#yixing series

[marshmallow-phd]

A Manor of Shadow and Blood

Genre: Regency Gothic AU

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: A stormy night brought you to the manor in the middle of the woods. Nine strange men occupied its halls. They won’t let you leave. A dangerous secret haunts this estate. Learning it might either be your saving grace or it could lead to the last breath you ever take.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

**

The wind whistled against the windows like a hallowing scream. You tossed and turned, desperate to fall asleep. The first few nights had been somewhat peaceful, due to the fever having a complete hold over you. To fight it off, your body had kept you in a deep sleep, only broken by bouts of blurry consciousness. 

But now… every noise made your eyelids snap open and your heart jump in pace. This unfamiliar place was full of shadows and secrets. Secrets that revolved around the men keeping you here. 

Releasing a long sigh, you stared up at the canopy, the newly formed indentions in the knife floating in your mind. They weren’t there before, you were sure of that. You had used that knife to cut the chicken and it was in perfect condition. No human could bend the metal like that. 

And then there was the speed at which Yixing caught your wrist. 

You sat up with haste. Sleep was not going to come to you tonight. You groaned and rubbed your face with your fingers. The room slowly came into view as your eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight. You had opened the curtain before slipping into bed so you could watch the moon rise into the sky. Looking around the room, you searched for an answer on how to get yourself to sleep. There wasn’t much in this grand room. Simply a bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, the chair–

Wait. 

Pushing the blanket off of your legs, you crawled across the mattress towards the chair. The shape didn’t seem right. Six legs instead of four. An extra shape in the outline. 

“You should go to sleep.”

A high pitched scream ripped at your throat until a cold hand covered your mouth, cutting off the sound. Now fully bathed in the blue moonlight, you could make out the sharp features of Yixing’s face. 

You shoved his arm away to free your lips. “What do you think you are doing in my room?” No gentleman would dare enter a lady’s room like this. Unless– gumption gone, you swallowed thickly. Was the reason you were trapped here finally coming to fruition?

The corner of Yixing’s mouth twitched upwards. He slinked forward like a cat cornering a mouse until his arms trapped you against the mattress, a hand on either side of your hip. Only your elbows kept you from being flat on your back, even more vulnerable. 

“You’re a noisy sleeper,” he purred, his eyes flashing. “It's… distracting.”

You scoffed. None of their rooms were near yours. You were sure that all the ones around you were empty. He shouldn’t have been able to hear your tossing and turning. “Distracting?”

He hummed. His right hand lifted from the bed and reached out towards your face. You flinched at the motion, making him freeze. 

But only for a moment. 

The hovering fingers soon resumed their path. He didn’t make contact with your cheek, however. Instead, his fingers traced the outline of your collarbone. Down one slope and up the other. You trembled at the contact. His smirked only deepend. His fingers moved on to your shoulder, the too loose neckline of the nightgown nearly falling off. 

You should slap him away, scream at him to leave, but you were too petrified to do so. 

At least, you thought that was what stopped you. The coldness of his fingers moved up the curve of your neck, the tips pausing on the pulsing vein. His thumb caressed the edge of your jaw. 

“Go to sleep.”

And like that, he disappeared into the night like smoke from a dying ember. 

You didn’t hear or see the door open or close, but you knew you were alone now. 

And you were furious. 

How dare he come here! How dare he–

Your feet hit the floor, heavy and without a care of being heard. Sleep, in protest of that madman’s orders, would now be impossible. Anger and frustration at your situation fueled something new within you.

You weren’t sure what it was or what it would lead to, but you followed it without question. Donning soft slippers and a thicker slip dress, you found a candle in the top drawer, along with a few matches and a holder. You lit the candle and left your room. 

Out. You needed to find a way out. Perhaps if you could get ahold of a piece of paper and a pen then you could write–

But how would you get it to someone who could take it to your family?

This place–somewhere in its halls or dusty room–had to hold the key. Something here had to be your savior, something to make this hope not without merit. 

You pinched the candleholder tightly in your hand. The tiny flame danced before your eyes, occasionally catching your attention away from where you were going. All of your senses were heightened, on the lookout for the next corner’s surprise. If one of them was awake at this hour, then more could be as well. Running into one of them could be detrimental–or a possibility for answers. Perhaps if you could get one of the others, one of the less… frightful ones, you might be able to plead for help. One surely would take pity on you. 

Or they would simply take advantage of the isolation.

Though that fear lingered in the back of your mind, you kept on your quiet steps. 

There wasn’t much you could see with the light of the candle. The floors, like your room, were of wood boards somewhat taken care of. Portraits and landscapes hung on the walls, but their colors had faded, no longer holding the joy of life they once had captured. 

Taking a left at a fork in the hall, you came to a large door that didn’t open like the others. It slid sideways on wheels like a ladder against tall bookshelves. As carefully as you could, you pushed the door open and glanced inside. 

The room was just a simple parlor, with an unlit fireplace and several stuffed chairs accompanied by small side tables. Most likely an unused smoke room for the gentlemen to disappear to after dinner. 

Across the room was another door, though this one seemed to be the normal kind that swung on hinges. On the other side was probably another hallway. A connecting room like this could be useful as a quick getaway, should the need arise. You mentally noted its existence and stepped inside, slowly sliding the door closed behind you. With a deep breath, you started for the other door.

“I don’t recall you being given free reign of the manor.”

You nearly dropped the candle from the unexpected voice. Careless! You should have inspected the room closer and then you would have seen Sehun clearly leaning back in one of the chairs, fully facing you. His expression was a friendly one, but rather one of deep irritation. It would seem you interrupted… something. Or maybe your mere existence was enough to annoy him. 

“I wasn’t explicitly told to stay in my room,” you argued, though not in a particularly strong voice. “Is there something wrong with me walking about?”

Sehun stood from the chair with inhuman grace. You had never seen someone move so smoothly, without fault or twitch. He had complete control of his lithe limbs and tall stature. Gangly would never apply to him. His steps were noiseless as he sauntered closer, stopping a foot or two away. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he snarled. “It’s stupid to roam where you shouldn’t be.”

“Stupid?” It was one thing for you to scold yourself in your private thoughts, but you would not be insulted this way. “If I am so unwelcomed in this room then you can simply ask for me to leave.” You raised an eyebrow in challenge, hoping that would cover the pounding of your fearful heart. 

He didn’t appear to notice. His jaw shifted left to right, but no words left his lips. 

“Well, then.” You took your eyes away from him and started for the other door, holding on to that tiny bit of triumph.

An arm as strong as an iron bar flashed before you, blocking your way and refusing to move. Sehun’s palm was spread along the faded green pain of the wall. You shoved and pushed at the barrier, but nothing even made him flinch. He encroached, leaving behind any sense of personal space, much like Yixing just an hour before. He loomed over you, his upper lip curling into a mixture of a snarl and smirk. 

“That bravery is a mistake,” he hissed. You pressed your back against the wall and brought the candle close to you as if that tiny flame was enough to keep him at bay. 

Which was exactly the reaction he wanted. A sly, wicked smirk fully took over. 

Pursing his lips, he blew once, snuffing out the flame. For a few seconds, you were absolutely blind in the sudden darkness. Sehun was invisible to you, despite his closeness. However, you could feel his breath against your chin. It was cold, like a winter’s breeze. It should have been warm. Human breathes were warm. 

That chilling breath grew closer. It traveled from your nose to your cheek and then to your hair, ruffling the strands against your ear. Something nudged against your temple. He took a long, deep breath. His nose. Was he… smelling you?

Your eyes began to adjust to the darkness, absorbing any bits of moonlight that broke through the heavy curtains hanging from the short windows above your head. All you could see of Sehun was the slope of his shoulder and the outline of his hair. 

His head snapped up, making you squeak. But he didn’t acknowledge the jump, his eyes turned towards the hallway you had entered from. A low hiss vibrated in his chest. You could nearly feel it in your own. He glanced at you once, his eyes shining unnaturally in the dark. Then, he ran from the room at a speed no man should possess. 

You ran back to your room, the candle still gripped tightly by your side. Panic gripped you so completely that you passed the door to your sanctuary the first time. Once inside, you desperately searched for a way to lock the door. There was none. Alright. Fine. You would barricade the door then. 

Huffing shallow breaths, you pulled and pushed the armchair so it acted like a weight against the door. It might not be heavy enough to keep it shut forever, but at least entering would be a struggle. You had tried the more fortifying dresser first, but it had refused to shift even a centimeter. The chair was the best you could do. 

Ripping the blanket off of the bed, you draped the heavy fabric over your shoulders and sat down on the floor under the window. Your gaze stayed trained on the door, ears straining for the slightest sound to alert you for whoever came for you next. Sehun's cold breath still lingered against your skin. You rubbed at your cheek to try and make it go away. So close. He'd been so close. 

And Yixing. That was why you couldn't be on the bed. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Or even the night after that. It was tainted. You shivered at the memory of his closeness and pulled the blanket in closer. That one long cloth was now your shield, your protection. The object that kept you safe. In your mind, at least. In truth, it would be ripped away from you as easily as water slipping through your fingers. But the thought was enough. 

You tucked your chin in between the folds and kept watching the door. Soon, the night would get lighter. Already, the darkness didn't seem as strong. 

How long until one of them came? Until someone tried to push their way inside? You hoped it would be a long time. Even hoped that they would forget about you and you could find a way to make it out, survive the forest, and see your family again. The odds weren't in your favor, but that hope was a life line. 

As the moonlight shifted, your eyes grew heavy. It was a battle to keep them open. Each time they fluttered closed, you lost ground. Sleep that had eluded you so easily before now came back to reclaim its time. The door blurred before you and then sleep claimed its victory.

Tap, tap, tap.

Your eyes blinked open. It was still night. Or, perhaps, it was night again. This darkness felt new. The beginning of a fresh night. 

Tap, tap. 

You looked up at the window above your head. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Little black dots hit the window before disappearing out of view. You frowned and pushed up off the floor, the protective blanket falling to the floor. Still emerging from sleep, your eyes took a moment to bring the scene into focus. At first, you merely saw a blur amongst the grass. 

Then, it took shape. 

You groaned. Jongdae was waving at you to come down.

You shook your head furiously. Safety was in here. And... though he didn’t feel quite as dangerous as the others, he still made you weary. The memories of Sehun and Yixing were still burnt freshly into your mind.

At your refusal, he visibly sighed. In his other hand hung a small cloth bag. He pulled a small bun from the bag and held it up to you. Your stomach grumbled and gurgled  in response. It looked… nice. You could almost smell the bread's delectable scent. Were you really going to give in to food? 

You needed an ally, you told yourself. He was different from the others. How much you weren't sure, but perhaps you could use that. If you could make him sympathetic to you– 

Mind made up, you turned from the wind and changed into more appropriate clothing. This time, you heeded Jongdae's advice and kept your hair down to cover your neck. It felt highly improper, like a hundred governesses would appear from nowhere to scold you for being so scandalous. But you shoved the invisible tsking women away and moved the chair just enough to exit into the hallway. 

It took some time to find your way outside. Jongdae now waited for you with his back against a lone tree that looked to be one more winter away from death.

"I'll note that food is a way to entice you out." 

You glared at him. "Did you have a reason for standing under my window instead of knocking on the door like a normal person?" 

"Junmyeon had tried to bring you breakfast around sunrise," he said as he inspected the perfectly browned bun still in his hand. "He couldn't get in, though." 

"I blocked the door," you explained casually. 

Jongdae raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by some measure. “Quick learner." 

"After some… events last night, precaution was necessary." 

"Yixing has restraint." He pushed off the tree and held the bun out to you. "You were lucky that Sehun was called off of you, though. His self-control is... lacking." 

You gaped at him, heat rising fiercely in your cheeks. "How did you–” 

“Know?" he smirked. "Secrets don't exist here. Best you learn that quickly." 

You narrowed your gaze at him. "No secrets?" 

Seeing right through you, he laughed, leaning forward and close to your face. "From us. Not for you." 

The pure arrogance in that reply. "That hardly seems fair."

"That's life,” He shrugged. Looking around for nothing in particular, he said, “Let's take a walk." 

The roll broke easily against your teeth. You chewed on the bite, resisting the urge to moan at its delicious flavor. The inside was still soft and fresh. Finally swallowing, you refused him a single step. "Why?"

"You've been sleeping on a hard floor all day,” he said pointedly. You didn’t want to think about how he possibly knew that. "You need to move." For an extra enticement, he held up the linen bag. More where that came from, he said without speaking. 

The bun in your hand, though all of its warmth was gone, was like heaven in your stomach. But it certainly wouldn't be enough. "Fine." 

You followed him alongside the house, not bothering to speak so you could continue eating. The last of the orange glow of day disappeared into the horizon far ahead of you. Yes, you had really slept for all those sunlit hours. Once again, night, it would seem, was to be your day. Chewing on the last bit of bun, you held your hand for the next morsel. 

"We’re greedy this evening," Jongdae chuckled. 

 "Did you think I came for your company?" You couldn’t help but give a spiteful response. 

Not offended in the slightest, he threw you a rather despicable smile. "Better my company then one of the others."

Though you agreed, you refused to do so aloud. "Are you that different from them?"

He didn't answer. Staring ahead, he reached into the bag and pulled out another bun, holding it out for you. 

"Is this to keep me from asking more questions?"

You managed to make him chuckle. "No. Just to keep you occupied while I answer the last one." 

Too curious, you accepted the bun and took a bite. Jongdae sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, the now nearly empty bag dangling from his fingertips. "We're all different from each other. I'm not more different from them. Though I am better than the others at controlling myself." 

Your steps faltered. "Controlling yourself?" 

He nodded. As you passed under another tree, he reached out and swing up into the branches without exerting effort, sitting on a branch well out of your own reach. 

"What are you? All of you,” you asked in a breathy gasp. All they were capable of doing was adding up, but logic told you repeatedly it was impossible. You wanted to try and rationalize it, even try to convince yourself that you were still sick with fever. But this was all too real to be a mere hallucination. What it all meant, however, you couldn’t understand. 

Hands grasped around two of the branches, he leaned forward and closed the gap between you. "You seem moderately intelligent. I'm sure you can discover the answer on your own." 

"As flattering as that is," you huffed through clenched teeth, "if the answer means danger then you should be the man to tell me." 

"If?" Jongdae laughed, as if he had read your mind. He jumped from the tree, flattening the bits of hair that had fallen out of place with his fingers. Despite playing in the tree like a child, he looked ever so the gentleman.

"’If' is a fantasy.” He glanced behind you. Scared, you followed his gaze, but there was no one there. When you turned back around, you gasped. His nose was mere centimeters from yours. "It does mean danger. You need to keep your eyes and ears open. Happy or not, you are here for a long while and no one is coming for you.'' 

You swallowed back tears as his words planted firmly in your heart. Now, you truly accepted it. No running, no escape. You were at their mercy. Whatever they were. And though Jongdae gave the impression that he was on your side, his help was firmly limited. Food and company, that was all he was good for. 

Walking once again, you solemnly finished the last bit of bun as Jongdae kept pace. When the second helping of bread ran out, you chewed on your next few words. If you were here for the foreseeable future, you might as well know this land’s history. 

"Who’s house is this?"

"Hm?" Jongdae had been lost in thoughts of his own, it appeared. He blinked himself back to the present conversation. "Oh. The manor is Kyungsoo's." 

"Kyungsoo's?" you repeated. Odd. The answer you had been expecting was the obvious: Junmyeon. He seemed to be the one everyone looked to for answers or leadership. His word was law, yet this land did not fall to him. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, felt too... isolated, cut away to be the rightful owner of this grand place. The few lords you had met before all possessed the same self-awareness and high opinion of themselves. Kyungsoo didn’t give the appearance that he cared about either. 

"Yes,” Jongdae nodded, his previous teasing gone now. “He inherited it from his father. The family used to own as much land as the eye could see. But his father was a gambler. Terrible at cards, wonderful at losing. They had to sell the land to keep the debtors at bay. Now, all that is left is this manor and a bit of the surrounding land, but no tenants. The glory of the family is now reduced to this.” 

You listened to the story with careful respect. It was one sadly more common among the nobility then they wished to admit. Land was constantly switching family names, sometimes it was difficult to keep track. A small fear you had was accidentally reminding a high nobility of their careless ancestor. "What's his family name?" 

"Jongdae! Here's where you disappeared off to." 

Your stroll in the moonlight stuttered to a halt. 

[davincsoo]

My top five current moods of 2022

The cast of Kinnporsche doing anything jesus christ.

Payu and rain fucking and then Boss and Noeul freaking out over it.

The Sandman

Amber Heard's life being ruined thank fuck.

ZHANG FUCKING YIXING IN HOT PINK FUCK ME

[rancidtae]

ARCADIA'S LULLABY / the reboot

Genre: Mafia AU. Vigilante AU. Sci-fi (AI).

Warnings: Graphic violence, Strong language, Mature content.

Pairing: exo & Original Female Character (Jung Jiah/Kang Rina)

meet the characters

A/N: aaaaaand we're back! it's been a while. motivated by this exo comeback and a rewatch of the show that originally inspired this, I've decided to bring this blog back to life. This is a rewrite of a story i posted here a few years back. new scenes, flashbacks, plot improvements and easter eggs for part two are being added. (yes that is still in the works because this was always meant to be Part One of a series, including a bts centered prequel )

So, here it is:

If there’s one thing tenacious investigative journalist Jung Jiah knows about this city, is that trust is scarce and truth is a commodity. Forced to face a haunting past and reunited with the men she once considered family, instinct tells her to run and hide.

But when she finds that her childhood friends might be hiding the key to the one story she could never solve, she’s thrust into a web of complex relationships and blurred lines between guilt, trust, and betrayal. The quest for the truth takes center stage, and it reveals a world where neon lights cast long shadows, and nothing is as it seems.

CHAPTER 1: NIGHTCALL (OUT NOW)

CHAPTER 2: AFTERHOURS (OUT NOW)

[scentlacigarette]

I Isekai’d Myself From the Afterlife Before the Angels Had the Chance to Assign Me Heaven or Hell and Now I’m On the Run with Hot Guys in Another Dimension Because ACAB Also Includes Heaven Lapdogs

Yes, that is the title.

Genre: Isekai fantasy Rating: M(18+) Pairing: Fem!Reader/EXO Content: Isekai tropes, Fem protagonist, angels, mentions of various religious beliefs, nudity (not explicit), stupid jokes and scenarios probably only I find funny (thowwy), pretty excessive use of the word mid, Yixing and Kyungsoo got introduced in the last third, slightly inaccurate title because technically she already got assigned a place but whatever Word count: 5k

Taglist: @eternalnostos - once upon a time you said you wanted to read something I write should I eventually publish it .... Probably not what you asked for but hey. :>

01.

You were born exactly nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes ago—and during all those times, you have barely achieved anything remarkable.

    Despite all of your best efforts, people barely spare a glance to look at you. You were such a docile child that your own parents often forgot you existed; far too occupied by your more rebellious sister only an hour older. Your grades in school were okay: always a few decimals above the minimum score to pass; maybe exactly one point if you were particularly lucky. All the clubs you tried to join during those years were either inactive, got disbanded soon, or required monthly administration fees way above your allowance. You had a few friends in elementary school, in junior high, and then high school—but none so close that you managed to stay in touch past graduation. While most of your peers continued to university or college, you settled for a below minimum wage job at a minimarket chain. Money wasn’t exactly a problem, though, because your parents still financially supported you out of obligation and societal norms. You know them only as much as they know you—which is to say: not at all. But you know a little bit more about your sister who now makes over three times what you make by working in a bank, if only because she likes to boast and will literally not leave you alone.

    But the gist of it is this: You are mid. You are so mid that the word mid itself would rather not have anything to do with you. You are fine; not good, not bad—just fine. And because of that, you have only been cruising through life, letting each day pass without doing much except fulfilling the bare minimum of what you’re supposed to do.

    And that is why, precisely nine thousand and a hundred thirty days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-nine minutes after you were born, walking past a construction site where they were lifting a huge metal beam that falls right above your head and killing you may be the most remarkable thing that happen in your life—

    You die on the morning of your twenty-fifth birthday, but you don’t even actually make it past the last minute of your twenty-fourth year.

In a blink of an eye, you’re transported elsewhere.

    You stand in a long, singular line of people in the middle of pure white nothingness, among other people who look just as confused and disoriented as you. “What’s going on?” you hear someone ask before you get the chance to. “Where am I? Who are you people?!”

    YOU ARE INSIDE THE SPACE OF ASSIGNMENT, a voice booms. It comes from everywhere: it comes from your sides, from your front and back, and also inside your head. Your mind recognises it as something otherworldly, perhaps even divine—but it fills you with dread and sends a chill down your spine. Whatever the source of this voice is, you don’t like it. ALL OF YOU STANDING HERE HAVE DIED. WAIT FOR YOUR DEEDS TO BE JUDGED—YOU WILL BE ASSIGNED A PLACE IN HEAVEN OR HELL.

    “What the fuck—” another voice from somewhere in the queue shouts. “I’m an atheist! You’re telling me now that god and afterlife exist?”

    THEY ALWAYS HAVE.

    Someone else clears their throat. “Does this mean I have attained moksha?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    “From what religion are you?”

    I CANNOT SAY.

    Amidst all of the chaos and shouting questions and confusion, you realise that you are now able to see something far ahead: some kind of a throne; or maybe a desk is more appropriate. A massive figure sitting behind it is bathed in bright light—no, the figure is the source of that bright light. You have to squint your eyes to see, but you think that figure has a dozen of folded wings on its back and several heads above what should be its torso, looking down at whatever poor bastard is standing before it. Once every few moments one of the wings touches something in front of it, and when that happens you move closer to where that being sits.

    You look behind you and there seems to be a far longer line compared to what’s in front of you. People die like flies, you realise. But the judging process—or assignment, as the voice said—goes about on par with the speed of which people are dying and appearing. The dread in your stomach multiplies by tenfold when you notice that the desk and the looming figure behind it are even closer than before. While all the new people farther behind are shouting many variations of the questions you’ve heard only moments before, you look down, trying to plant your feet on the ground—it’s no use; you keep moving forward either way.

    WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO FIGHT IT? the voice asks. You look up and there it is: the source of that voice.

    It’s an angel; you’re sure of it now. Four feet standing apart—your height barely reaches the middle of its shin. You crane your head back and squint against the light emanating from this figure, somewhere around its head—heads, to be precise. Two hands on each side extending to create wings that hold one massive sword—pointed directly at you.

    LET GO OF YOUR FIGHT. IT IS OF NO USE.

    “But I—” Your frantic eyes dart to the start of the line up ahead. You are now maybe only forty people away from it. “I’m just some gal. I never do anything good or bad. How am I going to be judged?”

    One person removed from the line. YOU ARE NEITHER THE FIRST NOR THE LAST TO BE NOTHING OF REMARK.

    In other words, you’re just one mid among billions of mids that the angels have judged—assigned. You shut your eyes close. Another person removed.

    YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. YOU NEED NOT TO BE ANYTHING OF SIGNIFICANCE TO HAVE YOUR PLACE ASSIGNED.

  �� Those are the same things you’ve told yourself over and over and over and over and over again in your life. When your parents asked what will you aim to achieve in life. When your sister asked if you ever dreamed to be something more—something less boring and mundane. You always said: It’s okay to not have high achievement. There’s no sin in being mid. The remarkable are few; the mids are majority of people.

    How quick death changes things. What used to soothe your insecurity is now what threatens to fling you over the edge of panic. You don’t even know panic attacks are a thing that can happen in death. You don’t even know that you can experience panic attacks.

    There is no relief in those words. Suddenly you realise how little you’ve made of your life. How little you’ve done. Your life flashes before your eyes as several dozen more people removed from the line: it’s nothing. From birth to death, you can’t recall any moments that make you particularly happy, sad, or angry; moments that make you feel ashamed or proud. There is only one thing—

    Regret.

    Suddenly you don’t want to die. Suddenly all of this becomes real: you’ve died, and there are only nine more people before it’s your turn to be judged. How did you even die? It wasn’t some grand defeat after battling an illness for a long time, like your grandfather; it wasn’t some tragedy born out of a heroic sacrifice, like your aunt—no; you died because you got unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and you didn’t look up. The construction workers probably didn’t even notice that you were there until you went splat.

    No, no, no. No no no no no. You absolutely cannot go out like this. There are so many things you have yet to do! In fact, the list is so long that you may as well say there are still everything to do. You existed, but you haven’t lived—you’ve never lived. And you can’t even blame it on other people—you were far too content to be nothing remarkable. Now, that feeling of content morphs into a feeling of loss. Fear. Regret. An insurmountable weight of regret.

    Two more people left before your turn. LET GO OF THE FIGHT, the voice warns you for the last time. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT YOU CAN DO NOW.

    No, there’s still something. There has to be.

    The seven headed angel with a dozen wings and no limbs judges the deeds, and each time it makes its decision one of its wings touches what you now can see as a golden staff laid atop the desk. When that staff is touched, the person being judged disappears and the line moves forwards. An idea strikes. Maybe it’s some sort of a transportation device. Maybe, if you’re able to touch it ….

    But how? The desk is as massive as three adults standing on top of each other, and eleven more standing in a row. Only a part of it peeks through the top edge of the surface—you can’t possibly jump that high.

    Then you’ll have to climb.

    You move forwards once again, and as the last person standing before you is being judged, you squint your eyes against the light, trying to find something to grasp and hook your feet on to climb. Just touch it. You just need to try to touch the staff; that is your last and only hope.

    The other angel that spoke to you has moved back and you’re as good as non-existent to the angel doing the judging. The feet of the desk are intricately crafted depictions of people seemingly with eternal joy on the left and unending torment on the right, with each crafted body of a person about half of your height. Before you let your dying mind think and open the gates for the second-guesses to flood in, you dash out of line and start to climb.

    “Hey, look at her!”

    “Oi, what the fuck?!”

    “Is that allowed?!”

    As commotion begins to erupt and you feel a sudden heat coming from everywhere, engulfing your entire being, you grit your teeth and keep scaling the foot of the desk. You’ve never climbed before; never had to. But the fire lit inside your chest burns with only one thought:

    I want to live.

    A force tries to yank you away from the leg—must be the angel. You bite down, clamping your toes on the sculpture and your fingers clawed. The force grows stronger—it’s like being sucked by gravity right behind your back—but your will is even stronger than that. Who knew you had it in you? Then you hear the whoosh of something swinging before the pain of your back being slashed explode. You scream. You climb higher.

    INSOLENT HUMAN—

    I want to live.

    HOW DARE YOU—

    I want to live.

    GET BACK IN LINE.

    I want to LIVE.

    You get to the top and all seven heads of the angel behind the desk turn towards you. For a moment the light dims enough for you to be able to see the entirety of its seven faces, and it’s all eyes staring directly at you.

    And its voice, calm, a stark difference of the other angel huffing behind and above you, simply says:

    YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED HELL.

    “Well, fuck you!”

    You leap just before the gravity sucks you back, and for a split second, your fingers touch the staff.

    You touched it.

    The force that has been trying to keep you away from the staff—from the judging desk—flings you back, farther back, past the blurring faces of people staring in shock, and even farther back, until you pass the last person who has died during this moment, and you don’t stop.

    There is a constant sound that fills your ears as you shoot backwards, and it’s only when your throat bleeds that you realise it has been the sound of you screaming. The heat that engulfed you has morphed into fire burning your hair—your clothes—your skin—until you feel nothing as it has burnt all of your nerves and now begins to consume your bones as well. But your consciousness remains, floating somewhere inside your skull, even as you are blinded in all of your senses. And there is only one thought:

    I touched it.

There are noises.

    There are a lot of noises.

    And the smell—of something burnt, but also: the smell of dirt. The soft smell of dense trees you never noticed until the small forest near your house was cut down in favour of new houses. The pungent smell of insects. The smell of skin, iron, and sweat.

    You blink your eyes open and it explodes. Something vibrates in your throat—your vocal chords, screaming. Your limbs flail as you scramble to shut your eyes; the bright light penetrates past your lid even after you close them, and it hurts. It hurts so bad after those moments of utter blindness when you—

    When you flew.

    There are more noises, some that you’ve heard before: voices of people; of men. They speak in a language you don’t understand, but their tones are frantic and—maybe—worried. Hands wrapped around your arms, around your shoulders; they try to pry your hands away from your eyes but you cry and you cry and you try to push them away—or push yourself away—but you can’t make right from left and you bump into something solid and warm.

    You scream. You quiver. You realise you’re as naked as a newborn. You feel something soft wrapped around your body—a cloak. The voices soften and a hood is pulled above your head. Something flat and cylindrical pressed on your lips while steady hands flat on your back between your shoulder blades. That thing pressed on your lips is tilted gently and your head follows; cold, fresh water flows in.

    At that point, keeping your eyes closed, your own hands grab the water container. You expected your palms to meet a bottle, but it’s instead flat and wide. It doesn’t matter—you snatch it away from the hand that previously held it and greedily gulp down its content until you choke and you cough, spitting a little bit of water—somewhere.

    You gasp and you fold your body forwards, clutching your fist to your chest, you feel the rapid heartbeat inside. Under the shades of the hood you finally dare yourself to open your eyes, and you see your thick bare legs peeking out of the cloak—and the cracked, dry ground underneath them.

    You pull your hands away from your body, staring at them in awe as you curl and uncurl your fingers on your palm, not even caring about the water container you just dropped and now spills water into the ground. One foreign hand reaches out over your legs you instinctively press together to avoid contact—but it’s only interested in retrieving the container. The voice that belongs to the body behind you speaks again, calmer now, with a gentle tone that has a hint of curiosity in it.

    Turning your head around, you squint to look at that person. It is indeed a man: maybe a few years older than you, but not by much; strong brows, heart-shaped lips, and short hair. He speaks again, but you only shake your head.

    “I can’t—” Your voice is hoarse and it sounds alien. “I don’t understand—”

    The man speaks again—or maybe it’s a question, judging by his raised brows and higher tone at the end. You shake your head, and he gestures … something. “I don’t—”

    The other man speaks. He’s still cloaked and his face is shrouded with shadows, but you’re able to catch a glimpse of a dimple on his cheek and pouty bottom lips. He doesn’t speak to you—not now—and the other man on your right responds.

    Both of them rise and the cloakless man offers you his hand as he speaks gently. You tighten your grip on the front of his cloak wrapped around you before accepting his help. His grip is strong and steady, but not overpowering, as he pulls you up to stand. Your legs stagger for a moment, and both men have their arms stretched to keep you steady, but your feet manage to find their footing without you falling.

    Birds chirp as they fly in a group way above your head in the sky and the wind rustles the leaves and the grass—or what’s left of them anyway.

    As you look around, you realise that you are standing right in the centre of a massive crater where everything in it has died. Outside the perimeter trees stand and grass softly dances on the ground; it’s all green and lush—except the circle about as big as your city hall. Some dark, big logs lie on the ground, facing away from you; sticks cracking and splintering from them. Those were trees.

    “Am I alive?” you hear yourself asking. “Is this hell?”

    The men speak and they try to get your attention while your mind replays the last few moments that you remember: of your entire being slowly burning away, of the gravity pulling you away in that room of white nothingness, and that seven-headed angel telling you that you were going to hell. But how is this hell? Even the sculptures on that desk of judgement depicted torment as some representation of hell. This is … this is something else.

    And then you remember: you touched the staff.

    The staff. Maybe it worked. Maybe your spur-in-the-moment, entirely-bonkers-completely-out-of-pure-guess method worked. Maybe the staff was a teleportation device and when you touched it—

    One of the men—the one still cloaked—shouts. Your head whips towards him, then back around when you notice him pointing at something behind you, and for a split second before the impact: you see the staff flying towards you.

    “OW!” It thwacks squarely on your face with enough force you send you tumbling backwards. The men move quickly to help you up again just after they assisted you to stand—but then the cloaked man accidentally touches the staff and he hisses.

    He hisses?

    The cloakless man throws one side of your cloak to better hide your exposed legs after you fall, but you’re too busy trying to find that staff on the ground to spare a thought about decency at the moment. It’s laying a few metres away from you; rolling off after assaulting your face and maybe after the cloaked man accidentally hit it away. You scramble on all fours to quickly reach it and—there is no doubt. This is the staff.

    You hold the length in your hands. It’s much smaller now, but you remember its head—the part that peeked through the edge. It was four handles curving away from the centre like a fountain with a flat top; the base engraved with inscription snaking up to where the four handles depart from the staff. As you run your fingers over the engraving, you somehow understand what it says: Behold the power bestowed by the grace of The One, for it accomplishes function as desired.

    Below the engraving is thirteen rings that reflect lights with a rainbow effect to your eyes; the gold disappearing. It stops right in the middle of the staff where it turns into a smooth and naked surface, leading to its end where it mirrors the top with the four handles; only it has one right instead of thirteen.

    Slowly, you stand. You cradle the staff in your arms like a baby, then you let your grip on its girth loose until its bottom touches the ground; a booming sensation shakes you to your core.

    You look at the two men and they look just as startled as you.

    Your legs are still a little bit too unsteady for you to walk, even if you have been able to stand upright. The staff is quite sturdy and balanced, and while its top, reaching up to your chest, is slightly too tall for you to walk and hold it by its four handles, you can wrap your hand around the part the inscription is engraved instead.

    Just before you take your first step properly on your feet, you feel that chill of dread running through your body. The men all scream as they press their hands tight to their ears and you hear your name called by that voice you still remember from the space of nothing.

    YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND.

    The voice—as it was previously—comes from everywhere, but without even looking you know where the angel truly comes from. You turn your head to your left and there it floats on the sky: with its three heads, four winged hands, and four feet planted flat on air as though it’s standing on something solid. Your stomach churn—you are certain all of its eyes are fixed on you.

    It calls your name again with that same booming voice echoing inside your head. YOU HAVE DIED, AND YOU SHALL REMAIN DEAD. GIVE UP THE FIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL REGRET IT SOON ENOUGH.

    “RUN!” you shout to the men. “Go!” You limp past them. “Run away! GO!!”

    But then the wind blows and the angel floats right in front of you. That one sword—your back twitches when you remember its slash—pointed to the ground; not at you. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

    You hold the staff up high. When the angel speaks again, its neutral tone now carries a hint of mockery. THAT STAFF ONLY OBEYS SERVANTS OF GOD ITSELF, the angel says. AN INSIGNIFICANT HUMAN LIKE YOU—

    “Behold the power bestowed!” you shout, completely ignoring what the angel is saying. “By the grace of The One! For it accomplishes—”

    YOU HAVE DIED, the angel lifts its sword, its blade glinting under the midday sun. TO DEATH YOU SHALL RETURN.

    “—function as desired!”

    The sword swings down and the earth splits in two underneath your feet. You stare up at the angel, somehow it doesn’t look as big as it once was—then your field of vision widens when each half of your cut body drifts away from one another.

    But I want to live, your halved brain thinks.

    HELL IS WHERE YOU SHALL FIND YOURSELF IN, you hear the angel continues despite being sliced clean in half. NO MORE CHANCE OF BEING JUDGED OTHER—

    The solemn and neutral face of the angel drops as your bodies rise and knit itself back into one. BUT THAT—

    Your hand wraps around that inscription engraved to the staff, its words clear in your mind as it vibrates under your grip, releasing an odd warmth that spreads to your whole body as that fire once again lights inside your chest. But it’s different than the fire that burns you down to your core; it’s not the angel’s fire—it’s yours. And the staff has responded to you.

    For the second time.

    “I guess I am an angel now, too,” you hear yourself saying.

    The angel finds its resolve back. It lifts the sword once again with harder determination on its faces. I SHALL NOT DETER. YOU WILL DIE—

    You open your mouth to scream, “Away!” and the staff burns in your hand when you swing it hard towards the angel. It can’t have possibly made contact with it, but as though blown by a torpedo the angel is flung backwards and away, flying far into the sky until it’s nothing more than a quickly fading glint of light.

    Your chest rises and falls with each deep breath that you take; the staff gradually loses its fire and with it—its warmth. You return it back to its position as a cane to keep you steady and you slowly turn around, finding the two men curled up on the ground, hands still flat on their ears, tears running down their faces.

    “You guys okay?” you ask, taking one unsure step closer. They may be strangers, but since you woke they have been nothing but helping, and you feel like it would be rude to pretend like they don’t exist. “I don’t know if I can help you stand, I’m sorry—”

    “What was that?!” the cloakless man shouts. “What just happened?!”

    “Long story,” you say. It’s actually not. “But anyway, it’s—”

    You stop. And you stare down at the two men while they try to push themselves off the ground with shaking limbs. “Wait,” you hold one hand out, “pause. I can understand you?”

    This seems to also be news to them. “I can understand you,” the cloakless man responds. “No, we can understand you.”

    The cloaked man tilts his head back under the hood. “You speak Wahjani? What was all that, then?”

    “Wahja—no,” you correct, “you are speaking my language.”

    “No,” he retorts. “You are speaking our language.”

    “No, I don’t!” You fling both hands out to emphasise, and you lose your grip on the staff. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you grumble as you try to retrieve it.

    One of the men speaks—but it’s back to that language you don’t know. You look at him, eyebrows knitted and eyes wide. “What?” you ask.

    He blinks, staring at you perplexed. He repeats what he just said but it’s no different—you still can’t understand a word that he’s saying. “I don’t,” you say through gritted teeth, finally reaching the staff, “understand you.”

    “What the hell?” the cloakless man mutters. Now it’s your turn to be perplexed. “You suddenly switch languages.”

    All three of you instantly shift your gazes to the staff in your hand. “Is it …?” the cloaked man asks, doubtful but intrigued. You drop the staff back to the ground.

    “Okay, now try saying something,” you tell them. They stare at you blankly, shaking their heads after a moment of silent confusion. You bend down to pick the staff up. “Okay, how about now?”

    “By the Gods!” the man in cloak points. “It really is the staff!”

    “It must be,” you agree, observing the decorated staff in your hand, running your thumb across the inscription. It did perform its function as desired: you wanted the angel to be gone, and it helped you accomplish that. But maybe it also fulfils other things you are not actively wishing for at the moment. Surely being able to communicate is something to want.

    You’re interrupted from your thoughts by an awkward clearing of the throat. You divert your gaze and see both men are looking away, with the cloakless man vaguely pointing towards your direction. “I suppose,” he begins, “if we are able to understand each other, it’s—eh—it’s best to let you know that ….”

    His voice trails off while his complexion deepens. You look down—and your borrowed cloak is open. You have been thoroughly exposed. With a yelp you turn around and fuss with the front of the cloak, trying to find a way to keep them closed. The staff has fallen off your grip—again—so while you’re able to recognise the voice that approaches you from behind to be belonging to the cloaked man, you can’t understand what he’s trying to say until he gently puts his hand above your hand, and he pulls two ties from a hidden pocket on the sides. You hold the cloak tightly closed on your chest and your stomach while he secures them with a knot above your waist. “Thank you,” you mutter, too embarrassed to look up. Then you remember that your hands are not holding anything—and the other man hands you the staff. “Thank you,” you repeat once it’s firm in your hand. “To both of you.”

    They each nod while looking away. You can’t blame them—you yourself wish you can simply disappear into the ground. Your breath hitches as you quickly bring the staff to your chest. No, no, I don’t actually want that. Please don’t make me disappear into the ground.

    After a beat of suspense—and perhaps recovery from the awkwardness for the men—you release your breath and hold the staff as a cane again. “Anyway,” you say in a low voice. The men lean their head in closer. “Thanks for all the help. And sorry for all the … disturbance.” You grimace. What a criminally massive understatement. “I’m—”

    Then you stop. Should you introduce yourself? That surely is the right thing to do. But if this isn’t hell, and somehow your wish to live—not merely existing—has been granted by the staff upon that first touch, shouldn’t you take this chance to start anew? A clean slate where you get to decide everything to do with yourself—including your name. You never quite liked your parents’ choice, anyway.

    With the men expecting you to continue, you quickly pick the first name that pops into your head. It’s just a placeholder, you reassure yourself. I can change that whenever.

    But when they repeat your new name back to you slowly, as though tasting the way it’s sounding, you realise that you actually like it. Maybe even by a lot. It fits you like a glove and fills you with more joy than you can ever imagine a name is able to.

    “Well, I’m Kyungsoo, that’s Yixing,” the cloakless man says. “We were just trekking through the forest when we saw a meteor falling down. When we came to check—”

    “There was you,” Yixing finishes.

    You heave a deep sigh as you turn to once again take in all of your surrounding: the dense and tall trees circling the crater where you wake up in the centre of. Then you aim your sight to the sky—the same spot the angel first appeared earlier. “Do you …,” Kyungsoo begins, almost unsure, “... want to tell us exactly what happened?” You look at him. “It was really confusing—there was a sound, then there was this bright light ….”

    “I told you it’s a long story.”

    “And the nearest town is about three days by foot,” he says. Then he adds with a nod: “Believe me—we have time.”

    You consider that for a moment. He speaks as though he’s entirely sure that you’ll come along with them. Of course, that’s a logical assumption: until mere minutes ago it seemed like you couldn’t communicate with them. You are definitely not familiar with the area, and for all they know you came from outer space as a meteor. Moreover, as you assume they assume: you are a woman, naked and alone, with nothing but a staff and a borrowed cloak. They’ve seen what you’re able to do, so maybe they won’t try to do anything funny. And from your point of view, it’s clear that sticking with them would be advantageous—if nothing else, you can find your way out. You look down at the staff in your hand. Especially when you don’t even know if you’ll be able to use this staff like you did earlier.

    “All right, fine,” you finally say. “Lead the way. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

[wolveswithblackpearls]

fruity season day 16: Lay & melon

Do not resemble me-Never be like a musk melon Cut in two identical halves.

(Matsuo Basho)

~ Admin S

(I don't own the pictures but did the edit.)

[dragonowl]

Our Memories Carved into the Season

The Sky that Doesn’t End Series

Genre: EXO AU, High School

Rating: PG

Pairing: Chanyeol x Myeong-suk (OC)

Summary:  In which a new girl comes to school. A new girl determined to be alone. That’s no problem for a happy virus though. Chanyeol has suddenly found a desire to make a deep connection with someone outside of his brothers, regardless of the trials presented.

First, Prev, AO3

Chapter 15: Epilogue

Content warnings: blood, assault, kidnapping

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“I’m good,” Luhan said, adjusting the phone against his ear as he unlocked the front gate. “I’m just going to grab a few things to keep me tied over for the next couple of nights.” 

“Geee…” Sehun whined on the other end.

“I can bring stuff over slowly,” Luhan said with a chuckle. “I have this place for a few more weeks, so there’s no rush. You just finish that assignment and you can help me next time.”

There was a huff of air over the speaker followed by a garbled “Fine.”

Luhan laughed at the maknae’s pouting and inserted his key into the front door. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

“See you.”

Luhan hung up and slipped the cell into his pocket before turning the key and pushing into the house. He slipped off his shoes, taking in a deep breath. 

Now that he had found his brothers, the loneliness and empty space would get to him quickly. So he squared his shoulders, determined to make fast work of his task and return back to them as soon as possible. 

Pain shot through his foot as it came into contact with the bedroom floor and he pulled it up quickly to get a look at it. Blood was soaking his sock around where a piece of glass had embedded itself in his sole, and his brows scrunched in confusion. His eyes sought out the source and found glass covering his floor. The picture frame holding the old photo of him and Feilong had been shattered, the glass spreading in every direction. 

“How…?”

Footsteps echoed in the direction he had come from and he spun on his heels as anxiety flared up in him. 

“Welcome home,” Irene said with a smirk as she came into view. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Irene? What…?” Luhan stopped when her eyes flashed red and memories from the fight came back along with a very familiar presence that had been blocked. He stepped away, hissing in pain as another piece of glass found his foot. “You’re...you’re with the Red Force,” he forced out, trying with everything to reach for the others. “You’ve been playing with us.” Nothing. His powers weren’t even a whisper anymore. He stopped as realization hit him, then took a step forward as anger hit him. “What did you do with Feilong?”

She laughed and smiled, raising her brows. “Did you miss him?” She took a step forward. “He’s been close this whole time. Why don’t you say hello?”

Before he could respond, strong arms were pulling his own back and lifting him off the floor. He tried to turn his head to see his restrainer, hoping her implications were false, but he could just make out Feilong’s familiar features in his peripheral. 

“Feilong,” he pleaded. “What are you—?”

Irene’s hand was wrapped around his throat in an instant, cutting him off. “Uh, uh, uh. None of that now,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much my plans have been messed up the past few days? But no more.” She pulled a bottle from her pocket with her free hand and broke off the top, a colorful gas immediately pouring out of it which she brought to his nose. He tried to jerk away, but the hand that was wrapped around his throat grabbed into the hair at the base of his neck, causing tears to prick at his eyes as his lungs filled with the sickening-sweet smell and red began to fill his vision. He could feel his brain slowing and his limbs loosening as the fight left him. For one last time, he tried to send out a warning to anyone he could, but all he could feel was emptiness. 

~~~

Chanyeol woke up with a start as Sehun nearly busted down the bedroom door.

“Hyung, have you heard from Luhan?” he asked frantically, and Chanyeol groaned, blinking up at the maknae. 

He checked his phone, his brain barely registering the very very early time. “No,” he said, his voice scratching. “Shouldn’t he be home by now?”

“That’s the problem,” Sehun said with a huff. “He went to get things from his house and never came back. No one had been able to get ahold of him and some of the others went to check his house.” More commotion came from the other room and Sehun disappeared from the door to check on it. 

Chanyeol rubbed at his face, then crawled out of the bed that he had only been sleeping in for a couple of hours. But it would be better to go find out what was going on now rather than being pulled out of bed later. He stumbled slightly to the door then into the living room where there was complete pandemonium. 

Suho stood in the middle instructing everyone who was running about and bringing things into the common area. Chen was seated at the table, busily typing away at his computer and saying random things to Suho. 

“What’s going on?” Chanyeol finally asked, noticing as several duffel bags and important items were appearing. 

Kai was the first to notice his presence and made his way over, his brows pinched in concern. 

“Luhan went missing,” he said. 

“What?”

“He went to gather some items from his house while you were on your date and never came back,” Kai explained further. “Some of us went to check on him and his door was open. His room was a wreck and there was glass and blood on the floor.”

“What does that mean? What happened?”

Suho came over and placed his hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. “It was the Red Force. They found us. We’ll have to scatter tonight.”

To Be Continued

Our Memories Carved into the Season Masterlist

[takiberry]

DIRTY | BYUN EUIJOO, ASAKURA JO, SHIGETA HARUA, TAKAYMA RIKI 🐺

WARNING: this 5 part series contains smut of EJ, Jo, Harua and Taki. if you are uncomfortable I suggest you do not read <33 🎀 can not believe i have to say ts for _th time, THERE IS OTHER IDOLS IN THIS. ‼️🫵

PAIRINGS: EJ , Jo, Harua, Taki x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Sneaking around with the jocks wasn’t something in your bucket list for the school year but could you resist turning down sleeping with the four best players of Sunshine City’s Nightball team? Of course not. Who are you to say no to getting free dick after every practice or game?

🪽

I. One More Hour | EUIJOO

LINK

II. Nasty | JO

LINK

III. Deep | HARUA

LINK

IV. Sextape | TAKI ( W.I.P )

LINK

V. Sorrows | OT4 ( W.I.P )

LINK

PERCEIVE ME | KOGA YUDAI, MURATA FUMA, WANG YIXING, NAKAKITA YUMA

TAGLIST: @jonillaa hi bff lololol

[marvelous-llama]

EXO recs

most of the mentioned works is 18+ NSFW, MINORS DNI

tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, so please reblog and comment under works you like. Show love to the authors and appreciate their hard work

<<next chapters

pls don´t hesitate to hmu, if any of mentioned links doesn´t work or you have suggestions for more fics... thank you so much for all the love and comments

OT9

Exordia Academy by @kpopfanfictrash

Welcome to the Exodus Mall by @yehet-me-up

12 days of lust by @kwanisms

Gaurdian angel series by @marshmallow-phd (Kyungsoo, Sehun, Baekhyun, Jongin, Chanyeol, Junmeon)

Vampire series by @marshmallow-phd (Tao, Chanyeol, Yixing, Luhan, Minseok, Jongin, Kyungsoo, Baekhyun)

Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa collab by @myeoning-call

Kim Minseok

Kim Junmyeon

Zhang Yixing

Byun Baekhyun

Kim Jongdae

Park Chanyeol

Do Kyungsoo

Kim Jongin

Oh Sehun

[bunnyjunmyeonie]

Blog Navigation and Fic Recs Masterlist

Note:- All of the works listed below DO NOT belong to me. Credits to the talented authors who wrote them.

Groups:- EXO

Kim Junmyeon / Suho

The Book Of The Dead By @marshmallow-phd

Case File 01 By @xiubaek-13

Not Without Her (Series, Smut) By @myeoning-call

Drabbe Prompt By @decantingstxrs

Kinktober Day 31, Junmyeon (Smut) by @itstheoneshot

Hard Enough (Freinds to lovers, suggestive) by @writemekpop

Snowed Up (Smut) By @bluenereid

Day After Day By @chaecchi

Doctor's Orders (M) by @prettywordsyouleft

Junmyeon Smut By @bluenereid

A Pleasant Way To Beat Boredom, a Junmyeon Drabble by @seawitch62

One Week

Junmyeon Drabble By @kpop---scenarios

Junmyeon Drabble By @itstheoneshot

Junmyeon Request Prompt (Smut)By @yeoldontknow

The Pact by @gamerwoo

Stranded By @noona-clock

Halloween Rumors By @noona-clock

Junmyeon Smut Drabble By @gamerwoo

Junmyeon Request prompt By @biaswreckingfics

Junmyeon Request Prompt By @biaswreckingfics

Junmyeon (Exes To Lovers) Request Prompt By @biaswreckingfics

Replay (Smut, Mature Themes) By @yeoldontknow

Park Chanyeol

The Greatest Gift (Smut) By @wonderlustlucas

Business favours (Smut) By @itschanyeolfic-blog

Free Spirits (Series, Smut) By @exoheadspace

Police Officer AU (Smut) by @seungcheolsthighsss

Dating Park Chanyeol Headcannon By @you-can-be-the-moonlight

Chanyeol Prompt by @lustbile

Bitten By a Spider (Smut) by @byunbhyunz

Oh Sehun

Do Kyungsoo

Chen / Kim Jongdae

Providence (Fake Boyfriend! Chen, a little smut) By @xiubaek-13

Tinted Lips AU (Series, Smut) by @myeoning-call

Kai / Kim Jongin

If Only By @iridescentxstars

Brat By @sinnerforexo

Byun Baekhyun

Let Me In By @xiubaek-13

Heartless By @soujougeurilla

Blindly In Love by @myeoning-call

Xiumin / Kim Minseok

Case File 99 By @xiubaek-13

Far, Far Away by @mrkswrld

Lay / Zhang Yixing

Lu Han

So Handsome (Implied Smut) by @xiubaek-13

Masterlist Posts Of Other Fic Writers:-

Mobile Masterlist Of @marshmallow-phd

Masterlist Of @pesiko

Masterlist Of @hobicomeholla29

Lost In Translation Masterlist By @xiubaek-13

Masterlist Of @oh-beyond aka @myeoning-call

Reading List Of @baekxytocin (Baekhyun fics)

Masterlist Of @byunstation

Masterlist Of @iibonniee

Turn Masterlist (BBH, KJM, KJI, PCY) by @kpop---scenarios

KJM and ZYX by @bluenereid

Kinktober Masterlist Of @mint-yooxgi

Masterlist of @chanyeolsbiggestfangirl

[justwritedreams]

I want to read dad baekhyun and his 3 little daughters. 😭 What will be the fourth one 👀

Ok so why not take advantage of exo as dads series to talk about baekhyun, right? RIGHT!

EXO AS DADS SERIES | BAEKHYUN VER.

Xiumin Ver. | Chen Ver. | Yixing Ver. | Jongin Ver. | Chanyeol Ver. | Kyungsoo Ver. | Suho Ver. | Sehun Ver.

Word count:  Author: Maari Summary: A series of what exo would be like as a parent, from discovery to growth

First of all, good luck to the future s/o because you will be a rabbit!

I can clearly see Baekhyun as a girl's father but trying at all costs to have a boy

And that's how he got to the 4th daughter 🤣

And of course he already knew because after all, they had been trying for another baby for a long time.

In fact, I'm pretty sure he'd be like "Are you sure that you're not pregnant yet?"

"Honey, I already took two pregnancy tests."

"One more reason to make a third."

And then all of a sudden one night his s/o would be throwing up and he would already know it's the baby!

I don't think the daughters would have a big age difference because

I really think he likes having a baby at home

There's something about seeing that tiny baby sleeping soundly in his arms that is 😍

And I think he's the kind of playful father who takes things seriously when he has to much like my father is

But he's the best friend of his little girls!

Seriously, there is nothing they wouldn't say or ask him for

Helping with a school homework he has no idea what it's like? He will learn just to teach them properly.

Daughters want a different hairstyle to go out? He will do it.

Watch Barbie movies and sing along? It's his favorite part of the day!

Talking about where babies come from? … Oh, well, that he probably won't be able to say without laughing from sheer nervousness 🤣

But you got my point, right? Ok

So when he and his wife found out that another baby is on the way, he was ready to tell his little daughters.

And I think it would be the best and cutest conversation ever 🥺

He would do it in a natural way that wouldn't make the girls jealous of the attention the baby will receive but rather excited that another baby is coming soon.

And he'll probably have to hear every day when the baby is coming

Because his enthusiasm rubbed off on his daughters 🤣

But I imagine him together with his daughters making drawings for the new baby 😫

They wanting to help the father set up the baby's room

And probably making him give up in the next 15 minutes because they are making him more tired than the crib he has to put together.

And if you thought of them helping to paint the room, then you thought right because so did I!

In the end, everyone knows it would be a paint war and his wife would probably have to arrive to end the game and tell everyone to take a shower because there's even paint in their hair

Family shopping!!!

Him choosing clothes for the baby together with the girls oh my god I'm going to die of cuteness

"Dad, I think this one is prettier."

"But I liked that one, dad"

"Only this one will suit better!"

"You know what, let's take them all!" and that's how he came home with more bags of clothes than he had planned 🤣

But most importantly, he would make sure he was paying attention to all the women in his life.

He would take all the daughters to their beds in one night, when everyone else was already asleep in the living room.

And his s/o too!!

Because there is no more important woman in the world than her 🥺

"Love, I don't think you're going to be able to carry me to the bedroom."

"What kind of husband would I be if I let my tired pregnant wife walk around with those swollen legs?" he would say, while trying to arrange the best position to hold her in his lap… But her belly wouldn't let him. "Yeah, I think that it's better if we just sleep here!"

Would wake up early to prepare breakfast for everyone!

He'd take the girls to school, and he'd probably cry in the car when he realized how big the little girls actually are.

The priority would be his family!

Even though he was working, recording new songs, during breaks he would call his wife or turn on the home camera on his phone to see if everything was alright

Even tired, I'm sure he would make his daughters help put away the toys they spread around the living room or bedroom.

He would teach his daughters to sing to the baby in their mother's belly why am i doing this to myself? 😫

But make no mistake, even though experienced with sudden baby arrivals and births

He would be a nervous wreck for the birth of his fourth daughter!

I would be so nervous that I wouldn't know who to call first, the parents, the in-laws or the members 🤣

He would definitely pass on the view that he is a first-time father

But not fainting during childbirth, as happened with the first daughter

I think he would cry holding his newborn daughter in his arms!

And the wife seeing this would be like "are you crying for real?"

"She's just so beautiful! She has my nose."

But I think the most exciting moment for him would be when his daughters go to the hospital to meet their new sister.

He would probably be able to hold back the tears and look with a twinkle in his eyes with so much pride for the family he has 🥺

Will fight and die for his family!

He will be the attentive, helpful father who will talk to his daughters about how they need to keep their voices down when the baby is sleeping

He will let the daughters help change the diaper, bathe and rock the baby because he also wants to capture these moments with good photos!

I really think he would be an extraordinary father, devoted to his daughters and only thinking about what's best for them.

For example, I'm sure he wouldn't expose any of them to the media or anything like that.

Because he wants to preserve all of them as much as possible and if one day they want to be artists like him, there will be no one who will support more than him!

But deep down he hopes they follow other careers 🤣

One day, when all the daughters are napping together in the afternoon, he would hug his wife and look at her as if she were the most special jewel in the world.

"We are very lucky parents, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are!"but the wife would know that he was going to say something, because that little smile of someone who is going to do something is there "We are not having another baby!"

"How about a dog then?"

[marshmallow-phd]

A Manor of Shadow and Blood

Genre: Regency Gothic AU

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: A stormy night brought you to the manor in the middle of the woods. Nine strange men occupied its halls. They won't let you leave. A dangerous secret haunts this estate. Learning it might either be your saving grace or it could lead to the last breath you ever take.

Part: 1 I 2

**

The fever took over almost as soon as you left the bathroom. Your feet had become heavier, like lead refusing to be moved. Your vision went black before you made it to the bed. Consciousness came and went, images you weren't sure were real or not blurred your vision. A man wiped your forehead with a cloth. Another fed you salty broth. Two more held you upright as someone changed the sweat-soaked pillowcase. The last image you remember was the lingering presence of someone near the doorway. All you could register was his short black hair and white tunic. He turned from the bed and walked out of the room as you fell back asleep.

*****

A long groan rumbled your throat as your eyes blinked open. The fever that had consumed your body was gone. Your rough tongue scraped the roof of a mouth desperate for moisture. Every limb was sore from not being used. A small pain still pushed at your head, but it was bearable.  Only a small measure of light broke the edges of the curtain. It was either barely dawn or the very end of twilight. 

"It would seem you're past the worst of it." 

You gasped at the unexpected voice. Junmyeon emerged from the shadows and stood at the edge of the bed. He tilted his head, the upper half of his face still cloaked in the darkness. 

"I was sick," you stated to no one in particular. Perhaps in mere confirmation for yourself. 

Junmyeon nodded. "You had a fever for two days". 

"Two days!" you gasped. You were supposed to arrive to your aunt today. If you didn't show– 

An echoing thud interrupted your thoughts. You sat up slowly, groaning at the protest of your arms and torso. Junmyeon kicked the familiar chest on the floor again. Excitement pushed away all remaining consequences of the fever. It was your trunk with all your things. Soon, you could be on your way again, with a harrowing tale for your worried relative. 

"We found it this morning," he explained. "Along with the driver." 

Your heart leapt. "He's–"

"Dead. Probably broke his neck from the fall." His voice was void of empathy. Death–at least the kind not directly in contact with himself–did not affect him. "The carriage isn't salvageable. and the roads are still practically swamps.” 

Each breath you took in came faster and faster, more shallow than the last. How could the roads still be unfit for travel? The room began to tilt. "So, what does that mean for me?" Perhaps you would have to wait for a replacement carriage or for your aunt to come get you herself. 

He looked to the door with a resigned expression. "You will stay here until we deem fit." 

"What!" You scrambled out of the bed. Your knees buckled as soon you feet touched the rug. Going so long without proper nutrition and being sick with fever left you weak. Junmyan caught before you could be injured, sweeping you up into his arms. A mild shiver chattered your teeth. Through your thin nightgown you could feel the icy chill of his fingers. How one's skin could be the temperature of snow, you didn't know. 

He laid you back down on the bed with a rather smug expression. "Traveling isn't in your best interest. You need to regain your strength." 

You swallowed thickly. "And after that?" 

The only answer you received was a smile.

"You can't keep me here!" 

"Eat," he ordered, gesturing to the small table in the corner. A silver tray with fresh morsels sat and waited to be consumed. "You're free to roam the manor as you choose, but remember: there is nothing for miles, not even an inn. You'll meet a hungry wolf before coming across another human." He bowed as if he were a gentleman and left you alone to accept your circumstances.

*****

A small amount of strength returned to you after eating. Although fasting in protest could have been effective, you pathetically couldn't resist. Food had always been a favorite weakness of yours. 

The next form of protest you tried was keeping to your room. But after a few hours of not a footstep outside, you concluded self-confinement was only useful if someone noticed. 

From your trunk you pulled one of the more plain dresses that had been packed for you. It wasn't too difficult to dress yourself. The true trouble came for your hair. Despite being in bed for several days, no knots caused you pain. That, however, was the extent of your talent. Charlotte, your maid, had been the one to curl and pin your hair in the latest fashions. The best you could do was tie it back with a plain blue ribbon. Squaring your shoulders, you yanked the door open with force and shelled out of the room. 

Up and down the different halls, you tried to make sense of the layout. This manor expanded in nearly every direction. You went upstairs and down again, unsure of where you were. The bit of light that managed to fight past the thick curtains that hung in front of every window grew in strength. But though the day grew older, you saw none of the residents. No sound alerted you to any being close. It gave you an eerie feeling. It was as if you were alone but an ever lingering presence haunted every corner.

You took another random left turn. And stopped. 

The front door was just on the other side of this hall. You scanned the area around you. Your ears strained to hear anyone that could possibly be near. Not even a bird sang outside. You took a step. Then another. And another. One at a time, you paused between each step, waiting for one of the lords to suddenly appear and drag you back to your room. 

Huh. Your room. As if your stay here would be forever permanent. You prayed that they would soon grow bored of you and send you on your way. All this could be was a terrible joke because they had no other way to occupy their time. 

You'd reached the door. Possible freedom lied on the other side. Yet, your fingers hovered above the handle. Junmyeon's warning waded through your mind like a morning fog. Nothing for miles. Surely if that was true, the driver would have stopped rather than continue on in the storm. 

And then there were the wolves. You knew of their existence. And how a human could be just as satisfactory as elk if they thought they could overpower whoever they came across. To them, you would certainly make easy prey. 

"Doors only move when one opens them."

With a shrill gasp, you whirled around and pressed your back against the door. The one who drew your bath last night–Jongdae–was leaning against the entrance to the side parlor. He stared at you with a bored expression, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Where did you come from?" you demanded. You had looked in the parlor as you passed. No one was in there. 

He waved an uncaring hand in the air. "Around. I heard you walking and when it stopped, I came to see why.” 

"You heard me walking?" You'd put slippers on before leaving the room since your boots were still caked with mud. You could hardly hear your own steps against the wood boards. 

Jongdae merely raised an eyebrow, refusing to explain. You huffed. The previous fright in you disappeared. Pushing off of the door, you shuffle past him and into the parlor. Your feet were beginning to pulse after walking around for hours. You sat in one of the cushioned chairs to give them some relief. 

Before you could blink, Jongdae was seated in the chair across from you. 

"How did you do that?” 

Smug, he leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Would you like a tour?" 

"Not if you refuse to answer my questions," you scoffed. 

The corners of his lips curled upward. "I think it might be better if you figure it out for yourself. Over time." 

That earned another huff. You especially disliked the insinuation that you would be here for a long while. Hope still flickered in you like a warm ember, desperate for fuel. 

Jongdae stared at you quizzically. "Why didn’t you run?” 

"Because, there isn't anywhere to run to," you answered quietly. You were lucky to make it here in the first place. Regardless if you were imprisoned or not, you were thankful to be alive. 

Still eyeing you with that studious share, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "Is there another reason you don't want to leave?" 

You swallowed thickly. It was impossible for him to read your thoughts. He couldn't possibly know that something else held you back. "It's safe here–”

 "We both know this place isn't safe for you," he snapped. "Your instinct should be to run as far as you can.” 

"B-but the wolves..." your voice trailed off, overshadowed by the thumping of your heart. 

"The wolves are nothing compared to here." He stood and all seriousness melted away as he stretched his limbs. "Or maybe they aren't. Perhaps that simply depends on you." You flinched as he reached for you. He didn't pause and his fingers  passed your face, instead pulling at the ribbon in your hair until it came loose and dropped the fabric in your lap. "I wouldn't wear your hair like that. 

You frowned at him. The men here weren't exactly the epitome of current style. "Why?"

“Keep pulling it back like that and you'll have your answer." He dared to wink at you before strolling from the parlor. 

It took a little while to find your room again. Part of you wondered if you should have accepted Jongdae's offer of a tour. Another part stubbornly insisted you would find your own way eventually. 

Sitting down at the small table, you pulled the curtain back. Your room was on the second floor, which gave you a decent view of the grounds. 

Unlike most of the forest you remember seeing, this area was void of life. The trees were bare, their branches rigid and spindly. No birds or other woodland creatures scurried about. There was plenty of grass and garden hedges, but somehow all of the beauty was sapped from their blades and leaves. A few stone benches and structures were scattered about the estate, but whatever stunning carvings they used to present had been worn away. A sadness had overtaken this land, infected its very core. Not even the sunlight–now making its way to the other horizon–felt warm. How could anyone live amongst this?

All your strength gained through breakfast waned. You didn’t need sleep, per se, but rest wasn’t a terrible idea. Leaning back, you tucked your feet under you and shuffled into the corner of the chair. Your eyes slowly closed–

And snapped open at the soft knock from the door. You scowled at the door. It replied with another knock. With a huff, you stood and crossed the room, pulling the door open with force. "Yes?" 

Junmyeon smirked at your hostility. "It's time for dinner."

You looked down, but his hands were empty. No new silver tray in sight. 

"Dinner is with us." 

Your throat tightened as his words sunk in. With them. 

He motioned with his head. "Come." 

"I have to change." 

His eyes raked you up and down, then he raised an eyebrow. "Why?" 

Why? Because you always charged for dinner when you weren't dining with only your family. It simply wasn't proper to wear what you were tramping around in all day. 

When you neither spoke nor moved, he reached behind you and pulled the door closed, pushing you out of the room and into his chest. He chuckled at the contact. You shoved him away. His amusement didn't waver. "The dining hall is this way." 

Understanding that the only way you would eat was by following him, you complied. He led you to one of the familiar staircases, but then down a hallway you didn't recognize. The dining hall sat on the other end. Past the grand entrance was a long, dark red table that ran the length of the room with the ability to seat at least twenty. An old chandelier hung from the ceiling, a few of the precious crystals missing. A roaring fire clicked and cracked on the opposite wall. 

"You'll  sit here." Junmyeon startled you as he pulled a chair just to the left of the head of the table. All the other available seats were occupied. With your chin held high, you accepted, letting him push the chair in. Then he sat at the head. 

There were four chairs on each side of the banquet table, haphazardly spaced, and a lone chair at the other end. To your immediate right was the one named Yixing.  He stared at you with narrowed, interested eyes that somehow made his already sharp features lethal. You dropped your gaze instantly, finally noticing the food in front of you. Your eyes lifted... no one else had a meal, only a goblet full of wine. 

"Has everyone else eaten?"

"Mm," Junmyeon hummed over the rim of his glass. When the goblet left his mouth, a faint red smear remained behind. He licked his lips slowly to wipe it away. "We don't typically... eat dinner, but thought of it as an opportunity to introduce you.” 

A few chuckles echoed around the room, but the joke was lost on you. 

"Eat," Junmyeon motioned to your plate. All eyes were trained on you. The silverware clinked and clattered as you picked up the fork and knife. Would the food be poisoned? Did they get some sick enjoyment from this? You cut off a small bite of chicken. Each bite was slow, testing the flavor. It wasn't beautifully seasoned, but you couldn't taste any bitter poison underneath. You swallowed and cut another bite. 

Satisfied, Junmyeon motioned to the man on his right. "This is Jongin.” 

"You have a pretty name," the man purred. You merely stared at him and continued to eat. He laughed from his chest. "Then Chanyeol." This one bowed in his chair with a flourish of his arm. "Jongdae." He winked. You scowled at him. "Sehun." This one didn't look at you, looking bored as he leaned back lazily in his chair, sipping from his glass. "Kyungsee at the end."

Kyungsoo, who had been staring at the table, his chin resting on folded fingers. He glanced at you but immediately looked away when he met your gaze. 

"That one is Minseok," Junmyen went on. The one named Minseok smiled at you with an eerily feline grin. "Baekhyun." He, too, grinned at you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "And next to you, I'm sure you remember, is Yixing." 

You didn't look at him again. Putting down the silverware, you gave your attention back to Junmyeon. "When can I leave?" 

He scoffed before he could take another sip of wine. "I already told you. Until we deem fit."

"You can't keep me here!" 

"Maybe you should have considered that before you came here.”

"You might enjoy it here," Baekhyun hummed. 

"I doubt it," you snapped back. 

Chanyeol leaned forward onto the table. “Do you have family?" 

You swallowed nervously. "Yes." 

"You should ask her if she has a lover," Jongdae crooned. When all eyes jerked to him, you carefully slid the knife over to your right hand under the rim of the plate. By luck, you had decided to wear a dress with sleeves. You just needed to conceal the knife until you were back in your room. 

"Do you?" Jongin asked of you, a little too interested for your comfort. 

You glared daggers at Jongdae. "No, I don't." 

His lips curled gleefully. "I don't believe you." He shrugged. "Then again, maybe it's not a lover that you’re trying to avoid." 

"My aunt is expecting me." 

"And she'll keep expecting you," Junmyeon growled. 

A hand flashed out of nowhere, snatching up your wrist and catching the knife before it fell to the floor. "I wouldn't do that," Yixing warned. You tried to yank your wrist back, but he took the opportunity to bring you closer to him. 

Junmyeon sighed. "Yixing.” 

Revealing who was in charge Yixing released your wrist, but he put the knife in front of him. Small indentations appeared along the blade that weren’t there before. A perfect fit for a hand. 

You stood with such force that your chair overturned behind you. 

"Finished already?" Jongin teased. 

You gave a single hard nod and stormed out of the dining hall. None of them stopped you. 

"This is going to be fun," one of them chuckled. A chair scraped hastily against the floor and you hurried faster to your room.

[j-eryewrites]

The Blind Banker (I)

Part 10 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 7.k 

Warnings: Crime scene description, description of a dead body, Sherlock is Sherlock, Y/N is a badass, Sebastian is a dick to Sherlock, fluff

Notes: I am writing Y/N as being multilingual. I myself am multilingual and love to use it/show off any chance I get.

__________________________

Y/N frantically dashed from the bus stop to the steps of the National Museum of Antiquities. The building's tall columns hover over her. Their structure soared up to the heavens as if the gods themselves resided there. Her coat swayed behind her as she climbed up the steps. An autumnal wind circulated her,  grazing her cheeks leaving a redness to them. Her hair danced along. She swiftly entered the museum and peered around for the polished man she now called her boyfriend. Her eyes landed on Jim. His custom-made suit heightens his edgy charm. His deep mahogany eyes caught sight of her and he flashed his million-dollar smile. She blushed under his gaze as her feet made their way to him. The memory of him asking her to be official still fresh in her mind. With his dazzling smile and eager eyes, there was no way she could have ever turned him down. 

She ran to him grasping him in a big hug. Then Y/N pulled away to offer Jim a quick kiss. 

“So glad you could make it in time,” he grinned. He took his hand to hold hers. “The demonstration is about to start.”

Y/N squeezed Jim’s hand excitedly. “I can’t believe you found out about this.”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Well, I thought my girlfriend,” he enunciated, “who happens to love Chinese culture and speak the language would be interested. Guess I was right.” His Irish voice chirped. 

She leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her free hand around his arm as they walked. Jim led her to where a tour group was gathered. In the vast room there stood glass cases presenting antiques collected from the great land of china. Y/N’s eyes ogled at them as they passed. Her inner geek popped out to mention fun facts to Jim. He smiled and nodded as she told him. A lady entered the room, holding a Chinese clay tea set in her hand. Carefully the woman placed it down on a table in front of the group. Y/N stood on her tippy toes to peer over the heads of the guests in front of her. Jim noticing, took them to the side of the group, presenting Y/N with a perfect view of the presentation. 

The woman who sat before them was Chinese. She had a soft round face and beautiful dark eyes that held a peacefulness to them. The woman, who introduced herself as Soo Lin began the demonstration of an ancient tea ceremony. Her long delicate finger picked up the fragile centuries-old clay pots. It was as if these pots meant the world to her. 

Carefully, Soo Lin brought the tea to a boil and began pouring the liquid over the clay tea set. Some of the children in the group were awed as she did so. 

“The great artisans say the more the teapot is used, the more beautiful it becomes,” Soo Lin says.

Y/N watched in pure fascination as Soo Lin described the history of the practice. Jim gazed at Y/N with a softness in his eye, ignoring the presentation completely. 

“The pot is seasoned by repeatedly pouring tea over the surface,” Soo Lin explained in a heavy Chinese accent. “The deposit left on the clay creates this beautiful patina over time.”

Then Soo Lin holds up the wet teapot for the group to see. The clay pot was once dull but now shines like a diamond. 

“For some pots,” Soo Lin continues, “the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.” She places the pot down and begins to finalize her presentation. As the other guest turn away and move on to other exhibits, Y/N walks toward Soo Lin. 

“宜兴茶壶 (Yixing teapot)” she mentions. 

Soo Lin peeks up at Y/N, her ears twitching up and hearing her mother tongue. “你会说汉语吗？”

Y/N smile’s grows brighter as she hears the familiar language. Soo Lin focused on the woman in front of her. Her eyes filled with surprise. 

“对。我会说汉语,”Y/N replied. Soo Lin’s flashed a smile that matched hers. “我真的很喜欢你的演讲。你做得很好。“

”哪里哪里，“ Soo Lin chuckled. 

Jim looked fondly between the two women. His eyes widen as the conversation continued. He leaned into Y/N. His whisper tickled her ear. 

“What are you two talking about?” He wonders. 

Y/N shudders and slightly laughs. She motions to Soo Lin. “I’m just complimenting her on the presentation. That’s all.”

Soo Lin smiles and nods her head. “You’re girlfriend can speak quite good Chinese.” 

Y/N blushes and Jim responds by wrapping an arm around her waist. “She’s a woman of many talents.”

Y/N playful pats his chest and returns to Soo Lin. “I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you’ve got other things to do. Thanks again for the presentation.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Soo Lin comments before returning to her work. 

Jim and Y/N turn around making their way out of the room. They continue to tour the rest of the museum. Y/N stops at every exhibit and Jim fixates on her figure. He admired her as if she, herself, was an antique piece of art to be treasured by all who visit the museum. Eventually, they made their way through the museum and exited the museum right as it began to close. 

“You sure liked those exhibits,” commented Jim. He smirked at her as she leaned into him. 

“I did,” She confirmed. “I especially enjoyed the Yixing teapot demonstration.” 

“Seems to me you enjoyed speaking to the lady more than any of the other exhibits we visited.” Jim poked at her and gleefully ran away from her as she tried to get him back. 

She laughed as he dodged her attempts to catch him. Finally, she caught him and he brought his lips to hers. Her breath was taken away. 

Shaking it off she continued, “Well, ya. It’s not every day you find someone who can speak mandarin.” 

Jim placed her hand in his and they continued meandering around the plaza. The lights of London illuminated their promenade. A pleasant silence fell over them as they approached the bus station. 

Jim turned to Y/N and said, “I’m going to be heading for Germany in a few days.” 

Y/N cocked her toward him. “You’re leaving?”

“Unfortunately I’m leaving the day after tomorrow,” He clarified. “I’m going to be gone for a few weeks at most. Business calls.”

Y/N groaned. “Really? Is there any way I can see you before you go?” 

Jim brought his hands to cup her face. “I’m free tomorrow night. If you would like to join me for a nice dinner.” His mocha eyes flicked between hers. 

She nods.”Promise you’ll call?” She pouts. 

Jim lovingly smiles. “Every day.”

 Y/N leans in to press a lingering kiss to his lips as the bus pulls up beside them to take her back to Baker Street. Reluctantly she lets go of Jim’s hand and enters the bus. She sits by the window and waves him goodbye as the bus pulls away from the station. Y/N rests her head on the window and solemnly peers out. It’s going to be a long few weeks. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was high in the sky shining down its excellence for all to see. A rare occurrence in London late in the autumn season. On a day like this, Y/N dreamed of being outside and feeling the sun’s warm rays on her face but she was stuck in a bistro. Now, typically she wouldn’t complain about being in a bistro except it that it was outrageously far away from Baker Street. She had quite a struggle finding a bus to the location. Eventually, she had to settle on taking three different buses to reach the bistro. All because a certain bullheaded brother of her employer, Mycroft Holmes insisted on keeping up his appearance and staying under the radar, as he called it. 

Y/N couldn’t complain since the income that Mycroft was giving her kept her afloat despite her job working as Sherlock’s assistant. Mycroft increased her pay due to her proximity to his brother. 

Mycroft had cut all the niceties and skipped to the point. He demanded to know about Sherlock’s movements and whom he was involved with. Y/N, of course, told him everything to the best of her ability. Mycroft, jotting down everything she said. It did not take long for the interrogation to finish. 

Mycroft closed the notebook and pondered. “Are you engaging in any relations with my brother?” 

Y/N about choked on her tea. “What?!”

“You must be confused about my question,” Mycroft stated. “Let me explain, are you engaging in any romantic or sexual relat…” 

“Let me stop you right there, Mycroft.” Enunciated Y/N. “I am your brother’s assistant and ONLY his assistant.” Mycroft’s eyes narrowed at her. “I’ll have you know it I’m in a relationship with another man, and am in no way inclined into being in a relationship with Sherlock.”

Mycroft sat back and nodded his head, satisfied with the answer. He reached for his umbrella and stood up out of his seat. “I’ll see you next month, Ms. L/N.” Without another word, he was gone.

Y/N sighed and rested her head in her hands. Dealing with one Holmes brother was enough, but two. That’s where she drew the line. 

Just then the phone in her back pocket rang, and she was greeted with the familiar sound of John panicking. 

“I’m having a row with a chip-in-pin machine at the grocery store. Sherlock won’t pick up. And I’m about to break something.” Fumed John. 

In the background, an automated voice chimed, “Item not scanned. Please try again….Card not authorized…” 

“Alright, John” giggled Y/N, “I’m on my way. It’s going to be a while until I get there.” She grabbed her things and made her way out of the bistro. 

“Better than Sherlock,” John grumbled. “He is not picking up his phone.”

“Really?” She asked. She could hear John grunt on the other end of the phone. “Send me your location, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  John sent her his location and she typed it into her maps. 

As she was walking, she tried calling Sherlock’s cell and was sent to voicemail. After a few times being sent to voicemail, she called her Aunt’s number. 

“Hello, this is Martha Hudson speaking.” Mrs.Hudson still hadn’t gotten used to the cell phone. 

Y/N chuckled, “Auntie M, it’s me.” 

“Oh, I should have known that’s why your name was on the screen. I’ll never get used to these phones.” 

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually” reassured Y/N. “By any chance is Sherlock home? He’s not answering his phone.”

_____

A man wrapped in clothes covering him head to toe lunged at Sherlock. A sword stabbed forward and Sherlock lept to the side. Then Sherlock jumps up grabbing the man by his wrists. After some struggle, the man pushes Sherlock onto the kitchen table, his sword aimed at Sherlock’s throat. The man yelled out to bring the sword down. Sherlock pushes his attacker’s wrist upwards to put distance between him and the blade. A sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping down his chiseled cheekbones. The attacker’s grip began to weaken as his wrist bent slightly upwards. Suddenly, Sherlock forces himself off the table. The attacker backs away into the living, swiping at Sherlock. He ducks and then brings a powerful uppercut into his attacker’s chin. The man falls to the ground with a grunt, unconscious. After catching his breath Sherlock stands tall, dusting off the mess of the fight. He ran his hand through his head of dark curls wondering how he was going to take care of the body. 

______

A deep sigh escaped Mrs.Hudson’s mouth. “He is, Lizzy. But he’s…” There was a pause as she tried to find the right words. “I believe he’s occupied with… with a special someone. I can hear them from downstairs. It sounds like they’re having quite a good time, by all the grunting, crashing, thumping I hear..” 

Y/N’s face turned bright red. “Oh! Thanks for telling me. I thought he... Just… never mind. See you later, Auntie M.”

“Alright dear, goodbye.” Y/N immediately pressed the red button and burst into laughter. She couldn’t wait to tell John about what Mrs.Hudson had told her. 

There was an extremely long line when Y/N entered the store, at the front stood John. His finger angrily motioned towards the machine a vein popped out of his head.  He refused to give up and kept trying to figure out the chip-in-pin machine. An automated voice responds, “The card you are using is not authorized. Please try again.” A collective groan escapes the mouths of those in the line.

“Oh shut up. Go wait in another queue if you so please.”  Scoffed John. He was not happy, Y/N could tell that. But seeing her best friend get so frustrated over a chip-in-PIN machine was just too funny, so she laughed. Recognizing that laugh, John looked up and a sigh of relief washed over them. So much so that he announced it to everyone in the queue behind him. “Look everyone, help has arrived.” A few people in the queue behind him awkwardly clapped their hands, unsure of what to do. 

Y/N chuckled and pulled out her wallet and inserted the card. Typing in her pin the machine chimed, accepting the card and payment. John stood there shocked, as Y/N started gathering the bags of groceries. “You didn’t need to do that Y/N.” 

“Just helping out a friend in need.” She replied as John began taking a few of the bags from Y/N’s arms. 

“No, no, you stopped me from practically murdering that machine. Let me pay you back.” 

Y/N chuckled, “Alright then John. You can cover for me tonight. Jim’s asked me to have dinner at his place.” 

John wiggled his eyebrows at his friend. “Oh? Last I heard you two made it official. Special night planned?”

Y/N smiled to herself and a pink tint flushed over her face. “I don’t know. He leaves for Germany on a business trip for a few weeks, so…”

“I’ve got you covered, Y/N,” John confirms. “Though it’s not really what I meant by paying you back, that works too.” Once the two of them had gathered the groceries. 

On the way home, Y/N remembered to tell John what Mrs.Hudson had told her when she called asking for Sherlock. Immediately John’s ears turned bright pink as his mind fought to process this new information. “You’re telling me Sherlock might’ve had someone over? That doesn’t sound like him...I was pretty sure that he was…”

“Married to his workl?!” Proposed Y/N, John nodded his head in agreement. “Same here, but you never know. I mean he’s never told us specifically that he was… you know. But imagine, if what Auntie M said was true. Sherlock’s never gonna hear the end of it,” chuckled Y/N. John couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Sherlock, the man whom everyone thought was married to his work, might have been possibly overheard by his landlady satisfying certain needs.

It didn't take the two of them long to return home. The whole way home they’d come up with ways to tease Sherlock. Laughing and joking as the cold November wind blew around them. Lifting the fallen leaves on the road sidewalk causing them to dance around like a spinning ballerina. When they entered 221 Mrs.Hudson had told the two of them to settle down. It had only just gotten quiet upstairs. This sparked another wave of laughter between John and Y/N as they remembered all the teasing and jokes that awaited them. Mrs.Hudson brushed them off and sent them up the stairs mumbling something about how laughter was good for the soul. 

Sitting at the dining table, Sherlock was typing away on John’s computer. Not even looking up at his two friends as they entered the kitchen with the groceries. Y/N and John shared looks as they looked around the apartment for clues to aid in their suspicion. Except the place was just as they left it and Sherlock on his throne not having moved an inch.

“You took your time,” Sherlock noted not looking up from the computer. 

 “I had a row with a chip-and-PIN machine. I tried calling you for help, but you didn’t answer.” Placing the groceries on the counter John looked at Sherlock in disbelief. “Is that my computer?”

“Of course,” stated Sherlock. 

John clenched his jaw. “What?!” 

Y/N smirked as she placed the groceries in the fridge.

“Mine was in my bedroom, John,” Sherlock enunciated. “You…you had a row with a chip-and-PIN machine?”

“Y/N had to come and save me.” John paused and opened his mouth thinking of how he could censor his words. “It’s password-protected, Sherlock!” John spat.

“In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Fort Knox. You should change your password,” suggested Sherlock. John’s mouth hung open and he would have stayed that way if it wasn’t for Y/N chucking an apple at him. John caught it and then turned his focus on unpacking the groceries.

Leaning over the dining table, Y/N began implying, “So, Sherlock.” He glanced up from the computer to look at her. A few hairs fell into her face. Her smile was all too suggestive of something. “Sounds like you had quite a good time earlier. If you know what I mean.” John practically choked on the air he was breathing. 

He cocked a brow up at her and glanced around the room. “If you say so,” He replied returning to John’s computer. 

John looks back at Sherlock and sighs. He marches over to Sherlock snatching his computer from Sherlock’s hands. John then marches across the room placing the computer as far away from Sherlock as he could. Then sliding down he sits in his armchair. John’s eye catches a pile of bills. He frowns. 

“Need to get a job,” he mutters. 

“Oh, dull,” Sherlock replies. 

Y/N clears her throat catching the attention of Sherlock and John. “Actually, I still haven’t been paid since Abbey Grange.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John looked up to the ceiling with frustration. 

“I need to go to the bank.” Stated Sherlock, completely ignoring the comment Y/N had just made. 

“Okay…?” Y/N responded. Sherlock stood up and threw on his coat. He turned to Y/N and John. His blue eyes gave them a look. “Oh! We’re coming.” 

Sherlock headed down the stairs. Y/N scurried out after him. John groans standing up from the comfort of his chair. He slowly made his way out of the flat and after Sherlock and Y/N. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Tower 42, Old Broad Street. That’s what it said in a big bold steel letter. The glass skyscraper lived up to its namesake. It towered over the three of them. A giant in a city of tiny figurines. The numerous windows shimmered in the late morning sun. Each surface is expertly cleaned extracting the sense of wealth. Y/N shudders just thinking about the amount of wealth this bank owned. Before the three of them stood glass revolving doors. People spun in and out of them. Sherlock stepped forward leading John and Y/N inside the luxurious building. 

They entered an impressive foyer. Chatter filled the background as people took calls and others withdrew money from their accounts. As Y/N glanced around, she saw the newest and best computer and technology. This bank far exceeded the expectations of her own. To the side there hung a large sign saying Shad Sanderson Bank. Y/N glanced toward her employer. His icy eyes astutely observed his surroundings. The images of the glass barriers, clocks, and the reception desk could be seen in them. Then Sherlock came to a stop. They had arrived at a reception desk. 

One of the many receptionists behind the desk peered up at the three of them. Her eyes judgingly glanced over their appearance. It was obvious they did not belong in a bank of this caliber. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” addressed Sherlock. The woman’s eye’s widened and she immediately led them through a heavy set of doors labeled employees only. She led down winding hallways, and the three of them passed numerous offices. Some of which were larger than the entire square footage of their apartments. Eventually, they came to an office. To the side of the door, there stood a brass name tag: Sebastian Wilkes. The receptionist opened the door and ushered them inside. 

A man in a well-tailored suit stood up from the desk. He flashes a grin at the three of them. His brown eyes land on Y/N and linger on her figure. Sherlock’s jaw clenches and he clears his throat bringing the man’s attention to him. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sebastian states. 

“Sebastian,” Sherlock grimaced. 

Sebastian sticks his hand out for Sherlock to shake, which he reluctantly takes. 

“Howdy, buddy. How long has it been? Eight years since I clapped eyes on you?” Sebastian guessed with an overly excited smile plastered on his face.

An expression of disdain flashed on Sherlock’s face, one which he barely tried to hide. A similar look appeared on Y/N’s face. 

Sherlock pointed towards John, “This is my friend, John Watson.” 

Sebastian widened his eyes in surprise. “And who’s this lovely lady?” Sebastian asked. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at him. 

Y/N winced at the comment. 

“This is my assistant and friend,” Sherlock glowered at Sebastian, “Y/N L/N.”

“Right.” Sebastian scoffed. He gave Sherlock a quick look as if to say Didn’t think you had any friends! Grinning unpleasantly the man sat back in his chair, motioning for the others to take a seat. Both John and Y/N’s lips purse with instant dislike. “Well, grab a seat. D’you need anything? Coffee, water?”

The three reply with a no.

“So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot?” Sherlock commented.

“Well, some.” Sebastian smiled at Y/N.

“Flying all the way around the world twice in a month?” smirked Sherlock. 

“Right. You’re doing that thing.” Sebastian noticed. Looking towards Y/N, he continued, “ We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.”

“It’s not a trick,” Sherlock muttered barely enough for Y/N to hear. 

“He could look at you and tell you your whole life story!” Sebastian exclaimed. 

“Yes, I’ve seen him do it,” Y/N noted. 

“Put the wind-up everybody. We hated him.” Y/N noticed how Sherlock turned his head away and looked down at his feet. She of all people could recognize his face momentarily filling with pain. The presenting pleasant expression dropped from Y/N's face. Her jaw was tightly clenched as her gaze turned back to Sebastian. “You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.

“I simply observed,” Sherlock stated remnants of pain still present in his eyes. 

“Go on, enlighten me,” scoffs Sebastian,” Two trips a month, flying around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell?”

Sherlock opens his mouth to reply but Sebastian continues speaking over him to Y/N. “You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan? ” He smugly says. 

John squirms in his chair, ticked off by the man. 

“No, I …” Sherlock tries to clarify. 

“Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!” Interrupted Sherlock. 

“I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.” Sherlock stated. 

Both John and Sebastian frown at him. John was confused by the simply ordinary explanation of his deductions. Then Sebastian breaks into a humorless laugh and Sherlock smiles back at him. His face showed no hint of humor. Suddenly Sebastian claps his hands together, turning back to Y/N

“How’d you end up working for him?” He asked as if it was impossible. 

Y/N smiled a knowing smile. One that hid the shared hatred she, John, and Sherlock felt for Sebastian. “I work for Sherlock because I admire his talent and the fact that he’s a good person.”  

Both Sherlock and John’s eyes widened at her explanation. The pain from Sherlock’s eyes dissolved and was replaced with something else–something more tender. John smirked proudly at his friend. 

Sebastian scoffed in disbelief. “Wouldn’t a pretty girl like you want to work for someone…”

She cut him off. “What? Normal? Are you normal?” 

He nods as he fell into the trap of her faked innocence. 

“Oh,” she gasped, her expression immediately losing all its pleasantness. “So it normal for you to stare at women as if they are objects to be ogled at?” Sebastain’s face drops as she shifts in his seat. Uncomfortable under the woman’s powerful gaze. “Because I’ve noticed you haven’t taken your eyes off of me since I walked into this room despite having invited Sherlock here for help. So why don’t we discuss that? After all, it's what we are here for. If not, we will kindly take our leave.” 

Sherlock glanced toward Y/N, her tall and confident figure etched in his memory. He made no effort to hide the large smile on his face. John, on the other hand, had to use his hand to stifle a laugh. A few snickers escaped his mouth. Y/N sat still, glowing from the victory of her battle. Their reactions only added to the embarrassment that Sebastian felt.

Sebastian cleared his throat and flashed an awkward smile. Catching his breath, Sebastian straightened his tie and then leaned forward. His tone became more serious. He turned to Sherlock and got to the point, “I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break-in.”

“What did they steal?” Interrogated John. 

Turning towards John, Sebastian explained, “Nothing. Just left a little message.” 

Now, this intrigued the consulting detective and his crime-solving friends. They rose from their seats and followed Sebastian as he showed them to the office. Sherlock stood close to Y/N as if he was repelling Sebastian away from her; Not that he needed to after her outbreak in his office. 

 In order to get into the room, Sebastian had to use a security card, something that Sherlock took note of. Inside, the walls were plain white. On one of the walls behind the large wooden desk was a huge framed painted portrait of the once bank’s chairman. The painting wasn’t what captivated the attention of the three friends. It was the bright yellow, spray-painted, graffiti tag on the wall left of the painting. The tag appeared to resemble the number 8, but the top of the number was left open. Above it was a horizontal straight line across the painting. Sherlock stepped forward to get a better look at the wall, Y/N standing closely behind him. John stood on the other side of the room next to Sebastian. 

“The room’s been left here like a sort of memorial,” Sebastian explained. “Someone broke in late last night.”

Y/N peered up at the graffiti symbols. A sense of familiarity washed over her. “It looks like numbers,” she muttered quietly to herself. She noted that the line covering the painting’s eyes reminded her the of Chinese word for one. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a picture of the graffiti. 

After they were done observing the wall, Sebastian had taken them back to his office to view the security footage. The three of them, John, Sherlock, and Y/N,  crowded around Sebastian’s computer. Y/N had retrieved a leather-bound journal and was writing down notes with her blue gel pen. The only pen, Sherlock noticed, she was willing to write with. Sebastian began to explain the videos. “They’re 60 seconds apart. Someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed around some paint, and then left. All within a minute.” 

Sherlock squinted his eyes at the screen. “How many ways into that office?”

“Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.” Sebastian then showed the three of them the security camera in the reception center. “Every door that opens in the bank is logged right here. Every door.” 

Sherlock took his turn at the computer and noticed that “The door didn’t open last night.”

Sebastian stood up, pulling something out of his chest pocket. “There’s a hole in our security. Find it and we’ll pay you–five figures,” Sebastian reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.  He held a check out. Sherlock glared at the check. “This is an advance. Tell us how he got in and there’s a bigger one on its way.” John’s eyes widened and graciously took the check from Sebastian’s hand. 

Sherlock had asked to see the office once more, alone. That meant John and Y/N stood outside, waiting for what seemed like hours for their dark-haired friend to emerge from the room. Shortly, afterward, Sherlock is dancing around the trading floor. John and Y/N uncomfortably stand as their friend ducks down behind a desk. Slowly, Sherlock’s head of dark curls rises above the desk. His eyes stared in concentration at the glass door to Sir William’s office. Then he scurries across the floor, to the bemusement of John and Y/N. They chuckle at their friend’s ridiculous methods, knowing that it works. Sherlock continues to scamper around the office. Scurrying from behind the desk and peering at the office entrance. He reaches a doorway and enters an office. He makes his way behind the desk and, again, looks up at the office entryway. His eyes narrow as he gets a clear view of the spray paint covering the eyes of the portrait. Afterward, he makes his way around the office one more time before ending back up at the office. He looks around the room, as John and Y/N observe him. Then Sherlock heads to a door and calls Y/N’s name. Beckoning her to him. He slides the sign out of the holder and hands it to her. She glances down at the name on the slip: Eddie Van Coon. Once she places it securely in her pocket, the two of them head off. John followed them. 

Sherlock led them toward the escalators. The two ran after him. John was about to ask Sherlock a question, but Sherlock immediately answered. “Got everything I need to know. That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the recipient and ....” 

John finished his sentence, “then they'll lead us to the person who sent it.” 

They stepped on the escalators. The buzz of the escalators hummed loudly in their ears. 

 “Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him,” noted John. 

Sherlock smirks but doesn’t reply to John.

“How did you know?” John pondered. 

“Did you see his watch?” Sherlock asked. 

“His watch?” repeated Y/N. 

“The time was right but the date was wrong,” Sherlock explained. “Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it.”

“Within a month? How’d you get that part?” John mused. 

“New Breitling,” Sherlock proudly emitted. Y/N cocked her brow up in confusion. “Only came out this February. Obvious really.” 

John smiled proudly at his friend. 

“Sherlock?” Y/N wondered. “There’s probably about three hundred people up there. Who was the message meant for?”

“Pillars,” stated Sherlock. 

“What?” John and Y/N chimed in unison. 

Sherlock smiled, “Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course, the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot.”

“Does it?” John asked. 

Sherlock stepped off the escalator and continued talking as the three of them went through the revolving doors and onto the street. “Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight. Y/N” He interjects, “what was the name on the card I gave you?”

She quickly pulls the slip out. “Umm…Edde Van Coon.”

“Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.” Sherlock cleverly says. 

His blue eyes scan the road landing on a taxi. Immediately he calls out, “Taxi!”

A buzz comes from Y/N’s pocket and she pulls out her phone. Jim. She glances over the message as John and Sherlock enter the cab. 

___

Can’t wait for tonight. I’ll pick you up around 5.30.”

-Jim

____

Y/N’s drifted up and caught sight of the time. Two hours until her and Jim’s date. She cleared her throat catching Sherlock’s attention. 

“You two go on without me. I’ve got to go.” 

Sherlock tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“Ya, I’ve got um…” Y/N looks towards John for help. “A date.” 

John nods his head, “Let’s go, Sherlock. We’ll see you later, Y/N.” He grasps Sherlock's sleeve to pull him into the car. Sherlock yanks his arm away from John and steps out onto the curb facing Y/N. 

“You can’t.” He states. “I need my assistant.”

Y/N sighs. “Sherlock, you’ll be just fine. Plus, you have John.” 

Sherlock doesn’t budge. “Y/N as your employer, I expect certain things of you. One of which is altering me before the time that you will be absent from work. That way John and I can plan accordingly.”

“But I told John this morning,” she pleads. 

“Exactly, you told him and not me, your employer. Tell your date that you can not make it.”

John scoffs in disbelief. “Sherlock!” John glared at Sherlock. The determination latched in his blue eyes, defeated John. 

“Sherlock, my boyfriend is leaving the country for work and will be gone for the next few weeks. This will be the last chance I get to see him. It’s not fair.”

Sherlock leaned into Y/N. “It’s not fair to us. We are in the middle of solving a case, and an important one at that. I need you here by my side.” Y/N crossed her arms.  “Of course you can leave,” Sherlock stated. “I have no control over your actions, but that would put your attachment to your job in question.” 

Pinching her nose, she took a moment to think. She did need the job and she was starting to like John and Sherlock. They were growing on her. A pregnant pause filled the air. Y/N sighed sadly, her eyes lowering.  “You’re right. Just let me call Jim and tell him I can’t make it tonight.”  

Sherlock’s shoulder release as he nods. Then he climbed back into the cab. Y/N tried calling Jim, but it went to voicemail, so she texted him instead. Explaining that something came up at work and that she couldn’t make it. A pang of guilt swished in her stomach. Soon after, she got in the back of the cab, and they were off. 

John looked over Sherlock at Y/N and offered her a comforting smile. His eyes telling her that he was sorry about not being able to help her. Y/N understood and then turned away to peer down at her hands. She began to fiddle with the rings on her fingers. Her back slightly hunched over. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The taxi lets them outside a block of flats. Sherlock pays the driver and then heads out marching directly toward a door buzzer. He glanced at the names and found one that was labelled ‘Van Coon’. He pressed the buzzer for a few seconds and then released it. There was no response. Y/N stuffed her hands in her pockets and began looking around. Sherlock pressed the button again. No response. 

“So, what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?” John pondered. 

Again, Sherlock’s eyes glance over the name label and then flashes a triumphant smile. 

“Just moved in.” Sherlock smirked. 

“What?” asks Y/N. 

“The floor above. New label.” He clarifies. 

Then Sherlock pressed the door buzzer above Van Coon’s. 

“Could have replaced it,” John added. 

Sherlock turned to look at John, “No-one ever does that.”

Suddenly a scratching noise comes from the speaker in front of them. A woman’s voice breaks through. “Hello?”

Sherlock turns to the camera and smiles. The smile reminded Y/N of the southern hospitality she experiences in the United States; The cheery neighbors popping by with a plate full of cookies and asking if you had Jesus or God in your life. 

“Hi!” chirped Sherlock. His voice most definitely three octaves higher. “Um, I live in the flat below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.” He grins into the camera. Y/N does her best to stifle a snicker. 

“No, well, uh. I’ve just moved in,” the woman’s voice explained.

 Sherlock briefly turns around to present his I-told-you-so face towards John and Y/N. “Actually,” Sherlocks states, “I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.” He fakes embarrassment as he says it. 

“...Do you want me to buzz you in?” The woman hesitantly asks. 

“Yeah…and can I use your balcony?” He requested. 

“What?” The woman responds. John and Y/N flash each other confused looks. 

Not long after Y/N, Sherlock, and John are buzzed into the apartment building. As they step into the elevator to the correct floor, Sherlock address his friends. “John, Y/N. You two wait outside Van Coon’s flat. I’ll let you in.”

John nods, but Y/N declines. Sherlock cocks his brow up. “You wanted me to stay with you right. If I remember correctly right by your side. I’m coming with you.” She dictated. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “Fine.” She smiles triumphantly. “John, wait for us and we’ll let you in.” He leans in close to Y/N’s, whispering into her ear. “I hope you’re good with heights.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“You want me to what?!” Y/N exclaimed. 

Sherlock looks back at her as they stand on Ms Wintle’s balcony. “I want you to climb down.” 

He peers over the edge of the balcony. His eyes fall on the ground several floors below them. Quite a fall, he notes. Y/N visibly gulps, and Sherlock smirks. “You can always join John.” 

“No !...no,” she states more calmly. “I’m staying right by your side.” Sherlock’s cheeks lightly flushed at the promise. 

Without another word, Sherlock swings his leg over the balcony and with the expertise of a gymnast fall down onto the balcony below. Y/N yelps and runs to the edge. Sherlock flashes a cocky smile. 

“Worried?” 

She scoffs. “No…never.” Y/N takes in a deep breath ignoring the shakiness of her hands. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the edge of Ms. Wintle’s balcony. Carefully she swings a leg over and feels her arms give out from under her. She cries out as her grip on the balcony tightens. Her legs flail as they search for ground. 

“Need help?” Sherlock asks. 

She turned her head to look down at the balcony below her. All she had to do was let go and she would come in contact with Van Coon’s balcony. “...Never.” She grunted. She let go and preemptively closed her eyes. Her feet it the concrete surface and Y/N opened her eyes, becoming aware of the sensation of Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her lower back and waist. They were close–to close. Their noses were barely touching. Y/N’s eyes widened as she realized an aching feeling her hand. She was gripping onto Sherlock coat tightly. She released her hands and stepped back. She looked down and dusted herself off. 

“Better let John in.” She muttered. Sherlock’s eyes followed her as she slides the door from the balcony open and entered the apartment. 

The apartment was very elegantly decorated. It was spotless. Almost as if it were a showing apartment, decorated by real estate and interior designers to sell the space. This is clearly the apartment of a wealthy man. Y/N noted the white leather furniture free of any wrinkled and shiny black tables with minimal clutter. Sherlock parades through the room looking at everything as he goes. He stops to glance at a pile of books on a table and the coffee mug with the handle facing left. Then Sherlock walks through the kitchen with Y/N following behind trying to calm down her fluttering heart. He opened the fridge to reveal that it’s full of bottles of champagne. “Must be a romantic,” Y/N mumbled. Sherlock rolls his eyes at the comment. Suddenly, the front door to the flat buzzes.

The muffled sound of John is heard from the other side of the door. “Sherlock?” He pauses. “Y/N?”

They move into the hallway.

“Are you two, okay?” John yells.

“We’re perfectly fine, John!” Y/N calls back. 

Sherlock swings the door to a small bathroom open and glances inside. Shutting the door moves onto the next door. He turns the knob, yet it resists. 

“Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in,” John commented. 

Y/N immediately turned around towards the sound of John’s voice. “Coming!” 

She leaves Sherlock to go let John in. Coming to the door she notices that all the locks have been used. Her hands hover over the locks, and then reach into her pockets to pull out her phone. Why would someone who lives this high up bolt every lock on their door? She snaps a quick photo and opens to the door for John. 

Suddenly a loud crack is heard from behind her. Her and John’s eyes widen as the race towards the sound. They burst into the room. Y/N’s stomach lurches and she has to look away. 

There lay a man in a suit and overcoat lying on the bed. His eyes open. A pistol on the floor and a bullet hole in his right temple.

______________________________

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A Flower Under The Rain [Part 11-2]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au  Type: Series  Word count: 6,074

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8-1 | Part 8-2 | Part 9 | Part 10-1 | Part 10-2 | Part 11-1

Warning! This is Part 2. If you haven't read Part 1, go back to catch up.

---> Read Part 1 Here <---

Junmyeon sent him to his room to clean himself and rest. Being alone with his thoughts was the last thing Kyungsoo wanted, but the instant he saw his reflection in the mirror, he knew why the doctor was so adamant. But not only the tiredness visible in his stance made him shiver, but the most haunting one was his blood-splattered clothes. He looked miserable and terrifying. Ignoring the exhaustion, the writer washed himself as instructed and went back to the office. 

A new white coat stood in the middle of the office, and Kyungsoo could recognize the guy anywhere. The moment the newcomer turned around, the dimpled smile that flashed across his face infected him somehow. The writer felt glad and relieved to finally see him, and he even found himself smiling for the first time in days. He almost ran to him and hugged him, unaware of how much he needed that simple hug.

“I didn’t know you missed me that much.” Yixing chuckled, hugging him back just as much.

“I’m just glad that you’re here now.” 

“Junmyeon put me up to speed,” Yixing said, guiding the writer to another small office that functioned as a meeting room. “You should’ve called us sooner, Kyungsoo.”

“I know.”

“Hopefully, we can get some answers,” Junmyeon said, coming into the meeting room with a stack of papers he dropped into Yixing’s hands. “Results are starting to come in.”

“I’ll get to it.” The new doctor said.

Giving Kyungsoo a quick smile, he walked away, leaving the writer with Junmyeon as he set up a camera and a microphone for the interview, and Jongdae prepared everything to take blood samples. The writer braced himself and sat down, ready to do exactly what he had avoided for years and answer every question, no matter how hard, how uncomfortable, or how much he swore to never talk about it. He now had the chance to help Gyuri, and if that meant opening up about the time he suffered the most, he, for all the things he felt for her, would. 

Two hours later, after several vials of blood and answering an unending list of questions, which Kyungsoo tried with all of his might to answer truthfully, he and Junmyeon came out of the office and found Minseok waiting. He didn’t say anything. He simply handed him a water bottle and a cookie, which made him chuckle. The writer found the cookie amusing, but as his friend walked next to him, Kyungsoo realized just how much that little gesture meant to him. They came back to the main office and found Yixing at his desk, buried in piles of documents.

“I've never seen an invasion this slow.” He said, letting out a sigh.

“Why is that?” Kyungsoo asked him, “Why is it taking so long?”

“Because it might not be one-sided love after all.”

The writer shuddered, someone behind him gasped in surprise, and someone else in the room asked if it was even possible, but other than that, everyone stared at the doctor in disbelief. The silence that followed after the initial shock was staggering, and no one dared to say anything.

“I have a theory,” Yixing said, his face shifting in a serious expression, “but I’ll be sure once I get the results.”

“You're saying Baekhyun is in love with her too?” Jongdae was the one who finally asked, “Not only that, but is he keeping it to himself as well?”

"It can't be,” Junmyeon wondered to himself. “There's no precedent for a case of that kind.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions yet.” Yixing said, chuckling nervously, “As I said, it’s still a working theory.”

“If they love each other like you're suggesting, why was she the one who contracted the disease?” Jongdae asked again, “Why isn't Baekhyun also sick?”

"How do you know he isn't?" Yixing asked back, his nervousness shifting into a smirk.

“I was suggesting the possibility, hyung.” The nurse whined, not entirely amused that the doctor would play along with his questions, “Why isn’t he showing symptoms? It's beyond me.”

“I have a question,” Minseok added out of nowhere, and everyone looked at him. “If you suspect her case isn’t entirely one-sided love, what about the suicides? Did anyone investigate the loved ones who killed themselves? Has anyone run any proper hanahaki tests on the suicide victims?”

Once again, the silence in the room was deafening while Yixing and Junmyeon looked at each other as if they had lost an unknown battle. Kyungsoo observed the different reactions and wondered why the doctors suddenly looked so gloomy.

“Why would we?” Jongdae added under his breath, sitting in front of his computer, and started typing almost furiously.

“I don’t get it.” Kyungsoo asked, confused, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because South Korea had the highest rate of suicides even before the outbreak,” Junmyeon muttered. “Of course, no one tested anything when flower corpses started to pile up in the streets.”

“I’m checking the research archives to see if there’s a match.” The nurses piped in, going full into his research assistant mode.

“Yixing and I will go to the viral facilities to see if there are any recent cases...” 

A loud alarm buzzed in the office, making Kyungsoo and Minseok flinch. The doctors ran towards the door, and even Jongdae left whatever he was doing and almost jumped over his desk to follow them to the only place that would require all of them so urgently at the same time.

Gyuri.

That was Kyungsoo’s only thought. 

Gyuri.

Something was wrong with Gyuri.

Gyuri.

He followed the others, and soon after, he could hear her screams.

He could hear Gyuri screaming.

She was screaming in pain, and he found himself sprinting towards the room when someone stopped him. The female nurse in charge of bathing Gyuri was already dragging her mother out to let the doctors go in and do their job. He got the smallest of glimpses of her before the door closed in his face. The glimpse of her violently twisting in the bed that she dropped to the floor.

Then nothing.

Just an empty hallway and the sound of her pain. Next to him, her mother held onto him, sobbing uncontrollably. He could hear his friends inside the room throwing codes and orders around, calling medical terms that meant nothing to him, but above every other sound were her cries for help. And those screams went on for so long that it felt like an eternity, and he lost track of time.

“She’s fine for now.” Junmyeon informed Gyuri’s mother when he finally came out, but there was no hint of relief in his expression. “However, the stem keeps growing and piercing through her skin, so this won’t be the last time she’ll go into shock because of the pain.”

The doctor explained more things that flew right above the writer’s head, and he just stared at the door as the memory of her desperate screams kept piercing through his mind. Gyuri’s mother went into the room as soon as Yixing and Jongdae came out.

“We need the chemist.” Dr. Junmyeon said.

“Jongin? Why do you need Jongin?” Kyungsoo asked, the name snapping him out of the horrid memory while still replying in his head.

“Agreed, but I thought Kai had been off the grid for months now.” Yixing added, “We don’t have the time.”

“If the disease is advancing as slowly as you suspect,” Junmyeon said, getting significantly annoyed, “and if we don’t get a chemist like him asap, we might as well be torturing her.”

“Alright, I’ll find him,” Minseok said, his phone once again already against his ear. “Chanyeol, I need you to find someone and bring him in as soon as possible."

Kyungsoo watched his editor leave the hallway, giving his assistant more instructions on how to find Jongin, and that in itself was alarming. Then he watched the doctors get immersed in a conversation he did not understand. All he had left to do was stay rooted in his place, afraid that if he moved an inch, the sound of her screaming might return and burst everything around him into absolute chaos. 

He fought the horrible thoughts away, recalling all the times he had seen her somehow healthy. Those good days where her face seemed to shine, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled full of life, and in those quick moments, he could swear he saw mischievousness in her expression. The writer held on to those memories until he heard his name. Someone asked him something, and he flinched at the sudden contact. Taken aback and shocked to find himself in the now-dark hallway, Kyungsoo looked around to find Gyuri’s father next to him. He had his heavy hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him as if he were afraid to even touch him.

“Hey kid, Are you alright?” The man asked.

The question snapped him out of his reverie, and even though he was still confused by the sudden darkness around him, he nodded. He apologized and informed Gyuri’s father that his wife hadn’t left the room since the episode. That alone brought everything back, like an avalanche. Even though there were no more screams coming out of the room, he would never forget the sound of them.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Her father asked again, “You look a little sick.”

Kyungsoo pushed the uneasy wave of anxiety down his chest and apologized again. He assured Gyuri’s father that he was fine, but the man seemed to be more perceptive than he first thought, and his furrowed eyes narrowed harder on him. 

Feeling unnecessarily exposed, Kyungsoo excused himself and walked away, checking the hour and realizing the sun had set already. He went into the office to see his friends, but the stiff silence he found there made him hesitate. Junmyeon, Yixing, and Jongdae were there, each of them working at their respective desks and so focused in their tasks that neither of them noticed the writer coming in. 

The tune of the main entrance’s lock played around, announcing someone was arriving, and that made Junmyeon finally look up. Still in silence, he simply stared at the writer as if considering him, and Kyungsoo felt the need to ask if there was something wrong. Two voices coming through stopped him: one the writer recognized belonged to Minseok, and the other he wasn’t so sure who it belonged to. Suddenly, the owners of said voices came in, and the stiff atmosphere in the office lit up almost immediately.

“We found Jongin,” Minseok announced, “and this kid was waiting outside.”

But the newcomer looked nothing like a kid. A young man, tall and handsome in a near impossible manner, stood in the middle of the office and greeted everyone. However, if Minseok insinuated he was young, the guy did not behave like the youngest person in the room. The attitude and confidence he exuded belonged to someone who knew the way people perceived him.

“Sehun?” Junmyeon asked, looking at the young man with confusion, “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Zhang asked for some additional tests and told me to bring him the results myself.” The young man explained, pulling a folder out of his bag.

Yixing got off his seat and practically ripped the folder out of the guy’s hands. They all watched him read through the results as Junmyeon, seemingly confused, kept asking to be put up to speed with what was going on. The young man ignored the questions and took a seat next to Minseok before introducing himself to Kyungsoo as Oh Sehun, Junmyeon´s new resident and assistant, and then Yixing cursed under his breath in Mandarin, which alerted everyone in the room.

“What is it?” Junmyeon asked, getting impatient.

“I sent some samples of the crusts to test.” Dr. Zhang said to himself, going back to his desk, “And I’m afraid my theory is correct.”

He clicked and typed stuff on his computer and was about to start explaining himself when his attention fell on Kyungsoo, and he stopped. Whatever he was planning to say wasn’t something he could say in his presence. Then he looked over at Junmyeon, and he was also looking at the writer with a certain glint of determination in his eyes.

“In theory, we shouldn’t discuss the case with you,” Junmyeon said to the writer. “However, since you agreed to be part of the research, I think we can find some leeway to share our findings.”

“In that case, I’m afraid my suspicion was right.” Yixing started, turning the projector on. “There was one special case: The Crying Blossom Lovers.”

Walking to the center of the office, where a rolled screen was set, and pulling it down so the image could be clear, Yixing prepared himself to explain. Everyone in the room paid attention to the slide projected on the screen and read the description of the picture of a colorful and lush willow tree.

“Cherry blossoms on willow trees?” Nurse Jongdae read out loud, “That’s not a thing. Cherry trees and willow trees are two different species of trees altogether.”

“Hear me out.” Yixing agreed, taking a moment to gather all of his thoughts, but the sudden excitement could be seen taking over his entire posture. “Two years into the outbreak in Japan, a woman and a man fell secretly in love with each other, but due to their families' different backgrounds and social standings, they could never be together. Long story short, she was the first to die, and he died days later. What’s interesting is that their bodies didn't turn into the common flower corpses we all know.”

With all that said, Yixing changed to the next slide, which showed two pictures of seemingly similar trees. They all observed the pictures in silence and disbelief. Kyungsoo saw Junmyeon stand in his place, completely frozen in shock. Minseok next to him squirmed, and after a minute, Jongdae let out a tiny curse. The writer himself stiffened once he noticed the details in the pictures. At first, to the untrained eye, both trees looked like completely normal trees with sturdy trunks, with their braches hanging low due to the weight of countless and beautiful flowers. And then, there were faces. He saw, in each trunk, as if someone had carved the shapes of sad faces. One was more masculine with sharper features than the other, but both of them appeared equally miserable. They had their eyes closed, and the natural lines and texture of the bark in the trunk made it look like they were shedding silent tears, making them look even more tragic.

“They turned into the cherry willow trees.” Yixing said in a whisper, admiring the pictures with a pinch of fascination, “They are the only ones of their kind. No one paid attention to the trees because they were thought to be simple wisteria trees widely known across Japan. Until one spring, they saw the sakura blossoms. To say that local botanists were shocked is an understatement.”

The silence and the shock remained in the room as the doctor changed the slide to a different picture. It was a closer look at one of the faces. The features were softer and more delicate; her lips were slightly parted, and Kyungsoo thought he could even see her eyebrows furrowed in pain.

“She was the willow tree.” Yixing explained, chaging to the next slide with a picture of the other face, “He was the cherry blossom.”

“What is it, then?” Junmyeon finally mumbled, admiring the picture, “Unconfessed love?”

“That’s my working theory.” Dr. Zhang replied.

“Why does nobody know about this?” Kyungsoo asked, his eyes growing darker and darker.

“Her family happens to be one of the most powerful in Japan, conglomerate giants.” Yixing said it with a sad shrug.

“I’m assuming he wasn’t that well off.” Someone added it with a grim tone.

“They spent a great deal of money to make everything disappear.” Yixing kept on explaining, “Even chopped both trees down and exhumed the bodies. No one knows where they are now.”

“How did you get your hands on all of this, then?” Jongdae asked.

"Oh, you don’t want to know.” The doctor replied with a playful wink and changed to the next slide. “Anyway, I managed to get some lab results from that case. That’s why I ordered some extra tests from Gyuri’s crusts, and this is how they look next to each other.”

“They’re the same.” Junmyeon wondered out loud.

Kyungsoo had been listening with all of his attention and stared at the new image on the screen but could not understand a single thing. All he saw were points and lines, codes, and words that once again meant nothing to him. 

“So you’re saying Gyuri will turn into a one-of-a-kind tree, and Baekhyun will follow sometime later?" The nurse asked in disbelief. 

“It's a long shot, but these lab results are too much of a coincidence,” Yixing said, leaning back on his desk, as if the idea were too heavy. “Or she might just be one of those one in a billion cases that don't follow the prognosis as we know.”

“Or she could be something entirely different,” Junmyeon said, and the determination in his voice gave Kyungsoo a chill.

The writer looked at the picture again and felt the queasiness in his stomach. Something heavy moved inside of him at the sight of that heartbroken, carved-like face in the tree. It was just a matter of time before that face would be the one he was so desperate to save. Gyuri would turn into a tree, and her misery would be so engraved in its core that it would come to the surface and be preserved there for years. And it was all because of her unconfessed love. He felt his heart sink. His entire body might as well have started crumbling when the thought came to him. He suddenly felt like the biggest idiot. The answer had been in front of him the whole time.

“Kyungsoo?” Junmyeon asked, and the writer was holding his head in his hands, struggling to keep himself straight. “Are you alright?

“I’m an idiot.” He said, recalling every single moment he had shared with Gyuri, "You said unconfessed love, right?”

The doctor agreed, and the tension increased in the room as everyone looked at the writer with expectation. In another situation, Kyungsoo would have struggled to speak his mind, but everything in him reeled in the wake of a new discovery.

“He never had the need,” Kyungsoo added, hardly looking at anyone in particular. “He doesn’t have to confess his affection for her because he has shown it ever since they met. The answer was right in front of me all this time.” He said, finally feeling himself crumble under the weight of that thought, “She kept telling me, over and over again, how much he cared for her.”

“Kyungsoo, we need to test him as soon as possible.” Junmyeon said with an urgency that brought him out of it.

“I know,” the writer said. “I’ll bring him in.”

He meant it. He would bring the guy to be tested, but nothing in him followed. He stayed in his seat, letting it all sink. A part of him was aware of the urgency of rushing out of the villa to get the guy, but he could not find the strength to move. He stayed there, refusing to believe that he might’ve had the answer all along.

“What an idiot..." Jongdae mumbled under his breath.

The small babble brought everyone’s attention to him. Kyungsoo was too distraught to even feel offended by it, but they all waited for the nurse to elaborate. However, Jongdae barely registered that everyone was expecting an explanation.

"Oh, don’t mind me.” He said, flustered to notice the silence in the room, “I just had a silly idea.”

Yixing leaned back on his desk again, and Junmyeon returned to his spot at the front of the room, observing the nurse with his utmost attention. Jongdae shrank behind his tiny desk.

“It’s really stupid.” He mumbled.

“If we will work with Dr. Zhang’s new idea, we might as well hear it.” Junmyeon conceded, crossing his arms over his chest in expectation. 

“Who knows,” Yixing added, getting more comfortable propping himself over the desk, “maybe it’s worth looking into it.”

Jongdae let out a sigh.

“It feels like it was so long ago,” he started, looking at no one in particular, “but do you remember those studies from the Royal Horticultural Society about plant behavior way before the outbreak?”

As if something seemed to click on the doctors brains, Junmyeon and Yixing looked at each other. Even the young assistant Oh, seated next to them, made a sound of recognition, and Kyungsoo just stared at them, lost.

“It was proven that a plant changes depending on its environment,” Jongdae explained exclusively to Kyungsoo when he realized the doctors got his point. “They tested it on two tomato plants; one grew better and faster when it was complimented...”

“The other died faster when it got bullied,” Junmyeon mumbled to himself.

“I was thinking that maybe,” Jongdae kept on, “the disease behaves the same way, but on a bigger scale...”

As if that turned on a switch on the doctors, Yixing and Junmyeon set on in motion, hurrying to their desk with that glint of determination in their faces that even Kyungsoo knew something big had shifted and changed.

“What are you doing?” The nurse sprung from his seat, panicking, “No, stop, it is a silly idea.”

“You’re a genius!” Yixing said, getting his stuff ready.

“No, I’m not.” Jongdae whined, sulking in the middle of the room as he watched his superiors get busy at their desks. “It can’t be, hyung!”

“Why not?” Kyungsoo was the one to ask.

“It makes sense,” Junmyeon said, running to the printer as it started spitting prints. “Maybe the disease isn’t as complex as we believe it is.”

“It explains why people die when they get rejected," Yixing added.

“Hyung, that’s a very simplistic way to see it." The nurse interjected, stomping his feet in a tiny fit, “It doesn’t answer how it is contracted.” 

“No, but it can buy us some time to keep them alive to find more answers.” Dr. Kim said, smiling at the nurse and making a sign for assistant Oh to join him, and both of them rushed out of the room.

“Brilliant, Jongdae,” Dr. Zhang pitched in, also leaving in a rush, “Absolutely brilliant!”

The office was silent once again, and letting out a whine, Nurse Kim turned to Kyungsoo and Minseok with a pout on his face.

“I swear I was just being dumb.” He said it as if apologizing. 

Once the nurse returned to his work and Minseok immersed himself on his tablet, dealing with the management of his business, Kyungsoo tried to remain still, although it was quite impossible when the heaviness in his chest kept growing and growing. He left the office, fighting off the anxiety, because now he had a mission. Junmyeon gave him a task, and it pushed him through despite the heaviness when the familiar voice of his friend and editor made him pause.

“Are you alright?” Minseok asked with a level of precaution in his voice.

It was a tone he hadn't heard from the editor since the old days of his curse. Kim Minseok was genuinely worried and unsure of the heaviness piling on his chest; Kyungsoo had no answer for him. He wasn’t sure if he was making it up, if it was really there, or if it was only his own anxiety taking a toll on him.

“Be blunt and honest, like you've always been.” The editor asked, “Are you in danger?”

“I don't know.”

Minseok nodded, most likely to hide the shudder or to stop himself from showing any distress in his body, but Kyungsoo saw it. He noticed the fright in his eyes, only because he had seen it before. 

“Be careful,” Minseok finally said. “You might've survived the first time, but I don't think you can dodge the same bullet twice.”

Aware of those words and yet still in a complete daze that steered his body, Kyungsoo drove all the way back to Gyuri’s house in Seoul. It was a long shot, but he had no clue where else to start. He could’ve asked Minseok to get the address. He didn’t know how, but he knew the editor had contacts and strings spread all over the city, and finding an address was an easy task. But he wanted something to do. He wanted something to pour all of his energy into other than just stand helplessly in that room with her. Almost mindlessly, he drove to the house, and just as he expected, the red car was parked there.

Kyungsoo wasn’t sure if that in itself was a good thing or not. It shouldn’t have been that easy. He wished it would’ve been an arduous quest to find the guy. That way, it would’ve been easier to blame him for everything, but finding him there, waiting for her, just made it all harder. The guy got out of his car as soon as he parked right behind him, and Kyungsoo observed him for a moment. He desperately wanted to find something wrong with him, but Gyuri had always been right about him. He did care for her. At least he cared enough to approach his car with almost threatening intent. Baekhyun hesitated when the writer got out of his car and instinctively looked over the other door, expecting to see Gyuri get out as well, but when it was evident that he was alone, his expression changed.

“Where is she?” Baekhyun walked to the writer as menacingly as he could.

Kyungsoo remained silent, watching the guy get closer and closer, demanding to know where Gyuri was. It wouldn’t matter if he tried to explain. Baekhyun was far beyond any civilized conversation. He recognized the same frustration in his eyes that he felt in his chest. He knew the desperation to do something, so he let the guy vent until he threw an arm at him. He was fast enough to dodge it, grab Baekhyun by the arm, and pull him forward to make him stumble and have an opening to go behind him. It was easy to get the guy in a chokehold. Especially when his legs gave up on him and Kyungsoo had him against his chest and his arms tightening around his neck. Baekhyun tapped the arm directly constricting under his chin several times, and Kyungsoo let him go. Baekhyun dropped to the ground, gasping for air and stumbling, and got back to his feet.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you?" He said, coughing, “You almost killed me!”

Ignoring the overly dramatic reaction, and in an effort to avoid the noisy neighbors that started peeking through their windows, the writer walked to him. Baekhyun backed away, cursing at him if he tried to pull that trick again, but shut up the moment he was close enough to grab him once more. Baekhyun let out a yelp when Kyungsoo put his hand on him and then grabbed the back of his neck.

“Yah, yah, yah!” Baekhyun yelled as Kyungsoo dragged him around the car. “Let me go!”

“Get in the car.” Was everything the writer said and practically dropped him by the door. “Now.”

Without saying more, Kyungsoo got in on his side of the car and was mildly grateful that the guy didn’t oppose more resistance and got himself in the car, albeit cursing very passionately under his breath.

“So I was right after all,” Baekhyun said, rubbing his neck when the writer drove out of the neighborhood. “You’re an abusive asshole.” 

Kyungsoo ignored him.

“Where is Gyuri?” The guy kept talking. “Is she alright? Did you hurt her? Come on, stop being such an ass and answer me.”

Kyungsoo kept ignoring him. He tuned him out of his mind and kept driving with a purpose, and one purpose only.

“Woah!” Baekhyun said, loudly and dramatically, "And I thought she was quiet, but you, you take the cake on infuriating quiet people.”

“Is that why she likes you?” He asked. “Nah, she wouldn’t fall for a boring accountant. And even less for a shy one at that.”

“Now stop being all brooding and cool and tell me where she is. Did you kidnap her?” Baekhyun asked again but looked at him, his eyes widening in alarm. “Wait, are you kidnapping me?”

The writer ignored him, and taking the hint that he wasn’t the chatting type, Baekhyun started humming a song—the catchiest hit pop song he could remember. As he expected, Kyungsoo looked at him in disbelief, but as soon as he did, Baekhyun sang louder, enunciating every word of the silly lyrics to perfection as if out of spite, and Kyungsoo let him.

There was no point in arguing with the guy, no matter how annoying he was. He had to admit he had a great singing voice, and it was no wonder Gyuri found so much comfort in it. Even he found himself feeling soothed by his voice, especially when he seemingly changed genre and emotion. Baekhyun wasn’t singing to irritate him anymore; he was singing to himself. Kyungsoo looked to the passenger seat and found the guy looking out of his window, staring at the scenery with a frown on his expression as he let the melodies coming out of him flow through his chest with ease. 

Some time later, as Kyungsoo drove nonstop, the sudden silence distracted him, and when he looked to his side, he found Baekhyun fast asleep. The seatbelt kept his head from hitting the window, and the tiredness was more than evident as he noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. As much as he wanted, Kyungsoo couldn’t find the guy remotely threatening.

He reached to turn the volume down so the music wouldn’t disturb the guy’s sleep but caught himself before doing it. He chided himself for caring for a split second and turned his attention back to the road ahead of him and the imminent chaos that would erupt.

A couple of hours later, he pulled into the gravel road that led to the villa, making Baekhyun jolt himself awake. The guy blinked several times, taking in his bearings, but the moment he looked at the writer, everything seemed to click in his mind.

“Where are we?” He asked, fidgeting in his seat, “You really kidnapped me, didn’t you?”

“We’re almost there.”

“How reassuring.” Baekhyun mumbled.

Leaving the subject to rest, he watched the forest slowly pass by his window, and the writer drove in a heavy silence that was practically unbearable.

“What is this place?” Baekhyun asked, recognizing Gyuri’s car in the parking lot. “There’s no way you’re an accountant. Either that or you work for very bad people.”

Kyungsoo wanted to laugh. He found Baekhyun’s quibs amusing, and for a split second, he felt the chuckle raising up his chest, but he would never give him the satisfaction. He couldn't let himself feel even a sliver of sympathy for the guy. As he stood in that moment, for the sake of his own heart, he couldn't afford to soften to him. It was hard enough as it was to let this guy, who was slowly killing Gyuri, win him over so easily.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like a penguin?” Baekhyun added, with a curious pout.

Luckily for the writer, they had arrived, and he had no need to stay in the car any longer and entertain the endless tirade of quick jokes and nonsensical questions. He got out of the car and made a beeline to the main entrance, suddenly feeling that same pressure weighing on his chest.

“Yah, penguin poop!” Baekhyun yelled.

Kyungsoo froze, not realizing that the guy was right behind him, asking questions. He hadn’t heard him. His entire attention was solely focused on what was behind the walls of that place, and Baekhyun must’ve sensed the gravity of the situation. The easy-going air around him was gone, and Kyungsoo couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“Gyuri is here.” He said.

It was a harmless statement. Just as it was, it could mean a number of things, but both guys felt the graveness of what it really meant. The shock that flashed across Baekhyun’s face was enough for the writer to know that he knew more than what he led on. He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing, wanting to say something, but Kyungsoo knew the feeling too well. If he asked, if he let those words out, it would only make it real.

“Don’t make her wait.” He said, sparing him from the burden of asking.

The writer started walking again, going into the villa, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found Baekhyun following close by, looking at nowhere in particular. His entire presence felt shifted off and frightened. If he had any annoying quibs left in him, the atmosphere of the place certainly squashed all of them.

They crossed the foyer as Baekhyun followed the writer in an awkward silence, but Kyungsoo couldn’t blame him. Something was wrong. Something must’ve gone wrong at the time he was out because the air not only felt heavier but the shadows were darker. The silence was quieter than ever, and for a second, he feared the worst. Something went terribly wrong while he was gone.

“Why are you doing all this?” Baekhyun asked as if he could sense the change in him, “I thought you hated me.”

Kyungsoo stopped dead in his tracks. The genuine worry in his voice, the eerie air around them, and the gut feeling in him made it impossible for him to continue. Suddenly, the pressure on his chest felt heavier with every breath, and the question loomed over him with a weight he never imagined could be that real. The worst part, the longer he thought about it, was that he had no immediate answer to it.

“That way,” he said, pushing the words out, pointing to the end of the hallway that led to Gyuri’s room. “She’s waiting.”

Whatever attention Baekhyun had on him, the guy forgot about it all and sprinted off, running to her. Kyungsoo was left alone in the darkened hallway, and the ground beneath him started to shift. The walls moved, slowly closing down on him, but all he could hear was that damned question.

Why are you doing all this?

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and everything around him darkened even more.

Why was he doing all this?

He asked himself, and he knew the answer to that. He had a million reasons why at the tip of his tongue. He felt the thump getting so violent he could even hear it, and way in the back of his mind, a known voice was letting out a curse. Someone was running, his soft footsteps getting closer as everything around him kept closing in on him.

“Because I know what it's like.” He said under his breath, “To suffer alone and without any hope.”

“I know you do,” Minseok said next to him, pulling him up. “Hang in there.”

The editor’s voice brought him back to his senses, and he found himself on the floor, cowering against the wall as he clutched a hand over his chest, afraid that the roots might suddenly sprout out of him. He gasped for air, trying with all of his power to let the words out, but he couldn’t find a way. The words just kept on piling up in his mind, so loud and so heavy with meaning that all of them, as a whole, made his head spin.

Because I like her more than I dislike you. 

Because I know that she needs you more than she needs me.

Because I care enough to stop her from making the same mistakes I did.

Because I can’t let her be gone, filled with regrets.

“I won’t let her.” Kyungsoo gasped out loud, while everything around him started to go dark. “I can’t let her do that.”

Because I love her.

I love her.

[iridescentxstars]

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐊𝐞𝐲: [M] — Mature content/warnings | 🌹 — NSFW | ✨ — Rewritten | ✅ — complete | ❌ — unfinished/discontinued/missing links

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫-𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟖, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.

This masterlist contains all fics that have been archived for various reasons. This does not mean that they are not good enough to read, you are welcome to read and enjoy them. Some of these have been rewritten and the old stories can be found here.

ೃ⁀➷ Kim Jongin | BangChan | On-Going Series | Completed Series | Drabbles | Misc

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢-𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

[ ✧.* ] Something New [part one] [part two] — camboy!jongin x reader x camboy!sehun [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹✅ [ ✧.* ][M] A Dangerous Game — vampire!chanyeol x human!jennifer x vampire!minseok 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Soulmates [jongin] [chanyeol] — soulmate!idols x soulmate!readers ❌ [ ✧.* ] Love By CPR — doctor!jongin x reader 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Living Arrangements — boss!jungkook x reader 🌹❌

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

[ ✧.* ][M] Rule Breakers — stripper!jongin x parent!ayla [spin off to unwind by @oh-beyond] 🌹✅

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬

[ ✧.* ] His First Love — idol!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Warm Caramel And Honey Blonde — professor!jongin x barista!alice [ ✧.* ] Under The Mistletoe — actor!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Catch Me If You Can — detective!jongin x gang!reader [ ✧.* ] If Only — ceo!jongin x reader | ceo!jongin x yoona [side] [ ✧.* ][M] Behind Closed Doors — bodyguard!jongin x ceo!reader x ceo!ravi 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Play Pretend — vampire hunter!jongin x vampire!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Wrong Move — detective!yoongi x detective!shai x criminal!jongin [ ✧.* ] Jealous — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] She's A Fighter — student!jongin x student!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Gentle — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Aim To Please — idol!jongin x dom!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Ice, Ice Baby — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Obsession — yandere!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Confession — devil!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] In The Club — devil!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Game Of Possession — idol!jongin x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Petty Jealousy — idol!minseok x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] As The Thunder Rolls In — ambiguous!junmyeon x reader [ @x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Mirror — idol!yixing x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Take Care Of Me — sub!baekhyun x mummy!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Come On Over — idol!jongin x reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Cruel Queen — mafia!chanyeol x mafia!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] A Point To Prove — idol!yuto x poc!reader [@x-ratedkpop] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Never Love Again — fuckboy!lucas x reader [due to be rewritten][@danseurehonte]

[ ✧.* ][M] A Life With You — yandere!prince!taemin x reader x prince!jongin [present] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] The Gift That Keeps On Giving — ambiguous!taemin x reader x boyfriend!hakyeon [present] 🌹 [ ✧.* ] You're Hired — ceo!taemin x reader x ceo!jongin 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Delusional Fantasy — hades!leo x persephone!reader [ ✧.* ] Warmth — idol!jongin x reader 🌹❌ [ ✧.* ] Long Drive — ambiguous!minseok x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Little Wolf — werewolf!junmyeon & werewolf!reader [ ✧.* ] My Darling, You Are Perfect — idol!yixing x alice [ ✧.* ] Happy Birthday, Yixing — idol!yixing x reader [ ✧.* ] Mutual Agreement — idol!yixing x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Ritual Gone Wrong — demon!yixing x reader [ ✧.* ] Do You Wanna Build A Snowman? — best friend!baekhyun & anais [present] [ ✧.* ] Fucking Fortnite — brother!baekhyun & reader [ ✧.* ] His Awakening — dragon!jongdae [ ✧.* ] Best Of Both Worlds — idol!jongin x reader x idol!jungkook 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Secret Santa — college!namjoon x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] The Competition — idol!sehun x reader [ ✧.* ] Cookie Time — idol!sehun x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] Late Night Coffee — model!sehun x photographer!alice [ ✧.* ] Sweet Like Chocolate — idol!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] I Promise You — idol!jongin x alice [ ✧.* ] First Date — idol!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Crayons — ambiguous!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Stone Cold — ex!jongin x reader | soulmate!jongin x soulmate!oc [side] [ ✧.* ][M] God Sent An Angel — angel!jongin x reader | baekhyun x reader [side] [ ✧.* ] Tender Love — idol!jongin x alice [ ✧.* ] Study Break — ambiguous!jongin x reader [present] [ ✧.* ] Christmas Crush — friend!jongin x reader [ ✧.* ] Jongin's Christmas Miracle — idol!jongin x ayla [ ✧.* ][M] New Life — boss!jongin x barista!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Drunk Mind, Sober Heart — best friend!jongin x alice 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Say Yes — fallen angel!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ][M] Jongin The Ripper — killer!jongin x ??? 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Break Me — vampire!jongin x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Consequences — prince!kyungsoo x reader [ ✧.* ] World's Best Dad — best friend!kyungsoo x parent!reader [ ✧.* ] Love Confessions — college!kyungsoo x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Fill Me Up — hybrid!chanyeol x hybrid!reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Naughty Kitty — hybrid!jongdae x reader 🌹 [ ✧.* ] Oh, You Tease — idol!minseok x reader 🌹

[pajarinwrites]

EXO recs

directory | general masterlist

✨ favourites

OT9 / Multi

an adventurer's guide to romance ✨ @guardians-of-exo & @softly-savage-mint-yoongi i'm not giving up hope that they'll still post Jongin, Jongdae, and Baekhyun TT, fantasy!au, i haven't read all of them yet but yixing and yeol are so good i refuse to believe any of the others could disappoint

EXO Mall ✨ @yehet-me-up i don't know why everyone and their mother does EXO series, but i am definitely not complaining, junmyeon's was adorable, xiumin's is brilliant, i'm sure the others are just as great

EXO as Rich Kids @spacequokka EXO has more group series than every other group combined, every time i find a good fic it's part of a series like what? so far i've read jongdae's it's super cute

Xiumin

don't call it a love song (EXO mall series) ✨ @yehet-me-up 16.8k deserves it's own mention bc music nerd minseok?? rocker minseok?? bookstore owner!reader??? it's like this thing was written specifically for me, i ate this shit up it was so cute, their interactions were so cute, probably my favourite idiots2lovers ff, the snow scene, the singing scene, the dancing scene, the everything scene, minseok being a simp regularly, there is no fault in this ff, i'm gonna stop now i could keep going god help me

burning bridges @kwanisms 1.5k this hurt me, it's angst, it's not exactly happy, the synopsis tells you as much but every time i still read it and think maybe, maybe...

Suho

the meet cute (EXO mall series) @yehet-me-up 4.5k also deserves it's own mention, dilf!junmyeon??? how does writer know all of my favourite things in the world?? TT the antique store thing suits our leader so well, why is he so attractice? and his sungmin is super cute argh, i have beef with this ff because why is it so short TTTTT

Lay

you work too hard @cxsmicmyeon 0.7k just some domestic fluff with workaholic yixing, i'm projecting so hard onto this fic omg

extraordinary ✨ (an adventurer's guide to romance) @softly-savage-mint-yoongi & @guardians-of-exo 10k apothecary!yixing, yixing with glasses(!!!!!!), he's so sweet in this, they're both so cute, it's one of my favourites of the series so it deserves a special mention here

Baekhyun

inquiring minds @papermatisse 2.7k professor!baekhyun, i don't know what is up with exo-ls but y'all always find my most absolute favourite au versions for the boys like fr what's going on, anyway, this was soo freaking good! i read a professor one about woozi (svt) that was trying to do what this ff did but...., and now i get to read the concept executed perfectly, i'm screaming ugh

Chen

disclaimer: these are obviously works of fiction and they take place in non-canon universes. we all wish jongdae and his family only the best, duh. if you're uncomfortable with reading ff about him, skip ahead. me, personally, i'd like to keep a little delulu corner in my daydreams available for him &lt;3

CEO!Jongdae ( EXO as Rich Kids series) @spacequokka 0.5k it's so short TT but it's super sweet, the last line really got me, too

Chanyeol

kissed barely awake @irregular-idol-imagines 0.6k this confused me but it was so cute and fluffy that i didn't really care tbh

the doctor will see you now @kwanisms 4.5k this was kinda unhingend, in the best way possible, that's a high compliment in this context, incubus!yeol? i didn't think i'd like that premise but i did, i loved the slight horror aspects, the ending?? and how it linked back to the beginning? borderline genius, chapeau

D.O.

spellbound ✨ @whimsical-ness 6.7k ahhh this is soooo good, their dynamic is so nice, kyungsoo is such a freakin' cutie i cannot, and the other member cameos are so fitting ugh i love this so much

but you're warm... @kwanisms 0.5k ew this is so cute, i love cuddly, clingy kyeongsoo TT

Kai

movie night @galaxybam2 0.8k reading this taught me things about myself i'd have preferred not to know. enjoy, sluts (affectionately)

Sehun

spellbound @navellera 6k this doesn't feel like 6k, it was over in the blink of an eye, one of the only sehun ff i've read so far that i could actually stand, most of them (that i've looked at so far) have really weird writing in that the author puts weird sentences in a row that feel disconnected and irrelevant to one another sometimes, this one didn't have that, also, i've been looking for some hogwarts!exo and this really scratched that itch

[dragonowl]

Our Memories Carved into the Season

The Sky that Doesn’t End Series

Genre: EXO AU, High School

Rating: PG

Pairing: Chanyeol x Myeong-suk (OC)

Summary:  In which a new girl comes to school. A new girl determined to be alone. That’s no problem for a happy virus though. Chanyeol has suddenly found a desire to make a deep connection with someone outside of his brothers, regardless of the trials presented.

First, Prev, AO3

Chapter: Fight!

Content warnings: kidnapping, violence/assault, manipulation, mind control

Emotions crashed against each other as Luhan read the name of the person calling him. The reason for so many of his current problems. Clenching his fist he answered the phone knowing that ignoring the caller would only make things even worse. 

“What do you want?” he growled. 

“Luhan, old pal,” the gang leader said in amusement. “You sound upset.”

“We won, my business with you has been resolved.” He was done playing this man’s games. “Now unless you have–”

The gang leader tsked his tongue. “And here I planned a get-together to celebrate our parting. Even invited that cute girlfriend of yours.”

“What? I don’t…” His heart sank in realization.

“Why don’t you say hello dear?” The man’s voice got farther away. There was a moment of silence before he started talking again. “Seems she’s a little shy around all my boys.”

“You expect me to believe she’s there with that?”

The man laughed. “You make a fair point. Still, don’t you think you should hurry? It can get a little boring here, but I don’t mind keeping her entertained if you make us wait too long.”

“Don’t touch me.” Came Irene’s voice through the line. 

“Oh, so she is feisty.”

“Leave her alone,” Luhan snapped. “She has nothing to do with us.”

“She does now,” the man shot back. “You should have considered the consequences of trying to make a fool of me. I’ll give you thirty minutes to get here, alone. If we see any sign of your friends or the law, well, I’ll let you fill in the blank.”

The line went dead and Luhan took several deep breaths to calm himself before rushing out of the door.

~~~

Nothing was going according to plan anymore and Irene was racking her brain for a way to turn this problem to her favor. This gang was a group of simpletons and because they couldn’t leave well enough alone they could quite possibly undo all of her careful crafting if she didn’t use them just right. 

Luhan groaned as he landed on the floor, his waning strength not doing much against them after the last fight. Either the guardian’s powers were completely nonfunctional or he was refusing to use them. Which wouldn’t be too much of a surprise after he put his own brother in the hospital. 

Wait. That was it. If he were to hurt them again, or her… 

Not only would it widen the gap between the brothers, but possibly completely destroy his confidence, which would allow her to step in and take over. She quickly slipped her cell away from the goon that was watching her and dialed Kai. 

She’d only have to fake her tears a little while longer. 

~~~

He needed to do something to get them out, or at least get her to safety, but his head was heavy and ringing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. One of the men was holding onto Irene outside of the ring of men surrounding him and he could see the tears glistening down her face in the dim lighting. He reached with all his might for his brothers, pleading that they would hear him and come rescue her, but there was a wall, and no matter how hard he pushed he couldn’t break through it. 

He tried to push up to his feet again, but a metal clang filled his ears as a bat made contact with his ribs and he rolled away. He raised his arm to block an oncoming shoe, but it never made contact and he dared to look up at the sudden relief. The men he could see were stepping away slowly and he could vaguely hear the leader’s voice. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze that was threatening to close in entirely. Voices were closer but muddled and hands wrapped around his arms, pulling him to sit up. He tried to shake them off until a familiar consciousness brushed his own.

 “Luhan.” The voice was like static, but he blinked away what he could of the haze as a warmth spread slowly over him. “Come on Luhan. You need to snap out of it.” The voice was soft and gentle, and slowly, Lay’s face came into focus. “There you are. Come back to us, okay?” 

“Lay?”

“Right here, Ge,” the healer said, rubbing the older man’s hand. “I’ve done what I can for now.”

“Are you up to finishing this fight?” He turned slowly to the voice of the one holding him up and was met with Suho’s worried gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out. “I should have—”

“We can talk about it later,” Suho cut him off. “You good for now?”

The haze was nearly gone and the sounds of fighting were no longer filtered through a layer of cotton. He nodded his head and the other two helped him to his feet. “Let’s end this,” he said and the other two gave a nod, separating to take someone on. One of the men came at him and he dodged, pushing himself into the fray and looking for the leader as he took each member down. 

“Yo! Pretty boy!” the leader called out, and Luhan turned to find the man holding onto Irene, another thug at her other side. A wave of anger washed over him seeing the men’s sneers and her fear. He could feel their emotions, their corruption, and he advanced with one thought in mind. He had to take them down. All of them. The red was washing into his vision and he growled as he advanced and grabbed the leader’s jacket. The shift in emotion to fear was palpable and the red wavered, halting the directory of his fist. Irene’s face became clear through the haze and his hand dropped slightly. He couldn’t let whatever had taken over before succeed a second time. 

Her eyes widened at the change, flashing red and purple, and a staggering amount of anger wafted off of her. Confusion rushed through him. He opened his mouth to speak, but pain erupted across the back of his head and down his neck, halting his thoughts. He fell to his hands and knees, the sharp impact vibrating through his limbs as ringing filled his ears. He fought to stay awake, but all he could see was darkness. 

~~~

“You will forget what you have seen. You will forget what you felt. Forget what you know,” Irene whispered as she pulled Luhan into her lap, opening a vile under his nose then pocketing it. She cried for the others to help as she forced tears to the surface. 

Nothing had worked out according to plan.

~~~

Several voices called his name and he slowly blinked awake. The pressure that had been on his brain for days was gone and he could think clearly again, the voices of his brothers registering perfectly for the first time. When they came into focus, he smiled and several of them joined him. Irene looked down at him where he rested in her lap, her own eyes showing conflict as she gave a watery smile. He tried to reach out to his brothers’ to ease any concerns, but his powers refused to come to the surface, and he realized there was an emptiness he’d never felt before. His brothers were asking about him and patting and squeezing him reassuringly so he pushed away the concern for now. They would need to talk about it, but now was not the right time. He allowed Sehun to help him to his feet, and Xiumin wrapped an arm around him to help him along as they exited the warehouse.

“Stay with us tonight, okay?” Suho said, patting him on the shoulder.

Luhan looked over his shoulder and nodded. “I would really like that.”

He could hear some of the others behind them talking to Irene about how she was, but he quickly toned them out. He wanted to focus on his brothers for tonight. He needed that feeling of home. The others would make sure she was okay. 

Chapter 14: The final chapter of part 1