiah say. 

You had stopped crying and now just sat in Michael's arms covered in red paint that in the heat of the moment look strikingly like blood. 

“ Thank you.” You say pulling them on.  

Michael took you home right then and there. You guys shared a bath cleaning all of the bright red off of your bodies, and then went to bed. Since Michael was still quite drunk he had fallen asleep quite easily with you pressed against his chest. However you couldn’t sleep you were wide awake. You had slipped downstairs and sat in the living room turning on the lights, you quickly finished your essay and tucked everything away into your school bag.  You sat in the silence and a plan formulated in your head. What happened today would not go silently in the night, oh no!  

Michael was a heavy sleeper, that he knew.  He was an even heavier sleeper when he had been drinking, usually you would wake him up with breakfast and coffee and he would sing your praise because “ damn woman you make a mean breakfast, and this coffee could bring the dead back to life” but today that didn’t happen. Michael awoke because of the sun being high in the sky flooding the bedroom with natural light. He groaned and rolled over searching for you body but couldn’t find it. He opened his eyes to see that all of your dresser drawers were left open and empty.  Immediately sitting up Michael then notices the closet door and how all of your dresses were gone too.  He jumped out of bed flying down the stairs looking for any existence of you but he couldn’t find anything. Michael was distraught he had never felt this panicked in his life, and he literally had a gun in his head once. He ran back upstairs and noticed the letter addressed to him on the night side table. 

Dear Micheal, 

After the stunt you pulled yesterday I no longer feel safe in this house. I can not be with someone who thinks a joke as cruel as that is funny.  you’ve broken my heart and I have nothing left to say but goodbye. 

xx (Y/N) 

Time stopped, it was like everything was working in slow motion now. He had no idea where you could have even gone but he knew he needed you back. He couldn’t do anything by himself. You had taken care of everything for him since you guys had started to date. How was he to survive without your love.  He pulled on pants and a random shirt and ran down the stairs. He stopped to put his shoes on but that’s the only time he did stop. He ran all the way to Polly’s house where he banged on the door with all his might. His chest was heaving his throat was burning and he could feel the familiar sting of tear right behind his eyes.  The door opens and he starts yelling for his mum. 

“ What’s wrong” Arthur asks 

“ She’s gone. She left. It’s all my fault”  Michael puffs as he makes his way into his mothers house.

 It isn’t till he gets to the parlour that he hears your laugh.  He can hear you talking with Polly and Ada about the betting shop.  He walks into the room and see you there in all of your glory. Your hair is pinned up out of your face but the sun is caught in and it makes it seem like you’re glowing. Like you have a hallow above your head. His knees are weak with need as he watches you laugh. 

“ Darling. Y-Your note” Michael says catching your attention. 

Your eyes slide up his body. His hair is in thirty different directions his shirt is un tucked and his shoes are hardly done up. You take a sip of tea letting the hot liquid slide down your throat before you respond. 

“ Oh that!” you exclaim a smile wide on your pretty face 

“ Yea that” Michael grumbles 

“ That was just a joke love”