#the reasoning for some parts is a little clumsy but it was the seventies and when I tell you Pohl is like the one heterosexual author who

[akiraofthefour]

It was all happening as if choreographed by God, absolutely inevitably.

Frederik Pohl, Gateway

#Frederik Pohl #Gateway #definitely recommend #despite reading his autobiography and knowing he was cool with gay guys every time I read a book of his that's cool with gay guys #I'm like who is this king!!!! #the reasoning for some parts is a little clumsy but it was the seventies and when I tell you Pohl is like the one heterosexual author who #was like I'm going to try to write gay guys respectfully #he also has a polyamorous relationship and some bi people so like applause my man #the story itself is engaging #it's partially about a dude taking shit dangerous jobs so he can buy a medical plan that will cover the rest of his life #like.... yeah #same #good to know we're still fuckin doing that

[andyet-here-we-are]

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 1

For @wolfgeralt as a little ‘thank you’ for his stunning art -which I really adore, you can see it here: (x)

and for @hecky-heckicravedeath (x) who gave me inspiration for this fanfiction. Also Thanks @3tothe1 for being my beta. (You’re such a sweetheart, and I love you so much)

Anyway,  I hope you like it, my dear Witchlings! 💛

I present you: NURSE GERALT!  

Chapter 1 Word Count: 2461

ao3: (x) 

Chapter 2 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 3 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 4 Tumblr Link: (x)

When Geralt arrives for his shift, still feeling exhausted from yesterday, he has no idea what’s waiting for him at the hospital. His days are never too ordinary because you never know what you’ll come across.

That’s a part of being a nurse.

But he could never think that one of the not-so-famous musicians, his daughter, Ciri adores, was going to have a terrible traffic accident—which somehow isn’t on the news—and end up in the hospital he works at.

He already knows his name since Ciri just can’t stop talking about how nice he is and how he sounds like an angel. To the point where sometimes Geralt wants to say “Okay he is wonderful, so kind and lovely and you really love him, I get it. Can you please just keep eating your pasta? Yes Ciri, yes, I know that pasta is his favorite food, you say that every time we’re having pasta. ”

Geralt isn’t there for his intake, apparently, the accident happened last night, and the musician was badly injured.

Jaskier has a ruptured spleen that caused internal hemorrhaging, which the doctors were able to repair. He also has a mild concussion, a couple of broken ribs, along with some cuts and a broken leg which he is probably going to need another surgery for.

Since the other nurse who was responsible for Jaskier last night,  is having some family issues and has to take his annual leave, Jaskier is in Geralt’s care now, they let Geralt know.

When Geralt is home, Ciri starts talking about how Jaskier hadn’t posted anything in two days, and how worried she is since Jaskier had promised them a new song, “He never breaks his promises,” she says.

Geralt thinks that keeping the fact that the young man was in a traffic accident to himself is a better idea.

***

Three days later, when Geralt cracks open the door to Jaskier’s room, the man still sounds asleep, his chest rising and falling with every slow breath he takes as the morphine keeps dripping into his system. It’s enough to keep him subdued, if not completely pain-free.

He checks his IV, and takes a few notes onto his clipboard, right before the musician comes to, his eyelids fluttering.

And damn if he hasn’t got the most breathtaking eyes he has ever seen in his whole life. Even when they lack the spark Geralt is sure they normally hold in them.

Jaskier is confused, of course. So he tells him about what has happened and clears his throat before speaking.

“Mr. Pankratz, I need to take your vitals and then give you some medicines for the pain, may I have your arm?”

“Hell you can, might as well take my poor heart that seems to be beating for—”  Jaskier flirts and coughs before he has the chance to finish, his voice is low and hoarse from lack of use.

Geralt makes no comments, and fills a cup of water for him instead, helping him to drink it. He is surprised by the musician’s flattering words, and he is also glad that he is good at keeping a neutral expression on his face.  

“…you.” He finishes. “Well, I would normally use the ‘am I dead and in Heaven?’ cliché, but, see,” Jaskier keeps talking after sipping some water “I’m in too much pain to think that I’m in heaven. You sure look like a sexy angel or something though.  Ohoho, are you gonna give me a sponge bath, too? Just wondering. If so, I’m totally down for it. Just so you know.”

Geralt can’t help but snort at that a bit, “Do you always talk that much?”

“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t talk enough, you ever considered that?” Jaskier teases, and then suddenly his whole playful expression changes like he remembered that he had left his cat on the stone, and he frowns to himself, “Oh God, three days you said? Shitshitshit,” he drops his head back onto his pillows in a way too dramatic manner, covering his eyes with one hand “I had promised them a new song,” the nurse hears him mumbling “I am such an idiot.”

Jaskier truly seems so disappointed in himself that Geralt feels the need of comforting him. The man had a traffic accident, for crying out loud!

And yet, he is concerned for his fans because he couldn’t keep his promise, rather than being worried for himself.

Not even an hour has passed since he had the chance to talk to the man, but he already can see why Ciri likes this guy that much.

“It’s not your fault that some idiot decided that running a red light and colliding with your car was a good idea,” Geralt says “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Jaskier still seems disappointed, but he mumbles a silent 'thank you’ before he says “ you may be right, but I promised them.”

***

Days go like this: Jaskier keeps flirting with him every time Geralt steps into his room to check on him and give him his medicines. Geralt never flirts back because of obvious reasons, but he never tells him to stop either, even though he does judge him with his eyes now and then.

The moments Geralt can spend with the man is the most he feels happy at work.

He can’t even deny that at this point.

Ciri keeps asking him why he looks happier nowadays, and why he suddenly became clumsy all of a sudden because he loses his focus easily.

“Who is the reason behind your smile? I gotta know! C’mon, it’s not fair! Don’t leave me hanging like this!”  She insists, being the stubborn girl she is, and after a second she grins like cheshire cat “You’ve finally met someone special?”

“…I might have, pumpkin”  is his answer. “I might have.”

***

He doesn’t know why, but Geralt doesn’t like Thursdays. Well, it’s probably because everything bad has ever happened to him seemed to happen on Thursdays, usually.

And sadly, this Thursday is no exception.

Hank, a seventy years old man who has been here for more than a month, and who has been very ill passes away. Who he had become really close with and really cared about.

Jaskier catches his change of mood when he goes to check on him and simply says, “Talk to me. I mean, you don’t have to. But you look like you could use a friend. And I’m so bored of watching television anyway.”

So Geralt talks to him.

He talks about Hank, about how wise he was. He talks about how he has been working here for years but how it still affects him so much when someone passes away. How he doesn’t suppose to feel a connection with his patients, how terrible of a nurse that makes him.

“That makes you human, not a terrible nurse.” Jaskier assures him, his voice as gentle as always. “Believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Geralt isn’t sure when Jaskier’s hand finds his hand as they talk, and when his dainty looking, long fingers link with his; but the intimate gesture feels so natural, so right that he just lets him.

***

Jaskier has surgery for his right leg the next day, and it’s not the first time that Geralt hears his patients saying the most ridiculous things after their surgery, thanks to the sedation.

But oh boy, if Jaskier doesn’t take it to a whole new level.

“Maaarry meee, my dear nurse!” the musician yells, “we could make the most adorable babies together! One of them would have my voice, one of them would have your weirdly sexy brooding or something. One of them would have my…. my tongue?  Or eyes? Cheeks! Yes, cheeks. And the other would have your lips while the other would have your… DIMPLE! I love that cute dimple you have on your jaw! ”

Geralt laughs, because how can he not?

“That’s biologically impossible.” the nurse says. “Also how many kids you have in mind? That was awfully a lot.”

“Hmm, let’s see. Marie, Duchess,” Jaskier starts to count with his fingers, and he looks so damn adorable that Geralt finds it extremely hard to not just reach out and ruffle his hair. “Thomas O'Malley, Toulouse, and Berlioz. So, six!”

“It’s five, actually,” Geralt tilts his head to the side slightly and corrects him with a fond, little smile. “So… you’re planning to name your kids after The Aristocats?”

“Our kids, mind you. And I’m not straight, love. You can’t expect me to do the math, I don’t make the rules.”

Love.

He just called Geralt ‘love’

“He probably calls ‘love’ everyone,” the nurse reminds himself and swallows, not being able to focus on what Jaskier says for a minute or so. “You’re no special.”

But the way Jaskier utters that one word, makes him feel like he is lying to himself.

When he can finally focus on what he is saying,  Jaskier is still talking about the same topic.

“…and you should be grateful that I’m not planning to name them after Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! If we’re gonna have more than six, I’m totally doing that though.”

“Why Mr. Pankratz, we’re not even married yet. But I already don’t have a say in anything, it seems.” Geralt can’t help but tease with the young man in return.

Jaskier waves one hand weakly: “Don’t take this as my marriage proposal though, I’m better than that. If I were to propose to you I would do that in the most wonderful way. Roses, candles, and everything. Even fireworks.”

Geralt remains silent, so Jaskier talks again: “And ya know, joking aside, actually we couldn’t name them unless we adopted them when they were babies.”

“Why do you want so many kids?” the nurse wonders, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, growing up in a foster care system will do that to you,” Jaskier lets out a loud and somehow cute yawn.

Geralt knows that he wasn’t even supposed to ask that, and he shouldn’t even listen to Jaskier rambling about his life, which he won’t even remember after the sedative effect wears off.

But he can’t suppress his need of knowing more about him.

He just can’t.

“Wanna adopt as many kids as I can, so I can provide ’em a life filled full of love and everything they deserve. All the beautiful things in the universe. All the things I couldn’t have when I was a kid.” Jaskier admits, and his words make Geralt’s heart clench in his chest.

At that moment, Geralt is sure that he is falling so hard for the musician.

Maybe he already did.

“Don’t think that I’m not gonna name our dogs after them though. Or cats.” Jaskier mumbles. He looks like he is just two seconds away from falling into a deep sleep.

Right when he moves to leave, Jaskier grabs his hand as he softly, sweetly whispers, “Geralt, don’t leave me.” And he sounds so vulnerable, so weak that the nurse’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

Geralt would love to say that he doesn’t leave all night, but he has other patients he needs to check on, so he leaves.

But not before staying for five minutes as he holds the musician’s hand, and watches him fall asleep. Nobody needs to know, right?

***

The next day, Jaskier doesn’t remember most of the things he had said last night, but somehow he remembers that Geralt had stayed for a while.

That day, feeling guilty about yesterday, Geralt talks about his life.

“It’s only fair,” he thinks.

He talks about Ciri, and he lets the musician know how crazy his daughter is about him. That makes Jaskier smile at him warmly, but then again, his smile is always like this.

Warmer than the sun on a hot summer day.

Blushing, Jaskier hesitantly says that he would love to meet her. His big, baby blue eyes seem to be searching for something in Geralt’s eyes.

And Geralt understands that he finds whatever he was searching for when Geralt nods and says: “We would love that, too.”

***

“Look! Jaskier finally posted something!” Ciri says one morning while they are having breakfast, well, more like Ciri is having breakfast, and Geralt is just busy with his coffee since he is in a hurry.

“Hmm?”

“Wait, was this an ‘I’m Actually Curious About What You Have To Say’ type of ‘hmm’? Because it definitely didn’t sound like your usual ‘I Don’t Care’ type of ‘hmm’. Nice! That might be the first time you actually seem curious about what I have to say about him.” Ciri smiles, and lets out a sad, little “Oh.” After reading whatever Jaskier had posted.

“He says that he is having some minor health issues…”

Geralt huffs at that.

‘Minor health issues’

If what he had gone through is “minor” to Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t even want to imagine what “major health issues”  mean in his dictionary.

But he is sure that the only reason why the musician says “minor” is because he doesn’t want to worry his fans.

“‘I am in good hands though—I mean it, really really good hands—so no need to worry. Love you all, xoxo’ Hmm… I hope it’s nothing serious.”

The nurse looks at his daughter’s phone screen and the excessive amount of winking face emojis after ‘really really good hands’ part catches his attention.

He tries to hide his smile behind his black coffee mug.

And luckily, he succeeds.

***

A few days later, it’s time for Jaskier to be discharged from the hospital. And Geralt feels a bit sad about it, to be honest. Because he is already used to having the young man around.

To his never-ending flirting and jokes, to his smile, to his everything.

But the good thing is, that means that he will be no longer his patient.

Jaskier gives him his number before he leaves, and tells Geralt to call him whenever he is free.

“I’m totally getting into another accident and make sure they bring me here if you don’t call, Mr. Handsome Nurse,” the musician jokes in a low voice.

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Geralt smiles. “You can be sure that I’ll call, Jaskier. And we can even have some pasta maybe.”

It’s the first time that Geralt calls him by his first name, and the nurse can see how the other man’s smile widens when he does that, eyes sparkling.

“Wow. Now I have no doubt about how much Ciri talks about me,“ scratching the back of his head, Jaskier chuckles shyly, and it’s music to his ears. Ciri is right. He does sound like an angel.

"Till we meet again, Geralt. Till we meet again.”

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher fanfiction #nurse geralt au #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #my writing

[shortace]

High Stakes

Helen sipped from her teacup, and shook her head sadly. She glanced around at her friends: not one of them could pass for under-80. The three of them met every week or so to catch up on old times. Old times were all they had these days.

‘I can’t believe my granddaughter gave away my wedding dresses,’ Doris muttered again. It wasn’t recent, but it still stung. The granddaughter in question had donated them to a local history museum some months ago. The same museum, in fact, to which Helen’s son had given her sewing machine.

‘Everyone knows museums already have enough wedding dresses,’ Marg nodded. ‘They hardly needed yours too.’ Glancing at Helen, she added, ‘Sewing machines too.’ Marg’s great-granddaughter worked in a museum. There might be a few more ‘greats’ in there; she’d lost count. They hadn’t spoken in years, but Marg liked to think she knew something about the field.

Helen sighed. ‘I miss sewing.’ She glanced down at herself. It had been ages since she’d been able to buy new clothes. She could make herself something nicer than this frumpy sundress. It wasn’t as though she ever saw the sun anymore.

‘I miss weddings.’ Doris had had several, and always enjoyed the process far more than the result.

‘Such a shame we can’t just go to the museum and ask for them back,’ Helen observed.

There was a pause.

‘Why not?’ asked Marg after a minute.

Doris choked on her drink, and spent a moment coughing before she could answer. Finally she licked the red spittle from her hand and said ‘We can’t just walk in there and say they’re ours, Marg. They’ve got laws and processes.’

‘But they are yours. You’ve still got portraits from all your weddings to prove it.’

‘Marg, honey,’ Helen said gently, as though talking to a child. ‘You know why we can’t.’

‘Museums repatriate things all the time,’ Marg pointed out. ‘It doesn’t seem to matter what state the original owners are in!’

‘There might be ways around the system,’ Helen mused.

Marg chose a suitably overcast day, and brought her walker to the little museum. Nothing says vulnerable old lady like a walker. She’d play the part of the old dear - the worst of it was, she reflected, that it wasn’t difficult. The walker skidded slightly on some fallen gumnuts, and Marg sighed and tutted like an old lady should. She wanted to swear, but that wouldn’t be in character. The sign out the front of the museum said “Open. Please come in”, so she did. Not a problem.

‘My granddaughter works in a museum,’ she told the young man at reception. ‘She’s very clever, you know, dear.’ She fumbled with her purse and dropped some coins on his side of the desk. He knelt to pick them up, while she apologised profusely, and battled the urge to join him on the floor and count the coins - ‘Old fingers, dear, so clumsy’ - anything to keep his attention away from the CCTV screens. It took several seconds for him to pick up the coins and finish processing the transaction, and Marg was beginning to run out of prattle and patience, but finally it was done and his attention remained firmly on her. Even better: he scuttled out from behind the desk to come and hold the door for her. She thanked him, praised his gallantry, apologised for being such a nuisance, and - when the door closed behind her - heaved a sigh of relief. She was in, and he’d never noticed a thing. Of course she’d have to repeat the performance on the way out, but she had time to prepare herself for that.

There was nothing in particular she wanted to see at this little museum. Marg wasn’t from this country town originally, so the old photos meant nothing to her. She held no memories of how the main street had looked seventy years ago, knew none of the families mentioned, and couldn’t tell a plough from a seed drill. The primary reason for her visit today was the conversation she would have on the way out. But she also made sure to notice the placement and security of a certain sewing machine and several dresses. From what her however-many-greats-granddaughter had said, Marg had worried that the dresses might be in glass cases, but it seemed this museum lacked the funding for that. A low rope was all that separated exhibits from the public. Experimentally, she leaned over the rope and touched one of Doris’ shoes. Nothing happened.

She glanced at the alarm system on the wall near a side door. Making sure nobody was watching - only two other people were visiting, and they were examining a tractor - Marg tapped the numbers one, two, three, four. The machine’s readout switched to arming. Doris had been right: nobody ever changes the factory default. She put the code in again, disarming it.

As she left, the young man was reading a book, but he glanced up to smile at her and thank her for visiting.

‘I’d love to come back later with some friends, if that would be alright, dear?’

‘Of course, you bring them in any time!’

Any time. Not a problem.

‘Thank you, young man, you’ve been most pleasant.’ She made sure to struggle a little with her walker, and passed a few more trivial remarks, to keep his attention on her and away from the CCTV screens where she was not showing up. Finally, checking that the sun remained hidden behind the mass of grey clouds, Marg stepped outside.

Later, Doris frowned into her teacup. It was stained with use, and had a chip in one side, but it commemorated the coronation of Queen Victoria. She would never get rid of it. She’d been there. ‘Do you think, really, that will be enough?’ she asked.

‘It’s an invitation,’ Marg insisted.

Helen frowned. It was non-traditional. It was tricky. She’d never liked deception and deviousness, unlike Doris. But it wasn’t right, that somebody could give away her Singer sewing machine just because she wasn’t technically alive anymore. She wanted it back. ‘I think it’s worth a try,’ she said. ‘But what about the security?’

‘Doris was right about the code,’ Marg said, ignoring Doris’ smirk.

‘And the cameras, did you appear on screen?’

‘Not a problem.’

The front door was locked. The sign said “Closed”. This was the moment of truth.

Marg pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and handed it to Doris.

‘You presume I can pick a lock?’ Doris asked.

‘Well, can’t you?’

‘Yes, but it’s rude to presume it.’ She took the pin, and a moment later the door swung inwards.

‘Quickly,’ Helen whispered, ‘get it closed before anyone sees.’

‘It’s 2am in a small town, Helen,’ Doris pointed out. ‘The only people around are cats. Now, are we ready?’ The three women exchanged glances, took a deep breath, and stepped through the door. Not a problem.

‘I told you the invitation would work!’

‘The alarm,’ Helen reminded them.

‘Should have brought my walker,’ Marg muttered. She hobbled as quickly as she could to the alarm, and with two seconds to spare, tapped in the code.

The three women waited a moment, making sure no sirens rang out, no voices shouted. But there was silence in the museum. A possum scuttling across the roof made Marg jump, but no human sounds intruded on the night.

In the dark it looked eerie, with farm machinery looming and oddly-shaped shadows. Helen shivered a little. ‘We are the scary things in the dark,’ she reminded herself out loud. It was hard to feel like a terrifying creature of the night when your knees ached in the cold and you couldn’t stand up without grimacing. Marg touched her shoulder briefly, then nodded in the direction of the antique Singer.

Helen paused. ‘The cameras,’ she said again.

Doris sighed, exasperated. ‘We don’t show up on cameras, you know that! Now grab that sewing machine!’

‘Things we wear don’t show up on cameras,’ Helen said. ‘But does it work on things we’re touching or carrying?’

Marg and Doris froze in the act of stepping over the rope beside Doris’ dresses. How had nobody thought of this?

‘Well,’ said Doris after a moment, ‘we can wear the wedding gowns.’

‘All of them?’ There were six.

‘Two each.’

‘And my sewing machine, Doris? You can’t wear a sewing machine.’

‘You could balance it on your head and call it a hat.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, that’ll never work!’

‘It’s our only choice!’

‘Did you really need six husbands, Doris?’ Marg grumbled. ‘Just getting these off the mannequins is going to take half the night.’ One of the gowns was close to two hundred years old. The fabric was brittle with age, and moths had already been at it. Lacking the proper undergarments to shape the skirt, the museum had instead created an arrangement of pool noodles and cotton tape to support it.

‘Pool noodles!’ Doris said, horrified.

‘They’re inert,’ Marg said, a little smug at having picked up this knowledge from her granddaughter. ‘Perfectly safe for old textiles.’

‘That isn’t the point. It’s about the dignity.’

Marg snorted. Doris had never been dignified in her life, and had only gotten worse in her undeath.

Leaving the sewing machine for the moment, Helen came to help with the gowns. She eyed them critically, and then looked Doris up and down. ‘We’re not going to fit into these,’ she pointed out.

‘Are you calling me fat?’

Marg sighed. ‘Honestly, ladies, shut up and get on with it!’

It took the three women nearly two hours to get all six gowns off their mannequins, with only minor damage done. Arthritic fingers and poor eyesight failed to assist in their efforts: a hook and eye fastening came off one gown, and some lace was ripped on another. Doris muttered at each new injury, but nothing could be done. Finally, the dresses lay draped over other exhibits - ‘Keep them off the floor!’ Doris had insisted.

‘Well, I suppose now we’ll have to put them on,’ Marg said distastefully.

‘We’re already dressed,’ Helen pointed out, with a gesture at her own attire.

‘You hate that dress.’ Doris was already struggling into one of the older gowns, her modern attire discarded on the floor. Helen blushed and looked away. ‘I had two maids to help me get this on the first time,’ she muttered. ‘Put your old clothes on a mannequin, that’ll confuse ‘em in the morning.’

‘The lack of maids is not the problem. It’s been two hundred years since that husband! Your body has… changed.’ Helen went with the tactful option.

‘A hundred and fifty,’ Doris muttered, bodice gaping.

By the time the dawn approached, three elderly women had six vintage wedding gowns wrapped around themselves in varying degrees of completeness, and one had a sewing machine balanced on her head. On the plus side, the museum’s CCTV couldn’t see them in all their wrinkled and saggy glory as they dashed as fast as their aged undead bodies allowed, to get home before the full light of day hit. The sun peeked over the horizon just as they slammed the door of Helen’s house behind them.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, in something like shock at what they had just done.

Finally, with a broadening grin, Doris said, ‘We should do that more often.’

#original fiction #original writing #short story #writing #writblr

[passcridae]

Tuesday 10 November 2020; Nightfall. You come down from the roof of your home to find an envelope has been slipped beneath your door. Upon opening it you find the resistance has given you a new target: Yang Geoffrey, a 124 year old Club shifter who has been masquerading as a Heart Merchant for the better part of seventy years. 

Once the new tattoos appeared his social circle abandoned him when they found out he was really a Club. One of them has (unknowingly) hired the resistance to kill Yang for his charade. Never ones to turn down good coin or the opportunity to rid the world of another highranker, they accepted and passed the job onto you.

Geoffrey is ranked as a Jack of Clubs but is reportedly overweight and out of practice. The resistance urges caution but doesn’t think you should have any problems. This man is not a viable resistance candidate so you should not try to recruit him.

The sky over Sparrow’s head was a finger-painted mess of oily navy and blue, colors blocked and smeared together in clumsy strokes thanks to the sweetness of the powder lingering on his tongue and tinting his breath. Finding creative methods for quieting his thoughts was a necessary evil and, when it came to substances such as Dorian, a thoroughly enjoyable one. There was no space for Sparrow to ruminate on his shortcomings and his solitude when the sunset was painted in such vivid crimson and ochre.

The late evening breeze was spare, chilly but not unpleasant, slipping across the warm planes of Sparrow’s skin with a subtlety he recognized only in delayed appreciation. How long he’d been stretched out with back pressed to the cool tiles of the roof was anyone’s guess, least of all Sparrow’s. He had nowhere to be, no one to see. His detachments were lazily and sloppily described as freedom.

Yellows, oranges and reds had long bled into purple and deep navy by the time Sparrow registered the deepening chill in the air. Judging by the angle of the moon, steadily shedding the weight of the past week’s fullness, it was approaching one A.M. Sparrow pushed the mussed bangs from his forehead, otherwise reluctant to move. He’d fall asleep on the roof (again) if he weren’t careful. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, considering the lack of clouds blotting any of the stars that still flickered with a sheen of brush-stroked halo.

In spite of such thoughts, he slipped back inside. The window was closed and two-fold locked, despite the difficulty of the access point.

A bottle was snagged by inked fingers as he crossed the room, fragrant wine spreading across and amplifying the sweetness still lingering on his tongue. Only when Sparrow noticed the stark contrast of a white envelope against the dark floorboards by his door did he have reason to pause. The ambiguous seal of the revolution was clearer to Sparrow’s eyes, and easily popped open so he could scan the penned lines within.

The orders were simply laid out, as was, oddly enough, the reasoning. Sparrow rarely asked for more information on his targets, and even more rarely was it freely offered. People paid him to kill, not to ask questions; he was executioner, never the jury. Still, in this case, Sparrow couldn’t help himself. He turned the paper over, as if looking for additional explanation. Were people in this city really so petty as to end seventy-year relationships over the difference between a Heart and a Club? Was a new ink-blot of information enough to warrant the murder of an associate?

The new ink (on ink, on ink) on Sparrow’s skin was a blessing, as far as he was concerned; a boon that helped him monitor the purposeful variability of his rank all the more closely. But perhaps he was simply one of the lucky ones. Nothing in his new marking belied anything he tried to hide, like it had for this Club. Sparrow had already thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t a Diamond, or so he’d heard; there probably wouldn’t be room enough on his forehead for that breadth of transgressions.

No, he was still bitterly fortunate to be a Heart.

So while Sparrow might consider contracting a killer over the new margins extreme, the Shifter didn’t much care; he’d killed on others’ behalf for far pettier reasons than this, and it would be one fewer duplicitous highranker walking the land. Sparrow couldn’t find much reason to complain, especially for resistance work. Besides, in Sparrow’s eyes the night was still young. He had little reason not to embark on the task right away; it seemed a preferable distraction to lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for fickle sleep.

Sparrow didn’t even bother waiting for the last of the Dorian to wear off. 

He’d flown over the rooftops under the influence more than once, though usually for the simple enjoyment the swirls of colored lights and dots of crystal lamps brought against ashen brick buildings. Sparrow appreciated the same view now as he took wing towards a higher-ranked district than his own, the smudges of color only growing more vibrant as the money deepened and the dwellings grew more ostentatious. It was nothing compared to the flashiness of Diamond streets, but the warm burst of color against the depth of the navy sky buoyed Sparrow to further heights to witness the scope of it.

Despite the chill November carried on the air, Sparrow could see a cracked window as he broke his flight path to angle towards his destination. It was all the point of entry he ever needed.

Finely-boned feet alit with hardly a skitter on the sill, a few neat hops carrying him past the propped-open glass. A mana lamp had been left on, and Sparrow had to pause as his beaded eyes adjusted to the new swirls and halos of color, a vibrant mural of blissful oblivion in the face of certain death. Thus acclimated, on whisper-soft wings he swept to the floor.

The transition was seamless, with no need to revert back to the common human blueprint in between. Feathers shortened to scales as his spine cracked and elongated, adding vertebrae upon vertebrae, rib after delicately curved rib. Soft walnut melted into a mottled saffron, and Sparrow’s thin tongue flicked to taste the air and ozone, senses shifting, some crawling to heightened as others dulled.

Through it all, he listened to the sluggish heartbeat of the man sprawled on the bed, difficult to discern from under the rumbling snores. Sparrow tasted a sharpness of sour wine on the air. One boneless arm draped over the side, thick fingertips dangling inches from the floor. ‘Exercise caution,’ the order had said. Sparrow would’ve scoffed if he’d been able. The contractors probably could’ve executed this job themselves, but if they wanted to fill the resistance’s coffers with such easily earned gold, Sparrow wouldn’t be the one to argue otherwise.

He took his time slithering closer, rippling muscles working in perfect harmony across the plushness of the carpet. Had the hapless victim been awake he surely would’ve seen Sparrow coming, but even then: there would’ve been little he could have done. As soon as the Shifter finished appreciating the inevitable cleanness of the kill, it was over in seconds.

Sparrow’s coils wound tight before he darted within striking distance, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh and latticing of veins that could be seen beneath the tenuity of the man’s skin. The twin pinpricks made purchase centimeters from his newly minted Club tattoo -- an unintentional but somewhat satisfyingly karmic picture painted. Sluggish with wine and slow to awaken despite the sudden burst of pain and inevitable burning, Sparrow’s target didn’t move nearly fast enough to avoid even a drop of the deadliest of liquids spilling directly into his bloodstream.

The man was large, stocky, but Sparrow had venom enough to spare. Even if the ill-fated Heart managed to procure an antivenom under the most unlikely of circumstances, the lingering effects of the current dose would have him laid up for days, weeks; long enough that Sparrow would, if necessary, have ample opportunity to swallow his pride and return to finish the job.

Disengaging, Sparrow darted back into the shadow of a low couch to survey his handiwork. The man sat up in bed, sweating, casting desperately about -- his heart was thundering, no doubt, only serving to spread the venom through his system that much more efficiently. Within the hour his nervous system would start to fail, paralyzing him to the confines of his bed and well out of reach of help if undiscovered. Over time his blood would thicken and clot, blocking essential pathways and dooming his organs to an untimely and agonizing failure. A thin, expertly angled blade slipped between a pair of ribs would’ve been infinitely quicker and more humane, but Sparrow was never hired for the quality of his humanity, nor did his benefactors ever seem to care much for mercy.

Truth be told, neither did Sparrow.

The old man’s panic meant little to him, even as it thickened in the air and carried eddies of unadulterated fear to Sparrow’s sensitive nostrils and flicking tongue. To say he loved his job would be a little too this side of sadistic even for Sparrow to admit, but there was still an odd swelling of pride in his fluttering ribcage as he shifted back to his namesake form.

Leaving the man to his panicked confusion, Sparrow darted on unnoticed wings back to the window and out again, deftly catching an updraft to carry him over the neighboring roof. He’d been in and out in under a manner of minutes, with no reason to suspect even the sharpest of eyes could’ve caught him flitting away -- or assumed he was anything other than he appeared. He was easily the most uncommon of common sparrows.

#solo: a duplicitous heart #catch me on an fbi watchlist for the things i googled about venomous snakes #if i mysteriously disappear y'all know why #also if i promised u a birdboy starter #stay tuned and thnx fr yr patience!

[angellesword]

Seventy One

Description: What were you supposed to do when seven men ended up falling in love with you?

Choose, of course.

Seventy One: from seven to one.

Pairings: ot7 x Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, inexplicit smut

Word Count: 11k (One shot)

Warnings: alcohol, kissing, mild physical violence, blood, there are stalkers in this fic, discussion of dropping out of school, and losing interest in life. 

*** I know this doesn’t have a lot of warnings, but please be mindful of what you’re reading. (especially minors) I’ve been on tumblr and wattpad since 13 and I honestly regretted it. I should have waited for the right time before diving into the word of fiction.

Of one thing, you were sure: You were going to quit medical school no matter how many times they tried to stop you.   “I just don’t understand why people are stopping me, you know? This is my life.” You breathed in heavily. “My life!” You repeated the last two words to emphasize your point.   Not everyone had a dream. This was what Min Yoongi always told you. Admittedly, this friend of yours admired you for knowing what you wanted to do in life. Sometimes he envied you. For him, you were the epitome of beauty and perseverance. Once you set your mind into something, you were sure to do it no matter how hard it may seem.

  “They’re just concerned for you, Princess...” Seokjin pinched your cheeks, an attempt to lighten up your mood, but also because he found you cute.   You sighed, trying to flash a smile at your best friend. You appreciated his little ways to make you happy.   You had known Kim Seokjin ever since you were a child. Your mom was actually best friends with Seokjin’s mom. As a result, they also wanted their kids to become friends. It happened. Seokjin was a few months older than you, but this didn’t stop you from hanging out with him. The world was convinced you were destined to be together because the two of you were inseparable. You loved hanging out with him. He was a sweetheart, always polite and he didn’t have to try hard to make everyone around him smile. He was naturally funny.

And the best part about being his best friend? Well, Seokjin loved to cook. He always prepared your favorite garlic chicken. Jin didn’t mind eating this flavor of meat with you even though his skin itched after consuming it. “They’re not concerned about me. They’re concerned about themselves.” You gritted your teeth together. Bitterness was taking over you once more. You stood by this. You felt like the reason why your family and relatives were stopping you from dropping out of medical school was because they didn’t want to associate themselves with a dropout—with a person who was irresponsible and didn’t have any dream. You were going to taint your family’s name.   When you told Seokjin about your plan, he had a similar reaction with your family. He also stared at you blankly. Your heart sank. Your relatives’ reaction hurt, but the disapproval of your best friend, the person who you thought would support you through thick and thin, hurt the most. Fortunately, you were wrong. Seokjin wasn’t judging you. He was just shocked because he knew how much you wanted to be a doctor.   You thought so too, but it only took you two semesters to realize that medical school wasn’t for you. You were spontaneous, just like Jeongguk, the maknae of your group of friends.   Studying all day wasn’t for you. You didn’t want to sacrifice your time researching and losing sleep. You wanted something fun...something liberating.   Jeongguk was exactly like that. You could never forget the day he knocked on your door at ten pm; his eyes were sparkling as asked if you wanted to go high diving with him.   You agreed. It was the best day of your life. Your fingers were intertwined. You screamed all of your frustrations as you jumped. The cold, pristine water swallowed you whole.   You figured that the water might be cold, but your heart was warm and so was Jeongguk’s smile.   Your friendship with Jeongguk was the opposite of your relationship with Seokjin. The latter had a careful approach in life. This was probably the reason why he was at the top of his chosen career. Seokjin graduated in the most prestigious university in Seoul with a degree in Film Studies.   His hoobaes admired him for being the best sunbae. Seokjin was thoughtful. He took his time giving helpful tips to young artists. Your best friend had the right to give advice as he was already the most successful actor of WWH Labels, one of the best entertainment agencies in South Korea. Seokjin had won and was still winning major awards from different shows all over the world. His fan base was getting bigger and bigger. Despite this, he remained humble. Compared to him, you were nothing—at least this was how you feel.   “You’re really gonna drop out?” He asked you for the nth time.   “Yes.” You said confidently. “You know me. Once I set my mind into something—“   “It is final and there is no turning back.” He completed your infamous line and then he sighed. “I’m just making sure. You know, I’ve noticed that you’ve been taking Yoongi’s opinion seriously.”   “Your point?” You asked him directly while raising a brow. Why was Yoongi suddenly involved?   “W-Well...I...” He swallowed, it was as if there was lump in his throat, making it difficult for him to continue what he was about to say.   “What, Seokjin?” You know it was downright rude to just drop honorifics; however you were pissed off. He hadn’t said anything but you already knew what was in his mind. He was your best friend after all. You knew him inside out.   “I just,” he started and failed again. Seokjin realized there was no point of sugarcoating things. He needed to be honest. “Yoongi dropped out of college so I thought that maybe he’s influencing you in some way—“   “Oh shut up!”   You couldn’t help your anger anymore. You were wrong for trusting him. You shouldn’t have relied on his encouraging words when you told him you were going to drop out.   You remembered his soft eyes and heartwarming smile as he said “I’m not going to stop you, Princess. You should do what you want. I will support you with all of my heart as long as you're happy and not hurting someone else...” Apparently, it was a lie.   It was stupid of you to find it endearing. It was stupid of you to think that both Seokjin and Yoongi shared the same sentiment. The former wasn’t like the latter. Yoongi was the only genuine supporter you had.   Yoongi told you to “fuck it all,” when you told him about your plan to drop out of school. He said that you were free to do what you wanted. His advice was similar to Seokjin’s. The only difference was that Yoongi didn’t care about what other people thought. He said that it didn’t matter if you were to give up your faith and your trust to them. The only important thing was for you to achieve your goal. In the end, you would only realize the worth of someone if that person chose to stay by your side even if you were at your lowest.   Dropping out of medical school meant you would lose your loved ones. Your friends might even think that you were a bad influence. Yoongi claimed that you didn’t deserve to be with people who thought this way.   Regardless of their genuineness, both Seokjin and Yoongi made their points clear. To be honest, you couldn’t disregard Seokjin’s point when he claimed that Yoongi’s word got the best in you. What Yoongi said was what you wanted to hear, so naturally you would defend and follow him. It wasn’t right. This made you realize that the advice that you needed was from someone who depended on reality rather than just being brutally honest or being too careful with words.   You needed someone who didn’t simply rely on emotions. You needed someone who resorted to logic.   You needed Kim Namjoon.   “I think I should go. Thanks for the food. See you later.” You barely touched the kimchi fried rice and spicy beef bulgogi Seokjin had cooked just for you, yet you were already leaving.   “Do you need a ride?” He asked softly.   You eyed your best friend from head to toe, causing him to flinch as he immediately hid his left hand behind his back. You weren’t aware, but Seokjin hurt himself while preparing your food.   “No. I’m just gonna go to Namjoon’s.”   Namjoon’s place was right across Seokjin’s apartment. Actually, the reason why you were friends with Namjoon was a funny story.   Namjoon was originally from Ilsan, the city of flowers that was only a few hours away from Seoul. He said he was just an ordinary boy who liked music, so even if the possibility of failing was high, Joon still chose to risk it all and went to Seoul. He struggled a lot. His place was small, making it hard for him to buy music equipment. Despite his home being small and easy to maintain, Namjoon, the ever clumsy boy, still turned it into a chaotic place. You remembered that time vividly. It was nine years ago. You, Seokjin, and Yoongi were enjoying your usual movie marathon night at Seokjin’s apartment when you heard a loud “HELP!” Next door.   You weren’t the type of person who ignored those in need, so you asked your two best friends to go with you to check in with the new neighbor. When you heard the word help, you were expecting to see a person in distress. But upon seeing the face of the man who just opened the door, you instantly knew you were the one who needed help. Damn. Someone should bring you to the hospital because your heart hurt.   The boy in front of you was so gorgeous that it physically hurt you. His blond hair complemented his tanned bare chest. God. You felt like you were going to have a heart attack if he didn’t put a shirt on.   “My microwave is on fire!”   Regrettably you lost interest when he spoke. Just...who in the right mind would catch their microwave on fire?   Clearly, only a dumb person.   Apparently, Kim Namjoon was dumb.   You, Seokjin, and Namjoon were losing your minds as you looked at the flame. Yoongi, on the other hand, just pressed the ‘stop’ button and after a few seconds, the chaos also stopped.   “Oh man. What did you put in there?” You winced while trying to get a good look inside your neighbor’s microwave.   “Uh? Bulgogi wrap?” Namjoon scowled, unsure.   “Bulgogi wrap wrapped in aluminum foil.” Yoongi corrected.   When your neighbor nodded, you and your friends face-palmed.    Who in the right mind would put an aluminum foil inside the microwave?   Only a dumb person.   Again, Namjoon was dumb.   “Fuck. I’m really hungry, but I’m scared to use the microwave again.” Namjoon face-palmed too. He didn’t know how to cook.   “Do you like ramyeon?” Seokjin asked.   “Who doesn’t like ramyeon?” This was Namjoon’s answer. “A dumb person.” You chuckled, interjecting their conversation.   When Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, you realized that maybe, he wasn’t dumb at all. Namjoon joined your movie marathon that night. It didn’t stop there, though. Namjoon was cool person so he didn’t have a hard time fitting in with your friends. Namjoon was also smart and charming. It wasn’t at all hard to like him. You actually harbored feelings towards him. You couldn’t help it. You found him sexy whenever he was producing songs with Yoongi.   Min Yoongi was the kind of person who liked to do his thing alone, so imagine how surprised you and Seokjin were when Yoongi asked for Namjoon’s help, making you realize that Namjoon actually creates more than he destroys. Yes, he was careless and he broke a lot of things, but he sure knew how to create beautiful and meaningful verses that touch the heart of his listeners.   His style complemented Yoongi’s way of making music. This was why you didn’t get surprised anymore when Namjoon and Yoongi told you and Seokjin that they were planning to make a small music entertainment that would focus on music healing, talent, and skills of their artists. Few years later, Paradise, the name of their firm, became the biggest entertainment in South Korea, dethroning WWH Labels. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Seokjin, the empire of WWH would probably fall. Seokjin was the company’s backbone.   “Namjoon, open your damn door.” You banged on the door of studio. You knew Namjoon had enough money to purchase a bigger place, but he didn’t want leave this building. His only compromise was to buy the unit as well as the three units next to his apartment. He then renovated it to a much bigger studio. He called it Rkive, his personal working area. Seokjin also didn’t want to leave his apartment because he had been living there ever since he was a trainee, but he would probably move to a new place in the future—just not now.   “You realize I can steal your valuables and you still wouldn’t notice?” You welcomed Namjoon with an exasperated sigh as he opened the door. As usual, he showed himself to you wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hugged his hips perfectly. His Balenciaga boxers caught your eyes. You couldn’t help the blush staining your cheeks. You had seen him in this state many times already, but you still couldn’t help but to swallow hard every time. Namjoon was damn attractive, but this didn’t mean that he was perfect. In fact, his one flaw annoyed the hell out of you. You really hated the fact that he was always so immersed in making music that he didn’t seem to give a shit about the people around him. You were standing in front of his door for straight ten minutes already, if you didn’t aggressively bang on his door, you would most likely still be waiting here in vain.   “The only thing you can steal is my heart, baby girl.” You shook your head when Namjoon winked at you.   Ah damn. How could you still be irritated at him when it was clear that he knew how to make your heart skip a beat? Namjoon was probably the only person who could say sappy things that wouldn’t make you cringe.   “Don’t make me regret going here, Joon.” But you couldn’t tell him that.   “I’m kidding!” He pulled you inside his studio. Namjoon was busy producing a song before you came.  Bangtan Sonyeondan, the only boy band under the care of Paradise Company, was going to release a new album soon. Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk were the members of the mentioned boy group. They were pretty much involved in producing their music, but Namjoon was the one who wrote sixty to eighty percent of the lyrics of their songs. Yoongi, on the contrary, focused on producing the melody.   “You need help with anything, baby girl?” Namjoon sat on his swivel chair. He would stop working if you said you needed him. That’s how important you were. “I’m useless, Joonie.” You let out a breath, sitting on Namjoon’s lap. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist and then he rested his head on your back.   “I don’t love you.”   “What!?” You struggled to get away from him. Did he just straight up tell you that he didn’t care about you?   “What?” Namjoon was feigning innocence as he embraced you tighter. “I thought we are supposed to lie? You said you’re useless and that’s obviously a lie.”   “Joon...” You touched his hand that’s resting just below your stomach. You were at loss of words.   “I know I tease you a lot and I don’t usually say the words you need and want to hear, but...” Namjoon sighed as well. “Please believe me when I say you’re fucking perfect. You’re perfect just the way you are and if reminding you all the time is the only way for you to remember that, then I will continue to say it even if I lose my voice.”   You were crying. You went here to seek comfort and that’s exactly what you got.   But would he still say the same thing after you told him what you were planning to do?   “I am dropping out of school, Joonie.” Your voice cracked upon confessing. Tears kept streaming down your pretty face and all Namjoon could do was to tighten his hug on you. He hated seeing you cry.   “You came here for my opinion, right?”   You nodded, too ashamed to say yes. You wondered what he thought about you.   With Namjoon, you felt exposed. You were not scared to tell him what you felt for the reason that you were certain he would always understand. This was the only thing you were afraid of. Namjoon could just look at you and you would already be willing to tell him every secret you had.   “Well I’d like to apologize because I don’t have anything to say.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It is your life, baby girl. I can’t just tell you what to do and what not to do because at the end of the day, all you need is you.” Namjoon elucidated this thought more by letting you listen to the current song he was producing. Its title is Uhgood. Namjoon gently placed the headphone in your ears. The music started playing. All I need is me. I know I know All is need is me. You know you know The fact that the lyrics kept on repeating as if he was convincing himself made you cry. Sometimes it was really hard to make yourself believe into something. Falling short is such a painful feeling. If you haven’t experienced it, you can’t know it. This was true. It was easy for your family and friends to tell you that it was stupid to just quit medical school. It was because they didn’t know how difficult it was to continuously fail. My ideals and reality are very different, but I will still cross the bridge. I want to reach you. The real you, the real me. You were deluded by the idea that being a doctor was the best thing that could happen in your life. You still pushed through your dreams even though it hurt you many times. It stopped now. What you wanted to become in the future was the real you. You wanted to do what would make you happy—not what your loved ones thought was good for you. Namjoon thought the same because after letting you listen to the song, he said this: “You will pave your own way and your family and friends are just here to watch you grow. We are just merely the pieces of your boat, it is still up to you whether you’ll row it or not. Do you understand what I’m saying?”   You hummed. Namjoon seemed contented with your answer so he continued.   “My parents didn’t want me to pursue my dream as a rapper. They said I am too naive and guess what? They’re right after all.” He chuckled lowly, with deep dimples and all that. “But look where I am now. Yes, I didn’t become a rapper, but I became someone greater. Someone better. Someone I can be proud of. I train aspiring artists and I am able to produce songs for people. If I listened to my parents, I wouldn’t be the Namjoon you know and the RM they know...” RM was his name in the music industry.   “All I’m saying is follow your heart. You might have heard the same thing from Yoongi and Seokjin or I maybe I’m just blabbering dumb words, but do you get the point? At end of all of this, it is up to you whether you’re gonna listen to my advice or listen to yourself. Either way, it is still your choice.”   “What will I even do without a Kim Namjoon in my life? God you’re rich and smart. Your future girlfriend will be so lucky.” You laughed, wiping your tears away.   “You can be that girl, you know...”   And just like that, Namjoon was back with the teasing.   “You know no one is going to take you seriously if you flirt with every girl you see, right?” You pouted your lips. Namjoon smirked.   “Why? Are you the every girl I see?”   “What?”   “What what?   Silence.   “I love a dumb person.”   “Oh! Who’s the lucky girl?” Your eyes twinkled. It was Namjoon’s turn to roll his eyes.   “I am talking to a dumb person.”   “Well I’m sorry I’m slow! You haven’t said anything about the girl you like and—oh.”   I love a dumb person...

I am talking to a dumb person...   “Joon...” You trailed off when you realized what he said. Shit. What were you supposed to say?   “I am in love with you, baby girl.”   For years, you believed that you liked Kim Namjoon in a romantic way, but as he confessed his love for you, the only emotion you felt was guilt.   Guilt because without giving it much thought, you already knew you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings—at least not in the way he wanted you to.   “Don’t worry, baby girl.” He laughed, but you could feel the hurt in his voice. You’re thankful you couldn’t see his face as you were still sitting on his lap. His face was facing your back. You didn’t want to hurt him.   “I’m just saying this because I don’t want to regret anything. Falling in love isn’t experienced by everyone. It makes me happy that I am able to feel something as beautiful as this one. Loving you is such a beautiful feeling. I love that I love you, baby girl.”   “Damn, do you want some bulgogi wrap?”   Namjoon burst into laughter upon hearing your statement. Is his confession that bad that all you could think about was food?   “Are you telling me I poured my heart to you just so you can talk about wanting to eat bulgogi?”   “It’s for you, idiot!” You finally faced him, hitting his chest with your hand. “I figured you deserve some bulgogi wrap after that heartwarming confession. God, you’re so good at this!” Namjoon simply laughed it off. He also agreed to eat bulgogi wrap at a Korean stall downtown, but this was already hours ago. Right now, you were out with Park Jimin, drinking soju. Namjoon confession made you feel guilty. The only solution you could think of was to drink the guilt away with Jimin. It was a wrong move though. Who would have thought that Jimin was also going to confess his true feelings for you?   Ah. Park Jimin. The it boy of Bangtan Sonyeondan. He was a phenomenal dancer; his voice was sweet as honey too.   “Listen, babe...” Jimin giggled, his eyes turned smaller when he was smiling. He was cute, unfortunately you loved him the same way you loved Namjoon. What you felt for Jimin never changed ever since you met him. Well, you met him when you needed him the most. Quite literally, really.   You remembered that night. You went out to drink with your other friends. It was one of your typical night outs, nothing weird. Nothing creepy—this was until you felt like someone was following you.   All of your friends were home now. You always made sure that all of your friends were in the comfort of their homes before you could go to your own abode. But tonight, you wished things were different.   “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Pick up the phone, Yoongi!” He was the only one you knew you could call. Seokjin was busy with his taping. Namjoon, on the other hand, was out of country to meet up with other artists who wanted to collaborate with Bangtan. Sadly you couldn’t reach Yoongi. This made your heartbeat doubled. The stranger continued to follow you. Wherever you went, he followed.   Tears streamed down your cheeks as you ran towards a narrow alley. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you realized that the creepy person already stopped following you.   That’s what you thought.   Your muffled scream was frightening. Someone just covered your mouth as he pulled you towards another alley. This one was narrower and darker.   You planned to get away from this person, although it wasn’t needed anymore. The man let go of you intentionally.   “Don’t scream. Don’t breathe too loud. They’ll leave in...” The mysterious man discreetly pointed at the person following you so you could see how frustrated they were now that they lost sight of you. “Three...two....one...”   The man you’re with as of this moment was right. The stalker really left after three seconds. “Do you know them?” You switched your gaze at him; fear was still evident in your voice. “No.” He laughed and shook his head. “But I think they’re sasaeng fans. They’re really irritating. I don’t even know why they’re called ‘fans’ in the first place.” He was annoyed but he was smiling at you.   Your creased your forehead, ignoring what he just said. It’s because you felt like you had seen him before.   “Do I know you?” You crinkled your eyes. This man really looked familiar. Where did you see him again?   “Oh. Sorry, my bad.” The guy giggled. He was so used to the idol life that he expected everyone to know him by now. “I’m Jimin. Park Jimin, the lead vocalist of Bangtan Sonyeondan, a proud artist of Paradise Entertainment!”   The introduction was too much, but cute nonetheless. He took your breath away when he saluted at you.   You giggled too.   “Ah! That’s why you seem familiar. Thanks for saving me, Jimin. I don’t know what I’ll do if you didn’t rescue me.”   “It’s nothing. Shall I walk you to your house?”   “Walk me to your boss’ house instead.”   “The clumsy one or the quiet one?”   You pretended to think.   “To the quiet one. He needs some scolding for ignoring my calls.”   Jimin simply laughed. He didn’t understand why both of his boss adored you a lot. What’s so special about you? His question had been answered as the two of you sauntered around the street of Seoul. It was easy to make him like you.   You were not like the other people he met. Jimin figured that it was probably because you were used to seeing famous people that meeting an idol like him didn’t affect you anymore. Well, whatever the reason was, Jimin realized that he liked the fact that he could laugh and do anything he wanted without you praising everything he did.   Of course he appreciated every compliment he got from his fans, although sometimes it felt like it was empty. It’s true when they said that words that were often said lost its meaning. Whenever people said that he was a prodigy in dancing or that his voice was angelic, he couldn’t decide if it was the truth or if they were just used to saying it. Apart from this, compliments caused him to feel pressured. Jimin believed that he needed to do his best all the time or else, all the love he got would fade away in an instant.   He felt more like a robot instead of a human. If it wasn’t for his family, friends, and members, he would probably quit by now.   The time he had an actually conversation with you was also the night he realized that he had another reason to strive harder. But no—it was not to impress you; it was more like you were his inspiration.   You were a med student. You were not as rich as your friends so your resources were not enough. Despite this, you still managed to make it through the day without breaking. Jimin, on the other hand, was privileged. Sometimes he felt embarrassed when he felt lazy to do his job. He had all the resources he needed. His fans loved him and he was also talented. The only thing he needed to do was to move and yet, here he was, being a complete sloth.   Jimin had been friends with you for years now. He was thrilled when you suddenly called and asked him to drink with you in the middle of the night. This was new. The two of you rarely went out together because you understood that Jimin was famous. Fans would go feral upon seeing the two of you together. You considered Jimin as one your close friends. The people under Paradise Entertainment were really close with one other. You actually had a small group of friends there. Your Saturday movie night started with Jin and Yoongi. Namjoon then joined. After a few years, the members of Bangtan Sonyeondan joined the night.   You guessed that what made the bond of the eight of you stronger was when the boy band filmed Bon Voyage. It was one of Bangtan’s reality shows wherein they travelled in a foreign country with limited budget and few resources. The fans didn’t know that you, as well as Namjoon, Seokjin, and Yoongi were there too. It was because the staffs only film the members of Bangtan.   You remembered that time clearly too. It was in the Philippines, a tropical country in Pacific. This place was a gem. They were blessed with rich natural resources and hospitable people.   The only problem here was the weather. It was so hot.   “I told you it’s a bad idea to go here during Summer! God! The weather is killing me!” You hissed at Yoongi. This was his idea. You suggested going to New Zealand, but he disagreed. He said you’d only look for pretty boys there. You just shook your head because what kind of logic was that? But then again, he wasn’t wrong.   “I saw an ice cream store over there...” Hoseok said. Your eyes followed the direction where he was pointing.   “Yeah? Should we get some?” You already stood up even though Hoseok hadn’t agreed yet.   “Okay!” But you always got what you wanted anyway.   “I’ll go with you two. We need more drinks.” Yoongi offered, he was about to stand up, howbeit Taehyung stopped him.   “Yoongi-depyonim, let Hoseokie-hyung go with our pretty noona this time. Why do you always want to tag along? Do you like our pretty noona~” Taehyung teased.   All eyes were either on you or on Yoongi. It was embarrassing. You should never let Taehyung get drunk. He’s annoying when he was intoxicated.   “Shut the fuck up, Taehyung. I’m just concerned for her. Hoseok is drunk—“   “Are you saying you don’t trust me, depyonim?” Hoseok’s jaw tensed. He didn’t like what his boss was implying. “You know I like noona more than anyone in here. I’m not gonna do anything to hurt her.”   The tension was getting thicker and this was all because of drunk Taehyung. God. You swore you were going to kill him when he’s sober enough to know that you were the one stabbing him.   “Just let her go, Yoongi-ah. She can handle herself and Hoseok is a good guy.” You heard Seokjin said.   Yoongi didn’t have a choice but to let you go. You didn’t know if it had something to do with Seokjin being the eldest or if Yoongi just realized that he overreacted.   Though you couldn’t say that Yoongi was wrong.   Your plan was to buy ice cream and alcoholic drinks, but here you were, making out with Hoseok under the coconut tree and the moonlight.   “You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart. So pretty just for me.”   “Kiss me, Hobi.”   He chuckled as he obliged to your request.   You moaned. Hoseok was hot and serious at the same time. He was the only member of Bangtan that you were not that close with. His idol persona was different from his real personality. It was understandable though. Jung Hoseok was the leader of the band. He needed to set a good example to his bandmates that was why he rarely focused on activities that did not involve work.   This was until you asked him to go out on a date with you.   “Who wants to go to Lotte World with me? I have extra ticket!” You barged in Bangtan’s studio one afternoon. Your voice was loud since you wanted to get the attention of your friends. However, it was only Hoseok who looked at you.   “Oh,” your smile faded. “Hi, Hoseok. Where are the boys?” Hoseok stopped dancing as he flashed a tight smile.   “They’re at the recording studio. Why?” He creased his forehead when he realized you were avoiding his gaze. Why couldn’t you look at him the same way you looked at the other members?   You swore it wasn’t because you hated his face. Admittedly, Hoseok was so attractive you felt like you didn’t deserve to look his way. Besides, how could you look at him now when he was topless? If this was Namjoon, you would shamelessly drool, but this was Hoseok. Jung Hoseok of Bangtan Sonyeondan.   “I just...” You attempted to look at him and you couldn’t help yourself any longer. “Do you go out with me?”   “Sorry?”   You faked a smile. Why were you so nervous?   “I mean,” you shrugged off, an attempt to calm yourself. “I have an extra ticket to Lotte World. Would you mind going out with me?” When he didn’t say anything, you panicked again. “Just friends! We’re only going out as friends!”   Your heart skipped a beat when he ruffled your hair. He was laughing because you seemed shy. There was nothing to be shy about. He would like to go out with you. He was done practicing their choreography and recording his part in their upcoming album. Hoseok was the only rapper in their group.   The three members were part of the vocal line. They were still busy recording that was why you ended up going with Hoseok in the mentioned amusement park. Hoseok didn’t regret agreeing to go with you because albeit frightened, you still made him feel like he was brave.   You coaxed him to try scary rides at that amusement park. With you, Hoseok forgot all the worries circling in his head. With you, he could be the carefree and rough version of himself.   Rough. As in rough in bed. You didn’t exactly know how it happened. After your date with him at Lotte World, the two of you spent more time with each other; however, it was always a secret. It was as though he was your new best friend. Seokjin was always busy with work that was why you chose to hang out with Hoseok instead. Only at midnight though. You two would often meet at Bangtan’s dance studio. This was the safest place since it was common knowledge to all Bangtan employees to never barge in here because Hoseok couldn’t be disturbed while choreographing new steps.   Little did they know, the only thing Hoseok was doing was making you cum.   This was the reason why you were making out with him under the moonlight tonight. This wasn’t just because you two were semi-drunk. You really wanted to be with Hoseok ever since the start of Bon Voyage.   “I love you, sweetheart...” Hoseok confessed as he inserted his fingers in your wet cunt. “Me too, Hobi. As much as I love Tae, JK, and Jimin too.” You cooed. You realized that you needed to tell them you loved them more. They would be dropping their new album soon and you were aware that this was causing them to feel stressed.   “Hobi?” You were frustrated when he abruptly stopped pleasuring you. Was something wrong?   “Sweetheart?” You called again. You even lifted his chin so you could look at him in the eyes.   “Something bothering you?” You palmed his cock. “Will this help? Want me to blow you, baby?” Hoseok lightly pushed you away. This was in contrary to the roughness of his voice.   “Do you really think all I want is sex?”   “W-What?” You blinked when you saw hurt crossed his face.   “Hobi...I don’t understand. We chose this deal right? You said you wanted me. I want you too, sweetheart.” You tried to kiss him on the lips, but it landed on his cheek when he tilted his head to the side.   “Let’s stop this deal. I don’t want to be your fuck buddy anymore.”   You froze, too stunned to even speak. He didn’t want you anymore? Did he find someone better?   If that was the case, then you couldn’t do anything. It’s just so not you to push people to do something they didn’t want. So even if your heart felt heavy, you still nodded.   “Whatever you want is fine by me, Hobi.”   “That easy, huh?” He cackled. “I just told you I love you, damn! Is this really just physical for you? Don’t you feel anything at all—”   Hoseok was cut off when Yoongi suddenly punched him. You tried to stop Yoongi, but you realized you couldn’t stop him without asking for the help of your other friends.   It was Jeongguk who was able to pull Yoongi away from Hoseok. You scowled upon seeing the idol’s broken nose and bleeding lips.   “Damn. You don’t need our stylist-noona now, Hoseokie-hyung.” Intoxicated Taehyung was unstoppable. He still managed to joke about the current situation.   Their album concept was about raising awareness about violence. Hoseok’s role was the protagonist who was always bullied by his classmates. Taehyung was saying that their stylist didn’t need to paint fake bruises on his hyung’s face anymore.   “Taehyung, you better shut the fuck up.” Namjoon threatened, but the intoxicated boy just raised his brow and smirked at his boss. It was Seokjin who stood up to stop this chaos.   “Guys...” The eldest called all of your attention, though he was only looking at you. For some reason, guilt managed to creep into your heart. Why was Seokjin looking at you using those lonely eyes?   “We aren’t going to solve anything if you are all angry. Can we please just stay calm?” Seokjin blinked as he wetted his pinkish lips. “Yoongi-ah, why did you do this to Hoseok?”   Yoongi who was currently plopped down on white sand glared at Hoseok. After this, he switched his gaze at Seokjin.   “Why don’t you ask him instead, Jin-hyung? Have him tell everyone the nasty shit he was doing to her!” Yoongi angrily pointed at you.   This time, all of your friends stared at you, patiently waiting for your answer.   “I...” You looked away. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to find out this way. In fact, they weren’t supposed to find out at all. “Yoongi saw—“   “I kissed her.” Hoseok cut you off.   The five other boys gasped while Yoongi tried to attack Hoseok again. Fortunately, Jeongguk was able to stop him.   Seokjin asked you if it was true so you didn’t have a choice but to tell them the truth. You couldn’t afford to make it seem like this was Hoseok’s fault. Taehyung laughed after hearing you admit the truth. He started dancing and singing too.   “Hoseokie and noona, sitting on a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”   You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. You thought you could handle this calmly, but Taehyung was really getting in your nerves. This was ridiculous. “Can all of you just please shut the fuck up? Hoseok kissed me because I want him to do so! I wanted it to happen, alright? He didn’t force me!”   You were fuming as you glared at Yoongi.   “He didn’t force me, Min. So just....” You sighed again. “Please apologize to Hoseok. He didn’t do anything wrong.”   Deafening silence welcomed your group. The only sound you could hear was the harsh wave. It was Jeongguk who broke the silence.   “You want him to kiss you?” He asked innocently, his big doe eyes were sparkling. “Why? Do you like Hobi-hyung, Noona?”   You bit your lower lip. Did you need to answer his question? If yes, why? If no, why? But most importantly, did you like Hoseok?   You looked at your fuck buddy. It seemed like he was in great pain—he was biting his lip while trying to stop the blood from staining his white shirt. He was also looking at you, eyes full of hope. You wished you didn’t have to hurt him.   But you did anyway.   “I like him as a friend, Jeon.” You answered the maknae’s question, but your eyes were focused on Hoseok.   You noticed the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. It was obvious that he’s trying hard to stop it.   As much as Hoseok wanted you to love him, he was certain that forcing you to do so would only hurt you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. This being the case, he simply nodded, accepting defeat.   “I understand.” Hoseok smiled at you. “Thank you for being honest, sweetheart.”   “Sweetheart my ass.” Why did Yoongi need to always ruin the moment?   Seokjin rolled his eyes. Yoongi was so petty.   “Let’s clear this up, guys” The eldest spoke again. He asked you all to form a circle. Seokjin was inside that circle since he was the one who gathered all of you to swear something.   “Raise your hand if you want to remain friends with the people in this circle.”   All of you, except Yoongi, complied with Seokjin’s request. You had to pinch the side of Yoongi’s stomach just to urge him to raise his hand.   He did.   “Good. Do you swear to do the best that you can to protect and not harm one another?”   “I swear.” All of you said—except Yoongi. You pinched the side of his stomach again.   “Fine! I swear!” Yoongi swore through gritted teeth.   “Do you swear to never fall in love with the only girl in this group?”   “What!?” Your eyes widened. Your face felt hot. This was so unnecessary. “Seokjin! Stop overreacting! No one is going to fall in love with me here.”   “You sure about that, Noona?” Jeongguk asked, he was obviously pertaining to Hoseok.   “All they have to do is swear, Princess. If they aren’t going to fall in love with you, it will be easy to swear!” Seokjin grinned innocently that you could only roll your eyes.   Seokjin made them swear a few more statements before giving each one of you a bottle of beer.   “To our newly formed friendship!” He raised his bottle.   “To our newly formed friendship!” The seven of you repeated and that was it.   For years, Jimin managed to keep those promises, but you could never trust a man under the influence of alcohol. “I’m only saying this now because I am drunk and I can just pretend like I don’t remember anything tomorrow.” Jimin pouted his lips as he stared at you lovingly. You listened to him.   “I like you a lot, babe. I’m sorry. I know I can’t because I promised our friends that I will never fall in love with you, but...” Jimin hiccupped. “I just have to say it once. RM-depyonim called and told our friends that he also broke the promise and I thought...fuck it all. If the CEO can confess to you just like that, then why can’t I, right?”   “Jimin, you’re drunk...” You sighed. Were you supposed to say anything? Wasn’t it cruel to reject two of your friends in one night?   “I’m not!” Jimin chuckled. “Intoxicated people can’t do this—”   “Intoxicated people fall asleep while they’re talking, bitch.” You shook your head when Jimin lost consciousness. Damn. He was wasted.   “Hello, Manager Sejin? Yeah, it’s me...” You wiggled your brows as if the person you’re talking to on the other line could see you. “Uh, Jimin is drunk and we need you here. I’ll text you the location. Bye!”   By the time you finished talking, you immediately cut the line. You’re scared of their manager. The members always got in trouble whenever they were with you. If you weren’t friends with Namjoon and Yoongi, Manager Sejin would most likely forbid the members from going out with you.   “Sorry, Manager!” You made a face when Jimin’s manager almost tripped while trying to carry the singer on his back.   Guilt washed over you when Sejin just sighed. Were you being selfish? Was your attitude too much? Should you just really leave the boys alone?   That night, you went home alone. Exhaustion made you fall asleep easily. It was already past nine in the morning when you woke up. Your phone was full of messages from Jimin, causing you to worry. Did something happen to him?   As you unlocked your phone, you received a new message from him.   [9:58am] Park Jimin: I remember what happened last night, babe. Sorry about that. I promise to never say things like that again, though I never lie when I’m drunk. Don’t feel pressured about liking me back. I can always find another person to love as I am already contented just by being your friend. Have a good day! :D   You were glad that this day wasn’t going to be as awkward as you thought it would be. It was a good thing Jimin understood your situation as he didn’t force you to reciprocate his feelings for you.   Your plan for today was to just watch your and Seokjin’s favorite T.V show. You smiled to yourself thinking how angry he would get when you told him that you watched the new episodes without him; however, your smile faded when you realized that you weren’t in good terms with him.   You got mad at him last night for being concerned about you. But...could he blame you? He was judging Yoongi and Yoongi was your friend—his friend. How could he say those things?   The three of you had known one another for years. Yes. Min Yoongi dropped out of college, but it did not mean that he failed as a person. Yoongi reached his goal. He wanted to climb the social ladder. He did it by pursuing his passion for music and you couldn’t be more proud.   “Why are you crying when you’re watching a fucking sitcom?” You screamed so loud upon hearing that voice.   “Fuck! Yoongi! You scared the hell out of me!” You threw one BT21 pillow at him. He was going to be the death of you. Literally.

 “When did you arrive?”   “You know, you always tell Namjoon how you can rob his place and he wouldn’t even know it.” He snorted. “You’re just as horrible as he is.”   Yoongi caught the BT21 pillow in his hands and then he grimaced upon seeing that this pillow was Hoseok’s line character called Mang. Yoongi fucking hated Mang.   “I’m damn broke, Yoongels. They can only steal my books in med. I wouldn’t mind, tbh.”   Yoongi sat on the couch beside you. You bit his arm when he threw Mang on the floor.   “How dare you hurt my baby!” You nursed Mang in your arms. You spent a lot just to buy this pillow. Fuck capitalism, really.   “I’ll give you Taehyung and Jeongguk’s character for free. Just ditch Mang.”   “No! Why do you hate Mang so much?” You questioned your friend who was now engrossed in watching TV.   “I hate Mang as much as I hate Chimmy.”   “I thought you liked Chimmy!” You slapped his arms. Chimmy was Jimin’s character.   “That was before Jimin told us he confessed his love for you. Joon too.”   You kept your mouth shut. This was something you couldn’t just brag about. You respected both Namjoon and Jimin’s feelings.   “You’re not hard to love, you know?” He said seriously after calling your name softly. He was the only one who called you by your real name. All of your friends had a special nickname for you.   “Don’t tell me you’re about to confess your undying love for me too?” You burst into laughter because your own joke made you cringe. There was no way Yoongi liked you. Nope. That was impossible.   “What if I am?”   “Shut up.” You slapped his arms again. Yoongi was a terrible joker.   “Why? I loved you first.”   “Yoongi....” You warned. Your heart was going crazy. No. This couldn’t be happening again. You couldn’t handle to reject three of your friends in less than twenty four hours.   “I have loved you since the day you saved me.”   And just like that, memories of the past flashed in your mind.   Ten years ago, Min Yoongi came into your life. If Jimin saved you from danger, you could proudly say that you were once a hero just like Jimin.   Going to Han River had become a habit of yours whenever you felt sad. The night you met Yoongi, you were sad. Your parents were fighting again. You thought you had the worst problem in the world, but when you saw a man in Han River’s bridge, ready to jump and end his life, you realized that there were people who had it worse.   “No!” You were able to hug him before he could jump. His body was cold and he was shaking badly. You hugged him tighter as your tears fell. You were scared—too afraid to lose this stranger.   You expected him to struggle just so he could get away from you; however, he did the opposite of what you thought he’d do. He actually hugged you back.   “All I wanted is someone to hold me like this.” His voice was low and sad. It made you cry even more.   “I’ll do it. I’ll hug you all the time if you want. Just ...don’t leave.”   Yoongi was that boy. He was determined to end his life that night, but you saved him. You acted as if you were scared to lose him. You cared for him.   You were afraid to leave Yoongi alone again, and so you brought him at Seokjin’s apartment—this was the start of your friendship. You didn’t regret bringing Yoongi there. You learned to love him. To care for him. But then again, you could only love him as a friend.   Your heart wasn’t always sure who it loved, but it sure knew who it couldn’t love.   “You’re probably gonna reject me too. I respect what you feel.” Yoongi chuckled because who knew? Maybe you had heard this exact line from Jimin and Namjoon.   “No matter how romantic our proposal is, it is still up to you who to choose. I can’t say I can’t give up on you, especially if it is your wish.”   “You are my favorite among those people who confessed to me.” You said honestly, but Yoongi just glared at you.   You raised your hands as if you were surrendering.   “Fine! Second favorite. Namjoon’s still the best and you know I have a crush on that guy.”   “I will kick his ass later.”   “Wish I can do the same. Man, his ass is the bomb.”   “Where’s the lie though?”   You ended up laughing until your stomach hurt. Yoongi kept joking around and you were sure that he wasn’t doing this just to get rid of the awkwardness. Yoongi really loved the sound of your voice and your laugh.   But he wasn’t sure when he could see you smile again.   You really dropped out of medical school. It had been months now since you made that decision. You didn’t have to say it for them to know that you were sad. You were having a very difficult time and it was apparent. The boys knew you for always pretending like you were strong and that you could handle everything. This was one of the reasons why they admired you. Namjoon was the only person who knew what you truly feel and it was not because he could read you. It was because you let him read you.   But these days, Namjoon was busy with work. You couldn’t call Jimin now since his girlfriend didn’t really like you. Yes. He had a girlfriend now. He was not lying when he said he could always find a girl to love. Jimin loved easily. That’s just who he was.   Yoongi, on the other hand, was busy mending his broken heart. Sure. He respected your decision, but it did not mean he was okay. Yoongi loved you. It’s been a decade now. He couldn’t just decide to stop loving you.   There was no such thing as unloving someone. There was only forgetting. Your heart loved, but it tried so hard to forget the feeling of being in love—a defense to stop itself from the pain of rejection.   And so now you were stuck with Taehyung and Jeongguk, the two pests of your life.   “Hi, love.” Jeongguk winked at you.   “Go away, Jeon.” You wanted to throw the slice of pizza in his face. You couldn’t do it though. Not when there were other customers who could see you.   You swore he was testing your patience. You were trying to ignore Jeongguk’s sly innuendos, but his moves were getting out of control. This kid used to be so shy around you; sadly he was shamelessly flirting with you now.   “Don’t you need to record a new song or something?” You pressed the bell to let your co-worker know that one of the customer’s orders was ready.   “Thanks, Yeonjun.” You grinned at your co-worker who also smiled at you as he served the slice of pizza to the customer.   Your dad stopped giving you allowance the moment you told him you were quitting school. You had other job but it wasn’t enough since you had bills and rent to pay. You knew you couldn’t just sit in the corner and wait for a miracle. Although your miracle came in seven forms: your friends. They offered to give you money just so you didn’t have to work in this pizza parlor.   It was tempting, really. But you were not a gold digger. You loved your friends because they were fun to be with—not because all of them were wealthy. Besides, your job wasn’t as hard as what Taehyung made it seem to be. You were a cashier. Sure, there were irritating customers, but no one could annoy you the same way as Jeongguk and Taehyung could.   “Why don’t you say that to Taehyung too, Noona? He needs to record with me!” Jeongguk pouted, though you could still see his teeth. He lookee like a bunny.   “It is because our pretty noona adores me, Guk.” Taehyung who was sitting on a stool bar beside Jeongguk blurted out.   You sighed. Why did the owner decide to construct a bar counter with stool bars where customers could sit and enjoy their food? Didn’t your boss know that customers were annoying and that the cashier might get bald from dealing with people like Jeongguk and Taehyung?   “Excuse me? Didn’t she tell you you’re just like a baby brother for her?” Jeongguk teased his rival.   “No.”   The pizza parlor just opened, but you were already tired. You needed to remind yourself that this was your fault. You were the one who told them where you worked.   Both Jeongguk and Taehyung confessed their feelings for you many months ago. You thought they were kidding since your three other friends also told you they were in love with you. Unfortunately, they weren’t joking.   Jeongguk was serious—persistent and serious. He confessed first, defeating Taehyung. Jeongguk was endearing. He expressed his emotions by singing in this pizza parlor in front of the other customers.   Of course he was wearing a mask, a bucket hat, and a hoodie. He also changed the sound of his voice since he was afraid to be recognized by his fans.   You didn’t have the heart to reject Jeongguk that night. The boy was just so adorable, though you realized it was better to break his heart now rather than to give him false hope.   After all, you felt like it was the competitive side of him who liked you and not the real Jeongguk. The maknae always wanted to win. Perhaps he wanted to win your heart just to prove it to his hyungs that he could do everything.   When you told him this, Jeongguk was beyond repair.   “Do you really think I am that petty?” he was crying in pout. Your heart broke from seeing him this sad. He was not happy because of you.   “I’m sorry, Kookie.” You engulfed him into a motherly kind of hug. You just couldn’t imagine Jeongguk as your boyfriend. You were five years older than him. Besides, you had watched him grow up. Sometimes you felt like he was your son so when he told you he liked you, the word incest entered your mind.   You didn’t want Jeongguk to think that you see him as kid. He was so much more than a baby bunny for you. Jeongguk was a fine young man who was capable of sweeping people off their feet. He could be sexy if he wanted to. It’s just not gonna work with you.   Moreover, you didn’t understand why he suddenly took interest in you. Thankfully, Jeongguk explained it well.   “I just followed this little buddy of mine.” He pointed on his chest to refer to his heart. “Plus you’re always so good to me. You’re pretty and smart too!”   You wondered if it was because you always complimented him. Jeongguk seemed very happy when people praised him. “You’ll be able to find someone prettier, smarter and someone who can love you, Kookie.”   “But I’m not looking for anyone! You are the one I like!”   Jeongguk wasn’t as matured as his hyungs. Out of all the men who confessed to you, he was the only one who did not know when to give up. He was always at the pizza parlor. He never failed to give you roses each day. He even brought you chocolates, but he ended up eating them all while waiting for you to finish your shift.   Dealing with Jeongguk was stressful enough. It wasn’t like you wanted to deal with Taehyung too. He was as persistent as Jeongguk. Why did they end up falling in love with you?   At least Taehyung changed his ways from time to time. He liked to observe first by watching the move of his rival. Jeongguk brought you flowers and chocolates. You didn’t seem to like it so he took in mind not to buy those things.   He also figured out that singing a song and a casual confession did not impress you. Therefore, he needed to be different.   The only way he could think of was to get the approval of your dad first. He wanted to meet your mom since mothers easily trusted men. Unfortunately, your mom left you and your dad years ago. Taehyung had no other choice but to face your father.   Your dad instantly alarmed you. He was asking why Taehyung was suddenly confessing his love for you.   You rushed home to confirm this news. Taehyung was really there. His boxy smile was visible. Sadly it didn’t enchant you the way it made his fans crazy.   “Tae, you should go home.”   You knew you were being cruel. However, you couldn’t handle this anymore. This seemed like a big joke for you. Did they really think they could just declare their love for you whenever and wherever they wanted to?   You knew you should be thankful. Good and pretty boys loved you. Who were you to complain? But you see, this was exactly the problem. They were good and pretty boys. If their feelings for you were real, then they didn’t deserve to be rejected at all.   But what could you do? You just couldn’t teach yourself to love them the way they wanted to be loved. Taehyung went home defeated that night. He didn’t ask why you did not like him. He didn’t need your confirmation of the painful truth. Besides, it was not like he’d give up that easily.   You didn’t ask Taehyung why he liked you too. You realized you didn’t need their validation at all. If he told you what he liked about you, would you change yourself just so he could start disliking you?   “Noona, you okay?” Jeongguk asked, pulling you back to reality.   “Yeah, Kookie. I’m just not feeling well.” You forced a smile. It was the truth. You also didn’t want to deal with them today.   “D-Do you want me and Jeongguk to leave?” Tae offered politely.   Both of them instantly stood up when you nodded eagerly.   “See you later, love!” Jeongguk winked   “Yeah, pretty noona. See you soon!” Added by Taehyung.   You simply waved at them.   The see you later and see you soon of Jeongguk and Taehyung lasted for several months. For many weeks, they did not show up at the pizza parlor. It wasn’t like they did not want to see you. They were just busy with concerts and various shows both locally and internationally.   Your heart swelled in joy whenever you watched them on television. They really grew up well. They grew organically. Yoongi and Namjoon knew what they were doing. They cared for their artists a lot.   “You should audition to Paradise Entertainment, Yeonjun. You can be just like them.” You wiggled your brows at your co-worker.   It’s past eleven pm and you were about to close the pizza parlor. You and Yeonjun were the only ones left in the store. You both agreed to close the restaurant after watching Bangtan’s performance at MMA. The show was almost done anyway.   “I’ll try my luck soon, Noona. Thank you for supporting me.”   Yeonjun’s smile reminded you of Seokjin’s pretty lips. You missed the guy. If Bangtan was busy, Seokjin was busier. You hadn’t seen him since the day you left his house after he said something bad about Yoongi, but you two still text each other. Seokjin was in New York this day. He was supposed to be the MC in MMA’s award show, but due to conflicting schedules, he turned down the opportunity.   You missed Seokjin. You really did, though you understood that both of you were not kids anymore. You couldn’t just call and ask him to go see you.   “I’ll get going, Noona. Happy birthday again!” Yeonjun waved at you and left.   Your clock said it was already 11:58pm. Two minutes left before your birthday ended.   “Did he forget?” You kicked the pebble on your way. All of your friends greeted you a joyful birthday, except for one.   Was it because he was abroad? Did it have something to do with the different time zone? “He’s still stupid for forgetting my special day!” You let out your frustration by shouting.   You were standing in front of a wide street, patiently waiting for the green signal that would indicate if you could already cross the street. You were the only person here so you could freely express your emotion without getting shy. You could shout as loud as you wanted to.   “I hate you so much, Kim Seokjin!” You screamed again. One minute left. There was no way he’s gonna call or miraculously show up.   Except that you believed in miracle.   Except that Seokjin really showed up thirty seconds before your birthday officially ended.   “Happy birthday!” One second he was on the other end of the street, the other second, he was already standing before you.   His ears and neck were bright red and he was still trying to catch his breath. You didn’t know it, but he just got off the plane and he ran as fast as he could just to greet you a happy birthday.   “You didn’t forget.” Your tears fell as the first snow fell.   “How can I forget when I know you will be waiting for me?”   “Where’s my gift then?” You had the temerity to raise your brow at him.   Seokjin grinned at you. Without saying anything, he showed you the mistletoe he was holding.   “You know what this means, right?”   You blushed. Jin was always so polite and respectful. This was the first time he showed this kind of side of him.   You couldn’t say you hated it when in reality; it made your stomach turn.   “Is it okay if I kiss you?” And just like that, the Seokjin you knew was back. You missed his shy smile and sweet voice. You missed him. You miss him a lot.   And so you touched his broad shoulders as you tiptoed, you pressed your lips on his mouth, not minding how fast your heart beat.   “I was afraid and embarrassed, you know...” Jin told you as he nuzzled your nose.   You didn’t speak.   “I didn’t mean to sound cocky when I said the matter about Yoongi being a drop out. I don’t—I can never judge him like that. I’m sorry if you felt that way...”   You only tightened your grip on his shoulders.   “I’d also like to apologize for making the boys swear to never fall in love with you. I didn’t play fair and I was being selfish.”   “What do you mean?”   He sighed.   “I know one of the boys already told you that you are not hard to love, Princess. I also figured that they are all going to end up loving you. It scared me. They’re not difficult to like and I am sorry you are hearing this from me, but I just don’t think I’ll be able to handle it when you end up dating one of them.” Jin closed his eyes, his lips are shaking. “I’m sorry...” You bit your lower lip upon hearing his confession.   “I just need you to answer one question.” You said.   “What is it?” He opened his eyes.   “Do you love me?” Seokjin laughed because of this.   “Will I ditch four award shows and a meeting with Tom Cruise if I don’t love you?”   “Can you just answer with a simple yes or no?” You were getting impatient.   “You are like the first snow fall of the year, Princess.”   “I said yes or no, Seokjin.” You glared.   He ignored you.   “You are like the first snow fall.” He repeated. “No matter how long, I will still wait for time you are ready to fall. You are cold, but I will make sure you will melt because of my scorching love for you. So yes, I love you, Princess. I am in love with you—“   You didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence as you were already kissing him.   Seven boys. There were seven boys. It hurt you to reject the six of them, but if you did not do that, you won’t be able to kiss this one boy.   The one who could make your heart beat.   You chose Kim Seokjin. Your prince.

REPOSTED ON NOVEMBER 30, 2020.

#btsxreader #bts fic #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #jimin angst #namjoon smut #hoseok angst #yoongi smut #seokjin fluff #bts x y/n #bts x you #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #jimin smut #jimin fluff #hoseok smut #hoseok fluff #ficswithluv

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

Oh my darling, what a joy yesterday. I received your letter when I got home in the evening. I had spent the day in the Vaucluse mountain, on a wild plateau, crisp with heat, cicadas and dry bushes. When I came home I thought maybe your letter was waiting for me (the postman comes by at noon). I found a bunch of business letters and when I flipped through them quickly I didn't see yours. At that moment, I felt that this long day of walking had made me very tired and that I too was experiencing a kind of dryness. And then I went back to my office, and I discovered what I was waiting for. Your handwriting has decreased a little. I was waiting for the hectic jambs of the old days.

And here is a formed, tight handwriting, carried from one end of the envelope to the other, with a little determined air. My heart jumped. Alone in this quiet office with all the noises of the night coming through the window, I devoured these pages. Sometimes my heart stopped. Other times he ran with yours, beating with the same blood, the same warmth, the same deep joy. Naturally, I wanted to write to you right away to ask you for some explanations, about the passages that blocked everything in me. But this morning I realize that we must not do it by letter. When we meet again, I will reread these pages in front of you and ask you for an explanation word for word like in high school. What remains this morning of the whole night when I slept very badly, stirring up your sentences in me, is a deep, liberated, grateful joy. My love... but I want to answer without delay to at least one thing that depends on me. You tell me your joy because I told you about that part of my life that you thought was forbidden. My darling, there are no walls or secret gardens in me for you. You have the keys to all the doors. If I hadn't spoken to you before, it was for two reasons. The first is that this part of my life is heavy to carry and I didn't want to complain. Appearances are such that there's a little indecency in talking about me in this case. That night, I realized that I could say anything in front of you and now I feel more free.

The other reason concerns you. I thought it might be painful for you and that you would prefer that we remove this subject from our conversations. This fear of hurting you has not yet disappeared. Only you can deliver me from it. I will tell you more about it when we meet again and if I can, with less excitement than the other night. I would like you to know me completely, with clarity and trust, and to know how much you can rely on me, to count on everything that is me. As long as you want it, and whatever it is between us, you won't be alone. The best of my heart will always be with you.

I am worried about what you tell me about your father, and I am also worried about your concern. Shouldn't this worsening be attributed to adaptation to a new climate? I hope so. Anyway, tell me if there's a better way. There's no shortage of them. I like what you like and I'm really worried.

How angry I am at myself too for making things worse and leaving you with no news all these days. I know what it is and to the joy that has been in me since last night I realize the stagnation where I was until then, and I rage to have left you in the same state out of clumsiness, whereas I had done everything to make you feel my thoughts accompany you. Because I would like and want to help you as you ask me, although many things (escaping the wheel of society) depend on you too. And not leaving you alone for a few weeks was my first concern. Don't forget to ask Angèle to forward your mail. There must be another letter addressed to rue de Vaugirard (the one where I thanked you for this splendid gift. My quick answer to Michel on this subject was a way to acknowledge receipt, since I was also writing to you).

This letter is getting longer. I'll answer other points in yours. Right now I accept your system. I'll write to ask you to send me the rest. Let's walk for fifty hours out of seventy. But you have to understand that my need for you does not suffer from compromise. I'm thinking of you too, in the flesh, hectic. Your frigate look, the black ropes of your hair... you see, I'm starting. But I melt as I write this to you, a sea of sweetness drowns me. My little Maria, my darling, it is true that words regain their meaning, and life itself. If only I had your hands on my shoulders...

See you soon, darling, see you soon. September is coming, it's the spring of Paris, we are the kings of this city, the secret and happy kings, transported, if you still want it. Goodbye, Black Queen, I kiss you with all my heart.

A.

Here's some thyme I picked from the mountain yesterday to send to you. It's the smell of the air I breathe every day.

— Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, August 12, 1948 [#28]

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #joy #mountain #heart #society #flesh #kiss #air #breathe

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Thu., Oct 1, 2020

Commemorated Septembre 18_ “Old” Julian calendar

Venerable Eumenes, bishop of Gortyna ( 7 th c.)

The Monk Eumenios from the time of his youth was noted for his virtuous life. He strove to serve the One God and therefore he shunned worldly temptations. Concerned about salvation of soul, he distributed all his substance to the poor. By the blessing of God the Monk Eumenios was chosen and elevated to the dignity of bishop of the Gortineia Church on the Island of Crete. The saint like a compassionate father comforted his flock in their sorrows, and cared for the orphaned and indigent. He prayers were so strong before God, that once during the time of drought he called forth abundant rain upon the earth. Saint Eumenios wisely and zealously defended the Orthodox faith against the then arising Monophysite heresy. For his opposition to the heresy the saint was banished to the Thebaid, where he died in the VII Century. His body was then transferred and buried in Gortineia.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

Venerable Hilarion of Optina (1873)

On the night of Pascha, April 8-9, 1805, Saint Hilarion (Ponamarov) was born in Kluch, the third son of Nikita and Euphemia Ponamarov, who named him Rodion in honor of Saint Herodion of the Seventy. He always considered April 8, the day of his patron saint’s commemoration, as his birthday. After Rodion, a son and a daughter were born to the Ponamarovs. The daughter, however, died as a baby.

Nikita Ponamarov worked in town as a tailor, and sometimes his business took him to the homes of the local landowners. Consequently, Rodion seldom saw his father until he was fifteen years old.

Rodion was a quiet, uncoordinated child who did not play much with other children, since they made fun of his clumsiness. Even members of his own family behaved in a rude manner toward him, and seldom showed him any affection. The way he was treated made him thoughtful and introspective.

One winter he was playing in the snow with some friends, using an old board as a sled. The board broke and left Rodion with a permanent scar on the finger of his left hand. Another time he injured himself on a saddle-horn while riding. These injuries also had an effect on his health, which was never robust.

The family moved to the Novopersk region of Voronezh in 1820, and Rodion lived there until he was twenty. He helped his father in his work, and gradually acquired skill as a tailor. His parents wanted him to follow this trade, even though his mother once foretold that he would be a monk. Rodion himself desired the monastic life even as a young child, but now he applied himself to tailoring, for he knew that this handicraft would be very useful in the monastery.

Rodion went to Moscow in December of 1825 in order to learn more about being a tailor, arriving with very little money, and with nowhere to stay. He worked with various tailors, but the work was difficult and he became ill. His poor health, he said in later life, probably saved him from falling into many vices. Having increased his proficiency as a tailor, Rodion left Moscow and returned home.

The family moved again in 1829, this time to Saratov. Rodion was engaged twice, but the Lord did not want him to follow this path. His first fiancée died after a short illness, and Rodion simply lost interest in the second.

Saratov was the home to many sectarians of all sorts, and the future saint became involved with certain activists who tried to refute their false teachings. Rodion’s missionary labors may have influenced many sectarians to return to the Orthodox Church. Because of some misunderstanding, however, Rodion and his friends were put on trial. As a result, the authorities kept Rodion under observation for the next four years. This scrutiny was hard for him to endure, and made it very difficult for him to conduct his affairs.

Through his study of the Holy Scripture and the writings of the holy Fathers, Rodion’s desire to become a monk was reawakened. Therefore, he decided to find the monastery which was most suitable for him. In 1837 and 1838 Rodion visited monasteries at Sarov, Suzdal, Rostov, Tikhvin, Moscow, Pochaev, and other places. Finally, he arrived before the gates of Optina. He was thirty-four years old.

At first, Rodion was placed in a cell next to Father Barlaam, a retired igumen of Valaam Monastery. Father Barlaam was a man of great spiritual stature, who had a profound influence on the young man, and became his first instructor in the Jesus Prayer. In later years, Elder Hilarion recalled visiting Father Barlaam to tell him of the various things he had seen or heard. Father Barlaam would ask, “Is that useful? It would be better for you not to see or hear anything. Try to examine your thoughts and your heart more often.” With his wise counsel, Father Barlaam helped Rodion in his spiritual growth as a monk.

The Moscow Patriarchate authorized local veneration of the Optina Elders on June 13,1996. The work of uncovering the relics of Saints Leonid, Macarius, Hilarion, Ambrose, Anatole I, Barsanuphius and Anatole II began on June 24/July 7, 1998 and was concluded the next day. However, because of the church Feasts (Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, etc.) associated with the actual dates of the uncovering of the relics, Patriarch Alexey II designated June 27/July 10 as the date for commemorating this event. The relics of the holy Elders now rest in the new church of the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God...continue reading OCA

The Optina Elders were glorified by the Moscow Patriarchate for universal veneration on August 7, 2000.

Ephesians 4:14-19

14 that we should no longer be children, tossed to and from and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting,15 but, speaking the truth in love, may grow up in all things into Him who is the head-Christ-16 from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by what every joint supplies, according to the effective working by which every part does its share, causes growth of the body for the edifying of itself in love.17 This I say, therefore, and testify in the Lord, that you should no longer walk as the rest of the Gentiles walk, in the futility of their mind, 18 having their understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God, because of the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart;19 who, being past feeling, have given themselves over to lewdness, to work all uncleanness with greediness.

Mark 11:27-33

27Then they came again to Jerusalem. And as He was walking in the temple, the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders came to Him. 28 And they said to Him, "By what authority are You doing these things? And who gave You this authority to do these things?" 29 But Jesus answered and said to them, "I also will ask you one question; then answer Me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things: 30 The baptism of John-was it from heaven or from men? Answer Me. 31 And they reasoned among themselves, saying, "If we say, 'From heaven,' He will say, 'Why then did you not believe him?' 32 But if we say, 'From men' -they feared the people, for all counted John to have been a prophet indeed. 33 So they answered and said to Jesus, "We do not know." And Jesus answered and said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things."

#orthodoxy #orthodox christianity #ancientchristianity #firstchristian #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #sacredtexts #wisdom

[rkrose]

“i’ve been trying all my life to separate the time, in between the having it all and giving it up, yeah. i wonder what’s in store if i don’t love it anymore. i’m stuck between the having it all and giving it up, yeah”  ━━  august 5th, 2020 . . . phone call with alice park ( big sister )

it’s been eight years. eight years since rose moved from her family’s home nestled in the suburbs of melbourne, away from her parents and her siblings to the big smoke of seoul, south korea. a country that was thousands of miles away. who knew that at age fifteen a girl could be so driven, so determined to pursue a dream? this dream of becoming a musician took rose across a whole ocean to a country she had never been to before. time had been kind, things had gotten easier. the early days were the hardest. rose’s lack of knowledge on basic customs expected of almost any korean to her clumsiness regarding the korean language and the honorifics that went with it. she recounts her first year as being vacant and lonely, and those feelings even followed her into her second year. no one reached out, and rose didn’t reach out either. it was easier to keep any and everyone at arms length. she wanted to do this by herself. she didn’t want to be a burden.

favouring hours alone playing guitar and piano, singing seventies and eighties songs she had heard on the radio back home. and when tucked away in her bed at her home stay’s apartment on the outskirts of the city, rose would call her big sister and tell her about her day. a part of her felt inclined to lie, to say that she was happy. but she wasn’t and alice . . . alice could tell. alice was off at university at this point, a first year, studying law. charlie was studying medicine and rose was . . . in south korea, at a music school. so she could pursue . .  music. rose always had it a little easier in comparison to her older siblings. her father hadn’t been super enthusiastic to find out that she had applied to this music orientated school across the ocean in his place of birth, but her mom had been supportive. she saw that her daughter had a dream, so she wanted her to go and pursue it, even if meant sending her youngest to a foreign country. 

favouring hours alone playing guitar or piano, singing old songs that she remembers hearing on the radio from back home. and when tucked away in the bedroom of her home stay’s apartment, located on the outskirts of the city, rose would call her big sister and try to tell her about her day, about her adventures. rose felt inclined to lie, to say that she was happy. but she wasn’t and alice could tell. she was off at university at this point, first year, studying law while their older brother studied medicine. meanwhile rose was in south korea at a music school so that she could maybe attempt to pursue music. her intentions hadn’t been to stay in south korea permanently. initially, it was her three years of high school and then maybe if things went well, a year of university. but a year after graduating and having flopped completely academic wise, and no real drive or pull to go back home to australia, rose had found herself in one of south korea’s biggest entertainment companies come winter of 2016. this was where she paved her dream, even if it wasn’t the way she had visualised it. everyone had to start somewhere, or so she figures.

rose had always had it a little easier in comparison to alice and charlie. being the youngest was probably the reason, she was used to being babied and being the favourite. her father, a branch manager of a bank chain in melbourne, had been rather disheartened to discover she had gone and applied to sopa, behind his back more or less. rose’s mother, a psychiatrist, had been much more supportive. she had saw from a young age what her daughter’s true passion was, in efforts to help rose pursue a dream she had found early on. she sent rose on her way, with no certainty of what this meant for her. and even eight years later and rose not returning as she had planned, her mother still feels the same way. uncertain but immensely proud. and even now, her dad’s a little proud too, even if he doesn’t get the whole singing dancing idol thing.

eight years on, late night phone calls still occur between rose and alice. only they’re not as often and rose lives in an apartment with her two bestfriends. rose finds herself stumbling into bed on most nights after training; life is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting these days and the thought of talking to anyone, even alice, sounded unbearable at times. but rose always does her best to make time for the important people in her life. tonight, rose is tucked away in her bed with her long blonde hair in braids. she wears an oversized sweatshirt which rose actually thinks might belong to her boyfriend. rose stares up at the ceiling overhead with eight years of lies and it’s weight resting on her chest. the line is quiet. “something up, rosie? you don’t sound too good.” alice asks down the phone, and although chipper, she sounds concerned. “ah, it’s nothing. don’t worry, ali.” rose says, waving off her concern with a laugh. “well . . . nothing is something. what’s going on? you’re alright, aren’t you?” rose purses her lips, a clutched hand rests on her chest. would it be so awful to verbalise her feelings, what she’s felt for the past four or so years?

“i’m thinking . . . about . . . i’m thinking about moving back to australia.” rose says slowly, softly, in hopes she doesn’t draw attention. lisa and jisoo are home, and although one of two knows, she doesn’t wanna talk to them about that now. “y-you’re what? no. what? what happened?" alice’s reaction was as rose had thought: genuine surprise, shock and perhaps a little bit of disbelief. very alice. “you didn’t break up with chris, did you? i thought you were still at royal.” the mention of chris was enough to remind rose of her first real argument with her boyfriend ( of almost two years now ). “no, no. we’re still together and i’m still . . . at royal. my contract ends in december, though. i meant . . . instead of signing it again, i could just . . . come home, and be with you and charlie, and mel and charlotte, and mom . . . dad too, i guess.” 

the line goes quiet again. alice must be trying to wrap her head around the suddenness of the topic. “ali, y-you there?” rose asks, pushing herself up onto her elbows. she furrows her brows. had she said something wrong? “what brought this on all of a sudden, rosie? last time we spoke you seemed so . . . so happy and certain of everything. are you okay? is there . . . something else going on?” last time they spoke. the last time rose and alice spoke was months ago. rose was still coming to terms with what this all meant, what feeling this way meant. “no,” rose mutters quietly, shaking her head. “i . . . i just . . . “ and so she starts from the beginning, all the way back when rose first landed on the tarmac in seoul, south korea as a bright eyed fifteen year old.

"i wish you had of just been honest with me, rose. about everything.” alice admits quietly. rose wishes she could of been honest from the beginning too, but thinking about the consequences of her honesty frightened her. the lies hadn’t been any better, though. “i was scared you’d tell mom and that she would force me to come home.” having to give up her dream though honesty, to be defeated because of her own feelings had been a fear of rose’s at that age. it still rings true now to some extent. trainees shouldn’t show their weaknesses, they become easy targets in the eyes of their company. “mom always wanted what’s best for you, as she does now. and charlie does, and dad . . . in his own, weird way. and i want what’s best for you.” rose bites at her lip, trying to hold the tears that well at her eye at bay. “and if you think that coming back home to australia is what that is, then so be it. but i don’t think that’s what you really want.” 

i am so passionate about singing and performing. nothing makes me feel more whole than when i sing, i truly feel alive . . . as cliche as it sounds. and i was shy, so i hid behind my guitar and my company forced me to step forward and become this . . . this person. after all this time i came to love dancing, i’m actually somewhat good at it although coaches disagree. but . . . i realise that even though my dream was to debut in a band, in reality, an idol group was what i was destined for. and these past three years i’ve worked so hard, tirelessly, so i can one day debut with my friends. i’ve cried so much these past few months. i’m so tired, ali. i feel so up and down about my future. am i selfish for thinking about myself? is it selfish to stay in the company when a much better person could be in my place? i’ve never wanted something more in my life than this. i can’t believe i’m admitting that. i, roseanne park, want to be an idol. i want to debut so badly but the stagnancy makes me nauseous. is four years going to turn to six years, and will six turn to eight? i see these young idols train for a year and then debut the following year. am i not good enough? am i doing something wrong? and the fact that you all are so far away makes me wonder if all of this is worth it. i just . . . i want to go home. i mean, i think i do. 

"you’re growing restless, rosie.” alice concludes rather firmly. here was the tough love rose had avoided hearing but needed, so badly. “but don’t give up on your dream because you’re restless or because you’re tired.” and by this point, the tears are running down rose’s cheeks, they’re red and warm. she wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt. alice pauses and rose swears that she hears a sniffle on the other end of the line. “i know you’ve been lying to me all of these years, telling me how happy you were and how you loved korea. i know that things must of been so tough for you, rosie . . . and yet you stuck it out because you didn’t wanna disappoint mom . . or me, or charlie. that’s so . . . so you.” alice chuckles and rose mirrors, sniffling. she was right, after all. rose was too afraid of admitting that she had maybe made a mistake in going to korea so young, but she was still too prideful to give up. “you’re so stubborn, roseanne. you’ll try and make anything work.”

“and it’s because you’re so stubborn . . . that you should make this work. make this crazy, once in a life time opportunity work out, just follow it through.” rose picks at a stray thread on her pyjama pants, still listening intently to alice, hanging onto every word. “because i think . . . that if you do end up coming home, and not signing that contract again, that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” there’s another pause. “and people like you rosie, people like you need to be where they can shine. and if you can’t do this for you, then do it for me. do it for mom, and charlie and dad. do it because we believe in you and love you more than anything.” there’s more sniffles between both sisters. rose hasn’t shared a moment like this with her sister in . . . forever, perhaps ever. she’s been reminded of how she’d put on a brave face whenever duty called. “i don’t want you to give up on this dream, rosie. just keep holding on. everything will make sense soon. i know it will.”

   to be continued . . .

#♡ ╎ solo ; #( this is a very long and overdue solo ) #( not as eloquent as i would of liked but it's 12am and i have other replies to do ) #( but this . . . this is how rose is feeling and has been feeling for the past . . . year? )

[serpienten]

something sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky can’t stop thinking about the cute nurse in the Tower. She, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be that into him.

Warning: reader being under a lot of pressure, some language perhaps

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Well, fuck me this is long. I’m actually scared it’s gonna be boring but I genuinely hope it’s not. Some of this dialog was pretty therapeutic for me to write actually so this fic is a tad close to ma black empty heart. This was for @sgtjbuccky ‘s End of Year writing challenge and I hope I’ve done the prompt justice, Salina. Thank’s for letting me participate :D Please leave some feedback if you like what you read!

* italicized parts are flashbacks

“You’re a punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one out here whining like a baby, maybe you should shut up.”

“Do you need reminding why I’m ‘whining like a baby’? I didn’t shoot myself, that’s for sure.”

Steve rolls his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I had it under control. No need for you to play the hero.”

“Yeah, right.” Buchy scoffs. The movement makes the wound on his bicep - no, correction, it makes his whole damn body sting like a bitch. He winces slightly and a groan rumbles up his throat. “It sure didn’t look like it. Forgive me for trying to save your life.”

"I don't need you to save my life."

“Don’t play the hero, Steve.”

“I’m serious. Thank you, but no thank you."

Bucky sighs. Bruises, black and purple blotches, scrapes and gashes litter his body and if he weren’t in so much pain, and under the influence of the strongest, most useless painkillers in Bruce’s possession, he’d deck his stubborn as fuck friend in the face. The only thing giving the brunette some sort of satisfaction is that Steve doesn’t look much better than him. Just with one bullethole less.

Bucky doesn’t mind being injured.

In a twisted kind of way, every hit he takes in the field frees him more than it weighs him down. He takes every cut, each drop of blood, every twinge of pain, the ripped skin and the scars and he tries to get better because, at this point, it’s all he can do.

But that still doesn’t mean he opens his arms like Jesus and welcomes rains of bullets or a storm of flying knives to hit him full force. He doesn’t have a death wish. Anymore, at least.

But this time, this injury, is Steve’s fault. And Bucky’d rather die than not take the chance of annoying the righteous, golden boy, I’m-the-standard-come-try-getting-on-my-level Captain America.

“Aren’t you at all worried about me? I could be dying. I could be dying and it would be your fault.”

“You can call it payback for Coney Island if you want.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky huffs indignantly, “It’s been seventy fucking years. I lost an arm and am about to lose my life, I think that’s enough.”

“Of course I’m kidding.” With a sigh that revealed nothing but exhausted irritatioin, Steve fell down next to him on the bed. “Stop being such a diva about it, you’ve been through worse.”

“You li-”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Bucky’s head whips to the side and instantly, he grimaces again. Eyes flying shut, he gently re-adjusts the ice pack on his right thigh. He hears footsteps coming closer and his posture straightens a little.

“You two look like you got hit by a plane.”

He opens his eyes to see a woman wearing a white, light coat looking down at a clipboard in her hands. A lovely shade of lipstick colors her lips, which are curled up in a teasing smile, in a beautiful tint of rose. The woman’s eyes flicker over what’s in front of her quickly and even the stupidest person in the universe could tell that she seemed to be more than just an expert in her field. Her legs are spread slightly in a confident, stable stance, soft locks of hair framing her face which - Jesus Mary and Joseph - gives him a whole new reason to feel weak in the knees.

“Hi, Y/N.” Steve lifts his hand and gives her a little wave, as much as the gash on his forearm allows.

The woman, Y/N, looks up from the clipboard and grins. Bucky’s heart stutters in his chest. “’Sup Steve.”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Bucky looks to his side and furrows his brows at the lopsided grin on his blond friend’s face. How on earth does Steve know her and Bucky doesn’t? He gets injured tons of times more often than the man jumping out of airplanes without a parachute (a fact that, in retrospect, should definitely worry him more) and he’s never met her. Bucky’s eyes narrow and the mechanics in his left arm whir slightly as he clenches his fingers to a fist.

“Sergeant?”

“What?”

They’re both looking at him now, with equally anticipating expressions. Y/N must’ve said something because she re-adjusts to clutch the clipboard to her chest and clears her throat.

“I was asking if you’ve obtained any other serious injuries aside from the bullet wound on your bicep. I’ve seen a few cuts and scrapes, do you need me to take care of them right now or do you want to wait for Doctor Cho?”

“You- You want to look at my wounds?”

“Oh, uh, is there an issue?” Y/N’s eyebrows raised as she looks at him, taken aback.

“Wha- oh, no that’s not- I didn’t mean it to sound like that. There’s no issue. I...” he quickly explains, yet again reminded of his injuries when pain shoots through the backs of his thighs as he hastily scoots forward a little.

Y/N’s confused frown morphs back into genuine concern when he flinches. Something inside Bucky cramped painfully at the urge to make that expression disappear. She of all people, someone as breathtaking as her, shouldn’t be concerned about someone like him.

And then, she takes a step closer.

Bucky’s eyes widen. Simultaneously, he leans back. She notices it instantly and stops in her tracks, a helplessly puzzled expression on her face. “Don’t you want me to take a look?”

His breath hitches in his throat imperceptibly at her proximity. Bucky’s quick to realize that having her touch him when he’s already making a fool of himself without her hands on him wouldn’t be the best idea. He feels his heart thumping heavily in his chest as he shakes his head slowly.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m fine. Peachy. Perfect.” Internally, Bucky cringes hard.

Get your shit together, fuck’s sake.

The image of that white, fluffy cat thingy spreading its arms in a ‘What the fuck are you doing’ kind of way flashes through his mind and for a split second he clenches his jaw.

Steve next to him almost successfully stifles a laugh.

Y/N takes a quick step back and nods. “Okay, I’ll... I’ll tell Helen to hurry.”

She shoots Steve a look of complete and utter confusion, who in return replicates the exact pose of that damned cat Bucky’d just been thinking about, before turning around and leaving the room.

Bucky sharply lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding in the first place, deflating like a balloon filled with too much air. “Oh my god...” he mutters under his breath, over and over again, voice tainted with disbelief.

“What on earth was that?” Steve regards his friend with raised eyebrows. Bucky’s slumps forward, the ice-pack scrunching weakly, wedged between his abdomen and his upper legs, and both of his hands, one silvery metal and the other tanned flesh obscuring the view of his face.

“That was me being you.” His reply is muffled, just like the low whine he lets out right after.

Bucky’s eyes are focused on the long glass wall separating the kitchen from the living room. It’s only Steve and him sitting on one of the grey, soft couches, the former flipping through a book, glasses perched on his nose.

The blond glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Quit it, will you?”

“Quit what?”

“You know what I mean. Quit it. It’s creepy.” Steve focuses his attention back to the black ink on the book’s pages.

“Fuck you, you’re creepy.”

His friend lets out a breath. “She’s not interested. Quit it.”

“Maybe you should change the record, I think it’s broken,” Bucky says dryly, flopping down on his back, flinging one leg over the backrest of the couch. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the glass wall, or rather, what’s behind it.

Steve doesn’t deign to look at him. Instead, he simply pushes the glasses, as useless and unnecessary they may be, up his nose and continues reading.

Some of the team members are sitting around the dining table, chattering and laughing faintly. There’s Natalia. Wanda, Sam, Tony. And Y/N.

To Bucky’s chagrin, Steve had told Sam about what had happened that day he first saw her. Ever since then, there isn’t a day Bucky doesn’t see Y/N around somewhere.

And it’s torture.

He can’t seem to be in the same room as her without embarrassing the fuck out of himself and quite frankly, it’s annoying. Steve’s and Sam’s giggles in the background don’t help at all. He constantly fumbles for words, acts insanely clumsy and, according to Tony, looks at her ‘with hearts flying out of his stupid eyes’. In his defense, he can’t exactly help it though. Her presence is addicting. She’s smart, makes him laugh (which isn’t an easy feat to achieve), smells like heaven and has a smile and laugh that threaten to make his knees buckle over every single time. 

Bucky’s so into her, Steve’s started to call Wednesdays ‘Whinedays’ because Bucky has been using the blond’s free day to his whiny advantage.

Of course, all of this would be a hell of a lot easier if she were into him too.

The only issue: She isn’t.

At least that’s what he thinks.

Y/N never fails to amaze and confuse the crap out of him. She flirts with him and shoots him down the second it looks like he might make a move. She touches him sometimes, gentle brushes of knuckles against knuckles or a soft squeeze to his bicep, but as soon as he steps a little closer, she’s jumps back like he just attempted to slap her. It sort of puts a damper on the rapid beating of his heart.

Bucky heaves out a sigh and closes his eyes, raising his hands to rub them over his face.

”Are you coming tonight?”

“To Tony’s rooftop soiree? No, thank you.” Bucky tilts his head to look at his friend.

“You might enjoy yourself. Once in a while, you really should show up.” Steve says it so nonchalantly and so smoothly Bucky has to furrow his brows. Ever since the brunet had joined the team, he’d been largely given the control over when and where he wanted to go. It was a well-known fact that the former Winter Soldier disliked parties for many reasons and most people had accepted that not ten horses could drag him near big crowds. And Stark’s parties were infamous for their loudness and for being on a whole other level of anxiety-inducing. Almost everyone had accepted his wish to not be forced to attend events like that, except for the Captain.

“No,” Bucky replies, a finality in his voice that would’ve put an end to most conversations. Most.

There’s a pause. Then, Steve pushes out a sigh and puts a colorful, completely scribbled over piece of paper to mark the page in his book, setting it down on the table. He shifts his sitting position so that his whole body is now turned into the direction of his sprawled out friend.

“I know you’re strictly against parties. And I respect that- I do.” Steve says with more urgency when Bucky snorts. “But this time, it’s not that big of a deal. There aren’t many people invited, just some field agents, the team and a few others. It’s a small event. I know you can handle that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Y/N leaving. Sam waves at her just before she exits the room. His mood instantly darkens a little. With one smooth movement, both of Bucky’s feet are planted on the ground and he sits in an upright position. “Quit it, Steve. I’m not interested.”

“Go out with me. Just once. One time‘s all. Whaddaya say, doll?”

“Bucky, I...”

Serenity settles in the tower the second the little party on the rooftop starts.

It’s how Bucky likes it.

Calm. Quiet. Peaceful.

All the commotion he dislikes with a passion is safely up on the roof, far away from the living quarters and anywhere Bucky wants to be at anyways. He likes being by himself. Alone but not so lonely, wandering the seemingly never-ending hallways of the more than large building absentmindedly, until the never-ending hallways end and his absent mind decides whether to go left or right or straight ahead. Bucky’s discovered many things about the tower that way. Empty rooms that might’ve been discarded since the day the structure had been built, storage spaces, rooms with unused training machines and high windows that give a breathtaking view of the city Bucky calls home and also not.

He’s discovered many things on walks like these but, still, he’s nowhere near having discovered everything.

Tonight, he’s somewhere on the seventh floor.

He walks with the shadows dancing around him and tranquility following wherever he goes. Gaze lowered, his footfall is silent as a cat’s. Bucky knows his way around darkness like the back of his hand. After all, it’s where he’s spent most of his life. Out of sight. Surrounded by cold, calculated silence and darkness.

Left. Straightforward. Right. Right. Left.

The only source of light is the low gleaming neon emergency exit sign at the end of the hallway.

Right. Straightforward. Straightforward. Left.

That’s when he hears it.

Bucky stops in his tracks.

Furrowing his brows, he strains his ears, listens into the darkness. There’s nothing at first but then the sound’s back. It’s far away but if there’s one thing Bucky can rely on, it’s his hearing.

The brunet follows the sound, hearing it rise in volume with every step he takes and every corner he rounds. Delicate notes conjoined in a gentle melody wrap around him the closer he gets until they’re all he can hear and all he can feel, and he stands in front of a door that’s slightly ajar. There’s no light peaking through the slight crack.

Who on earth plays a piano without any light?

The melody still floats around his head and curiosity takes the better of him, prompting him to quietly push open the door.

Like countless other rooms in the building, this one has floor to ceiling windows. The city lights illuminate the room eerily and throw long shadows across the floor, but the view is something to die for.

Just like the person Bucky notices in the room next.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can...”

“No, don’t apologize, I shouldn’t even have...”

His breath hitches in his throat when he recognizes her and he’d very much like to hit himself for the stupid, loud gasp that leaves him because it startles her and cuts of the beautiful melody. Y/N whirls around and looks at him with wide eyes while Bucky takes a step forward and raises his hands reassuringly. As soon as she recognizes him, she lets out a deep breath.

“Jesus, Buck, you almost just gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“Sorry, doll,” he smiles, sheepishly. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“What was your intention then?” she sounds amused and her heartbeat is still going a little too fast and Bucky’s thankful she doesn’t seem to think he was creeping on her or anything.  

“Definitely not scaring you,” he grins and takes a few tentative steps closer to where she sits at the piano. It’s the only thing in the room and for a split second, Bucky makes a mental note to ask Tony if he even knows that this room exists. “Did you walk here in the dark?”

She shakes her head and points at a flashlight lying next to her on the floor.

“Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she says, “Usually, people don’t have an easy time sneaking up on me.”

“Jumpy?”

“Just very attentive. You wouldn’t stand a chance when my guard is up, Barnes.” Y/N looks up at him teasingly when he’s next to her and scoots a little to the side, making space for him on the piano stool. Bucky sits down and the stool creaks precariously under his weight. Y/N giggles softly at the skeptical look on his face. Bucky’s heart shoots to his throat at the sound.

“If it breaks, you’re buying a new one, beefy man.” She snakes her arm through his and pulls him a little closer. It’s a close fit, Bucky’s ass is half on the stool and half off but he can’t and would never want to complain about being so close to her.

“Did you just call me fat?” He feigns offense and feels his heart jump in his chest when she giggles again.

“No no no, you’re all muscle, sweetheart.” She says, a wide grin on her face as she squeezes his bicep teasingly. “I like it.”

“Really.” Bucky looks at her with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided, silly smirk on his face. “Well, aren’t you something sweet.”

On the outside, Bucky’s surprisingly calm. On the inside, however, he’s freaking out. Y/N’s so close and she’s calling him sweetheart and giggling like a literal angel and if Bucky doesn’t get up and run away right now, he’ll probably be stuck on her for all eternity. Not that he’d mind, but his heart can only take so many rejections.

Y/N’s only reply is a soft smile and she rests her head on his shoulder as silence settles once more. Bucky lets his eyes wander over the piano. She’s been playing mere seconds ago but what’s notably missing are the notes.

“How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was a child,” she replies, gently pressing down the keys while she talks. “I used to practice every day but now I only do it once in a while.”

“Why?”

“I guess I’m just too busy now. Being a nurse is more stressful than one would think.” She pauses for a moment and Bucky thinks she hesitates before continuing. “It’s not just physically, you know? Mentally, it’s no walk in the park either.”

She’s not looking at him, instead, she’s fixing her gaze on the black and white keys of the piano.

“I think you’re handling it amazingly,” he confesses, looking down at her.

Y/N chances a glance up at him, seemingly searching for something in his eyes. Perhaps she’s looking for a glint that reveals dishonesty, something that signals her that he’s making fun of her for being so weak. When she finds nothing, though, because why would Bucky be dishonest to her of all people, another sigh leaves her.

“Thanks.” Her reply is a faint whisper that he surely would’ve missed if his hearing wasn’t so advanced.

“You know,” he lifts his right hand to touch her arm that is linked with his left, “if you need someone to talk to... I just- I- I’m here if you need anything. I just want you to know that.”

All of a sudden, tears well up in her eyes. It catches Bucky off guard. It was supposed to be sweet but apparently, he’d said something wrong. He’s about to apologize but she cuts him off.

“God, Bucky, I know. I know... Thank you so much.” She buries her face in the crook of his neck and Bucky can feel her tears dripping hotly onto his skin. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t even be crying right now. It’s so stupid.”

Her sniffling and stifled sobs break his heart into millions of pieces. “It’s not stupid, Y/N.” He disentangles his arm from her to wrap it around her shoulders, voice urgent and leaving no room for protest. “It’s natural. Besides, I’m no one to judge, you know that. I’m a mess.”

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, Buck. If anyone’s a mess here, it’s me,” she says. “I mean, I feel guilty even being around you sometimes because all I want is to talk to you because I know you’d understand but it’d make me feel so fucking guilty. Unloading all that crap on you that literally sounds like a luxurious vacation compared to what you’ve been through.”

Y/N lifts her head to look at him and Bucky sees the streaks of tears on her cheeks. He can’t help but reach up and cup her face in his flesh palm, softly brushing over the skin of her cheek with his thumb. “Stop. You hear me? What happened in my past is the past. I’m not suffering anymore, thanks to everyone around here. You’re suffering right now. And I’ll be damned if I let my past stand in my way of helping you. Do you understand?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and Bucky feels her leaning into his touch. His heart skips another beat. “You know what else?” he says after a short pause. Y/N hums, opening her eyes to look at him questioningly. “You help me too,” he murmurs. “Just... you. I feel better when you’re around. You help a lot.”

A wet chuckle bubbles up Y/N’s throat and she lets her head fall forward, a wall of hair shielding her beautiful face from his eyes. She wraps her fingers around his right wrist and Bucky swears to all the Gods and the devil down below that he feels her lips pressing to the palm of his hand. “Charmer.”

“Nah, darlin’. Just bein’ honest.”

It’s in another moment of silence they spend in each other’s arms that he realizes something. “Hold on, is that why you said no to going out with me?” he asks tentatively, because it’s such a stupid thing to ask in a situation like this. Y/N’s cheeks blush in an adorable rosy color.

“I’m just not really doing this stuff right now. It’s not you, please believe me.”

Instead of answering, she shrugs in embarrassment. “Maybe.”

Bucky chuckles in disbelief. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge for thinking I wouldn’t want to listen to you.”

“Can I pick?”

Quickly, he leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, before pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

Y/N squeals in surprise at both actions and laughs while wrapping her arms around his torso.

The city lights give the room and eery glow and large shadows wrap around them like a blanket. They’re in a room on the seventh floor in the Avengers Tower while everyone else is up on the roof partying but Bucky’s never been happier than with her in his arms.

And he doesn’t think that’ll change anytime soon.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x nurse!reader #bucky x nurse!reader #james buchanan barnes x nurse!reader #james bucky barnes x nurse!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james #buchanan #bucky #barnes #the winter soldier #marvel #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #mcu #salinaswritingchallenge

[babemazzello]

‘39 - A John Deacon FanFiction

Chapter 11 - The Party

Story Description: Amy is sitting in his apartment when she hears some frantic knocking outside her door. She opens it to see a frightened and frazzled John Deacon. A 23-year-old John Deacon. Who believes it’s still 1974, and not 2019. Amy takes it upon herself to help John and get him back to where he belongs.  Part 1 is here. Every other chapter can be found through my masterlist.

Chapter Description: John felt like partying a little and Amy obliges. They both get a bit drunk and let their guards down. Leading to some saucy conversations when John proposes they play a game.

Notes: If you would like to be tagged for this story, either leave a comment or shoot me a message and I will tag you for all future chapters. Thank you all so much for reading, by the way. It means a lot to me. 

Warnings: talk of sex

Words: 4.4k

——–

That night, after dancing and singing along to songs with him all day and relaxing on the couch while the dulcet tones of the music played throughout my apartment, I left to get some alcohol. As I wandered aimlessly through the aisles of the store, I tried to remember which drinks John liked the most. I know he had turned into an alcoholic in his later years due to Freddie's sickness and ultimate death, but I didn't know what he liked when he was younger.

When he said he wanted to drink, it sort of surprised me. I don't know why since he would party along with the rest of them all the time, but it did. I guess if you were friends with Freddie Mercury, you had to be able to party with the best of them.

So, I settled on a bottle of whiskey, a case of beer, a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of wine. I figured I covered every base and we could switch the drinks around as much as we liked. Plus, I still had a little bit of tequila left at home from nights when I felt like getting a little drunk and didn't have to get up for anything in the morning.

As I drove home, my stomach was tossing and turning with excitement. I was so giddy to get drunk with him. Mainly because I was excited to see how he was when he let loose a little bit. I figured he would want to dance and be a little more hectic than normal. His shyness would melt away and he might be even more fun than the guy I was spending my days with.

As I opened the door, I heard John run up to me and he helped with the bags. He took them into the kitchen and quickly took each bottle out. Placing them down on the table.

"Someone's eager," I laughed as I threw my purse down on the kitchen table. I watched him place the bottles down carefully and throwing the plastic bags to the side. His hands were fidgeting with excitement as well.

"Haven't partied in a while. I'm excited." He explained. I laughed at his remark as he moved over to a drawer, opened it, and grabbed a bottle opener and a wine uncorker. I gave him a shocked look.

"How did you know those were there?" I asked, pointing to the drawer.

"Amy," he said flatly. "I have a lot of time here on my own. I've explored pretty much every drawer in this kitchen. Probably every nook and cranny of this place, honestly." My eyes widened and I could feel my face redden as he wrestled with the wine bottle first.

"Every place?" I asked in a soft voice. John stopped what he was doing.

"Well, I haven't gone in your room since I took that record out. Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. I took in a deep breath to calm myself. There were some things in there I didn't want him to see.

He managed to get the wine bottle open as well as the vodka. I sat at the table and watched him as he reached up for some shot glasses in my cabinet and brought them over. He was wearing his red flannel, button-up shirt again. It looked wonderful on him.

And he was wearing the gray sweatpants we bought. I tried my hardest not to focus on them. They were pretty loose on him compared to the jeans he would wear in all those pictures from the mid-seventies. Those pants barely left anything to the imagination, but to be fair, neither did these pants. Even when they were loose. I tried to hold myself back from looking down at them. It was dumb of me to even suggest those pants to him. It was just another layer of temptation that I needed to fight off.

He poured us two shots and pushed my glass over to me. I picked it up and held it in my hand, outstretched slightly toward John.

"To a good time," he said.

"To a good time," I repeated as we clinked our glasses together. John and I both downed our shots. Scrunching our faces up as the alcohol burned our throats. Letting out some air to relieve the burn.

"Another one?" John asked. I nodded. Still trying to relive the burn as it trickled down my throat. He filled both shot glasses once more. I picked mine up and we clinked them together one more time before letting them slide down our throats like before. Two shots in and I wasn't feeling anything yet. But, I knew that was because I needed to give it a little time to kick in.

Knowing that having too many shots in a row was not good for me, I decided to go for a beer next. Cracking it open and taking a few sips to calm my stomach after the two shots of vodka. John opted for some whiskey. Grabbing another glass from the shelf and filling it halfway. As soon as he finished pouring it, he moved into the living room. Curious, I followed him.

He moved over to the record player. Placing his drink down on the windowsill, he grabbed a record and placed it on the platter to start spinning. It was a record I had shown him a couple of days ago. The soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever by the Bee Gees. He seemed to like the disco groove when I had initially showed it to him, but it was quickly taken off the player when we had to leave to go eat. So, he never actually heard a full song of it. However, he knew that it would be a good dance record.

I was shocked when he didn't put the ABBA record back on. I thought for sure that would be his first pick since he had actually heard a bit of that one, but he went for this one instead. Opting to dance to a record he had never heard before.

He started dancing around to the music as it filled the room. His hips swaying back and forth. He swiveled over to the window and grabbed his drink. Taking a swig of it as he kept dancing. The liquid swishing inside the glass and against his lips as he tried to drink. He looked...swave. Cool. Natural. Words that I never thought I would use to describe him while he was here with me.

He seemed to have a natural grace about him. No longer clumsy or shy. And it had only been a couple of minutes. I stared at him in awe from my seat on the couch. He seemed so different. Like a more refined person than the one I was spending time with. He wasn't completely different, but you could tell that he had changed already.

I ended up dancing along with him to the music, but I soon got bored of that. Allowing him to keep dancing to his heart's content while I watched him from the couch. Whenever his drink would get low, I would run to fill it for him. I ended up finishing my beer and moving on to the wine. Trying to look just as classy as him with a half-full wine glass in my hand.

I could feel the alcohol in my system now. Coursing through my veins and making everything a thousand times better. I was a happy drunk. I would laugh at almost everything around me. I would also crack jokes and be extremely light-hearted no matter the situation. My face would flush with a shade of pink as I would laugh or smile at everything before me. I also knew to take it slow after a certain point, which is why I was drinking the wine.

I had gotten drunk at enough parties in high school and beyond to know that once I pass a threshold when I'm drunk, I become extremely tired and tend to fall asleep in even the slightly most comfortable spots. Chairs, couches, carpeted floors, cars, and even a park bench one time. I became a mess and a burden which was another reason why I didn't want to go out to a bar to drink.

If we were really were going to go all out tonight, I didn't want to be a burden on Deacy. I didn't want him to have to drag me around town and get lost trying to get us home. I was in charge and I would have needed to be aware of everything that was happening while we went out. Here, I could get as drunk as I wanted and fall asleep when I wanted.

After the record finished, John sat down next to me on the couch. Out of breath from all the dancing and finally tired enough to take a break. His arm with his glass was slung over the back of the couch while his other one rested on the armrest. His legs spread out lazily as his chest rose up and down, trying to catch his breath. His cheeks were a slight shade of pink and his hair was a little messy from moving around so much.

"I think that's enough for a while, don't you?" He asked as if I was dancing along with him. "Why don't you pick a record this time?" He nodded his head toward the player. I nodded and got up. Filing through the records to find something a little softer to play while he rested. I grabbed a Simon & Garfunkel record and placed it down to play. I turned down the volume as well in case we felt like talking to each other over the music.

I sat back down on the couch just looking over at him. Waiting for someone to speak. I took a sip of my wine while we sat in comfortable silence. I enjoyed it. It felt like we had known each other for years instead of months and this was normal for us.

"I wish Freddie were here," I heard him whisper. "He knows how to throw a party. Even just a small get-together like this. He goes all out," he explained as he adjusted in his seat.

"I bet you miss him," I replied, taking another sip.

"Yes, quite a bit. But, I know I'll get back to him at some point. I have faith." There was another small silence. "Now, what would Freddie do in a situation like this? How would he liven this up?"

"Who said this needed livening?" I joked. He laughed.

"It doesn't, but it might be a little more fun. You do like fun, right?" He joked in return. I hit his arm playfully as he laughed at my response. "Just making sure," he laughed. "I've got it," he said as his eyes got brighter and widened. "Let's play the truth game." I scrunched my face up at him before giving in.

"And what is that?" I asked.

"Well, I believe it's a game that Freddie made up. It's like Truth or Dare, but only with truths. Someone will ask you a question and you either answer it or take a drink to stay silent. It's pretty simple," he explained.

"Sounds simple enough. But, it also sounds like you're dying to ask me something," I teased. "You know you can just ask me anything you want, right?" He nodded.

"I know, but what's the fun in that when you can turn it into a game?" He replied. I could tell how much Freddie had rubbed off on him, even in these early years. He was just as eager to party as Freddie seemed to be and it made even more sense to me that they were good friends. He got up and moved into the kitchen. Grabbing two shot glasses and filling them with vodka. He placed them on the table in front of each of us for when we wouldn't answer a question.

"Alright, then. Go ahead." I rolled my eyes at him in a teasing manner. He sat back down and adjusted in his seat, turning toward me. He took another long sip of his drink before holding it in his lap. I saw the gears turning in his head as he thought of a question.

"What's your favorite band?" He asked, revealing a smug smile at his choice of question.

"Starting off easy, I see," I replied. "The Beatles."

"Okay, your turn." He nodded toward me and I thought about it.

"Out of your bandmates, who's your favorite?" I asked. I thought I might as well up the ante in this game. John was coming off too weak to start.

"Oh my," he replied as he thought about it. He took another sip of his whiskey to buy himself some time. "Well, I think it's between Fred and Rog. Brian's my friend and all but we don't always see eye to eye. I might have to go with Fred, but that's a difficult question." I smiled knowing that I had stumped him. "Since we're making the questions a bit more difficult," As soon as he said that, I knew I was in trouble. "What's in your room that you were so worried about me seeing?"

I thought about what to tell him. I didn't want to admit to him that my room was filled with hidden memorabilia of his band. I couldn't tell him anything about his future for fear that he might remember everything. So, in my alcohol-fueled mind, I thought of the next thing on the list of what I didn't want him to see. Pretty much the only other thing I was hiding from him.

"My vibrator," I rushed out before covering my mouth with my hand. John adjusted to sit up straighter in his seat as he looked at me with an open mouth. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You have a vibrator?" He asked completely shocked. I gritted my teeth and nodded, pulling my hand away from my mouth. "Really?"

"Yeah, Deacy, I'm a single woman who lives alone. Of course I have a vibrator." I looked at his face and he looked taken aback by my tone. "Sorry, that sounded mean. I didn't mean it that way. I'm just saying that it isn't that weird that I have one."

"No, no, it's alright. I'm just shocked is all." He looked away from me for a second as he talked. Like his mind was somewhere else.

"Well, at least I know you weren't lying when you said you hadn't gone into my room. If you had and had seen that, I don't think you would have looked that shocked." I was pleased with myself as I took another sip of my wine. As I looked at him, his mind seemed preoccupied. "My turn," I said, hoping to bring him back to the conversation.

"Right," he acknowledged as he slightly shook his head of his thoughts. "Go ahead."

"What's something you've done here while you're on your own that you don't want me to know about?" I thought since we were on the subject of secrecy, I might as well ask.

"I broke one of your record needles," he confessed. It was my turn to get wide-eyed. "I didn't mean to, but I guess I placed the arm down too hard on the record and it snapped off. So, I threw it away and put a new one on. Sorry." He didn't seem completely remorseful but instead looked like he was getting a weight off his shoulders as he talked.

"That's okay," I replied. "The needles are pretty cheap so I can get more. I just kinda wished you would have told me."

"Well, I am now," he laughed as he took another sip. There was a silence while John thought of another question to ask. It was a bit too long and I stared at him to continue. At first, I thought he wanted to stop, but then he asked his question. "Is our band successful?" He was serious all of a sudden. I slumped back in my seat and looked down at the filled shot glass on the table. I reached down and drank all of it in one gulp. As I waited for the burn to subside, I looked over at him. His face was sullen as he relaxed into the couch again.

"You know I can't tell you that. Whether the answer is yes or no, I can't tell you." I placed the glass back down on the table. I didn't fill it back up because I wanted to answer as many questions as I could and not back down every time. I figured if I drank at that question now, he would stop asking me about his future like that.

"It was worth a shot," he smiled. "Sorry, I know I'm not supposed to know."

"What do you miss the most about the past?" I asked, trying to change the subject as fast as possible. He seemed shocked by the sudden shift in the conversation, but I felt like it needed to happen in order for the game to continue. And I hated to admit it, but I was having fun.

"Oh, uh, probably my friends and my bed. Definitely my bed. The couch is nice and everything, but you can't beat your own bed." He wanted to make sure I didn't feel bad about making him sleep on the couch.

"Well, maybe one day you can sleep in my bed," I just blurted out. I took another sip of wine while I let my statement hang in the air. I didn't mean for it to be so suggestive, but maybe I didn't hate what it was hinting at. I saw him think about the statement and the next question to ask.

"Next question," he thought out loud, trying not to linger on my words for too long. "What would Freddie ask?" His mumbles were getting a little louder as he searched for a question that Freddie would ask if this was his party. "How about his old faithful? When was the last time you had sex?" If I was taking a sip of wine, I would have spit it out. Instead, my eyes bugged out of my head as I felt my cheeks flush bright pink. I looked down at the empty shot glass on the table and realize that I had to either answer the question or take the walk of shame into the kitchen to fill it and take a shot.

"Uh," I stumbled as I thought about what to do. I guess I might as well answer it. "The last time was with Devin, right before he went off to boot camp. When he came back, he didn't want anything to do with me sexually because he was trying to get me to break up with him, remember?" I asked. Deacy nodded as I continued on. "So, it's been almost a year and a half, I guess." I saw John's lips part at my answer, but I just ignored it. Finishing up my glass of wine. Chugging it down to give myself a little bit of liquid courage for the questions that would inevitably follow.

"When was the last time you masturbated?" I asked. All of a sudden filled with courage and revenge for the question he asked me. I leaned down and began filling my glass up with wine again.

"Excuse me?" John asked. He had heard what I said but wanted to make sure he heard it right before he answered.

"Come on, John. You've been here for almost 2 months, you had to have masturbated while you're here by yourself every day. So, when was the last time?" I gave him a smug smile this time, happy that I had finally, truly stumped him on a question. He sat and looked at the shot glass this time. Pondering if he should answer the question at all.

"Three days ago," he rushed out. "When was the last time you masturbated, little miss vibrator?" He gave me a small smile as well. Thinking he was so clever with his nickname.

"About a week ago," I answered. I didn't need to be shy anymore since he was willing to tell me about his last time. "Don't do it as much since you're here. I'm a little embarrassed and worried you'll hear me."

"So, when do you do it?" he asked.

"Uh-uh, only one question per round," I tutted. Waving my finger back and forth at him. He pouted slightly. "What did you think about the last time?" I asked. I figured it was only right for me to ask that question next. He looked down at the drink again and he reached down to grab it. "Aww, you're no fun." I pouted, watching him down the shot. "Ok, well, it's your-"

"You," he said.

"Sorry?" I asked for clarification.

"You. I thought about you last time," he repeated.

"What? But, you took a drink, you didn't need to tell me." His answer hadn't quite processed in my mind yet.

"I didn't drink it because I wasn't going to tell you. I drank it so I had the courage to tell you. There's a difference." His eyes softened and he got more serious as he looked at me. "What did you think about the last time?" He set his drink down on the table and he scooted closer to me on the couch. Only making me even more flustered as his answer clicked in my head. He looked me directly in the eyes.

"You," I breathed out. I melted into the couch cushions. My body relaxing and completely melting under his gaze. He hadn't looked at me like this before. Confident and assured in his feelings and mine.

He brought his hand up to my face and brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. His hand landed on my cheek and stayed there. His thumb softly rubbing across my cheekbone. His touch was soft and warm and I leaned my head into his hand. When he looked at me again, it was the look I had only seen one other time. When we were dancing to God Only Knows. And this time, I wasn't backing away.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I couldn't keep the urges at bay. I needed him. I needed to be close to him. I needed to feel his lips on mine or I would surely burst. And the way he was looking at me allowed me to fall off the edge and give in.

I leaned in. So did he. It was quick and needy as our lips crashed into each other. Mingling and cascading over each others. His hot breath hitting my face. His nose digging into my cheek. His soft lips between mine. I was getting more drunk off of him than the alcohol.

My hands fell onto his shoulders. I could feel him smiling into the kiss. He pulled away for a quick second to look at my face before diving back in. The kisses were harsher this time. I was getting greedy and needy. I wanted to feel him even closer to me. Closer than he ever was before.

Without any notice, I swung my leg around him and I straddled his lap. I pressed my chest into his and I let my hand plunge into his hair. He tasted like whiskey and vodka and I couldn't get enough of it. His hands instinctively fell to my hips. Thumbing small circles into my hip bones and lifting my shirt up just enough to feel the hot skin there.

We would both moan into each other's mouths at different times. We would also giggle and smile into each other. This is something that was a long time coming and we both needed this so badly. I accidentally bucked my hips down into his. A deep grunt came from him. I could feel the pit in my stomach start to become too much to ignore and I accidentally ground down on him again. Eliciting another grunt from his mouth.

It vibrated against my lips. A vibration that shot right down to my core. And it wasn't helped when I moved my hips one more time to adjust and felt his hardening length underneath me. It made me let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. He was big and I could feel almost all of it underneath me. Hardening more and more by the second.

But, once my brain had caught up to what we were doing, I became too aware of how drunk I was. This is wrong. We're both so drunk. If we were to do this, I want to be sober. I want to remember. I want to be the best I can be for him. This isn't right. My mind raced and I pulled away from him. I took a couple of deep breaths on top of him. His hand came up to brush against my cheek.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked. Still calmly holding onto my hip with his other hand.

"We can't do this," I stated.

"What do you mean? You want to, right?" His face was soft. Trying to coax me into leaning in again.

"Oh god, more than anything in the world," I replied. "But, we're too drunk. It's not right." He just stared up at me. I brushed my thumb against his jawline before I spoke again. "I want to be the best I can for you. And, I can't do that when I'm this drunk. I just can't. But, I would like to take a rain check if that's alright with you." He just stared at me. "I'm sorry," I said in a low tone.

"It's alright. If you don't want to do it now, then that's fine. It's okay." I stood up from the couch and realized how tired I was.

"I think I might go to bed. That last shot definitely put me over the edge. Might be best for me to get some sleep anyway." I tried to justify wanting to sleep after doing what we were just doing, but it was the truth.

"Sure. Get some rest. Goodnight." He gave me a shy smile while he rested his elbows on his knees. Trying to hide the evidence in his gray sweatpants of what we had just done. I gave him a small smile before disappearing into my bedroom for the night. Both dreading and loving being drunk with him.

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[cryoculus]

Can you do angst? If not it's okay, but can you do a scenario with bokuto or tsukishima's long time friend developing feelings for them. But the guy is to focused on his current crush to notice his long time friend. But she wants to be a good friend so she sets up the guy and his crush, and nearly dies. But refuses to tell the guys why she almost died. Sorry if this is confusing for you to understand.

» Word Count: 3,475 words

It took a while for me to fill this in, sorry for that! I just hit a wall with how the near-death experience was gonna play out, but I managed to come up with it this way. Note: this has become Akaashi-centric, ‘cause the best way that I could convey the friend’s grief was through the eyes of someone as perceptive as Akaashi. GOD this is about 3,000+ words, so I put the rest under the cut!

EDIT: I realized that the request wasn’t specific to certain pronouns, and I FORGOT THAT while I was writing this, and subconsciously implied that the friend was female. Sorry!

Akaashi was not one to stick his nose in matters that didn’t involve his direct interference. It was a principle that he trained himself to uphold, since he observed too often that, when one person meddled in another’s business more than he needs, it comes back to bite him in the behind in the near future.

But sometimes…sometimes he convinces himself that inaction could be the worst of sins he can commit. 

His predicament began on the day he walked across the bridge that led to his neighborhood, when he didn’t have any volleyball practice. The sun was beginning to set, emitting a resplendent orange glow in the vast sky. At that moment, Akaashi was so caught up with the twilight in the West, that he barely noticed the figure emerging from the bottom of the concrete bridge. He did though.

“(Name)-san?” Akaashi stopped in his tracks, regarding his senpai, whose uniform was soaking wet, with a raised eyebrow. 

You snapped your head in his direction, panic filling your eyes. Scrambling to your feet, you acknowledged Akaashi’s presence with a curt bow. 

“A-Akaashi! What brings you here?” Your tone came a bit shaky, like you were hiding something from him. Akaashi wasn’t particularly curious, but he was concerned. You’re Bokuto’s best friend, after all.

“Did you…fall into the river, (Name)-san?” That’s what he could deduce from the situation – drenched uniform, scrapes on your legs and arms, and a slight shiver in your composure. 

“W-Wha – oh! No, no, no! You’ve got it wrong!” You raised your hands, denying his assumption. “I d-dropped my phone in the water, I came to, um, retrieve it…”

Akaashi retained his aloof expression, but he could somehow tell that you weren’t telling the truth. It was rare to see you like this. You’ve always been a cheery person, who never seemed to lose their glee. However, it wasn’t like him to press others for information, so he ended the curious exchange by saying, “Do tend to your cuts, (Name)-san. They might get infected.”

You chuckled, lightly knocking your fist on your temple. “I can’t believe my kouhai is telling me off for such a clumsy thing I did. Thanks.”

The two of you were headed in opposite directions. Akaashi was treading forward, while you were headed to where he came from. At the corner of his eye, when the two of you passed by the other, he could see the ivory-tinged lilies you held in a tight grip behind your back. 

When you finally passed him, Akaashi paused once more, looking back at your retreating form. Why had you picked the rare flowers that bloomed under this bridge, knowing it’d be a risk? He didn’t know. 

But he knew better than to meddle. 

“Yo, Bo!”

Akaashi’s ears perked up at the familiar voice. Morning practice had just finished, and everyone was beginning to fix their things for their first period. Bokuto, who was at the other side of the gym, greeted you with a high five.

“Ahh, you’re a lifesaver, (Name)!” His captain exclaimed, encasing you in a bone-crushing hug. “It looks exactly like the kind she wanted! I couldn’t find these anywhere! Where’d you get them?”

When you pushed the energetic spiker away, Akaashi could clearly see the lilies you picked from yesterday, the stems wrapped together with a pink ribbon, in Bokuto’s hands. 

You flipped your hair. “I got it from a reliable source at a steal price! The guy selling them thought I was cute, and gave me a discount~”

“Oho? As expected from the charismatic class rep!”

You crossed your arms. “Now make sure Saki-chan’s gonna like them or I might’ve wasted my charms for nothing.”

Bokuto hollered, fist bumping you. “You won’t be disappointed.”

It was always loud whenever you paid Bokuto visits during morning practice, and it grated on Akaashi’s nerves every time your loud voices intermingled in his ears. But somehow today, your grin didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your laughter sounded a little forced. It was a minimal shift in your usual behavior, but it was enough for him to notice. 

Still, even if was he the only one who saw the bright colored band-aids through your stockings, he knew better than to meddle. 

About a week later, he overheard the two of you talking amongst yourselves in the hallway just outside the gym. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, Akaashi stayed behind the lockers in the corner hallway. 

“She liked them, (Name)! She really did!” He could hear Bokuto jumping about in excitement. 

You laughed. “Best lilies in town, I tell you.”

“Can I…uhm, get some more? I kinda promised that I’d give her some every week. I-I’ll even pay you!”

Silence followed for a while, but then a fit of giggles resounded in the walls. “Bo, you don’t have to. I told you that the seller has a huge crush on me, remember? He might just give me seventy percent off the next time. y’know?”

He huffed. “Alright, fine. Just make sure that guy doesn’t pull any funny moves with you, though! The moment he does anything perverted, tell me right away!”

“Sure thing, Bo! I’ll give it to you Friday morning.” 

After exchanging farewells, Akaashi could hear the double doors to the gym close shut. Footsteps, presumably yours, were getting closer, and he’s in a really compromising position –

“Akaashi?” You furrowed your eyebrows, eyeing his pressed up form on the lockers. You contemplated for a while, and for some reason he didn’t move an inch. “Were you eavesdropping?”

Shit. You noticed. 

He straightened himself out, clearing his throat. “I just did not want to interrupt, (Name)-san.”

You nodded warily, brushing past him without another word. But just as you were about to round another corner, you halted, and looked back at him. 

“Akaashi, would you do me a favor?” 

He slightly craned his head in confusion. “What is it?”

You offered him a sad smile, an expression that he thought he’d never see you make. “Could you…not tell Bo?”

He nodded, not wanting to be part of…whatever this is in the first place. After all, he knew better than to meddle. 

For the next few months, your presence after practice has been a staple every Friday morning. Everyone in the volleyball team has been accustomed to the presence of Bokuto’s best friend right after practice ended. However, the girl he was trying to woo was yet to make an appearance in the gym, which more or less baffled their teammates.

“Saki-chan’s really shy, but I’m helping her get through her social anxiety,” Bokuto smiled to himself. It was a rare sight for Akaashi to see his captain like this, soft spoken and not an owl on steroids. 

Almost everyone in Fukurodani heard of Ishikawa Saki, the third year that attempted to commit suicide on the school’s rooftop. Akaashi remembered the scene vividly. He was right behind Bokuto when he coaxed her out of her suicidal tendencies, after all. 

She was a bashful, but gentle girl. Akaashi would almost call her fragile, but with the way that Bokuto was supporting her now, she’s starting to get back up on her own feet. It was quite a love story, as some of the girls he passed by in the hallways said. Who knew that the loud, outgoing captain of the volleyball team would be the suicidal girl’s saving grace? 

If anything, Akaashi didn’t like to think of it that way. Bokuto didn’t save her. He only helped her to save herself, and maybe he managed to catch some feelings along the way. Akaashi would have approved of their budding union, but…

“Bo~” Your singsong voice rang in his ears. 

When Akaashi spared you a glance, you looked horrible. Of course, you were still the pretty class rep of 3-1 that everyone admired, but there was no doubt of your disheveled state. Your hair was escaping your loose pony tail, your eyes looked tired beyond comprehension, your uniform was unironed, the pleats of your skirt, rumpled (if he looked a little closer it looked damp, even), and you weren’t wearing your stockings. Your legs, which were bandaged all the way up to your thighs, were on full display. 

“What happened to you?” Bokuto ran over to you, grabbing you gently by the shoulders. “Why are your legs bandaged up?”

“Oh, this? This is nothing, Bo! I may have gotten into quite a scuffle with the guy selling these.” You feigned ignorance, handing your usual delivery with an unmatched smile. “He probably got mad that I won’t accept his confession.”

He scowled. “He did what?”

You laughed. “Bo, I was kidding! I got into an accident on my bike and might have fucked up my legs.” You forcibly placed the lilies in his hands. “I’m alright, okay? Stuff like this happens.”

Reluctantly, Bokuto accepted the flowers, twirling the stem in his hands. “If something worse happens to you, I won’t forgive myself, you know? I’m supposed to be your best friend…”

For a split second, Akaashi could see your lip quiver, something akin to despair shadowing your face. But it’s as gone as it came. Instead, you flashed him a small smile. “I know that more than anyone, Bo.” 

At this point, Akaashi was beginning to have second thoughts on his sentiments on meddling.

The next Friday, it was raining heavily. Classes were suspended because of the torrential downpour, but Akaashi’s mother didn’t have qualms with sending her son out in the rain for some errands. Of course, he complied. The market was just beyond the bridge. It wasn’t too bothersome a journey. 

So, he shrugged on a jacket, retrieved an umbrella, and headed out. The sky was so dark, he had a hard time convincing himself that it was only ten in the morning. The raindrops heavily tapped on his umbrella, forcing him to huddle himself under its cover so his clothes wouldn’t get too soaked. 

As he closed in on the bridge, he noticed the river rapidly flowing down the stream. It was always like this during particularly rainy days. The slightest drizzle would make the river wild.

However, at the far end, he could see a familiar backpack sitting idly on the sidewalk. That’s…

Akaashi’s eyes widened when he pieced everything together. He only saw you emerge from under the bridge once all those months ago, but hasn’t seen you again in the area ever since. You insisted for months that you got the flowers from some guy that apparently fancies you, but you had also told Akaashi not to tell Bokuto about what he witnessed that time. 

His discarded his umbrella, as he ran to the railing, craning his head as far as he could for any sign of you. The rain immediately soaked through his hair and clothes. When he was out of luck on this side, he switched to the other side, and –

The moment he saw the form of a girl with dirty bandages on her legs, lying face down on a slightly elevated island in the middle of the harsh stream, Akaashi peeled off his jacket and shirt, and dived in without a second thought. 

The stream was flowing to the direction where your unconscious form was lying, so he didn’t have to propel himself with much effort. When he got to the island, his sneakers almost sunk into the mud. Not paying it any mind, he kneeled down, lifting you up to rest your body against his own. 

“(Name)-san? Can you hear me?” He shouted through the loud rain, but you weren’t responding. He placed the back of his hand against the skin of your neck and it was hot to the touch. How long have you been out here?

He gathered you in his arms, as his eyes darted everywhere in search for a route back to the bridge. The stream was flowing against him now, and it would be hard enough for him to swim back on his own, but he had to get you to safety, too –

“Bo…?” You opened your eyes, but they had a glazed look on them. “Bo…I’ve got it…Y-You can give it to…Saki-chan later…” You lifted a trembling fist up to him, Akaashi took whatever you had in your hand in his. When he unfurled his fingers, he saw a white lily, whose petals were frayed and torn from the time you’ve spent protecting it from the rain. 

Something pierces through his chest, and shatters the composure he’s kept up all this time. It’s something he’s never felt before, but all he could do is cradle your feverish body in silence, as his tears mixed with the raindrops that fell on his face.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice cracked, fingers digging into the skin of your arms. “Why?!”

You already sustained an injury on your legs, you’ve been out here, passed out and running an incredibly high fever for God knows how long, you’ve got new cuts all over your arms, so…why? Why could you still find it in yourself to grin at him like it was nothing? Why do you sacrifice so much, go out of your way all the time, risk your own precious life…for the sake of his stupid, stupid captain, who was oblivious to your feelings for him? 

Still shaking, from the rain or from the fever, or from both, you raised your hand to cup Akaashi’s cheek. What were you seeing right now? He was curious, but for now, he’d tend to your fantasies for your sake. 

“It’s…‘cause I want you…to be happy.” A single tear rolled down your cheek. “I…love you, Bo.”

It took a while before you could go back to school, given your multiple injuries and the fact that you almost drowned in pursuit of the lilies you always gave to Bokuto. But that’s not what you told the school. You informed them that the injuries in your legs simply worsened and you had to be observed in the hospital at an indefinite amount of time. 

Akaashi was the only one who knew of what truly transpired. He was the one he brought you to the hospital when a few locals spotted the two of you after all. However, when your family arrived and thanked him ceaselessly for having saved your life, he took his leave. His presence wasn’t necessary, anyway. Or maybe he just couldn’t stomach the sight of you in your hospital bed, knowing that he could have prevented this all from happening should he have taken action earlier. He noticed everything, yet did nothing about it…

Bokuto was concerned, of course, but his head was too wrapped up in the fact that they were competing for the Spring High Nationals the following Monday after the incident, that he couldn’t bring himself to at least contact you about it.

However, when you did come back to school on the first Friday of December, you didn’t show up to their morning practice anymore. Akaashi should have gotten used to it by now, given that you were absent for at least two Fridays already. But when you texted him about your return today (you exchanged phone numbers at some point), he half-expected you to be up and running with some stupid white lilies in your hands, giving them to his dumbass captain to treat his girlfriend while being in the dark with everything you’ve been through thus far. 

If he was being honest with himself, he hated his captain right now. Akaashi, of all people, was expected to be the one who’d understand all of Bokuto’s behaviors and mannerisms the most, but witnessing firsthand what you went through, the thought of you sacrificing everything for the sake of his happiness… How could he be so God damn oblivious to all of it?

But then, before he let his blind rage consume him, Akaashi got a text message from you. 

meet me at the rooftop in five?

The cold air seeped through his clothes when Akaashi opened the door to the rooftop. Winter really has settled in in Tokyo. Rubbing his arms as a pathetic attempt of getting warm, he darted his eyes around for any sign of you, and saw your lonesome form standing by the metal fence. He made his way towards you.

“Hey,” you spoke without facing him, fingers gripping the fence. “Did you know that these were put up here after the incident with Saki-chan? It was to guarantee that no one was gonna pull any stunts like that here anymore.”

Akaashi nodded, gazing out at the view of the city. “Yes, I am aware.”

You hummed, and stood there in silence for a good while. Akaashi suddenly recalled that fateful day from what now seemed like a long time ago. The rain pelting his bare back, the smell of the soaked Earth under his knees, the constricting sensation in his throat, and the glassy look in your eyes, that suggested that you weren’t thinking clearly at the time. When he asked you if you remembered that you thought he was Bokuto, you drew no memory of it. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad or not.

“Akaashi, why’d you save me?” 

Ah, but you did remember that he’s the one who actually jumped into the river to save you. 

Akaashi exhaled, averting his gaze as far as he could from you because, frankly, even he didn’t know what drove him to strip his clothes and jump into the stream that day. He’s been doing a great job ignoring everything he took notice of with your strange behavior, minding his own business. Wait… You were dying, for God’s sake! If someone else was in his shoes that time, they would have done the same. It’s only natural that he’d go rescue you. And maybe…maybe he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing that he kept turning a blind eye to your suffering. 

A thousand thoughts swirl in his mind, but all he could bring himself to say is, “Because you’re important to Bokuto-san.” 

You laughed, turning to him. “Am I not important to you?”

He raised an eyebrow, making sure his face didn’t betray any discomposure. “Why would you ask me that, (Name)-san?”

You put a finger on your chin. “Hmm… I know you saw through all my lies, you know? I thought it was just a rumor that Fukurodani’s Akaashi Keiji could read the volleyball team’s enemies better than anyone, but to be able to apply that outside of a game?” A grin made its way on your lips. “You really are something, huh?”

“I don’t understand. What am I supposed to make of our conversation?” 

You scratched the back of your head, chuckling. “I don’t know either, actually. I just wanted to thank you properly.” You reached out from behind your back – he didn’t notice you were carrying anything – and handed him a lavender flower with two unfurled petals, like it was just beginning to bloom. Akaashi shot you a confused look, but accepted it, regardless.

“I did my research,” you imparted. “The lilies that I was picking for Bo…they’re referred to as the flower of death. Makes sense why Saki-chan would like them… Okay, bad joke, but yeah.” You mulled over your next words for a moment, cheeks beginning to tinge red. “This is an iris. They symbolize hope, or at least that’s what the internet wanted us to know.”

Akaashi examined the Iris in his hands, then turned to you. “Where’d you get it this time?”

His accusatory tone made you laugh, and this time it sounded genuine. “Oh, you think I jumped under a bridge to grab these again? Nah. I got it from the flower market downtown. The guy selling them probably likes me. Gave it to me for free~”

“Did he, now?” He couldn’t help it. His lips turned up into a small smile. “Why have you decided to give this to me, of all people, (Name)-san?”

“Oh, God, don’t ask me. It’s kinda corny.”

“Pray tell.”

“Fine.” You shifted your gaze back to the city skyline. “It’s ‘cause… You were the one who made me realize that Bo’s not the only guy in the world. In a way, you gave me hope that there’s someone else out there just waiting for me.” 

He contemplated for a moment, letting your words sink in, before saying, “You’re absolutely right. That was corny.”

An irk mark appeared on your head. “Hah? Who knew Akaashi Keiji, aloof second year setter of Fukurodani, could be a wise-ass, too?”

Then and there, Akaashi realized that he’s glad that he didn’t know better than to meddle, in the end.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! headcanons #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #request #anon #hqscenario

[sweetboybucky]

Naked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: Smut. There’s smut. It’s very tame, very fluffy, but still smut. 18+ only, please. 

Summary: You spend a soft, sleepy morning with your beautiful soldier. 

A/N: Hi, everyone! So, this is my entry for @captain-ariel-barnes 4k Writing Challenge and my title prompt was “Naked”. Congrats again on 4k, love. You deserve it. 

This one took me a while to finish - and that’s because it’s smut. Soft™ smut, (because when do I write anything that isn’t Soft™, honestly) but still smut. Please don’t roast me for this amateur smut, it is my first try. Anyway, enjoy! 

(A quick shout out to my beautiful friend @akamaiden for reading a draft of this story and helping me feel more confident in this smut. Mari, darling, you are an angel)

My Masterlist

***

You wake in the cool hours of the night to lips trailing over your jaw.

His breath is hot against you, his hands even hotter as the settle on your skin - one at your waist, the other between your cheek and the pillow underneath your head.

A light sigh leaves you as his thumb sweeps against the skin under your eye. As he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your lips. Pushes himself flush against you. Rests his forehead on yours and breathes out onto your nose.

Snarky thoughts edge their way into your mouth. They almost part your lips and spill into the air. They almost comment on your soldier waking you at some ungodly hour of the night.

But your mind flits back to those days when his touch was so sparing. When he barely reached out for you at all. It makes all of those remarks die before they can even come to life. It makes you push your face into his hand and smile when he chuckles.

There’s something to be said about how far Bucky has come in the time you’ve known him.

You can still recall his demeanor in the first few months after you met him. The anxious, tired soldier just trying to get by. Trying to recover from years of unimaginable pain.

He was still kind in those days, if a little distant. And you were always drawn to him. Always wanted to know more - to find the man that Hydra buried. To find the man that was just waking up after seventy years of sleep.

And he let you find him, eventually. It took some time, some patience on your part. But God - all the seconds you spent waiting for him were worth it. Every single one.

You keep your eyes closed as you reach your hand out. Trace his bare chest with your fingers. A tiny sound leaves him, something akin to a groan. It sends heat through you, even if you’re too tired to look at him.

“Hi, Buck.”

His lips brush along your hairline as he whispers, “Hey, doll.”

“What time is it?” you question.

Rough calluses run along the skin of your hip as he slips his hand under your - his - shirt. “Late. Or early. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You pinch him. He yelps. Laughs and squirms away. Grabs your hand and lets his teeth drag over your fingertips as you ask, “Why’re you up so early or late?”

“Don’t know,” he answers, voice rough. “Just am.”

His fingers brush some hair out of your face before his thumb traces your lip. It tickles you as you say, “Go back to bed.”

He laughs, low and short. You crack your eyes open enough to notice the darkness in the room, to see that you can’t even make out the features of his face in the low light.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You should do it anyway. Old men need their sleep, you know.”

As soon as the words have left your mouth, he’s pushing you onto your back. Hovering over you and letting his face fall to the crook of your neck. Nipping at the skin there and not moving an inch when you try to push him away.

“You’re hilarious, Y/N.” His tone is mocking. The words are whispered against your collarbone as his mouth brushes at the skin there.

A shiver racks through you, your eyes fluttering shut again as he mouths at the spot just under your ear. Still, you manage to say, “I already knew that.”

No response comes. He busies himself with kissing you, instead, pressing his lips to yours. Your nose. Your brow and forehead before trailing down again. Before latching onto the underside of your jaw.

Breathy sighs push past your lips. Bleed into the night air. Hands - flesh and metal alike - slip under your shirt. Move up and up and up and graze the skin just below your breasts. You know where this is going.

“Gonna keep me up, Buck?”

“Maybe,” he answers, sounding just as breathless as you feel yet teasing at the same time. “You upset about that?”

His tongue drags across your skin and you groan. Fingers tangle in dark hair and tug just enough for him to feel it. A stuttered breath brushes against your chin as you hum a response, “Not really.”

You still feel sleepy. Still keep your movements slow and lazy, and he does the same.

Hands wrap around your waist as he sits back on his heels, pulls you up until you’re sitting. He laughs at your tired groan and apologizes with a quick kiss to your lips as he works on taking off your shirt. Throwing it to the side, he pushes you back down. Looms over you again.

There’s a long moment where he doesn’t move. He only lets his eyes roam over your form underneath him. You watch him with a hooded gaze, run your hands over his bare chest and feel your eyelids flutter just a little. Smile when his hand tangles in your hair.

“You are,” he begins, his mouth brushing against your earlobe, “so,” a quick kiss to your jaw, “beautiful.”

The gravity of his words hits you in the darkness of your bedroom. Makes you feel a little less tired.

Tight muscle is smooth under your fingers as you slide your palms over his back, pull him closer and whisper against his cheek, “So are you.”

His breath hitches. He pushes himself closer to you. And you can feel him through his flannel pajama pants, against your hip. Your eyes slip shut as he mouths at the skin of your neck.

Kisses are pressed to your sternum. His tongue sweeps across your skin and his hand is clumsy as it settles on your chest. Squeezes and grips you in his palm. You arch your back into his touch, let out a tiny sound.

It’s different, this time. You’re not crying out under his touch. He isn’t making fire run through your veins. He isn’t fumbling with your clothes, rushing or hurrying through anything.

It’s languid. Sweet and happy. And it’s warm. So, so warm as he pulls down your underwear. Rests his hands on your thighs and kisses your hip bone. Scratches his beard against you before brushing his nose against the spot you so desperately want him to touch.

“Bucky.” It’s a quiet plea. A soft exhale into the night. Dark hair curls around your fingers and you pull again.

Groaning against you, he does what you’re asking for. He works you carefully, letting his mouth trail against you and his hand reach up to hold yours.

He pulls away when you’re almost there. Chuckles at your low whine and sheds his clothing. Presses himself to your body again and kisses you.

You’re both just flesh and bone when he pushes forward. When his hips meet yours and his arms shake where they brace his body above you. When he whispers your name under his breath. You tug at his hair once more, try to do anything to make him say it again.

His rhythm is sloppy. Stuttered and passive. It’s as soft as this morning feels. Easy and sweet. Just you and your beautiful soldier, your souls out to bare for each other. Mumbled praises and words proving your affection.

Months ago, he wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have even been in bed with you. Wouldn’t have had the heart to touch you to wake you if he was.

But, now, he’s better. Now, he’s giving and taking and indulging himself. Letting himself feel with you.

No worry stays in your mind as you feel the heat pooling in your belly. No thought of your alarm going off in just a few short hours. Starting your hectic day and sleepwalking through it until you can fall into his arms again.

None of that matters when he kisses you, long and deep. When he tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth and sighs into your mouth as you break together, his name the only thing you can remember.

Bucky rests over you for a long while. Doesn’t make any effort to move, even after you’ve both come down from your high. He only runs his palms over your sides. Makes you feel sleepy again. Kisses your eyelids as they close and smiles against your cheekbone when a happy sound comes from the back of your throat.

“Can’t believe you woke me just to get me naked,” you tease.

A laugh against the side of your nose. “Wasn’t the only reason.”

“It was most of the reason.” Fingers trail over your hip, tickling you until you grab his hand to stop its movements.

He concedes after a moment, mumbling, “Fine, it was part of the reason. But I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Not complaining. You just get to explain to Steve why I won’t be training this morning.”

A chuckle leaves his lips as he kisses your brow. “Did I wear you out that much?”

“I should be asking you that question, Barnes,” you grumble. “You’re an old man after all, don’t know how much your joints can ta - hey!”

His hands are moving against you again. Tickling your sides and your belly. He nips at your neck. The underside of your jaw and your ear. He smiles against you as you laugh, feeling sleepy and soft and happy - so, so happy.

Beautiful blue eyes look down at you. His expression is light. Finally visible now that your eyes have adjusted to the darkness in the room. Now that the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, almost ready to rouse you both from this lovely moment.

Noses brush as he leans toward you. As he whispers a small, quiet, “I love you, darlin’,” against your lips.

It’s so gentle. So sweet, the way his mouth forms the statement. The way he rubs circles into your skin once his thought hangs in the minute amount of space between you. It makes you want to lock yourself with him in this listless dawn until neither of you can remember anything else.

You feel his smile against the corner of your mouth as you pull him down an inch more to kiss him. To whisper the same words back, affection bleeding through the phrase.

He lies next to you. Rests on his back. His flesh hand reaches for you. Drags you to him. You curl into his side, loving how warm his skin is and how careful his lips are when they touch the top of your head.

You kiss his collarbone. Smile against him when he pulls you closer and nuzzles his face into your hair.

It’s a really happy morning, you think, sinking further into his arms.

As Bucky pulls you closer, you’re sure he would agree.

MAIN TAG LIST:

@solarbarnes II @akamaiden II @my-meant-to-find-blog II @marvelous-avengers II @jack4xx II @buckyforbreakfast II @theglowstickofdestiny II @bucky-at-bedtime II @notimetoblog II @estelgilvala II @teawithbucky II @veronicalei II @part-time-patronus II @thunderous-flower II @thelostverse II @delicatecapnerd II @pizzarollpatrol II @laurfangirl424 II @stevieboyharrington II @yknott81 II @bucky-smiles

#captainarielbarnes4k #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader insert #reader #fluff #smut #oneshot #bucky x you #My writing

[iustusetpeccator]

Viktor Krum meta: language use & accent

Before I even start in earnest, I just wanna say this is particular to my interpretation of Viktor and comes with all my hangups as a Bulgarian person living in Brexit Britain; also it got pretty long. But if you like some light sociocultural analysis along with your meta, by all means read on.

So we all know how Rowling chose to represent Viktor—quiet, grumpy, slightly bumbling, and when he does speak, not particularly articulate. He does have a decent vocabulary range, but his accent is harsh and noticeable. He is also shown to speak in present continuous tense, as seen here:

‘Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking,’ he was telling Hermione. ‘Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these – though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains –’

Here’s an example from DH, where you can see he still has the accent, but also the (not bad) range of vocabulary he’s given, as well as his correct use of prepositions:

‘He retired several years ago. I vos one of the last to purchase a Gregorovitch vand. They are the best – although I know, of course, that you Britons set much store by Ollivander.’

I'm here to explain why I do it (a little) differently.

First of all, let me lay some groundwork. He was born in the mid-seventies in Bulgaria, which at the time was part of the Eastern Bloc. I'm going to refrain from talking about the ramifications of that on our culture, but keep in mind we were very much in bed with the Soviet Union during his formative years. Furthermore, he went to Durmstrang—a school known for accepting pupils from a very wide geographical range, seeing as it's located somewhere ‘in the far north of Europe’ and yet accepted Viktor, from way down in southeastern Europe. Either he was exceptional, or it's a pretty multicultural school.

So what does that tell us? Well, to begin with, the boy is more than likely to have been fluent in at least, AT LEAST, three languages: Bulgarian, which was his native language, of course; Russian, which was a mandatory subject from an early age in school (even if he didn’t go to muggle school, he would’ve had to speak it to avoid rousing suspicion), and which is relatively easy for a fellow Slavic language speaker to learn and retain; and either German or one of the Scandinavian languages, which he would've been taught in while at Durmstrang. At minimum.

At the same time, the Triwizard Tournament would've presented Viktor's first serious brush with the English-speaking world. English was not taught in school at the time (see also: Cold War); if you picked up a second foreign language (on top of Russian, which basically didn't count), it would be either German or French, due to long-standing sociocultural ties (i.e. our intelligentsia were largely educated in France, and we sided with Germany in both world wars; don't ask). So unless his family went out of their way to teach him English, which they would've had no reason to as it wasn't seen as useful, he wouldn't have learned it formally at any stage.

How do I know all this? Well, I’m Bulgarian for one, and also my parents are only 5-10 years older than Viktor would be. They speak, or at some point have spoken, 4-5 languages between them, of which English isn’t one. In order to study it back in the 70s and 80s, you’d have had to go to a special school that was difficult to get into, and not hugely popular either.

So yes, his spoken English was clumsy in GoF when he was 18, and he probably never lost the accent, but 1) his written English was likely much better (see also: exchanging letters with Hermione for years), and 2) his mastery of the language will have improved pretty rapidly once he made friends who spoke it. The level you see in GoF, animated discussions with Hermione and all, is his default level without having studied English in any capacity, so to think it would stay that way into his adult years is not doing the man justice.

Also him using present continuous at any stage instead of simple present tense makes no sense, considering it’s 1) more complex, and 2) does not exist in Bulgarian, his native language. So I’m not even engaging with that.

Anyway, how has all this informed the way I write him? For one, I mostly focus on the post-SWW period, when he’s: 

travelled quite widely in connection with his international career, making a lot of friends from different countries;

been pen-pals with Hermione and kept in touch with Fleur for a number of years;

chosen to settle in the UK in the aftermath of the war.

What all this means is that he’s had a lot more practice reading, writing, and speaking in English, and his words are likely to flow a lot more smoothly, as well as picking up some colloquialisms from his teammates. As for his accent, not doing the whole ‘vos’ thing is a very conscious choice. I don’t shy from a phonetic accent (see also: Alastor), but on the one hand, that’s not what my accent sounds like so I find it hard to reproduce, and two, I think it’s borderline comical, tbh. Also it makes him sound like Otto von Chriek, but that’s neither here nor there.

What I do instead is, I try and limit his vocabulary and the length of his sentences. I’m aware my command of English is above and beyond what he’s likely to attain, so I don’t make him sound like me. I mess up the odd tense and preposition, throw in the odd expression that doesn’t exist in English, make him pause and think a lot about what he says, etc. And that’s it, folks. That’s how actual Bulgarian people speak English. Compared to the other languages he’s fluent in, it’s really not a difficult one to pick up.

What I’m trying to put across here is that the whole stereotype of Eastern Europeans being stupid and bad at English in itself is really harmful. For my American friends who may not be aware of European power dynamics, we are some of the latest additions to the EU and have received tons of backlash from western Europe. Polish, Romanian and Bulgarian immigrants have been racialised by the media, particularly in the UK, and written off as cheap labour/benefit fraudsters. Hell, a lot of people who campaigned and voted for Brexit directly blame us for a lot of the UK’s issues, like the state of the National Health Service (actually due to Conservative party cuts under the guise of austerity) and a poor job market (driven by a shitty fucking economy, and not at all helped by the nearly inevitable Brexit-related recession that’s on its way).

If you want to know more about why that's a massive issue, just hmu, I can go on for days, but in terms of Viktor, I refuse to perpetuate JKR’s subconscious biases against Eastern Europeans by making him sound like some sort of illiterate idiot in my own writing. He was Durmstrang's champion, and as such we have to assume he was reasonably intelligent. Quiet, reserved, lacking confidence in his language skills, nervous around Hermione—definitely. Stupid and bumbling, not so much.

#this got waaaaaaay long #but honestly someone had to say it #i'm so done with everyone shitting on eastern europeans whether consciously or not #he's SMART #and post-GoF he has LOTS of friends he speaks to in english #so give him some fucking credit #char: viktor krum #muse: viktor #headcanon: viktor #meta: viktor #mine: meta

[unityghost]

Scratches

I’ve come to supply the internet with more angst. One can never have too much angst. It’s kind of like parmesan cheese.

This fic, part 6 of my ultra-emo series Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels, is based on a prompt I got from @t-rexhighfives​, who proposed the following: “later down the line (like probably a yearor two in the future), sam having a particularly bad day (bc lord knows sam hasnt been allowed to work through his own traumas, both bc of everything that happens and bc he wont let himself work through it) and then gabe is having a moderately bad day (not awful, not the worst, but not great either) and sam is trying to help gabe and its just. not working. and gabe is like '... sam, you okay?' and sams just like ‘fine, im fine’ and they both know its a lie and so gabe decides that since sam has helped him so much, hes gonna return the favor (idk if this is even interesting or good, i just think it would be interesting to have the tables turned on sam lol)”

It was good, and it was interesting! So thanks.

WARNING: This story contains brief references to torture and sexual assault.

... The spirit had been slaughtered by a local priest, and was exercising his revenge upon the clergy at the church across from where he was buried. Every seventy years or so, the parishioners were given the news that their pastor - or, occasionally, the assistant priest - had been burned alive. The general consensus was that it was suicide, and that the latest victims had picked up the idea from the unfortunate history of the parish. Sure, there were rumors of curses, of witchcraft and phantoms - but it was all fare for a small town whose self-image was all eighteenth-century colonial New England serenity.

The whole thing should have been a simple affair - gathering the sources, visiting the church, identifying the grave. And all of that had indeed been pretty straightforward; what they hadn’t anticipated was how swift and vicious the spirit proved to be.

He caught them in the dead of night just as they were preparing to incinerate the remains. Dean was armed with a lit match, per protocol, and the spirit seized it from his hand before throwing himself at Sam, forcing him into the dewey grass. He began to scratch at Sam’s face with ragged fingernails, and he screamed about the priest who had counseled him, the priest who had believed that some people deserved an early damnation. The spirit howled about how he himself had been among the casualties of the rector’s delusion.

But the spirit gave a spidery smile as he spoke about burning any priest that dared to warn the congregants about the dangers of taking a fellow man or woman to bed, lest they find themselves punished by the devil - just as he had been punished by the Reverend Casper Lockwood.

Only as the spirit attacked his brother did Dean find himself grateful that Sam allowed Gabriel to accompany them. Wickford Village in North Kingstown, Rhode Island was one of the few places Gabriel had never been in his millennia of existence.

“It’s not like there’s any real reason to go to Rhode Island at all,” he’d insisted. “Who cares about clams and potholes? But,” he conceded, “I could use a trip to overpriced new-age tourist shops as much as the next guy. You ever get ahold of those A-to-Z angel encyclopedias? I’m gonna sneak in and draw Shrek all over them.”

But in the cemetery, Gabriel - whose grace had returned in full force over the year since his rescue from Asmodeus - wrenched the spirit off of Sam, whose face was streaked with blood from the wounds inflicted by jagged fingernails, and pinned him down. But the spirit was strong; it seized Gabriel’s legs and threw him into the ground, reversing their positions so that Gabriel was crushed.

But there is no taking away an archangel’s ability to start a fire once he’s made up his mind and has his hands free.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the remains ignited.

Sam lay on the ground, listening to the growl of the flames.

By the time it was all over, the sky had inched from blue to gray, and Dean could barely stand up. Neither he nor Sam had slept in over twenty-four hours. He stumbled on his way back to the car, parked on the quiet village road strewn with the first shriveled leaves of late September.

“Dude,” said Sam, watching his brother collapse against the car. “You’re not driving like that.”

“I’m just tired; Father Pyro barely even noticed me.” Dean straightened up, pulled the door open, and hit himself himself in an inopportune area. “Son of a - !” He bent double and groaned. “You win this round, jerk. Get in the car.”

“No thanks, bitch. You think Cas could drive? I was thinking of hanging around, getting some breakfast at the café we saw on our way over.”

Dean raised his head to stare at Sam. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, I can’t go to sleep now that it’s almost daylight.”

“I don’t even know where Cas - ”

“I’m here, Dean.” Cas shuffled over to them, face littered with fine bloody streaks just as Sam’s was. “Sam - ” He placed his middle and index fingers on Sam’s forehead and the pain of the scratch marks faded.

Sam touched his face. Only five o’ clock shadow. “Thanks. Now heal yourself.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have enough grace at the moment. Fighting back was a little more than I’d - ”

“Let me, brother.” Gabriel touched him just as Castiel had touched Sam, and the wounds melted away.

“Sam, you’re gonna have to drive,” Dean instructed. His forehead was wrinkled in discomfort but he seemed otherwise recovered. That clumsy accident was, Sam realized gratefully, the worst that had happened to his brother tonight. “Cas is exhausted.”

Castiel looked more closely at Sam. “Sam, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cas, you patched me up. Should have saved some of that juice for your - ”

“No. I mean you look distressed.”

Gabriel shot Sam a sharp glance. “He’s right, kiddo. What’s the matter?”

“I’m okay.” Sam was embarrassed. “Just thought I’d stick around for a little bit. I can always sleep later. You guys can head on back to the motel.” 

“Sammy, you should come too.” Dean’s tone was gentler this time. “You need to get some rest. Come on.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. I promise. Later, okay?”

“I could use a cup of coffee myself,” Gabriel chimed in.

“You don’t need caffeine,” Sam pointed out. “It doesn’t do anything for you.”

Gabriel inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Technically you’re right. But in a much more important sense, you’re wrong. And besides, I just got a nice little bone-fire going for you guys, didn’t I?”

“You do realize how that sounds, don’t you?” Dean groaned.

Gabriel ignored him. “Coffee can only lead to more grace, am I right, little bro?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Castiel replied.

“Oh, you’ve had one too many herbal teas. This guy” - he jerked a thumb at Sam - “is a bad influence.

“Gabe,” Sam interrupted, “I kind of want to be by myself.”

“Archangel vote counts as two; it’s the rules.”

Sam scoffed. “Whose rules?”

“Humans aren’t allowed access to that kind of information. Know your place, Sam. Now let’s go; these two want to get on the road.”

Sam struggled for a moment before admitting defeat. “Whatever, yeah, fine. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Dean hesitated. “Call if anything comes up. We’ll be around.”

Castiel’s gaze met Sam’s. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Sam crossed his arms, shuddering against a chilly breeze. The sting of the wounds echoed in his skin like the remnants of a bad smell. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gabriel promised.

With some reluctance, Dean and Cas climbed into the Impala, then drove away until they turned left on Main Street and disappeared.

Sam started walking in that same direction, saying nothing and refusing to acknowledge Gabriel keeping pace alongside him.

Sam kept touching his face, inspecting it for damage, and tried to ignore the twist of his stomach and the pounding of his heart.

But the silvery morning was too quiet, quiet enough to usher in a new voice: the voice that had playfully told him to hold still, that he wasn’t allowed to writhe in agony, that the more he screamed the deeper the knife would dig into him.

To Gabriel’s credit, he didn't try to initiate conversation. But it was hard for Sam to ignore the feeling of being examined from eight inches below.

The café opened its doors at 6:00, so they had fifteen minutes to lean against the bulky wood fence blocking off pedestrians from the water underneath. Off in the distance they could see a harbor and a few ducks and geese paddling their way into the daylight.

Finally, Gabriel spoke. “What was that?”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “What was what?”

“The way you looked like you were gonna be sick the second that undadly freak of creation went back to where it belonged. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Gabriel’s expression darkened. “No, Sam. Nooooooo, no no no no no. I am not about to play the same game with you that you play with me.

"Sam creased his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” When Sam continued to look puzzled, Gabriel sighed. “That stupid back-and-forth where I freak out, and you become some kind of saintly masochist, and I try to get you to go away, and you say things like ‘Let me help you, Gabe’ and ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, Gabe’ and ‘I don’t want you to keep this inside, Gabe.’ That game.”

Sam looked away.

“Spill it, Winchester. What’s going on with you?”

Still averting his eyes, Sam muttered, “Bad memories. That's all.”

“That’s all.”

“Yes, Gabriel. That’s all.”

“Okay, well, what was that thing you said to me about trying to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less, I don’t know, soul-crushing? Oh, that’s right: you said to open up when someone offers to help make things feel a little less soul-crushing.”

Sam shook his head, thought about crossing his arms again, and realized he felt safer if he tried not to move at all. “You’re not going to want to hear it. It’s … it’s Hell stuff. It’d remind you of what happened with Asmodeus.”

“You mean like my stuff made you remember your time in the Cage?” He felt almost satisfied at the guilt that crossed Sam’s face. “Sam. Come on. It’s me. I owe you one anyway.”

“We’re not trading stocks,” Sam protested. “You’re not ready to deal with my shit, Gabriel.”

“Well if this stubbornness is anything to go by, you weren’t ready to deal with mine either.”

There were several moments of silence, in which Gabriel realized the weight of what he had said.

“You’ve helped so much,” he told Sam, hugging himself in a protective stance; and Sam could see that he was suddenly afraid someone would hurt him for his mistake. “I didn’t mean you haven’t. You’ve done a good job. You’re too patient, Sam. I don’t deserve what you’ve given me. Shut up,” he added as Sam opened his mouth to object. “My point is that I want to return the favor, not that I have to.”

Sam sighed. Gabriel let him have a few moments to think before Sam finally spoke. “That guy … the spirit … you saw the way he pinned me to the ground and made cuts all over my face?”

“Uncourteous bastard,” Gabriel agreed.

“Well …” Sam rubbed his palms together, staring off somewhere into the distance. “I still get these … these dreams about how Lucifer used to do the same thing. Only … only instead of trapping me on the ground, he’d throw me into the fire and keep me there while he drew on me. Pictures, you know - graffiti, sort of. Family pictures of all his brothers and sisters - every last one. But like …” Sam swallowed. “He used knives. All kinds of knives. I, uh - yeah. Yeah, that’s …” He trailed off, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk, examining his shoes - caked with clammy soil from the cemetery.

Gabriel tilted his head. “All right. Welp. That explains it. Now was that so hard?”

“Damn it, Gabriel.” Sam looked angry. “You know it is.”

Gabriel flinched. “I just … I want to help you.”

Sam glanced at him, and his expression softened in concern. “Gabriel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - ”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m good. Really. But anyway, Sam - why are you keeping this under wraps? Or, I mean, are you? Isn’t your brother there to listen? Or my brother?”

“I don’t know; I guess they could be.”

“But you won’t say anything.”

“I …” Sam licked his lips. “Gabriel … you understand. You understand better than anyone. I can’t talk about it because … because there’s too much there. Because I want to forget. And because I - ” The words caught in his throat. Gabriel watched him closely, wondering how to handle this with Sam as well as Sam had with him.

“Because what?” he pressed.

“Because I - because the last thing we need is extra problems,” Sam blurted out. “You’ve all got enough to be dealing with. And me complaining isn’t going to change anything; you know that! Besides,” he added more calmly, “This was your first time on a hunt with us - ever since things started to get a little better. You should be worrying about yourself, Gabriel.”

“Did you forget what I told you about how archangels have the final - ”

“The way he held you down.” Sam’s voice was quiet. “I know what that must have done to you.”

Gabriel tensed and Sam almost wished he hadn’t said anything to remind Gabriel of all those nightmares, all those spasms of memories - memories of the cold stone floor against his back and the hard warm body on top of him. “I’m not denying that. But look at me: I’m okay. A little shaken up, maybe, but okay. I knew what I was getting into. And anyway, now that I don’t need food or sleep I won’t have nightmares or puke my guts up. So forget about me for a second.”

Silence fell again. And then Sam said, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Gabriel gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yeah, Sam, I do. You’ve drilled that into my brain. But now that I have a clear head, I want to help you too.”

“Why?”

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t know, maybe something to do with the fact that you've held my head over the toilet in the middle of the night so many times I lost count? Or the way you made sure nobody ever touched me without my permission? Or how, after months of me clinging to you, you didn’t give up?”

Sam grimaced. “Well, that was because you were …” He tried to find a diplomatic adjective. “… troubled.”

Gabriel tutted. “If by ‘troubled’ you mean ‘an undignified disaster,’ then I agree. But how is this any different, really? Come on. I’m not gonna take a single thing you say seriously if you don’t prove to me that you can practice what you preach.”

“Gabriel.” Sam was frustrated now. “What happened to me happened a long time ago. You’re just getting back on your feet. You need to focus on - ”

“You’re right.” Gabriel touched his shoulder as delicately as possible, knowing what it was like to be afraid of touch. “It was a long time ago. But that means it’s been sitting with you for years. What have you done with it? What I’d really like is for you to let me know when something freaks you out - don’t just hold that in. But it doesn’t have to be me; it can be anyone.”

Seagulls squawked overhead. The twin aromas of coffee and pastries drifted through the crisp morning air; 6:00 A.M. had come and gone, and the café doors were open. But neither of them made a move to go in.

“I think I’d want it to be you.” The confession surprised Gabriel, and he blinked. “Because … I think you’d genuinely want to hear it. Not Dean; he’s worse than I am. He’s not even tempted to say anything and he doesn’t need me throwing out all these reminders of what he went through.” His features hardened. “But neither do you. I know you’re more interested, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it - I do. But it’s gonna make things worse for you. Bring up all kinds of stuff.”

“That’s okay.”

Sam tried to quell his anger so that he wouldn’t frighten Gabriel. “No, it’s not. Not after all your hard work.”

Gabriel snorted. “I think you mean your hard work.”

“Give yourself some credit, Gabe.”

“You give yourself some credit! Man, are you difficult to work with! Look, you told me about the knife thing Lucifer did, and do I seem upset to you? Do I seem like I’m freaked out?”

Sam studied him. Then he said, “No. You don’t. I’m glad.”

“Great. Okay, your turn. Ask me if I think you seem upset.”

Sam gripped the bar of the fence until his knuckles turned white. “Okay - fine. I’m not gonna disagree with you.” A pause. “Look, I know what I went through. I understand what you’re trying to tell me, all right? But I’ll get over it. I’ve been dealing with this for long enough that I know what to do when things get bad. I don’t want to bring anyone else into it.”

“I hear what you’re saying about me and your brother,” Gabriel admitted, “But why won’t you talk to Cas? He’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t know how to address this kind of thing. Can you imagine how that would go down?”

“What are you - ” Gabriel stared at him. “Do you even know him at all? Of course he’d know what to say! You’ve been the Three Musketeers for how many years now? And you think he’s not tuned in enough to help?”

Sam remembered how Castiel had looked at him back in the cemetery, brow furrowed in concern, and felt a twinge of guilt for misjudging him. “No, you’re right. That was a dumb thing to say.”


“Sam.” Gabriel somehow managed to sound simultaneously gentle and stern. “You don’t look okay. You really don’t.”

“Well I’m covered in graveyard dirt, so I’d have to agree with you there.”

“You’re pale. Sick. Shaky. Here, look - ” He picked up one of Sam’s hands to demonstrate that it was trembling.

Humiliated, Sam pulled away. “Don’t do that.”

But Gabriel seized his hand again and glared, no longer desperate but suddenly determined. “Listen up, you obdurate son of a bitch. I really, really don’t want to see you hurting. You always talked about how hard it was for you to watch me, remember? That’s what this is like! We’ve spent too much time together for me to play along and pretend you’re okay. I want to help. So please. Just let me.”

Sam paused, meeting his eyes.

Gabriel looked so much more like himself these days.

Sam took a deep breath. “I just don’t - ” He looked around, examining every part of the unfamiliar setting, hoping to distract himself from the tightness in his throat. “I - ”

Gabriel waited, still gripping his hand. When Sam didn’t continue, his voice softened. “There’s no one around, Sam. Just me.”

Sam looked at him, face flushed and eyes bright.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel went on. “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

Sam turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut. Now the prickling of the cuts was gone, replaced by the brininess of tears.

Damn it. After everything he’d been through with Gabriel - trying to bring him back to life, to coax him into something like what he had once been, to make the present feel stronger than the past - it was cruel of him to make Gabriel watch this.

Sam managed to compose himself enough to speak. “You know that feeling? The feeling that … that you can’t get out? That it’s happening right now and no one can help?”

Gabriel clutched his hand tighter. “Of course I do. But it’ll go away.”

Sam used his free hand to cover his mouth as the pressure against his chest became too solid to choke down.

“It will,” Gabriel insisted. “I’ll ride it out with you.”

Sam shook his head, clenching his eyes shut again, horribly ashamed. He lowered his hand. “It doesn't go away. It just - just gets worse before going down to where it usually is.”

Reminding himself that it wouldn’t get better - that it wouldn’t leave him alone - wrenched his control away.

He leaned up against the fence, trying to hide his face, trying to breathe.

“All right.” Gabriel put a hand on his back. “Just let it go back down to normal. Just wait for a few minutes. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s - that’s not what it feels like. Oh god - ” Sam shuddered, although there was no breeze this time. “You remember, don’t you? You know how bad it is. But you - you always talked about how you could tell the difference, how you knew your mind was playing tricks on you. Sometimes I just ... I don’t know where I really am, or who’s really with me. It’s - ” He released another harsh, desperate sob. “It’s too real.”

“Yeah, I knew how to separate one from the other. But only because I know how tricks work. They’re meant to feel real. And hey, so what if you can’t figure out what’s there and what’s not? Huh? Doesn’t change the fact that you’re gonna be fine.”

Nearly gagging from the effort of trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, Sam rasped, “Why did you make me do this? Why’d you want to make it stronger?”

“I didn’t!” Abruptly, Gabriel let go of his hand and took a step back. “I meant to make it easier!”

“I know - but -” He lowered his head, watching the sidewalk swim in a rough gray blur underneath him. “I told you not to.”

“Didn’t I always tell you the same thing?”

“No!” Sam jerked his head up despite feeling disgusted with himself. “I mean, yes, sometimes. But once in a while you … you looked for me. And you should have; I told you you could. But this is different, I ... I just wanted to be left alone.”

Gabriel looked helpless again. “You’re always alone. Because you don’t care about yourself enough to ask for what you need.” He hesitated.” You’re not scared of being touched, right? Not the way that I was?”

Am, Sam corrected silently. Aloud, he said, “Not usually. Not anymore. I - ”

Delicately, in case Sam wasn’t telling the full truth, Gabriel leaned forward and embraced him. Not the way Sam had done for him in moments of terror - Gabriel was so small that there couldn’t have been the same warmth and protection he got when Sam hugged him.

But Sam could tell he tried.

“I don’t care if you can’t tell what’s real,” Gabriel muttered. “You hold yourself together too well.”

“I really don’t.” Tentatively, Sam wrapped either arm around Gabriel’s shoulders.

“Come on. Your standards can’t be that high after a year of putting up with me.” Gabriel squeezed more tightly.

Sam was surprised - not so much by Gabriel’s outburst of affection but by his own reaction to it. He relaxed slightly, began to shiver a little less forcefully.

“That’s it,” Gabriel murmured. “You’re gonna be okay.”

They stood like that for several minutes, until Dean called to make sure everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

But gradually the wail of seagulls grew louder than the roar of hellfire.

...

Please do come say hi on Archive of Our Own. Thanks for reading!

#fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #angst #angsty supernatural fanfiction #hurt/comfort #hurt sam winchester #ptsd #Sam Winchester has PTSD #flashbacks #sabriel #platonic sabriel #post-season 13 #Gabriel/Sam Winchester #comforting gabriel #dean winchester #castiel #caring Gabriel #protective gabriel #rhode island #north kingstown #wickford village #new england #hunts #sam winchester can't express emotions #feels #supernatural prompt #the angst is strong with this one #post-asmodeus sabriel feels #hell trauma

[thedistantstorm]

Lightweight (part 1 of  2)

Zavala x Hawthorne (Steelponcho)

Here have some Drunkvala (it is the weekend, after all).

Mildly nsfw, nothing actually graphic, but there’s a couple f-bombs and some handsy Zavala.

As with all drunken escapades, there will be an aftermath part in a few days. Because why not.

“I’m taking you home, Commander Drunkypants.”

“Wait. He’s drunk. Why is he drunk?”

The bar was rowdy and smelled of cheap beer and sweat. Suraya was really looking forward to going home to her little flat and getting a decent night of sleep, not answering seventy messages (collectively) from Cayde and Shaxx with an in-person visit.

“This moron started recalling the good ol’ days,” Shaxx motioned to Cayde who had the wherewithal to look scandalized as he sipped at his drink. “The next thing I know, Zavala’s putting away pints like he’s a different man and chatting up the Kinderguardians. He knows he doesn’t handle his alcohol well. I don’t pretend to understand why he did this.”

“Yeah,” Cayde said with a shrug. “And I didn’t even say anything bad. I jus’ heckled him for being old. I always do that, and I’m probably older than he is.” He held his hands out in a ‘plausible deniability’ stance.

The civilian huntress allowed her eyes to roll. “Okay. So why am I the one collecting him? You two seem to have a handle on the situation.”

“We are not babysitters, dear Suraya,” Shaxx bellows.

Her nostrils flare, and Cayde moves away instinctively. “Do I look like a babysitter? I’ve been running strikes since before dawn. The only thing I look like right now is tired.”

Both men shake their heads, clearly valuing their lives - even though they’re kind of expendable. “It-it’s not that you look like a babysitter,” Cayde says. “But you’re kind of our best chance to get him out of here before he gets too annihilated.”

“Oh?”

“There are several stages to the Zavala drunkenness spectrum,” Shaxx imparts to her, lowering his volume to the average human’s yell (it’s quiet for him). “First, he complains about drinking. Second, he drinks quickly and says he doesn’t actually hate drinking. Third, he becomes talkative. Fourth, handsy. Fifth, ho-”

“Okay, okay. Let’s pretend I buy this. What stage are we on?”

“We’re moving into handsy. He’s clapped at least seven new Titans on the back in the last twenty minutes,” Cayde supplies cheerfully. “We need him out of here before he becomes a puddle of needy goo, because stage six is the clingy-slash-depressed stage, and it only gets worse from there.”

“So dump it on Hawthorne, eh?”

“In the talkative phase,” Cayde says, grin on his face, “He might have mentioned how he really enjoyed working with you. A lot. And on repeat.”

“So?”

Shaxx wraps an arm around her. He smells like ale. “So, that means either he’s fucking you, or he would very much like to.”

“How much have you two been drinking?” She wears her defensiveness like armor and it shows.

“Not enough to miss that blush,” Cayde snaps back with a smirk. He pushes her away from them and in the direction of the Titan on the other side of the bar chatting with his subordinates. “Go get the good Commander, and take him home. Pretty sure he’ll let you have your way with him.”

She shakes her head. “When he’s sober, I’m going to tell him you suggested I take advantage of him.”

“Like that'll surprise him. Just get him out of here before we’re stuck listening to him mope. It’s literally always about work and we’re here to get shitfaced.”

“You two owe me,” She says as Shaxx bellows something in the affirmative to Cayde’s shitfaced comment. The two clink glasses and chug. The bartender shakes his head and mutters something about how it ‘always starts like this and the next thing you know there’s Golden Guns and Fists of Havoc everywhere.’

Hawthorne crosses the bar easily, it’s busy but not quite standing room only. The majority of the Titans are packed into one corner, all of them still in armor - of course - and she easily spots his sparking white, red, and silver, gear even in the dim light.

“Evening, Guardians,” She calls cheerfully, leaning between Zavala and the female Titan beside him to take the half-empty mug from in front of him. “Having fun?” He looks up at her, and she can see the how small his pupils are. He smells like booze as well, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as it is on Shaxx. She knows Zavala’s a lightweight; he’s told her himself.

The table roars mightily as she manages to drink down the remainder of his drink in one go. Half of them are playing cards, the other half are engaging the Commander in riveting tales of Titan prowess. He seems to be enjoying himself.

“I need to borrow you for a minute,” She says to him, when the group is laughing at a new Guardian’s clumsiness. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“We’re in the middle of something,” He says, and it’s supposed to be a whisper but it comes out loudly. “This is a good story.”

She sighs. Waits a few more minutes, tries again. Similar result. Now he’s yelling amidst the stories about how in his hayday, he’d done things four times as impressive. It was becoming the standard Titan pissing contest. Enough was enough.

Finally, she sighs, and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Commander, you are going to get up and leave with me now. That’s an order.” She makes sure she speaks quietly enough for only him to hear. The result is that her lips and teeth are ghosting over the shell of his ear. She is absolutely not trying to rile him up, but the effect is immediate. He immediately excuses himself, standing quickly and with the slightest of staggers. It takes him a second to make his goodbyes.

She realizes, with only mild irritation that she's going to have to lead him on if she's going to get him out of here - and more importantly make it to bed - sometime tonight. She’s halfway across the bar, and when she turns to make sure he’s following, she gives him the come hither motion to make him pick up the pace.

The peanut gallery immediately starts catcalling, and Suraya flips both of them the the middle finger when Shaxx yells, “YESSSS, Guardian. Get it!” The call even comes with a fistpump.

She literally cannot go out to bars in this city because she'd get arrested for murder. But really, they’re so lucky he’s drunk, because she's pretty sure sober-Zavala would literally rip Shaxx’s entrails out through his nostrils if the Crucible handler said this to sober-him in public. Drunk-Zavala has tunnel vision though, so they're safe. For now.

She is going to be so loud tomorrow morning. Those two deserve to suffer.

They’re barely out into the street and he’s nudging her into an alley, pressing himself against her with no self control. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’re into me,” She says, when he’s kneading her ass with his palms, and mouthing at her chest through her shirt. She won’t deny that it’s attractive (like, really, really fucking hot, her brain corrects), but he’s so bombed. She’s got to get him back home pronto. She has not been drinking - that half pint was for show and she's not a lightweight unlike some Titan she knows - so sex in an alley isn't really on her to do list tonight.

“My place is closer,” She offers, not that he’s ever spent the night there before. The only nights they've spent together have been on work projects. No sleeping or cuddling. Hell, she's kissed him like three times? She hopes it’s as clean as she remembers. Actually, she doesn't care. This is all ridiculously inconvenient. He'll have to make due.

He's all but bucking against her, and she can admit that it makes her feel so powerful and desired that her exhausted post-work look can make him come undone. But really, the voice of reason says, she'd prefer this sober. She's also relatively certain that if any part of his brain chooses to recall this, he's going to be mortified.

“Zavala.”

He draws back at once, in a brief moment of clarity. She smiles crookedly up at him, slipping out from where she's been pinned to the wall. “C'mon, let's get out of here.” Her fingers curl around his wrist and she pulls him back into the road.

“Suraya-” It’s practically a whine. Traveler help her, maybe she could have sex in this alley. No. Stay on track, Suraya, she coaches herself. No sex in the alley. No sex at all, no matter how much either of them want it. He’s DRUNK. Not tipsy. Plastered. Shitfaced. Annihilated. She has to turn away from him to compose herself. She cannot even.

“I'm taking you home, Commander Drunkypants.”

He scoffs. “Drunkypants?” His eyes narrow, and she has to hold back her laugh or he’ll likely become belligerent. “I’m insulted.”

“No, you’re drunk.” She continues pulling him along. He’s protesting and she’s absolutely not strong enough to pull his dead weight across the city, especially with full armor on. “Can we please keep moving? I’ll promise not to call you drunkypants if you keep moving.”

“You c’n do better than that,” He says, just the slightest of slurs in his voice. She curses under her breath. Her flat isn’t far, maybe another fifteen minutes away. She’s got to get him there before he completely falls apart. Getting him to his own apartment would be career suicide for them both.

“I can, but you’re not giving me much to work with,” She taunts, even though he has absolutely tipped his entire hand. She’s got to motivate this man to get a move on and pronto. She puts her hands on her hips and juts them to the right. His eyes immediately follow. That horny bastard, she thinks. Maybe she can use this to her advantage. “Will a kiss motivate you, Guardian?” She does her best to purr it all sultry-like, but she’s not claiming to be a siren.

Not that it matters, because he’s practically keening and she’s pretty sure there’s no blood left in that bald head of his because it’s all run south. Traveler, is he easy. Alright, she tells herself, you’re doing great. Just kiss him and keep promising him more and hope he doesn’t puke on you when this all catches up with him.

Because it’s going to catch up with him. He’s stumbling, even with her grip on his wrist.

She crosses the distance between them and gives him a very riveting display of affection. Tongue, teeth, the whole shebang. He moans appreciatively and tries to circle his arms around her, but she grabs his other wrist and manages to hold him off. She pulls away from him and smirks.

“If you want more from where that came from, you’ll probably want to get me home.” She mentally crosses her fingers, since hers are preventing him from hauling her over his shoulder and giving in to both of their desire.

Seeing a man intoxicated should not make her feel so horny, but she really doesn’t have it in her to feel ashamed. She is going out of her way for him right now, she’s tired, and she’s really wanted him for months now. And it isn’t like she’s going to act on it - not now - but she absolutely plans to the second they’re both alone and sober. If this isn’t confirmation, nothing will be.

He takes the bait, almost dragging her forward. One track minded, she thinks, those Titan flaws are a doozy. “You might want to slow down,” She says softly, when he keeps marching towards the Tower. “There’s a quicker way to my flat if we go left here.”

She sees the change when he quickly redirects himself. She thinks for a second that he’s going down, but he corrects at the last second, instinct kicking in. Thank the Traveler. No more hand-holdy crap. She slows, ducking under his right arm, so that she can keep him walking straight and upright. He leans against her, hard.

“You’re heavy,” She says, looking over at him. “If you stop moving I’m gonna leave you in the street.”

“You wouldn’t.” His blue eyes are wide, and for someone so much older than her, he looks so devastatingly young in this moment.

“Try me.”

“I’m moving,” He says, though it’s a bit garbled. “H’w much long’r til your home?”

“Soon,” She says, and leads them to a staircase with beautiful Morrocan scrolling going up and around the archway, her arm slung tightly across his waist, slipping between plates of armor. “We’re almost there.”

It’s not the stairs that do him in, it’s the elevator that does. She’s important, and this particular building is built into the side of the Tower’s Bazaar, so naturally she’s closer to the top. The two minute ride forces him to stay still, and she can see him swaying. His eyes are closed.

She feels simultaneously like he deserves this and also like he’s precious and innocent and needs to be sheltered from the world. She hates that she’s so soft sometimes.The elevator dings and he doesn’t move. She stands blocking the door so that it doesn’t trap him in there. “You with me, soldier?”

He blinks open an eye and stumbles forward. She manages to catch him well enough, but he groans and mumbles something she can’t understand and she knows it’s all over. “Just a little further, okay?” She coaches him quietly, running a hand over his scalp. “You’re doing great.”

He leans into the touch, and she manages to haul him from the lift before it makes offensive noises because they’ve taken too long to get out. They’ve just got to make it to her door and it will all be-

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Fuck.

By some great miracle, she manages to get him both insider her flat and it’s bathroom before he starts revisiting the amount of ale he’s consumed this evening. She leaves him to it and returns to her front door - she’d left it open in her haste to get him into the apartment before the neighbers are exposed to the the solar system’s biggest lightweight.

She winces when he hiccups and heaves again, after several moments of shallow, heavy breathing. She gets him a glass of water and definitely some painkillers - she’s guessing here, but there’s definitely no chance his ghost is going to heal him for being a drunken idiot. She’s only met her a handful of times, but she is a serious, motherly partner who definitely takes no pity on fools.

Suraya goes into a closet and pulls out the softest flannel she can find, wetting it with lukewarm water in her kitchen before braving the trip to her bathroom. He’s braced over the toilet and it’s a tight fit, considering he never made it out of his armor,  but he’s making due. She puts a hand on his back, pushing hard enough that he can feel it through the metal plating.

“How ya holding up?”

He groans.

She knees beside him and presses the cool, damp cloth against his forehead. “This was definitely not one of your smarter ideas.” He leans into her, and she braces herself to accept the whole of his weight because it comes. There’s no sound but harsh breathing for a few moments, before he begins to vomit again, and she stays put, rubbing his back as he dregs up what’s left. By the time he’s finished, he’s dry heaving, and she’s pretty certain there’s nothing left to throw up. He’s mumbling as he does, and she has to tip her ear closer to him to hear the litany of apologies to her and self-deprecating comments.

“I’m sorry,” He manages to say, a bit more coherently, but she shushes him with gentle fingers trailing down his temple.

“Think you got it all out of your system?”

He nods, barely.

“Okay. Lean on me. If you didn’t have the spins before, you definitely have them now.” It’s true, he does. There’s a split second in which she thinks they’re going to crack their heads against the wall of the shower stall, but they make it out and into her bedroom with only moderate difficulty.

He’s too far gone to look around at the minimalist offerings of the woman’s private rooms, the desk covered with maps in the corner, the white-wood dressers and pale blue and gray walls, or the perch with a sleeping falcon atop it beside the open window. She manages to get him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, feeding him two tablets and addressing him as a child when she tells him to only sip the water. He slurs something about knowing how to do this, but she ignores him, in lieu of sliding her fingers under the clasps of his armor.

“Suraya?” He whispers, as she manages to undo the clasps on both sides of his rib cage.

She kneels down in front of him, regarding him with amber eyes.

He reaches for her face and it’s a sad effort since his eyes are closed. He gets there eventually. “Thank you f’r taking care of me.”

She laughs, but it’s affectionate. “Of course, you big lug. I’ve got your back.” She tips his head to rest against her stomach as she stands, intent on removing his armor so he can rest easy. “Always.”

-/

When he wakes, it’s to a room that’s bright and unfamiliar. He scrubs a hand over his face and bites back a curse at the hollow pounding in his head. What in the Traveler’s name had he been thinking?

The telltale echo of his ghost his head is something like “you weren’t, that’s what,” and she did it purposely, because it always made his headache worse when he was hungover.

He looks over through squinted eyes to see armor stacked neatly on the floor. It isn’t stacked how he would have done it, so someone else did it. But the last thing he remembers, he was drinking with the new recruits and…

There’s a quiet, shrill call from across the room, complete with the slightest beating of wings. “Louis?”

Well, hell. He stares down at himself. He’s clearly in undergarments, and if that’s Louis - how many other falcons does he know - then he’s spent the night with Suraya Hawthorne, and he doesn’t remember any of it. Headache forgotten in his absolute panic - sleeping with coworkers, specifically coworkers for which he has feelings that are deeper than lust’s casual trysts - he looks over to find the other half of the bed empty.

But it looks slept in.

This is a nightmare.

His Ghost blinks into view with a flurry of apathetic light and volume. “As it would seem, you’re late for your second task of the day. The first, you’ve missed in its entirety.” She moves closer to him with a whirl and twitch of her shell and her voice is cheerfully booming. He feels like he’s talking to a female version of Shaxx right now. “I suggested that Suraya leave you to the wolves, as you did absolutely wreck her bathroom with your inability to vomit into her toilet. She, however, took your meeting with Dead Orbit and is on her way to meet Cayde for strike duty now. I presume that’s because she would like to murder Cayde for dragging her out to pick you up last night, and heckling you both when you left together. We should really go watch. Sundance already informed me that he’s worse off than you right now, I asked her to record it for personal reasons.”

“Did you always talk this much?” He asks his partner with a tired grumble while he tries to figure out if he’s actually slept with her or not. He was pretty drunk, so hopefully not. It would only complicate things that are… already complicated.

She laughs. “Ha, ha. Someone has to remind you that what you did is stupid. Hawthorne is spoiling you. You fell asleep before she could even remove your codpiece, not that she’ll ever tell you the details. I took pity on her and transmatted it for you. You owe me.”

He blushes, harder than he can recall. Ever. Traveler take him.

“You enjoy this,” He growls at her and she laughs until he swipes at her, at which point she dissolves into motes of light. Louis trills a low, understanding cry, and Zavala looks at him. “Tell me about it. I’m never drinking again.”

#steelponcho #zavala x hawthorne #suraya hawthorne #commander zavala #destiny 2 #destiny2 fanfic #fictober #fictober18 #my writing #drunkvala #part 1 of 2

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Relic ~ 25

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty Part Twenty-One Part Twenty-Two Part Twenty-Three Part Twenty-Four

Tags: @omgcupquak3stuff​ @dora3374 @the-butterfly21​ @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester @everyjourneylove​  @russian-empress​ @cd1242 @the-lupine-sojourner @ara-toa-min @teenageclarisse​ @ghostqueenofeverything​ @cutie-bug​  @monachopsistime

(sorry to those who I can’t tag for some reason. If you like, you can message me and I’ll just start sending you the link to the chapters as they come out)

Add yourself to the taglist here

You had slept better after deciding to stay. You were thankful that you did not have to spend a day travelling to a pointless destination. Most of all, you were relieved not to have to say goodbye. In the week you had spent in Wakanda, you had grown attached to the quaint farmstead. And Bucky.

That morning, you could not help but think of your conversation with Steve. This life was too good to be true and you understood better Bucky’s fear of loss. He knew all too well how easily it could all be gone. If the time came, you wanted to be able to help in a fight. You were tired of being a bystander.

Bucky had left you shortly after breakfast to tend to the goats. You knew it was because he sensed your contemplation. Your struggle to solve a problem entirely foreign to you. You had withdrawn into yourself, biting your nails anxiously. As you had allowed him his space, he was biding yours.

You took out your phone, staring at the list of contacts. Your thumb hovered over a single name, the screen turning black as you hesitated. You unlocked it and forced yourself to press down. You set the phone on the counter, putting it on speaker as you stood. You were too restless to sit still. You were tired of asking for help but you needed it. This would be the last time you would.

“Ay, Y/N,” Shuri sang in her silky accent, “Finally, you’re calling. You’re a lousy friend.”

“Shuri,” You sighed, forcing your hands to your side before you could begin to wring them, “Look, I know I suck at the whole communication thing but I’m not calling to banter.”

“Really? I do so appreciate a sick bantz,” She kidded with a chuckle and you huffed again. “Alright, alright...you’re as tightly wound as Goat Boy these days.”

“Well, this is sort of about him...in a way, I guess,” You began reluctantly. You weren’t quite sure how to say it.

“Oooh, do tell,” She trilled as if you were about to spill some juicy gossip.

“I was talking to Steve yesterday and, well, he said that Bucky still has people after him. That he won’t be here forever, only until the next fight.”

“Oh,” She sounded disappointed, “Well, of course. He’s a super soldier. A bit fucked up in the head but he’s still a war machine.”

“I know, I know,” You hooked your foot through the leg of the stool, leaning on the counter, “But I don’t want him to have to worry about me. If someone were to find him...or us, I suppose, I don’t want to be the reason he’s in danger. I’m not dum, I’d be next to useless in a fight’; a distraction. I’m not important enough to be a liability.”

“First off, Y/N, you stop right there. You are important, okay? Even if Goat Boy is a bit aloof, you are. To me, to him, to everyone. Even Steve. Secondly, if someone does show up, you won’t be alone. Neither of you,” She assured, “We haven’t left you entirely vulnerable.”

“Even so, I should learn, don’t you think...To fight?” It sounded preposterous to you and must’ve been farcical when said aloud. You had never been the most athletic; clumsy even. You weren’t tough, or fierce, or strong. Not to mention your age. “I wasn’t sure who else to ask. I know Steve is busy and I wouldn’t expect him to teach me but I thought maybe you would know someone.”

“Oh, I know a whole team of somebodies,” She said excitedly. “That’s so cute! Oh my god, Y/N. I can’t even imagine you fighting.”

“Shuri, please,” You felt your cheeks burning, “I know it’s ridiculous, but I have to try.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that, I just...a librarian who can fight? That’s kinda hot.”

“For the last time,” You snarled, “I’m not a librarian.”

“Hehe,” She couldn’t stifle her giggle, “Well at least you’ve got the right attitude for it. You’ll need that anger.”

“So, you’re going to help?” You asked hopefully.

“Of course I am,” She replied, “But you owe me.”

With Shuri’s encouragement, you were a bit calmer  In the twenty minutes after the phone call, you had sat and thought on the possibilities. It would be hard but worth it. You might not be any good at fighting but you could try. If it did come to a battle, you’d at least have a semblance of skill. The idea was growing less absurd in your mind.

You forced yourself from the stool, heading through the screen door as you followed the sound of Bucky’s voice. He was just in the yard, sitting on an overturned pale as he stroked Charlotte’s head. She had grown rounder in the last few days and you suspected she was due any day now. He ceased his one-way conversation with her as you approached.

“She’s getting big,” You commented.

“She is,” He agreed, a shadow of dread in his eyes. That was a bridge to be crossed when you got to it. “I heard you talking inside.”

“You did?” You asked nervously.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I only heard voices,” He shrugged, “Have you told your mother you’re staying?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t my mom,” You gave a sheepish smile, “But I’ll have to do that tonight. It was Shuri.”

“Shuri?” He quirked his lips.

“I guess there’s little point in keeping it a secret. Hell, you might even be proud of me...that is, if I’m any good,” You were suddenly excited to tell him. You would be able to help when he needed it most; how could he be unhappy? “I’m going to start training.”

“Training?”

“Basic combat,” You announced, “So I can defend myself.”

“Defend yourself from what?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, but if I ever need to I’ll be able to,” You stuttered. You suddenly felt very naive. “You won’t have to protect me.”

“I don’t have to protect you. There’s nothing to protect you from,” He stood with a frown.

“Not yet, but what happens when there’s another fight? I don’t want to be left to wait for the news.”

“You’ll be safe. As impatient as you are, you wouldn’t want to be out there.”

“How do you know what I want?” You challenged, “Do you think I want to go back to the museum? Or hide behind my desk? No one ever fought a war with books. No one’s ever been a hero for writing down another’s deeds.

“I agreed to stay but not to hide. I stayed because here there is possibility. I’m not stuck living a life built of my own cowardice. I know I’ll never be like you, but I can try. Try to fight. For once, I want to do something.”

Bucky stared at you. His blue eyes bored into you. Cold flames burned behind them as anger and fear mingled. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought, exhaling a drawn out breath to steady himself.

“If this is what you want, I know I can’t stop you. But I can warn you. It’s easy when there are no stakes. When you’re training, there is no fear. In a real fight, there is nothing else. Every thought, every move, every breath is fueled by terror. Whether you live or die, you lose. Every time you march to battle, you leave a part of yourself on the field.

“Right now the decision is easy, but if that day comes and you change your mind, don’t be ashamed. Listen to your gut. Don’t fight because it’s what I have to do, only fight for you.” He hung his head sadly, shaking the hair away from his eyes, “You don’t have to fight.”

“I know,” You said quietly, “But I know that staying here was more than agreeing to clean up goat shit. I knew it was a risk, but it’s one I have to take and I’m lucky that in seventy years, I likely won’t be alive to regret it.”

#relic #Bucky Barnes #series #fic #part 25 #charlotte the goat #oscar's on vacay #shuri