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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-Nine

Words: 4.1k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, explicit sexual situations, substance abuse, mentions of assault

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I hum along to the Christmas music softly playing over the speakers of the grocery store as I walk down the aisles, pushing my buggy, looking at the different types of cereal.

Nikki doesn't like sweet cereals aside from Captain Crunch, so I just grab a box of it before heading to grab toilet paper and paper towels, along with some eggs, and head to the checkout line, my attention stalling on a tabloid on display.

"Nikki Sixx & Vanity: Their 'Friendship' Timeline," it reads, a picture of Vanity and Nikki plastered on the front...I exhale sharply.

I can't believe it's been four months since Vanity aired out their dirty laundry on TV.

That means Duff and I have been together for three and a half months...

I'm quickly backing up and walking to the sexual health section, examining the many brands of pregnancy tests.

I grab the cheapest and go back to the line.

"I told them not to put those out," my cashier states to me when it's my turn, as she sees me give another glance to the magazine with my husband and his mistress on the front.

When she gets to the pregnancy test, she clears her throat.

"Celebratory or...?" She asks, swiping the test.

I pretend I don't hear her.

I shut my trunk, my arms wrapped around grocery bags as I step to the front door, of the house, the sun setting through the neighborhood, and I sigh heavily as I grab my key.

I haven't been home in a couple days, avoiding Nikki as much as I can, but I know we need groceries in the house and I know he hasn't left to get any, and even though I'm done with him, I don't want him to starve or something.

Opening the front door, the house is a wreck just from a glance, and I quietly shut the door in case he's asleep, and head to the kitchen.

I quickly stop in my tracks when I see through the dim light, coming from the single lamp in the foyer, figures moving in the living room, a light littering of giggles flittering through the air…

I turn the lights on, nearly dropping the groceries to see eight girls in lingerie, girls at least in their late teens, piled on Nikki—and Steven—lips swollen from making out with each other and euphoric glows casting over all of them.

I'm at a loss for words.

Nikki and Steven just look at me, Steven looking like a guilty kid.

"Is that your wife?" One of the girls straddling Nikki asks, looking at me, wide eyed.

"Ex-wife." I correct her.

This is where the story tends to get misconstrued. If you ask Nikki or Steven what happened, they'll tell you it went down like this…

"Vivian put the fuckin' gun down!" Nikki yells at me as I hold his shotgun, the girls screaming and scattering like roaches while he and Steven run to the backyard as I pump a bullet into the chamber and fire off, missing them by a couple inches as our wall by the back door is blown to hell, chasing after them and emptying the gun in our backyard whilst trying to shoot them.

What actually happened…

"Get out of my house." I tell the girls harshly and they look at me, pissy.

"If I want them here, they can be here." Nikki argues.

"They're babies, Nikki!" I shout, and the girls all defensively simultaneously let out their ages, ranging between 18 to 20, but I honestly don't see how some of them are over 17. "Then let me see your ID." I tell them.

"We came to hook up, we didn't come to get interrogated." One of them states.

"Okay, well, you've had your fifteen minutes with Nikki Sixx so you can get out of my house." I repeat.

"Fuck off!" She exclaims to me and I raise my brows.

Fuck it.

I go to our bedroom and grab what I need, and I don't give anybody a warning before firing off shotgun shrapnel into our glass ceiling, shards of mirror raining down as I hear the girls holler and cry out in fear, scampering to the door in their heels, and once the gun is unloaded, I look in the living room and see fluffy black and blonde hair peek up from behind the couch, their eyes bugging, pupils taking up most of their eye.

When the cops showed up, I said I accidentally fired into the ceiling while trying to clean the gun. They were fans of Nikki so they didn't give us a fine for public disturbance, and they didn't ask why eight girls were in our lawn in lingerie, either.

"I cannot believe you." I grit through my teeth when Steven blocks my entrance into their rehearsal studio, his heavy panting clouding the words trying to come from his mouth. "Did you run here?!" I exclaim and he nods, still trying to catch his breath, still trying to get his apology out that I can't even hear because he's talking but not saying a word due to his breathing. "Moron." I hiss, shoving him out of my way to get inside.

"Viv, wait!" He musters out, following me.

"Fuck you!" I shout.

"Vivian, please, let me—" he gasps for breath some more.

"—I hope you're having an asthma attack or something, I really do, dumbass, I really do." I march away from him and he grabs my wrist, a pathetic look on his face.

"Look—"

"—No, you 'look,' I refuse to be the little bitch that just lays on her back and let's everybody fuck her to hell with their bullshit. It's gross and it's disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself for even being apart of it, Steven, because I thought you wouldn't do that shit to me. Just 'haha it's so hot to do stupid shit that'll hurt Vivian,'" I mock his voice, and he tries to talk again, "No, just shut up and go suck on Nikki's balls some more because I don't think those teenage girls did it enough!" I turn on my heel go to find the guys.

"You're not mad about their age, you're mad Nikki didn't give a fuck." He gets out, taking deep breaths and I stop and turn to look at him, rolling my jaw. "You're jealous, and you know you are, and it's okay and normal to be, Viv, I know you still—"

"—Know I still what, Steven? Hmm? Love him?" I furrow my brows, stepping to him, my heels clicking on the floor when I get face to face to him, our nose nearly touching, my voice shaking with anger as I say, "He could die tomorrow and I wouldn't give a single fuck because he's been dead to me for months. And as of right now, you are to. So don't come at with me trying to strike up some empathy for a person I feel absolutely apathetic about." I sneer quietly, turning. "And stay away from teenagers. I don't care if they're eighteen or nineteen, they're still fucking kids."

I grind my teeth together as I leave him standing in the hallway before I try to go into the girls bathroom, only for it to be locked.

"Damn it." I mumble, holding back tears, glancing at the door of the boys bathroom.

Without shit given, I open the door and walk in, seeing Izzy standing over the toilet, cigarette in his mouth, peeing.

He glances over his shoulder and looks at me.

"Viv." He says the best he can, smoke puffing past his lips.

"Izzy." I reply, sitting my purse on the sink, digging through it. "Sorry, the girls bathroom was taken." I mumble.

"No problem." He replies. "Not like you haven't seen it before." He adds and I roll my eyes.

"Unfortunately." I sigh out, grabbing the box with the pregnancy test in it. "Hurry up, please."

He looks at me to say something smart back, but looks at the box and his face falls.

"Jesus fuck, Viv, what do you have that for?" He asks me.

"Okay, I know you went to high school in Indiana and their version of Sex Education was just ways to stick your dick in a pickup truck's tail pipe without getting carbon monoxide poisoning, but when a man and woman have sex, they have a risk of procreation." I tell him.

"With Duff? " He asks me with a confused face.

"No, I got Bret Michaels and Willie Nelson to cum in a cup and I mixed it together and went from there." I sarcastically hiss.

"Fuck you, smart ass, I was asking a legitimate question." He zips his pants back up and steps aside for me.

"Yes, with Duff. I haven't had sex with Nikki in months." I tell him.

"Sorry, I didn't know if you were doing them both or what." He shrugs and I glare at him.

"No. I'm not." I inform him, pulling my dress up and my panties down.

"Okay, that's my cue." He says, turning away from me, in reference to my naked bottom half.

"Not like you haven't seen it before." I repeat what he said earlier and he chuckles, going to open the door. "You're leaving?" I ask him, quickly, and he looks at me.

"Yeah?"

"I need support." I tell him, honestly sounding scared and he leans his head back and rubs his eyes.

"Vivian, babe, I can just go get Duff—"

"—No, no, he doesn't need to know I even think I'm pregnant." I state, panicked. "Look, it'll take a few minutes but I can't wait for the result by myself, it'll drive me up the wall." I plead with him.

"Well, what if you are pregnant, are you gonna tell him, then?"

"I-I don't know." I admit. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there just, please, stay in here with me."

He lets out a heavy breath before nodding, rubbing his forehead.

"Alright, alright. Just piss on the stick because I'm missing rehearsal for this."

It was an agonizing wait, but once Izzy glanced at his watch and said, "alright, it's been long enough," I felt like it had only been a few seconds.

"Maybe we should a wait a little bit more." I suggest.

"Viv, it's been ten minutes. You already put it off once before, come on, now. Cowgirl up." He tells me.

"Okay." I breathe out, anxious, rubbing my lips together and shakily reaching for the test before quickly snatching away. "I can't do it." I say to him, shaking my head. "You look at it and tell me."

"Vivian—"

"—Please?" I beg, giving him my best puppy dog eyes and he lets out a breath and reaches for the test, looking at it, nodding a little.

"Well, Stripey, we're at the bridge, how're you gonna cross it?" He asks me, handing me the test, and I see a perfectly shaped "+" on it.

I started to panic, and think irrationally, as I do when I'm backed into a corner. So in my panicked state, the best thing I saw for me to do, was...

"You are fucking insane." He tells me sharply, leaning against the sink. "Like evil insane."

"Izzy, I don't know what else to do aside from just get rid of it or hope and pray I miscarry, and that's kinda fucked." I explain, holding back tears.

"You want to fuck Nikki and just play it off as his—that's more fucked up than praying the damn thing away!" He whipser yells. "And what about Duff? What the hell happens to him when you pull that shit?"

"I don't know, Izzy, alright? But he doesn't need a kid to worry about when he's just starting to get a taste of what he's wanted for years, now, and I don't want to—"

"—He's going to be fucked up with the idea of you still screwing Nikki when he's under the impression that you two are gonna be this magical little fairytale of unicorns and sparkles and love and shit, Vivian!"

"I know, but I don't know what else to do!" I reply in the same tone.

"Oh, my God." Izzy exhales smoke from his fresh cigarette. "You can't tell me this shit. You shouldn't have even let me know about this because now I'm a fucking accomplice to your batshit crazy scheme." He scolds me.

"Izzy—"

"—You are the fucking devil, Vivian. Axl was right. You are the actual devil."

"Well, you tell me what to do, Izzy, because that's the only thing I can come up with!"

"Why does it matter if the child is Nikki's or not, you two are getting divorced anyway, so why does it matter if it's somebody else's?" He questions, and I stay quiet. "You are filing for divorce, right?"

More silence.

"Oh. My. God."

"Izz—"

"—Will you quit incriminating me with you when you do stupid shit?!" He lets out, slightly panicking. "Now im gonna be fucked sideways if they find out I knew and never said anythi--why the fuck were you even screwing Duff if you weren't a thousand percent sure you were gonna leave Nikki?!"

"Because I thought I was but no—"

"—Izz, you alright?!"

"Duff." Izzy mouths to me. "Shhhit."

"Answer him." I mouth back.

"Yeah, man, I'm good...just really, um, fucked on that pizza from earlier!" He lies as I shove the pregnancy test box back in my purse along with the test, and zip it up.

"Okay, dude, just making sure!" Duff replies, the sound of him walking away letting us know the coast is clear.

Just to make sure Izzy sticks his head out of the door, and glances at me.

"Go," he motions and I do. "Last door on the left of that hall." He adds and I go in that direction, opening the door and seeing Axl, Duff, Slash and even Steven has joined them.

"Hey," Duff's face lights up when he sees me, and be puts his bass down as I walk to him.

He wraps an arm around my waist and leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

"Hi," I smile when he pulls away, looking into his eyes, while I can see Izzy staring at me from the corner of my eye, taking a drink from his cup with this look on his face like I've just killed his best friend.

I honestly might if I'm not careful.

Once their rehearsal is over, it's around 5:00pm, and my stomach is killing me.

"Can we get food?" I ask him, my hand in his as we step to the parkinglot.

"No, I'm just gonna let you starve." He sarcastically lets out and I cut my eyes up at him. "Where do you wanna eat?" He asks next, letting my hand go so he can grab his pack of Marlboros and settle one between his lips, lighting it, before grabbing my hand again.

"I don't know." I shrug.

"I thought you said you're hungry." He says next.

"I am—that doesn't mean I know what I want to eat." I add and he just looks at me.

"Do you want a burger?" He suggests and I wrinkle my nose. "Okay...chicken?" Again, I don't look pleased. "Dennys?"

"That's fine with me." I nod.

"Thank God." He sighs. "My car or yours?" He asks next.

"Doesn't matter." I tell him.

"Alright, we'll take mine." He says, stepping to the passenger side, opening the door for me without a second thought.

"Aww," Slash says as he comes out of the building, teasing Duff from behind his shades and his own cigarette.

Duff just smiles and flips him off, walking to the driver's side.

"I'll see you later tonight, man!" Slash calls.

"Alright!" Duff says back, shutting the door, fumbling for his keys to put them into the ignition.

"You guys are going out tonight?" I ask him as he cranks the car.

"Yeah, you can come." He offers and I shake my head a little.

"Um, I was actually gonna go visit with Sharise and Skylar for a few hours, tonight." I tell him.

(Pt. 79 CONT.)

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction

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themidnightcleric · 3 years

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First Date

Heyyyyyyy, so good to meet you! Pronouns? Nice chairs. Coffee’s a little pricey. They’re out of oat milk. Caffiene flares my anxiety. Wanna go to my place instead? Do you care if I smoke?

Do you want to trust me?

Here,

I’ll give you all the facts. You decide.

I never feed my cat wet food. I let her outside and I know better. I’ve let so many plants die because I can’t get up early enough to water them, or myself. Sometimes I tap past the GoFundMes on my friends’ stories. Oh and I’ve been a terrible mother to my poetry, like, it’s a whole metaphor:

inducing labor early, birthing barely conceived words, throwing them to the Instagram feed. Embryos spatter all over the algorithms.

Yesterday someone told me they knew "gifts ADHD brings" to the mind that "Capitalism obscures." I

'd like to know, wouldn’t you? I’d like that list, just, you know, for the sake of journalism. Nothing to do with self worth.

Not because my own inattention gnaws, hungry. I’m building self-worth. I follow so many psychologists

and tarot readers

and astrologers

and burlesque dancers -

What do I want out of life?

I’d like to dance again. I'd like to write a gift that doesn't feel unhewn. One might say, like my English professor back when I in school trying to get somewhere “I’d like to see something more…polished.”

Like the worry stones they sell at import stores. Do you have one of those? They’re dimpled carefully to feel exact -

"dumb as old medallions to the thumb,” as Archibald MacLeish said. Sorry, it’s either basic or pretentious to quote poets, or anyone outloud. I’m not trying to impress you. Its just I was sixteen when I read “Ars Poetica” and the phrase stuck with me like no lover ever has. That too - I'd like

to be loved. To enchant you -

may I draw attention to my desk? I collect miniature horses. Actually, they are miniature figurines of regular horses. Notice the bonsai has a new leaf! Do you like this skull? The gilding is cheap. Its obviously not silver – could you imagine if it was? I like to point out its child-size, but with adult proportions. Size and ratios are two dimensions we don’t think about too much -

What is it I thirst for? Water, mostly. Publication. Most submission dates pass by with friendly nods and I try not to feel bad. Next time, I say, next time I’ll be ready. Clouds dream along & dissipate. I lay in the sun too often, according to this planner. I’ve kept a planner since I was seventeen. I’ve kept my anxieties caged, lined up it but they’re rowdy and sometimes escape in long scrawls to whiteboards my roommates can see. “”Anxiety lists” a roommate called them, then left me $1,200 short on rent and ditched.

My hands are constantly marking and being marked. In my family's house I was known for inescapable pen stains

and a messy room

and being a girl. “Clean this up before I step on it,” you know the drill – boring into you over and over until the inner artist crumples up like a bad first draft into the bin. No second draft is written, just catalogues of all that childish suffering

in blue BIC pen, wide-ruled notebooks from Christian publishers, curlique quotes about the Lord crossed with scrawling-

"For His eyes intently watch all who live good lives…I HATE MY MOM"

At some point the traumas of everyone and their mother get dragged

into some shadow box, slapped with color, and labeled Poem. Poet. Work. Collection. Artist. Creative. Fool. Joker. Jack. Why not get it over with, I say.

If you wear too many hats are you wearing any hats at all? At what point does streetwear slip into a costume, Facebook ‘vulnerability’

balloon into tabloid autobiography? Is emotion the performance of something more real (a feeling)? Is a poem a feeling? We sell feelings. Where's Cinderella in your life? Who's the wicked mother? Who is the audience? What role are you playing? Where's the stale popcorn? What wasteful bastard left

trash in all your aisles? Do you think movie theater sex is ethical?

I want to know.

Have you ever eaten from an abandoned plate in a diner or snuck fountain soda in your ‘water cup’ while the cashier looked the other way?

Was it from hunger, or desire? Is desire just hunger in a different organ? Is it as inarguable? Is propriety a juror's panel for the contest: Best Lived Life? I real wonder what we get for competing. What's in it for us? If I could rehearse and deliver answers, as sharable captions, would you fuck me? If you fucked me would you love it, would you love all these scattered piles of half-remembered tasks, would you sweep

me on the bed with the crumbs and tracked cat litter and leaking, staining pens,

hold a finger to my lips, push it into my mouth, would your tongue join it, would you just hush me,

take me

give my body some fucking stage directions?

#personal #texty #prose poem #first date #gay

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thekingslover · 4 years

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(popstar!cas/fanboy!dean part 6/7; read parts 1/2/3/4/5 or on ao3)

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, much much later, when they are next to each other in bed. The lights are off, the sun’s setting over the trees through the window, and the warm glow of dusk sparkles in Cas’s eyes.

Dean’s blissed out and exhausted. They’d talked about this, and he planned. But nothing in his wildest imagination prepared him for the real thing. The real incredible joy of having this perfect man in his bed.

Still, he fights off sleep, heart squeezing, remembering the last time Cas was here. He’d promised he wouldn’t just leave again, no matter how cute Dean looks asleep, but a curl of dread lingers in his bones. Remembering. Always, remembering.

“I love you,” Cas whispers.

Dean has his head on Cas’s chest. He’s counting the strong steady heartbeats beneath his ear. Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing.

Stay awake, he commands himself, as his eyes drift closed.

When he opens them again, the sun is bright and the bed beside him is empty.

“Cas?” Dean says. Then louder, “Cas?”

He crawls out of bed and throws on a pair of boxers. He’s in the hall, around the corner. Is there a taxi? Maybe Dean can catch him this time. He has the front door half open when -

Behind him.

Soft talking.

Dean closes the door. He swivels on his bare heels and storms toward the kitchen.

Sam’s leaning against the counter, holding a bowl of cereal, spoon lifted halfway to his mouth.

Across from him, near the fridge, stands Cas in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a pair of soft pajama pants. The coffee mug in his hands reads World’s Best Brother.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” Cas gives him a soft, secret smile that makes Dean warm all over.

He didn’t leave. He’s here. He’s in the kitchen. Talking to Sam.

And everything’s okay.

Sam stares at the ceiling. “Dean. Could you please put on some pants?”

They have a great visit. And when Cas has to go to the airport, Dean drives him, helps get his luggage out of the car, and then kisses him goodbye.

Dean rides the high of their visit for a full two days. Then they run out of milk. Dean stops on the way home from the garage to get a jug and a few other groceries. Only one checkout line is open, and the lady in front of him decides to pay with a check.

It’s okay. He’s not in any real hurry.

In boredom, he scans over the magazines in the checkout aisle.

He drops the milk.

WHO IS CASTIEL’S SECRET HOOKUP? the headline reads, on one of the tabloid magazines. And there, right beneath it, is a close up of Dean’s face. It’s fuzzy, like taken from a distance and blown up. A smaller picture beside it shows Dean and Cas in Dean’s front yard, arms around each other, deep in their kiss.

It’s fine, he reasons, as he grabs the whole stack so no one else will see. Except the cashier who looks at the magazine, and then up at Dean. “No way,” she says, and Dean leaves it, leaves everything. He goes to his car and drives home.

“You get the milk?” Sam asks when Dean walks through the door. He looks up, sees Dean, and concern etches across his face. “Dean? What happened?”

“I...” He can’t explain it, really. He knew it would happen, someday. Cas was ultra famous. They couldn’t be together without Dean being pulled into the limelight at least once. But he thought it would be under different circumstances. Controlled, somehow. They’d talked about it. Cas was going to take him to an awards show. They’d wear suits and hold hands.

“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas would say. “My boyfriend.”

They didn’t talk about this.

“Sit down.” Sam guides Dean to the couch. “What happened?”

“I don’t...”

“Breathe,” Sam urges.

Dean tries. “They got my picture.”

Only it’s worse. Because later, after watching the news - “Something to distract you,” Sam says - Sam goes to the bathroom and the celebrity gossip show comes on. The top story?

“We’ve got the scoop from an inside source,” says the host. “All you could ever want to know about pop star Castiel’s new secret lover, Dean Winchester.”

Inside source?

Sam comes back from the bathroom, sees the show, whitens, and rushes for remote to change the channel.

“Leave it,” Dean says, because whoever is talking to these shows about his life, he wants to know.

Their “source” if a fifty year old guy with a British accent who Dean has never seen before in his life. He gives a list of Dean’s personal details - his birthday, his sign, his job. Too much time is spent describing his appearance.

“Who is that?” Sam asks. Dean shrugs.

“Honestly, he works hard,” this guy says. “But he’s a lousy mechanic.”

“Hey!” Dean hops to his feet.

The guy’s expression turns grim. “I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel. But I’m sure Castiel sees that too. We have no reason to assume this is more than a fling.”

Anger turns to ice, and Dean sits back down.

Sam flips off the television. “Don’t listen to a word of that garbage.”

Dean nods.

When Cas calls that night, before he even says, Hello, he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says.

“We wanted to do this differently. They must have followed me.”

“I was surprised,” Dean says. “But...” For Cas, he’d do anything. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel.

“We will figure it out. Together,” Cas says, and Dean lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he held. “I love you, Dean.”

“I... I know, Cas.”

The next day is worse. Strangers come up to him on the street. Most of them are okay, asking if he’s really that guy, if he really knows Cas. Dean gives them vague answers. Some ask for selfies. Dean shies away. Only a few say he’s not good enough for Cas. Dean walks away without a word.

But its those few he remembers.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, later on the phone.

“I’m fine,” Dean lies. Even he can hear the rattle in his breath.

Cas is quiet for a while, so long Dean thinks he might have hung up. But then he says, “I have an idea. If you want.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Let’s set the record straight.”

A few days later, Dean is backstage at an amphitheater. Cas is onstage in tight pants and a white t-shirt with black wings on the back - the same as when they met. He’s halfway through the show. The crowd is roaring, singing, cheering.

They love him. Dean loves him too.

Between songs, Cas is sweaty and smiley and breathy as he says, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cas looks over, the bright lights behind him, glowing around his dark hair like a halo.

Dean, helpless against those blue eyes and that smile and the wave of his hand, starts moving forward without really thinking.

When Dean gets close enough, Cas takes his hand and brings it to his lips. Dean steps closer. It’s warm under the lights and his skin tingles.

“This is my boyfriend, Dean,” Cas says, and though there is a microphone between them, it’s Dean he’s speaking to. “And I love him.”

This is how it should be. Them, and the fans. Their terms. That smile.

“I love you, too, Cas.”

And they kiss.

And the crowd cheers on and on.

Three months later, they do attend that awards show. Both wear tuxes and smiles, and Dean holds Cas’s hand like a lifeline because he’s never seen so many cameras or had so many flashes go off in front of his eyes before.

Then they get to the interviewer, who asks about Dean.

“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas says, just like they talked about. “My fiance.”

#i wrote something #destiel #deancas #//////////#///////////////////////#popstar!cas #secret fanboy!dean #part 6/7 #uuuuuuuuuh tags tags tags #the world finds out about dean #self loathing cw #sort of?

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assembledherethevolunteers · 4 years

Text

Future Management

A/N: Hi all! So, this is a story that I’ve been working on for a bit and have it mostly plotted and half way written. This is the prologue for ‘Future Management’! I hope you all enjoy and any love you can give is appreciated.

Pairing: Ben Hardy x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Ben Hardy had been together for the better part of the decade. After hitting a rough patch, the two of you decide to end things. However, one small surprise keeps you two connected more than you thought.

Warnings: Cursing, some angst, implied smut (very very brief)

You sighed as you looked at the boxes sitting in your living room. If you had any tears left, the sight would make you cry, but it was too late for that.

“I think that’s everything,” a voice said behind you. You turned. Ben was leaning against the doorway glancing around the room, as if trying to find something else to pack away. Then he met your eyes. Maybe you did still have some tears. “Oh, love,” Ben crossed the room and hugged you tight.

You hugged him back as the tears started steaming down your face.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben rubbed your back, but you still couldn’t speak. “This is the best option, remember? For both of us.”

“I…I know!” You tried to take a deep breath.

Ben placed a kiss to your temple. You pulled back to look at him. He had tears in his eyes as well. You watched his eyes slip to your lips. You swallowed.

“Ben,” you whispered.

Ben placed a hand on your cheek and wiped tears away with his thumb. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Y/N,” Ben whispered. “This maybe a cliché, but can I kiss you? One more time?”

You nodded before you felt Ben’s soft lips against yours. You kissed him back. It almost felt like nothing was broken. You groaned. Ben took that as an invitation and slid his tongue past your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer. He slipped one hand to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You slid one had down to cup his ass and he smiled into the kiss.

“You know, I think we owe one more time to the bed.”

Not a lot more words were spoken after that.

“We were always good at that part,” you giggled. Your head rested on Ben’s bare, sweaty chest.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your hair.

“Yeah, we were,” he sighed and glanced at the alarm clock. “I need to go. I’m already late to meet my new landlord.”

You sat up and wrapped your comforter around you, suddenly realizing what you’d done.

“I um…I forgot you had that meeting. You should…probably get going. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” Ben replied as he started getting dressed, not looking at you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’ll um…” Ben placed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the heat behind your eyes again. You closed your eyes so he wouldn’t see. “I’ll see you at the mediator’s office Thursday, yeah?” You thought that Ben’s voice sounded a little thick, like he was holding back tears too.

You just nodded and then he was gone. You sat waiting for the door to close. You heard him lift the boxes, but thought that just maybe he hesitated for a moment before the door finally shut.

You threw your head back on the pillow and let the tears flow.

Seven years of your life you’d given that man. One year of dating before he asked you to move in, six months of living together, six months as an engaged couple, and nearly five married. Now, it was all done. Well, almost. You still had to finalize a few things that had been left out of the prenup.

When the idea was originally floated by both your attorney and Ben’s, you both had laughed.

“We won’t need one!” You said.

“We’re going to make it!” Ben had said.

Obviously, neither of you were right. And thank God you had listened to your lawyers because otherwise, this could’ve been a real shitshow. Especially in the press. Both of you being actors, it made keeping your private life more than difficult.

You finally stood up and walked into the kitchen, not caring if your nosy neighbors looked in and saw you naked. You glanced into the refrigerator and…

“Who the fuck drank all the wine?” You grumbled, knowing you were to blame. Thankfully, there was a convenience store not far from yours and Ben’s…well, just your place now.

You quickly got dressed and drove to the store. You grabbed two bottles of white wine and a pint of ice cream. As you waited in line, you saw one of those trashy tabloids with Ben’s picture on it. He was putting some things in his car.

HEARTTHROB HARDY MOVES OUT!

The headlines underneath were all speculations about what had led to the divorce. (The possible mistress! Going broke? ‘Total lack of affection on both sides!’ One source claims!)

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought you could see your brain.

“Hello, did you find everything okay?” The cashier asked you when you got to her and she rang you up.

You nodded, still sneaking glances at the magazine.

“Anything else?”

‘Fuck it,’ you thought and handed the girl one of the magazines. You paid and went back home.

You decided to make yourself a bath while you drank your wine and read through what the press was saying about the divorce.

First off, there was no mistress. Ben would never do that to you. Maybe it was crazy to assume that because you also had assumed that you wouldn’t get divorced, but you knew it was true.

Secondly, you weren’t going broke. You and Ben had been smart with your money before either of your careers had really even taken off, and even more so afterwards.

The total lack of affection thing was…the most accurate of any of the allegations. The two of you had made a promise that your careers would never get in the way of your relationship. Unfortunately, it was a promise that neither of you could keep. You both were just too busy with projects and your relationship got put on the back burner. It wasn’t that you didn’t still care about each other. No, no, you cared for Ben deeply, but you both had gotten bad at showing it.

Cancelled or missed dates, text messages and phone calls left unanswered, going out with coworkers instead of each other became more and more of a habit, until you just started fighting. Passive aggressive notes left on the refrigerator. Snarky texts that got heated responses. Until one day, you both just snapped.

“I CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS, BEN!” You had screamed.

“WELL I CAN’T EITHER, Y/N!”

“I’M SO FUCKING TIRED OF ARGUING!”

“AND YOU THINK I ENJOY IT?!”

“MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST CALL IT QUITS THEN!”

Ben didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink.

“FINE BY ME!”

He’d slept in the guestroom that night. You woke up the next morning and found that he was gone. He’d left you a note saying he’d talk to his lawyer and see what could be done. You cried for nearly an hour before you called your own lawyer.

You tiptoed around each other at home. Neither of you speaking to the other. Ben stayed at Gwilym’s house until everything was settled, which apparently would be a lot sooner than either of you thought.

Six weeks later you were sitting in your manager’s office. You glanced down at your hands folded in your lap. You were still trying to get used to not wearing your ring anymore. You still had it, even though you’d tried to give it back to Ben. It had been an old Jones family heirloom.

“Keep it, that way you’ve got something to remember me by,” Ben had given you a melancholy smile when you offered him the ring.

“You know I could never forget you, Ben.”

You weren’t sure what it was, but you’d been so tired lately. Thankfully, you were between projects right now, the next one starting in just a couple of weeks.

“And of course you’ll have a trailer next to…are you alright?” Your agent, Donna, looked at you, tilting her head. “You seem…off.”

You opened your mouth to respond when you were hit with a wave of nausea. You shook your head, grabbed the trashcan on the side of her desk, and vomited into it.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Donna. I just…”

“All fine, darling. Do you need a mint or gum?”

You nodded and Donna handed you a mint. It made your stomach churn again, but you held it in.

Donna tilted her head again and her eyes raked you up and down behind her cat eye glasses.

“Y/N, tell me something,” she started.

“Yeah?”

“When um…when was the last time you were…intimate?”

You blushed. You and Donna had always been close, but not THAT close.

“That’s uh…a little personal, don’t you think?”

She hummed, but didn’t stop staring at you.

“What about your last period?”

“Jesus, Donna!”

Donna held up her hands in surrender.

“I’m just floating the idea out there. You’ve been tired and moody lately, and now you’ve thrown up in my trash can. As a mother of three and soon to be grandmother, I would suggest getting a test on your way home.”

You scoffed, which must’ve been good enough for Donna because she moved back to your new movie you were starting. However, now you couldn’t focus. When WAS your last period? Of course, the last time you’d been intimate had been with Ben, but you two had taken precautions.

Wait…had you? You both had been so lost in the moment that it…it may not have been as safe as you thought.

On your way home you slid the hood of your raincoat up, put your sunglasses on, and walked into a store that you hoped nobody would recognize you. You quickly bought the test, paid cash, and left, desperate to get home.

As you waited for the results, you bit your nails down to the quick.

“You’ve got time to grow them back,” you said to yourself.

Your house had been quiet since Ben left, but in the two minutes you spent waiting for the answer, you’d thought the silence would cut through you.

Finally, your phone dinged. Two minutes were up.

You took a deep breath. It was now or never.

You looked. Two pink lines.

Fuck.

The next thing you remembered, you were standing in front of Gwilym Lee’s door. You knocked and stood there, still in a daze. It took a moment before Gwilym appeared in front of you. He seemed shocked to find you there.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Gwil’s voice was soft. You realized you must look a sight. Your eyes were probably still red rimmed, and you were in sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt.

“Sorry, Gwil,” your voice was scratchy and raw. “I…is Ben here? I…this was the only place I could think to come.”

“No, he’s not, he’s um…he’s at his new place. Why don’t you come in for a bit? I can put the kettle on and…”

You shook your head. You had to see Ben.

“Can you tell me where he is?”

Gwilym didn’t answer but took your hand and pulled you into a tight hug. You started to cry again.

“Why don’t we go inside? I can give Ben a ring and have him come over. He’s not far.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod. Gwil pulled you inside and led you to the couch. He gave you a blanket and then said something before disappearing into the kitchen. You felt like your mind was just spinning like tires in mud. A baby. A baby while getting divorced. Maybe this could stop the divorce. Maybe you and Ben could…

‘That’s just stupid’ a voice in your head said. ‘Clearly he doesn’t want to be with you. Why would you want a baby with somebody who doesn’t want a life with you?’

‘It’s not like it would be a bad thing. We wouldn’t have to be a couple or anything. Maybe he would want to be with you during the pregnancy at least. Then the two of you could work on things. Then maybe…’

‘Don’t get your hopes up. If he wanted to still be with you, he would be. He would’ve fought for you.’

‘He’s so stubborn though, and so are you.’

You heard the kettle shrieking, pulling you out of the argument in your head. You decided you’d better use the bathroom and clean yourself up if Ben was coming over. You stood up and walked over to the bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. God, no wonder Gwil was worried. You looked like…well, you looked like you had been crying for hours. Which you had. You knew you owed him an explanation, but you had to tell Ben first.

You splashed some water on your face and gently patted it dry. It helped a little. Your mind and heart were still reeling when you stepped back out.

“I’ve got green tea. I figured caffeine wasn’t really needed,” Gwil handed you the mug as you sat down next to him on the couch.

You just nodded and took a sip.

“I called Ben. He said he’s be over shortly.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“I need to tell Ben first.”

Gwil just sighed and sat back.

“I’m sorry, Gwil. You shouldn’t have to be in the middle of this.”

Gwilym just shrugged. The two of you sat in an uneasy silence for a few minutes when there was a knock at the door. Gwil quickly stood up and strode over to the door. He opened it to reveal Ben, flicking a cigarette away. You looked at him for the first time in weeks without lawyers around.

He looked tired. His hair was disheveled, his clothes looked loose as if he hadn’t been eating (which made you worry about him), he didn’t even look like he’d changed his clothes in a few days.

“Come on in, mate. Something to drink?”

Ben looked at you and shook his head. He walked in, almost like a ghost. He sat in a chair across the couch. You were sure that the other two in the room could hear your heart pound.

“Hi, Ben,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back to you.

“I’ll um…I’ll just…take a walk,” Gwil was out the door before either of you processed that you had essentially kicked Gwilym out of his own home.

“So,” Ben cleared his throat. “How have you been?”

Miserable. Awful. Empty.

“Oh, fine I guess, you?”

Ben just shrugged.

The two of you sat in an awkward silence.

“So,” Ben tried to begin.

“Benimpregnant.”

It all came out in a rush as if it was one word. You weren’t sure if Ben actually heard or understood you, but judging by the look on his face, he had. You watched his eyes widen and heard him inhale quickly.

“You’re what?” You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears.

“I took two tests. Both were positive.”

“B…but you…I thought we…wha…I…Y/N,” Ben suddenly stood up and started pacing. “What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…w…we’re not…together.”

That broke your heart. Every optimistic thought in your head was just shut down by 5 words. The room started to swim.

“You don’t want me to k…keep the baby?”

Ben’s head snapped to you. “What?” He took you in for a moment before he dropped to his knees in front of you. “No! No no no, oh, sweetheart,” he took your hands. It felt nice to have him holding your hands. And being so close. “Of course I want us to have the baby! That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Then what do you mean?” You stared at him.

“That I am so excited. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents,” Ben smiled tentatively.

“B…but you still want to go through with the divorce?”

The two of you sat, just looking at each other. Ben opened his mouth to say something twice, but just ended up staying silent. You pulled your hands away, finally taking the hint. He didn’t want to make it work. Not even for your child. Fine. Then you didn’t need him.

You suddenly stood up. You felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room and you needed to get out of here. You wanted to be home. You wanted to cry. You wanted your husband back, but that evidently wasn’t happening.

“Y/N,” Ben stood up, but you started walking towards the door.

“Maybe we can add a custody agreement to the divorce decree,” you threw over your shoulder. Ben didn’t chase after you as you walked to the door. He didn’t even say anything as you opened the door and walked out.

Your legs carried you to the car. You sat for a moment, but you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like Ben was going to come after you. You started the car and started to pull away. You thought that you saw the front door start to open, but then tore your eyes away.

You and Ben were over. Nothing was going to change that.

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #fan fic writing #queen #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #rami malek #lucy boynton #krissys writings #reader insert #bohemian rhapsody #bo rhap

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feliix · 5 years

Text

Staycation (jhs)

Summary: Your boyfriend spent weeks planning a romantic getaway to take with you while he was on break, but the weather had other plans. Leave it to Hoseok to plan an even more romantic evening to make it up to you.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: nudity, consumption of alcohol

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Attention Passengers. Flight 219 to Nassau, Bahamas has been canceled due to inclimate weather circumstances. Please contact the airline for re-bookings or refunds. We are sorry for the inconvenience.

Great. After waiting at the airport for almost 16 hours, two flight delays due to the heavy rain, and not getting a blink of sleep, your flight was canceled. Your boyfriend finally got a break from touring and had planned a lavish vacation for the two of you to spend some time together, but typhoon season seemed to ruin your plans.

The look on Hoseok’s face was pure and utter frustration. His lips tightened into a straight line and he let out a harsh sigh. You knew how much he was looking to finally getting away with you and how much effort he put into planning the perfect trip. He quickly pulled out his phone and started aggressively typing, you assumed he was sending the airline an email or something.

“So what now? There is no way we're getting out of here today and I think I might die if I have to spend another 20 minutes in this airport,” you felt disgusting from being there for so long. It seemed like you hadn’t showered in days and your ass was numb from the uncomfortable airport chairs.

He looked over at you with his brows furrowed, deep in thought. His expression quickly changed and he stood up, “Give me one minute I have to make a call, I’ll be right back.” You nodded at him and turned back to your magazine. You bought it one of the kiosks when you got here and probably read every article inside at least 3 times. It caught your eye when you were walking to your gate, on the cover it read “BTS ON HIATUS?” in large red letters and you just had to know what the tabloids were saying about your boyfriend and the other members this time. Hoseok was kind of embarrassed when the cashier was ringing you out, doing a double-take when she noticed the man standing in front of her was on the cover of the magazine you handed to her.

Before you could even flip to the next page Hoseok was back and rushing you to gather your belongings to leave. You had no idea where you were going and what his plans were, and as much as you begged him to tell you he was not budging.

After you retrieved your luggage, Hoseok led you outside to a black SUV that was waiting for you. How had he managed to get a car service here so quickly? It was one of the perks of dating an idol I guess.

The driver stepped out wearing a black suit and opened the back door for the two of you. Hoseok waited for you to get in while he leaned in closer to the driver whispering something. The driver gave him a quick nod and took your luggage to put in the trunk as Hoseok slipped into the seat next to you.

“So Hobi, where are we going?”

“I can’t tell you, it will ruin the surprise,” he gave you a small smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards and he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hobi, you have to tell me. You can't just tell me to get in the car and not say where we're going that like, kidnapping.”

He chuckled and slipped his hand into yours, “I promise, you’ll like it.”

The car ride to your destination was mostly silent. It felt comfortable though, he kept his hand placed on your thigh gently caressing you throughout the entire ride. You were eager to find out where Hoseok was taking you and he seemed antsy to get to the destination. The both of you were lost in your own thoughts when you let out a hushed chuckle.

“What?” He gave you a confused look.

“If our flight got delayed one more time wouldn’t it be like,” you really couldn’t help yourself from bursting into a fit of laughter before finishing the sentence, “Airplane part 3?”

“That was the worst attempt at a joke I’ve ever heard,” He said, still laughing along with you anyway. “And that says a lot seeing that I live with Kim Seokjin.”

“Come on your laughing it couldn’t have been that bad,” you gently hit his shoulder.

“Oh no, it was pretty bad.” He shook his head at you, he was more amused that you found your own joke funny. Blame the sleep deprivation causing you borderline delirium.

As if it was on cue, the driver stopped the car and announced that you had arrived. You looked out the window and immediately recognized where you were.

“Your big surprise is your apartment building?” You met your boyfriend’s smug grin with a confused stare. This was definitely not what you were expecting. Whatever this surprise was, you had a feeling that Hoseok had something good in store.

The elevator ride up to Hoseok’s apartment seemed longer than usual. He was urgently typing something on his phone not saying much since he got out of the car and it was making you nervous. The elevator made a loud ‘ding’ and Hoseok finally looked up. He took your hand and smiled, leading you to his place.

“I’m sorry if it’s not perfect, you know I didn’t have a lot of time to plan this.” Hoseok was a jittering mess and he placed his key in the lock and swung open the door. He let you take a step into the apartment first and followed you closely behind.

The corridor leading to his living room was lined with rose petals and small tea lights. It was the corniest, most romantic thing you had ever seen. But it was perfect, and you hadn’t even seen the entire place yet. You turned your head around and gave him a quick smile before turning back and walking further into the penthouse.

The living room was stocked up with extra pillows and blankets and there was a campfire playing on the large flat-screen TV. Soothing music came from the surround sound speakers and the room looked cozier than you had ever seen it. Your eyes lit up as you did a 180 and saw all your favorite snacks placed on the kitchen counter. The dining table was set for two, covered with a white silk table cloth and sprinkled with more rose petals and small candles down the center.

“How did you manage to do this on such short notice?” You beamed, turning around to see his expression. He met you with a smile that was just as big as yours and his gaze was full of love.

“I figured since we weren’t able to get away and have a proper vacation, we could have a staycation instead,” he wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a gentle kiss on your lips. You were in shock from how he was able to pull all of this off from the time you found out your flight was canceled until now. Not to mention how he came up with this idea all on his own. He truly was the perfect boyfriend.

“Why don’t you grab a snack, I’ll only be a minute.” Hoseok pressed his lips to your forehead before stepping away to his bedroom. You sat down at the kitchen island and admired all of your options. There was a wide array of candy, chips, and even a chocolate-covered basket of fruit. He really went all out for this ‘staycation’ of yours. You grabbed a piece of fruit and opened a bag of pretzels to munch on while you were waiting for your boyfriend to finish doing god knows what.

“Baby!” Hoseok called from somewhere in his bedroom you assumed, “Can you come here?”

You stood up wiping the small crumbs off of your lap and made your way over to search for him. You walked into the bedroom saw a giant heart, shaped from long stem roses resting over the plush white comforter of his king-size bed. There were more rose petals leading through the master suite into the bathroom. It was like a cliche romance movie, and you loved every second of it.

You continued walking through the master suite following the rose petals to finally find your boyfriend.

“Hi beautiful,” he flashed you a toothy smile, “I figured you’d want to wash up after sitting in the airport for so long.”

Hoseok sat in his giant bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles, the subtle smell of vanilla filling the room. You really did not know how it could get much better than this. After quickly stripping off your dirty clothes you climbed into the bathtub with your boyfriend. He poured you each a glass of champagne and held his up to make a toast.

“To our staycation, it’s no Caribbean getaway, but I’m always in paradise when I’m with you.” He clinked his glass with yours and you couldn’t help yourself from chuckling at his cheesy toast.

“Thank you for doing this Hobi, I really can’t believe you managed to pull all of this off in an hour. You’re amazing, I love you.” You leaned in to give him a quick peck but he caught the back of your neck and deepened the kiss. His lips were so soft and moved slowly against yours.

After pulling away he turned you around so your back was pressed to his chest, sitting between his legs. He rubbed the bubbles over your shoulders and placed soft kisses to your neck. This was truly better than any vacation you could have gone on.

The rose petals, the candles, the warm bubble bath, and the feeling of your boyfriend's smooth chest against your back set the tone for a lust-filled night. You could hardly wait for what was in store after your romantic bath. His gentle touches and tender lips were clouding your thoughts with desire. You felt his firm member pressed to your lower back and you expected that he was thinking the same.

“What do you say we dry off and take this somewhere else,” He whispered in your ear.

“Make sure to move the roses from the bed, I don’t want to get poked.”

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268 notes · View notes

nazariolahela · 5 years

Text

Something Domestic: Chapter 3

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Hana discuss the new changes in their lives.

As the cab pulls up outside of Nomade, I spot Hana leaning up against the side of the building. She’s dressed in black leggings and a denim jacket over a purple A-Line tunic. Her brown hair is twisted in a side braid that rests on her left shoulder. Tendrils fall across her face as she taps on her phone screen. Looking at the door to the restaurant, I notice there’s no line. That’s good for a Friday afternoon, considering people line up around the block to eat here.

Hana and I prefer the lunch menu because it’s cheaper and less crowded. The one time we came here for dinner, we had to wait two and a half hours for a table, and our tab was almost $300. I tip the driver and exit the cab, bounding across the sidewalk to my roommate and best friend. She giggles as she sees me and scoops me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, girl! You’ll never guess who just emailed me!”

“Who?” I ask. Her parents Xinghai and Lorelai are well-known in the New York social scene, so it could literally be anyone.

“I’ll tell you when we get inside,” she says and links her arm through mine as we make our way into the restaurant. Typical Hana. Always keeping people in suspense. When we reach the host station, her phone buzzes. She quickly pulls it out of her purse and glances at it, rolls her eyes, then shoves it back in her purse.

“What was that all about?” I eye her.

She sighs. “Oh, just some weirdo my parents are trying to set me up with. Neville Vancoeur or something,” she waves her hand dismissively. “My mother gave me her famous ‘When are you going to settle down, Hana? You’re not getting any younger and I want grandchildren,’ spiel last week, so now they’re aggressively playing matchmaker.”

Hana and I met freshman year at NYU Steinhardt. With both of us being education majors, we ended up having a lot of classes together and spent way too many late nights cramming during our study sessions in the library. After graduation, we both realized rent in this city is impossible to afford if you’re not a Rockefeller, so we rented an apartment together and have been roomies ever since. Hana got a job student-teaching music at Stormholt Middle School, and she also gives piano lessons one Saturday a month to a rich family in the city.

Her parents are something else. I’ve only met them once, but they make me glad I don’t have much of a relationship with mine. They feel she’s better suited to be a wife and a mother than an educator. It makes me angry for her because she’s so much more than that. She doesn’t need to marry some stuffy guy who probably skated his way through business school on daddy’s money and pop out his crotch goblins to do something meaningful with her life. She’s also mentioned to me many times that she’s into girls, so all this effort to set her up with some preppy trust-fund douche from East Hampton is a waste. Jokes on you Mom and Dad Lee.

I giggle as the hostess arrives from seating another customer. “Good afternoon, ladies. Table for two?”

We answer and she grabs two menus before motioning for us to follow her. When we arrive at our table, she informs us our server will be with us shortly and walks away.

“Okay, so tell me who emailed you,” I say to her as I unroll my napkin and place it in my lap. She looks up at me, her eyes beaming.

“Do you remember that benefit dinner we went to a few months ago? You know, the one for New York educators, where we drank our weight in Lemon Drop martinis?”

I smirk recalling that evening. The bits and pieces I remember, Hana lost one of her shoes and spent the better part of the evening showing everyone on the dancefloor the “proper way” to perform a pirouette.

“Well, I do remember you taking over the dance floor and me going home with that cute bartender. What was his name again? Daniel?”

“Oh my god!” she replies, laughing and slapping my forearm. “I can’t believe you don’t remember his name!”

We giggle as our server approaches our table to take our drink orders. I order a glass of white wine and Hana orders a Sangria. When the server leaves, we resume our conversation.

“So anyway,” she continues, “that night, I was talking to one of the ladies who works in the music department at Valtoria High School, and apparently there were rumors their music teacher was planning to retire. So, after we exchanged information, she passed it along to the school board, and they just emailed me asking me if I was interested in a job!”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. “And?”

“And...I think I’m going to take it!”

I jump up from my seat and move around the table to wrap her in a hug. “Oh my God, Hana! That’s amazing!” She laughs as I give her a congratulatory squeeze. Hana has been trying to get a position with Valtoria High since we graduated. It has one of the top music programs in the city, and the waitlist is insanely long. Most of the teachers there have tenure, so not many positions open up unless someone quits, retires, or dies. Hana securing a position on the teaching staff will not only get her parents off her back but also open up so many doors for her. Her dream is to eventually start her own music school where she can teach music to kids of all social and economic statuses.

We return to our seats as our drinks arrive and the waitress takes our lunch order. After she leaves, Hana turns to me. “So, enough about me. Tell me about the new nanny job.”

I smile. “The interview went really well. I met the family I’ll be working for. They seem really nice and I’m excited to get the opportunity to work with them. My first day with them is Monday. The pay is pretty great, plus, the children seem very well-behaved. Nothing like the last family I worked for. The mother comes off a bit cold, but she seems pretty easy to work for. At least I don’t have to worry about her micromanaging everything I do.”

“Uh-huh. And what about the father?”

I whip out my phone and google “Liam Rhys” to show her a picture of him. After scrolling past links to his company and click-baity articles from the local tabloids, I pull up a photo of him and his older brother from a few years ago. I hand the phone to her. She glances at it, her eyes wide.

“Oh wow...Riley… That’s Liam Rhys,” she says, warily.

“Yeah. What about it?”

She shakes her head and hands the phone back to me. “Nothing, it’s just his family is very well known throughout the city, as well as in the tabloids. Not to mention, he’s extremely attractive, so you need to be careful.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you trying to say, Hana?”

Her face turns serious. “You’re a wonderful person, Riley. I read those tabloids, and I see what they say about the nannies of public figures like him. I don’t want your name dragged through the mud because you were photographed staring too hard at Liam.”

“It will be fine, Hana. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I remember what happened with Ben Affleck’s nanny. And Gavin Rossdale’s nanny. And Jude Law’s nanny”

“Those men were also sleeping with their nannies while they were still married. Even if it gets that far, he’s getting divorced. We wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”

“The public won’t see it that way. They’ll blame you for the split. Just be careful.”

I nod, taking her words seriously. Our waitress returns with our meals and we dig in. We spend the rest of the meal gossiping about our friends from college; who’s working where, who’s getting married, who got arrested, and so forth. After the check arrives, we pay our tabs and gather our things to head out. As we exited the restaurant, Hana turns to me and grabs my arm turning my body toward hers.

“Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need anything. Please don’t forget that.”

I smiled and wrap her in a hug. “I know. Don’t think that I won’t take your words to heart. I know what I’m getting myself into with the Rhys family, and I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Of course, that’s what besties do.” Her phone chimes inside her purse. She releases me and reaches into her purse to retrieve it. She frowns then slides it back into her purse. “I’d ask you if you wanted to head over to The Double Tappe for a drink, but my mom wants me to come over. I’ll see you back at the apartment?”

“You bet. I think I’m going to head over to the Northbridge Mall and buy some new outfits for my new job.”

She laughs and wraps me up in another hug. “‘Kay. Call me later,” she says before turning and walking down the sidewalk. I wave goodbye and take off in the opposite direction. As I stroll down the street, I walk past a magazine stand. There on the rack is the latest issue of Trend the receptionist was reading earlier. I pull a $5 from my purse, and set it on the counter, before picking up a copy of the magazine. After thanking the cashier, I slip the magazine in my bag and continue walking until I reach the bus stop on the corner. When the bus arrives, I step on, flash my Transit Pass, and take a seat near the front. I settle in and pull the magazine out to read up on my new employers.

The article shows pictures of Liam, Madeleine, and the kids at the park. The kids look adorable playing with their father and each other. Madeleine is sitting on a bench, her nose in her phone, wearing her usual resting bitch face. I swear, that woman never smiles. Then, there’s Liam. The butterflies in my stomach start fluttering at the sight of him playing with his children. The cutlines on the photos mention how happy he looks to be spending the day away from work with his kids, but I don’t need to read it. I can see it in his face.

Despite his notoriety here in New York, he’s still a man that is devoted to his family. It’s a shame his soon-to-be ex-wife, couldn’t see that. Stop it, Riley. Their relationship is none of your business. But it is, though. Now that I’m working for their family, their business is my business. Which means I have to keep my mouth shut about what happens behind closed doors. I’d hate to lose my job because I told someone something, who told someone else, who leaked it to the press.

I read on and catch myself staring at the pictures of him. It’s unfair how good looking he is. The fact that he is a doting dad makes him that much sexier. My cheeks flush as I imagine sitting at the park with him and the children. In my fantasy, I’m sitting on a picnic blanket, a wicker basket full of snacks and drinks, while he chases Philip and Charlotte around the grass. After they tire themselves out, they wander over and I pass out juice boxes and crackers. Liam comes up behind them, smiling. When he reaches me, he kneels on the blanket, takes me in his arms, and presses the most sensual kiss to my lips.

The squealing of the bus’s breaks rips me from my little daydream and I shove the magazine in my purse. Nope. Not going there. I exhale loudly and stare out the window as the bus continues down the street. Oh man, I’m in big trouble.

#trr au #trr fanfic #liam rhys #madeleine karlington #riley brooks #the royal romance #playchoices fanfic #something domestic #nanny au #nazariolahela fanfic

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pagesuponstpages · 5 years

Text

one running dog, two spilt drinks & three times meeting again

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol & tabloid magazines

word count: +1.8k

synopsis: the three times that you run into ashton, and almost every time forgetting to introduce yourselves.

a/n: happy valentine’s day! and surprise @crystalisinfinite ! i’m your valentine (!!!) and it was such a pleasure to be chatting and writing things for you! this is technically my first time writing with second person so sorry if it’s bad but I hope you enjoy it ♥️ (also sorry again that it’s kinda late and barely valentine’s day lol) also tagging @killerlukesqueen cause it was her valentine’s swaps (ty for setting up all of this)

The first time you met Ashton, it wasn’t the best time.

You were running late, they messed up your order at the cafe and to top it off, the dog that you were pet sitting for your neighbor Karoline, who was gonna be out of town for the next four days, was much faster at running than what Karoline had said. Ergo, you slammed into a body, spilling all of your drink over them, and Karoline’s dog, Sadie took off, the leesh trailing behind her.

“Sadie! Come back here!” you shouted, desperately hoping that the dog would turn around and sit patiently for you to clean up the mess that you’ve made.

“I don’t think she’s coming back,” he said, bemused. You refocused back on the dude that had your iced chocolate spilled all over his shirt, nearly soaking through his entire shirt.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” You grabbed the three napkins from your pants pocket, offering them to him, hesitating. If it had been someone you knew, you would be trying to dab the stains out immediately. But now, with this handsome stranger, you had some restraint.

“Nah, you’re good,” he said. You dropped the now empty plastic cup into the trash, that was conveniently nearby the two of you. “And to be fair, I spilled my iced coffee on you too.” That’s why your shirt was sticking to your skin.

“God, I’m gonna be late,” you groaned, checking your wristwatch at the time. You maybe had enough time to head back to your apartment to wash up before you would drop off Sadie to the daycare, and barely make it to work on time. “Hey, I’m really sorry, and I’ll pay you back for the coffee, but I need to find Sadie before I inexplicably lose my job.”

“Woah, woah,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I’ll help you find Sadie, and I should be paying you back, since I ran into you.” You shook your head.

“No, I won’t let you.” Your phone dinged, taking your attention.

unknown number:

hi. I think I found your dog?

omg! thank you!

I’m still in the park, by the greek.

will be there in 3. thank you again

You nearly praised the heavens, seeing that text. Then you almost forgot about the guy.

“Listen, I gotta run, but thanks for the offer!” And you sped off, before he could say another word.

The second time you met, it was in a target.

You were getting your weekly groceries (and maybe a couple of extra things) at the ungodly hours of the morning, just because hardly anyone would be there. Not that going to target a few hours later from now was bad, it just wasn’t ideal, especially when other ladies and moms alike would stare at you funny for having too many chip bags in your cart and wearing sweats with slides.

It was at the produce section, you debating if it was worth the extra 1.89 for getting an avocado over the regular salad mix in your futile attempts to have a healthier diet (and also to show any judging cashiers or judging moms that you did not eat just chips and instant ramen even though you totally did).

“Dog walker?” You spin around, to see him grinning at you, the red basket in hand.

“Coffee boy?” He looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m a boy?” You snorted, turning back to your avocados and salad mix.

“Sure why not,” you grumbled under your breath. It was at this point that you were silently thinking through eeney-miney-moe, because decision making? Who was she?

“Get the avocados, they’re healthier than the salad mix that’s mostly full of sugar from the toppings.” You hesitated, before grabbing two avocados and gently placing them in the cart, next to the two chip bags you picked up earlier.

The two of you continued to walk down the produce aisle, which consisted of Ashton mostly recommending something probably green and definitely healthy but also totally over your budget.

“Are you a dietitian? Or a trainer?” You said suddenly, while he was picking up a bunch of kale. You presumed so, as he was clad in a hoodie, basketball shorts and slides, along with the food advice that he’d been giving you for the past 10 minutes.

“Nah,” he chuckled, “I just like to keep up a healthy diet, especially cause my life kinda crazy and it doesn’t give me much options at 1 am.” You nodded, following him to the dairy section.

“At least you’re better than me, I would eat all the taco bell and mcdonalds if I would be eating at 1 am.” He laughed, tilting his head back.

“You’re just like Cal and Mikey,” he said, shaking his head. You raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation. There were a few beats of silence, save for the whirr of nearby shopping carts and the faint pop chart music playing in the background.

“Cal and Mikey..” you trailed. He looked up from the container of greek yogurt, his eyes studying your face.

“Oh right,” he said, nodding. “Cal and Mikey are my best friends, and we work at the same place.” You tilted your head, waiting for more. He put the greek yogurt into the basket, before continuing.

“And we all end up finishing around 2 am, but Luke and I planned ahead with healthy snacks and salads and shit, while those two would order from postmates from the limited choices at 2 am.”

“And I would join them,” you followed, without any pause. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“But now you don’t have to! Cause I’m changing your meal plan!” He pointed at the items in your cart. “Well, except for those,” he said, mentioning the noticeable chip bags and sleeves of cookies that were next to everything else that he had helped in choosing, “those were there before I got here.”

Shopping continued, along with you convincing him to put a doritos bag and a package of oreos (abit the thin ones, but hey you tried with the double stuf at first), because “you never know when your friends hang out at your place and to their disappointment, all you have are booze and kale chips.” You both checked out in the same line, reading the titles of the gossip rags in hushed yet mocking tones.

“Jennifer Aniston with another man?!”

“Kendall Jenner takes another spill on the road?!”

And then, after he helped you put your groceries in the trunk of your car, he waved you off, both of you completely forgetting to get each other’s number. Or even each other’s names.

The third time you ran into Ashton, it was at a party.

Your friend, Karoline had dragged you to said party, because “you don’t go out enough,” and to be fair you haven’t but she didn’t know that admission.

The party was at a club in downtown LA, the name leaving you, but it was three things that were seemingly the worst combination: dark, loud, and full of absolutely smashed people.

“Why do we have to still be here?” you said, whining. Karoline shrugged, handing you another drink.

“Because it’s part of my work and I’m dying up here.” Oh yeah.

Karoline’s work had always thrown wild parties, filled with the social elite of the city and those trying to climb to that position. The record label that Karoline was apart of always had “some excuse” to throw these wild ragers, usually along the lines of some artist that they produced had reached number one in the nation.

“I’m gonna find something to eat.” You got up from your spot from the barstool tables scattered on the edges of the dancefloor, your eyes searching for those promised tables of fancy hors d'oeuvres that she would always rave about the following day, hungover in your apartment.

Once you found said table, surprisingly still full of different finger food with names that you could barely pronounce, you nearly tripped into the lined up pastries, due to someone bumping into you.

“Sorry,” he said, with a voice garbled in the loud atmosphere, yet oddly familiar.

“It’s alright,” you said. He turned around, nearly spilling his drink all over you.

“Dog walker!” he said, his eyes lighting up as he recognized your face.

“Coffee boy!” you replied, trying to say it with the same amount of enthusiasm as he did.

“Coffee boy?” someone said, now standing next to him. He had dyed blond hair, with his dark roots and scruffy eyebrows, staring at you with a smirk.

“He spilled coffee on me,” you said, hoping to give some explanation. The blond boy’s eyes widened in recognition, a grin spreading on his face. “So you’re dog walker with the same terrible eating habits as me.” Then it clicked.

“Mikey, is it?” He shook his head.

“That’s Cal,” Ashton said, “and the other two are somewhere else.” You nodded.

“Wow, so you guys work for Capitol Records?” Cal snorted, while Ashton took a gulp of his drink.

“You didn’t tell her?” You stared at the two of them, watching them have a internal conversation filled with head nods and shrugs, waiting for an explanation.

“I didn’t see the need to,” Ashton finally said. Cal sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna find Luke,” he said. The combination of names, the ones he mentioned at target coupled with the knowledge that they all worked together at Capitol Records ticked something in your head, but maybe it was the alcohol and lack of food that prevented you from making the full conclusion.

“I’m Ash,” he said, extending his hand out. You giggled, shaking his hand, as you said your own. He then repeated it, and something between a smirk and a grin was slowly spreading on his lips.

“And you do?” He shakily laughed, tilting his head down.

“I’m a drummer, for a band,” Ashton said, meeting your eyes. You raised an eyebrow. “Might I know of said band?” you questioned the red-haired drummer.

“I’m only slightly offended that you have all the pieces, but haven’t connected the dots yet.”

“I’m kinda tipsy and I mostly listen to indie or alternative artists?”You shrugged.

Ashton shook his head, smiling. “The boys and I are in a pop punk turned alt pop band, called 5SOS?” His voice got progressively higher, his demenour much more tense than moments ago, or even the other two times that you two had run into each other.

“Never heard of them,” you said immediately, watching his expression change with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

“You’re truly something,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Nah, I’m just me. And here for the free fancy-pants food.” He barked in laughter.

“Of course you are.”

#this was fun to write #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin #5sosff #5sos imagine #5sos #luke hemmings #calum hood #michael clifford #also i technically need to edit this but oh well hope it's decent #5 seconds of summer #ashton fletcher irwin #ashton irwin imagine #happy valentine's day #klq's valentine's swaps #my writing #content creation

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

581.

Do you have any idea how to tune a piano? >> Nope.

Do you like energy drinks? >> I don’t. They make me feel ill most of the time, anyway.

When was the last time you had a serious workout? >> I have no idea.

Who is currently pissing you off? >> Nobody.

What was the last song you heard? >> Whatever was last playing in the car before we got out. I can’t remember now.

Do you think recycling should be mandatory? >> I really don’t, because if it was mandatory, the negative ecological impact that our current recycling methods already have would just intensify. Which... defeats the whole purpose.

Do you own any animal skinned clothes, shoes, etc? >> I don’t.

How many people did you hang out with today? >> Just Sparrow.

How much money did you spend today, and on what? >> I didn’t spend any.

What's the next thing you're excited for? >> I’m not excited for anything, nothing of note is coming up.

Who is the person you miss the most right now? >> ---

What is something you regret doing today? >> I can’t say I regretted anything I did today.

When was the last time you felt depressed? >> A couple of days ago.

What is something you've always wanted to learn how to do? >> Hm.

What's something you can do, that other people think is pretty cool? >> Good question.

What is your favorite word that starts with the letter "R"? >> I’ve never thought about it, I have no idea. “Revenant” is pretty cool.

What's something about your teenage years you will always remember? >> There’s a lot from my teenage years that I can’t seem to forget, and almost all of it is some level of traumatic.

What's the funnest thing you did with your best friend recently? >> ---

What music video is your current favorite? >> I don’t have any recent favourites, I haven’t seen a newer music video in a while. Oh, wait, I’m lying -- I saw the one for Rammstein’s Deutschland and that was fucking sick.

What was the last thing you cleaned? >> Myself.

Who do you think is the most attractive celebrity? >> *shrug*

Do you freak out when your favorite stores have major sales? >> No.

Are you the type of person that carries on a conversation with the cashier? >> Sometimes.

What was the last thing you ate? >> Meat and cheese. Like, in stick form.

Are you clausterphobic? Did I even spell that right? >> I’m claustrophobic in specific situations, but not necessarily in general.

What time is it, currently? >> 7.35p EST.

What's your biggest pet peeve? >> *shrug*

Do you read the tabloids when you're in line at the grocery store? >> I don’t.

Have you ever been in a great mood, and listened to a song and got sad? >> Yeah, because the song made me remember shit that makes me sad.

Are there any unopened packages in your house? >> Probably.

Do you think any of your neighbors are creepos? >> No, but I think some of them are annoyingly loud.

Do you ever buy things on eBay? >> No.

Do you have any stuffed animals in your room? >> Yeah, I have like 12 in here right now.

What's the last thing you did, other than this, to cure boredom? >> I don’t do stuff to cure boredom, I do it because I like it.

Do you take bubble baths? >> No.

Do you own any sidewalk chalk? >> No.

What's the first letter of the last band's name you listened to? >> S.

Don't you just LOVE Pete Wentz's "Corpse Bride" tattoo? >> I don’t know anything about it.

Do you have any friends who aren't complete potheads? >> Yes.

Do you think Cristofer Drew Ingle is attractive? >> I don’t know who that is.

Do you illegally download music? >> Not anymore.

When was the last time you jammed out infront of the mirror? >> I don’t usually dance in front of the mirror, specifically. Watching myself usually gets in the way of actually enjoying what I’m doing.

What was the last thing you thought long and hard about? >> I don’t remember.

Do you say "That's what she said"? I do XD >> Sometimes. But I use it sparingly, because it can get obnoxious.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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navpike · 5 years

Text

Licensed Response: Chapter 1

"I'm just going to lend a hand," Caleb calls as they run. He doesn’t want to make this a hero thing, but this seems big. He can help out a few civilians and leave when the cops or a proper Powered Response Team shows up. “Is this even legal?” Nott screeches. (It really isn't legal.)

Or, the one where the Nein are a team of superheroes (well, they're working on it, at least).

Chapter One: walking the streets someone before me set on fire [on ao3]

ZuZu’s Cafe isn’t normally a bustling place. Lots of foot traffic in and out (and Caleb absolutely counts each person that sets foot inside the shop), but people rarely stay in the small cafe for longer than it takes to pick up their order. It’s one of the reasons Caleb doesn’t mind coming here too much. Being out of the apartment sets him on edge no matter what, but Veth insists that he get out every once in a while. The usually quiet cafe is a good compromise. They can get some good coffee and some lunch and get a bit of work done and there are few enough people that a baseball cap drawn low is good enough to keep anyone from recognizing Caleb.

The operative word being usually.

Today there is a rowdy couple of college students in the opposite corner of the room, a young man with a pale X-shaped scar over one eyebrow that stands in stark contrast to his dark skin and a shock of white hair in the middle of his forehead, and a younger woman with a splash of freckles across her tan skin and vibrantly blue eyeliner swept artfully under her eyes. They have their laptops open and three empty coffee cups between them already, and they’re yelling at each other, though good naturedly. There’s another woman with them, looking disinterested in their argument, stealing food from their plates. Her undercut looks like it needs some touching up, and the hair that’s not shorn off is slowly escaping the messy bun she’s tied it up in.

Veth gives them an angry glare, and Caleb can’t help but agree. The freckled young woman meets Veth’s glare with a too cheery smile and a stuck out tongue.

And then her gaze settles on Caleb. He tugs his baseball cap down a little further and hitches his shoulders up around his ears in an attempt to hide himself further, but it seems the damage has already been done.

“Hey!” she exclaims, her face lighting up in recognition and something like glee. Caleb grimaces, sinking into his seat and glaring at Veth. “Hey you’re--”

“Jester!” the young man with the X scar interrupts loudly, fixing her with a withering look. “Leave the man be,” he continues more quietly. “He obviously doesn’t want the attention. Read the room.” The young woman, Jester, looks like a chastised child for a moment, though the man’s words sounded like nothing more than a gentle reminder. She bounces back quickly though, and is smiling and turning back to her conversation as though nothing had happened,

The other woman, though, does not have the tact the young man does, nor does she have the ability to take a fucking hint.

“Oh shit, she’s right. You’re the fucking Blitz!”

Caleb barely holds back a full body flinch. As it is, he still gives a visible wince, tugging at his collar like it’ll keep the prying eyes suddenly on him from seeing that she’s right.

“Beau!” the young man admonishes again, this time with a heat to back his words. “Christ on a bike, you two have no decency I swear to god--”

Caleb tunes him out after that, the sudden buzzing of other voices blurring with the ringing in his ears. The people at the counter who were previously engrossed in their phones have a new interest in Caleb and Veth, their whispering growing into loud muttering, to full blown conversation as though Caleb isn’t there at all.

He can feel his breathing start to pick up a bit, but he doesn’t have a chance to worry too much, before Veth pokes at his shoulder with one long finger.

“Caleb, come on. Let’s just leave,” she says softly.

Caleb focuses on the odd pitch of Veth’s voice, the almost accent that by no means should be calming, yet still is, and takes a breath. He steadies himself and closes the compiler he had had open on his laptop, tucks the computer away into his bag, watches as Veth puts their dishes in the return bin and gathers her own things. His hands are shaking, but if he puts them in his pockets he can ignore that. He doesn’t hazard the glance back at the table with Jester and Beau and the young man, or at the others at the counter who now have their attention fixed on him, even as it all starts to turn into a ruckus.

He hears the typical questions, all the things that circuited the tabloids and gossip shows for weeks after Ikithon’s arrest. Wonderings of where Astrid and Eodwulf are now, and what Caleb’s doing now, and have any of them had any contact with Trent, and have they considered returning to the Academy since they left it. It makes Caleb’s stomach churn, but he pushes that feeling far down, and simply leaves the cafe with Veth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Veth’s hands flicker and half melt for a second, but she solidifies again, and he finally takes a full breath when they step out the door.

They’re halfway down the block when a hand hits Caleb’s shoulder.

He reacts on instinct, seizing the person’s wrist with one hand and summoning flames with the other, ready to blast the stranger in the face before he can even see who it is.

It’s the young man from the cafe, his eyes wide as he leans back, straining a bit in Caleb’s grasp. He’s eyeing the flames licking up Caleb’s wrist warily, and the air around the young man’s own hands is beginning to shimmer, Caleb notices.

So he’s powered too, huh? Interesting.

Caleb releases him, but doesn’t let the flames die.

“What do you want?” Veth snaps, before Caleb can even open his mouth.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to apologize for my companions, back there. Neither of them seem to have a brain to mouth filter. They just spout whatever comes to mind soon as they think it. I’m sorry they called attention to you like that, Mr. Ermendrud.”

“Don’t--” Caleb hisses without thinking. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets it out slowly. “Caleb is fine.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. Anyway, I apologize for their antics, really. They didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” The young man truly does look apologetic, but Caleb long ago learned that appearances are often deceiving. Still, he went through the trouble of chasing them half a block just to extend an apology. That has to count for something.

“Well thank you, for the apology, uh…”

“Fjord. The name’s Fjord.”

“Well thank you for the apology, Fjord. Think nothing of it. Have a nice day,” he says, politely but still short.

The flames die down and Caleb straightens out his shirt, and turns to walk away.

That’s when the screams ring out from a block or two over. Screams, followed by a loud crashing sound, and car horns, and that is definitely not good.

Caleb tenses, the adrenaline flooding his system causing sparks to dance across his skin. He sees Fjord’s eyes go wide as the sparks skitter across Caleb’s face. Caleb doesn’t take the time to reassure him about it. He slings off the button down he was wearing and takes it and his bag and tosses them at Fjord.

“Take these for me please. Go back to ZuZu’s, ask the cashier to hold onto those until I can return, and stay inside. Go!”

And Caleb takes off running in the direction of the screams. Veth shoves her things at Fjord too, who stands there looking completely dumbfounded, and takes off after Caleb.

“Caleb! What are you doing? I thought you hated this sort of thing! What are you doing?” she calls after him as she struggles to keep up.

He turns just a bit to answer her, and instead of the Veth he’s expecting, he comes face to face with a panther. The animal has the same septum piercing that Veth does, so Caleb knows it’s her, but it’s still jarring to be expecting a fairly short human being and come up with a massive animal instead.

He shakes his head. There’s another crash, and that one sounded less like stone collapsing and more like a car colliding with something. Caleb picks up the pace.

“I cannot just let people get hurt. I can at least help until the proper authorities arrive! I’m not getting involved. I’m just going to lend a hand,” he says to the panther, because that really is all he is going to do. He doesn’t want to make this a hero thing, but this sounds like something big, and if it’s left alone, it’ll only get worse. He can help out a few civilians and leave when the cops or a proper Powered Response Team shows up.

“Is this even legal?” the panther screeches in Veth’s voice, and Caleb blinks at how strange that is before he can respond properly.

“I’m technically still a licensed Powered Responder. If the authorities show up, turn into a cat and leave. Or better yet, do not get involved. It is dangerous.”

Caleb didn’t think that panthers could look incredulous, but he is proven wrong at that exact moment with the expression Veth makes at him. And then she melts into another form, midstride, causing herself to stumble on her next couple of steps.

She curses as she finds her stride again. She’s a wolf now, but it’s one of her twisted forms, one of the ones that happens when she’s not totally in control. Bony protrusions follow the line of her spine, and she’s got monstrous looking fangs, claws that could almost be called talons.

Her curses come out slurred around the new teeth, which only serves to irritate her further. Caleb doesn’t say anything more, so she doesn’t have to respond.

He doesn’t bother to cover his face as they round the corner to the scene. There’s no reason to anymore. The public knows who he is, his civilian ID and his alias, they have for years, ever since the Ikithon Incident. They’ve known since Ikithon twisted his way into Caleb’s head, into Astrid’s, into Eodwulf’s. They’ve known since Ikithon made them villains, when all they’d ever wanted to do was help people. They’ve known since the three of them, mere children when it had happened, really, had had to stand trial to see if they should face the consequences for actions they never wanted to commit. For actions their bodies had taken without their minds.

Caleb shakes the thought from his mind as he comes to a halt and takes in the scene in front of him. His body goes up in flames as he sees that he was correct, this is an Incident. There is something in the middle of the road, atop a pile of rubble and smoking cars. Caleb would almost call it a lizard, except for the fact that it is easily almost fifteen feet tall, and walks on two legs, though it’s arms do reach the ground to act as support for it, its body is so massive.

Caleb groans when he looks at it. There is absolutely nothing he would rather do than turn tail and fucking book it, but there are innocent civilians here. There are people who cannot defend themselves and he can help.

After all of the evil he’s done, he owes it to the universe to at least try to help whenever he can.

Veth melts into another form again, or at least attempts to. All she really does is make the twisted wolf form larger, but that’s not nothing. The size will definitely help them in this battle.

Caleb’s arms are completely engulfed in flames now, small tendrils of it licking across his chest. Sparks dance through his hair. His eyes go red, shifting and changing like a burning ember.

His clothes burn away, leaving him in the uniform he keeps on, in case something sets his power off, in case something like this happens. It’s a very recognizable uniform, bearing a small logo of the Soltryce Powered Training Academy between his shoulder blades, a flame icon emblazoned across his chest.

When people see it, see him, half of them look relieved to see him. Half of them looked even more terrified, if that were even possible. Veth’s appearance isn’t really doing them any favors, but that’s not important.

What is important is that, as they watch, a handful of people nearest the beast drop to the ground, their bodies going lifeless within the span of a single second. Caleb doesn’t need to feel for a pulse to know they’re dead.

What is even more important is that, as they watch, the dead people’s bodies lurch where they lay on the ground, and slowly, jerkily, rise again.

Fuck, Caleb thinks. They are so screwed.

#critical role #caleb widogast #nott the brave #fjord #jester lavorre #beau lionett #the mighty nein #lr au #fic #mine

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haanacchii · 6 years

Text

youngblood

rockstar!shiro and barista!lance and also childhood friends!shance idea that spun out of control in the @shance-cafe and took me like three months to write because life is tough (hi its me bread)

It’s white lights and the steady beeps of a heart monitor that matches the pace of Shiro’s own beating heart that reminds him that his drive home didn’t go as well as he would like to remember.

His body aches the moment he tries to move and there are voices surrounding him in a haze that causes the ringing and dizziness to become louder and worse. The voices meld together into some monstrosity and he shuts his eyes to block out the lights, the noises, and the reality of it all.

–-

Shiro flexes his right arm. Lucky for him, he still is able to get all the things he lost back but it doesn’t mean that he’s accepted the fact that it’s not going to be the same as it ever was. Everything is different now, Shiro knows, even knowing his feelings and perspective has changed already in his short time in rehab.

He stares down at the silver plating and and padding for his fingertips and lets out a heavy sigh. Shiro drives past a news stand and looks at the papers and tabloids that litter the front.

Shiro is twenty five years old and he returned to his hometown after more than ten years of leaving the quiet town for the big city. He pulls into a vaguely-familiar-but-not-really coffeeshop, because he never really liked to have Starbucks after a trip, and pulls his worn Sharks baseball cap over his head that covered his white patch of hair.

(“Sir, the shock from the arm may initially cause some of your hair to continue to grow white as the stimulation and connection to your brain can result in some damage there.”)

Maybe it’s the shock from his accident still, but there’s a vague memory of chipped, braced teeth and bright eyes behind giant frames too big for their head. The memory brings a fondness in his heart but he can’t remember who that was, the name escapes him and but he knows they were important.

Shiro enters the coffee shop and walks in line to stare at the cat-themed names. As the line continues to move slowly, trying to test Shiro’s patience (even though it shouldn’t, but fame really did get to his head and he’s too used to getting things at the snap of his finger. This is something he needs.) He stares blankly and watches the only cashier and barista take orders with a bright smile and cheerful laughs even though he deals with grumpy customers.

Shiro closes his eyes and thinks, with deep breaths in and slow exhales out.

The line moves faster than he expects, when he lets himself sink into the moment and realize that he isn’t on the run, and this isn’t going to be gourmet coffee that costs more than a shirt that he got when he was eight. The barista’s voice becomes something calm, a breath in and out and letting his legs drive him forward without much thought until the question is clear in front of him.

“What can I get for you?” The barista asks, and Shiro opens his eyes to meet ocean blue ones that feel way too shocking and way too surprised for him to really know what to say for a second. “Er, Shiro, right?”

“Yes.” Shiro replies, a smile tugging at his lips. “Can I get the sweetest thing with the most caffeine? I’ll pay for it too.”

The barista grins back, typing in the order as he says “I got just the thing for you,” and the price isn’t that expensive at all. “You know,” Shiro looks at the name tag and reads Lance in fancy letters and the name gives a sense of recognition. “If it weren’t lunch rush and my manager wasn’t in the back, I would totally give you this for free— but since that’s happening, it’s 11 dollars and 55 cents.”

Shiro pays with his card and steps out of line to watch Lance make the drink with ease. “Thank you.” He says when the sweet, cold drink is in front of him and Shiro didn’t even take into that account with the heat. “Though, I’ll take you up for that free drink later today if you aren’t busy.”

Lance blinks at him again and beams, and Shiro knows that he didn’t come to his hometown to flirt with baristas but there’s a sense that he and Lance would get along. His sexuality was never a secret when it came to the public either, when he first dated Adam and his official coming out during so because Allura and Coran told him to at least make a statement on twitter, or something.

“I’m done in a couple hours if you’re down to wait, Shiro.”

The way Lance says his name gives a shiver down his spine and Shiro knows it’s not the cold caffeinated drink hitting him all at once. “Okay.” He replies, grins back, and brings his drink to a table to let Lance continue to work. He knows his parents would want him to come home soon, but he misses walking around without many people stopping and asking him for autographs, which they still do while he sits there, but it isn’t as overwhelming as it would be when he would be on tour.

He checks his phone while he waits in between autographs. He lets Keith and Allura know that he got home safe, to tell Coran that it’s fine to just let him lay low. Keith handles more of the aggressive fans and Shiro can trust his band mates to hold the fort in their house for a few weeks while he gets himself settled in.

He looks through twitter and reads headlines talking about Spaced Out’s hiatus in the middle of promoting their fifth album in their discography. How their lead singer’s car crash landed them to lay low and spend time with each other and their families before going back into the music scene after the lead singer and guitarist found himself healing quickly after his rehab with a new prosthetic arm.

Shiro reads the last line of the article, amusing himself and knowing that he won’t last a few days until paps find him.

Where is Takashi Shirogane now?

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Lance’s voice brings him back to the present, and another cup of the good, sweet, cold drink is in front of him. “Here’s your free drink.” He winks, and sits down across from Shiro. “Now, what’s superstar, rockstar, whatever star I guess, Shiro doing in front of me right now?”

He looks at Lance, the light of the sun through the window illuminating his skin like a bronze prize as if he was an angel gracing him with his presence. “Looking for a muse.” He says, which isn’t wrong, but Lance’s eyes widen for a second before he leans forward and rests his head in his hands.

“Tell me more, then.”

#jane talks #shance #Voltron legendary defender #otp: to be with you or to be like you #takashi shirogane #vld lance #uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh what other tags are you lol #my writing #i havent written anythig in a long time n this isn't really a lot to put on ao3 rn so #tumblr it is!

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years

Text

Chapter five of the Fae AU has arrived! Shoutout to @runningwolf62 for giving it a beta read and assuring me it’s not incoherent.

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist]

“Wright.”

“If you have an objection, it’s ‘Chairman Wright’ to you, and you should’ve brought it up twenty minutes ago while the meeting was still on.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I know. What’s up?”

“You aren’t really intending to seat a dead woman on your jury, are you?”

“I dug into it seven years ago. There was never any death certificate issued, so as far as the state, and this, is concerned, it’s fine.”

“You know that’s not what I’m referring to.”

Apollo cannot decide whether to tell – read: is stalling on telling – Klavier about the contents of his talk with Wright. The back half of August brings with it a few small cases: “Our luck is picking up!” Trucy announces brightly, just a few days before the school year begins again and leaves Apollo alone, rattling around the empty office like the cryptkeeper among the dead. Phoenix is gone, again, as ever, as always, and Apollo starts applying to nearby convenience store cashier jobs, figuring that he can’t actually keep this up much longer. He takes a few days at the end of September to do some research on the country of Khura’in, digging up anything he can find just to remind himself that it is a real place anchored in the mortal realm. It's hard to find much of anything, but he tracks down - written in Khura'inese, of course - an article from earlier in the year, detailing the beginning of the second phase of construction on the queen’s palace of iron, a prohibitively expensive venture when she demands every piece hand-wrought.

Yes, the people of Khura’in are as paranoid and superstitious as any; Apollo suspects there's good reason for that, given how close the name of that country is to the name Kurain Village, said to be where the Fae Court in California sits. It was just Dhurke who wasn’t.

Apollo pushes his laptop away, tries to forget, again, like he does every time when the goddamn cycle of the hazy memories of his childhood wraps back around to this stage; and he grabs his phone and texts Klavier.

I talked to Mr Wright about what you said

The reply is nearly instantaneous, and Apollo wonders how Klavier gets any work done -- and doubtlessly he has work -- if he jumps at every message anyone sends him.

-About the office or about him?

(Maybe he doesn’t actually have that many people sending him messages.)

Him

(Trucy says, from word of the obsessive online fandom and the tabloids, that the Gavinners technically haven’t broken up but there’s been nothing since a statement about Daryan, and the other three have only been sighted without Klavier.)

-Do I have to warn you again how unwise that question is?

(Klavier hasn’t been seen in public at all for a month.)

It worked out fine Especially since he is human

-One day it -What

He told me he’s human Was pretty clear stating so actually

Apollo stares at his phone for a minute and with no response, sets it aside and stares at the stack of files on his desk. He pulled copies of some of Phoenix’s old cases again to look back through -- maybe he can glean something about his history, what could have led him into so many curses -- but they don’t seem especially appealing now. He dug out the first case long enough to recognize the name of his co-counsel, Mia Fey, and that there seemed clear enough corroborating evidence to Phoenix’s statement: young and far too stupid to know better. And maybe he’s a witch, or maybe he’s some sorry soul who got trapped in a deal with no benefit to him, but if one of the fae taught him how to be a lawyer, it would certainly explain -- well, everything about him.

-Did you mention me or just tell him you yourself suspected?

That wasn’t the response Apollo expected after nearly ten minutes. He’d figured it would be something longer. Not less self-obsessed, though. That seems typical.

I didn’t mention you but he figured it out

He has a message typed out about the hellhound and deletes it. Phoenix and Klavier and Trucy can see things that other people can’t, and Apollo isn’t like them -- he should be like Clay, or Mr Eldoon, ignorant of it. He doesn’t want to know if it means something that he sees it, and he thinks Klavier would tell him.

No response. Apollo folds the corners of a sticky note until they tear. How does he miss Trucy’s daily annoyances this much? He goes out to the main room of the office and wonders if any of these props go to a magic trick that is simple enough for him to learn from the internet. He sends another message, one not related to demon hounds.

He said you have something called the sight, or whatever Is that what makes your eyes do that thing

How have phones not had an unsend text feature develop yet? Apollo thought this conversation was a good alternative to digging around in the memories he has tried to repress, but all he is doing is giving himself some to newly repress.

-Very eloquent. You have some trouble with your rhetoric classes, ja? ;)

At least I know how to stick to ONE language at a time

Apollo can at least be grateful that Clay isn’t here. They would probably be fighting for the phone, Clay having decided that Apollo should respond to the flirting in kind.

- :( -It’s part of my charm, I’ll have you know.

Answering questions directly is not, apparently

-It would be a very boring conversation otherwise -You want this to sound like a cross examination? ;)

Implying those ever answer questions directly

-You are as ever correct XD

Even Trucy doesn’t use this many emoticons. What did Klavier call this office -- a liminal space? Apollo certainly feels like he has slipped through to the other side of something.

-I’m quite flattered that you’ve spent enough time staring into my eyes to notice ;)

He really is a fuckboy, but of the most benign sort. (Clay has some horror stories about guys he’s texted with.)

-But yes, that is what that is

How did you get like that Like where does a gift like that come from

-I wouldn’t call it a gift precisely -If I’d wanted to talk about it I would’ve explained it when we talked - :) -Does that smiley make it read more or less passive-aggressive? -I’m going for less -I don’t think it worked

He’s trying to be nice, and Apollo thinks he shouldn’t be laughing at that, but he does. It’s ridiculous. There’s nothing about this that isn’t ridiculous. “This is my life now,” Apollo says aloud to the empty, cursed office.

But it is true that Klavier dodged the question at the cafe, how do you know, to the point that it made him seem as suspicious as Phoenix. If there was ever a time to tell, it was there.

It’s fine

Does that seem passive-aggressive? Now’s when he does need Clay over his shoulder.

Does the prosecutors office have as little work as I do or are you just slacking off

This is a good place to lie down and die, right here on the floor of the office. Rest in peace, Apollo: can’t fucking make small talk without sounding like a jerk. There’s a reason that Clay manages to make friends and get dates while Apollo can do neither.

-I’ll have you know I am excellent at multitasking :) -Do you really have so few cases?

Suddenly Apollo regrets bringing it up. “Buddy, you have no idea,” he mutters.

A whole 0 for September

- :(

“Apollo, why are you lying on the floor?”

He tilts his head back and sees Trucy flinging her backpack onto the couch and grabbing her hat from the piano. The afternoon has worn on without him noticing and she is back from school, ready to liven up the office by annoying him

“Changes in perspective help my thinking,” he says.

“What’re ya thinking about?” She plops down on the floor next to him. “Who ya texting?”

“Oh, it’s, uh…” She is already giving him that doubtful look. “...Prosecutor Gavin,” he admits, and her eyes go wide. “I had a question for him about--”

He doesn’t have to try and lie about what they’re talking about -- he could say Machi’s case, but that is months old now, last of the details wrapped up -- because his phone buzzes and her squeal interrupts him. “You have Prosecutor Gavin’s number? Since when? Why did he give it to you? That’s so cool, Polly!”

“It’s really not -- he’s really not -- stop trying to read my messages!”

“Children, children, please.” They both freeze at Phoenix’s voice, and Apollo recovers quicker, yanking his phone away from Trucy and scrambling upright. “If you’re going to kill each other, do it somewhere else, because I don’t want to deal with the hassle of having a murder right here in this office.”

“Daddy!” Trucy cries, springing to her feet. “I thought you were gonna be out late again!”

“So did I,” he says with a tired grin that doesn’t do anything to distract from the lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes. “But my ‘secret project’ is coming to the end of its first phase, soon, and I might have some more time to be around.” He glances about at the mess of the office, a Sisyphean task that Apollo has tried to deal with before only for Trucy to immediately disturb all of his hard work while searching for a prop that he thought he put away in a logical place. “Don’t look so upset about that prospect, Apollo.”

“Wh -- I wasn’t --”

Wright laughs, and Apollo stalks back to his desk, remembering only after a few more minutes that he had another text.

-That office might not be *cursed* but I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve had some prospective clients run far and fast from the doorstep. No slight against you ;) but it’s quite the unsettling place

Apollo sinks into his chair. When he got here, he didn’t have to dust anything in “his” part of the office, though Trucy told him they were basically just using it for storage. Even the back of the piano has never gotten dusty, and while Apollo takes care of the plants now, they were flourishing through what must have been neglect, based on everything he knows about Trucy and Phoenix. There’s a thermostat he’s never thought about touching, his suit jacket flung over the back of the couch that he’s never had to think about wearing.

I’ve never found it unsettling Though that itself was kinda unsettling when I first came here Like it’s TOO welcoming

-I wouldn’t fall asleep there -Don’t know where you might find yourself if you let your guard down

Like anywhere’s gonna be much worse than here

-Ja, you say that, and then…

Yeah probably shouldn’t push my luck Since I don’t have much of it in the first place

A week later, Apollo is well aware of his luck.

That old whisper, Gramarye, crescendos. Trucy tells him that Valant is back in town, though she hasn’t seen him. She knows like everyone knows that long-ago name, and Apollo knows that something is stirring. “How much magic was there in the troupe?” he asks Trucy one afternoon, curious himself but also put up to it by Clay, who has wanted to know every detail about Valant’s role in the case at the concert while insisting that the Gramaryes are definitely witches and definitely shouldn’t be trusted. “Real magic, not tricks.”

“It’s all real magic, Polly,” Trucy says, grinning at his sullen look. “Gotta keep the mystery intact!”

“Is that just how you say ‘I was too young to remember’?”

She is the one now frowning at she stares at the old faded portrait hanging above the piano. “No comment,” she says. After another minute, she adds, “No, I do remember it was real. Grandpappy especially. He could do strange things. He gave me Mr Hat, I think.”

“Gave you?” Nothing is given with magic, not without price. Nothing for free.

She nods, her expression still one of pinched concentration, but any further speculation on the matter is undercut by the opening of the door and Phoenix’s entrance. “Hi there, stranger!” Trucy chirps.

And Apollo wishes that he had stayed a stranger, because in just a few minutes, his plans for the day -- nothing, noodles, and maybe Trucy dragging him on a hopeless quest around the city to find and say hi to Valant -- are ground to dust. Phoenix gives to Trucy a sealed envelope to be opened “when it’s time”, and to Apollo the beginnings of a headache and the fervent wish that one day Phoenix would tell him literally anything in advance. He would have liked to know that he would be the Jurist System guinea pig, to have time to learn more about the proposed system than the two-minute crash course that Phoenix gives before throwing him out the door to meet his new client. And the client herself says nothing at all but just gives them the location of the crime scene.

“That’s just how Mr Wright is,” Ema says, leaning up against the shelf of paints in the studio, after giving it an experimental push to test its stability. There isn’t much space left uncluttered by paintings, supplies, or the tools of the police investigation, and it leaves Apollo, Trucy, and the bottle of poison detectant spray that Ema gave them with a lot of ground to cover.

“You could be doing this,” he says, waving the bottle at her. She shrugs. He had complained to her on arrival about Phoenix, to learn that he had told her they were coming. She followed this with nodding and grumbling in a way that Apollo presumed meant she wasn’t listening to his grievances, until she had spoken.

“I tried everywhere -- I want to see if your eyes can find something different.” Ema picks up a small can of paint and examines it, looking bored. “But anyway, Mr Wright, he’s -- it’s probably not you,” she continues. “I mean, it could be. I don’t actually know you off the crime scene. But he doesn’t trust anyone -- he’s got the right idea. I learned that much from that case I worked with him; if you don’t trust anyone you can’t get burned.”

“What a sad way to live,” Apollo says. Her assessment makes sense with what he has dealt with of Phoenix. He glances over at Trucy, who isn’t looking at them.

“Yeah,” Ema says quietly. “Sad. That’s the word. We kept in touch for a year or two after I went to Europe, and that’s how I felt about him. That he’s the loneliest man on earth.”

Trucy yells for them to come look at the traces of atroquinine she found, and they return to rote investigation.

“Where did you get that, Miss Trucy?” Valant splutters, reaching for, at the same time Apollo does, the envelope that slipped from Trucy’s pocket. In the midst of the case, and longing for a normal client, he had almost forgotten about Phoenix’s mystery Recycle-Your-Plastics-Day gift.

So much for rote investigation. Apollo doesn’t know why he bothers hoping.

“Daddy gave it to me,” she says. “My Phoenix Wright daddy.”

Valant grabs it from the ground before Apollo can, holding it in trembling hands and squinting, his face gone gray and bloodless. “This signature -- do you not recognize it? It is Zak’s!”

“My -- my daddy?”

Apollo snatches the envelope from Valant. Rude, unquestionably, and probably worthy of a minor curse or two, but he doesn’t trust anything to do with the Gramaryes and he doesn’t like the way Valant was looking at the envelope. “Polly!” Trucy scolds. He’ll worry about it another time. “Daddy said not to open it yet,” she adds, to Valant, and his face falls.

As quickly as he can, Apollo makes an excuse about them having to hunt down the reporter, the witness to the crime -- and they really do have to find him, and that is what they came looking for Valant for -- and drags Trucy away. Maybe Klavier and Phoenix’s paranoia is rubbing off on him. Maybe it’s justified.

Surely it’s justified, by the time they make it back around to the studio -- the reporter is nigh-useless and gives Apollo nothing but insight into the reason that Valant apparently doesn’t like him -- and find that the rough sketches beneath the forgeries -- because the paintings are all forgeries, of course, the victim is a forger, because there are layers of crime on top of crime, of course -- are of Apollo’s three big cases, the three that involved Wright and the Gavins. If he had thought that Brushel, the reporter, was a lunatic before, now he is really feeling it -- he would kill to disentangle himself from this magic madness, and there’s the man chasing Valant for a seven-year-old story.

No, Apollo is probably cursed -- somehow, even when the players in this mess that is his life are human -- and this is what it has left him with.

The last thing Vera says before the start of the trial is, “Do they… allow dogs in?”

Her eyes are fixed over Apollo’s shoulder and he turns, only spotting the feathery fan of a tail as it slips around the corner. After a month of no sightings, trying and failing to tell himself that he could put the matter out of his mind because neither he nor Phoenix has died yet -- here it is, just when he very much does not need to be more nervous.

Prosecutor Gavin seems different -- different from the two other times Apollo has faced him in the courtroom, and very different from their conversation just a week ago. He is ever-quick with objections, but even quicker to snap at and shut down the defense. Apollo doesn’t need any special tricks to see that he has been rattled by something, that he knows something they don’t. At the name Gramarye, he breaks, the last of his faint composure shattering, turning on the defendant with a force and fury that Apollo has never seen from him. Vera shrinks away, almost trying to tuck herself beneath the witness stand, like that can save her.

Like all things, it seems, they are coming back to Phoenix Wright. Wright, his forgeries, and Klavier.

And Apollo knowing nothing, told nothing, left without a clue in the face of Klavier’s snarl. “He’s told you nothing about this, has he? Your soiled, sullied mentor -- nothing?”

Nothing but that he is human, and that had to be pried from him. Apollo doesn’t say anything and lets Klavier explain the evidence, a page of a diary, that seven years ago got Wright disbarred -- the diary page that Vera, the real forger, Apollo’s client (his kingdom for a normal client), created. And she and her father were hired to do that, and their client—

The answer, the final answer, to that mystery of seven years -- did he do it? -- lies at their fingertips. All there is left is to ask. Apollo’s question -- desperate, pleading, “Vera! For all our sakes, who asked you to forge that evidence? Who was it?” -- could end in exoneration or damnation for the man Apollo once so admired.

(It never ends so simply.)

“I remember so clearly,” she mumbles, hugging her sketchbook to herself, swaying slightly in place. Poor girl; she must be terrified. She stops and turns her eyes again on Klavier, like she has before, an unblinking stare while her lips move absently, as though she is talking to herself, trying to understand something. “Who gave me the… the diary. It was…” She wobbles again, staggering and bracing herself with one hand on the stand.

“Is she okay—”

Trucy doesn’t get to finish her question. Klavier is moving from the bench, toward the witness, even while Vera is still, barely, holding herself upright, and no longer looking at him. “It was --” She reaches for her throat, the last words brittle and barely forced from her lips. “It was the devil.”

She crumples to the ground with a last strangled gasp. The gallery bursts into a flurry of sound and activity, the judge adding to it as he tries to yell for a bailiff at the same time as he demands order. Trucy shoves Apollo out to the witness stand, where Klavier has knelt next to Vera, first there because he first moved -- because he moved even before she fell. Like he knew what was coming. He looks up at Apollo and eyes are wild, not flickering between hues but almost cloudy, glazed over, vacant, even though it is obvious that Klavier is, like the rest of them, far too present in this moment. His voice has lost almost all trace of his accent and it sends a shudder down Apollo’s spine. He sounds like Kristoph. He sounds just like Kristoph.

When they leave the courtroom, Trucy again pulling Apollo along with her to see if they can learn what hospital Vera was taken to, they leave Klavier still on the floor, frozen like a statue, and the hellhound circling the stand and him. At first Apollo doesn’t think he sees it -- which doesn’t make any sense, does it? -- but then it bumps its head into his face. He reaches a hand to rub its fur without looking at it, his eyes still fixed on some distant point far above.

“Apollo Justice speaking.”

“Mr Justice? This is the Hickfield Clinic. You are the attorney for Ms Vera Misham, correct?”

“I -- yes, that’s me. How is she doing?”

“She is alive but unconscious in intensive care, not to be disturbed for any reason.”

“What happened to her?”

“We aren’t sure yet. It’s going to take some time to determine any more about her condition, because your client, Mr Justice -- she isn’t human.”

“Aren’t there privacy laws that telling you that sort of thing goes against?” Trucy asks. They are sitting on the steps in front of the courthouse, watching the extra swarm of police cars begin to depart. They haven’t seen Klavier leave the building, and Phoenix finds the two of them and ushers them onto their feet and away.

“There’s no time to sit around -- you’ve got a case to solve, right?”

“Our client just nearly died, Mr Wright.”

“Then it’s more important than ever that you find out what happened, yes?” Phoenix claps Apollo on the shoulder and pushes some files into Trucy’s hands. “Though, actually, Trucy, can you take those to Edgeworth? And let him know what’s happening down here.”

“C’mon Polly!” she says, about to skip down the stairs, and Phoenix stops her.

“No, Apollo’s coming back to the office with me. There’s some old case information I think he’ll find relevant. Maybe it even won’t be boring.”

“But shouldn’t I get to know it too?” Trucy asks. “I want to know!”

Phoenix shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Apollo watches for red and sees none. Trucy rushes off ahead of them, leaving Apollo with Phoenix, acutely aware that the last time it was just the two of them was that conversation over Phoenix’s humanity -- and assumed lack thereof -- and the presence of the hellhound. He glances around again, expecting it to have followed him out of the building. “I’m surprised she didn’t see right through you sending her away,” Apollo says. Phoenix snorts. “You could have told me that Vera isn’t human, too.”

“I could have, yes.” Phoenix starts walking again. Apollo wishes he had something that he could throw at the back of his head. “But that wasn’t a relevant matter when this case began.”

“So now it is?”

“There is a lot that is relevant now, Apollo.” Phoenix’s eyes are blue when he turns his head. “And you aren’t close to being caught up to where I am -- and where Klavier doubtlessly is.”

“What do you think he knows?” Apollo asks.

“Oh, almost everything. I’m sure he’s figured out the real killer by now -- I think he would be able to see that.” Phoenix smiles. Apollo wants to scream in his face that a girl is nearly dead and her father is and there is a broken legal system that needs their help and everything is just jokes with him, an empty poker gaze. “You wouldn’t be able to tell from across the courtroom, but I was watching, and this whole trial, he never let up with his Sight.”

“What does that mean?” Apollo asks. “Do you -- you don’t always see that whole magic aura stuff?”

“God, no.” Phoenix laughs. “What you saw through the magatama, what I can see when I choose” -- his eyes flash again -- “no human is meant to stare at that for any length of time. Our brains just aren’t built to take it all in.”

“Then why would Prosecutor Gavin do that, if it’s just going to drive him crazy or whatever?”

“He was looking for something,” Phoenix says. “And he saw it.”

Back at the office, Phoenix unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk. The magatama sits on top of a stack of papers, mostly handwritten, and barely readable. But the date on them is clear: April, seven years ago.

“Are you sure you’re human, Mr Wright?”

“I thought you could see that plainly for yourself.”

“You have quite the ‘eye’ yourself, don’t you? Though you should be able to… see that mine isn’t so good now.”

“...”

“I ask because only one man before has ever beaten me in a game of poker, and he was very much not human.”

“And who was he?”

“The man I ‘killed’, of course.”

#roddy fanfics #ace attorney bullshit tag #UP NEXT: FLASHBACK #fic: the seelie of kurain

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deans-baby-momma · 6 years

Text

The Padackles Link-Chapter 6

Summary: After unflattering news is reported, Drea decides its time to tell her story.

Somewhere in the US, two weeks later

I was standing in line at the convenience store, waiting to pay for my purchases and tank of gas when I first spotted it. A tabloid cover alluding to the fact that there was “Trouble in Paradise So Soon: Danneel Ackles seen getting cozy with mystery woman while husband Jensen looks on”.

Since learning their last name, I had kind of become stalker-ish when it came to my famous friends. I would read almost anything that had to do with Jensen and Danneel Ackles. Not that I didn’t fully trust them by now, but it still amazed me that two celebrities had stopped on the side of the road to help a stranger with car troubles.

That day had definitely changed my life and I was grateful. I had a friend, two, in fact who seemed to care and were concerned for me. I hadn’t had many friends before our move to Georgia for Chad’s promotion and hadn’t really gotten around to making any when I lived in Georgia, before or after Chad’s death. Most of my family were gone so that had just left Chad. And he was the bestest of best friends a girl could have asked for.

Now someone was causing my new buddies problems and I sympathized with them. No one wanted problems in their love lives, married or just dating. Thankfully in our 6 years of being together, Chad and I had never had any major issues, nothing that couldn’t be resolved with talking it out.

Stepping up to the counter, I place my bag of chips, candy bar and soda to pay. The cashier looked up with a smile but faltered. “You’re her!” she exclaimed, surprising me. What was she talking about? I’m who?

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you are her. The woman in the pictures with that actress.”

Now my interest was definitely piqued. “What pictures? What actress?”

She grabs the tabloid off the rack and flipping it open to a page filled with pictures that I recognize; the gala. I notice pictures of people I had spotted that night. Pictures of celebrities posing, smiling for the camera. But right in the middle is what stuns me. There in glossy color is a snapshot taken of Dani holding my hand as Jensen walked in front of us, looking clueless.

Not that that was what happened. Not in the least. But the printed picture showed proof of the existence of an affair. Yea, right! I laugh at the picture and look up at the cashier who is perplexed at my reaction. “They have it all wrong. That was so innocent. I got lost in the crowd and Dani grabbed my hand to help me keep up. That’s all it was.”

The cashier doesn’t look convinced. She actually glares at me before scanning my items and taking my money. I go ahead and buy the magazine too; I want to see what the article had stated.

At the hotel three towns over, I lay on the bed reading the article and shaking my head at just how wrong their information is.

Last week at the gala held in San Francisco, we got a glimpse into what could actually be problems in the Ackles’ recent marriage. Jensen and Danneel (Harris) Ackles were wed on May 15, 2010 at the Crescent Hotel in Dallas, TX. Dallas is Jensen’s hometown. Now, just a little over a year it looks like the honeymoon might be over for the newlyweds. Danneel was captured holding hands with an unknown female companion as Jensen seems oblivious Who is this woman? Who is she to the Ackles? More importantly, who, or maybe what, is she to Danneel?

As soon as I finish the article, I pick up my phone and text Dani.

<Hey! Have you seen the latest issue of Rise Weekly? >

<No, why?? >

<Really? Why am I always the last one to know? :) >

<Yea, you’re having a sordid affair. >

<What? I wasn’t holding hands with anyone. > <Oh wait, so you and I are an item now? Hot damn!! >

Laughing at her response, I decide to play along.

<Yea, who knew I could land a sexy as sin celebrity just by running over a nail. >

<Omg! I gotta call Jay. This is just going to break his heart. >

Understanding her sarcasm, I respond in jest.

A few minutes later, as I am eating my dinner and watching a rerun of Three’s Company, my phone dinged, alerting me to a new message. The number is unknown but I open it anyway.

<So, you’re trying to steal my wife? You homewrecker you! >

It’s Jensen; Dani must have given him my number.

<Yea, sorry about that. Just couldn’t control myself. You know how hot she is! ;) >

<LOL! Okay, call me schooled. But seriously, everything okay? >

<Yes, Jensen. I’m fine. Chilling in my hotel watching reruns of shows made before I was even born. Such a thrilling life I lead. >

<Well, now you have my number. If you need anything, call me okay? >

<Okay, I will. >

<Yea? >

The next few days were uneventful. I was enjoying some time outside of the confines of my car. Spending the day visiting the town’s shoppes during the day and sleeping in a warm comfortable bed at the hotel at night. I was content. No one knew who I was; no one recognized me from that gossip rag. Life was fair. Unfortunately things were about to change.

I was sitting on the bed, flipping channels trying to find something to watch when my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Jensen was walking through a parking garage and apparently someone had shoved a camera in his face. I turn up the volume and listen.

“Jensen. Jensen, headed home?

“Yes. Going home to my wife.”

“How is Danneel? How’s married life?”

“She’s good. It’s great. No complaints.” He smiles that charming smile

“Who’s the mystery woman? Is it true Danneel is cheating on you with another woman?” Jensen face morphs into annoyance. “No comment.”

“Ok. Thank you Jensen.”

The view on the television changes to what looks like a newsroom with people sitting around talking; one man standing. He speaks when the camera points to him.

“So no news on the mystery lady? No statement from either Ackles camps?

Another man answers, “No, but we are looking into it. As of right now, though, she remains a mystery.”

I feel violated. Some gossip entertainment show is trying to dig up information on me? Because I was spotted with Jensen and Danneel? Is a simple friendship not valued anymore? All these questions run through my mind but what really worries me is that if my story is dug up, how will they spin that? I lost my husband so I ran away? I’m having an affair with a woman because my husband died? The fear of what rumors could be spread makes me aware of one thing: it is time to tell my story to Jensen and Danneel.

I pick up my phone and find Dani’s contact info. Instead of texting, I decide to call. This is too personal to be done via text. She picks up on the second ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure of an actual phone call my dear?”

“Dani,” I try to keep my voice level but it breaks, alerting her to my distress.

“What’s wrong? Her voice serious now.

“It’s time.” That’s all I say and with the almost inaudible gasp I hear, I know she understands.

“Where are you? How long will it take you to get here?”

“Colorado Springs. I can probably be there in a day?”

“Okay. Jensen is on hiatus now so he’s home. Come here and we’ll talk okay?

“Yea, see you then.”

We hang up and I start packing the few things I have to pack. The faster I get on the road, the faster I get to Dallas, the faster I can finally tell them my story. I’m on the road within an hour, trying to visualize how they are going to take my sad news. I can’t dwell on it though. It is my story and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

Almost 14 hours later, I pull up to the Ackles residence, primed and prepared to recount the depressing story of Chad and Audrea Murphy.

@xxdragonagequeenxx @waywardlodging @darlingpeanut

#jensen ackles #daneel ackles #jared padalecki #genevieve padalecki #thepadackleslink #jensen x ofc #jensen x drea #daneel x ofc daneel x drea

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arazialotis · 7 years

Text

He’s Too Pasty To Fight

This is for the Superbusters Challenge for the fabulous @jalove-wecallhimdean

Definitely my first challenge entry ever, so I am a bit nervous on how it turned out but definitely enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. Feedback is welcome! I also do not consider myself a writer and do this purely as a hobby, so I am sorry in advance for any spelling/grammatical mistakes.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam and Garth

Word Count: 6,600ish

Warnings: Language, Violence, Fluff, Angst, Implied Smut if you wish, a little bit of everything I guess.

Prompt: “He’s too Pasty to fight”

Stir-crazy didn’t even begin to describe what you had been feeling. In the last string of cases, you had been sick and Sam and Dean left you behind to recover. Now that you were up and back to your usual self the supernatural beasties remained quiet. You had already spent hours digging through news articles, police databases, and even supermarket tabloids.

You laid yourself across one of the tables in the library staring up at the ceiling tossing a tennis ball up and down. Sam contently sat at the other table, enjoying a break in cases so he could catch up on some reading. Dean was either working on the impala, making a beer run, or clearing a pool table with some poor fool. You couldn’t care less, he had completely ignored you for weeks after things ‘heated’ up between the two of you. And by heating up you meant a quick make out session abruptly ended by a pizza delivery man going to the wrong motel room. After that, things never picked back up.

Lost in thought, your motivation left to catch the ball and it fell to the floor where it bounced and rolled to Sam’s feet. Sam picked it up and tossed it back at you, catching you off guard and caused you to yelp in shock. He chuckled a bit.

“Sam,” You whined. “Find us a case.”

“Something will come up soon.” He assured.

“We haven’t tried to kill Crowley in a while.” You pondered. “Up for a challenge?”

“If we wanted Crowley dead, he’d be smoke by now.” Dean said entering the room with a six pack already slugging one down.

“As much as he is a thorn in our side, hell hasn’t been as… hellish with him in control.” Sam agreed with Dean.

“Anyways, something came up I think we should check out.” Dean purposed.

“What? Anything! Please!” You asked excitedly.

Dean still talking to Sam explained. “So this chick, Tara. We helped her months back on a case where her brother’s ghost was…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam acknowledged remembering.

“Well, me and her we… uhh…” Dean quickly glanced your way. “Exchanged numbers.” He vaguely stated, your lips pursed knowing exactly what he meant. “She sounds like she’s in trouble.”

Dean played the voicemail on speaker. “Dean, god I hope this is your number. This is Tara from Silverton. You and Sam helped me out with my brother a while back and said I could call if I ever needed your help again.” You could hear the anxiety in her voice. “People are disappearing left and right. It literally feels like a ghost town. I’m leaving for Ridgway tonight. Can you please call me?”

Sam tried to process what he heard.

“Probably just bears or something.” You tried to wave off the case due to a tinge of jealousy.

“We’ve looked into less. Not to mention you’ve been moping around all day waiting for something to come up and you love the mountains.” Sam argued confused by your sudden disinterest.

“Sammy and I could just take this one up.” Dean suggested.

“No!” You protested setting them both on alert not wanting to be left behind again. “I mean, I guess we all could go check it out.” Trying to regain a chill demeanor.

It was only a day’s ride to Ridgway and despite Dean’s multiple attempts, he was not able to reach Tara. You had spent the ride calling numbers to business in Silverton which ended up with no answers. Sam complained about the county sheriff’s department being outdated since the time of the colonies. You arrived in Ridgway, the one horse town shortly after dusk. Sam flipped through a local paper trying to come up with anything and you tapped impatiently on the trunk as Dean talked to the motel clerk.

Dean walked out and grabbed his duffel. “No sign of Tara or anyone for that matter. Apparently it is off season, last person to check in was two weeks ago and they were just passing through.”

“What about other hotels?” You asked.

“This is the only one for miles sweetheart.” He responded condescendingly.

“And of Silverton?” Sam further inquired.

“No news, other than he’ll beat their rates.” Dean answered.

“As long as it is paranormal free, I’ll pay him at any price.” You offered.

“We should still go check it out, there police system is archaic, I’ve got nothing.” Sam suggested.

“Why yes, let’s meander into the ghost town, where literally everyone disappeared in a week. What possibly could go wrong?” You sarcastically replied.

Sam rolled his eyes but knew you were right. “The towns in a valley right? Surrounded by mountains?” He asked Dean trying to recall the case with Tara.

“Yeah,” Dean said pulling out a map. “If we position ourselves here.” He pointed on the southern mountain which was closest to the town. “We should be able to get a pretty good view with binoculars.”

An hour and a half later you had made it just past Silverton and found an inconspicuous place to park. You started up the mountain which had no trail, trying to get high enough to get a good view of the town.

“Listen,” You huffed and puffed. “I’m sure witching hour hikes are real popular with the tourists, but I didn’t sign up for this shit.” Sam lent you a hand to help you up a sharp incline.

Dean finally was satisfied with a location not a moment too soon. You dropped your pack on the ground and laid down on your back using the pack as a pillow. The ground was dusty and the surrounding brush was dry.

“Cozy?” Dean asked and you simply replied with a thumbs up. “Yeah, I’m sure the rattlesnakes are too.”

You swore under your breath and jumped up as Dean took out his binoculars. “Hmm... There's a few lights on in town. What looks like to be a hotel and a bar with quite a few people.”

You reached to grab for the binoculars but Sam got to them first. “Yeah, but there are literally no other lights on. Not even a TV light from one of the houses. Or cars at the bar?” Sam observed after a few minutes of looking around.

“You feel up for a few drinks?” Dean asked Sam.

“How do you know they are even people?” You challenged Dean’s first comment.

“What else would they be?” Dean argued.

“Do you want me to make a list? I’ll make a list.” You bickered.

Sam handed you the binoculars to distract you from actually starting to list off the possibilities. “Y/N’s right. We should know exactly what we are dealing with before walking in there.”

“Check this out,” You said passing the binoculars back. “At the hotel, it looks like a truck is being loaded.”

Dean squinted trying to get a better look and then quickly packed up. “We should be able to tail them once it leaves town.” He said as he started to bolt down the mountain. Sam followed quickly behind.

You were left in their dust. “But… but, we just got up here…” You whined to yourself almost on the verge of crying before quickly mustering up the strength to follow after them.

Thankfully, going down was much easier than making your way up. Dean drove slowly and closer to town with the headlights off. He parked off the road in the bend were the town’s main road connected with the highway. While Dean was focused on waiting for the truck to pass, you nervously watched for anything else in the distance, holding your pistol tight. The town had an eerie silence and darkness to it only increased by the mountains which blocked out some starlight.

There was literally no traffic, not even cars passing through on the highway. It made the truck easy to spot when pulling out of town. Dean gave it a few minutes head start before turning on the engine and following it down the freeway. It seemed to be the size of a standard delivery truck. The chase led back up to Ridgway where it stopped at a gas station. Dean pulled up next to the air pump. The driver of the vehicle got out to pump gas and a minute later joined the passenger inside.

You jumped at the opportunity. “I got this.” You said jumping out of the impala.

“Y/N, wait, no.” You heard Sam call from the car but you had already made your mind up.

You tucked your gun in the back of your jeans and loosened your flannel shirt to cover it. You went towards the back of the truck quickly peering inside the station but didn’t catch a glimpse of the driver. The back was not locked and so you undid the latch. Dry ice poured out of the back. The walls were lined with pints of blood and stacked with coolers. You froze when you saw a man stand up from his seat at the back of the truck.

Thinking on your feet, you horribly attempted your best impression of a stoner. “Ah shit man, this isn’t the ice cream truck. I fucking wanted some of those little ones, with all the little balls you know.” Your heart pounded inside of you as the man remained stern. “Ah, good turnout for the blood drive though, people of the mountains doing their part.” You winked at him. “I would have come out, but ah, you know...” You pinched your fingers together rolling a fake joint by your lips. “But ah, you keep fighting the good fight and I gotta… go.”

You quickly turned from the truck not bothering to shut the doors and headed for the station, not wanting to give Sam and Dean away. On your way in the passenger and driver made their way out. The third man met them by the door and all three watched you suspiciously. You went for the freezer section and grabbed a gallon of chocolate ice cream. Two of them left for the truck while the other one remained outside watching you.

You went up to the cashier. “So, I’m like looking for double chocolate… it’s like regular chocolate but like with extra…” You tried to keep up the act. Satisfied the third man left and the truck pulled away. You changed back to a regular voice the cashier still looking at you confused, “I’ll just take this,” handing him some change.

Before leaving you quickly shot Sam a text. “Vamps. May be tailed, I’ll circle around and meet you at the motel.”

You left the station, quickly glancing at the impala noting it appeared empty. You made your way into a neighborhood with the sick feeling you were being followed. You learned to trust your instincts with a job like this. You zigzagged through the blocks. The moment your hair stood on end and a hand reached for your shoulder you swung the ice cream bag around making direct contact with the perpetrators face. As he stumbled back Sam and Dean ran out from the shadows, Dean placing a machete at his throat. It was easy to sneak up on a vamp hunting, they never expected to become the prey.

“Down.” Dean demanded. The vampire knelt hesitantly but willingly nonetheless. “Oh, I bet you have a lovely singing voice.” He pressed the knife against his throat.

“Winchesters” The vampire sneered.

“It’s a shame, you have our name but we don’t know yours…” Dean started. “On second thought, I don’t care.”

“What’s going on in Silverton?” Sam immediately got down to business.

The vampire simply smiled.

You put the disappearances and truck together. “Their farming it.”

“For what purpose?” Sam asked again, the vampire continued to smirk. “Your canary is defective.” Sam commented to Dean.

“So, we go in and sweep the town, get survivors out and find someone more willing to sing.” Dean suggested and the vamp started laughing. “What’s so funny, Twilight?”

That’s when you noticed a small light flashing from inside his pocket. You grabbed it out and saw the phone was connected to another call. “Fuck.” You swore as you smashed it against the pavement.

The vampire finally spoke. “Even if I didn’t give them the heads up, there are still too many of us, you’d be waltzing in like steaks on a platter.” He smiled. Dean ended him quickly after it was clear he wasn’t going to share any more information.

After disposing of the body, you made your way back to the car. “We need a plan.” Sam remarked.

“We need back up.” You suggested.

Dean looked down at his watch. “I need a bed.”

It was agreed you would find a way forward in the morning. The three of you shared a hotel room as you always had to save on costs. Although you stubbornly started the night out on the floor, you eventually crawled into Dean’s bed not been able to get comfortable on the hard ground. It had been an arrangement you always shared. Sam frankly was too huge to share a double with, and although would never admit it to his face, he snored.

When Dean woke in the morning, he smiled to himself that you had given in. He watched you peacefully sleep for a moment and then threw a pillow on your head which was customary so you could block out the light and sound for as long as possible.

Daylight finally caught up with you and your zombie-esque state finally started to fade away on the second cup of coffee at a local diner. The conversation between the boys no longer seemed muted and started to register fully.

“What I am saying, is if all those people we saw last night at the bar are actually vampires, we don’t stand a chance, even if we hit a nest during the day.” Sam argued.

“Then we should just torch the whole place, leave any hand on hand combat out of it.” Dean suggested.

“And any survivors? We still don’t know anything about the victims.” Sam continued to debate.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dean defended.

“Back up.” You stated finally entering the conversation.

“And just exactly who are you going to call?” Dean asked with scrutiny.

All of the coffee must have took effect all at once and you closed your eyes praying with dramatic flair. “Oh great Castiel with wings so fluffy and light, won’t you help us purge this town with your great might.” You peeked one eye open scanning the area and huffed when he didn’t appear.

“Castiel has been awol for weeks.” Sam reminded you.

“And after that prayer it will be a miracle if he ever comes back.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“If we brought in Claire perhaps that would entice Cas to join us.” You suggested.

“We already have angst overflowing from this vampire drama, I don’t need hers added on top of it.” Dean argued.

“Okay, then what about Jody?” Sam suggested.

“She has the girls to look after. Plus if she comes, Claire will find a way too.” Dean continued to shut down ideas.

“Donna?” You helplessly racked your brain for ideas

“Bless Donna, but I don’t want her involved in an operation with such high stakes.” Dean admitted.

You and Sam paused thinking of other possibilities. “...Garth?” You shot out another name.

“Garth?” Dean laughed. “He’s too pasty to fight.”

Sam looked quizzically at Dean. “Dude, he’s a werewolf.”

“All the more reason he shouldn’t be involved.” Dean defended.

“Or all the more reason to get him involved, what about all that werewolf/vampire lore?” You suggested.

“It actually has no real basis other than Hollywood.” Sam pointed out.

“Then what a perfect opportunity to test out a new theory.” You tried to appeal to Sam’s researched focused brain. “The full moon is not until another week and a half, so there’s no risk of him going primal on us.” You argued further.

Dean was still not convinced and Sam racked his brain. “Who else do we know that isn't dead or who doesn't want us dead?”

“I'll make a couple calls,” Dean settled.

“Including Garth?” You pressed.

Dean looked at Sam who replied. “You do have a better connection with him”

“Okay, okay, and Garth.” Dean settled. “Even if we get extra help, we still don't have a plan.”

“They’ll be planning for us either way.” You stated the obvious.

“They’ll be planning for us during the day…”Sam corrected.

You looked at him puzzled by his train of thought. “You’re not suggesting we go in at night?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders in response. Dean stood up from the booth rubbing his hand against the scruff on his jaw thinking about the possibility. “It could work.” He decided.

“It could work...” You whispered. “Have you both gone insane?!” You yelled and then folded your hands bringing both your pointer fingers to rest at your mouth as almost if to silence your thoughts from coming out.

“We control the fight by making a scene and bringing them to us.” Sam started formulating.

“...First of all,” You broke your silence. “They know we are in this town, what is going to stop them from coming up here and ripping us from the beds in which we sleep?” Sam looked at Dean concerned at the thought. “Second, the only possible chance we would have of controlling a swarm of vampires at night…. Would be by rigging the impala with... tanning bed lights.” You made up on the spot.

That morning led to you checking out of Ridgway and driving up to Montrose checking into a hotel under different names and circumstances. The later part of the next day and a half, the three of you hit up every tanning salon in the four nearest counties. While you tried to explain the stupidity of the idea and convince the boys you had only been joking, a better plan could not be conjured. It had been surprisingly easy to head into salons as health code inspectors and leaving with a few ‘defective’ bulbs.

Dean had gathered up hardware supplies in order to fix and hold the lights on the impala. Astonishingly, the impala was able to make it up the side of a mountain, where a closed trail’s parking lot was a perfectly discreet location to hook up the contraption. You took a moment to admire the scenery and breathe the mountain air.

As you worked, Dean’s CCR tape lightened the mood by taking your mind off the night ahead. It took the three of you to attach a skeleton rectangle to the top of the car. You smiled hearing Dean muttering apologies to ‘baby’. The plan was to adhere the longer bulbs on the contraption up top as well as shorter ones on the hood, trunk, and side of the doors. For flair, Dean had also found two wall speakers to screw in on the top as well, making sure no vamp in town would miss the entrance.

When “Bad Moon Rising’ came on, you couldn’t help but sing along. Taking a break from the manual labor, you jumped up and instinctively found Dean. As you sang, you grabbed his hands and lead him in a twist. Sam stopped welding and watched the two of you swing around. He cleared his throat grabbing Dean’s attention. Sam popped an eyebrow at Dean questioning what was going on as Dean had sworn weeks earlier nothing was going on between the two of you. Dean left you dancing on your own getting back to work and ignoring Sam’s inquisition. You didn’t seem to mind however, you kept your mood up, perhaps the adrenaline had already started flowing through your veins preparing you for tonight.

Shortly after, a ford pickup truck pulled into the dusty lot. A tall, lanky, and yes, pasty looking, Garth stepped out in his traditional cowboy hat and boots.

“Hola hombres.” Garth introduced himself with only a cheer and innocence he could carry. “And lady.” He tipped his hat towards you.

“Garth,” Sam went in for a firm hug with a chuckle in his voice. “Thanks for making it out man.”

Dean came over as well and held out his hand. “Garth.”

Garth jumped passed his hand and straight for a hug. “You know I’m all about the hugs brother.”

Dean tried to end it as quick as possible. “So what’s new with you? Any young pups running around?”

“All in good time, the wife and I are still enjoying just the two of us.” He explained bashfully.

You finally finished screwing a lock into place and joined the group hugging Garth as well. “Ah, it’s been way too long!”

“You know, after all this is said and done I’ll have ya’ll out for a party, we could play some twister, drink a bottle or two.” Garth suggested delighted at the thought. When no one responded Garth went over to the Impala. “Oh wow, look at this beauty. They’ve really done you up.” He said while inspecting.

Dean joined him. “So you sure you good with the plan?”

“Yeah, it makes the most sense to me. Kinda in a pickle either way.” He stated quite seriously.

You leaned into Sam’s shoulder hiding a soft chuckled forgetting how nutty Garth could be.

Garth noticed and whispered to Dean. “Oh, I didn’t realize… is it awkward?”

Dean took a moment to catch on. “What? No. They're not…. We’re not… She’s like a sister…. To both of us…”

Garth raised his eyebrows and nodded in affirmation not buying it for a second. When you started making your way over, Garth tried to redirect the conversation. “Well, I think you should keep her like this.” He said patting the hood of the car.

“Don’t listen to him, we’ll get you good as new baby.” Dean directed at the car.

After a few more touch ups, a test drive to make sure nothing would fly off, and the dusk settling in it was time to light her up. Dean insisted he was the one in the car to turn it on in case anything were to happen… he wanted to be with her.

Sam ran back to where you and Garth stood. “Either we’ve created a nuclear bomb or it just might work.” He said before giving Dean the thumbs up.

The instant the lights illuminated you turned around to shield your eyes. “Jesus!”

Sam tried to shield his eyes but had to end up turning around too.

Garth looked at it amazed with sunglasses already in place. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah, if you like looking directly at a solar eclipse.” You commented sarcastically.

Dean tested out the speakers too with ‘Smoke on the Water.’ He ran out to join you to get a better look. “Well, if anything happens to us, at least the National Guard will get our signal for back up.”

“So is everyone okay with the plan?” Sam asked and received nods back. “We get in, draw a group to us, flip on the switch.”

“Burn ‘em to a crisp.” Dean added.

“Whoever’s left, we fight on the outskirt of the light. If you're in trouble, get back to the impala.” Sam explained.

Everyone had agreed, there was no questions or second thoughts. Dean had turned off the lights and music on the drive down obviously not wanting to draw attention. It was a quiet drive down, even Garth hardly made a peep to your surprise. He was out of practice and may be trying to psych himself up you thought. You were each armed with a machete. It would be messy but it would get the job done.

It was a good hour and a half before you arrived to Silverton. It was the slowest you have ever driven with Dean. He was being precautious not wanting to jeopardize the rigged car. When the town came in sight, you could feel your heart beating through your chest.

Before Dean turned down the main street he quickly asked everyone. “Ready?” With no objections he turned on the speakers and Led Zeppelin's iconic ‘Immigrant Song’ on repeat so it would loop throughout the fight.

Dean picked up speed driving through town. He swerved up and down the streets wanting to make sure no vamp would miss out on the show. When satisfied, he found an open space to park the car and wait for the fight to come to you. Slowly but surely, you started to see a mass of shadows cautiously approaching the car.

“Dean?” You whispered concerned and making sure he was aware of the approaching vampires.

“Not yet.” He said determined.

The shadows grew into human forms and larger as they got closer to the car. “Dean?” You asked again starting to panic. You grabbed Garth’s hand who was seated next to you on the back bench just for something to hold onto. You’d be fine once out in the open fight, but being in such a confined space was setting you off.

“We need them closer.” Dean whispered trying to convince you everything was under control.

You looked through all windows as they continued to approach. They were close enough now that the moonlight was unmasking there features. At seeing the white of their eyes, you tried to deep breath to keep your heartbeat under control. Garth gave you a reassuring squeeze. Not a moment later a vampire smashed up against your window.

“Fuck!” You yelled trying to scurry away as much as you could.

“Sammy, light her up! Now!” Dean yelled.

Sam flipped the switch dusting every vampire near the car instantly. You could hear screams of those farther away who most likely were able to get into the safety of darkness only slightly burned. You jolted from the car ready to get out of the confined space. You smiled as you saw forms at the end of the light, finally ready to let out the pent up adrenaline.

You stayed relatively close to each other, never out of shouting distance. And even with the UV lights on your side, offering a place of protection, you had to venture out of their safety in order to get out at the vamps. They were putting up a good fight too, the darkness on their side, giving them an advantage at the hand to hand.

“Dean? Sam?” You tried to gauge their progress as you made your way back into the light to catch your breath. To your right you heard the crunching of bones. Immediately you looked seeing Garth on the ground near the edge. “Garth?!” You yelled panic. “He needs help!” You yelled for Sam and Dean.

You heard bones crack again and slowed down running to him realizing the vampires had backed up from him too. Dean and Sam were close behind you but you held out a hand stopping them. Garth twisted in pain on the ground moaning.

“We got to get him into the light.” Sam yelled urgently but it was too late, the transformation was complete. Sam reached for his leg to pull him out of the dimmed shadows. Garth, or the beast he had turned into, bared his teeth and growled at Sam. Sam instinctively jumped back.

Dean broke the moments of stillness and silence, by cooing. “Who's a good boy? How about milk bone?”

“But it’s not a full moon.” You whispered confused to Sam who was as lost as you were.

“What an ugly son of a bitch.” Dean quietly commented.

Your focus was shifted by the sound of an automatic rifle firing through the impala taking out a quarter of the lights.

“Shit.” You swore exasperated.

Garth howled and ran off into the wilderness. Dean yelling after him. “Garth, come back! Bad Dog.”

Another round of shots fired at the impala taking out more lights.

“This night just got a whole lot more shitty.” Dean stated the obvious as you heard another howl in the distance.

With the plan failed you tried to break for town, fighting the crowds of vamps along the way, looking for a safe house, a vantage point. You only had to last for the morning. The last thing you remembered was Dean yelling your name before the world turned black.

You woke up in what seemed to be a hotel lobby. Your head pounded and your hands were bound behind you. Sam and Dean were kneeling while someone held you up.

“Y/N, is it?” A vampire asked, his hair curly, dark, and tousled. “So nice of you to join us.”

You looked around the room. “Didn’t want to miss out on the beautiful art deco.” You snarked at him sarcastically.

The vampire smiled. “I see the Winchester’s arrogance is contagious.”

“Frankly it’s better than the blood sucking disease your gang lives with.” You shot back.

“I’d hold your tongue if you wanted to survive the night.” He suggested to you.

“And join your blood bank, no thanks, I didn’t plan on making any deposits.” You continued to play with him.

He walked over to you and grabbed your jaw firmly. Dean shut his eyes afraid of what might come. You looked at him, knowing there was nothing he could do. Another man entered the room.

“Jasper!” He called him to stop. “The father wants to deal with the Winchesters and their pet personally. We will put them on the next delivery truck out.”

The vampire named Jasper, you smiled remembering Dean’s twilight reference earlier, let go of your chin to confront the other.

“And what do you suggest we do with them until then?” Jasper asked the leader.

The leader thought about it. “Farm them with the others… hunter’s blood may make us stronger.” He suggested wanting to test out a theory.

You were lead through the hotel. Doors had been ripped off and you saw the town’s people inside. They were hooked up to IV’s slowing being drained of their blood. Dean saw Tara through one of the doors and waved defeated at her. She did not return the motion.

Continuing to walk down the hallway Dean commented. “If this is how the tellers treat us, god help us with the loan officer.” He said making reference to your blood bank comment earlier. “How is the old Alfie anyways,” Dean asked Jasper about the Alpha vamp. “Haven’t talked to him since the apocalypse.”

Jasper ignored him and lead the three of you to a room empty of townspeople but with two female vampires waiting for instructions. “I want two guards with them 24/7. Hook them up, drain them to the point of weakness. We don’t want them getting any ideas. If they step out line, don’t hesitate.” Jasper ordered.

Sam was chained to a lounge chair and you and Dean were cuffed to a bed. Jasper left when he was satisfied the bounds were secure. The two females worked on IV bags. Dean was stuck first, blood immediately flowing into a sterile bag.

“How about a little music, to lighten the mood.” Dean sarcastically asked.

Sam and you were set up too. You tried to keep spirits up the first couple of hours. You debated about what happened to Garth, whether it was the fighting that triggered the mutation or something else. You prayed silently he was okay. But after the first few hours, so much blood had been collected it overwhelmed you to carry a conversation. You could tell Sam and Dean weren’t far behind.

Your body felt too heavy to move, your head swam in a fog, sensations such as sound and light didn’t fully process. Jasper came in satisfied with the progress and instructed the attendants to keep you and the boys in this state explaining to slow or speed up the flow as need. Hours and days seemed to blend together. Occasionally you had enough strength to move your hand closer to Dean’s making sure he was still there. He would lock his pinky with yours.

On what you perceived to be the fourth night, things started to change. You became more aware. You looked around the room, the guards were gone and you heard shouting coming from outside.

Dean was suddenly patting your face. “Y/N wake up, wake up.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” You moaned.

Dean’s bounds were undone, Sam’s as well as, he was chugging water. Dean worked to undo your IV as carefully as possible, but you still hissed as he pulled it out. He wrapped it up and applied pressure. You looked at the bag which seemed to be at full capacity not allowing any of your blood to pass through accounting for the surge of strength.

“What’s going on?” You asked Dean looking at the clock seeing the time at 2:00 am.

“I’m not sure, we’ve been alone for hours and there is fighting going on outside.” Dean explained. “We’re not going to miss this opportunity. Can you walk?”

“I don’t know...” You put your feet on the floor and tried to stand up. A wave of dizziness caught you and you sat back down.

“Come on,” Dean reassured and helped support your weight.

The three of you slowly made your way down the hall, being cautious knowing you were in no position to fight. You looked into the other rooms, people still hooked up to the IVs, some more conscious than others.

“What about them?” Sam asked Dean.

“We’re no use to them dead.” Dean said pressing onward. “We’ll find a way back.”

You made your way into the lobby and surprised Jasper and the leader who were in the middle of an argument. Jasper, upon seeing you three, fumed in anger.

“This was you, wasn’t it?” He yelled storming over to you.

He was interrupted as a werewolf broke through the glass door. Jasper and the leader coward in the corner and the werewolf made his way toward them. It showed no mercy and you turned away not wanting to see the gore that would ensue. After finished the werewolf turn toward you, blood lusting in his eyes. The three of you started to slowly back up down the hall.

Another werewolf broke through the entrance, snarling at his much bigger counterpart. You knew instantly it was Garth. He was even gangly when bulging with werewolf muscles and his eyes still remained kind. He snarled until the other creature kneeled and ran off whimpering. Garth turned to your group, your heart still racing knowing at any moment the beast inside him could lash out and attack you. But Garth eyes showed knowing and relief. He howled and ran back out into the streets.

You followed him joined by Dean and Sam. Outside looked like a massacre, vampires lining the streets a few werewolves finishing up a few remaining blood sucking savages. Your eyes followed Garth and he continued to howl. The rest of the pack ran to join him. He glanced back one more time, before he led them back into the woods. It took a few minutes to process that Garth had just saved you and the town with his pack.

“I’m going to send them a nice fruit basket or something.” You broke the silence.

“He may be a pasty Gumby on the outside, and look awkwardly rough one night of the month, but deep down he’s a good boy.” Dean ended.

Although your body physically complained and ached still with every moment, you cleaned up the mess left behind before unchaining the townspeople. Upon freeing people from the makeshift jail, you decided to leave quickly not wanting to explain what had happened to a crowd. Dean had explained to Tara though who vowed to help people recover and handle the situation. She hugged him goodbye.

You made your way to the impala. Dean rubbed the side full of remorse. “Oh baby, what have they done to you?”

Surprisingly, it still ran. The car was an angel in your eyes. You made it back to the hotel in Montrose, parking in the back to avoid wandering eyes from reporting the destroyed car. All you could think about was a hot shower and bed. Sam made remarks about needing to get the protein and vitamins back up and so made a food run with a ‘borrowed’ car.

Dean seemed to be asleep when you were finished showering, you dressed in a t-shirt and panties and joined him in bed. He peaked his eye open at you and smiled, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to his body. You wrapped your arm around his chest and sighed. He rolled in the sheets to meet your body. He ran his free hand through your hair and softly kissed your lips.

You pulled back confused searching his eyes that were dancing with emotions. “What are you doing?” You asked timidly.

He gently held grabbed your hair trying to admit to the truth stuck in the back of his throat. “I almost lost you…” His voice cracked.

“We’re hunters, we almost lose each other every time we leave the bunker.” You said trying to lighten the mood.

“Not like this time…. And it made me realize, I don’t want to miss out on… us.” He tried to put into words as his hand found its way to your waist under your shirt.

“Want to add this notch to your bed post Winchester?” You asked trying to avoid the seriousness in his tone.

“You know what I mean, I want more than that with you…. But if you don’t…” He rolled back onto his back and ran his hand through his hair. “...Shit, I don’t know… we’ll have to figure something out, because I can’t stand around anymore pretending that this isn’t real.”

You gulped trying to be honest with him. “You know I’m not good at the whole relationship thing…” You started.

He laughed softly interrupting you. “Look who you are talking too.”

“I am afraid… that if we step forward and it doesn’t end well, we’ll never have what we have now. I can’t lose you or Sam.” You admitted.

“Then what do you suggest?” He questioned.

“...Taking things slow.” You said hesitantly.

“Okay,” Dean agreed.

After moments of silence you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh fuck this.”

You grabbed his shirt and drew him back to you kissing him hard and passionately. He happily obliged. He rolled on top of you, straddling your waist. He threw his t-shirt off over his head. You traced his muscles with your fingers. He came back down meeting your lips, hands hungrily at your waist again, inching your shirt up.

Sam walked in completely shocked. “Oh god.” He looked at Dean confused.

“Kinda in the middle of something.” Dean exclaimed as you turned around under him hiding your red face in a pillow.

“Ok... right,” Sam left back out the door still confused.

You couldn’t help but start laughing. “Just our luck huh?”

“I’m not backing down if you ain’t.” Dean growled at you.

You looked back up at him giving a come and get me grin. As soon as he leaned back down to kiss you Sam opened the door again with a hand covering his eyes. Dean rolled his eyes about to chew his brother out but was struck with a protein bar Sam had thrown in your general direction.

“Um, I just think you guys should eat these before... You know. You could faint from the blood loss… and I don’t want to have to rescue your current situation… okay, that’s all.” Sam shut the door.

Dean widened his eyes and rolled his head as if to ask can you believe this guy. “Let’s give this one last shot.” He settled as he smiled into another kiss.

Tags:

@nanie5 @akshi8278 @sea040561

#superbusterschallenge #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x you

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bts-love-sweat-tears · 7 years

Text

Ice Princess

Title: Ice Princess

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Rating: PG

Type: Fluff (the only thing I know how to write, apparently)

Inspiration: Tae’s love of Gucci, his frugal & filial ideal type, my summer finance course (lol, I’m not on the MC’s level at all), Strong Woman Do Bong Soon (specifically Park Hyung-Sik’s young CEO character). This one took me a little while and was harder to write than the first two I did. As always, please let me know any constructive writing feedback you have <3

You sighed and stretched out in your California king bed, and rolled over to check the time on your phone. 4:45AM. Why was it that you could rarely sleep through the night? Knowing that it was all the rest that you would be getting for the night, you padded over to your desk, flipped open the computer, and started reading through financial reports. Not the most glamorous way to be spending the wee hours of the morning, but it was one that had led your family’s business to unprecedented success. You had taken a small mom-and-pop operation, and turned it into a national chain, and then an international conglomerate based on investments and acquisitions. Luckily you had your parents and older brothers to be the public faces of the operation, with only those on the Board of Directors knowing that you were the brains behind the company’s continued success. It wasn’t that you had set out with this secrecy, but it had sort of evolved after realizing how difficult it was to “wheel and deal” at the highest levels of this patriarchal society.

On the other hand though, you were still in your early twenties, and longed for someone to communicate with. Your non-stop work managing the company was your passion, but it had come at the expense of friends and romantic relationships. While you knew that you had chosen your priorities, you still hoped that you could “have it all.” Part of the main challenge was that you had two different personas- your in-office, immaculate professional, and then the person you were outside of work. You dressed simply and casually. Though your family’s net worth was in the nine digits, on your rare days off you wore white tees, gray hoodies, and black jeans. it was a standard, simple uniform, but it was comfortable, and more importantly, cheap. You hadn’t gotten the family business to thrive by wasting money on fashion or other frivolities. The paparazzi had quickly become bored of your austerity, and had moved on to the scions of other chaebols, whose lives provided much more interesting fodder for the tabloids.

After reviewing spreadsheets and flipping through the top articles of the day, you glanced at your Google calendar, and froze. Out of all the things you remembered to do day in and out, you couldn’t believe that you forgot that today was your mother’s 50th birthday. You had remembered that your father had been planning some sort of intimate family dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, which of course had been a source of contention between the two of you, since you hadn’t wanted to randomly spend the money, but now it all made sense. More importantly though, you realized that you had no gift, and the rest of your afternoon was booked with conference calls and meetings, so it was now or never. You sighed and went to your closet. Even though you preferred comfort and utility, you also knew that where you were going, you would need to look good to get the best/quickest service. Time to go to “the Rodeo.”

An hour and a half later, you found yourself outside the Gucci store in Cheongdam-dong, a place you had never had any particular interest in visiting. However, your mom had been eyeing a pair of pink leather loafers that had been all the rage with the other ajummas in her circle, but you knew that she would never actually buy them for herself. Your mother had grown up poor, and she still couldn’t quite trust the sustained good fortune that your family had had. While you didn’t like spending money wastefully or on yourself, your mother was the one person who you would never hesitate to spend money on, particularly since she also would never spend it on herself.

You approached the door, noticing a crowd congregating outside of the store, snapping pictures and talking animatedly among themselves. You didn’t give them a second glance though, knowing you were on a tight timeframe. You opened the door, and were met by a cool blast of air conditioning, followed almost immediately by the smiles and greetings of shop attendants. When you told them what you were looking for, they led you to the well-lit back wall that highlighted all of their shoes, and explained the different options. After it was clear that you were alternating indecisively between the unlined and fur-lined pair, the shop assistants started to drift away to seemingly more lucrative clients.

As you were debating, you noticed a tall, golden-complexioned boy (man?) out of the corner of your eye. He clearly thought that he was all that, since he was wearing sunglasses-inside, at nine in the morning, no less- and had a face-mask on. You rolled your eyes. This was exactly why you avoided stores like this. He was looking at the men’s slippers. When he caught you eyeing him up, he lowered his mask, and smiled the squarest smile you had ever seen. How did his lips even bend in that way? Caught off guard, you kept staring, which only made his smile more boxy. His face was unbelievably symmetrical.

“Like what you see?”

“Not particularly.” You sighed. “ I was just wondering what kind of weirdo wears sunglasses inside.”

He looked like a hurt puppy at the word “weirdo,” and the image you had of a self-assured player shattered. He must be your age or younger.

“I’m not weird!!!” he whined. “ I have to be….cautious.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you have your reasons.” You sighed, not particularly interested in furthering the conversation, already thinking back to your mom’s slippers.

The boy wasn’t giving up though. He moved closer, and spoke again, this time whispering.

“You seriously don’t recognize me?” His eyes were sparkling with some emotion you couldn’t read. Surprise? Suppressed laughter? Derision?

You ignored him, and when he saw what you were looking at, he said, “Go with the fur-lined ones. My hyung got me a pair, and they’re my favorite!”

You decided that you had better things to do, and stood up, unconsciously taking his advice and grabbing the fur-lined ones.

He laughed, eyes still sparkling, and followed you to the register. “You called me weird, but you’re possibly the only person in South Korea who doesn’t know who I am.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have a lot of free time. In fact, I have a meeting to get to,” you snapped, handing the black credit card to the cashier. His eyes followed your hands, and the card, and you thought that might finally shut him up.

As you were walking out of the store, he ran out after you, multiple bags in hand and boxy smile still plastered to his face. “My job takes up a lot of my time, but I still have time to watch TV and stay up to date on who’s who!”

Before you could even think of what to reply, he was whisked away by some kind handler, and the crowd that had been there when you arrived had only multiplied. As you got into your own waiting car, you heard squeals of “Taehyung-oppa!!” and “V-oppa!” While you were sure that you had heard of that name somewhere and now had deduced from the crowd that he was some kind of celebrity, you couldn’t place him. Clearly whatever “cautions” he had taken were ineffective. Soon you were whisked away to meetings, and any thoughts of him left your mind.

The clinking of glasses and silverware, the dim lighting, and the classical music were all par for the course at the fanciest French restaurant in the city, but for some reason, the night still felt especially enchanting to you. Maybe because you were all together as a family, celebrating the woman who was the bedrock of your family. You were all relatively close, but as the family business grew bigger, it seemed like you had less time together. You should all really just sell the company, and relax on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean, but it wasn’t in line with your family’s working class values. You felt strangely happy (maybe it was the wine), which was rare for the family’s “ice princess.” Some disgruntled investor had called you that once, and the nickname had somehow stuck. Though your family now said it with endearment, you didn’t always love it.

Tonight, though, that part of your personality had melted away. Feeling warm, you excused yourself from the table to go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face. Your cheeks were a little pink when you saw your reflection in the bathroom, but nonetheless you thought you looked glamorous in your little black dress and pearls. You felt like Audrey Hepburn in one of those old classic movies you would sometimes watch with your siblings. Realizing that you were probably approaching the end of the socially acceptable time limit to be gone from the dinner table, you opened the bathroom door, and rushed around the corner. And directly into someone’s broad back.

You bowed slightly to apologize, and when you looked up you saw the same infuriating boxy smile from that morning. Except this time, instead of sunglasses, he was wearing prescription frames that allowed you to stare directly into his dark brown eyes. He was also wearing a perfectly fitted tux, which you were trying very hard to ignore. He had clearly recognized you right away.

“Hey! I know you! The girl from this morning! Did you plan this?” he beamed.

“Wow, the weird guy from this morning. And definitely not. I’m here with my family.” you replied curtly. But you thought back to this morning and again felt bad for calling him weird.

“I want to meet them! I bet they’re really cute and traditional-who shelters their grown daughter so much that she has never heard of BTS?”

You roll your eyes at that. Well that answered THAT question. “I’m not sheltered-just busy with my career. Forgive me, oh great Taehyung-oppa.” You had meant it as a joke, based on what you had heard people shouting earlier, but your voice came out breathier and higher than you meant it to. You were blaming it on the wine.

He froze for a minute, eyes wide, but suddenly laughed a wheezy laugh, which was cut by the arrival of your mother.

“Ahh there you are! I was just coming to check if you were okay! I thought you may have fallen in,” she chuckled, her whole face smiling. Her expression changed to shock when she saw Taehyung, and you were concerned that she might have a heart attack.

“Aren’t you Kim Taehyung? You were in the drama 화랑 recently!” she said excitedly.

Kim Taehyung smiled sweetly, and nodded his head. Your mother continued, “Aish, I watched every episode! Though there were some very sad scenes,” she said, looking at him pointedly. “Wow, what good luck to run into a celebrity on my birthday!”

“Ahh, it’s your birthday?” Tae almost shouted. “생일 축하합니다!!” Why were you the calmest one in the hallway? Your mom looked like she was on the verge of fainting.

“I know it might be strange of me to ask, but would you be willing to take a picture with me? I’m a huge fan.”

You were sure that he was going to say no, as idols were notorious for being image-conscious and intensely private. Just as you were about to get defensive on her behalf, he beamed that signature smile and said unexpected words.

“ I would be honored.” As you took out your phone to take the picture, he put one arm around your mom and and shot a heart toward the camera with the other. You blushed just looking at the screen. How strong was this wine?! This wasn’t your personality at all.

After you snapped the photo, he quickly closed the space between you, and asked to see the picture. After approving it, he looked back to you. “I know it might be bold, since we just met, but since we keep bumping into each other, would you give me your phone number?”

Your mom covered her mouth with her hand and slowly backed away to give you two some space. You could only imagine the gossip she was probably spreading back at the family table. If he had asked for your number earlier in the Gucci store, you would have definitely said no, but seeing how kind he was to your mom, how could you not? You smiled and started to speak. You had a feeling that things were going to be changing, and maybe you could “lean in” and still “have it all.”

#bts #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfic #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #bts taehyung

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