#my inbox and comment section are wide open

[violetvoid-colorpower-wisp]

Guess What, Fellas? I’m writing an Origin Story Fic!

Hey do you like sonadilver? Do you like my sonadilver centered AU? Are you looking for a regularly updating fic to consume in weekly intervals?

Well boy howdy do I have something special for you. I’m writing a fic about how The Boys met, when they caught feelings for each other, and the first big adventure they went on together.

I’ll be posting a chapter every Friday, and y’all will be the first to hear about it.

This fic takes place 5 years before the art I’ve been posting this week, and all of the characters are roughly on-model with their canon designs. 

I may also be making some supplementary art for it, so stay tuned! I’m very happy with how it’s turned out so far, and I hope y’all will have as much fun reading it as I have been making it.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Remember You Even When I Don't (6)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.0K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

By the time the two of you untangle yourselves from the porch and make your way back inside, the moon was high in the sky, the sun long disappeared. Your stomach is rumbling, and Bradley realizes how late it is. 

“I can make something for dinner.”

Despite the emotional rollercoaster you’d been on this evening, you chuckle, and something eases inside of him. 

“Your cooking hasn’t improved in the last four years,” you tease softly. 

He rolls his eyes, chuckling at you. “I bet I can still make a mean grilled cheese. Take a seat.” 

Your grin is wide as you settle onto one of the bar stools at the island, watching him work. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen from you in the last two weeks, and his heart races knowing that he’s the cause of it. 

The crusts are only a little bit burnt, but you insist that you like them that way. You talk while you eat, and it’s like the tension that had been hovering over you has diminished. When the plates are loaded into the dishwasher and the kitchen lights are flipped off, you let out a shuddering breath and hold out your hand. 

“You can sleep in our bed,” you whisper, and Bradley’s heart clenches in something that feels like relief. You give a little shrug, self conscious of your own words, like he would ever possibly reject you, “Just sleep. If you want.” 

He takes your hand and lets you guide him. Your hand feels at home in his, the warmth of your rings is smooth against his calloused skin. 

Your shared bedroom was the one room he hadn’t explored yet. The furniture is wood toned and there are flashes of green and gold and orange. He can tell which side of the bed is his right away by the books on the nightstand, and there’s still a sweatshirt of his strewn over the chair in the corner by the closet door. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser and he thinks there may be a section in there for his uniform pins, too. 

He can feel you in here so strongly. More than that, though, he can feel himself, and the two of you together. He can sense, more so than in the rest of the house, that this space is purely for the two of you. 

You go into the en suite bathroom to change, leaving him in the bedroom to do the same, and he knows which drawers are his and which ones aren’t. He sinks down on his side of the bed, picking up the picture frame that’s there by an F18 manual and a Captain America comic book. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as he looks at it. You’re both bundled up in head to toe green and white Eagles gear and wrapped around one another. There’s snow falling and there’s crowds of people and the field in the background and the two of you look so happy, and Bradley knew the happiness had nothing to do with the game. 

“We lost that one.” 

He looks up and his breath catches. You’re walking toward him in a shirt that has to be a few sizes too big for you, Top Gun emblazoned across the chest. Your hair is piled on your head and you’re still rubbing some of your moisturizer into your face. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to how beautiful you were. 

“Did we?” he manages, and his heart thuds in his chest when you round the bed to pull down the comforter on your side, throwing all of the throw pillows onto the floor. 

“We did. It was actually a terrible game.”

Bradley looks back down at the photo, tracing the smile on your face before he sets it back down, and something tells him the score wasn’t what really mattered to him that day. He stands, mimicking your motion of turning down the bed. “We looked like we were having a good time.”

You pause for a moment, giving him a gentle smile and a nod. “We were. It was an amazing weekend.”

There was a distance enough for another body between you when you switch the light off and slip under the covers. The room is quiet and he can hear both of your breathing. Your eyes are trained on one another from across the expanse of the king size bed, and Bradley feels his fingers twitch. 

This didn’t feel right, laying like this. 

He scoots forward, closer to the center of the bed, and you do the same. Before he realizes what he was doing, he has an arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him. Your breath catches in your throat and he pauses. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered, and Bradley wondered if you could hear him swallow his nerves. 

“I think - we don’t sleep on opposite sides. Right? I usually…hold you?” He’s unsure now, panicking a little bit, but you slowly rest a hand on his chest over his racing heart. If you felt how hard it was beating, you didn’t comment on it. 

“You do,” you confirmed, your gaze open and full of trust and compassion. “But I want you to do what feels comfortable to you.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A tickle is there in his mind again, and he reaches for it. 

The arm that had pulled you to him brings you a little bit closer, and he lets his hand rest on your hip. 

“This?” you murmur, and Bradley nods as he brushes a shy kiss into your hair. 

“Yeah,” he whispers with a gentle squeeze of your hip, “this is a lot better.”

————-

Sleeping in the same bed with you is the best sleep he thinks he’s ever gotten. He feels rested in a way he can’t remember feeling before, and he knows deep in his bones that this has always been what it feels like with you. 

He comes to wakefulness slowly, and vanilla and lavender immediately fill his senses. Your hair is in his face and he marvels at how soft it is against his skin. Your back is flush against his chest, one arm wrapped tight around you while the other is trapped under your pillow. He’s so comfortable, so content having you in his arms like this, that he can’t help but press closer. It feels so right, so familiar, that he forgets that he doesn’t remember always having this for a moment. 

He nuzzles into your neck, finding your skin and pressing a gentle kiss there. 

You smell so good, and you’re soft, too. 

His hand spreads out where it was resting on your stomach. His fingertips circle over the material of the oversized shirt you’re wearing that he suspects might be his.  

You shiver, and Bradley can feel his body react to the movement. 

You’re invading every single one of his senses right now. 

You hum, reaching back to thread your fingers through his sleep mussed hair. His nose trails up your neck, inhaling the scent of you as his lips place fluttering kisses against your skin. His palm presses into your cotton covered stomach, almost as if to try and pull you impossibly closer. You let out a soft, sleepy sound that shoots straight through him. He thrusts his hips into yours from his spot behind you, grinding slowly. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he can’t help but scrape his teeth against your jugular, soothing it over with his tongue. 

“Bradley,” you moan. His name breaks through the fog that had settled over his mind and the two of you freeze. His breathing is heavy, and so is yours, and he doesn’t want to move from this spot. But you shift in his arms just far enough away to turn so that you’re laying facing him. Your eyes are wide and your face is flushed. For a moment, Bradley swears he can see you sprawled in this bed, your hair a halo on the pillow with your head thrown back as he moves on top of you. He blinks and the image is gone, but you’re still right here, staring at him with such longing and pure want. He knows he shares the same look. 

Your shared breathing is the only sound that fills the room for a long moment, and he swears that the more he looks at you, the hotter and harder he feels. No one has ever had this effect on him. The tension was thick over the two of you. 

“Good morning, Pumpkin,” he finally rasps. He doesn’t think you mean to let out the whimper that you do, but the sound makes him dizzy. He swallows, trying to reign himself in. 

Sleep, you had said the night before, just sleep. 

“Morning,” you respond, your voice breathy.  Bradley has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a calming breath. When he opens them, your gaze has shifted to something of curiosity, but the previous heat still simmers there, too. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Great,” you mutter, but your eyes have moved further down his face, “You?” 

“So good,” he breathes, watching you as you watch him. Your hand twitches on the sheets from where they rested in the small space between your two bodies. You raise it slowly, letting your fingertips graze the stubble that had appeared on his chin the last few days. You looked like you were almost in a trance, and he wondered if you could feel how hard his heart was beating. Your thumb ghosts near his bottom lip. He sucks in a breath of air, shifting just the slightest bit closer to you. Your eyes flicker back up to his.

You look as wrecked as he feels. He had to get out of this bed. But he also wants to prolong this torture for as long as he could. You were addicting, in every single way. 

“I’m uh, I’m sorry for the wake up call,” he stutters out. 

You hum in response, your fingertips still exploring his face. They trace over the scars, and he didn’t think the thing he hated so much could possibly be an erogenous zone until this moment, because a flash of fire goes through him again. “I thought I was dreaming,” you admit softly. 

Bradley gulps, but he doesn’t resist the urge he feels to settle his hand on your hip. Your eyes flutter shut and he squeezes softly. His thumb mimics yours, rubbing slowly back and forth. He wishes there wasn’t cotton separating him from feeling your skin. 

“Is that something you dream about?” he dares himself to ask. 

Your lips part and your breathing shifts. You turn your face into the pillow slightly, almost like you’re fighting against yourself. When your eyes open again, it’s like you’re staring directly into his soul. 

“Yes.” 

He wasn’t prepared for you to answer him, and he really needs to get out of this bed. He was finally getting somewhere with you after two weeks of awkward tension, and he really didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast, despite every instinct in him saying this was completely natural between the two of you. 

He squeezes your hip again, lingering for a moment, before forcing himself to roll away from you. “I’m going to go take a shower.” 

His voice is hoarse, rougher than it had been. When he takes a peek at you over his shoulder from his spot sitting on the edge of the bed, there’s the smallest of smirks pulling at your lips. You know the effect you have on him. He likes that. 

“Use the en suite,” you suggest, snuggling back into the blankets that surround you. “The water pressure is better.” 

He finds it hard to look away from how your hair is spread out all over the pillow and how he can see the outline of your body through the white sheets. He forces himself to stand, but before he can take a step, your hand shoots out to grab his. 

“It’s okay,” you murmured, and he didn’t realize he needed reassurance of what had just transpired until he had it. He squeezes your hand in thanks and you let it drop, rolling onto your back as he walks into the bathroom. He debated for a second if he should close the door, settling on leaving it cracked just the smallest amount. He wanted you to know that if you needed in here before he was done, he was okay with that. 

Stripping down and stepping into the steam, he groans in relief. The water pressure was better here. 

The shower was spacious, despite there being a larger tub in the room as well. In what was meant to be a fleeting thought, he wondered which one you preferred, and suddenly he could see it so clearly, you laying in a bath full of bubbles, your hair on top of your head and candles lit throughout the room, beckoning him toward you with a coy smile on your face. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, trying to shake the visual away. He braces himself against the wall of the shower, letting the hot water rain over him, and he could just as clearly see your back pressed against the same tiles. He swears he can feel your weight in his arms as he holds you up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands curling into fists. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, right? He should give it more time. But then his mind conjures up the taste of your skin from just a few minutes ago, and the way your body felt pressed against his. 

He catches sight of your shampoo and conditioner bottles on the corner shelf and remembers how amazing your hair smelt when his face was buried in your neck. He reached for the bottle of conditioner, popping the cap and bringing it to his nose. He inhales deeply and has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. 

He shakes his head again, but it was a futile attempt; all he can think about was you. He can still hear the soft little mewl you let out when you felt him against you as you woke up, and the whimper when he said good morning. 

It takes him a moment to realize it might not just be echoing through his head.

It’s quiet, so quiet that he steps out from under the water to make sure it was even there. He stands completely still, holding his breath, and oh, fuck. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, because he can hear you. Just barely, but when he strains his ears hard enough, the softest of moans floats through the hardly there crack he left in the door. A quiet hum follows it, and he knows, as surely as he knows that he’s falling for you quicker than he can comprehend, again, that you’re laying in the bed the two of you share, bringing yourself pleasure. 

He doesn’t stop himself this time from bringing a hand down to wrap around himself. He hisses at the contact. He’s so hard that it hurts; he knows he’s not going to last long. He’s slow with it at first, so focused on his ability to hear you. His grip is firm as he touches himself with complete strokes, squeezing when he gets to the base. As you speed up, so does he. 

He closes his eyes, tilting his head back as one hand remains braced against the tiles. He tightens his grip and through his shuddery breaths, he can almost feel what your touch would be like instead. Your hands are soft, not sporting the same calluses that he does. After a sparing moment of consideration, he reaches for your conditioner again, squirting a small amount into his hand before he grips himself again. The smell of lavender and vanilla surround him like a blanket and he groans. Yes.  

He’s hit with a muffled moan of his name, your voice catching and a breathy gasp leaving you, and he somehow knows that’s the way you sound when you climax. 

The shift in him is instant. He doesn’t hold back, jerking himself in earnest. He’s desperate for it now, picturing you spread out in that big bed, your chest heaving, and it’s the knowledge that just as he's thinking of you, he has no doubt that you’re thinking of him, too, that finally pushes him over the edge. 

Because you’re his wife, and he’s your husband. 

He’s still recovering from the power of it, fighting to catch his breath, when a soft knock echoes at the door. His eyes shoot in that direction, but the shower curtain blocks him from seeing anything. 

“Bradley,” you call, and the sound of his name from your mouth, so different from how he just heard it, almost makes him groan out loud again, “Do you mind if I come in and brush my teeth really quick?”

“Please,” he grits out, immediately flushing at the needy tone of his voice. He wants to be able to tell you to join him in the shower - to pull you in here with him and recreate the image of holding you against the tiles that he thought he saw in his head. He wants to say so much more. But instead, all he said was, “Be my guest.”

_______

There’s a noticeable shift following your night on the porch and your morning in bed. There’s less hesitation from both of you. Bradley didn’t know if things would ever be whatever used to be the same, but they’re better, so, so much better, and he thinks that together, maybe you can find a new normal. 

He had been worried initially that there would be that same awkward tension that had filled the house after he woke you up the way he did on the first night he slept with his arms wrapped around you. Instead, though, there’s a different kind of tension. Something anticipatory and exciting. He doesn’t shy away from initiating contact with you anymore, and neither do you. 

He starts seeing flashes, after that night. They aren’t always full fledged memories, but it’s enough. His dreams are more detailed than that first week provided him. He doesn’t shy away from asking you about them anymore, and from underneath the blankets of your shared bed, you fill in the blanks for him.

You honeymooned in Mexico. The two of you only lived in your small DC apartment together for a few months before you moved to California, where you bought and renovated this home together. He’s developed a love for seafood, and you’re allergic to bees. 

He loves waking up like that with you, even if it’s only been happening for less than a handful of days. 

He knows, in the deepest parts of him, that he loves you. His mind may not remember, but his body does. His heart does. He knows it instinctively and that night and next morning gives him the courage to lean into it, to explore it, even if he’s not ready to really say it out loud again. 

He wants to do something special for you. His heart is racing in his chest as he makes his way up the stairs. You’re in your home office, catching up on a few emails from the last few weeks you’ve been on leave. You’re curled up in your desk chair in an oversized sweater, your hair bunched on the top of your head and your glasses perched on your nose; even now, you completely blow him away. 

He clears his throat and knocks his knuckles against the door frame. A smile instantly appears on your face when you turn to him. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” He asks. He’s so nervous his palms are sweating. 

“Never. What’s up?” 

He notices how your eyes shift down to his right arm, where his hand is noticeably behind his back hiding something from you. Inhaling a deep breath, he unveils a small bouquet of wildflowers, holding them out to you. 

You gasp, a look of surprise overtaking you, and your eyes lift back to meet his as you gently take the arrangement from him. 

“I was wondering if you had any plans tonight?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I feel like I’m maybe about to.”

The blush is instantaneous; you’re the only one who has ever been able to get reactions Iike this from him - no wonder he married you. You had no problem in keeping him on his toes and oh, he loved that. 

He clears his throat again, determined not to let you completely overpower him like this, if only for his own ego. He stands up a little straighter, sending you a smirk and a wink even as he could still feel the heat on his face. 

“Be ready to go by 7,” he tells you, turning to walk out of the room before tossing over his shoulder, “dress nice.”

————-

His brain short circuits when you come down the stairs right at 7:00 that night.

You’re in a dark green dress that seems to flow down your body to your calves. The sleeves are billowy but clinch tight at your wrists. Your hair is down and your makeup is done and he wants to kiss that soft shade of pink right off your lips.

“Wow,” he whispers, “you look…”

For a second, he sees you opening the door for him instead of walking down the staircase. He’s seen this before, he thinks. 

When he fails to finish, you laugh nervously. “Nice, I hope?”

But Bradley shakes his head.  “Beautiful,” he says instead, “you look beautiful.”

He made reservations at a nice restaurant not too far from your house, and he’s glad he hasn’t been cleared to drive just yet, because there’s no way he would have been able to concentrate on the road with you in his passenger seat looking like that. 

His hand is firm on the small of your back as he leads you inside. Even in your pretty nude shoes, he’s still a head taller than you, and he can’t help but puff his chest knowing that everyone who saw you walk in together knows that you’re here with him. 

He gives the hostess his name, rubbing small circles on your back as you wait. You shiver at his touch and move just the slightest bit closer to him. He can feel the side of your body against his side. 

His bubble bursts, however, when the red headed hostess gives him an remorseful, panicked look. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bradshaw. I was the one you spoke with this morning but I accidentally put your reservation for this time next week. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Looking behind her into the restaurant itself, he knows it would be futile to ask if there were any reservations available for tonight. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to curb his frustration at the situation. She couldn’t be older than 22 or 23, and she looks genuinely apologetic at the situation. With a deep sigh, he musters a reassuring smile, telling the young girl that it was okay. 

To his surprise, you don’t seem upset at all. In fact, you look practically giddy at the disruption of his plans. 

“We can go somewhere else,” you swear, nearly bouncing in your heels, tugging him out of the crowded restaurant. 

“You look incredibly happy for someone who might not be getting dinner tonight.”

You throw your head back as you lead him toward your car, your laughter spreading through the full parking lot. “Like you’d ever let me starve.”

His lips quirk, knowing that no, he would certainly not. 

When you get to the car, instead of unlocking it, you whip around to face him. You had turned so fast that he doesn’t have time to keep himself from running into you. He grabs onto your waist to keep from knocking you over, but leaves them there when you settle your hands on his chest. 

“Forget trying to impress me with fancy dinners. What’s something fun you used to do on weekends when you were a kid? I want you to take me there.” 

He sucks in a breath and his hands tighten on your waist. 

Suddenly, he’s in another parking lot. It’s colder outside, but under the jacket you’re wearing, he spots the same green dress. Your hair is a little bit shorter, maybe a little bit darker, but your eyes sparkle in the shine of the street lights just as they are now. You’re leaning against the side of his Bronco, speaking the exact same words after another messed up reservation. 

When he snaps out of it, one of your hands has moved to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his skin. 

This wasn’t the first time this has happened on a first date with you, and suddenly your giddiness makes sense. The two of you are getting almost an exact do-over, even if he didn’t realize it at first.  

He leans in and kisses you. You let out a surprised sound, but don’t hesitate in returning it, your nails scratching through the scruff on his face before coming back down to settle on his chest. When he pulls away, both of you are grinning. 

“How do you feel about arcade games and pizza?” 

Two hours later, you had demolished an arcade bar pizza and mozzarella sticks, and he was sipping on a cheap beer while you had a vodka and ginger ale, and he truly can’t remember ever being so happy. He had beat you at ski ball and Pac Man, but you were giving him an absolute run for his money at air hockey. Seeing you so dialed in directly across from him was distracting, and when he tried to use that as his excuse when you inevitably beat him, your giggle mixed in with the loud games and music surrounding them.

He holds your hand tightly as you weave your way through the crowded arcade, trying to find the giant jenga you promised you’d beat him at. He’s starting to buzz a little bit underneath his skin, jittery in a way that he thinks may be a normal side effect of being in your presence. When you finally break your way through the crowd to the outdoor area of the bar, he pulls you away from where all the other people are, finding a corner outside of the reach of the lights they have woven through the palm trees and around the building. He pushes you gently into the brick, mindful of your head and your dress and the heels you’re still wearing. 

“I think I remember how this ended the first time,” he says, resting one hand on your hip while the other braces against the building beside your head, effectively caging you in. 

“Oh yeah?” you breathe out, threading your fingers through your hair. 

He hums in response, leaning in to whisper in your ear, all the people and sound fading away from around the two of you, “I told you I loved you.” 

Your fingers tighten in his hair for a moment, and he lets you tug him away from your neck to meet your eyes again. 

“I told you you were crazy then, saying that on our first date,” you provided, and Bradley nods, agreeing with you. You gulp slightly, but your eyes are still shining, hopeful and happy. 

“And now?” you whisper, bringing both arms to wrap around his neck, “how are you feeling now?” 

He takes a step closer until his body is flush against yours. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent of you, and places a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’m feeling like I’m remembering why I said it the first time, and why I said it every time after that, too.” 

You push yourself up, capturing his lips with yours, and like he thought over three years ago, he thinks he could kiss you for the rest of his life and die happy. 

It’s after midnight when the two of you get home. He intertwined his fingers with yours as soon as you both got out of the car. He doesn’t let go when you step into the house from the garage, or as you kick off the nude heels you had worn all night. Florry perks her head up from where she’s laying on top of one of the pillows on the couch, but settles back down when she notices it’s just the two of you. You don’t bother turning any of the lights on, making your way to and up the stairs. He tugs you to a halt when you reach the open door to your bedroom. You raise an eyebrow, silently questioning him. 

“I know I’ve been sleeping in there with you the last few days,” he murmurs, “but I can’t walk you to your front door like on a proper date. The bedroom door seems like the next best thing.”

The small smile you had on your face the whole way home quirks up even higher as you take a step over the threshold and into the room, keeping his hand in yours as you go. “I asked you inside that night, too. Come to bed, sweetheart.” 

He holds you tight that night, his legs intertwined with yours and his arm draped over your waist as you lay facing him. You don’t do more than exchange a few long, lingering kisses, because despite how much he wants to take it further, he knows the two of you aren’t there yet. 

He’s going to earn it, to be certain that you love this version of him as much as you loved the version he doesn’t quite remember yet. He’s looking forward to proving it to the both of you that you can. 

-------

Part Seven :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! Nervous is an understatement. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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[yoongisleftshoulder]

BTS Reacts: Biracial S/O Experiences Racism

A/N: Of course, something like this can be a touchy subject and I will take full responsibility if I write anything offensive or incorrectly. As I've said in previous pieces like this, you are welcome to call me out on any mistakes so I can learn and do better. I personally am not biracial nor have I experienced racism of the sort but my inbox is always open if you need support or someone to stand with you. Also, I apologize but I couldn't find credits for some of the gifs used. I take no credit for the making of them.

TW: General racism, bullying

JIN:

Jin couldn't believe it when you pulled up an antis hate themed blog focused around you. He knew there would be some heat once your relationship was revealed to the public but he never thought people would be low enough to create an entire blog to bully you and insult you just based off of your skin color. It almost blew his mind that someone would take the time to put you down so badly. Jin would gently take your phone out of your hand and close the page, setting the phone down and out of view.

"Don't pay attention to a word they're saying. They're not worth your time, you're perfect the way you are."

Jin made sure the blog and nasty racist comments thrown at you were forgotten quickly, reassuring you that they were meaningless and simply not true.

YOONGI:

Yoongi had been out with Jin picking up food for the two of you when you decided to watch a few video compilations on YouTube that some fans had created for your relationship with him. Most of them were cute and wholesome videos with nothing but positivity in the comment section and you found yourself smiling widely throughout your time reading them. However, on the last video you had chosen, the comments made your heart sink. You weren't sure why they were there all of the sudden but many users had written harsh racist insults towards you, some even going as far as writing out threats. You knew it was stupid and the words were empty and didn't really mean anything but you couldn't control the tears that were forming in your eyes, eventually beginning to spill down your cheeks. Just as you were at peak sobbing and second guessing yourself, wondering if Yoongi really loved you as much as he said, he walked in the door, food bags in hand. Immediately, when he saw you curled up on the couch crying, he dropped the bags and sat on the cushion adjacent to you. He started rubbing your arm, unsure whether or not doing anything further was going to upset you.

"Woah, what's wrong sweetheart?" Your boyfriend asked, his voice soft.

Between sniffles, you did your best to explain how so-called 'fans' were being incredibly racist towards you and saying Yoongi deserved someone of his own race.

Yoongi couldn't believe what he was hearing and was only able to muster out a quiet "What the fuck?" He was pissed to know you were upset and pissed that anyone could say such things to you.

"Don't listen to those assholes, they don't know you and they will NEVER know me. I love you, you're perfect the way you are. They're probably just jealous that there's nothing even mildly interesting about them. They mean nothing."

HOSEOK:

*Ping*

*Ping*

*Ping*

Your phone had been blowing up more than usual. Your boyfriend, Hoseok, was sitting next to you so you opted to check it, wondering who else would be sending you so many texts. Lit up on your screen were texts from your best friend, telling you not to listen to what people are saying on Twitter and that all of those people were wrong about you. Confusion washed over you as you opened the Twitter app to see what was going on. The first thing you saw was your relationship with Hobi on the trending list. Your heartbeat sped up as you tapped on the link to checkout the corresponding posts. As soon as it opened, you were met with post after post about the live you did with him yesterday, where you had revealed your face for the first time. There were comments saying how pretty you were and how sweet you seemed, of course, but among these comments were floods of hate speech. Every single negative comment had to do with the fact that you were biracial. You suddenly closed the app, tossing your phone to the side, startling Hoseok. He closed the book he had been reading in the chair across from you and asked you what was wrong, moving to sit aside you when he noticed tears pooling in the corner of your eyes. All you told him was to check Twitter. Taking out his own phone, he clicked on the trending HoseokxYN link and skimmed through the posts and comments. He very quickly put his phone back into his pocket, unable to read anymore racist words against you. Pulling you into a tight hug, he reassured you that he felt sorry for those people, telling you that they must feel so badly about themselves and have such low quality lives that they had to spew meaningless hate towards you. If anything, they were lower than you and were only doing it to feel better about themselves. Even though the remarks were towards you, it felt painful to read such things and he was overwhelmed by disappointment.

NAMJOON:

As you and Namjoon made your way through the intensely growing crowd inside of the airport, fans yelled and screamed various words of encouragement towards Namjoon. You loved to hear other people showering him with love and positivity, despite the craziness of the crowd itself. You were smiling widely while walking hand in hand with your boyfriend, listening to the fans, until you suddenly heard someone take a jab at the color of your skin. Namjoon heard the person too, stopping for a brief second to turn and glare at them. He shook his head as he turned back around, gripping your hand tighter, pulling it up to his face to lightly kiss your knuckles. Like a chain reaction, that one person being brave enough to say such things to you in front of him set off a wave of more racism. Namjoon began walking even faster, guiding you the whole way, wanting desperately to get you out of there.

"Those aren't my fans. If they were, they would never say such bullshit things to you."

JIMIN:

Jimin witnessing you beginning to cry after seeing racist comments saying you weren't worthy of being with him because you weren't Korean hurt his heart. Your laughter was his favorite sound in the world and he lived to see you smile. Seeing you so upset was painful and made tears prick his own eyes. You were so important to him and yet strangers were bringing you down with nonsense hate. Jimin made sure to pound it into your head that he wanted you and only you; if he wanted someone who was 100% Korean, that's who he would have chosen.

TAEHYUNG:

After a long chat, you and Taehyung decided to reveal your secret relationship to the public after having been together for over a year. Taehyung took the bold leap by posting a couple of cute, romantic photos from Valentine's day on his Instagram. Knowing that it would warrant a little bit of craziness, he did it late at night before the two of you went to bed, planning on checking on it in the morning.

That next morning, Taehyung had woken up before you. Rather than waking you up, he went into the kitchen, fixed himself up some breakfast, and got comfy on the couch with his phone, ready to checkout the reveal reactions. He found himself giggling at some of the comments, even feeling happy over some of the supportive ones he read. Not long after reading, though, he stumbled upon comments he wished he hadn't seen. Many racist insults and death threats filled the comment thread. They were targeting you because you were biracial, spewing hate and saying he deserved better than you, someone who was fully his own race. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"How could these people say things like this?" Taehyung whispered to himself, still trying to be careful about waking you up.

The thought of you waking up excited to read the reactions of army only to see your race being the main focus of the thread made him very upset. He pondered whether he should delete the photo or not, wanting to shield you from everything. After a while of thinking, he simply turned off the comments to the post.

When you finally awoke, the first thing you did was ask him about the public's reaction. He produced a white lie and said the staff recommended that he turn the comments off but allowed him to keep the photo up. Although you were disappointed, he would much rather have you thinking that's what happened, instead of being aware of the nasty racist comments that flooded the post.

JUNGKOOK:

The last thing Jungkook expected when you tagged along on a flight and exited the airport with him, navigating through the crowds of screaming fans, was to hear several death threats and racist remarks thrown around towards you. He gripped your hand tighter and tighter with each disgusting comment he heard, knowing he couldn't do anything in that very moment. He glanced at your face multiple times, checking if you were still mentally there, only to see that you had begun crying quite hard. Instantly, Jungkook removed his jacket and held it over you to cover your face as various people with their phones and cameras hounded you. When you were both sat safely inside of the car waiting for you guys, Jungkook pulled you in close, kissing the top of your head while you buried it into his chest.

"You know I don't think of those things, right? I don't care about your race, I love you for you. Don't listen to those people, they aren't real army."

[stellari-s]

Okay, ajjajhajja, I am nervous to ask for this request because I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, so, that's okay if you decline, I understand-

I had this thought, so: Reader, but they are blind. Like, Helena's level blind, if not worse, and in one match, Ithaqua stumbles upon them, thinking that they'll be an easy catch, but! They are kiting like a beast, jumping, running, stunning

Maybe he'll proclaim them as his enemy? Y'now? The tension? 👀

✨

hi, anon, sorry for the delay! and no worries at all. i'm not uncomfy... in fact i really like getting requests! so i hope to receive more 🥹 i also hope you enjoy this and that it's at least somewhat worth the wait...!

request; yes, by anon! requests are basically always open, so feel free to send them to my inbox!

wc; 1 074.

tags; gn! survivor! reader, default! ithaqua, visually impaired reader, some small melly & norton interaction because i love bickering scenes, please teach me how to kite like this reader.

summary; it's been a while since your last match, when you suddenly are put into one now. there, a certain hunter rekindles your competitive spirit...

“it’s been a while since you saw this letter end up at your door.”

you can hear your friend, martha, lean against the door next to you as you brushed your fingertips across the paper. in different places were indents, somewhat like a code only known to you.

me, martha, melly, and norton.

“i hope i haven’t gotten too rusty,” you reply, “especially in running the hunter.”

“you did seem to have a penchant for being the first one chased.” martha’s tone is lighthearted, but you know there is some truth to those words.

“it was troublesome back then, but maybe i’ll have a new outlook after this break.”

“you’ll probably have to write that down in your diary later.”

“mhm.”

the match preparation room is located remotely from the rest of the manor - it’s a room attached to one of the corners of the otherwise large residence that could house many, many people. you struggle to see the details of the room with the amount of detail most of your teammates see it, but from what they describe, you know there are two sections of the room: one a long dining table with an ominous and mysterious window backdrop that occasionally shows a shadow of long, spindly arms with human hands silently moving about. on the opposite side is a curtain, behind which the hunter prepares for the match.

survivors like you never know which hunter they’re going to face each match, and at first it had made you nervous, but eventually you are able to relax more after playing so many matches. you have run into every hunter at least once so far, so you more or less know how to counter their moves and even predict what they may do next.

well, every hunter but one.

“i have a bad feeling,” norton comments with a somewhat sour expression, crossing his arms, “i swear, if i have to fight against that damn wind storm again-” he cuts himself off, but you have a sense of what he was going to say.

melly lets out a small hmph. “if that happens, i’ll help you out. i wouldn’t mind you being in my debt. in fact it would work quite well in my favor.”

“oh, shut up, your bees are the last thing i want to see and hear.”

you are initially nervous for this match, for multiple reasons, but upon hearing melly and norton’s friendly bickering, you feel a little more relaxed by the time you find yourself on sacred heart hospital’s second floor, from what your feet can feel.

did norton mention something about wind? is that related to this new hunter?

if that’s the case, it might be a good idea to stick to places with higher walls. perhaps near the ruins, the shack, or here near the hospital, where there are large, wide gates just outside.

for a little bit, you survey your surroundings for good measure, walking around and “marking” obstacles in your mind and where they are. you then make your way toward a cipher machine, but when you hear the sound of footsteps coming from the staircase just outside, your heart starts to clench, screaming warnings at your mind.

you can tell more or less where the hunter is because the floor is hard, so his footsteps make a lot of noise. for good measure, you slam a pallet down early as a gust of wind takes your breath away, sucking you in toward the hunter.

“found you!” the hunter says, his voice possessing a slightly singsong quality. you can feel another gust of wind flow past you toward the hunter. this is good: some hunters are more “sneaky”, making it harder for you to run them with you not being able to see well, but with this one, you can use the direction of the wind to give you information.

you can make it work.

jumping down to the second floor, you hit him with the pallet on the hospital’s first floor before making your way just outside.

you try looping him around the wall, but he eventually makes it to the same side as you. with the wind, he hinders your ability to run, and you have to give him a hit.

but that is all you’re willing to give.

five ciphers becomes four.

another stun.

four to three ciphers left.

you nearly get hit from accidentally bumping into the ruin walls, but you vault in the nick of time.

two ciphers left.

the hunter uses that ability again, but you are already near a window. you vault over it and run perpendicular to the current.

one more to go.

for one moment, you run toward him, but quickly turn back. you manage a juke, giving you a second to create a bit more distance.

only when all ciphers are done does he finally land another hit on you. this one is harder than the last one, causing you to rub your back and hiss in pain.

“would it hurt to be a little more gentle...?” you mutter, trying to crawl.

the hunter nimbly picks you up on balloons. “you ran me the entire match and you want me to be gentle?”

“call it a stroke of luck,” you reply, watching as he takes you down to the basement. you don’t bother struggling. “by the way, what is that weapon? i can’t see very well.”

“you can’t see very well, so i thought you wouldn’t last this long.”

“i can’t see very well, but that doesn’t mean my other senses are also impaired.”

“i’ll keep that in mind.” he goes downstairs and chairs you in the innermost corner. “and every time we meet i’ll make sure you’re down at five ciphers.”

“then when we meet here on after, let us see who lady luck favors then.” you give him a small smile: an acceptance of the challenge in his words.

the chair starts spinning, quickly increasing in speed and making you dizzy in turn. the chair descends underground, taking you back to the manor, leaving you quite nauseous in the end.

at least your teammates could make it out though.

it’s been a while since you last participated in a match, so you had thought you lost your competitive spirit. but this match has clearly proven otherwise.

as long as you two consider each other enemies, you have no intention to let this hunter win.

[publishingwhispers]

Resources for Researching Agents

When it comes to agents, we are constantly telling each other to do our research and due diligence to make sure we're making the best decision possible. But so much of publishing is opaque, and so much discussion of bad actors is hidden in whisper networks.

So, besides this blog, which I'm doing my best with but is far from comprehensive, here are other resources to scour.

Publisher's Marketplace This is absolutely essential to consider because it shows sales histories for individual agents and agencies, and you can see which publishers and imprints they are selling to. It is unfortunately a paid service ($25/mo) but they have a day pass to just do some binge-researching ($10). If you have writerly friends you can split and share with, that's even better. But more importantly, I have a subscription; if money is an obstacle and there's ever anything you want to look up, feel free to send me a DM or ask here and I will look into it for you. I'm not about gatekeeping or paywalling information.

Query Tracker QueryTracker is a great tool for querying, and the most valuable aspect in my opinion is the comment section for each agent. Read as far back as you possibly can for a given agent if you're considering an offer of rep.

Writer Beware This is often more for big scams rather than warning bad treatment from established agents, but it's still an invaluable resource.

Absolute Write Forums Agency Index This forum can be overwhelming to dig through since it goes back as far as 2004, but in general, looking at the more recent posts on a given thread from the past few years for an agency can give really good information.

Social Media & Other Writers!!! This might not seem helpful when I can't exactly link you to my group chats and writing communities, but it's absolutely vital you find your own support network so that you can compare experiences. When you get an agent offer, it's an industry norm to ask them for client references to talk to, but I would go further than that and try to talk to clients (and ex-clients) beyond the people they provide to you. You want to hear from someone who has had a negative experience just as much if not more than the person who has had a success story.

And of course, the Publishing Whispers blog here on Tumblr does its best to keep track of public or widely discussed industry whispers while keeping an open inbox for folks to share their experiences.

[tobiosmilktea]

amor vincit omnia — akaashi keiji

     ↪︎ O2. I CHOOSE YOU

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: i absolutely hated rewriting this chapter after it glitched out the first time 😔

since the beginning of your first year of university, you and the rest of your lovely friends had been eating in the library, specifically the large round table secluded and at the very corner for every meal without fail, and nobody really cared to stop you guys for two reasons. For one, no one really goes into that corner of the library that only collected dust, and two, you guys were there so often that you all befriended all the librarians to the point they stopped coming by to tell you guys to leave and eat in the canteen instead.

you were placed between daichi and kiyoko, counting the seconds by as they worked diligently in silence, munching on their lunch in the process. daichi tapped on the keys on his laptop rather quickly, the impact of each click being unnecessarily loud while kiyoko was cross-referencing documents and highlighting lines of never ending texts in a nice muted green color. tsukishima, on the other hand, was too preoccupied reading his book. eyes completely glued to the novel resting in his hands as he readjusted his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. sugawara was out and about somewhere in the sea of towering bookshelves to find a book to read, mentioning something along the lines of—and you quote, ‘something to quench his thirst for entertainment.’ 

it was honestly just his fancy way of saying that he was bored out of his goddamn mind. perhaps you were the same, eyes wandering your surroundings for something, just something to capture your attention for a few moments. it wasn’t at all difficult, actually, considering how pretty your university was.

higashi university had always been your dream college. not just by its blatant aestheticism, but the academia as well. with tanaka and nishinoya being your main friend group during your high school days, it feels rather refreshing being surrounded by other incredibly smart individuals than constant brain rot.

(no offense to tanaka and nishinoya, you loved them to pieces)

and as your mind began to wander, so did your gaze. from admiring the library’s interior to looking out the window, your lips slightly curved down into a frown.

it was only noon and the clouds were already darkening the sun’s piercing rays that usually shone through the large domed windows of the library. it was going to rain soon and for a couple hours as well.

it’s quite peculiar to think about now after you received that damned chain letter. earlier this morning, while shoving on your wool sweater and trousers, that even the weather app on your phone didn’t show any signs of inclement weather until an hour after you texted your group chat in an awkward panic.

you didn’t really pine yourself to be so superstitious. if anything, you were the complete opposite, and yet, here you were worrying over the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

tsukishima lifted his gaze from the words printed on his novel as he pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. he flickered a look at you, a smirk appearing on his visage the moment he noticed the way you stared at a single drop of rain on the window, flowing down rather slowly.

that stupid letter of yours was still in your hand as well. he watched you fiddle with the corners, careful not to mess with the mahogany red wax stamp that sealed the envelope.

“have you thought about which poor, unfortunate soul you’re going to give it to?” he asked, smirk still annoyingly evident. this was the third time he asked you this question in a span of three hours.

you flicked your eyes towards him coolly before it fell onto the letter in your hands. "ask that question again and i’ll be sure to send it your way, tsukishima.”

“i’d like to see you try, honestly.” he muses, “your best bet is probably slipping it into one of your professor’s inboxes. maybe professor oshiro, by chance?”

“please,” you snort, “she only gave me one failing grade that i eventually made up in the end.”

“just give it to a random stranger,” daichi cuts in, eyes still glued to his laptop as he typed his fingers away. dark circles dusting his eyes like a dark shadow. law school was certainly doing its works on the likes of poor, poor sawamura daichi.

he shrugs, evidentially fatigued when he meets your eye.

“that way your grades won’t have to potentially deal with the consequences if your professor finds out.”

you nod, humming in response. that would be terrible.

sugawara then emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding up a book towards you with a smile on his face. “found one,” he beams, tossing it atop the messy table.

you reach for the book as sugawara pulls out his chair whilst he mutters something to his daichi about his whereabouts.

“wuthering heights?” you say the title aloud and capture kiyoko’s attention along with it.

“yeah. have you guys read it?” the silver-haired boy asks. he takes your opinions quite seriously knowing how much of an avid reader you and kiyoko were. whenever he needed book recommendations or opinions, he would always go to you two.

you nod, “i quite liked it.”

“some parts tend to be slow, though.” adds in kiyoko, taking the novel from your hands and flipping through the pages briefly before slipping back over towards sugawara. “it should keep you occupied for a few days.”

you chuckle slightly, giving her a look. “you forget how slow suga is at reading. the few days it takes us to finish a book is a good month for him.”

offense coated sugawara’s expression as he lets out a scoff in retaliation. “don’t you have a chain letter to give to someone?”

“she’s stalling,” tsukishima teases.

“am not!”

“then want to go give it to a random stranger then?”

your brows draw together, “right now?”

tsukishima nods as he stuffs his belongings back into his bag. “i’ll come with you for shits and giggles.”

a sigh escapes you, rolling your eyes as you take a look at the letter one last time and wanting to laugh at yourself for doing all this. a full chain letter from front to back, with the first quarter of it is you viciously apologizing that you had to do this in neat cursive handwriting, all written in fifteen minutes.

you gave in.

“fine,” you huff as you grab your own bag as well.

“good luck,” kiyoko muses up at you as you squeeze past her.

tsukishima waits for you until you’re by his side, strides shorter than usual just to match your pace as you two navigate through the labyrinthine arrays of bookshelves. the letter was in your hand, all small and discrete for a quick and easy delivery to an unsuspecting victim. your palm perspired slightly as you kept your eyes open, scanning for an easy person as you were aware of the possible repercussions.

you could easily get in trouble for doing something this childish, but you were in too deep already.

“hurry up and find someone, we’re almost at the entrance already.” tsukishima hisses in a harsh whisper.

“i’m working on it!” you hiss back.

“working on what?” a familiar voice asks then, capturing both you and tsukishima’s attention, whipping your heads towards the owner.

kuroo combed his freehand through his hair while he had two textbooks tucked under his other arm. he gave you a smile.

you never really got close with kuroo despite meeting him at nationals a few years back. despite only talking a few times due to him being good friends with tsukishima, you knew he was nice, incredibly smart in the sciences, and yet oddly awkward for someone as good looking as he.

not him, you thought to yourself, too nice.

“a little project,” the blond immediately answers just like that. “our majors tend to overlap sometimes, so we decided to partner up.”

“nice, i’m here with my friends to study as well.” kuroo states, causing your eyes to scan behind them for any evidence of their rambunctious selves.

like kuroo, you weren’t close with any of them either. if anything, they were just mere acquaintances on the precipice of becoming strangers. regardless, they all seemed quite nice too from your lack of interaction with them.

tsukishima says something in response then, igniting a short little catch-up conversation with an old high school friend as you lay distracted. your eyes flicked down to a study table in front of you, one of the chairs just a foot shy from you had a satchel hanging off of its side. the brown leather flap was wide open with its owner nowhere in sight as you gave your surroundings a once over.

carefully, you made your way over the table, pretending as if you were taking something out of your bag as kuroo was being distracted by the blond. neither of them were looking at you fortunately. as you placed your bag back over your shoulder, you slipped the letter right into the open satchel right at the same time–the envelope falling and disappearing into the depths of the bag.

“i’ve got to get to my next lecture,” you say to the two men, giving tsukishima a sly wink that it was a job well done. “i’ll see you guys around.”

checkmate.

fun facts! —

after kiyoko graduated and moved to tokyo, (y/n) and kiyoko kept in touch by sending each other cute handwritten letters

no one really is aware of that area in the back of the library since no one goes in that section often (this is uhh,, an important detail for later 😳)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

@channiechanchan @elianetsantana @suhkusa @agaashesmilktea @dwcljh @duhsies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @kitsunetea @morpheus-rex @noeminemi @ntimacy @kurokenchan @kittyddandnyla @amboisez @komouri @stargirlara @itsmeaudrieee @immxnty @spicyshinsou @bombardia @yammerss @crescenttooru @tadashi-simp @sunanyaa @saikishairclip @marvel-ing-at-it-all @seijqhigh @normalisthenewnorm @allielozoya @peteunderoos @inflxxtions @peg-legz4 @kawafika @apollochjld @bap-kingdom @yongboxerrr @kenssister @galacticyoongs

[stayndays]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟑: Killer King’s Final Challenge

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆! This chapter includes:

Committing the Crime of *****

Throwing Knives

Foul Language

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : “You came here to assist your boss at a party he’s invited to, not to solve a murder with a group of strangers you’ve just met. Yet here you are, staring at the dead mansion owner who hosted the party in the first place, surrounded by eight men with high statuses in society: and one of them is a murderer. The question is who? And can you solve the mystery without being killed yourself?”

Visit the masterlist first before proceeding. It has all the info you need to read this series.

The banging on the door has stopped. When you peer under the door, there’s nothing indicating anybody is in the living room. Exhaling shakily, you grip the antique whistle you found stashed in the living room, and turn the doorknob.

You hear the lighter fluid in the jug Hyunjin’s carrying thumping, something he found while searching the tools shed. After Jeongin checks the remaining rooms downstairs, the box of matches rattling in his hand, and confirming that nobody is occupying them, the three of you run upstairs as quietly as you possibly could.

When you arrive at the top, you notice the room at the end of the corridor has a closed door, along with a light underneath it and hushed voices coming from inside. To your surprise, Jeongin takes off his shoes and silently enters a nearby bedroom, and comes out pushing a dresser out of the doorway. Hyunjin rushes to assist him, placing the jug on the ground and also taking off his shoes, dragging the dresser all the way to the door. The door being the one that the members’ entered through.

Step 1: Barricade the room the members are in.

They’re definitely talking about how the three of you have become a suspect, you think, but it doesn’t matter whether you’re a suspect in this house or not anymore. You’re doing whatever it takes to get out of this hell.

Hyunjin picks up the lighter fluid jug again, and makes his way over to the guest bedroom at the bottom right corner of the upstairs layout, right next to the staircase. Inside is a king sized mattress, along with various pieces of furniture all made out of mahogany wood. As the two men are incharge of lifting up everything, you take the time to grab Hyunjin’s jug out of his hands and unscrew the lid. Jeongin and Hyunjin remove all the pillows and blankets, stacking them in a corner of the room, and lifts up the mattress to carry it out into the hallway. Staring at the pile of luxurious comfort items, you messily dump the lighter fluid onto it, watching the liquid seep onto the carpet below.

You very clearly remember what Jeongin said earlier in the dining room, while the three of you formed this insane plan. “We aren’t trying to kill them, we’re just trying to escape.” You could definitely be cruel and flood the hallways with lighter fluid, guaranteeing their demise, but your senses come to you quicker than you can blink, agreeing with the boy immediately.

Step 2: Pour lighter fluid into an unoccupied room.

When you walk out of the room, to your pleasant surprise, the mattress fits perfectly to block the stairs. By now, Hyunjin is already downstairs once again, piling up couches and tables against the front door, but leaving a wedge to shuffle himself into the cracks. His shoes are already back on, but Jeongin’s holding his in his spare hand. He nudges for you to push the mattress aside and walk down the stairs as he lights a match in front of your eyes. Taking his signal, you squeeze yourself through the mattress, making sure to leave some space for Jeongin, and walk down the stairs with a fast pace. You nod at Hyunjin and both of you make yourself comfortable between the front door and the various tables and chairs Hyunjin was able to stack up, which somehow reach your head.

Steps 3, 4, 5: Block the entrance to the stairs, throw a lit match into the room, and barricade the front door.

At least thirty seconds past before Jeongin is seen running down the stairs, his shoes still in his hand, and he squishes next to you through the pile of furniture. He adjusts it so the three of you are officially locked into place.

“How many did you light?” Hyunjin asks curiously.

Jeongin holds up what looks like a peace sign with his hands while he puts his shoes on. “Two.”

Two? But you only placed lighter fluid on one patch of the ground. It doesn’t necessarily matter how many matches Jeongin lit, though, and instead you focus on your senses to wait for the signal.

You watch the staircase for any signs of light. Sniffing the air, you pray for the smell of smoke to come, and thankfully, it doesn’t take too long.

The sight of fire catches your eyes, and you blow on the whistle in your hands.

Step 6: Use the whistle to distract the members so they can spot the fire and put it out.

Thank heavens the whistle still works, as the sound pierces your ears while Hyunjin jiggles the key into the lock. You can hear the sound of voices bustling, trying to check out what caused the sudden commotion, but it’s no use. After blowing for what seems like minutes, the chilly weather and rainstorm meets your eyes and the three of you file out of the mansion.

Step 7: Flee.

“Should I light another match?” Jeongin shouts over the rain, and you and Hyunjin turn to face him.

“Just run, Jeongin!” The rain pours down into your eyes, hair, and clothes as you speak, and you find it hard to run with these formal shoes. Taking them off, you run right through the cobblestone path leading up to the mansion, and make your way to the tall, black fence surrounding the property. You silently thank the party guests who left the mansion three hours ago, as the gate to the mansion is wide open.

“Oh my god, this is it, oh my god-” Hyunjin is out of breath as he mutters words of disbelief.

It all ends, however, when a throwing knife lands right in front of your feet out of nowhere. You let out a yelp, backing up frantically, catching the other two’s attention. The three of you whip your heads behind you, and your voice gets caught in your throat.

Minho?

“The others have the fire covered. Don’t worry… Actually?” Minho chuckles, holding up a set of throwing knives in one hand as if they were a deck of cards. It dawns on you at that moment.

You’re right in front of the Killer King.

“They don’t have the fire covered. The entire upstairs is about to go down in flames, thanks to you three, but fortunately, I was able to get out in time! I applaud your efforts, but, it wasn’t enough to stop me from getting to you.” You hear Jeongin let out a curse next to you, and you don’t blame him.

The killer clears his throat, and places the knives back inside of his coat. “Let’s play a game?”

Minho doesn’t hear any response, yet he continues.

“If I hit all three of you before you’re able to run until… let’s say that road turn over there,” he points to the curve of the road, which stretches so far, you swear it’s one hundred yards away from your current standing. “Then you’ll have to turn around and face me. If I miss all three of you and you make it to that point over there, I’ll let you go.” He shrugs mischievously, and you can’t believe the offer he’s giving to you three. A gamble, you would even call it.

“And to make it clear…” He fetches out a single throwing knife out of his pocket and throws it near Hyunjin’s feet, making him let out a petrified scream as he jumps back.

“I have pretty good aim.”

Your feet are frozen onto the ground, taking in Minho’s hellish smirk. But before you can shout out a response, Jeongin mumbles a question so faintly to you and Hyunjin, you yourself almost didn’t catch it. His eyes shift over to the vehicle on his right, conveniently parked right outside of the fence, but facing the opposite way. Big tires, a hood, and glass windows.

“Does anybody know how to drive?”

RUN, DRIVE, BARGAIN, OR FIGHT?

[ VOTE HERE. ] 

(No, this is not a limited voting box. I’m curious about everybody’s opinions.)

~

Please share your responses to this chapter IN THE COMMENTS BELOW or in the voting box. There is a separate section in the voting box for comments only now. Do NOT send me an inbox message only if it contains spoilers, or else it will not be answered.

~

CHOICE CHOSEN: Loud Distraction + Fire

ROUTE CHOSEN: Escape the Mansion

OFFICIAL ALLIES: Jeongin and Hyunjin

BEST NAME IN THE VOTING BOX: “the key found on the dead body”

QUESTIONS?

Response 7: Not exactly.

THEORIES 

Response 3: No.

Response 4: Yes and no. Yes. No. No. No and no. No, yes, no. 

Response 7: Yes.

Response 9: No.

Response 12: No. (This was too messy so I answered the first sentence only, I’m on a time crunch guys)

taglist: @desertofdessert @crscendoforsung @cotccotc @leggomylino @skzctnightnight @freckledberries @nizhonimoon @hanniiesuckle17 @binniesbabybear @tsuki-moons @lbxgsunshine @csbverse @mangoisawesome @peachyhan @worldtriiiip @golden--rain @bubblyjisunq @kimpchi @loey-letters @pokyloky @wherevermyway @avrea-tt @bossuns @sunoo-luvs @katherineee19 @ph0ebevix @qt-k1mb @444scb @grandmasterslickfox @k-pop-valda @skzwriternet

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch18

The Hunt

Word count - 5,487

Quick shout out to @just-another-art-dump for all her help with brainstorming and beta reading the last section. You are a goddess!

Warnings for violence, murder and some yummy spice. Enjoy!

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

--------

V blinked to clear away the sleepiness lingering in his mind. A thick haze of confusion gave him pause; did he have another episode? Where was he? He blinked again, forcing his eyes to focus on his surroundings.

The room was one he recognized instantly. Dark blue walls, posters of rock bands and action films tacked up in places. Splashes of light peeked past the old curtains hanging over a two-paned window. The familiar bookshelf, still messily stuffed with comics and tattoo books, right beside a small desk littered with needles, tubes and other accoutrements. 

Nero’s bedroom, untouched since his death. His heart sank. Of all the places to find himself…

The artist took a shaky breath and tried to clear the cobwebs clinging to the rafters of his mind. Last he recalled, he was evading capture and bearing a fresh gunshot wound. Foggy, half-formed images danced in his memory of walking, lovely red on his hands and the hem of his pants, his own blood oozing lazily from his thigh.

As if thinking of it made it manifest, pain rocketed up his leg, fiery and unrelenting. He gasped and brought his hands to press the ache away. Was he still bleeding? How long had he been out? Panic teased at him for a beat before his palms registered the bandage and his missing pants.

What in the world…?

The pain slid into background noise as he carefully shifted his weight and sat up, panning his gaze until he found the culprit of his treatment.

Hot damn, how the hell did she find us?!

“Excellent question,” he croaked. 

You weren’t awake yet, and faint streaks of scarlet coated your arms as if you tried to wash his blood off but gave up halfway. Hair a mess, clothing wrinkled and a hint of drool hanging from your lips, he’d never seen you so unkempt.

Good, she’s sleeping. Make a break for it, Van Gogh!

Blue feathers swept past his vision but vanished a heartbeat later. He licked his lips. “I doubt walking is wise for now, let alone ‘making a break for it.’”

Fine, but at least strangle her. She’ll only get in the way.

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize she probably saved my life, right?”

Well… I guess. Fine, don’t kill her but don’t let your guard down. 

The artist hummed and Griffon made no further comment. Good enough.

He gritted his teeth and forced his aching body to move closer to you. Shadows hung beneath your eyes and he spotted the remains of yesterday’s makeup, nearly invisible with your hair draped over your cheek. He gently brushed it aside.

Your eyes shot open, instantly alert and aware. “You’re awake… How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” he replied with a wry grin. “I’ve also been worse.”

The bed rustled as you sat up and tucked your unruly hair behind your ears, a slight frown turning your lips. “Let me get you something for the pain, one sec.”

Once again summoned by his awareness, he winced as a bolt of agony pulsed up to his hip. By the time it faded, your palm held out two white tablets and a glass of water. 

“Drink slowly,” you said. He obeyed.

An oddly heavy silence hung between you as he lowered the glass. Unspoken words, questions and answers alike searching for the right way to surface. None broke free from their cages of closed lips as you checked his pulse, your touch more medical than personal. 

He hated it. 

“How did you find me?” the artist blurted. 

“You don’t remember? Follow with your eyes, not your head,” you replied, one finger drifting this way and that in his sight. He restrained the urge to bat it away. “You sent me a message.”

You goddamned idiot.

There was no arguing against the truth. He didn’t remember considering sending a message, let alone addressing it to you. It was a miracle it didn’t end up in the inbox of a stranger. 

Still. You could’ve turned him in. After the way he fled your apartment, it would’ve made sense. He took another small sip of water.

“You came even after what happened. Why?”

The finger lowered. Lips pursed, you gave him an indecipherable look. He watched the wheels behind your hazel irises turn; toward what result, he couldn’t say. Regardless, he reveled in watching your intelligence at work.

“Do you remember what you said to my dad? That you loved me?”

His lips twitched. This didn’t bode well. “Yes.”

There, he spotted a twinge of uncertainty in your brow. Worry in the set of your mouth, vulnerability in the wideness of your eyes. “Did you mean it?”

I TOLD you that was a foolish idea.

Vergil’s words barely registered; V’s mind was already spinning, struggling to find an answer. At the time, he thought it was the best way to get your father to behave. By staking a claim to you, he established his willingness to defend you. He hadn’t considered whether the words held weight. The answer you wanted now was obvious, and to voice it would all but guarantee your allegiance. It was simple.

And yet so complicated.

Do I love her? What does love even mean?

Throughout history, love held innumerable definitions. The word was constantly evolving, shifting to encompass more variations than before. The greatest and most enduring tales ever told centered on it, and not a soul on earth could deny its influence. Monuments and cathedrals stood testament to its strength, and endless words written across the centuries praised or cursed its existence.

Love defined humanity. 

Yet how could he know if this was it? What did romantic love feel like? How did one classify such an intangible concept? So many tried, and many more to come. Perhaps the nature of love was variable; why else would everyone have a different idea of what it meant?

Love, like art, must be subjective.

So what is it to me?

“I…” the artist murmured.

His path led the same way with or without you, but he preferred the former. When he knew you’d see the product of his work, its quality improved. You saturated his thoughts, scrawled your name across the walls of his mind with a messiness only doctors managed. 

Your presence eased his nerves, and no other came close to matching your intellect. A worthy opponent for mind games and machinations, you never failed to amaze him with your ability to force his hand. You protected him and gave him shelter when he needed it most, and not once did you demand he change his methods. You respected his views. In time, you might even share them. 

You challenged him, irritated him, turned him on and gave him hope that he may yet escape the cold embrace of loneliness.

And most of all, there was the inexplicable desire to answer your question with truth instead of manipulation. He didn’t want to tell you he meant what he said just to coerce you into being his. Surely that indicated something?

This isn’t a question I can answer in a single word. 

V sighed and met your lovely eyes at last, his response as well-reasoned as he could manage. “I’m not sure. It’s… it’s difficult for me to care for someone, it’s been many years since I tried.”

He paused to lick his lips and assemble another sentence. The answer you wanted remained out of his reach, and he refused to give you the one that would serve his plans best. All he offered was the truth.

Even so, it stung to see the half-hidden disappointment on your face.

“But there’s something there I can’t explain. I just don’t understand the feeling, so I can’t name it,” he concluded. A chorus of pained groans echoed in his mind. 

All you had to say was yes! What the hell is WRONG with you, do you want her to stick around or not?!

You sighed and shifted your weight. He didn’t dare to comment further.

“I think I understand. It… it scares me sometimes, but I can’t deny that I care about you anymore. I can’t keep hiding.”

V released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart was pounding, a giddy desire to laugh tickling his throat. Impulse took the reins, and he watched in wonder as his hand moved to take yours.

“You never have to hide again,” he whispered.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Something in his eyes hammered home his words. An earnest, unguardedness that you’d never seen before. Genuine gratitude and honesty, perhaps. You couldn’t look away.

You discarded thought and leaned in. Lips parted and heart hammering against your ribs, frenetic excitement stilling your breath as V did his best to match your movement. 

The kiss was gentle, completely different from what you’d shared at the museum or in your apartment. The world melted away. It was just you and him, everything else was just color and noise, polluting the fragile bond you’d formed. Despite the lies and manipulation, past the tricks and mind games. 

Somehow, like a miraculous seed sprouting in a rocky cliff face, love bloomed in a heart that had never known it.

When at last you pulled away, a lopsided smile curved V’s lips. The emerald pools of his eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and his palm refused to leave your cheek. You didn’t mind. 

In fact, you wanted more.

You kissed him again, harder this time. Lips communicating without words your need, not just for contact but for understanding. Hunger and reckless desire danced across your mouth, your fingers grasping at his chest. You’d never know which of you moaned first; just that the sound sent you careening past the point of no return.

By the time you came up for air, you were helpless.

“Hold still,” you whispered. The artist licked his lips and nodded. 

You wiggled off your jeans, panties tucked within. A soft gasp stroked your ego as you pulled off your top and carefully straddled him, his length hardening against your tingling folds. Gods, how you wanted to feel him deep within, feel his body arcing to meet yours as his voice gave out in a whirlwind of pleasure.

But that would have to wait. This time, he needed to let you do all the work. 

“If you lift your hips, I’m getting off. Got it?”

His palms traced fire over your hips, blazing over your body as he smirked at you. Damn him, the smug bastard. “Doctor’s orders?”

You almost moaned at the husky tone he used. “Just say yes, damnit.”

His smirk vanished. Lithe fingers took hold of your ass and gently pulled, guiding you to envelop him one inch at a time. His brows met and his lips fell open, his face an expression of sheer perfection your imagination could never capture.

“Yes…” he murmured. 

He fit perfectly, stretching you just enough without being painful. The ridge of his head pushed past your inner muscles and sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout your limbs. Your slick walls shuddered at the welcome fullness, embracing his heat like a long lost friend. Like he belonged there.

Like he was coming home.

For a moment, you didn’t move, wanting to memorize the feeling of being with him for the first time. A choice made many weeks past set your life on course to this exact moment, your every decision only bringing you closer. Two stars orbiting each other, closer and faster with each second as two became one in a fiery explosion that shook the heavens.

You smiled, hands snaking around his neck as you rolled your hips. Nerves sang as you moved, crying out in exultant joy. It was torture to move so slowly, such exquisite agony when all you wanted was to slam against his hips and feel his need splitting you in half.

Slick fluid coated him in seconds as you moved. Each movement pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper. Hot breath spilled from his lips, soft moans from yours. His hands gripped your hip bones, urging you to keep going, his muscles flexing to help you rise and fall, guiding you to impale yourself over and over. 

Beads of sweat broke out across your back, but you paid them no mind. It was worth it to hear the man curse and gasp, his eyes hooded and skin flushed from your attention. The time would come for him to show you how he liked it, but for now you reveled in the power you held. It took all your strength to keep from bouncing recklessly. 

But the artist was no passenger, and his grip shifted to tangle in your hair and drag your mouth to his for a searing kiss. His tongue danced a tango with yours, flicking and darting back and forth to torture you with his intoxicating taste. Whimpers flowed from your throat only for him to swallow. 

Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?

The artist grinned against your needy lips, his lithe fingers lowering to tease at your core. Your body quivered as he lazily painted bliss over your aching bundle, as if you were his latest canvas. He spewed filth as he hunted for that perfect spot, his touch taunting you with ecstasy long before he struck gold. 

“That’s it, right there, come on!” you gasped out, arcing back at the brink of ecstasy..

The artist obeyed, tugging you down again to suckle at your pulse. His lips were heaven on your throat, and his teeth nirvana when he blessed you with a nibble. It was too much and somehow not enough, never enough, never- 

FUCK!

The world flashed blindingly white, searing your retinas as you crested. The cosmos raced by, the colors and shapes too beautiful to understand. Brilliance and beauty, a kaleidoscope of life. A silken voice moaned praise somewhere nearby, a wet tongue dancing over your chest between words. Losing control never felt so good. 

Beneath your spasming body, V’s hips twitched. He sucked in a breath but the pulsing of his cock against your soaked core didn’t ease, his moans changing to a tone you weren’t familiar with. Lower and louder, more breathy in the grip of his orgasm, resonant and musical. You flexed around him, tightening as much as you could manage to feel every throb.

When at last he fell still, it took all your willpower to dismount and check his bandage for fresh blood. You’d rather have curled up at his side and revelled in the afterglow, but that would have to wait. This wasn’t a feel-good made for TV movie where the realities were tossed aside in the wake of a long-awaited union; life didn’t stop just because two people wanted it to.

If only it were that easy.

Thankfully, you didn’t find any cause for concern. A slight dribble, but already clotting. You made sure the wrapping was still tight and laid back, content for now as his slim arms wrapped around you.

His fingers stroked your hair, lazily pulling apart any tangles he found in the process. It was so peaceful, so normal to just lie there and forget the world, but you didn’t let yourself enjoy it for long. Reality wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, now what?” you asked. “We can’t stay in one place too long.”

V sighed, his fingers stilling. “Especially here; they’ll connect it to me far too easily.”

You rose on one arm, giving him a quizzical look. “Why?”

The artist closed his eyes. His jaw flexed and for a moment you feared you’d gone too far, pried too deeply without thinking, but you didn’t dare try to backpedal.

“This… this is Nero’s room,” he responded at last.

Oh. Oh, no…

There were no words to ease the tension his words brought. You knew full well the efforts he took in order to conceal his past, and here you were, invading it. 

Minutes passed in utter silence. An apology lingered on your lips, but without knowing the full story it felt insincere. Not long ago, you would have spoken the words without thought, but now… Now you wanted to only say things you meant.

At last, V broke the stillness. 

“We need to move. I’ll…” he paused, as if the words pained him. “I’ll need your help.”

“You have it,” you replied. No hesitation, no weighing of the pros and cons. If he needed you, you would be there. 

“There’s only one way to guarantee we won’t be disturbed.”

You sighed, heart heavy but unwavering. “I know.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back after this.”

You almost laughed. “There’s already no going back.”

He hummed, satisfied. Yes, you knew exactly what he meant. The only way to make sure you found an unoccupied home…

Was to slay the homeowner.

~~~Nico~~~

Nico gritted her teeth as the flash of a camera blinded her yet again. She hated reporters. They just wanted sensationalist headlines, not actual facts and definitely not to calm the public. 

If folks stayed calm, they wouldn’t sell papers. 

Damned vultures.

“As I said, this is an ongoing investigation so there’s only so much I can say,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Next question.”

The clamoring turkeys all started shouting, arms lifted almost as an afterthought. She wanted to scream at them. “Yeah, you, in the front.”

A brown haired man smiled at her, his comrades falling still for a merciful moment. “Jim Kovelli, Red Grave Daily. How can citizens stay safe until you make an arrest?”

Finally, something she could actually answer. “Thanks, Jim. We strongly recommend people travel in groups of at least two, preferably three as we have reason to believe the killer has an accomplice. All the victims so far were alone when they were… uh…”

Shit! I’m not supposed to mention the victims, or the methods he’s used. We don’t want a copycat.

She struggled to find words. If she tried to start over, the frenzy would only worsen. The vultures knew blood was in the water and they didn’t know the meaning of mercy. Her heart pounded, desperation seeping through her mind. Saying the wrong thing here might get somebody killed. Why the fuck did the chief want her to talk to the press?

I’m nobody! It shoulda been someone more experienced up here.

A heavy tread approached, Tony coming to her rescue yet again. Damnit, this was her first press conference, and she botched it. Even though she knew she wasn’t the best person for the job, she’d wanted to do it well, earn a little respect. How was she gonna look her partner in the eye after this?

“Folks, this isn’t rocket science. Stay in groups, don’t go off with people you don’t know, and report any strange behavior immediately. If you see something, do not intervene but call the hotline. The killer and his accomplice are likely armed and considered extremely dangerous. Don’t be a hero. Next question, please.”

Nico hung her head and stepped back, letting Tony take her place at the podium. Her heart sank, and she sighed. This case was just… it was tearing her apart. She barely ate, and she couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Even showering seemed like a distraction.

“Magda Dunham, Buzzfeed News. What can you tell us about the accomplice?”

Nico glared at the crowd of reporters. Didn’t they realize their incessant questions took time away from the real police work? It’s not like she could review Waras’ file during this charade. 

Yet Tony gave a kind, calming smile, seemingly unfazed. How the hell did he do that, keep his face from showing how fucked the situation was? A law-abiding citizen, with no goddamn criminal record and a pristine reputation, now believed to be aiding a psycho killer. It was insane.

“While we can’t release any names yet, we have reason to believe a female is assisting the killer. She is intelligent and well versed in psychology, and may try manipulation tactics or coercion to get someone alone. Again, do not travel alone and be wary of strangers. Last question, guys,” her mentor replied.

A swarm of voices answered him, and he pointed to a face in the back. “Penny Slope, The Weekly. Is the psychiatric hospital going to close, or are you content to let killers stay in the city?”

Tony barely twitched. If she’d gotten that question, Nico knew she would have snapped. The hospital wasn’t the issue here; the killer was!

“We are never content to allow killers to roam our streets, and we won’t rest until our city is safe. All I can say about the psychiatric hospital specifically is that they’re implementing additional security measures and we’re working closely with their staff to make sure our friends and neighbors are protected. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have, though. Thank you all for coming out.”

The horde shouted more questions even as Nico and Tony stepped away. Flashes left her blinking, blinded and ready to smack someone if they got too close, but her partner had her back. His warm hand guided her inside the station and back to the conference room. 

“You okay, kid?”

Her vision flared red. She was not a kid. Inexperienced, yes. But a kid?

“No. You know what, hell no! Those piss ants are just lookin’ for a headline, they don’t give a shit that people are dying! There’s a damned murderer out there and all they want is someone to blame! It pisses me off. Not to mention we know who the killer is, but for some reason we still can’t say his name or identify the doctor! It’s fucking bullshit! People need to know who to look for, right now all they’re gonna do is panic anytime someone sticks out!”

She slammed her fist against the table and growled, “And I ain’t no kid.”

Tony tossed his hat on the table and ruffled his hair. His face finally showed something other than a mask of composure, falling into exhaustion as he sat down and sighed.

“I know. You’re right.”

Nico’s jaw dropped. “Wh- what?”

Tired blue eyes met confused brown. “I said, you’re right. It is bullshit. I don’t know why the chief is pussy footing around on this. All I can say is that if you wanna stay on the case, you gotta do as you're told. Especially in the public eye.”

Nico’s rage evaporated at the defeated tone of her mentor’s voice. She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “But how do you keep it together? How do you stay so calm when they’re asking you such dumbass questions?”

Tony shrugged. “We protect everyone. Even the idiots.”

The young brunette took her glasses off and stared into the lenses. All she wanted was to catch this guy, why couldn’t it just be that straightforward? The press, the people, office politics, it was all just a waste of time. 

Hell, maybe if people stopped distracting her she’d have caught the fucker by now.

A warm weight settled on her shoulder. She glanced up at Tony, disheartened and desperate for any answers he could offer. “Hang in there, Nico. You’re a great cop. You just need to get the hang of the crappy part of the job.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eventually, Tony wandered off and left her to her thoughts. His words helped, but she still wanted to punch somebody. Preferably, the god damned doctor. 

I don’t just wanna catch V now. I gotta get her, too. 

She picked up her glasses and stood, mind focused once again. She couldn’t give up, no way. A little more work and they’d be hers to arrest, her need for justice satiated at last. Giving up wasn’t an option. 

~~~~Waras~~~~

Blood rushed in your ears. Sweat prickled the back of your neck, hidden under the dark hood of your sweatshirt. Cheerful music played on the grocery store’s speakers. It jangled against your nerves as you surveyed the shoppers, searching for a target that fit the parameters you and V agreed to. 

Someone alone, preferably small. Not buying enough food for more than themselves. The less attention they pay to their surroundings, the better.

It was all happening so fast, you’d barely had a chance to wrap your head around it. For so long, you’d tried to blend in, tried to hide your deficiencies. The walls you built to protect yourself weren’t meant to crumble, but to last an age. You’d gotten so used to it, you almost forgot normalcy was an act.

But V broke through, first with a whisper and now with a shout. His voice grew louder each day, beckoning you out of your disguise. He was pollen and you were a bee. Madness was no cage to him - it was freedom. Regret held no sway, doubt and hesitation banished from his mind. 

The prison you built for yourself was yours to shatter, and choosing a target was just one step closer.

There weren’t many people who suited your needs. An older woman browsing cat food, an awkward teenage boy peeking at condoms, or a person with no obvious gender looking at cereal. 

You bit your lip and tried to slow your racing heart. With V’s injury, making the choice fell to you, as did leading the target to an isolated area. The artist hadn’t asked you to make the killing blow, but the end result was the same.

I’m taking part in murder.

The thought held a curious excitement. No fear or disgust, as you knew it should, but a desire to know more. You wanted to understand what it meant to kill, go through every stage of the process and analyze it, piece by piece. 

There’s so much I want to know.

You grabbed a box of macaroni and added it to your cart. Not only were you tailing potential victims, you were also getting a few essentials. It helped you blend in, and who knew what you’d find in your victims home? You had to make sure V ate, to get his strength back and heal.

A jar of pasta sauce joined the macaroni. There wasn’t anything else in the aisle you needed, so you left and followed the cat lady toward checkout. Her cart was barren, save for dozens of tins and a bag of kibble. Did she eat cat food, too?

She was the obvious choice. The teenager browsing condoms probably had a girlfriend who’d miss him, and he was too young to be a homeowner. The non-conforming third option left too much to chance. You didn’t have enough information to know if they fit your needs. The cat lady held the least risk.

Step one complete. On to step two.

How do I get her to follow me behind the store to where V’s waiting?

You didn’t have long to decide. She was about to pay, her car keys already in her palm.

Lips pursed, you handed a twenty to the cashier ringing you up and quickly took your bags. Your target was mere seconds ahead of you. No more time to think; it was now or never. You took a deep breath.

“Excuse me, miss?” you began. She was a bit old to be called miss, but most women took it as a compliment. It might help break the ice.

She turned to face you, peering through her bifocals. “Yes?”

Your stomach churned. If you messed this up, you’d have to start over somewhere else, forcing V to travel when every step brought agony. He claimed it wasn’t bad, but you knew better. 

“Sorry to bother you, but um… do you think you could help me? My friend lives in the apartments back there,” you paused to point at the cluster of buildings behind the shop. “And he says his cat just went into labor. He’s scared to move her, but he thinks she needs a vet and neither of us have a car! Can you maybe drive us, please?”

You bit your lip and tried to look desperate even as endorphins flooded your circulatory system. 

“Of course! I couldn’t let the poor thing suffer,” she paused, glancing to the side. “But… well, with everything that’s been going on, I’m not comfortable going inside. Will you two be able to bring her down?”

You allowed your expression to collapse into relief. “Yes, thank you! Let me show you where to bring the car, it’ll be faster this way.”

“What’s your name, dear? I’m Margaret.”

“Emily. It’s nice to meet you, Margaret,” you replied, pausing just long enough to shake her withered hand. One foot already in the grave.

The woman nodded and followed without protest as you led her behind the shop. The area wasn’t well lit and shadows painted a sinister backdrop over the cold cement. V’s hiding place was just ahead.

“It’s dark back here… maybe we should stay on the main roads, just to be safe?” the woman said. Damn, she was more vigilant than you first thought. You didn’t slow.

“It’s just around the corner, I promise!”

She frowned, but took another few steps to keep up. People instinctively keep moving if the person in front of them does. One more step, and she’d be in V’s range. Your breathing froze, head spinning as you turned around to see him in action at last, to watch the killer in his element.

He didn’t let you down.

Green eyes saw nothing but their target, utterly focused on the task at hand. Despite his injury, he moved with singular purpose. His mouth a thin line, the artist didn’t make a sound as he swung a scavenged length of pipe at the back of Margaret’s head. A sickly, wet crackle and a wheezing gasp barely preceded her collapse onto the pavement.

Whoa… Did he just kill her in one blow?

You stepped closer and pressed two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but she was still alive. You said as much to V and rose.

The artist smirked and adjusted his beanie. “Care to do the honors?”

A tattooed hand held out the bloody pipe, as if he were offering nothing more than a turn in a batting cage. Your legs turned to jelly and a flash mob of butterflies careened though your digestive tract. Goosebumps erupted across your spine and you struggled to swallow the golf ball in your throat. You hadn’t expected this, not yet.

“Hm, maybe not,” he said. “That’s fine, I’m happy to demonstrate. Watch closely.”

He limped to Margaret’s helpless body, humming as he crouched down to turn her head towards you. A thin line of blood trickled from her open lips. The briefest pang of guilt teased at you. She’d seemed like a nice person.

“It’s better when they’re awake, but this will do,” the artist murmured. He raised the pipe high.

I’m about to watch this woman die.

Time slowed to a crawl as V struck. His face contorted into a vicious snarl, rage and fury engraved in his features. He was raw and exposed, possibly the purest version of himself you’d yet seen. Animalistic and predatory, thrilled by his supremacy.

And yet…

In the moment the pipe crushed Margaret’s skull and sprayed hot blood across the pavement, there was something else. A sadness almost like grief. A brokenness hidden behind his wrath, as if he were killing a part of himself instead of an unlucky stranger. 

And then it was over, the pipe clanging as the artist dropped it. The expression vanished, masked behind a smirk. You wondered if he was even aware of the change, if he felt the anger and the loss. 

What the hell did I just see? 

But this wasn’t the time to figure it out, as V’s pained gasp reminded you. He’d been upright for far too long, and after a swing like that his wound must be excruciating. You shoved aside your confusion and curiosity, forcing your mind to prioritize your current predicament. Philosophical explorations could wait.

V limped back to lean on a wall as you rifled through Margaret’s purse. Her wallet and keys were all you needed, and the second you had them, you went to the artist.

“The address on her license isn’t far. Come on.”

It wouldn’t be safe for long. As soon as the body was found, you’d have to move again. The best you could hope for was a couple of days, two or three if you were lucky. Enough time for the artist’s wound to start knitting back together and for you to process the last twenty-four hours. 

It’s been a long day. 

You hoped Margaret had a comfortable bed.

~~~Next Chapter~~~

[wndmxmffs]

Blurb night request 16 wirh Nat x reader and they have a family in hiding after civil war and have to change locations?

Pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 670

Warning: none that i can think of

A/N: i’m back from my hiatus! i still have so many requests left from the 300+ followers celebration and i’ll be trying my best to complete them, finally. i’m feeling better and inspired now, so let’s hope this is going to work out! happy reading, and i’m sorry i take so long completing these xx

Prompt:

16.  “Let’s go somewhere. I’m tired of this town.”

You were sitting in your favourite armchair with your knees pulled in, staring blankly at the television set which was playing an old cartoon your kids had already seen a thousand times. Since Natasha left for Leipzig, your days have been filled with all shades of grey, no colours anywhere to be found. You had been trying your best to keep the children entertained while distracting their thoughts from their missing mother, but you started running on low. The safe house was exactly in the middle of nowhere and even though you liked the quiet and calm, it was not the most ideal place for two hyperactive children. They soon got bored of their toys and started teasing each other, only settling down in the evening when their favourite cartoon was playing on TV.

You told your daughter, your elder child that you would be back in a minute as you made your way to the small kitchen. You slowly got three mugs out of the cupboard and poured some water in the kettle before boiling it when you heard the front door open and close. You quickly lifted your head and heard your kids yell euphorically when they saw their redheaded mum entering the living room. A wide smile started spreading on your face and you leaned against the door while watching Natasha pick up both your kids and spin them around, making them giggle uncontrollably.

“They’ve missed you like crazy,” you said as you approached your wife, taking your little boy into your arms so Natasha could put her sports bag down.

“Only they? And what about you, wifey?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. You chuckled and placed a peck on Natasha’s chapped lips, suddenly forgetting about the tea you were going to make. You smiled brightly at Nat once you pulled away, but when you saw her tired and serious expression, your face fell, too. You put your son down the same moment Natasha let go of your daughter, and you told the kids to get back to their cartoon while you talked to their mum.

Natasha led you to the kitchen and leaned against the counter once you closed the door.

“You lost?” You asked in a low voice, folding your arms against your chest.

“It was never going to be a winning fight for anyone, Y/N,” Natasha sighed out, playing with an apple anxiously.

You nodded silently and lowered your head, looking down at our toes. You loved Natasha with all your heart, but her being an Avenger could make things exceptionally difficult at times.

“Okay, well, what’s the worst case scenario? It’s not like the CIA is after you or something,” you chuckled nervously, lifting your gaze from your fuzzy socks to your wife. Your face fell just again as you saw Natasha’s lowered eyes and all the muscles in her body getting tense. You dropped your arms and looked at her in disbelief. “Nat?!”

“Shh, it’s okay!” She blurted out, stepping closer to and placing her hands on your arms, giving them a comforting squeeze. “It’s all going to be okay. I have a plan.”

You raised an eyebrow at your wife, waiting for her to continue.

“Let’s go somewhere. I’m tired of this town. And I know that you are, too. So, what do you say? Just you, me and the kids. They’re growing out of this house anyway.” She added, looking at you from under her long eyelashes. You wrapped your fingers around her wrist and let out a sigh, not knowing what to do. You knew you couldn’t stay here but you were worried about the kids adapting to a change of surroundings.

Natasha leaned even closer and tilted her forehead against yours, making you smile faintly at the gesture. You slowly closed your eyes as you blurted out the words.

“Fine, we’re packing tomorrow. But first, I need my beauty sleep. You three make me hella exhausted.”

Natasha laughed as she leaned in to kiss you and you knew that no matter where the road might take you, Natasha and your children would forever stay your real home.

Please, leave your feedback in my comment section or my inbox. It would mean the world to me. Thank you!

[onceuponaloonatic]

What was the day of kihyun's birth like for dubchaeng and the aunties?

i basically passed out after posting my art oops i forgot to check my inbox i’m sorry for the delay 🥺🥺

“dahyun? you need help getting up?” chaeyoung offered her mate, who just stared at her in response.

“the bed has taken me chaeyoung. i am the bed now.” dahyun muttered, cuddling closer to the bed.

“you sure?”

“yes chaeyoung i’m sure.” dahyun nodded. “i’m nine months pregnant with your son, you should be getting me everything i need.”

“i can’t bring you the toilet.” chaeyoung rolled her eyes.

“but you can bring me ramyun.” dahyun have chaeyoung her signature puppy eyes. “please?”

“fine. i’ll be back in ten minutes. try not to go into labor while i’m gone.” chaeyoung teased.

“i’ll try, but you know he’s already late he may as well just wait another month or another year. i love being this pregnant. i’m like a whale.”chaeyoung rolled her eyes at the sarcasm and left the room, going downstairs in seek of ramyun for her mate. they hadn’t gotten married yet, they decided to wait until after their son was born to get married. he was already late and that was making dahyun stressed, chaeyoung could tell. dahyun didn’t want to have a c section unless she had to, but if their son continued to be late the doctor said they would have to get one. that worried chaeyoung, but she knew it was stressing dahyun out more. they asked nayeon, hyunjun had also been a bit late, and she told them things would work itself out if they just waited. it was just hard to wait.

chaeyoung didn’t like being away from dahyun for too long, so she rushed through the ramyun. once she was done she went back to dahyun. she found her wife stroking her large stomach and texting someone.

“i have your ramyun.” chaeyoung announced. she put the food on the nightstand and helped dahyun sit up. “need to be fed?”

“stop teasing me.” dahyun pinched chaeyoung’s cheek. “let me eat my ramyun in peace.”

“fine.” chaeyoung smiled. chaeyoung laid next to dahyun on the bed, looking over her email while she waited for dahyun to be done.

“chaeyoung.” dahyun paused eating to look at chaeyoung. she seemed calm, but knowing dahyun that could mean anything.

“hm?”

“i think my water just broke.” chaeyoung had never gotten out of bed faster.

xx

“chaeyoung.” dahyun whined, clutching tightly to chaeyoung’s hand. she stared outside the open window, not looking at her mate. dahyun wasn’t sure if the heat on her face was from the pain of her contractions or the warm spring air.

“i got you.” chaeyoung whispered.

“what if- what if i can’t do this? what if i’m not a good mom? what if we were rushing things-”

“baby calm down. you got this. you are my super cool super strong dahyun. besides, this is for our kihyunie. you can do this baby.”

xx

“i’m worried.” sana was pacing in the waiting room of the hospital.

“stop pacing, your worrying me too.” nayeon commented. “were you guys like this when i gave birth?”

“sana was the same more or less.” tzuyu commented. “but i think she’s more stressed because dahyun is tiny.”

“chaeyoung is too, their baby will likely be tiny as well.” jeongyeon rolled her eyes.

“sana ,dahyun hasn’t had any problems so far and he’s not early. calm down.” jihyo informed. “they knew what was going to happen.”

“it’s dahyunie you know i have to worry about her.” sana muttered. everyone knew the younger omega had become like sana’s little sister over time. she had always been super attached to dahyun.

“sana look, we’re all worried, but dahyun will be fine. she has her mate with her.” momo sighed. “and that’s all she really needs.”

xx

“dahyun...” chaeyoung looked at her mate with all the love in the world as she held their baby boy. he was wrapped in a blue blanket and was resting on dahyun’s chest. “i love you.”

“i love you too.” dahyun whispered. “kihyun, mommy loves you as well.” chaeyoung, who was sitting next to dahyun, put her hand on dahyun’s shoulder, turning her attention to their son. chaeyoung’s heart melted. she loved both of these people so much. they both stared at kihyun as he stared back. no words were needed at the moment.

their silence was interrupted by sana knocking on the door. after a quiet come in from chaeyoung sana burst through the door, looking super worried. she melted when she saw the baby, getting over to dahyun’s side.

“are you okay?” sana whispered. the others came into the room after sana, making sure not to crowd dahyun and chaeyoung.

“i’m fine unnie. i have a lot of painkillers in me right now.” dahyun giggled. “meet your nephew.”

“hi cutie pie.” sana’s eyes went wide as she looked at the pale baby. “i’m your auntie sana.” kihyun looked at sana and let out a little whine.

“i think that means he likes you unnie.” chaeyoung smiled.

“congrats dude.” jeongyeon gave a friendly punch to chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“he looks just like both of you.” tzuyu sat next to chaeyoung. “i hope he isn’t as annoying.”

“that’s very sweet tzuyu.” chaeyoung sniffled. she wouldn’t admit it but she cried the first time she held kihyun.

“he’s so cute.” nayeon commented.

“thanks guys.” chaeyoung gave them her brightest smile. “thank you so much.”

[wndmxmffs]

Corpse Bride

For the spoopy selebration!

Pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.7K+

Warning: paranormal stuff; the reader is basically dating a breathing corpse lmao

A/N: heyy! so, finally i’m back and in time to post my first piece for the spoopy selebration! hope you will enjoy reading this one, i had a lotta fun writing it even though it might be rushed which i’m sorry for :((( got so dark at the end oml

It was a long, cold and lonely night. The fog had just started settling again and you tried to speed up a little to get home as soon as possible. You didn’t necessarily live in the safest part of the city and you weren’t planning to get attacked on your way home through the not so well-lit streets- your quarter wasn’t the richest one either.

As you speeded up and turned the corner, you saw a slightly dirty white dress flowing around the figure of a redheaded woman in the wind. Your heart skipped a beat and you almost let out a scream before placing your hand on your chest with a racing heart. You looked into her glassy eyes and started to feel uncomfortable but still approached the woman. You weren’t sure if it was the clever thing to do, but she seemed lost and alone, and you didn’t want her to get into trouble.

You crossed the street, looking both ways before stopping a few inches away from the stranger who slowly turned her head to you. You could clearly see her mouth moving but all you heard were incomprehensible whispers. You shook your head and stepped a little closer, asking her to repeat what she had just said.

“I’ve locked myself out,” she repeated a bit more loudly. You nodded and looked around on the street. You could see a group of young boys turning the corner and you felt a sudden sense of anxiety in your stomach as they looked at you with raised eyebrows- before continuing their chatter and laughter down the road. You let out a small sigh and turned back to the stranger woman who seemed lost and – even though she tried to hide it – scared. The light breeze flew some of her red hair in her face and she was quite slow to react- she put it back behind her left ear like she was already dying. You had no idea why, but you felt even colder around her and something off about the beautiful stranger that spent shivers down your spine. However, you simply ignored the bad feeling in your gut and told her to feel free to spend the night at yours- your apartment was only a few feet away. It was obvious that she didn’t have any back-up keys and you couldn’t let her wander around the cold street throughout the night.

Once the old and spooky elevator in your block of flats arrived at your floor, the redheaded woman looked around a bit shy and her eyes wide open.

“I know it doesn’t seem very welcoming but I hope you’ll like my flat a bit more,” you said smiling at her, letting her inside and dropping your keys on the shelf right next to your front door. You led the oddly beautiful stranger around your apartment before sitting down for a tea with her, getting to know each other. You found out that her name was Natasha Romanoff, former Russian spy but that was all in the past. You listened to her talking about herself in her low voice and watched as she was getting more and more comfortable opening up to you.

And from that night on, you kept seeing each other, all the while Natasha grew quite fond of you and you knew that you felt so much more than attraction to this woman. Yes, it was so much more- you felt like you were in love for the first time in a long while. And you had never felt something quite like this before. Natasha was more than a simple human being- she radiated a particular kind of mystery that you weren’t able to solve and that was what made you feel such a strong attraction towards her. Natasha was everything you had ever dreamt of.

When you first started going out, it was a bit awkward and hard to find the right topics, but eventually, you started getting to know each other even more. However, Natasha still acted weird every time you were walking around the town- like she had been sent here from another planet or simply another century. And little did you know that was the truth.

At first, you didn’t have any suspicions. You simply thought they were silly thoughts and chased them away as quickly as you could. But, over time, your anxiety started taking over. You knew that something was up, that something wasn’t right. Natasha had never actually told anything important about her life besides her work and his favourite things. She always looked sad and pale, and her choice of clothes didn’t help the situation either. She either stayed quiet all day or spoke at such a low voice that you could barely hear her. At first, you thought she was simply ill, maybe had caught a cold but after months, you knew that something else was the reason.

At first, you didn’t even give a second thought to these odd things about your girlfriend. Everyone has their quirks, right? But there was a single week that managed to change your mind and led you to believe you were simply crazy. There was no other explanation for everything that had happened.

It all started on a cold night. You were bundled up in your blanket and were sleeping peacefully when you reached out to cuddle your girlfriend, half-asleep. When your hand landed on the cold surface of your bed. You furrowed your eyebrows and pushed yourself up on the bed, looking around with your eyes slightly open. You scratched the back of your head while getting out of bed and headed towards the door to look for your girlfriend. You had already reached for the handle on the door when you heard a loud scream in the kitchen. You froze for a moment, then quickly opened the door and rushed out, already looking for the closest weapon when you saw Natasha standing by the window all alone, looking at the full moon. You looked at her with wrinkles on your forehead and touched her shoulder gently, causing her to let out a small whimper and look at you with eyes wide open.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just heard a scream and…” But you couldn’t finish because Natasha simply turned towards the corridor and went back to bed without saying a single word. Later, you remembered that her feet didn’t make any sound while walking on the parquet, even though they were creaking all the time you walked on them.

The next day, Natasha told you that she had some stuff to do downtown and you had a hard time letting her go. You were sitting on the top of your kitchen table with your girlfriend between your legs and her lips intertwined with yours. You couldn’t help but giggle when she gently caressed your back, saying that she needed to leave. You looked sadly and still desperately at her as she stepped out the front door, finally wearing something from this century. She even seemed less pale and much happier than those days and you were convinced that the events from the night before were simply a part of an awful nightmare. However, as you went to the bathroom to wash your hands before making lunch and looked in the mirror, you could see her standing behind you and you let out a cry before quickly turning around. You couldn’t see anything but your old furniture- Natasha was long gone. Your stomach was jumping up and down and you needed to sit down to take a moment before going back to the kitchen. You buried your face deep in your palms but all you could see was Natasha’s pale face and glassy eyes staring at you in the mirror. You knew you needed to get out of your flat, so you grabbed everything you needed and reached for the handle- which didn’t even move. You tried to push it down, pull it up but it was steady and stubborn. It didn’t even let out a squeak as you kept trying and you simply couldn’t believe all this was real. You hysterically started looking for you keys and you even dropped them before trying to push it into the lock. However, it didn’t fit. You had no idea what had happened- all you knew was that you needed to get out. You felt warm tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked around, trying to find a way out and the moment you turned towards your living room, you saw Natasha again- she was dressed in her white Victorian gown, much like a bride’s dress back then. Your girlfriend looked at you from under her eyelashes and her lips slowly formed a terrible smile on her face. You started screaming at the top of your lungs and banged on the door multiple times, hoping someone would hear you- only then you remembered that you had only two neighbours- one of them was at work and the other one was a deaf lady.

You saw Natasha slowly approaching you with that smile of a psychopath on her face and you were sure it was the end. However, you didn’t give it up so quickly. You grabbed the vase from the bookcase and threw it at the beast you had called your girlfriend not so long ago. She hissed and pressed her hand on her forehead while you had time to escape- the door suddenly opened up and you ran as fast as you could down the stairs and out the front door of your apartment. You weren’t stupid, you knew it was not the end, so you had to cross the street as fast as you could while also avoiding getting in the way of an approaching vehicle.

You were already on the other side of the road when you saw the woman dressed in the white gown looking at you while laughing, spending shivers down your spine. You were ready to continue running but a loud crash and an otherworldly scream made you stop. You turned around to see blood flowing out of Natasha’s head and a panicking driver getting out to see the damage, or, in your opinion, the blessing, he had caused.

Suddenly, you could feel the anxiety and the odd coldness you had been constantly experiencing for months leave your body and you knew that she was actually dead this time. You were safe now.

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[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Banished (Part 4)

*Not my Gif*

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Requested: Nope! (Send some in if you want!)

Paring: Bellamy Blake X Reader, The 100 X Reader

Word count: 3700

Post Date: 5-21-19

Summary: When the 100 was sent to the ground, Y/N Y/L/N was one of them. Having been locked up for almost 8 years, how will she react to surviving on Earth? Especially when she gets banished...

A/N: Part 4! Please like, reblog, comment. Dear god please comment, I really could use your feedback. Also please please please request things guys! My inbox is always open and is empty! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

- Ria

~Master List~

~Open Requests~

Based off episode 1x04 Murphy’s Law of the 100

You stare at the four sections of dirt, 2 more recently dug than the others, you couldn’t have imagined you’d feel this upset over people you met not even 2 weeks ago but you do. Hell, Wells just became your friend, and now he’s gone. You wanted to mourn them, you’ve wanted to mourn everyone. But most importantly you were mourning yourself, the girl on the ark who had hope, who came home to her parents every night, who wasn’t stuck in the hands of a deadbeat guard with a drinking problem. You were mourning your innocence, the thing you lost 10 years ago.

“People die Y/N,” you say out loud, unaware of prying ears, “Get over it.” Your fingers tapped against the light fabric of your pants as you close your eyes trying to get your mind off of the graves in front of you.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have to.” You hear from behind you, immediately recognizing Clarke’s voice. You open your eyes before you roll them, turning around to face the girl.

“And why wouldn’t I have to Clarke? You gonna protect them all? Like you protected Wells and Atom?” You knew you were being snappy and Clarke didn’t deserve your rudeness, but it wasn’t like she was any nicer than you. Her eyebrows raised as she scoffed at your comment.

“Y/N, I’m just saying, death isn’t something you should just get over. You mourn them, and you remember them. And Wells’ death wasn’t my fault, and neither was Atom’s. If I remember correctly you were the one who put a knife in his neck, so I didn’t have to.” She said as your eyes shot up to hers, narrowing as you walked closer.

“What so now Atom’s death is on me?”

“No Y/N I’m just- I mean- You’re right, people die and it’s not always fair, but unless you kill them for no reason, it’s not your fault.” Clarke was trying to calm you down, but you weren’t taking it. You were going to say something before Spacewalker came around, pulling your focus away from Clarke.

“Sorry, wanted to talk to Clarke for a minute. Do you mind?” Finn asked as he eyed you up and down, waiting for you to make a move. You looked between the two before scoffing, allowing them to talk. As you walked away you heard Finn tell Clarke she shouldn’t have been there alone, causing you to chuckle at his annoyance of her. As you walked back into the camp, you saw all the kids carrying logs and scraps of metal for the wall, but your eyes scanned the camp looking as if you were looking for someone and spotting the girl you made your way over.

“Hey Charlotte, how’s wall building?” you asked causing her to look up at you, her smile wasn’t as happy as normal and you noticed quickly but decided against saying anything.

“It’s alright, but I would’ve rather spent the day with you outside the wall again.” You put a hand on her shoulder giving her a small hug with your side.

“Me two.” You chuckle before saying goodbye heading towards the drop ship watching as Clarke exits without a wristband. You frown as you watch her, thinking she never would’ve taken it off. You were about to say something and for the second time someone interrupts you as Connor’s voice rang out through the camp.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Murphy?” he yells as he gets up and pushes Murphy away from him. You ran over and separated them shoving Murphy a little as he laughs.

“Oh, come on Crazy, it was funny, he wanted a water break. Get back to work!” He yells as he smirks at you, challenging you to react. You pull your fist up, ready to react before Bellamy is behind you, holding your fist and shaking his head at you. When you make eye contact you lower your fist, but Murphy just laughs. “Look at that, even though she’s crazy she’s got a brain.” Without even a second thought, you ripped you fist from Bellamy’s grasp, then slammed it into Murphy’s jaw sending him stumbling backwards. When he lands on the ground you give him a half smirk before walking off, choosing to ignore Bellamy’s stares once again. You headed over to drop ship as Octavia and a frightened Jasper came into your view.

“Woah, Woah, Woah, Octavia, what the hell happened?” you ask as you help hold onto Jasper’s shaken figure. He refused to look into your eyes as you held him, rubbing your hand up and down his arm. You gasp as Octavia holds up Wells fingers, hiding it from the rest of the camp.

“There’s more.” She whispers before showing you the knife they found right next to it. Your eyes widened as you realized what happened. Someone killed Wells and it wasn’t a grounder.

You sat in the room with Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia, and Jasper as they inspect the knife and fingers. Watching as Clarke tried to find any thing on the knife to show who did it. When she tells everyone that the grounders didn’t kill Wells and that one of the 100 did you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“So, there’s a murderer in the camp?”

“There’s more than one murderer in this camp. This isn’t news. We need to keep it quiet.” Bellamy says looking at you when he mentioned a murderer. You felt his gaze and you looked up, catching his eyes before you scoffed. You knew you shouldn’t have told him that lie, you knew you shouldn’t have told him anything. Clarke caught your scoff and Bellamy’s stares after his comment, her brows furrowing at the sight.

“You got something you want to tell us Y/N? Bellamy’s comment seemed to be awfully pointed at you.” she says as you looked around the room at the kids around you before shaking your head. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You didn’t find the fingers.” Her attention had changed back to the knife as you stared at the table, not looking at Bellamy’s sorry stares. Almost immediately, Clarke turned to walk out of the tent, almost leaving before Bellamy stops her. Your eyes raised at the commotion and took a step forward, but Octavia pulled your arm back before you could move. You looked at her confused before realizing she just didn’t want you to have it out with Clarke again.

“J.M. John Murphy. The people have a right to know.” That comment caught you off guard. ‘Murphy, Murphy killed Wells. Of course, he did’ you thought. You followed Clarke out of the tent as she hunted down Murphy, finding him yelling at some poor kids. “You son of a Bitch!” Clarke yelled shoving Murphy off his feet. “Recognize this? It’s your knife. We found it where you dropped it after you killed Wells.” Your felt your stomach churn at her statement.

“Where I what? The Grounders killed Wells, not me.” You looked at the boy with wide eyes.

“You’ve been threatening to kill him since day one Murphy. You expect us to believe you now?” You spat, scowling at his objection. Everyone threw around accusations for a minute as your head spun trying to wrap itself around the situation. It was his knife, Murphy had been threatening to kill him since day one, Murphy killed him. Right?

“Come on. This is ridiculous. I don’t have to answer to you! I don’t have to answer to anyone!” Murphy yells knocking you back to the real world. Your thoughts snapped as you looked at him again.

“What did you say?” Bellamy asks, his voice coming deep through your mind. Nothing made sense, Murphy followed Bellamy like a sick puppy. He wasn’t the smartest, but he wasn’t dumb enough to kill Wells. But at the same time, Murphy knew fear of the Grounders was good, but was he smart enough to put two and two together. He would’ve just killed Wells for his own personal vendetta.

“I already told you. I didn’t kill anyone!” He yells, the crowd being to get a little rowdy. You cross your arms as your hand runs up your left arm to your shoulder, feeling the stitches Clarke had put in.

“I say we float him!” you hear as you focus on the people in front of him.

“No we aren’t doing that!” You yell back, trying to keep the people away from Murphy, deciding that killing him most likely isn’t the best option.

“And what makes you think that’s your call Little Miss Crazy!” the same kid that suggested floating him says, using Murphy’s not so secret nickname. Your lips curl up into a sickening smile as you take a step closer.

“You want crazy? I’ll give you crazy.” You whisper as you shove all the kids away from Murphy trying to keep their distance from you. You land multiple punches on some, causing lots of groans and curses to come from the kids around you. One kid managed to get past you and hit you in your jaw, causing blood to flow a little out of your mouth. You wiped the blood off onto your jacket but more came, all you saw was red as you continued to fight back, earning a few hits back on you as Murphy was strung up. When you turned around you watched as Bellamy kicked the crate out from under Murphy. “Bellamy!” you yelled as you took a step closer only to stop at the sight of Charlotte and Finn who is telling her to run.

“Stop okay! Murphy didn’t kill Wells. I did!” You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Murphy was innocent while Charlotte killed her. You hadn’t seen that one coming. Clarke quickly cut Murphy down as you watched Murphy scramble on the ground. You turned to face Clarke as she looked at Charlotte.

“Welcome to the ground… Princess.” You said as Bellamy pulled you, Charlotte, and Clarke into a tent, Finn following behind, all of you ignoring the constant shouts of Murphy to give up the girl.

“I was just trying to slay my demons like you told me.” Charlotte says as you and Bellamy share knowing looks.

“She misunderstood me. Charlotte, that wasn’t what I meant.” Bellamy defended himself. You hadn’t realized but you placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, his eyes turn to you with curiosity as yours focused on the girl in front of you.

“We’re not giving her up. She made a terrible decision but we are not giving her up. She’s a kid.” You say and you pull Charlotte closer to you, a hand on both of her shoulders. She looks up at you before giving you a broken smile and you return the gesture. You glance up at Bellamy as he watches your actions with the girl. He kneels down next to charlotte as his hands replace yours.

“Hey Charlotte. It’s going to be ok. Just stay with them alright?” He says as he nods in Clarke and Finns direction. He heads out of the tent before sharing a nod with you. Charlotte reaches for your hand like you’ve done multiple times and squeezes it.

“He’s right Charlotte,” you start, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll protect you, we’re gonna try our best.” You pull her into a hug as her arms throw themselves around your neck. When you pull apart Clarke grabs your arm.

“What are you going to do?”

“They wanted little miss crazy, they’re going to get her.” You whispered before turning to the exit. You hear Finn shout at you not to do anything stupid before you smile, giving him a wink before leaving. Leaving the tent, you heard a smack then a thud, watching as Murphy knocked Bellamy out.

“Son of a bitch!” you yelled, the same time as Octavia. You pulled Murphy back by his jacket, causing his balance to once again falter. His hand shot out and landed a punch to your stomach. You knocked his legs out from under him as you recovered and you able to push him on the ground. “I told you Murphy, you touch me again I’d show you how this camp works when I’m mad.” You whisper leaning down and repeatedly punching him until Octavia pulls you off of him. You straighten your shirt as you stare at the camp. “What are you all just standing around for? You have jobs, go do them, you have a life, go live it. Think grounders are just standing around waiting for us to kill each other? Go!” You yell after a few minutes of no one moving. You notice Octavia and Jasper watching you as they make sure Bellamy’s ok.

An hour later, Murphy was up and recruiting kids for a hunt and you went to check on Bellamy for the 10th time pacing by his bed as he laid unconscious. You were worried, Charlotte was with Clarke and Finn and Murphy was leaving to go find them. You knew that you needed to help but you needed to make sure Bellamy was ok first.

“Stop pacing, you’re creating a draft.” Octavia joked as she pulled back the flap to Bellamy’s tent. You rolled your eyes as you looked at the girl then to her brother.

“Octavia, I need you to do me a favor. I’m going after Clarke, Finn, and Charlotte and I’m guessing if sleeping beauty over here wakes up before I leave he’s gonna want to come with me. I need you and Jasper or someone to watch over the camp and make sure no one does anything stupid while we are gone or if he’s still out.” You say nodding your head in Bellamy’s direction. Octavia opens her mouth in protest but when you soften your eyes and give her a pleading smile. She closes her mouth and nods before leaving the tent. You plop down on a chair next to you as stick your head in your hands groaning.

“Well that’s a nice sound to wake up to, Sunshine.” Bellamy says as he sits up leaning on one elbow as he rubs the back of his head. You shot up looking at him with a happy smile as you kneel next to his bed.

“Thank you so much for not dying on me, Blake. I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle that right now.” He chuckles at your comment before lying back down. “Listen I hate to put this on you right now, but Clarke, Finn, and Charlotte are out there, and Murphy has put together a group of assholes who want to kill them. I’m leaving in 5 to go find them. You in?” You question as you stand up, throwing your jacket around your shoulders and flipping your hair our from underneath it.

“Let’s go.” He says as he follows you out of his tent, looking around the camp. “Murphy left already.” He mumbles as you look at Octavia, who looked between you two with worry. You pulled Bellamy out of the camp and began looking for the others.

A few hours passed, and you’ve made zero progress, Bellamy and you both exhausted from your trek. He turned to look at you, your breathing had become heavy but not enough to cause you to stop and he watched as the moonlight played on your features. When you turned to look at him he quickly turned away, your cheeks blushing a little at catching him. When you hear branches break and footsteps come towards you, Bellamy and you freeze. You quickly duck behind a tree as Bellamy did the same, waiting for the person to pass you. When you realize it’s Charlotte, Bellamy’s hands shoot out and grab her by the waist.

“No! Let me go!” She yells as she fights against Bellamy’s hold. You and Bellamy try to calm her down but all you managed to do was make her feel guiltier. “Just go. I’m the one they want.” She says before pushing out of your holds running through the forest. “Murphy! I’m over here! Murphy!” You and Bellamy dash through the forest after her, trying to get her to stop screaming. “I’m not your sister stop helping me!” she continues to scream. The three of you all stop running when you realize the only way you could go now was down, and that wasn’t an option.

“Shit, Bellamy what do we do?” you whisper-yell as Murphy’s mob’s shouts come through the forest, surrounding the three of you. You pull Charlotte behind you as you stare daggers at Murphy, not letting him see you scared.

“Hand her over Y/N. You can’t fight of us.” He says as Clarke and Finn raced out of the forest. You watch as Clarke steps up.

“Guys this has gone far enough, We can talk about this!” Her pleadings don’t last long as Murphy grabs her and puts a rusty knife to her throat. Your grip on Charlotte tightens as you feel her try to save Clarke.

“I will slit her throat.” He yells as Bellamy attempts to get through to him. Charlotte’s cries and pleas caught your attention as you turned to face her.

“Charlotte, It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out, we always do.” You whisper as she pulls you into another hug. When you separate you turn back to Murphy and Clarke, trying to figure out a way to solve this situation.

“I have to do this. I can’t let anymore of you get hurt because of me. Not after what I did.” You spin around about to ask Charlotte what she meant only to see her backing off the cliff.

And just like that, she was gone. You lost her.

You stared emotionless at her last spot as Clarke and Bellamy moved towards the edge, looking for Charlotte. But you didn’t, you knew she was gone and it was Murphy’s fault. You slowly turned to the boy, practically seeing red as you walked up to him.

“Y/N… I didn’t… I swear…” was all he said before you first made contact with his face, again and again and again. You aren’t even thinking until you feel Bellamy pull you up, blood dancing across your knuckles from the boy.

“Let me go! He deserves it! He doesn’t get to live if she can’t!” You yell spitting out the words as Murphy scrambles on the ground. The others are silent as they watch you beat him, not regretting your actions.

“We don’t decide who lives and who dies! Not down here!” Clarke yells as Bellamy pulls you into his body even more. You don’t focus on that though, only watching the awful excuse of a person in front of you.

“Clarke if you say the people have a right to decide, so help me god.” Bellamy says as Clarke shakes her head.

“No I was wrong before. If we are going to survive down here we are going to need rules. We can’t just live by whatever the hell we want. We make the rules, together” She says eying you and Bellamy.

“So What do we do now? We can’t just let him back into camp. I won’t let him.” You say as you grab Bellamy’s arm around you, letting him release you as step towards Clarke.

“No. We banish him.” She says looking at him with disgust. Bellamy pulls Murphy off the ground as you watch, not able to contain the slight smile you have at Bellamy’s threats. When Bellamy and Clarke head back you linger for an extra moment, casting a last glance towards to edge of cliff. Murphy watches through bruised and bloody eyes as you stare off.

“You really are crazy. To bad the king doesn’t realize it.” He says gaining your attention. You look between him and your hands, slightly shaking from your latest adrenaline rush.

“Yeah, I am. And trust me, he knows by the fact my fist has left a dent in your face so many times in the last few days.” You whisper before leaving him alone on the cliff, following the rest of the group back to the drop ship.

Back at the camp, Bellamy and Clarke explain to everyone why Murphy was banished and you stood a few paces away from everyone, looking at the cuts and blood from Murphy’s face as everyone separated. Bellamy noticed the distance look in your eye and he made his way over to you.

“How you doing?” He asks as you shove your fists in your pockets, wincing at the slight pain it caused.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” You shrugged as Bellamy finally the bags under your eyes, it finally occurred to him that you probably hadn’t slept since Wells’ death. You start to walk towards your tent when you feel Bellamy pull you back.

“She wasn’t your responsibility Y/N. Her death isn’t on you.” He said as you refused to look at him. You simply nodded before finishing your walk to your tent. Grabbing an old shirt to wipe the blood on, not really caring about cleaning it properly. As your head fell on your pillow you couldn’t help but think about those you’ve lost once again.. Atom, Wells, your parents, and now Charlotte. Your mind travels back through the last few days with Charlotte, you treated like a sister and you didn’t know why, you’ve grown attached to her only for her to rip herself from your life. Just like that. As your mind wanders you found yourself falling asleep, already knowing that tomorrow was going to be hell.

Part 5

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[ijustreallylovezebras]

The Selection - One

Pairing: Tom Holland x Royal!Reader

Summary: It wasn’t her selection, not her choice, and yet when she saw him she couldn’t help herself, she fell in love

Chapter Warnings: Swearing

A/N: So this is the first real part of this series! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it - this one is kinda just to give you a feel of some of the characters and give a kind of understanding of the way in which this is going to pan out if you get me?? Please remember to like, reblog and comment, send in some asks to let me know what you think of it! If you want to be tagged please send an ASK into my INBOX, comments and reblogs asking to be tagged will not be acknowledged other than to refer you to do so so please just send an ask in initially :) Hope you guys are all well!!!

DISCLAIMER - THIS IS BASED OFF OF THE SELECTION SERIES BY KIERA KASS

Y/N felt she was melting under the stage lights that were on her. Not that they were actually on her, so much. More like on Allison and her parents. Y/N sat in between her two brothers, in her rightful place - third in line for the throne.

None of the attention was on her. Just as she was used to. Allison was there for that. All she had to do was look pretty and feign interest - it was a task that became easier the older she became.

After all, the older she got, the more books she had read. And the more books she read, the more easily she could distract herself from The Report.

Not that she disliked The Report - not by any stretch of the imagination. On the contrary, she adored the now somewhat elderly interviewer, Stanley, who had been present for her whole life, and her brothers and her always found ways of entertaining themselves as they blended into the background. That was all they were there for after all - background colour.

Today, however, was a day that she was genuinely interested in. The Selection. It was an event that had been being planned for almost as long as she could remember. Her elder brother, Jason, had told Y/N that Allison had been educated on the system ever since she was born so it was no surprise that all of their earliest memories included planning for the event.

It was surreal to think it was finally actually here. In only a few days time, the empty, lonely palace would be filled with the laughter and chatter of thirty five men. Jason and Lucas couldn’t wait.

Y/N, on the other hand, could. Thirty five men just meant more time for her to spend acting as prim and proper as possible - putting on an act that she had grown up to despise. When she was younger, it hadn’t been such an issue that she would rather hide away than socialise - it was even seen as endearing - yet now it was improper and impolite for her to do so, as a Princess her role was to be as sweet and welcoming as possible.

Lucas’ leg was bouncing up and down excitedly and Y/N placed a hand on it gently to pause it’s movements, giving her younger brother a look of mixed amusement and exasperation.

“Sorry,” he whispered. Y/N shook her head affectionately. Y/N’s mother turned around and gave them a warning look, though there was a slight smile on her lips.

“Whenever you’re ready Allison,” Stanley said with the warm smile Y/N and her siblings had all grown so used to over the years. Y/N’s father placed a hand on Allison’s shoulder as though to squeeze some comfort into his eldest daughter as her fingertips hovered over the glass bowls in front of her.

Allison plucked one from the bowl and held it carefully between her finger tips, unwrapping it slowly as though it was made from the most precious material known to man. She cleared her throat as daintily as she could.

“Elliott Class,” she read. Y/N shifted a little closer to Jason, feeling Lucas do the same to her to take a better look at the screen showing the photo and profile of her new housemate. Blond hair and blue eyes met her gaze and Y/N couldn’t help the little sigh that fell from her lips. Jason and Lucas stifled their laughter at the reaction.

The names flew over her head one after the other and she tried desperately to keep up as best she could.

Timberlake Talley.

Nicholas Ellis.

Matthew McGuire.

Their faces met her eyes in a blur and Y/N knew almost immediately that she would never get the men straight in her mind. She was already so lost and they were only about half way through the procedure.

“And finally,” Allison said, her smile wide and unyielding towards the camera, just the way all four of them had been taught when they were younger (though Allison had, admittedly, always struggled the most with that part of the top) as she plucked up a final application from the final bowl.  “From the South-West of London - Thomas Holland!” A final cheer erupted through the room and Y/N followed Jason’s lead, standing up to applaud her sister.

Applaud her for opening thirty five pieces of paper.

“Are we expected to learn all of their names?” Y/N murmured to Jason, who laughed quietly, both of them maintaining their wide smiles.

Y/N wondered if they looked as fake as they felt.

///

Only a day had passed and already the Palace was beginning to fill with the men prepared for Allison’s Selection. It had been decided over the final family dinner the previous evening that Y/N and her brothers were not to meet the men immediately for fear of overwhelming them too much.

They were to meet Allison almost as soon as they arrived in the Palace and, once all thirty five of them had been welcomed into the glamour of the building, they would meet the King and Queen.

It was fair for them to postpone meeting Jason, Y/N and Lucas. Despite being Royals, they were a family like any other and took great pleasure in annoying their sister.

So Y/N crept around the Palace, eager to catch a sight of some of the bachellors but, at the same time, shitting herself over the prospect. From what she had heard from the maid’s gossiping with her, over half of them had already arrived and settled into their rooms on the floor below herself and her family.

What was infuriating for Y/N was that by having the men here and her having to avoid them until she was formally introduced to them the following day was that it meant she was virtually sectioned off of the majority of the ground floor of the Palace as the men got their bearings - the last thing the King and Queen and Allison wanted was to have any of the thirty five randomly running into Y/N as she wandered about the halls aimlessly.

And the library was on the ground floor - her place of refuge. Her hiding spot. And she couldn’t reach it.

Y/N paced back and forth along the corridor on the third floor until Jason popped his head out of his room and gave her a glare.

“You’ll burn a hole in the carpet,” he huffed. Y/N rolled her head back and groaned.

“I’m bored, Jase,” she declared.

“I can tell,” Jason deadpanned and Y/N sighed loudly.

“I just want to go downstairs,” she whined.

“Can’t you go to the Women’s Room?” Jason asked. Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes.

“Ally’s worried about me running into one of them on my way down,” she explained and Jason nodded.

“I don’t know any of their names,” Jason admitted. Y/N shrugged in response.

“I spent last night desperately trying to learn them,” she informed him. “But I wouldn’t worry too much - most of them you’ll only see a few times,”

“I guess you’re right,” Jason nodded. He paused and looked at her unsurely. “Are you going to be okay… you know, with all of them around all the time?” He inquired. Y/N huffed a laugh, leaning against the hallway wall opposite Jason’s room.

“It’s like Mum said - I’ve gotta grow out of it sometime, right?” Jason shrugged.

“Well if any of them bother me, let me know?” Y/N rolled her eyes a little at her brother.

“I get the feeling that’s what we have guards for,” she teased and Jason chuckled.

“If you really want to go to the library just sneak down - this is your home, not theirs,” Jason suggested. Y/N hummed, thinking over the idea.

“I’m just annoyed because I left a couple of poetry anthologies that I was studying down there,” she admitted wistfully thinking of the well-loved pages of Eliot and Keats she had left downstairs when she had been in the library until late the previous night - worrying over the very thing that was preventing her from going downstairs now.

“Just go,” Jason shrugged. Y/N nodded, running a hand through her hair distractedly.

“I think I will…”

///

Of course, Allison’s fear had to come true. Of course it did. Allison was right about everything - she always was, that was her place as the eldest sibling and future queen. But this was the first time Y/N had found herself bring properly aggravated by her sister’s seemingly improbable talent for predicting the future.

“Your Highness!” Y/N had to suppress her audible groan upon hearing the title. She forced the polite smile onto her face and turned to the man.

“Good evening,” she said, trying not to let her annoyance show.

“I wasn’t aware we’d be meeting you tonight,” Y/N’s smile widened a little as she took in both the man’s nerves and features.

He was one of the more handsome candidates, that was for sure, with unruly, curly brown hair that lay in an almost messy mop on the top of his head, though it was clear he had tried hard to give it some sort of order, he had a sharp jawline and bright brown eyes that held a certain softness in them that Y/N had never really seen before. He had the aura of someone who was normally cocky and self-assured and yet now, being presented with a princess, he shifted nervously from foot to foot, eyes flitting every which way in an attempt to avoid eye contact.

Y/N decided that she liked him - something about the way he held himself and his open expression made her immediately comfortable around him.

“Yes, you’re not meant to,” she agreed, letting her dainty ‘Princess’ laugh fall from her lips. “I just meant to sneak down to the library - I wasn’t meant to be found,” she admitted. The man laughed along with her, clearly feeling a little more at ease. “My parents and Al-” she caught herself just in time - “Princess Allison,” she corrected, “will not be please to hear of me leaving the second floor,” she confided, the grin on her face assuring the man that it was okay to laugh.

“Your secret is safe with me, Your Highness,” he promised, bowing a little awkwardly, as though unsure of the appropriate behaviour to show around royalty - to be fair, before today he never would have needed to.

“Much appreciated, Mr…” Y/N trailed off, racking her brain for the images of the profiles she had studied last night. “Holland?” She questioned uncertainly. The man beamed, proud to have had his name memorised.

“Tom Holland, Your Highness,” the brunet confirmed.

“Well thank you, Sir Thomas,” Y/N bowed her head towards him, not missing the grin widening on his face.

“It was nice to meet you, Your Highness.”

“You too, Sir Thomas. I shall see you at breakfast,” Y/N agreed, turning away from the Selected man and walking towards the library with careful, measured steps in order to avoid allowing Tom to see just how nervous she really was.

[fresh-outta-jams]

Plastic Heart - Part 11

Namjoon x Reader Author: Mo Summary: When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected. Note: All aboard the fluff train! CHOO CHOO! I’m so glad you guys are liking this series so far. It makes me really happy to write it, but it makes me even happier to hear from you!! So be sure to let me know what you think in our inbox or in the replies!! Warnings: None? Word Count: 2.3k

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

After making a trip to your local grocery store to pick up all of the hygiene products Namjoon would need, you pulled into the parking lot of the nearest thrift store. There was no reason to spend a ton of money buying him a whole new wardrobe when the thrift store had a deal that allowed you to buy clothes for $5 a bag. It was a steal. And in your circumstances, it was a very valuable one.

“Pick whatever you like. Today is all about you.” You told him.

“All about me, huh?”

“Well, I figured...you know, after this we could go to the mall? Give you the full human experience. We don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. It’s all up to you.”

“I’d love to go to the mall. I’ve always wanted to, you know?”

“I thought you might say that, yeah.” You smiled. Once you were in the front doors, you led Namjoon over to the men’s section and set him free while you went to look through the shoes to find something he’d like. He’d definitely need some walking shoes, maybe some slides if you could find some that would fit him. Once you found a few pairs you thought he’d like, you walked over to him.

“Shoes?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if you like any of these. If not, I can go look for more. You should try them on first, though, to make sure they fit.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, taking the pairs from you and walking over to the little bench to try them on. He picked the ones he liked and then you moved on, helping him sort through the sweatshirts. It was still pretty cold outside, so he was going to need warm things. You could get him more t-shirts once it started to get warmer. Speaking of cold weather, he’d need boots and a coat, too.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“Isn’t this your college?” Namjoon held up a sweatshirt with your college’s logo on it.

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well then, it’s DEFINITELY going in the bag.” He grinned, flashing those adorable dimples of his. You just about swooned on the spot. God, this was going to be harder than you thought it would be. One of your best friends was a living breathing clone of your ult bias. And now, he was your roommate too. You were beginning to feel like you were living in a fanfiction…

The two of you searched the racks for a while longer, picking out shirts and jeans and some sweats for him. You found him a warm winter coat that fit him right and some boots that would get him through the rest of the snowy season, and then you checked out.

“That’ll be $20.” The lady told you, and Namjoon’s jaw dropped. You handed over a twenty dollar bill, and then he helped you get the bags to the car.

“Twenty dollars! That’s crazy! For all this stuff?!”

You opened the tailgate and moved some stuff around so you could cram all the bags into the open space.

“It’s a thrift store; stuff here is usually pretty cheap, even if it’s in really good condition.”

“You know, I think your aunt spent $20 on ME.” Namjoon shook his head, chuckling to himself. Yesterday, that would have been an almost normal-ish sentence for him to have uttered, but today...things were different. “God, that’s weird to think about.”

“It is, isn’t it?” You looked up at him for a second. It was easy to forget that the handsome man standing in front of you had been a doll only mere hours ago. Now, he was this living, breathing person with just about the warmest smile you’d ever seen. “Where to next, Joon?”

“The mall.”

“To the mall!” You declared, reaching up to close the tailgate before walking back around to the driver’s door. About thirty minutes later, you arrived, parking in the lot nearest to the movie theater and the food court. Namjoon looked up at the tall building with awe in his brown eyes. He didn’t know a building could be this big, and it was only a few stories tall.

“Woah…” He murmured, following you to the glass doors that slid open automatically when you got close enough to them. “Woah!”

“Crazy out here, isn’t it?” You smiled as you watched him navigate this giant new world. He looked up at the second floor from your spot in the center of the bottom floor. Four long halls spread out in every direction, and you were standing in the heart of it all as shoppers walked every which way. Namjoon was sure he’d never seen so many people in the same place before.

“Yeah...Crazy…”

You weren’t really sure where to start, so you led him down one of the hallways towards Hot Topic so you could show him the BT21 stuff. At some point, you turned to talk to him, to tell him something, and he just...wasn’t next to you.

“Namjoon?” You looked on both sides of you, stopping in your tracks in the busy mall. “Joonie? Joonie!” You looked in front of you and behind you and you couldn’t spot him. You stood on your toes to look through the river of people. He was tall! It shouldn’t have been that hard to find him! “Namjoon!!”

And then, finally, you spotted him about thirty feet back, looking around for you with wide eyes. He reached up and fluffed his hair, panic settling onto his handsome features. He’d only been in the mall for what, five minutes? And ALREADY he’d lost you? He didn’t even have a phone, so he couldn’t call you. Oh God, what was he supposed to do if he couldn’t find you? Where would he go? He didn’t have a place to stay. He’d have to sleep outside on some bench until he could figure his way back to your apartment and--oh, there you were.

As soon as you spotted him, you ran back to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as the fear slowly seeped out of you. “Oh my God, I thought I lost you.” You exhaled, heart racing as you found refuge in his arms.

“I thought I lost YOU.” He admitted, still shaking a bit, if he was being honest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wander off, I just--”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Joon. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I just...looked over and you weren’t there.”

Namjoon exhaled a shaking breath, letting you hold him. It felt good, he decided, to be held. In fact, he was sure he’d never get over how good it felt. “I’ll try not to let it happen again. I promise.”

“Well, just to make sure we don’t lose each other…” You slipped your hand into his, your small fingers intertwining with his. You have his hand a tight squeeze. “There.”

Namjoon was sure his new heart was trying to claw its way out of his ribcage. You were holding his hand. You were HOLDING his HAND!!! He could have about exploded on the spot, but instead, he played it cool. Totally cool. He was definitely not flustered at all.

“P-perfect!” He could have about slapped himself for stuttering. But, nonetheless, the two of you walked to Hot Topic together, hand in hand. Your thumb started tracing absent-minded circles against the back of his hand and he felt his heart flutter in his chest.

You showed him all of the adorable BT21 stuff, explaining that BTS had designed all of the characters, and each member had created one of them. Even before you told him which one RM designed, you caught his eyes lingering on Koya. He felt a certain pull towards the little blue koala, and he couldn’t explain why. You saw the look on his face, the way his eyes wouldn’t leave the cute little plushie, and you pulled him aside.

“Okay, you’re going to have to educate me on this ‘toys coming to life thing’, but you definitely look like you want to adopt a Koya.” You spoke softly. “But that’s obviously your choice. You know more about this than I do.”

Namjoon’s expression softened and he glanced over your shoulder at the BT21 rack, looking at the little koala. Then, very quietly, he asked, “Could we?”

“If you want to.”

He thought about it for a second. Obviously, you buying a BT21 plushie would have been a no-brainer for you before you knew their secret. In fact, he was surprised you didn’t already have all seven. But now...things were a bit different. Whether he liked it or not, Namjoon had opened your eyes to this world around you, where toys weren’t just toys anymore. That said, he felt something deep inside him when he looked at Koya, something he could only describe as paternal instincts. It couldn’t be any coincidence that RM had designed the cuddly little guy.

“I do want to.” He nodded, his hand tight in yours as he walked back over to the BT21 display and picked up the box that was housing his little friend. You led him to the cashier and he set Koya on the counter carefully.

“Oh, are you into BTS?” The employee who was ringing you up asked. Her hair was dyed purple and she had a nose ring. You caught sight of a couple of BTS pins on her lanyard.

“Yeah, I am.” You nodded, smiling softly and praying that she wouldn’t mistake your Namjoon for...the other Namjoon. “Who’s your bias?”

“Jimin.” She blushed. “Yours?”

“Namjoon.” You squeezed his hand when you said it, hoping that he would realize you...weren’t talking about RM anymore. He definitely got the message, hiding his reddening cheeks behind a large hand and grinning bashfully.

“Your boyfriend really looks like him.” The girl commented, looking at Namjoon, but not reading too much into it.

“I get that a lot, thanks.” As if his face wasn’t red enough before, the cashier calling him your boyfriend had been the icing on the cake, making his knees feel even more like Jello than they already did.

“I think it’s the dimples.” You agreed, reaching up to pinch Namjoon’s adorably red cheek. He nearly combusted under your gentle affection. He knew he’d never get enough of this. You were everything he’d ever wanted, and now that he almost had you, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to take that next step.

Once you paid for Koya, you slipped your hand back into Namjoon’s and the two of you walked back towards the middle of the mall. “Where else do you want to go?”

“Is there a bookstore here?” He asked, looking around.

You nodded. “Yeah, there’s a really big Barnes & Noble upstairs. We can take the escalators.”

“The WHAT?”

You giggled and pulled him along to where the escalators were. You stepped on first and he got on a step after, stumbling forward into you. Up a whole step higher than him, you were finally about at his eye level, his face inches from yours due to his misstep.

“S-sorry…” He whispered, his warm breath ghosting across your cheeks.

“‘S okay.” You exhaled, carefully stepping off once you got to the top. You helped him off after and led him to the bookstore. As soon as you got there, he started looking around with childlike joy, perusing the various titles, picking them up to read the blurbs on the backs of them. You looked too, casually searching through the YA Fantasy stuff. You hadn’t even noticed that Namjoon’s arm had settled around your shoulders, nor that you had snuggled into his side until you looked up and found that he was so close.

“Oh!” He withdrew, scared of overstepping a boundary that didn’t exist. “Sorry. I didn’t realize--”

“You’re so warm…” You murmured wistfully, snapping out of it quickly, though. “Uh, did you, uh, find anything you like?”

“This one.” Namjoon showed you the paperback copy of To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. “I mean, I loved the movie, so I can only assume the book is good too.”

“Right, of course.” You nodded, hugging the little stack of books you’d found to your chest. With your free arm, you took Namjoon’s large hand and led him over to the counter to check out. There was a little bit of a line, and as you were standing in it, you heard Namjoon’s stomach growl and looked at him, amused, as he stared down at his rumbling abdomen in horror.

“What was that? Am I gonna die?” He asked you softly, using one hand to rub over his tummy slowly.

“You’re not gonna die, Joon, you’re just hungry. We’ll get some food after we check out. The food court is really close.”

“Oh. Okay.” He chuckled at his fear, shaking his head. To be fair, he’d never been hungry before. “Sorry. I know I’m new to this, but I feel so stupid--”

“You aren’t stupid.” You stated firmly. “Until this morning, you didn’t even have a stomach. No one expects you to know how it works yet.”

“You’re right.” He nodded, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You always seem to be right.”

“Well, someone’s gotta keep your head on straight.”

Taking a leap of faith, his heart hammering too loud for him to think, Namjoon leaned down and softly pressed his lips to your cheek before saying quietly, “I’m glad that someone is you.”

Tagged: @iie-wakarimasen, @lilgaga98, @catbugsugarpea, @demonic-meatball, @backtonormalthings, @kbowen9, @honig-bienchen, @coolcat494, @ffantasylandd, @feed-my-geek-soul, @ayoo-bangtan, @xxqueenwxtchxx, @cap-lu20, @finninpoposu, @coldbookworm, @sitkafay, @daniawinchesters21, @okaysoplshelpme, @zamirayinyue13

[flanelltees]

hey writer side of tumbler can you please critique this i need help bc it reads weird to me. its a section of a rough draft so keep that in mind. feel free to comment directly on the post or send me an IM or inbox msg. 

it is billy/steve from stranger tings

Eight beers in for the both of them, and they were falling into each other’s orbits over and over until meaningless teasing morphed into an interrogation. Steve’s whole face was warm, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol, or Billy prying deeper and deeper into his personal life with each new question he posed.

“So you are a queer?” 

Steve lunged forward to clap a hand over Billy’s mouth, eyebrows furrowed with all the control over his face he had left. 

“Alright, watch your fucking language, Hargrove. I don’t—” he cut himself off to rummage around in his brain for some dodgy answer that sounded even a little resolute. His train of thought was interrupted when Billy wrestled his hand away and gave him a full-bodied shove into the wall nearest the two of them. 

God, Steve should just stop trying to brute-force things with this guy. He kept coming out on the bottom. 

His head was swimming from the shove, but despite it practically knocking a few brain cells out of commission, the heat in his face persisted as Billy’s question remained hanging in the air. Steve pressed his palms against his eyes, thinking momentarily about one of the little shits, Will. Steve wanted to do right by him, if what Henderson said about which... team he played for was true. But admitting the truth to yourself had to be a little different when you hadn’t really known it for sure until you were nineteen years old and absolutely plastered, right? 

“I—” 

“And you wouldn’t have anything against fucking me?” 

Steve held a hand up, but all he could say was to stop being so fucking crude. 

“Listen, I-” 

“I told you what I’d do for you, Harrington. Nobody’s around. And I wouldn’t pussy out of this.”

It was baffling how quick Steve was losing his resolve. He pressed out a sigh.  

“... I—… just... didn’t think... you’d be part of this… equation.” 

Truthfully, confronting himself about the feelings that, in vague iterations, rolled in and out of his conscious, wasn’t something Steve was planning on involving Billy in. 

The two had been a very loose definition of friends for most of the summer, being in silent agreement that it was nothing too meaningful or involved, and that they would treat their routine converging as a means for neutral territory. Just somebody to talk to.

They were both nearly braindead from the monotony of their jobs, Steve had a big empty house and a lot of free beer, and the rest was practically history. And that should’ve been the end of it, if Steve had the goddamn foresight to know that Billy Hargrove would never make a good companion to somebody he just got done hating. 

So, of course, Billy was just being fucking Billy, wedging himself into Steve’s business at the first sign of an open door. And Steve had always been a painfully emotional guy.

If Steve wasn’t sure he had been trapped between Billy and the wall before, he was sure of it now. Billy was stepping closer, crowding him flat against the cool plaster until the only way out was the way he got in.

 With what defensive instinct he had left, Steve clumsily searched for cracks in the facade. If he caught one, it was for a split second and it made him falter, in an unrefined hesitance flashing across Billy’s expression. 

Steve wasn’t gonna fuck Billy, he firmly reassured himself. Billy wasn’t gonna fuck Steve either. Steve just didn’t have enough restraint left to stop mirroring the way Billy was starting to look at him. His stomach swooped but he didn’t feel anything coming up, so it had to have been his glance at Billy’s mouth coming closer, and the fact that Steve couldn’t find it in himself to want to draw away. 

If Steve was being honest, Billy was by no means a sight for sore eyes. When their lips finally touched, for a second the kiss wouldn’t have been half-bad. If only the entire situation hadn’t been riddled with a whole shitload of new rules Steve had no idea how to navigate. 

While Steve’s brain tried to logically supply that this kiss shouldn’t be any different from the dozens of others that came before, it also made his hands clammy and awkward in their approach at what to do with themselves. The heaviness from the alcohol didn’t do much for how ungracefully he decided to take Billy’s face into his hands. 

He was starting to really feel the ruthless hammer of his heart against his chest.  

When Billy began to tilt his head into the kiss, Steve felt his hands slip underneath his jacket, finding his hips. They rested there for a few moments, before Billy gave Steve a squeeze. At the movement, Steve flinched, then broke the contact with a jerk. 

“Okay, time. Just to put it out there, there’s a whole fuckload of—of emotional, internalized bullshit I’ve got running laps in my head right now. I mean, I—” he paused to briefly run his thumbs against the grain of Billy’s stubble. “I’ve never made out with a mustache before. It’s like I’m shooting at half-court with a fucking blind fold on—” 

“If you could make up your mind we might actually get to making out tonight, Harrington,” Billy cut in. 

“Look,” he said, releasing his grip on Steve, then taking a step back, netting Steve’s full attention. He watched as Billy went and pressed himself against the wall alongside him, the gesture seeming to spell out his surrender of control. But when Steve assumed he’d stand in front of Billy then, positioning himself across the way, Hargrove’s blue eyes had leveled on his. His pupils were blown wide open. They were gushing something balmy and fierce.

 It took the wetness right out of Steve’s mouth. 

“Are you in, or are you out?” 

All of a sudden this new formation they were in was falling a little more comfortably within Steve’s range. Didn’t Billy know how to get what he wanted.  

Steve’s hands found purchase on Billy’s waist, his stomach starting to churn. Billy’s middle was solid and thick, and filled out the whole palm of each hand. Steve pressed his fingers into corded meat through thin fabric, and oh man. He was starting to think Billy was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for. Something nameless flickered to life below Steve’s skin when he leaned over to find his way to Billy’s lips. 

Steve hadn’t ever felt the type of deep upheaval Billy started to kick up on the inside of him before. Billy met Steve’s parted lips with an open mouth, and it made Steve’s whole head red and heavy when Billy started working into it like he was born to kiss that good. The way Billy flexed his jaw made every little bit about his tongue and lips so much more stupefying. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut.

It was so, god damn hot in there, Steve thought. He figured that it had always been, all of Billy, his inside, his outside, but Steve never believed he’d ever touch it like this. Never really wanted to, that is, until he got the chance. All at once, the searing heat of him made Steve want to bask in it. 

Steve nearly tipped over as he started to get caught up in chasing after that mouth. His breath came out of his nose in short puffs when Billy started to pull on him, with his teeth then with his tongue. Steve licked back in answer, his jaw falling open wider to touch and slide more of his own tongue into Billy’s mouth. He turned his head down when Billy leaned back from him, breath ragged. 

Steve dove into Billy’s neck, sucking feverish kisses along the length of it. Sweat mixed with spit and Steve never remembered it tasting so good. When it felt like he couldn’t hold on to enough of him anymore, Steve dragged Billy closer to him by his middle to press their bodies flush and push his flattened hands into the dip in Billy’s lower back, then up to grope at the other hard muscles flexing under his skin.

[ringa-starr]

What you Mean to Me Ch 4

A/N: Hey Dudes and Dudettes! I wanted to take a bit of a break from the drama and make this chapter more of a comedy :) Don’t worry though the drama will for sure continue in the next part! 

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even though I wrote it in a matter of hours and it really just came from one single idea I had.

Needless to say, t doesn’t feel like my best work, but I hope you guys like it anyways.

Please leave any comments, suggestions or ideas you have for this fic down below or in my inbox because I would LOVE to read them!

As always, stay excellent and breathtaking and be excellent to each other!

I love you all,

-Deidra

It was almost 6 in the morning and Bill’s party was finally over.

As you can probably imagine, his parents’ house looked like two tornados had gone through it: pieces of shattered glass were all over the place, empty soda bottles and red paper cups littered the floor, CDs were all over the place, chip crumbs of all kinds crunched under your foot with every step you took, paper plates both clean and dirty filled the floor as well, and finally stains of God only knows what covered the entire downstairs area.

The only people who were in the house now were Bill, Ted, Emily, Deidra, Ashley and River which meant it was up to them to clean up the party evidence.

Thankfully, Bill’s parents weren’t due back until the next morning.

“Dude!” Bill gasped as he and his friends slowly and carefully walked around the now silent living room.

“How’re we gonna clean all this up?” Ashley asked, really thinking out loud to herself.

“I don’t know”, River said with a shrug, accepting the large, black garbage bag Bill had just handed him. “One section at a time I guess.”

Deidra placed a hand on her pounding head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Would you guys please stop screaming?” she moaned. “My head’s killing me!”

“Ahh the first hangover”, Ted said with a large, goofy smile as he filled his own trash bag with cups. “You never forget it.”

“How would you know?” Bill asked Ted with a teasing smirk. “You’ve never been hungover a day in your life.”

Ted’s only response was giving Bill one of his signature smirks before continuing with his cleaning, Bill shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Ew, guys!” Emily cried from the spot she was cleaning in the hallway. “Come here and look what I found!”

She started laughing as everyone ran into the hallway.

Smirks as well as confused looks filled her friend’s faces at her find: a pair of dentures lying on the hardwood hallway floor.

“Where did those come from?” River asked, disgusted.

Bill and Ted looked at each other and started laughing.

“Maybe they’re Bart Applegate’s”, Ted said with a laugh, thinking of one of San Dimas High’s tall, bulky football players.

Bill laughed even harder.

“Yeah”, he agreed. “Rumor is that big, dumb tub-of-lard’s teeth rotted out of his dumb skull.”

Pausing for a minute, Bill looked at the pair of fake teeth and narrowed his eyes, smirking as an idea came to mind.

“Hey, Ted”, he said to his best friend as he picked up the teeth, the smirk never leaving his face. “Check this out.”

Opening his mouth wider, Bill slammed the dentures into his mouth, causing disgusted gasps from everyone except Ted.

“Eww!” Emily cried out, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Grrr!” Bill cried, giving his friends a wide smile, causing Ted to burst out laughing.

Bill walked back into the living room and pointed up at the ceiling fan, another idea hitting him.

Taking a chair from the kitchen, Bill placed it under the fan and climbed onto the chair.

Ted, knowing what his best friend was going to do, having seen it on tv once, walked over the stereo and put in a CD before moving the chair out of the way.

Ted then flipped on a light switch next to the front door as The Sabre Dance by Aram Khachaturian blasted from the speakers.

https://ringa-starr.tumblr.com/post/186600054397/armenianppl-aram-khachaturian-sabre-dance (You can listen to it here)

Everyone looked up at the ceiling as Bill started spinning around and around on the ceiling fan with the dentures in place, Ted biting his lower lip to keep from laughing again as Deidra, Emily, River, and Ashley looked on in part amusement, part disbelief.

The stereo, of course, was already turned up to full blast so it was no surprise that Bill’s elderly next door neighbor Mr. Fredrickson could hear everything that was going on.

The old man lay in his bed, one of his pillows slammed over his head to block the noise out, the exact position he had been in all night long.

And now he had finally had enough.

With a furious growl and a scowl to match, the elderly man slammed his pillow down on his bed before throwing on his bathrobe and slippers.

“Lousy good-for-nothing kids!” he grumbled angrily under his breath as he walked out the front door. “Why when I get my hands on that little punk, I’ll…”

Bill’s house was vibrating again as Mr. Fredrickson stumbled up to the living room window and looked inside.

He could see Bill spinning around on the ceiling fan only it took the little old man a few moments to realize something.

Eyes going as big as plates, Mr. Fredrickson gasped out loud.

“MY TEETH!” he screamed, although it sounded more like ‘My Teefs!”

Feeling his blood pressure go up, Mr. Fredrickson pounded on the window as hard as his little bony fists would allow, causing the teens to look in his direction.

“I’ll handle this, guys”, River told his friends before walking to the window and opening it.

River knew that Mr. Fredrickson liked him; basically, everyone did and why not?

River was one of the nicest, most respectful teens in San Dimas.

River gave the old man a kind smile as he leaned his elbow on the windowsill.

“How are you, Mr. Fredrickson?” River asked kindly.

“How am I?” Mr. Fredrickson asked, his voice rising. “How am I!? I didn’t get a lick of sleep last night due to my loud-mouthed good for nothing teenaged neighbor hosting a throw down last night! Arrgh!”

River frowned. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fredrickson”, he told the old man sincerely. “Really I am.”

Mr. Fredrickson sighed, his expression softening.

He knew River had no control over what his friends did, and yet, Mr. Fredrickson asked himself why such a good, honest, trustworthy boy like River Phoenix hung out with a group of troublemakers like that.

Mr. Fredrickson gave River a kind smile after a moment’s pause.

“River”, he said. “You’re such a good boy. Why do you choose to hang out with these hooligans?”

River turned his head around to look at his friends, Bill still spinning on the cealing fan.

With a sigh, River looked back at the elderly man.

“With all due respect, Mr. Fredrickson”, River replied, “Even though it doesn’t look like it, my friends are actually good people.”

Mr. Fredrickson slowly nodded his head, his lips formed in a thin line as he watched what happened next.

As if on cue, Bill was wiggling loose from the dentures’ hold, causing him to fly backwards and slam into a nearby wall, falling into a large pile of garbage, the dentures still perfectly in place on the ceiling fan.

In Mr. Fredrickson’s opinion, that moment alone made all he had went through the previous night worth it.

The old man was laughing his butt off as Bill’s friends ran over to see if he was okay.

“Bill!” Ted cried as he and Emily started throwing paper cups and plates aside. “Are you ok, dude?!

Bill slowly opened his eyes halfway, seeing Emily and Ted spinning in front of him.

A moment later, the blonde gave his friends a goofy smirk as he slowly tried to stand up.

“Granddad”, Bill said groggily, his legs feeling like Jell-O and his whole upper body sore. “You ran another stop sign.”

That was all the teenager said before falling backwards head-first into the pile of trash, Mr. Fredrickson laughing so hard he thought he was going to wet himself.

River ran into the bathroom to get a cold washcloth as Emily got down on her knees in front of the trash pile.

She didn’t care if pieces of broken glass were scrapping her legs and knees to pieces as she dug through the trash pile, finding Bill moments later unconscious.

She carefully took her boyfriend in her arms, cradling his head as she eased the cold washcloth River had just given her on Bill’s forehead.

Ted scowled as he looked at the old man outside Bill’s window.

“Whooo-boy!” Mr. Fredrickson cried happily. “Boy, this right here makes all the hell I went through last night worth it, I tell ya hwat!”

Ted turned off the switch and put the chair back under the fan.

Carefully, and still scowling, the long-haired, chocolate eyed, teen grabbed Mr. Fredrickson’s teeth from the ceiling fan before walking over to the open window.

“Aw take your teeth and shove ‘em up your ass!” Ted cried angrily before throwing the old man’s teeth out the window as hard as he could.

“Hey, you little punk be careful with-“

Mr. Fredrickson didn’t get a chance to get another word out before Ted slammed the window shut; his way of telling the old man to fuck off.

Emily let out the breath she was holding when Bill started groaning lightly before slowly opening his eyes.

“Oh, thank God!” Emily cried with relief as she kissed her boyfriend’s face. “Are you alright, baby?”

A smile slowly crept its way onto Bill’s face as the memory of what just happened came back to mind.

“That…was…excellent!” Bill cried as if he didn’t hear Emily’s concern about him.

Bill made eye contact with Ted and they did their signature guitar move, Emily and River looking at each other and smiling, rolling their eyes.

“He’s fine”, the siblings said in unison before laughing.

Taglist:

@shhh-no-ones-home​? @celestiaelisia​ @derangedcupcake​