#who would’ve thought they got married and moved to west side

[dino-fart]

What A Coincidence

@strangesgirl​

Can you do a story where the reader has an engagement to attend but defender strange says he is unable to attend. She gets there and is harassed by her ex boyfriend ( you decides how) but he shows up at the last minute to help and let there be fluff?

You sighed and stood there in your blush colored asymmetric lace dress. The sleeves were contoured cap sleeves that were sheer. The skirt of the dress was asymmetric, one side stopping above your knee and the other side below your knee. The collar of the dress was round and sheer. You had your hair curled and in a half updo. You wore silver stud earrings in the shape of a flower. You had a matching clutch and heels. You checked yourself out in the mirror one last time then pulled out your phone. 

I’m so sorry, my dove. I can’t be at the party. I’m being called in for a last minute meeting. I’ll try and get out as soon as I can. I’m so sorry. 

You texted Stephen back an ‘I love you’ and a heart emoji. You got your keys out and got into your car to make your way to the venue. An hour into the party and you were bored. The speakers had finished their spiel and let the guests enjoy themselves. You walked over to the bar and grabbed a glass of champagne. 

“Well, what a coincidence! Look who it is!” You heard a familiar voice say behind you. 

You turned around and your eyes met someone who you thought you’d never see again...Your ex... 

“You look amazing!” He smiled widely and raised his glass to you. 

You chuckled nervously and nodded your head. “Thanks.” You took a sip of your drink. 

“So tell me, how have you been?” 

“Fine. You?” 

“I’m good, I’m a married man, got two beautiful kids. Promoted as well.” He smiled proudly. 

You forced a smile back, “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks, you know I owe it all to you, had I not been with someone as boring as you I would’ve never realized how much better I could do.” He said triumphantly. 

You gripped your glass tighter and bit your lip. 

“I’m not surprised you’re still single, maybe you need to get some help so you could be more interesting. I mean looks can’t get you far. Does that make sense?” He smirked. 

“You know for someone who boasted about having a great life, you sure like to make someone else’s miserable.” Another voice said behind you. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see Stephen. He was in the Armani suit that you loved and his hair was slicked back in a ponytail. You smiled in relief and felt his hand move down to your hip. 

“Good thing my wife doesn’t let anyone’s poisonous words affect her, right honey?” Stephen smiled softly at you. 

You nodded and kissed his cheek, “Right.” 

“I think you should go, you’re ruining the atmosphere.” Stephen glared at the man and your ex’s eyes glowed. 

“I should go, I’m ruining the atmosphere.” He mumbled and walked away. 

Stephen relaxed and took your hand in his. He began to trail kisses along your arm. “Are you okay?” He finally kissed your lips. 

You kissed him back and rested your head against his. “Yes...Thank you Stephen.” 

“Can I take you home, miss?” He teased. 

“Let me check with my husband.” You teased back. 

“Oh I’m sure he’d be happy that a handsome gentleman escorted his wife home.” Stephen pulled you close and you laughed softly. 

“Very well.” You pecked his lips and he waved his hand to create a portal. He picked you up and carried you bridal style into the portal. “I love you.” You smiled softly at him.

Tagging:  @strangeswife​, @strangelockd​, @thealleydog​, @wolfie-west​, @k1mikoz, @fizzybubbletea, @pinkthick, @silver-shadow, @strangesthirdeye, @mynamehasbeentakenbysomeperson, @lucimorningst4r, @evelyn-kingsley, @strangesgirl​

#defender strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor strange #defender strange #requests #strangesgirl

[cellsshapedlikestars]

So Jon and Sansa both see a crime being commited and become prime witnesses to arrest this big crime mastermind (Petyr? Or maybe Tywin?) and they have to go to witness protection... Only witness protection makes them pretend to be a married couple when they actually don't know each other. Does that sparkle something in that brilliant brain of yours as a prompt?

Look I'm in a Mood™ today and wrote this in a weird fugue state so don't @ meeeeee. I also like barely edited this so who knows if it makes sense, and grammar? I barely know her.

Also, I don’t really know how to do trigger warning tags, so this is my warning that there are vague mentions of blood/gore/violence.

.

.

Sometimes when she wakes up, she forgets.

But then she looks around the room that isn't her room and she has to tell herself that it is. This is her room. This is her home. That is her husband downstairs making breakfast.

(And sometimes she wakes up unable to breathe, the dreams are so real; the blood and brains and pieces of skull spraying the wall in front of her, the sounds of men pleading for their lives. The strong arm wrapped around her, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the only thing that kept her still and quiet and hidden under the desk, the only reason she's alive. He's downstairs making breakfast.)

….

If there was ever a place to get lost, she thinks, it's here.

She stares out the window of her house, the same as every other house on the street. Row after row of identical houses. Neighborhoods of them, the suburbs stretching on forever. They've been here for two months and she doesn't even know her neighbor's names. The one across the street is Edmond, she thinks. Maybe. Edmure? No, if it were Edmure, she would remember, because of-

(But Alayne Stone doesn't have an Uncle Edmure.)

“I'm headed out.”

She turns to look at her husband.

“Have a good day,” she calls, just like she does every day. She watches him walk out to their nondescript grey sedan, just like he does every day. He backs it out of the driveway, then drives west, towards the main road.

…

They don't talk about before.

He is Aemon Stone. They met in college, in a geography course that they both almost failed, and they fell in love. They just got married and moved here - not that any of their neighbors have asked, so she's only had to tell that story to her new coworkers at the craft store.

They're trying to start a family.

(Jon, she thinks his name is, she remembers the agents calling him that, before they were handed folders with their new lives inside. But Jon is not her husband. Aemon is.)

…

Sometimes she likes to think she's a hero, giving up her whole world just to take down the bad guy. She's a hero, a martyr, the protagonist of her own daydreams. Her actions will save the lives of countless others.

(The reality is that she had no choice. They gave her one, technically, she doesn't have to testify against Petyr Baelish, but they all knew there was no choice. If she stayed, he would've found her. He would have killed her and anyone she could have possibly told about what she saw. She knows Aemon had no choice, either, and sometimes she wonders what he gave up. But they don't talk about before.)

…

She tries not to let her mind wander too much, but it's hard not to. Her life is routine. Mundane. She makes friends with her coworkers but she can't – she won't– let them get too close.

The problem with all her free, mundane time is that it gives her space to think – gives her time to regret.

She remembers that weekend, remembers thinking what harm could it do? Remembers thinking the bachelorette party sounded so fun. Remembers taking cash out to play the slot machines, ordering drink after drink until she felt numb.

It all goes a bit fuzzy after that. No matter how hard she tries, she can never remember how she got into the back halls of the casino, to the places where guests aren't allowed. She remembers a strange man kissing her, large, with scarring across his face, who told her that a pretty bird like her shouldn't be back here and demanded a kiss as payment. She remembers running, running, running.

If only she hadn't run.

If she hadn't run, she wouldn't have found herself in that room. She wouldn't have heard the door opening, turned around to see him, watched his face twist in horror when he saw her. He wouldn't have had to tell her get down, hide.

She remembers not being able to move, frozen to the spot at the sight of the gun at his hip. She remembers the way he'd pulled her down under the desk, one arm around her waist to keep her still, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, just in time, just before the door opened again.

(And she remembers the men who came in right after, the gruff where the fuck did Rivers get to?)

…

She's seen the tattoo.

(She doesn't think she was supposed to. Aemon Stone shouldn't have a tattoo.)

They try not to get in each other's way – he works days, she works closings. She sleeps in the master bed, he sleeps in a guest room down the hall. He wakes up early and makes breakfast and leaves her a plate. She eats while he goes for a run. But every once in a while...

That day he'd been coming back from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. She's never upstairs when he takes a shower, but she had gotten the urge to read, for the first time in months, and had gone up to grab one of the books that came with the house when she ran into him in the hall.

And there, on his chest, right above his heart, the mockingbird tattoo.

(Aemon Stone is her husband. He is not one of them.)

(But Jon Snow was.)

…

She probably should be scared, but she can never find it in her to be. Their handlers wouldn't have put them in the same house if they thought he'd hurt her.

(He's the reason she's alive. His arm around her waist, his hand over her mouth. Get down. Hide.)

…

Sometimes she wants to ask – why?

Why did he hide her?

Why is he here?

He was one of them, there's a tattoo on his chest that proves it.

Why did he save her? Give up everything for her to live?

…

She slips, once.

She's at work, in the break room, heating up a mug of soup in their tiny, low watt microwave. The break room TV is on, the news is playing, and then he's there.

Petyr Baelish, donating a giant check to an orphanage. Everyone's clapping and cheering him on and all she can hear are the screams of two men, pleading for their lives. Begging Petyr Baelish to stop. (They had wives and children and their screams echo in her head and-)

“Alayne?” her coworker, Myranda, shakes her arm. “I think your food's done?”

She's shaking so hard that the soup sloshes over the side of her mug and she apologizes as she cleans it up and Myranda asks if she's sick or something. She has to go home early because she vomits into the break room trash can.

At home, Aemon is watching football on TV and he's surprised when she comes home early. All he says is, “everything ok?” and she knows what he's asking.

“Everything's ok,” she tells him and he nods and she goes upstairs.

They don't talk about the past, but they don't talk about the present, either.

(And they definitely don't talk about the future.)

…

There's one time she doesn't wake up confused or breathless.

She wakes up screaming.

In her dream, he finds her. In her dream, Petyr Baelish walks around the desk and bends down and reaches under and pulls her out. In her dream, he tortures her like he did those men. In her dream, he puts a gun to her head, just like he did-

She wakes up screaming.

The door to her room slams open and she takes a gasping breath and looks up at her husband, standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in his hand. His hair is wild and his eyes are wide as they search her room and she tries to tell him it's all in her head but she can't make her voice work. When she tries, the words just come out as a small sob and she watches his tensed shoulders relax and he sets down the baseball bat.

She curls into herself and cries into her bent knees – for her dreams and her fears and the knowledge that this might never end. It's a choking, clawing abyss in her chest that's been growing as the days and weeks and months slide by – that she will never see her family again. She'll never eat mom's cooking or hear her dad yell at the TV when his team loses or see Robb's infectious smile or argue with Arya or talk about philosophy with Bran or watch one of Rickon's basketball games. She'll never get to play with Lady again.

She has kept them locked away inside her, tried to forget about them because Alayne Stone doesn't have a family.

The bed dips and she lets out another gasping sob as she feels an arm settle around her shoulders. “Alayne,” he says, and then again. Again and again, until - “Sansa.”

“I'm not Sansa,” she whispers when she finally looks up.

“Sometimes you need to be,” he says, his voice is steady and he brings one hand up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “It's hard, not everyone can just change who they are. Especially not like this.”

“You say that like you're some expert,” she sniffs, wiping at her cheeks now that her tears have slowed. She feels like a mess – her eyes feel hot and puffy, her nose feels raw, her throat is sore, but she also feels more human than she has in months.

He hesitates, seems to think hard about something before - “Aemon Stone isn't the first person I've had to become.” She jerks back a bit, but she doesn't pull away.

(He saved her life.)

“Who else?”

“Before this, I was Aegon Rivers.”

“I thought your name was Jon Snow? That's what they called you.”

“Jon Snow,” he says, voice low and soothing and she feels herself relax, settles into the warmth of his arms a bit more, “is a federal agent who went undercover with the Mockingbirds two years ago.”

She looks at him, then – really looks at him. At his grey eyes and his long face and his black hair wild from sleep, at the scar that runs through his eyebrow and the dark stubble that he meticulously shaves off every morning.

“Jon Snow fits you better,” she tells him.

“And Sansa Stark fits you.”

“I'm not Sansa Stark anymore,” she reminds him again, feeling her voice waver, though she thought she was past it. “This was just a bad dream, I promise I'll do better.”

“Like I said, sometimes it's hard,” he tells her. “And sometimes it's easy to forget who you are.”

“Is it for you?” she asks. He doesn't answer, but she thinks he doesn't need to, she can see it in him and she wonders how much of Jon Snow he remembers. Two years is a long time to be someone else. “I don't...” her voice breaks and she has to drop into a whisper. “I don't want to forget them. I know I have to-”

“What if,” he cuts in when her words fail her completely, “what if we're Jon Snow and Sansa Stark here?”

“They told us we-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don't mean... not in the house. Not during the day. But how about, once a week, at night, when it's just us, when the rest of the world is sleeping – I'll come in here and just for an hour, we can remember.”

The words make her ache and she nods and looks over at her clock. One hour – one hour to remember who she is and where she comes from. One hour to talk about anything and everything – about the past and the present and the future. It's not a lot and it's a risk and against the rules, but-

“Yes. Please.”

He nods and looks a bit grim and she wonders, once again – why? She doesn't think he wants to talk about Jon Snow. He's doing it for her – he's saving her life again and she still doesn't know why. Maybe she'll find out, some day.

“Ok,” he breathes, like he's jumping off the deep end, “Sansa Stark – what's your favorite color?”

#jonsa #prompt fic #also once again i cannot keep these under 2k words #mentions of violence and blood

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 30

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst, panic attack

A/N: all i can say is enjoy it before it goes completely downhill xx

NEXT CHAPTER

   - Marry me, Y/N. - she looked at him in disbelief, lips slightly parted as she wondered if she had heard him correctly?

   - What? 

   - I ... hm ... would you consider being my wife at some point in the near future? 

His father had once told him the moment between the proposal and the answer is the longest moment he’d ever go through. Bucky knew long, he knew long times, he was 106 after all but this moment seemed to last three centuries. She stared at him as if she had merely imagined those words. His heart beat against his chest like a drum, as she opened her mouth. She was going to say no. Why would she even say yes? She was so sweet, so beautiful, so full of a  sweet loving innocence which just  made her endearing to anyone and everyone who met her. He is not the type of man that ends up with a girl like her. No, he’s the type of man who she dates as a mistake, the one she dates before she meets the one and Bucky was constantly waiting for the moment she realised he was a monster.

  - Yeah. - she smiled, the type of smile which easily brightened up his day. She moved from her spot in the bed, sitting on top of his lap to wrap her arms around his neck. - Yes, I will marry you. 

  - What?

  - Yes. - she leaned down to kiss him. - I will become your wife at some point in the near future. 

  - So, just to be safe, you are agreeing to marry me? Me? - he was still in shock she had said yes. Those words, that question, it was just came out of his mouth like crazy ramblings spawned out of his desire to have a family with her. He just didn’t expect her to say yes. He didn’t expect her to be sat on top of his lap, smiling at him having said yes. - Doll, I ... Fuck, I don’t have a ring. I can’t believe I just proposed to you without a ring.

   - That’s fine. I love you and you love me. I don’t need a ring. - she cupped his face, kissing the tip of his nose. - Just us. 

   - Just us. - he leaned towards to capture her chapstick covered lips into a soft kiss. - I like that, princess. Just us. 

   - Yeah. - Y/N shyly smiled, leaning against his shoulder. - You make me so happy, Buck. You don’t even know how happy you make me. 

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, what to reply to her so all he did was just look at her, head tucked on the shoulder, the metal shoulder with such confidence and such care. She did not believe he could hurt her and she loved him. There were little moments in his life which had made him want to cry, he had refused to cry many times, but having the woman he loved tell him she loves him, she cares for him, she’ll marry him ... the same woman telling him he makes her happy, not just any woman, the woman he loved ... gosh, it was too much. All he could do was kiss her scalp, hold her close to his naked chest which in any other time it would’ve turned sexual but now, now it was just a candid moment, a moment he wanted to hold close to him for as long as he could leave. He refused to forget the feeling of her hair strands against his shoulder, her warm hand against his chest.

The rest of the holidays were as eventful as it would be. Y/N had decided to only tell her parents about the engagement, keeping her extended family and siblings outside the news merely to keep the event away from the media. She didn’t want it publicised and neither did Bucky. Her parents were overjoyed, with her mother wanting to take photographs of them to put on the family album while her father just gave him the look he would’ve given to his sister’s husband had he been ... well, there. All good things come to an end and that end was very close as the two of them were supposed to fly back to New York for Y/N to attend the New Years’ Eve Vanity Fair gala. 

     - I wished we could stay for longer. - Y/N groaned as she stuffed more clothing into her luggage. - Last thing I need is a gala.  

     - It’ll be okay, princess. - Bucky came up from behind her, resting his chin against her shoulder. - We can return when you have another free time slot.

     - I never have free time. 

     - I’ll steal you away if they overwork you. - he bite her shoulder playfully. - What’s the sad mood really all about? Don’t tell me it’s about missing Colin calling me a 200 year old. 

      - It’s silly. - she shook her head, folding more of her clothing to put with the rest of it. 

     - I know that face. - he turned her so she was facing him. - What is it? Is it your parents? Do you miss your parents?

     - No ... I ... uhm, remember the Halloween party you and I went to?

     - Yeah, what about it?

     - I met some people from the RSC and they said if I ever was in London, I should try and audition for their West End run of Moulin Rouge. I got this e-mail yesterday, auditions are in like an hour and I don’t know ...

     -  Do you wanna do it?

     - No, I mean ... I can’t, my contract says they’ll pick the opportunities for me and it’s London and I’m in New York. Besides, we leave in two hours.

     - They don’t need to know. 

     - Bucky ... - she was about to argue with him but he interrupted her, kissing her sweetly. 

     - Do you wanna do it? - he looked into her eyes. Bucky could always tell when she was lying by looking into her eyes; she would always divert them away from the person standing in front of her, normally to the right, chin tucked into her chest, gaze up. 

     - I ... I do but ...

     - We can make it. Your agency does not need to know and it’s not like it’s a done deal. Princess, if you wanna do it then do it.

     - Buck, it’s not that simple. 

     - It is that simple, doll. I can get you wherever you want without anyone knowing and we’ll still make our flight.

     - Bucky, I’m not gonna get it. - she sat on top of her bed. She didn’t know if she was gonna get it and it wasn’t that she was afraid of failure or rejection, god she knew both too well, all she was afraid of was if they discovered. She was under a tight contract but those words, that invite to her during that party, it just pulled at her conscience. Bucky was much too familiar with her to know exactly what was going through her mind. 

      - I’m not gonna let anyone touch you. - his fingers hooked under her chin, turning her face towards him so he could lean his forehead against hers. - They won’t know.

    -  Bucky, they always know.

    - You don’t get to be called a ghost story if you’re not good at being a ghost, princess. If you don’t want to do it then it’s okay but if you’re not gonna do it because of what your agency thinks ... 

    - You’re sure no one will know?

    - Well if they do, we can always get you plastic surgery. - he lightened up the mood making her look up at him, her chin tucked in her chest as she lightly giggled, rolling her eyes at him. - You’ll be fine, princess. 

She was nervous as the taxi pulled in front of one of the theatres were the auditions were happening. Looking at her watch, exactly an hour before they had to make it to the airport, check in and get to their gates. Maybe this was a mistake, how was she supposed to feel? The agency had given her a shot at a career in the States, everyone wants a career in the States. She should be happy, she should be so happy but how happy could she feel about being back if thinking about stepping into that plane destroyed her heart into a million pieces. Looking to her right, Bucky was smiling at her, always blindly believing her even if she led him directly into the fire, but he was there. He kissed her temple as she left the car and rushed into the theatre before anyone could show. 

She had been to so many auditions before, she had felt her body shake so many times when her name was called out after signing a non disclosure agreement as it was usual for popular shows. This time it was different, this time the light seemed brighter, illuminating each of her features and almost illuminating the sweat starting to form on her forehead. She stood tall, almost like a woman in a panting with hands resting against the beginning of her skirt, one foot in front of the other. 

    - My name is Y/N Y/LN and I’m auditioning for the part of Satine. - her voice even wavered as she struggled to do something she had been so used to doing since she was young. 

    - What will you be performing, Miss Y/L/N?

    - If It is True from My Life with Albertine. - she looked over to the pianist, signalling him to start.

Her heart was beating so fast and she could feel her whole being shaking as she wondered what Miss Olson would do to her if she even suspected she was doing an audition outside of her contract. She ended up missing the first bars, looking down at her feet as she thought back to quit until she saw him sat down in the further back of the theatre. Cap on, almost covering his whole face but she could see his eyes, she could see his blue eyes just like she could see them every morning  when she woke up. 

    - If it is true, you love me. If when at night dreaming you dream of me then I am luckier than the king who rules the sea. - she decided to sing for him instead, blurring everything except for his almost blended figure in the back. Her hands touched the pearls laying against her neck as she cocked her head to the side, small smile on her lips. - And if I die a sudden death for reasons why I do not know. But if I die a sudden death to live forever in paradise, I will not be as happy, in all that time, as I have been with you. If it is true, if it is so, you love me. If it is true, and I have heard you then I am wealthier than a queen with love of you, I am wealthier than a king with love of you.

The bars ended and she returned her gaze to the board of the directorial team which gestured for her to leave and someone else to enter. She left through the backstage, meeting Bucky just at stage door, who wrapped his arms around her, twirling her before kissing her lips and nose.

    - You did so great, princess. It’s almost unfair for the other people auditioning.

    - We need to get going or we’ll miss our flight. - she avoided another one of his kisses, her watch shining brightly with the hour. - C’mon. 

    -  It’s gonna be fine, princess. We’ll make it.

Once again, he was right. How could he not be right? When it came to time management, Bucky seemed to be almost too good at it, almost too good for someone who had so much time. Nevertheless, they were inside the plane again, the time when they had left New York now so behind them as they returned to his birthplace. She leaned against him arm, not caring it was made of metal, it was him and that’s all it mattered to her. Y/N was innocent enough to believe she could do  whatever she wanted while in London, while in the airplane but she knew the moment she stepped foot on American soil she was back to being property of her agency. Back to the parties, the gowns and the constant filming. She loved her job, she really did but things pilled up so easily and she felt locked inside a cage, slowly suffocating. 

She did not want the plane to land, she did not want to be in the present of her situation but it did and during the early hours of the morning both her and Bucky were going down the stairs of the plane and onto the sleeve which lead to the baggage claim area. Bucky immediately went in bodyguard mood despite the fact the airport was very much empty but no him no amount of care was too much and until they got inside the taxi, he cut through people with precise ease, yet held her hand like any boyfriend would. The ride home was silent, neither Bucky or Y/N liked to discuss their matters in front of people they did not trust. The walk up to his apartment was equally silent, with the both of them basking in their own comfort until they reached the door. The two walked in hand and hand before throwing the bags to the side.

    - Home sweet home. - Bucky kissed the side of her forehead. - So, what’s the agenda for tomorrow?

    - Boring. - she groaned, sitting down on his couch. 

    - You get to eat for free, how boring can it be?

    - Those 40s habits sure die hard, don’t they? - she smirked. - I need to get to my apartment at 4PM to get my makeup and hair done, put the dress on ... PR shots and so on. 

    - Your apartment?

    - I know what you’re thinking, Buck. - she tilted her head slightly to the side.

    - I am not thinking anything.

    - Please. - she crossed her arms. - You’re thinking it’s not safe.

    - That’s not what I’m thinking. - he walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. - I’m thinking it’s not safe to have that many people in an unsafe apartment without me around.

    - You’re not gonna be there? - she was taken by surprise. Bucky was always around, even when they weren’t dating. 

    - Ms. Olson said I can’t be there. Might spoil something ... whatever that means ... but I’ll escort you to the venue and stay with you from then onwards.

    - You’re not gonna be far, are you?

    - I thought you knew what I was thinking, doll face. - he leaned his forehead against hers, teasing smile gracing his lips as those words left him. - You think I’d let you be alone with those people far away from me? No, princess, I’ll be around. 

    - Good. 

Y/N did not enjoy the parties she had to attend as a member of her agency. Everything was highly planed, too planed even and so was this day. She entered her old apartment and a swat team of people were already waiting for her, she smiled at them, grabbing the letters which had started to pile up on the floor ever since she left to stay with Bucky, until Ms. Olson grabbed her arm and pulled her into her bedroom where the hairstylist and makeup artist were waiting for her. Her assistant’s hands pushed onto her shoulders to sit her down in the chair. Y/N started to go through her letters, most were Christmas postcards, bills, letters from several companies and none mattered much except for one in a brown envelope. She furrowed her eyebrows at the lack of sender name or even her own name or address in the envelope. As the hairstylist started to style her hair, she opened the envelope, a few photos of her falling on her lap. A breathe got stuck in her throat as she saw her own eyes scratched out with crosses over them. 

   - What is that? - Ms Olson took the photos off her hands. - Why is this still happening? Last thing we need is crazy stalker PR.

   - I .. I don’t know. - she shrugged, not knowing why she felt so guilty. It wasn’t her fault. Right?

   - Right, I’m sending this to Mr. Hawthorne, he has a friend in the government, and you ... you better not get into any trouble tonight, Y/N. Are we clear?

   - Yes, Ms Olson.

   - Good and try to smile a bit more for the photos. 

Her ears filled with a static buzz and although she could see herself in the mirror and her surroundings, she felt she was laying on the floor of a dark room with dead eyes. Motionless, she remained motionless staring at herself in the mirror yet not understanding the image she could see. She wondered if she had fallen too deep into the industry to be rescued and suddenly that black dark room was filling with water and she just let it happen. Y/N just laid on that metaphorical dark ground, floating in the dark water which kept entering her lungs until she couldn’t bring anymore.

   - You’re ready. - she had been so lost in her own mind she did not realise she was fully dressed, hair ready and makeup done. It was pretty subtle, she thought, small black dress falling pretty much looser with tussled hair and skin toned makeup. It was something she’d pick for herself ... maybe the agency did knew her better than she did. 

They did the same thing they always did, some shots some not candid candid moments for social media and the good old fake champagne shot. She never really enjoyed champagne, she found it quite bitter even sour but it was prestigious. She guessed somehow it correlated with how she lived now, or how she was portrayed. She was ushered into the limo to Bucky, her Bucky yet she couldn’t really say anything until it was just her, Bucky and the driver. Once they were at least 10 minutes, it felt like the air she was holding in finally came crashing and she was pushed back into her own reality.

   - Y/N. - Bucky only spoke her name, not touching not do anything. - I am here, you are safe.

   - What? - she looked his way before smiling. She was an actress after all, but he was a former spy assassin. 

   - You are safe. - her features relaxed and she didn’t say a thing, instead marinating in her own thoughts. - I am here, you are safe.

   - I don’t wanna go. - she let it out, her face coming to the realisation of what exactly this meant. She knocked on the partition. - Stop the car.

   - What? - the driver was as confused as Bucky was. 

  - STOP THE CAR! - she yelled out and the car came to an abrupt end. She opened the door and like a mad woman she walked out into the first alley she saw, leaning against the wall with her hand pressed against her chest. Bucky went after her, stopping after he saw her leaning against the brick wall, hand over her mouth. Bucky knew panic attacks when he saw one and this was one of them. 

  - Princess ... - he walked up to her, trying to hold her but she stopped him.

  - I’m not going.

  - Okay, we’re not going. - he took off his gloves, raising his hands in the air. - Look at me princess, it’s me okay. It’s me, just me. Just us. 

   - I can’t do this anymore. 

   - Can you breathe in for me? - Bucky managed to finally hold her once her defences were down. - Count to ten in your head and then breathe out. 

Y/N breathed in, her head going immediately to count sheep, specifically 10 sheep. It was childish and she knew it was childish but she always did that whenever she needed to recover from feeling anxious. She let the air out before repeating again for what felt like a hundred times and things seem to calm down. However, peace and quiet wasn’t in the cards for her.

   - Just what in the heck do you think you’re doing. - Ms. Olson’s high pitched voice made her flinch. - You are not important enough to win the privilege to be late. 

   - Keep it. - Bucky warned, giving her the look no one wanted to receive. A look that was more Winter Soldier than Bucky Barnes.

   - You stay in your lane. - she pointed her pen at him. - Get in the car right now, Y/N. I do not have the time to deal with whatever childish diva tendencies you’re developing.

    - Not now, let her be.

    - Y/N. - she tried to grab Y/N’s arm but Bucky got to her before she did, twisting her wrist with his metal arm before he could even realise what he was doing. He let go of her wrist, but still looked at her as if he was ready to kill her. Instincts die hard. - You are going to regret this, Barnes. And you, Y/N, get in that car now.

   - No. - she meekly perked up.

   - Excuse me?

   - No. - she spoke out a little bit more strongly, forcefully grabbing her purse. - I am not going. 

   - You don’t get to ...

   - Yes, I do. - she interrupted him. - I did not sign a contract which specifically mentioned what events I need to attend, just how many. As such, I am not going and if you try to stop me or try to touch me without my permission ever I will sue you for harassment and I don’t think having an affair with Mr. Hawthorne pays for the legal fees you’d have to pay.

   -  You will sue me? - she almost scoffed at the not so meek actress. 

   - My dad is a barrister and my siblings are all lawyers. I have more knowledge of law and suing than you ever did and ever will. 

   - You wanna call the shots now, tots? - she rolled her eyes before stepping back. - Okay. 

Y/N remained behind suspicious of why it had been so easy to get rid of her but decided not to dwell on it. Bucky too was unsuspicious but was more worried about Y/N. She wrapped her hand against his, kissing his shoulder as the two watched Ms. Olson’s car leave along with her car. Typical. Of course she took her car. 

 - It’ll be fine, right? - she questioned looking up.

 - If everything goes to hell, we’ll move to a private dessert island and start there.

 - Let’s just go home. - she breathed out. - Let’s just forget new year’s eve.

 - It’s a lousy date anyway.

 - Yeah. Why are we celebrating the sun rotating a full turn around Earth? It’s ridiculous. 

Bucky was always happy to spend alone time with her and while part of him wanted to ask what had triggered her panic attack, he let her have her space. The two of them just sat on the couch, his head on her lap as she played with his hair, some old movie he liked to watch back in the 40s. The year went by and a new one began. At the beginning of the year, he wouldn’t have believe he’d end up here, with her, with the woman he loved, engaged. It was almost too good to be truth and sometimes Bucky wondered if he had been knocked unconscious during a mission and this was all his mind giving him what he always wanted. She had fallen asleep, having laid down next to him. 

The morning peeked into his apartment and as per usual he was the first one up, tidying the place up and even putting some flowers up for when she woke up. Y/N loved flowers and so he had made it his mission to ensure she always woke up to new ones. “This is going to make you broke” she would tell him, but he didn’t care. If he had to spend his last days buying fresh roses every morning for the woman he loved then he was going to do it. He leaned against the fridge, drinking his coffee as he did each morning until his phone rang. He clumsily tried to answer it before it could wake up Y/N. Damned IPhone and damned Sam Wilson who made him switch from his razor phone.

    - Barnes. - he answered.

    - Mr. Barnes, it’s Agent Cox. We have an assignment for you.

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[prettyboyjackhughes]

-Little Crosby- |D. Cozens| [Epilogue/Part 8]

This is the end of Little Crosby and I don’t think I've ever been this sad for one of my fics to end. I fell in love with Dylan and Ava’s story and I absolutely loved getting to write this with @prettyboycozens​. This story turned into something I never thought it would and I am so thankful to everyone who supported, encouraged and got to read this story! So thank you for all the love and support for Little Crosby! Enjoy the last part!

“Momma?” I hear Wes call from the top of the stairs as Dylan tugs me down onto the couch next to him.

“We’re down here, Baby!” I call, relaxing into Dylan’s arms. Wes is 4 now and looks just like Dylan. Dad says he acts just like me though. He’s your typical little boy, all dirt, loud and hockey. He loves hockey, of course, and getting to go to his dad, grandpa and uncles’ games and spending time with all of his family. He’s grown up surrounded by cousins which he absolutely loves, even if they are 3 hours away.

“We have to leave for dinner in about 15 minutes. Are you ready?” I ask, looking up at Dylan. He shrugs and I move off of him, letting him get up.

“I need to change and let the dog out, then we can leave.” He says, heading back to our room. Wes runs out of his room. He rushes down the stairs and jumps up onto the couch, a Sabres jersey hanging off of his already tall and skinny frame. As he jumps, I see a flash of black and I smile. Underneath the Cozens jersey he has on is a Crosby jersey; the one Dad got him for Christmas last year. When he knows he’s gonna see Dad, he always wears both jerseys.

“Hey Buddy, why don’t we pick one jersey to wear tonight? You’ll want the other one clean for tomorrow’s game.” I say, walking over to the couch and sitting down as he bounces over to me.  

“We’re gonna see Grandpa! We’re gonna see Grandpa!” Wes yells, still jumping on the couch.

“Yes we are. Why don’t we take Daddy’s jersey off and you can wear it tomorrow. Wear Grandpa’s tonight.” He finally stops and lets me tug the Sabres jersey over his head, leaving the black Crosby jersey on.

It’s been 6 years since the Canada trip that Dylan and I met on. Dylan and I have been living in Buffalo for 5 years, having just moved into a new house right before Wes’ last birthday. We still haven’t gotten married but the ring Dylan gave me all those years ago, that still has a place on my finger, still reminds me and him about the promise he made, what seems like forever ago in that hospital bed. So we’ll get around to getting married one day. Everything’s been going wonderfully in Buffalo. Dylan’s been playing well, Wes is loving preschool and I’m working at a doctor’s office as a pediatric nurse. With it being the first time I’m more than 20 minutes away from Dad and my family, even after 6 years, it’s taken a while to get used to planning weekend trips to Pittsburgh and Chicago to visit Dad and the uncles, along with Kirby and Carter.

Carter and Kirby stayed together while Carter was in college on the west coast, and are talking about getting married now that she’s graduated, which is really exciting. My uncles’ kids have all started to grow up and become actual humans, which has been really fun to watch. They’re all happy and living life. The biggest change has been that Marc and his family moved back to Pittsburgh. He ended up getting traded back to Pittsburgh, which meant our not so little family was all together again, at least when Dylan and I come to Pittsburgh. He plans on retiring in Pittsburgh with Dad, Kris and Geno, when the time comes.

“Come on Dylan! We’re going to be late for dinner!” I call as Wes returns to bouncing on the couch. Dylan finally comes out of our bedroom, our dog following behind him.

“Let me let Milo out then we can leave.” He calls as he opens the back sliding door and Milo runs out, barking. Dad had called a family meeting while he and my uncles were on a road trip to Buffalo. He usually only calls family meetings when something important happened so I was a little nervous to see what he needed to tell us. We were meeting at a restaurant about 20 minutes away from the house with a big room since there were going to be all 16 of us together in Buffalo, for the first time since Christmas. Dad hadn’t mentioned anything happening the last time he and I had talked on the phone earlier this week but maybe something had happened since then. Wes climbed into my lap and snuggled into my chest. I knew he wouldn’t stay this little forever but I wanted him to. I loved how his big brown eyes somehow managed to get bigger when he was talking about something exciting. I loved how he talked with his hands, waving and pointing to make sure everyone understood exactly what he was saying. Most of all, I loved how he called me “Momma” and loved to cuddle and be cuddled. Dylan and I had talked about having more kids, which I loved the idea of, but I was savoring every minute of it being just the 3 of us.

“Okay Baby, let’s get going.” Dylan says as he lets Milo back inside and gets him into his cage.

“I’m nervous, why am I nervous?” I ask as Dylan tugs his coat on then kneels down to help Wes zip his coat and put his shoes on.

“Because the last family meeting your dad called was when we told your uncles you were pregnant?” I roll my eyes and zip my coat up.

“You’re really not helping.” Dylan laughs as he picks Wes up and we head out the door.

“Maybe he’s retiring?” Dylan offers as I climb into the passenger seat and he straps Wes into his carseat. Wes is preoccupied by his ipad, oblivious to what Dylan and I are talking about.

“He would’ve told me first. If it was something that big. But I really have no idea what it could be.”  Dylan shrugs as he gets into the driver’s seat.

“Babe, it could be nothing. Maybe he just wants us all together. Don’t think too much into it.” He says, softly kissing my cheek before starting the car. We drive in silence, the only sound in the car is Wes’ ipad. As we pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, I see Carter and Kirby heading inside.

“Okay this must be really big. Carter and Kirby are here too.” I say, trying to fight the building anxiety rising in my chest. Dad wasn’t old, only 39, but he had been playing in the NHL for 21 years. Maybe he really was retiring. Or maybe something else had happened.

“Momma! I’m hungry!” Wes cried from the backseat, his ipad now forgotten on the seat next to him.

“Alright Buddy, we’re gonna go inside and see all your cousins and aunts and uncles, and Grandpa. It looks like Aunt Carter and Uncle Kirby are here too!” I say, turning around and smiling at him as Dylan puts the car in park. Wes bounces excitedly in his seat, waiting for Dylan and I to get out and unbuckle him. Carter must’ve seen us because she and Kirby are waiting in front of the restaurant for us.

“Whatever Dad tells us, promise me it’s gonna be okay?” I ask, looking over at Dylan before climbing out of the car.

“It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.” He says, watching me with intent eyes. I nod and open Wes’ door, unbuckling him and holding him close.

“I wanna go see Uncle Kirby, Momma!” He shouts, excitedly. So I let him down once we reach the sidewalk and he runs to Kirby who scoops him up and tickles him. Dylan’s hand finds mine and we meet up with Carter and Kirby.

“Any idea why we got told to come to Buffalo for the weekend?” Carter asks. I shrug and she grimaces a little.

“Are we in trouble?” She asks, taking Kirby’s hand as Wes runs ahead of us and waits at the door to the restaurant.

“Not that I know of. Why, did you do something to get us in trouble?” I ask, nudging her and laughing. She shakes her head and leads the 5 of us into the restaurant. The hostess leads us back to the room where my 3 nephews are running laps around the table while my nieces are huddled in the corner with one of my aunts. Wes runs to join the boys and I spot Dad on the other side of the room with Kris. We exchange a wave and I notice a woman I’m not familiar with next to him. Geno and Marc are sitting at the table, making sure the boys don’t break anything.

“Who’s the lady?” Kirby asks, attempting to hide himself pointing at the woman next to Dad.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Kirbs.” I say, shrugging as Dad walks over to me.

“Hi Sweetheart, good to see you!” He says as my hand slips out of Dylan’s and he hugs me. No matter how old I get, my anxiety seems to melt away whenever Dad hugs me.

“You know, you’ve had me freaking out ever since you called me to tell me about dinner.” I say as Wes jumps into Dad’s arms.

“Hi Buddy! I told you on the phone there was nothing to be worried about, Ava.” I cross my arms and look up at him.

“Uh huh. You know how I get, Dad.” He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“I think you’ll like this announcement.” I groan internally but nod. Dylan’s hand has found its way back into mine and he leads me over to where my uncles are now all sitting.

“Who’s the lady with Dad?” I ask as we sit down with the 3 of them.

“Kathy? You’ve met her, Ava. She works for the team as a physical therapist.” And as Kris answers, I start to realize he’s right.

“Oh yeah yeah I remember her. But that doesn’t explain why she’s here.” I say, looking between her and my 3 uncles sitting around me.

“She always travel with us.” Geno says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“I’ve told her about 10 times that she shouldn’t be freaking out but she doesn’t listen to me.” Dylan injects, his arm resting around the back of my chair.

“Hey you’re the one who reminded me that the last family meeting we had was to tell everyone I was pregnant so now my mind is going all sorts of places.” Marc laughs and shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s anything that big. Just calm down Ava.” I shrug and look around the room, watching Wes, who is still clinging to Dad, talk animatedly to his cousins gathered around them. Kathy is standing with Veronique, Marc’s wife, talking. I watch her glance at Dad whose eyes are already on her. There’s definitely something there but I can’t put my finger on what. Dad finally lets Wes down and he wanders his way over to Dylan, climbing up onto his lap.

“Daddy I’m hungry. Is it time to eat yet?” Wes asks, cuddling into Dylan’s chest.

“Almost. I think Grandpa has to tell us something and then we’re gonna eat dinner. Did you have fun with all your cousins?” Wes nods, playing with the hem of his jersey.

“Did you show Grandpa that you’re wearing his jersey?” I ask, smoothing Wes’ hair down. His hair is dark, just like Dylan’s and is in a constant state of bedhead.

“He liked it. He told me a story about when you were little and had one of his jerseys, Momma. Daddy, I’m wearing your jersey for the game tomorrow.” Dylan smiles as Wes slides off his lap. He runs over to Dad, who is now standing at the head of the table.

“Hey, if you wouldn’t mind, I think it’s time for my announcement.” He says he picks Wes up and everyone starts to sit down.

“It’s great getting to see everyone here, together. Especially with the news I’m about to share. Everyone, this is Kathy. Ava and the guys know her. But she’s one of the physical therapists that works for the team. Um, she and I have been dating for the past 3 years. I asked her to marry me a little over a month ago and she said yes. So...We’re getting married.” My mouth drops open and Dylan glances at me, trying to gauge how I’m handling this news. As I glance around the room, trying to figure out if I heard that right, everyone’s faces look the same as mine.

“You didn’t know about this?” I whisper, turning to look at Marc with wide eyes.

“We had no idea! He doesn’t tell us things!” Marc says, his eyes as wide as mine. It takes Dylan’s hand finding mine to keep me in my seat and somewhat grounded.

“I know this is a shock but we’re very happy. And we want you all to be a part of our wedding.” It’s like everyone gets snapped out of a trance. Everyone is up, congratulating Dad and Kathy and I’m still in my seat. I’m frozen, unable to move from the shock. I see Dylan glance back at me, before talking to Dad. Kris comes to check on me, kneeling down in front of me.

“You okay, Kid?” I shake my head and he stands, tugging me to my feet and into a hug. Wes runs up and hugs my legs.

“Momma! I’m gonna have a grandma! Does that mean she’s your momma now?” He asks, his eyes bigger than dinner plates. Somehow, that manages to snap me out of my trance and Kris lets me go. I bend down to Wes’ level and he puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Sorta. She’ll be my step mom, Baby. Have you told Grandpa congratulations?” He shakes his head and I gather him in my arms.

“No! I wanna tell them ‘gratitations!” He says, bouncing in my arms. I smile at his mispronunciation of the word and start to walk in the direction of Dylan and Marc.

“Let’s go find Daddy and then we’ll go tell Grandpa and Kathy congratulations.” Wes rests his head on my shoulder and wraps his arms around my neck. My family has always been a comfort to me, and it’s definitely one I need today. I’ve always wanted Dad to find someone and fall in love. But it’s just been him and I for so long, even with my uncles and aunts, cousins and now Dylan and Wes. My heart hurts a little, thinking about letting Dad go, but I see how happy Dad is and I can’t help but push those feelings aside for him to be happy. He’s put so much on hold for me, waiting until I was ready and on my own, I can’t help but do the same for him. But there’s still a part of me that’s not sure about all of it. A part of me that’s terrified about losing my dad. That fear keeps me from being able to be as happy as Dad deserves me being.

“Hey Baby.” Dylan says, his arm automatically going around my waist and pulling me close. Wes squirms out of my arms and runs to Dad who is now walking over to us, Kathy in tow. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and ruffles Wes’ hair.

“Congratulations Dad. Kathy, I can’t wait to get to know you better!” I say, trying to hide the other emotions threatening to break through.

“Thank you so much, Ava. I’ve heard so much about you and the last time I remember seeing you was probably when you were in middle school. You’ve grown up so much. And you must be Dylan.” Kathy says, reaching out to shake Dylan’s outstretched hand. He nods, the smile on his face genuine, unlike the fake one I’m trying to pass off as real. Dad keeps glancing at me, probably because he can see right through the fake smile.

“And you’re Wesley. But you like being called Wes, right?” Kathy asks, bending down to Wes’ level. He grins shyly and leans against my legs.

“I’m Wes. Momma, can I say ‘gratitations now?” He asks, looking up at me with big eyes. I nod and he grins.

“Gratitations! Are you gonna be my grandma now?” He asks, looking up at Kathy.

“I’d like to be your grandma. Is that okay with you?” He nods and launches himself at her, hugging her. She smiles, hugging him back and then returning him to my arms.

“I think we should definitely think about doing dinner or something soon. Maybe before you guys head back to Pittsburgh.” Dylan says, looking down at me. His hand slips into mine, stopping me from twisting my ring. It’s been a habit since he put it on my finger, usually one that’s a sign of how anxious I’m feeling.

“We definitely can do that. I’d love to see your house.” Kathy says. I’ve spent the last few minutes just watching Dad. He’s been focused on Kathy and the look in his eyes says everything. He loves her, which should make me happy, to see Dad this happy but it’s still tearing me up. This is so much harder than I ever imagined it would be.

“We have a puppy. His name is Milo! He likes to play hockey with me.” Wes says, obviously warming up to Kathy already. He’s not really shy, usually he talks strangers’ ears off, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s comfortable with her already. Dylan and I have had to talk to him a couple times to get him to understand the whole stranger danger thing. It doesn’t make sense that both Dylan and I are pretty reserved, quiet people and somehow we end up with a kid who is the most outgoing child ever.

“Well I would love to come over and meet Milo.” Wes suddenly runs off, calling goodbye to Kathy,  going to play with his cousins.

“He’s a sweet boy. He looks just like you, Dylan.” Dylan smiles. Kathy and Dad share a sweet smile and I stay quiet.

Eventually, everyone sits back down and we have dinner. Everyone laughs and talks. Carter, Kirby, and Dylan won’t stop checking to make sure I’m okay, even though I’ve told them all a thousand times I’m fine. We make it through the evening and head back home. We’ll see everyone tomorrow at the game so it’s just a few quick goodbyes. Carter and Kirby come over to the house and Wes ropes them into watching Cars 2 with us. The day has taken a lot out of me and I fight sleep the whole movie.

I feel Dylan get up from beside me, taking Wes from where he was laying, cuddled between us. Carter and Kirby left a little while ago, whispering goodbyes since Wes fell asleep about halfway through the movie. The play menu for ‘Cars 2’ lights up the living room and I sit there, lost in thought. I need to call Dad, talk through today. But I can’t bring myself to grab my phone off of the table and press call on his contact. I’ve only ever wanted Dad to be happy, that’s what he’s always wanted for me. After spending most of the evening talking to Kathy, I know how in love she is with Dad and that she’s good for him, it’s just hard letting go of my dad.

As I’m sitting there, contemplating calling Dad, my phone starts to ring. It snaps me out of my thoughtful state and I rush to check to see who’s calling. Dad’s name stares back at me as I pick my phone up. I take a deep breath and press the answer button.

“Hey Baby.” Dad’s voice breaks through the noise in my head.

“Hi Daddy. It’s late, why are you still up?” I ask, tugging my knees into my chest and running my free hand through my hair.

“I’ve been thinking about you. You seemed off tonight. You okay?” I sigh and lean my head against the back of the couch.

“I’m-I’m okay. I was just a little surprised with your announcement, that’s all.” His voice sounds tired.

“I know Sweetheart. I wanted to tell you sooner. I wanted you to meet Kathy before I told anyone, before anything happened. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Dylan suddenly appears in the doorway without Wes. He must’ve gotten Wes into bed pretty easily. He raises an eyebrow, making sure I’m okay and I nod. He comes over to me, dropping a kiss on my forehead and whispering he’s going to bed. I nod, squeezing his hand as he walks away.

“I just wasn’t expecting it. I’m really happy for you both, Dad. There’s plenty of time for me to get to know Kathy before you get married and even after you guys get married. You put so much on hold for me while I was growing up. But I’m all grown up, now it’s your turn. I’ll always be your little girl, no matter what, but I have Dylan to take care of me now. You need someone else to take care of now, and that person is Kathy now. So don’t worry about me, Daddy. I’ll be okay.” And as I say I’m okay, it's the first time in a few hours that I’ve actually felt okay and haven’t been lying. I hear Dad sniffle a little on the other end of the call, which of course makes me tear up.

“Baby, you’re absolutely amazing. You’re a wonderful mom to Wes, you love Dylan so much and I would never trade being your dad for anything in the entire world. You’ve been the highlight of my life. Not winning the Stanley Cup, not playing in the All-Star game. You are the reason for all of it. Getting to share you with our family and now with Kathy is beyond a dream come true. Thank you for being so supportive.” His voice breaks a little and I’m full on crying now.

“I love you Daddy. I’m happy for you. Dylan and I are happy for you. And I know Wes is so excited for Kathy to be his grandma.” Dad clears his throat and I try to control the tears running down my face.

“I love you too, Ava Grace. Now you probably need to head to bed so I’ll let you go. Good night.” He lets me say goodnight then ends the call. I lean my head against the back of the couch and take a deep breath. The tears slow and I regain my composure.

“Hey Avs, you okay?” Dylan asks, sitting down on the couch next to me and pulling me into his lap.

“I thought you went to bed? But I’m okay.” He kisses my forehead and relaxes into the couch.

“I could hear you on the phone. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” I snuggle into his chest and sigh.

“It’s been a long, surprising day but I think I’ll be okay.” I can feel him smile and he moves so we’re laying down on the couch, me resting on his chest.

“Your dad is happy. He’s going to have what all your uncles and we have. I think it’ll be fun to plan a wedding with your dad. Speaking of, we need to talk about us getting married.” Dylan says, looking down at me. I sit up a little, resting my chin on my hands and looking into his eyes.

“Oh I like when we do this. I want a big wedding.” I say, punctuating my sentence with a kiss on his lips.

“With all of our friends and family. And Wes as the ring bearer.” He says, twisting a few strands of hair between his fingers as I smile.

“Oh he’d be so cute in his little suit!” Dylan smiles and I settle back down on his chest again. We spend pretty much the rest of the night talking about our wedding and everything the future would bring, including siblings for Wes and in the morning, Wes finds us cuddled up on the couch and joins us, snuggling into Dylan’s side.

Dad calls a little after breakfast and asks to take Wes for the day, giving him some time to get to know Kathy. I agree and he picks him up, Kathy sitting in the passenger seat of his car. I wave from the doorway and she smiles, waving back. As I close the front door, Dylan scoops me into his arms and we head back to our room for his pregame nap, even though the game isn’t till later tonight. We end up sleeping until right before Wes gets home and Dylan needs to leave to be at the rink. Wes ends up laying down for a nap, which gives me some time to pick up the house a little and start getting ready for the game tonight. I love getting to spend games with my aunts and the rest of my family. It’s also nice to see all my uncles, Dad and Dylan all on the ice together.

Wes wears both of his jerseys, like he always does for Penguins-Sabres games, and is so excited to leave and head to the arena. Since I wear Dylan’s jersey for every other game, my tradition is to wear Dad’s jersey for games when he plays Dylan. All of the aunts, the kids, Wes and I hang out in a box, the kids running all over the box and back and forth with the other wives’ boxes for both the Sabres and the Penguins. It’s nice getting to sit and talk to my aunts. I don’t get to spend as much time with them as I do with my dad and uncles. We spend the whole game talking, making sure the kids don’t get too rambunctious while also watching the game at the same time. The game ends with the Penguins on top, 3-2 but Dylan scored and Dad did too with an assist from Geno. We all celebrate with dinner and drinks back at our house, giving me a chance to give my aunts an official tour, not over facetime. Wes shows off his playroom, bedroom and rink down in the basement that Dad and Dylan built him for his birthday. It’s the perfect ending to a family-filled day.            

Thank God Dad waited till the off season to get married. I couldn’t imagine planning a wedding during the season. But if I see one more sports website or magazine with the title ‘Sidney Crosby to Marry Team Physical Therapist! Letang, Malkin, Fleury, and Cozens among those in attendance’ or something like that, I will scream. It seems like this is the event of the year and it’s all anyone can talk about. Kathy and I have spent months, along with my aunts to plan the perfect wedding for her and Dad. The boys had been no help at all, being typical boys. Kathy and I had tried to get Dad involved in the planning but he had just kissed Kathy’s forehead and told her to do whatever she wanted. That night, I had gotten off the phone with the caterer for the wedding and collapsed into bed beside Dylan.

“I swear, if you don’t help me plan our wedding, I might break up with you before the wedding even happens.” I groan, rolling over to face him. He smirks and rolls over, eyes locked on mine.

“How do you manage to still be absolutely adorable while threatening to break up with me?” He asks, gently kissing me.

“Because you love me.” I say, smiling and letting him pull me closer.

“You’re right. I love you very very much.” He says, his forehead pressed to mine and his eyes wide.

“You’re cute, Babe. Now go to sleep. I have to fight with the florist in the morning.” He laughs but doesn’t say anything else. I manage to fall asleep, a list of what we still need to do for the wedding playing over and over again in my head.

The time between that night and the wedding flies by and before we know it, it’s the rehearsal dinner and I’m having to make a speech. And as I stand in front of my family and a few other people, I realize just how lucky I am.

“Hi everyone. You all know who I am so we can skip the introductions. But anyways, Dad and Kathy, congratulations. I had been waiting for the day that Dad told me he was getting married. And honestly, I was a little worried it would never come. But then Kathy came into the picture. She turned Dad’s world upside down and with that, turned everyone else’s lives in our family upside down. And I will always thank her for that because of the light and love she has brought into our family. Our family is complete now with her in it. So Kathy, I just want to say thank you. I can’t wait for you to officially join our family tomorrow. So here’s to Dad and Kathy, enjoy your last night apart.” I say, raising the glass of wine I’ve been sipping on all night. Everyone filling the dining room does the same and we all drink. The rest of the evening is carefree, enjoyable and fun. We all leave the dinner exhausted but excited for tomorrow. I collapse into bed and manage to sleep without having to worry about wedding plans.

The next morning is complete chaos. Everything that could be going wrong, seems to be going wrong and everyone is panicking. And as I try to get everything figured out so Dad and Kathy don’t have to worry, Dylan pulls me aside and kisses me softly.

“You’re doing amazing, Baby. The wedding is going to be perfect, don’t worry.” He says, running his hands up and down my arms, eyes locked on mine. He automatically calms me down and I’m able to finish getting everything worked out.

Thank God the wedding went off flawlessly. Dad only cried a little, I cried a little; everybody cried a little. Wes made it all the way down the aisle, only getting distracted by his cousins sitting in the front row and he looked adorable in his little tux. Dylan and I walked down the aisle together, being the maid of honor and Dylan being a groomsman. The whole time we’re walking down the aisle, in front of everyone, Dylan is whispering goofy things in my ear and making me giggle. Wes keeps looking up at Dylan, making silly faces throughout the whole ceremony. And as soon as we walk back down the aisle, he’s off and running with his cousins. Everywhere I look during the reception, there’s a hockey player. Which is something I should be used to, after being the kid of a hockey player and now dating a hockey player but I’m not. The later it gets, the more everyone drinks and the louder the music gets. After Dylan and I have both had a few drinks, Dylan pulls me out onto the dance floor and we dance the night away.          

A few weeks after Dad and Kathy’s wedding and honeymoon, he and Kathy drive up to Buffalo to spend a couple weeks with us. It’s wonderful having them at the house with us, giving Dylan and I a little break from Wes. One night, we’re all having dinner when Dylan turns to look at me.

“We’ve been together for how many years now? 7? And you know what? I still get butterflies every time you look at me.” Dylan says, looking deep into my eyes. I smile, watching him and trying to figure out what’s going on with the sudden outburst of mushiness.

“What I have with you? I don’t want it with anyone else. I choose you and I’ll choose you over and over again. You and Wes are the best things I could’ve never planned. I’m getting the future I’ve always wanted, with the girl I always wanted it with.” He says, taking my hands and pulling me to my feet. Dad sits behind us, Wes in his arms and Kathy holds close to his side, watching everything.

“I know I’ve done this before but we were young. So I’m doing it right this time. Ava Grace Crosby, will you marry me?” Dylan asks, slowly getting down on one knee and opening a ring box. My mouth drops open and I know I shouldn’t be surprised since we’ve already done this once but after what he said, I can’t help it.

“Are you kidding me? Yes!” I cry, pulling him to his feet and kissing him, my hands cupping his cheeks. I can hear Wes and Dad cheering, Kathy clapping. I pull away from Dylan, laughing and resting my cheek against his chest as his arms encircle me. Dad lets Wes down and he runs to us. Dylan scoops him up and he’s giggling, clapping his hands.

“Gratitaions Momma! Daddy!” He shouts. Dad and Kathy both join us and hug us. As I stand there, surrounded by my family, I think about how I’m getting the happy ending I’ve always wanted. I have the future with Dylan that I’ve thought about since we met, a son who I love more than anything in this world, the most amazing, supportive, and loving family. It’s everything I could’ve ever dreamed of and I’m completely in love with my life.

Tag List:

@theblushinglittle

@2manytabsopen

@nhlboyshavemyhart88​

@kirbyy-dach​

#sidney crosby #dylan cozens #nhl #NHL Hockey #nhl imagine #Dylan Cozens imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Can’t Stand It

For @ho-ne-ye.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was having a bad day. Well, a bad week. Scratch that, a bad month.

It was March, a beautiful time out in the Arctic. For several weeks the Stan twins hardly ever saw the sun or didn’t see it at all. Closer to the holidays they traveled down south to Northern Europe, exploring the United Kingdom and the Northern Islands in order to enjoy daylight, but now that Summer was approaching and Spring was on their side, the Stan O’ War II was moving up to sail above Canada, breaking melting ice and meeting new creatures.

Today they had stumbled across an island covered in woods. The twins had docked to enjoy stable land, but of course it didn’t take long for them to stumble into trouble when they explored the island. Something about trespassing, Stan may or may not have been magically transformed into a small and cute version of himself, but then turned back to normal by a knocked-over potion. It was all a blur, and it all ended with Stan and Ford being tied together hanging over a raging fire as the clan of seal-people with war paint danced around them and singing a weird song.

Enough was enough. With a knife slipped out of a boot and a few left and right hooks, Ford and Stan managed to get away, now being chased by the angry clan and flying arrows. Stan dove on top of Ford to shield his brother from an arrow and they both scurried to their feet and ran deeper into the woods, heading for the beach, but their path was blocked by a giant monster, a half-spider, half-scorpion kind of creature with eight legs, pinchers, a sharp tail, four red eyes, and an angry kiss as it’s hairs vibrated.

Ford shot at it with his ray gun and that only made it angry. It dove for the six-fingered scientist, but Stan shoved him out of the way and soon Stan was thrown back to a tree and made very little attempts to get back up.

“STANLEY!” Ford cried out and shot at the monster again, this time hitting it in the eye. Temporarily blinded and distracted, Ford was about to grab a nearby spear thrown by a villager, pierce the monster, and leave it to bleed to death as he ran to his brother and knelt in front of him. “Stanley! Stanley, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” The old sailor mumbled as he blinked a few times. “Just lemme catch my breath…”

Ford noticed how he had a hand to his side. He gently prided it away and was horrified to find blood. The monster must have pierced Stan. In one swift motion the eldest by fifteen minutes scooped Stan up and began to carry him to the shore. “You’ll be okay. I’ll fix you up, I can fix this.”

His brother grunted in response, his hands loosely over his wound, but Stan was losing his strength. Ford then noticed a bead of blood dripping down the back of Stan’s neck; he must have also hit his head perfectly on the tree. Ford swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bobble, and he firmly instructed, “Stay with me, Stanley. Don’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion.”

“M’tired.” He muttered in his twin’s chest. They were close, so close to home. Ford’s boots crushed the sand beneath them.

“Stanley Pines, stay with me!” Ford shouted, ignoring the way his brown eyes stung.

“Why should I?”

Ford’s heart threatened to stop. Stan’s voice had been so quiet that he had nearly missed it, but the old scientist heard every word. The wounds didn’t look that bad, Stan would be fine, he was too tough to be taken down by some pathetic monster like that, but the fact that Stan was even considering…

“Wh-Why?!” Ford repeated, mortified by his brother’s delusional question. “Why?! Because I need you! Don’t you dare think about giving up on me, Stanley, don’t you dare! C-Come on, d-d-don’t you wanna see Dipper and Mabel again? Don’t you wanna see Soos marry that Melody girl?”

Stan’s breathing was shallow against his twin’s blue jacket. “You’d be better off…”

“NO!” Ford screamed as he saw the boat farther along the beach. He broke into a faster run. “No, we wouldn’t! I swear! Stay with me, we’re almost there!”

But Stan wasn’t answering. He was very quiet. And a bit limp in Ford’s hold.

“Stanley?! Stanley! Lee! Lee, don’t you dare give up! Don’t you dare leave me, please! I… I can’t do it!” He shut his eyes at the thought and let tears flow down his cheeks as he climbed up onto the Stan O’ War II. “I can’t lose you again. Please, don’t make me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair.

Stan should be perfectly fine, he should be happy. He got his brother back, he had a real family for the first time in forty years, he was living out his dream with his best friend. He wasn’t alien to feeling this cruddy about himself, but at least back then he had something to work towards, something to keep him going, and something to distract him from the voices in his head. But now his thoughts were more apparent now more than ever before and they wouldn’t go away.

The fact remained that everyone would be better off without Stan. He was a mistake, the screw-up, a criminal, a con-artist, a dirty sailor, a worthless heap of flesh. No one really wanted him around, and the people who did would soon get sick of him. Dipper and Mabel called them less and less (which to be fair they have been very busy with exams on the way). And even if it was Ford’s idea to go sailing, how long would it be before he changed his mind? Or had he really meant what he said? Or had he only said what he said because he felt guilty?

No. There was no changing the old man’s mind. Everyone would be better off without him.

He walked down the dock with his hands in the pocket of his brown trenchcoat, his boots clicking against the wood gently. It was bright and shiny and beautiful without it hurting his eyes or requiring sunglasses over his regular glasses. The sun glistened on the water and a soft breeze made him comfortable. The only odd thing was that there was only one boat.

A small boat, actually. It had a sail, like their dream boat as kids, with a cabin down in the bunkers. It was plain and clean and new, with a golden pole and rims on the windows. On it sat a young lady, about early-twenties, with short blonde hair. She was odd, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with golden palm leaves, white shorts, and had a golden watch on her wrist as she filed her nails, reminding Stan of a secretary from high school. This girl was sitting on the boat with her legs crossed, sporting white sneakers, and hummed a familiar tune, though Stan couldn’t pinpoint it.

The girl glanced up at him, put her eyes back on her work, and called, “You coming?”

Stan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “Depends. Where you going, sweetie?”

“Well I’m hoping to grant a handsome sailor his wish, but it’s whatever.” The woman said as she held up her hand to look at her nails boringly.

Stan smiled cockily. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“You think everyone would be better off without you, right?” The woman stood and gestured to her boat. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Stan blinked. Okay this was weird. Was he on TV? He shook his head like a wet dog and scratched next to his red beanie. “Uh… ‘cuse me?”

“You heard me. Wanna see if you’re right?”

“How are you gonna show me if I’m right or not?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman sighed as she glanced at her watch. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna go sailing to a timeline in which you were never born. Ford never had a twin, Caryn and Filbrick only had two sons, et cetera and et cetera. Then we can talk about where we’ll go from there. But whether you’re coming or not, this boat is leaving in thirty seconds.”

Stan looked away from the woman, down at the sea crashing against the dock gently. This didn’t make any sense. This was like something out of a cheesy movie. He didn’t have to go with this girl and see a world without him in it, but it might answer some of his questions. He just wasn’t sure if he would get the answers he wanted. Oh well, it’s not like he had anything better to do.

“Ten seconds.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Stan shrugged and climbed up on board. “Set sail, Ms… Hey, what’s your name, anyways?”

“You can call me Honey.”

“Okay, Honey…”

“Oh my God, he called me honey…”

“Wait wut?”

“Time to go!” The woman grinned for the first time, a sly foxy smile with sparkling eyes and beautiful lips curled upward. She stood from her seat, pulled her sail loose, and it suddenly jetted across the sea so fast it threw Stan back and he had to catch himself from falling into the ocean, meanwhile the girl in all white stood perfectly calm.

“So, where we going?”

“I told you,” Honey said calmly. “We’re gonna go see what it would've been like if you had never been born.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“First stop, Gravity Falls.” The sea around them was fading into woods and trees and dirt, and soon the bot came to such a sudden stop that Stan was thrown to the other side and sat his head on a pinetree, growling as he stood up straight on the sailboat and rubbed his forehead.

Stan looked around and recognized the woods. Yup, this was definitely Gravity Falls, but… something was off. It was gray and cloudy overhead. And they were in front of a big open patch of woods Stan had never seen before.

“What is this place?” Stan asked as he hopped off the sailboat in the mud.

“Gravity Falls.”

“I know that! I mean… I’ve never been here before.”

“Yes you have.” The woman said as she got off her ride and stood beside the old sailor. “You lived here for thirty years in another timeline.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “No… Is this where the Mystery Shack’s supposed to be?”

“You got it.”

“But…” Stan was racking his brain, thinking. “What, did Ford never come here? Cuz he went to that West Coast Tech school he never came here?”

“Nope. Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, which means no Mystery Shack.”

“I always thought there’d be a big mansion here or something.” Stan shrugged and said, “Okay, so there’s no rundown tourist trap. Big deal.”

“Eh, so you think.” Honey started to walk into the woods, giving no invitation for Stan to follow, making it easier for the conman to do so. “Do you remember what this town was like before the Shack?”

Stan shrugged with his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat. “Not much. Just a bunch of paranoid weirdos who needed a good laugh.”

They emerged from the woods and Stan gasped at the town. It was even more worn down and cheap than it had been when Stan came thirty years ago. Broken windows were boarded up, pavement was cracked, and either ketchup or blood was splattered here and there.

“Whoa hey, what happened?” Stan asked as they left the woods and walked through the town, shouts and coughs being heard in the distance. “I know this place is a dump, but not this much of a dump.”

“Stan, do you really think your business was the only one to succeed due to the tourists coming in?” The woman in white asked. “What about the motels? Diners like Greasy’s? Stores and gas stations? All those out-of-state tourists didn’t just give money to the Shack. You’d be surprised how much one tourist trap helps the economy of one struggling town.”

“Okay, sure, but there’s no way the Shack helped out the town this much.” Stan argued, gesturing around them lazily.

“No, you’re right. Really, the town didn’t hit hard times until about five years ago.”

“Why…”

Screeching tires interrupted the old man. He and Honey watched as a very nice, rich-looking pick-up truck spun around the corner and came to a sudden stop in front of a grocery store. Stan’s jaw dropped to the pavement as he watched someone he barely recognized get out of the passenger’s seat.

Soos had a black baseball cap on backwards, wearing a cold, spiky, black-leather jacket, torn jeans, and a gothic, graphic t-shirt. His eyes were so cold and menacing, he seemed a bit taller due to holding himself up with so much pride, and when he snapped his fingers and pointed to the grocery store, five guys emerged from the truck and raided it like it was the end of the world.

“S-Soos?!” Stan gasped. “Soos, what are you doing?!” But he was ignored.

“No one can see or hear us, Stanley.” Honey said as they watched Soos’ gang drag a cashier out by her long hair and began to pumble her just because they could. Soos did nothing to stop it, even smiled a little as the girl screamed for help.

“I don't get it… Soos is a good kid! He’d never hurt a fly! Why in Moses’ name is he…” Stan couldn’t finish the sentence. He was frighteningly reminded of the Colombian gang he was once under.

“Oh, c'mon sweetie, connect the dots. Who do you think taught Soos to be a good kid?”

“His abuelita did.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “She tried, but as he got older it really began to hurt that his dad didn’t wanna be around him. And cuz you weren’t there to tell him otherwise… let’s just say high school never happened for him.”

“What?!”

“He dropped out of school in the eighth grade and joined a small gang outside of town. Eventually he made his way up the ranks and now his little gang terrorized the bottom half of Oregon.”

“B-But why?! All cuz I wasn’t there?” Stan asked, shaking his head. “There’s no way…”

“Stanley, who do you think taught him that he was worth something? Who taught him how to stand up for himself and give bullies left hooks? Who had him put all of his energy into hard work?”

Stan stared at his pretty tour guide. There was no way Stan did all that, no way. Sure, he liked the kid a lot, but he never actually thought he impacted Soos’ life this much. Stan looked back at this horrible version of Soos as his gang loaded the car with food and cash and they sped off, leaving the woman to bleed on the sidewalk and wipe the blood from her lips.

“C’mon,” Honey said and gestured onward. “We’ve got more people to see.”

“Okay so,” Stan followed her and racked his brain. Surely somebody benefited from him not being alive. “What about Wendy? Is she still around?”

“Nope. Without you to give her a job here in town, she had to move upstate to her cousin’s lodge, remember? She had to leave all of her friends behind and she was miserable. Still is, actually. Very quiet gal. Doesn’t say or do much.”

“Wendy? Quiet? I don’t believe you.”

The woman opened a door to a shop, but instead of the inside of the building they saw a black-haired Wendy sitting on her bed in her new room, criss-crossed, holding her pillow as she listened to depressing heavy metal.

Stan winced. “Yikes. She turned into a real Robbie.”

“That kid joined Soos’ gang, BTW.” The woman said as she closed the door.

Stan was having a hard time buying the idea that nobody actually got some good out of him not being around. "Wh-What about that lil' troll? Gideon?"

Honey snorted and led the way through town. As they walked, Stan was having a hard time buying this scenario. There was no way he made this much of a difference. Okay, sure, if he not being alive meant Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, and that meant Gravity Falls changed a bit, Stan could understand that, but there was no way this town turned for the worst all because Stan wasn’t there. There was no way the screw-up actually made things better. Right?

“Here we are.” The woman said to snap Stan out of his thoughts.

The car dealership looked mostly the same. A little more run-down, sure, and there was no Tent of Telepathy in sight, but Bud still wore that stupid straw hat with a baby-blue Hawaiian shirt and tan pants, but he didn’t look quite right, either. Heavy bags were under his eyes, looking a bit more like his wife, and the little bit of hair he had was graying a bit too early. He waved his customer goodbye with a smile, but the second they were gone he sighed tiredly and was frightened by a window being shattered by a rock.

“DADDY! GET OVER HERE!”

“Oh, boy.” Bud steadied himself and went back to the house.

“Hey, how come the little jerk’s business isn’t booming?” Stan asked, more interested as to why his biggest competitor wasn’t flourishing in a town that needed someone to believe in. “He’d do great here! He could’ve used his little camera to tell people when S-... when the gang was gonna strike, or…”

“Stanley, sweetie, how do you think Gideon started that tent?”

“I dunno, he decided to use his cuteness to get some cash?”

“Not quite. For a few years he was just a bratty kid, but then he found a journal in his playground full of mystical objects, including a magic bow-low tie. It was that journal that made him think of telepathy. Even if he was fake, it was Journal 2 that inspired him.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan held his chin. “So with no me there’s no Ford in Gravity Falls which means no journals which means no Tent of Telepathy. Fine, but the twerp’s gotta be a better person without that spooky book making him think he’s all powerful.”

The woman in white laughed and pointed to the house. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? See for yourself.”

Stan walked up to the broken window and was mortified at the state of the house. Stains everywhere, chipped and torn furniture, cracked walls, torn carpet, and in the midst of it all was a ten-year-old lying on his stomach on the couch, banging his fists and kicking like a toddler as he screamed horribly. Stan winced, but then was completely thrown off to find Gideon’s hair not white and up Dolly Parton-style, but orange and cut short.

“I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT!” Gideon screamed as if he was being murdered.

His poor mother was against the wall, holding her heart and breathing heavy; Stan noticed the signs of an anxiety attack.

Bud slowly approached his son and tried to calm him down. “Now, sugar pie, please…” But the human beaver was kicked in the jaw, leaving a bruise and making him bite his lip so hard he bled. Bud held his mouth as Gideon continued to scream.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU NEVER GIMME ANYTHANG I WANT! WHY YA HAVE TO BE SO STUPID?!”

“Yikes, how did not being possessed by a freaky journal make him worse?” Stan asked Honey as they walked away from the house. “I don’t get it.”

“Sure, Gideon wasn’t the best kid before the journal, but at least with the journal he had something to work towards, something to put all of his energy into, and he also had you.”

“M-Me?”

“Don’t you remember the first time you met him?”

“Yeah, he took my parking spot with that stupid van.”

“Actually, you met once before.” Honey chuckled as they walked back into the woods. “You were both at the grocery store when he was four. He was with his mom, bouncing in the buggy and demanding for candy. She gave in just to keep him quiet and tuned to pick some milk. You were across the aisle, picking orange juice, when Gideon dropped his chocolate bar while trying to open it. You noticed the candy and the boy making grabby hands at you and the candy, but you grinned, said ‘no’ firmly, picked up the chocolate…”

“... and ate it right in front of him!” Stan laughed. “I had forgotten… I didn’t know that was Gideon! I thought that was just some spoiled brat.”

“Well, it was. You were the first and only person who ever told that boy ‘no’, the only person who really challenged him and pushed him. Thanks to you, he channeled his anger and energy into trying to take you and the Shack down. But without you around to push him, he had no way to get his energy out, except his parents.”

Stan looked down at the dirt and they stopped walking for a second. “This… This doesn’t make any sense.”

“How so?”

“I’m just a screw-up!” Stan argued as he looked back up at the woman. “I’m the twin no one wanted! I’m just some loser of a conman! It doesn’t make sense that a guy like that could… it… there’s gotta be somebody to benefitted from me not existing! What about Lazy Susan? With no Mystery Shack that means no lazy eye, right?”

“Actually, Soos’ gang raided the diner and it ended badly when Susan stood up to them.” Honey winced. “She ended up not only losing her job, but her eye, too.”

Stan swore under his breath. “Fine… What about that McGucket dude? His life’s gotta be better than living at the dump with his mind all jacked up.”

The woman shrugged and led the way deeper into the woods. “Barely. C’mon, we’re going to Tennessee.”

Stan followed the mysterious tour guide back to the sailboat and this time properly braced himself for the sudden speed. Very suddenly they were racing along the sea, colors swirling by them, until they stopped very suddenly on a river. Stan’s jaw dropped to see a huge, beautiful mansion up on the hill by the river. The woman parked the sailboat by the dock and they started to walk up to the rich house, passing a weeping willow with a stone bench with a big crack in the middle.

“This is McGucket’s place?” Stan clarified.

“You got it, genius.” Honey gestured to the six horse stables, the lush garden, all of the nice cars and wagons, and at just how huge and nice and rich the mansion was. “Fiddleford still went to Backupsmore and met his wife, Emma May, and with no Ford to ask for help on a portal, Fiddleford became the inventor of not only person computers, or what’s commonly called laptops, he became the founder of the largest tech company in the country, Berri.”

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out one of those smartphones the kids had, except the back had a little strawberry with a bite in it. “They went on to invent the first cell phone, BerriWatch, and right now they’re testing a self-driving car. Fiddleford found himself with more money than he knew what to do with and after he built his family their dream home, which by the way is the richest house in Tennessee, he simply expanded his company and made historical international deals. He’s also made huge donations to small run-down towns, like the one he grew up in, to create jobs and try to help out their economies.”

“Cool, okay, see.” Stan said with a smile, impressed by this hillbilly’s success. “One person got a good deal from me not being around.”

Honey rocked her hand side to side and led the way around the mansion, walking alongside the clear open space, passing the weeping willow and bench to move around the hill. “Just cuz he was successful doesn’t mean he was better off. Don’t forget, Fiddleford was never the greatest at handling his stress well. He invented that Memory Gun because Ford accidentally inspired him to, saying scientists have a way of creating solutions to their problems. So with no way to forget his stress and anxiety, Fiddleford drank to forget how worried he was about losing his company if he made a bad deal or if his newest invention or work or if he was putting out a good public face.”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “That goody two-shoes? No way.”

“Hey, he grew up around moonshine, he just couldn’t get his hands on it when he was living at the dump.” The woman shrugged and they came upon a stone pathway and walked down it to a small flower garden that formed a circle. “Anyways, Fiddleford was never violent, thank goodness, but he was drunk more than he was sober. He should be happy, with a wife and son and booming business to boot, but he wasn’t. He fell into depression and drank until he ended up here.”

Stan looked ahead and felt the wind get knocked out of him. There was a flat tombstone in the middle of the circle of flowers. He knew what was on there, but he still slowly approached to read what the stone said. “Fiddleford H. McGucket. 1956-2011. The angels now sing a whisky lullaby.”

Stan backed away, backing up farther than the woman was, shaking his head and even punching his forehead as he tried to think. “This… This doesn’t make any sense! Their lives were supposed to get better without me, not worse!”

“Stanley…”

“The kids!” Stan gasped and looked up at Honey. “Where are the kids?!”

The woman looked sober and she gestured back to the sailboat to go to their next stop. “Back in California.”

Stan was anxious the whole trip, though it only took a minute to get where they were going, but soon they were on the side of the road in front of a middle school. Stan watched on the boat as the bell rang and kids started pouring out. He kept his eyes peeled for his kids and he grinned at the sight of two brown-haired twins.

Dipper wore a long-sleeved blue flannel over his orange t-shirt to go with his gray pants. He still had bags under his eyes and he still had that lucky star hat to hide his birthmark, slouching a little with his backpack, but he was still here, a brilliant thirteen-year-old. Stan was a bit worried to see him looking so down and upset, but both men soon smiled as a young girl skipped out of the school.

Mabel had her long hair up with a scrunchie today and kept back with a headband, still wearing her sweaters, today wearing leggings with her skirt, and she grinned at her twin and punched his shoulder before hugging him. “Hey bro bro! Wanna go to the arcade today? I hear they got some new prizes!”

“Sure, sounds fun.”

“There, you see.” Stan sighed with relief as he watched the kids walk down the sidewalk, passing the boat. “They’re fine, they’re happy. They still got each other.”

Just then, some big buy came around the corner and bumped elbows with Dipper, making Stan’s nephew stop, and the bully shoved him onto the concrete.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried out and looked ready to punch the bully, but a guy came up behind her and grabbed her around the arms, pinning her. Another guy joined the bully and they cracked their knuckles as they gazed down at their prey.

“If it isn’t the best punching bag in town.” The bully sneered. “Feel like fighting back today, Dipstick. It’s no fun having a sparring partner that doesn’t fight back.”

Dipper growled and made a flimsy attempt to stand and punch his opponent, but the bully grabbed his wrist and punched him in the gut and kicked him down, leaving poor Dipper to huddle on the sidewalk while the two bullies hammered on him and Mabel fought to be free and help but was powerless against her capture.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HE-” And Mabel’s mouth was covered, but she still wiggled and screamed.

Stan couldn’t watch anymore. He had purposely waited to give the kids a chance to fight back, but sometimes you just need a little help. “I’M COMING!”

“Stanley!”

Stan jumped off the boat and ran to the kids to pull the bully off his niece and scoop her into his arms, but his arms went right through them. He frantically tried to shove the bullies off his nephew, but again his body went right through them, like he was a ghost.

The woman stood by his side and said calmly, “I told you, no one can see or hear or feel us.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing!” Stan yelled at her face.

“Why not? Everyone else has. No one had ever taught them how to fight back when the world fights them, except…”

“Me.” Stan finished for her with a sigh. He made himself watch as the bullies continued to beat Dipper up, finally stopping after the ring leader kicked him in the jaw, and Mabel was let go as they ran off to celebrate their victory.

Mabel crawled to her twin’s side and checked over his injuries as he carefully sat on his knees. “Dipper! Dipper, are you okay? What hurts? Show me what hurts.”

“Ow, ow, ow,” He whined as Mabel touched his swollen eyes and busted lips. Dipper spat out a tooth and held his chest. “I think… I think they cracked a rib.”

“Let’s go home.” Mabel carried his backpack for him and had him lean on her as they wimped onward. “Mom can look at it and take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t get it.” Stan said as he watched his kids walk away. “They’re good kids! Isn’t anyone gonna stand up for them?! What about their parents?! What about their friends?!”

“They don’t have any friends.” Honey said sadly as they watched the twins. “The only friends they had ever made were in Gravity Falls, which they had never visited cuz there was no family there. And Shermie taught your nephew to keep your head down to stay out of trouble, which he’s trying to teach his kids. Unfortunately, it isn’t working out for them, and what used to be bad nicknames and gum in their hair has escalated to fights and notes to kill themselves.”

Stan bit his lip. Not those kids. Not his kids. He wanted to believe things would get better for them, but if no one taught them that they were worth something, that they could stand up for themselves, he didn't have much hope and he didn’t dare ask what their future looked like. But something didn’t sit right…

“Shermie,” He muttered without looking at the woman, still looking ahead. “Y-You said he taught his kid to keep his head down.”

“I did.”

“Why would he do that?” Stan asked. “I mean, sure he’s always been a lame square, but that’s really bad advice, even for him. He taught me and… He taught Ford to stand up for himself. Crampelter was terrified for weeks when Shermie found out he had been breaking Ford’s fingers.”

“He and Ford didn’t see much of each other.” Honey answered quietly.

Something clicked in Stan’s head. While all of this was interesting or whatever, there was only one person that Stan truly believed was better off without him. His better half, the genius, the loved son, the author of the journals, the criminal of the multiverse. His brother. Stan turned to her and asked quietly, “Where’s Ford?”

For the first time, the woman looked scared. She looked away and said, “You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes I do!” Stan bellowed and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Please! Where’s my brother?!” This gal had been scaringly quiet about the one person Stan cared the most about.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Stanley, let’s just get back on the boat…”

“Only if you take me to see my brother! Where. Is. Stanford?!” Stan demanded darkly, his eyes pleading the woman to make his request.

The woman sighed and Stan let her go.

They slowly got on the boat and it zipped to the docks of Glass Shard. Stan blinked a few times at being back to where he grew up for the first time in forty years. Dark clouds covered the sky. Not much had changed throughout the years, but why on Earth was Ford still here? They hopped off and planted their feet on the sand, and Honey led the way as she spoke.

“Stanford was still born with six fingers on each hand. Your mother tried to assure him that it only made him special, but Filbrick did a good job of making it clear that that wasn’t the case, and things only got worse when he went to school. You weren’t there to beat up bullies, you weren’t there to tell him that he was special, you weren’t there to help him dream of a future where they would sail away and he’d be free.”

“Yeah but Ford was always a little genius.” Stan interrupted as they left the sand for dirt, the beach slowly turning into a small patch of woods. “He’d win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees and then at least Pa was okay with acknowledging that they were related.”

“But Stanford didn’t win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees.” Honey corrected sadly. “Stanley, you were the only person in his childhood that made him think that he was actually worth something. You were the only one who made him shoot for the stars and believe that he was worth keeping around. Without you to give him confidence, Stanford never expressed his intelligence and therefore never allowed it to grow at all. He did okay in school, but he wasn’t the top student. He never participated in science fairs of sleeping bees or math competitions because he didn’t have enough confidence to put himself out there. Sure he was smart, but teachers weren't going bananas over him because no one, not even himself, knew his potential.”

It started to rain, but of course the two didn’t feel it or were affected by it. “So… he didn’t go to West Coast Tech?” Stan dared to ask as they walked deeper down the dirt path, oblivious to where they were as he was thinking this through.

“No.”

“But… I thought you said he did.”

“No, I said he never moved to Gravity Falls. He never felt home.”

“So… what happened to him? What did Ford end up doing with his life?”

Honey bit his lip and refused to meet Stan’s eye. They walked on and Stan finally realized where they were. He felt ready to throw up. He waited for his guide to speak.

“Much like Dipper and Mabel, things only got worse as he got older. He got to a point where Stanford was stealing Filbrick’s boos and he even started to hurt himself. It wasn’t enough. It was all too much for him. He… He…”

“No.” Stan’s voice cracked and he was terrified when the woman stopped and motioned to a tombstone that laid among the others in this graveyard. “No! You’re lying! He wouldn’t! He didn’t!” He yelled.

“I’m sorry, Stanley.”

Stan finally made himself read the rock. He fell to his knees at the words that shined through the rain. “Stanford Filbrick Pines. 1956-1970.”

“NO!” Stan screamed and punched the ground beneath him as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. “NO! HE WOULDN’T! HE DIDN’T!”

“Ma found him dangling from the ceiling. She was never the same after losing her baby.” Honey croaked. “He was only fourteen.”

“NO!” Stan shook his head as he ignored how wet his cheeks and eyes were now. “NO! He… He… He never needed me. He never wanted me around.”

“Yes he did.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stanley, listen.” The woman said firmly behind him. “You said it yourself that family needs each other. I know it’s hard to believe that you’re actually worth something when there’s a dozen voices in your head telling you otherwise, but just like how you need them, your family needs you. Your brother needs you.”

Stan listed his fists up from the dirt, his eyes on the tombstone without seeing. “I… I just thought he’d be… they’d be better off I hadn’t been around.”

“No one knows for sure how they change things or how much they really impact others. But you do. And even if you forget all of this, you know your family loves you enough to tell you that they need you.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, but what’s keeping them from saying that outta pity?”

“You can’t let yourself think like that, Stanley, you just can’t.” Honey said firmly. “Your family loves you. Stanford loves you. He needs you, and if you don’t believe me, just take a look at what he’s like when you’re gone.”

“Wait what?”

Honey got on her knees beside him and showed him her golden watch. The face changed to a scene, like a tiny TV, and Stan started to find Ford back at the Stan O’ War II, kneeling beside his injured twin who laid more dead than alive on the couch. With tears streaming down his face Ford was wrapping a bandage around Stan’s head and feeling his heartbeat and checking that the bandages around his torso were well and secure.

“Stanley, Stanley please,” Ford begged as he took Stan’s hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t leave me. I need you, the kids need you. Please.”

“Whoa hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Stan said, but then his eyes grew wide and he looked up at Honey. “Am I?”

“I dunno.” She asked as she lowered her arm and smiled at him. “Do you wanna go?”

“Go where?”

Honey chuckled. “On.”

Stan blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t. If… If that knucklehead really wants me around, then I’ll stay.”

Honey blinked her eyes dry and stood up. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll get you home.”

Stan stood up and followed her back to the boat. “By the way, honey, why’d you do all this for me? What, wanted to earn your wings?”

“No, this was pure self-indulgent.”

“Wait wut?”

~~~~~~~~~~

His head hurt. His side ached a little, but his head really hurt. That didn’t matter. He had no idea why, but he had to see his brother.

Stan forced his eyes open and found his vision blurry thanks to his glasses being folded on the end table. He smiled when he saw that Ford had fallen asleep by his side, kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand, and resting his head face-first into his own folded arms. Outside it was dark, which could mean it was seven in the morning of seven at night, given the fact they were up in the Arctic.

The younger, injured twin, snorted at his brother, which made the aged scientist sit up too quickly for it to be wise, wide awake, with his hair in a gray floof and his red eyes wide and alert.

“Stanley! Thank Moses!” He cried out and stood up to better look over him. “How do you feel? Any pain? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Calm down, Sixer,” Stan chuckled weakly as he slowly tried to sit up, sensitive to the wound on his side. “My head hurts, but I’ll be fine with some painkillers, and you’re holding up two fingers like some dumb hippy.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Ford hugged him around his shoulders tightly as his whole body trembled. “I know you showed no signs of a concussion and your wound is not nearly as bad as it could have been, but i didn’t know for sure if you would pull through or what I would do without you and…”

“Geez, relax, it’s okay, Stanford.” Stan shushed as he hugged him and rubbed his back. “M’fine, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Ford said firmly and sat back, a hand still on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t want you here with me, Stanley. I need you.”

“Yikes, where’s all this sappiness coming from, eh?”

Ford blinked at his twin and said slowly, “Y-You said you thought I’d be better off without you…”

Stan waved that away. “Ah, you say stupid stuff when you hit your brain too hard. I swear, Sixer, you’re stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me, anyways. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t kill yourself out here.”

Ford chuckled tiredly and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now do we have any stew left? I’m starving.”

#GF #fanfiction #gravity falls #gift #stan pines #ford pines #angst #nothing but angst #and a little fluff #maybe #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT HONEYE!!! #LOVE YOU!

[cno-inbminor]

adsentio

a/n: for some reason, i got the idea of prince!akaashi stuck in my head. mildly inspired by the swan princess. 

wc: ~2.1k 

genre: arranged marriage!au, royalty!au, emerging feelings. fluff mainly? idek, it’s word vomit

royalty!au: adsentio (pt. 1) | bonus letters (pt. 1.5) | the masque (pt. 2)

-

Prince Akaashi likes to believe he’s a smart cookie, even if he’s only seven. Then again, his parents aren’t exactly the most subtle people on the planet, and he believes it’s quite obvious as to what they’re planning. In fact, not only is he aware, but the whole castle is as well. Hell, even 90% of the citizens in the kingdom are fully aware of what’s to be expected. He strongly dislikes it, and he wishes it didn’t loom over him every summer.

Ever since the summer of the year he turned five, Princess (y/n) of the West Kingdom would show up for two months to make his life miserable. To be fair, it wasn’t exactly your fault, as you were very much forced into this arrangement as he was, but it was easier to blame you. He’d rather just play fight with Bokuto all summer rather than try to include a girl. It’s not because you’re capable of kicking his butt.

That is absolutely not the case here.

His mother, the queen, is scrambling to get all the preparations done in time for (y/n)’s arrival. Akaashi almost rolls his eyes when he spots her rearranging a bouquet of roses in the dining hall. Unfortunately, she spots him from the corner of her eye and beckons him over with a frantic hand. Never one to deny a parent, he quickly jogs over to her.

“Oh darling, would you be a doll and check in on your father? He needs to be dressed properly for the West Kingdom’s arrival. Tell him to wear that cyan blue shirt of his, it’s much more flattering.”

“Do we need to be so overboard like this again? They’ve already been here twice, it’s not like they don’t know us.”

“For reasons you don’t know, they’re extra special to us. Aren’t you excited to see (y/n) again? You two got along so well last summer!”

Akaashi wrinkles his nose in distaste. “It feels like I just saw her yesterday. Bokuto and I just wanna play by ourselves.”

“Nonsense, dear. Now go check on your father, please,” His mother implores before scurrying off to another bouquet of flowers.

It’s so obvious, he thinks to himself as he jogs towards his parents’ chambers. Did they really need this alliance with the West Kingdom? Would they be that much more powerful together? “In due time, you’ll understand,” his parents always said. Akaashi was starting to become tired of hearing those words.

Why is it so hard to just tell him now as to why they want him to marry Princess (y/n)?

-

“You know why I’m here, right?” (Y/n) asks him one evening. They’re sixteen now – Akaashi counts that this is your twelfth time at the castle. You call the castle your second home, as he once heard you tell your assigned handmaiden, the same lady who attends to you every summer. Somehow, the statement strikes a chord within him – his initial childish annoyance at your presence had long disappeared and been replaced with something akin to defeat. There was very little chance that they could run from this, but in the late nights, Akaashi found himself believing that if there were someone to be betrothed to, (y/n) wasn’t so bad.

“What do you mean?” He replies, slowly turning a page in his book. You both found that one way to quickly pass the time was to raid the royal library. At first, it was custom to read your respective books at opposite ends of the castle. Yet as time passed, you found yourselves meeting closer and closer towards the middle. If desired, the servants could find you two either together in the library, in an empty ballroom by the massive windows, or on the balcony in the summer sun. Most times, Bokuto, Akaashi’s most loyal friend, was with you as well. Reading wasn’t necessarily one of his top hobbies, but he’d rather be with friends than alone wondering around the castle.

This time, the two of you have taken refuge by a fireplace, a terrible thunderstorm casting a chill over the building. Bokuto is conveniently off doing his own thing.

“The reason why I’m here every summer.”

Akaashi casts his best exasperated look towards you, but it goes unnoticed as you refuse to look away from your book. “I’ve known since I was six.”

You sigh and gently shut your novel closed, one finger stuck between the pages to keep your place. With the grace of an angel (Akaashi thinks), you pick yourself up from the lounge chair and drift over to the couch he’s sitting on. Because he’s sitting upright towards the end closest to the fire, there’s more than enough space for you to sit and stretch your legs across the cushions. In fact, you do just that, settling for leaning your back against Akaashi’s strong side profile, his arm supporting most of your weight. Without meaning to, Akaashi finds himself adjusting his sitting position for your comfort. He feels your body tremble slightly and a small wave of concern washes over him.

“Should I ask one of the servants to bring a blanket for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. But thank you for your concern, your highness.”

“You don’t have to address me as so.”

“My apologies, it’s a force of habit.”

“Hmm.”

Akaashi has long given up on reading the words before him. Your question repeats in his head like a broken record.

“Doesn’t it frustrate you?” You whisper, interrupting his thoughts. “Doesn’t it anger you that since my birth, you’ve been forced into a game that you have no choice but to play?”

Akaashi hesitates. This topic has never been broached before, and he’s not sure how to address it.

“I’ll admit it was more frustrating in the beginning. Nobody enjoys being told what to do, especially when you’re little. But I learned to just accept it. In fact, to call it a game would assume that there is a losing side. From what I’ve studied, both of our kingdoms would benefit from this merger. What’s the loss?”

“Our freedom and choice,” you bite out, yet refusing to look at him. You’ve also given up on reading, yet you don’t want to arouse suspicion that this conversation is happening. If a servant were to hear, rumors would fly around the castle like a plague. “I think it’s only human that I want to experience love the way ordinary people do. We don’t even get a say.”

“What about both of our parents? They were arranged yet they love each other.”

“Simple, they got lucky.”

“Then would you rather run away and find another man to fall in love with?”

“More than that, I just want to experience life beyond the castle walls. My position is different from yours.”

“How so?”

You purse your lips, pausing. “Your Highness, what do you think would happen to you if I were to disappear, or god forbid, die?”

Akaashi’s eyes widen in bewilderment. “Why would you ask that?”

“You just need to answer my question.”

“Well,” he ponders. “I…believe I’d be somewhat sad. We would mourn the loss, surely.”

For the first time this summer, he hears a genuine chuckle from you. “I’m honored by your sentiment, your highness. I’m asking more of what you think would politically happen to you.”

Akaashi’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I guess…politically I’d be okay. Mother would be devastated, but I guess they’d find me another match. The merger with your kingdom would’ve been our strongest move, but it could still happen since we’re already on such good speaking terms. Supposedly there are other princesses waiting for a chance, and a merger could result from that as well.”

“What a humble braggart you are, your highness,” you tease.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I know. But in all seriousness,” you switch to a more solemn tone. “The point is, you’d be okay. As you so nicely put it, you have women lining up to be with you.”

“Aren’t men lining up to be with you as well?”

“It’s not the same, Your Highness. As a princess, I’m brought up to constantly prove my worth to others. More importantly, I’m raised to prove my worth as a wife and a queen. We’re left to care for the children we must bear, we must keep our noses a reasonable distance away from kingdom business. If this engagement were to break, many outsiders would automatically assume that I was deemed unworthy of you, that I must’ve wrapped myself in some horrible scandal.”

Akaashi hums and stares into the fire. “I suppose that it’s rather unfortunate. I wish I had realized that sooner.”

“Your self-awareness speaks volumes. I usually wouldn’t admit this to you, but I know you’ll be a great king when it’s your time. Your people already love you, and they will only continue to love you more.”

“That’s very kind of you, Princess.”

“I only speak honestly. There’s no need to sugarcoat my words around you.”

Somehow, Akaashi finds that very comforting. Perhaps as someone in his position, he would consider honesty and wisdom to be valuable. Just because he’s destined to be king someday, doesn’t mean he would always make the right decisions. He would appreciate having you by his side in his decision-making.

“If this happens,” Akaashi finds himself speaking, also not one for beating around the bush. “I can promise now that I’ll try to change that. Even if we end up never loving each other, I’ll do my best to ensure that you never feel confined to such a role. As my w-wife,” he stumbles over the word. “I would want your input. You have a good head on you, and I’m sure you have valuable wisdom that I will need in due time.”

“Somehow, that’s the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me,” you say. He can hear the smile in your voice, his own small one forming on his face. When you move off the couch, his body immediately misses the warmth of your body pressed against his. After you’re done dusting yourself off, you begin to curtsy. He knows that this means you’re retiring for the night, but he’d rather you not leave right now.

“Wait,” he calls out, reaching for the hand not holding your book. You stay silent as Akaashi delicately holds your hand, then breaking out into a slight blush when he lays a soft kiss on the back of your hand, eyes never breaking contact with yours. He’s never been more princely to you than this moment – though his mother had made him do this on every first day you arrive at the castle, it never held so much meaning. This was of his own doing, his own volition, and that spoke volumes to you. He was trying to make this work in his own special way.

You don’t miss the way his thumb ghosts over your knuckles before releasing your hand, although the movement seems hesitant and troubled. “Good night, Princess,” he bids quietly, eyes looking back at the ignored book in his lap. Your heart beats with adrenaline, the chemical fueling you to step closer to him and bend down to place a kiss on his cheek. Akaashi does his best to not look surprised, but he knows that he has failed when he hears the sound of your gentle laugh.

“Good night, Keiji.”

The prince concludes right then and there that he has never heard anything more beautiful.

-

When you return to your chambers the next night, it’s hard to miss the most beautiful glass vase you’ve seen that’s sitting on your dresser. Inside stands a half-bloomed peony, a flower you recognize from the castle gardens. The petals have a tender shade of a light blush pink – if the flower-arranging lessons taught you anything, they stood for romance, compassion, and bashfulness. A neatly folded cardstock with your name stands demurely by the vase. The handwriting is strikingly familiar, and you can’t help but smile at the words neatly written inside.

To my future queen.

As you bring the flower to your nose and inhale the sweet scent, you begin to think that perhaps, you and Akaashi might just be lucky enough for love.

 -

feel free to send requests for this au! 

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #akaashi fluff #akaashi haikyuu #akaashi keiji #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #akaashi imagine #akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji x you #adsentio #akaashi scenarios #keiji #akaashi #got a little..preachy? idk #so sorry!

[simplyswooningk]

Fanfiction Teaser!!! Chapter 1 of “The One”

The One

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ron and Hermione:

Premise: Eight years after the war, two years after a dramatic and mysterious breakup, Ron and Hermione are thrown togethere when he returns home to prepare for his wedding. Confronted with her own feelings, Hermione dares to ask herself the question, “If One Thing Would’ve Been Different, Would Everything Be Different Today?

                          “I’m doing good, I'm on some new shit.”

The invitation burned in her hand in almost the same way the Geminio-cursed gold in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault did. After it had it read itself, she reread it nearly six times before it had registered in her mind.

To own the truth, Hermione Granger was not used to such a brain fog. But that thin piece of paper seemed to stop her mind in its track. It was now hovering over her desk, almost taunting her.

Her eyes glanced over it again, although by now, she knew it by heart:

Mr. & Mrs. Roger and Catherine Forell along with Mr. Arthur and Mrs. Molly Weasley joyfully invite you to the wedding of their children

                                Alison Katherine Daphne Forell

                                                       &

                                          Ronald Billius Weasley  

                                              25 June 2006  

                                                  2:00 p.m.

                                           Longbottom Castle

                                       Swillington, West Yorkshire  

                               RSVP by owl no later than March 6th.

He was getting married in England.  Why was he not getting married in America with his perfect little American fiancée? No, he had to come back home and do the blessed deed. 

She completely dismissed the notions of his entire family living in England and the row his irrepressible mother would surely throw at the thought of her youngest and most famous son getting married across the pond that deemed his choice of locale all too natural as absolute rubbish.

It was almost as if he wanted to make sure she would not have an excuse to be absent.

Who was she kidding? He probably hadn’t given her a thought in years.

She wasn’t sure she could blame him. But that was all in the past. Their history was all water under the bridge or over the dam or however the expression went. 

It was in the past.

 For a while, she saw the whole thing in her head: the two of them for ever and ever and ever. For a while, so did he. Or so she thought. Or so he thought. They had both believed they were on the same page until they realized that they were not. They absolutely were not.  

They were friends now. Or so they said. Friends spoke to each other. They didn’t, except when they were forced, by some unmissable personal event of some invaluable mutual friend, to be in the same room together. But they were friends.  

There were no hard feelings. They were friends. Or so they said. And she was happy for him. Everything was fine.

She would go. Molly would tan her hide if she didn’t. And they were friends. Friends went to friends’ weddings. Friends were happy for their friends. And she was happy for him.  

Unable to look at it anymore, she snatched the invitation out of the air and placed it into her drawer. Their engagement wasn’t a complete and total surprise. Harry had mentioned months ago that Ron’s relationship had gotten serious.

Good Godric, was there anything worse than having a mutual best friend with your ex? Hermione had endured torture and, in that moment, she honestly would’ve preferred it.

It was hard to believe that eight years had passed since the war. It was hard to believe than it had been six since the Breakup Heard Round the World.  

Oh, no one knew the whole story. Not even Harry. But when two best friends, who had longed harbored secret, yet obvious affection for each other finally got together, the general assumption is that together they would stay.  

Needless to say, when word of their breakup reached their evergreen group of friends, they were shocked.  

But no one was more shocked than the two parties involved. She could never forget how shocked and shaken she felt as she packed. She kept waiting for something to stop her, to wake her up and shake her out of that nightmare.

But nothing did, she’d finished packing.

In all honesty, she should be happy for him. That was what she’d told him the night he had told her he was leaving England: that she was happy for him, although nothing could have been further from the truth.

By then, there was too much said and unsaid for her to protest. An apology had seemed ridiculous on both sides. Now, she wondered if she could’ve stopped him. She wondered if some part of him had wanted her to.

Paris was her home now, or at it least it was where she rested her head.  She was now the Junior English Ambassador to the French Ministry of Magic. It was a position Kinglsey had recommended her for personally.  

Her time there had been lovely, but it was rumored that she was up for a promotion back home. It was the general scuttlebutt that she’d single been singled out to replace the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic for the Regulation of Magical Creatures before the year was out. Kingsley was apparently eager for her to be back in England, working for the greater good.

That had been her life for the past six years: work. She was very proud of all she’d accomplished. While working in France, she’d still managed to be a very loud advocate for magical creatures and the Muggleborn community.

She’d given many speeches, toured all around the world into various magical communities to talk about the treatment of creatures as well as how to better integrate Muggleborns into magical society and help to eliminate the prejudice that reared its ugly head far too many times for her taste.

It had been good, her time in France. She was well on her way to accomplishing everything she’d ever dreamed. Almost.

A knock on her door pulled her from thoughts. “Ms. Granger?” her assistant Elodie Aubin poked her head the through the door. “’Arry Potter for you ma’am.”

Hermione smiled. “Send him in.”

Moments later, in walked Harry Potter with his untamable black hair, glowing green eyes and friendly smile. If they hadn’t been through so much hell together, she honestly believed she could’ve hexed him on the spot.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to see him. She just didn’t want to have the conversation he was there for. And they both knew it.

“Hello Harry,” she said with a smile and a sigh. “Shall I ring for tea?”

Harry removed his Auror cloak, plopped down in the chair opposite hers and shook his head. “Just had a cuppa, thanks. And how are you, Hermione?”

“Lovely, thanks. Is that why you’re here? To inquire of my health and happiness? We both grew up with Muggles. We have phones for that.”  

Harry laughed dryly. “You know, from your tone, I could infer that you’re not happy to see me.”

Hermione smiled. “I’m always happy to see you, Mr. Potter. But I have a feeling this isn’t your regular meeting of salutations.”

Harry laughed again but then his eyes turned serious. “Get your invite, did you?” 

“Is that why you came all the way here? To discuss Ronald’s nuptials?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

She shrugged. “I’m fine. And yes, I got the invitation. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect one.”  

“He’s not one for grudges, Hermione.”

Hermione’s eyebrows nearly leapt off her forehead.

“Anymore,” Harry quickly clarified. “He’s not one for grudges anymore. Besides everyone would love to see you.”  

“I’m sure. But I don’t think—,”

“Hermione, Molly will murder you if you don’t come. And then she’ll murder me for not convincing you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Can’t I just make my excuses? Busy with work, blah, blah, blah, the usual?”

“It’s his wedding, Hermione.”

“And I’m his ex. Doesn’t that give me a pass? Must I suffer through this? It was awkward enough at your wedding.”  

“Yes, I remember,” Harry said with a grimace and shake of his head. “But we got through it.”

“Yes, with lots of Firewhiskey and mead.”  

“Well, whatever works.”

“Harry, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea for either of us. It's been a long time, we’ve both moved on. I just don’t think one’s wedding needs a... blast from the past, if you will.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, stop trying to weasel your way out. No pun intended. Besides, I've one more invitation or rather summons to bring you.”

Hermione started at that. “What?”

“Well, the thing is Ron is on his way to the Burrow as we speak. Molly is having a welcome home dinner in his honor. She told me not to leave without you.”

“What in Merlin’s name is he doing here so soon? The wedding’s not for two months!”

“Apparently there’s a lot to plan, so he’ll be here until the wedding.”

Hemione rolled her eyes. “What could he possibly have to do that Ms. Enchanted Cauldrons USA could not see to herself? And doesn’t he as the Deputy Head of the American Aurors, not to mention President of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes America have better things to do?”  

Hermione noticed that Harry hesitated. “I’m sure he had loads to do. Dinner. At the Burrow. Tonight. You realize you don’t have much choice? Besides, he’s coming by himself. Allie won’t be here till a week before the wedding.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised at that. There was something Harry wasn’t telling her. There was no one that dressed and carried themselves the way Alison Forell did would leave the majority of the wedding planning up to Ron. But that was conversation for another time.

“What’s Molly up to, anyway? Because if this another reconciliation scheme, I swear Harry—,”

“No, no,” he cut in. “She’s quite over that. She likes Allie. As much as she likes Audrey, I’d say.”  

“Do you like her?”  

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

“Yes. But she was Alison then.”  

Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s nice, Hermione. Anyway, as you said, you’ve both moved on. How's Taron?”  

“He’s good. He's in Sweden at the moment.” Hermione’s boyfriend of nearly nine months was Taron Fruelle. He worked as an undersecretary to the French Minister of Magic. “He’ll be there for the next few weeks.”  

Taron was Muggleborn and highly academic just like her. Their connection had been instant. He had a good sense of humor, was highly proficient in magic and his love of reading almost surpassed her.  

It was the easiest, most comfortable relationship she’d ever been in. They rarely disagreed, they spent most of their free time at rare bookstores or deciphering Ancient Runes. Taron was in Sweden, helping with the renovations of the French Magical Embassy.

Hermione realized after Harry mentioned him that she forgotten to phone him on her lunch break.

“So, is it true Kinglsey will be calling you back to England soon?” Harry said attempting a change of subject after Hermione went quiet for a few moments. “Now that you’ve gathered your diplomatic experience?”

“He hasn’t said either way. I mean, I'd love to be back home. Everyone seems to think so, but he’s been very vague. Typical politician.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a bit and Hermione could tell he was thinking of something, something he was more than likely not going to tell her.

“Are you just going to camp out here until I'm done working and then transport me to the Burrow?”

Harry nodded. “Molly’s orders, my lady. Nothing I can do.”  

Hermione sighed. “Well, who am I to argue with Molly Weasley? Does he know I'm coming?”

Harry nodded. “Ginny’s gonna tell him.”  

Hermione sighed. “Can we stop at the shops and get a bottle of wine before we go?”

Harry smiled. “And a bottle of rum too. Hermione, really, you’re okay with this, aren’t you?” His bright green eyes searched hers.

She smiled, although suddenly she was mentally transported back to Grimmauld Place, crying hysterically, Harry’s arms clasped around her and telling her it would be all right.  

“Harry, I’m fine. It’s all right now. He's moved on, so have I. We’re friends now. We were always friends.”

Harry smiled and she knew that he did not quite believe her. She also knew he would not quite say so.  

“Listen, I’m going go into the city, pick up some French pastry for Ginny. I’ll be back to collect you in a bit?”  

Hermione nodded. “I’ll be off at 5:30.”  

Harry smiled again, that same knowing sympathetic smile he had when he walked in. He wished her a brief adieu before he was off.

He didn’t believe she was fine. He thought she was torn up inside, that deep down, she was still in love with Ron. But she wasn’t. It was over. They had moved on.

Five thirty rolled around and true to his word, Harry arrived to collect her.  

“Should we Floo?” He asked nodding to the fireplace. “I’ve got the wine and rum.”  

Hermione nodded. She took his arm. “It’ll be great to see everyone,” she said with a smile.

“The Burrow,” Harry said scooping up a handful of Floo Powder.

A flash of green and a healthy covering of soot later, Hermione and Harry found themselves in all too familiar parlor. But in a betrayal of familiarity, it was quiet.  

“Gin?” Harry called as they dusted themselves off.  

“Are we early?” Hermione asked looking around.

Harry shook his head. “No, they should’ve all been here by now.”  

The words were barely out of his mouth when a large, incoherent cacophony of voices reached their ears. That sound could only be one thing: a group of Weasleys returning from a Quidditch match.

“Oi! Ginny, next time maybe catch the Snitch,” called George Weasley.  

“Shut your trap, George. Angelina blindsided me and you know it!”

“I did not! You were too busy trying to show off one of those Harpy tricks!”  

Hermione laughed. There was truly no place like the Burrow.

“Hurry and wash up all of you!” came Molly’s nurturing, but demanding voice as the door was thrown open “Ginny, I'll need your help with the treacle tart.”

“Coming Mom,” replied Ginny with a good-natured sigh. “Oh, blimey! Ron, I forgot to tell you—”

“Tell me what?” called a voice that Hermione would know anywhere. And it sounded closer than all the others.  

Familiar footsteps froze her in place. She turned wide-eyed and horrified to Harry who looked equally dazed.  

Ginny was too slow. Before another word could be spoken, Ron Weasley had entered into the parlor. His blue eyes, those ocean blue eyes that she could never stop herself from loving widened instantly. Time was at a standstill.  

Hermione came to two startling realizations simultaneously. One, he had no idea she was coming to dinner. And two, she was still hopeless, helplessly, irretrievably in love with him.  

#fanfiction #hermione x ron #teaser #romione #actual story won't be posted probably for a few weeks or maybe a month

[chaoticevilbean]

Firebender!Sokka AU

Just a Scene Part 1/?

Pakku and Katara separated from their hug, smiles still firmly in place. Katara opened her mouth to continue their conversation, but snapped it shut as a realization hit her.

“Where’s Sokka,” she asked, her head swiveling to look for the other. Pakku’s brow furrowed as the waterbending master came to the same thought. The boy hadn’t come over, despite his sister’s exclamation at the sight of her old teacher and now grandfather.

“He’s over there, Sugar Queen,” Toph pointed from where she stood by Zuko and Suki. All three seemed at least slightly confused and waiting for some sort of explanation. Katara glanced over at where Toph pointed, seeing her brother speaking with the masters, and strode over to the rest of the team. It would be better to clarify the situation now instead of waiting.

Master Pakku did not walk over to another person. He did not call after his student and granddaughter. He did not move in any way besides turning to face the other adults. His mind was reeling at the sight before him.

Sokka was speaking to Piandao with more respect than the waterbender had ever seen the boy use. He spoke in a similar manner to Jeong Jeong, but he was also looser with the former admiral, occasionally nudging the man on the shoulder in a playful way. Bumi did not receive any formality or the respect he might elicit as a king. Instead, the royal threw his arm around Sokka, and even from his distanced position, Pakku could hear the terrible jokes his colleague was interjecting with. All four of the people were acting friendly with each other, and Sokka fit in with them like the winning move in a game of Pai Sho.

Pakku had heard about the other masters’ experiences with the Avatar and his friends. He had shared his own at the same meeting. He would’ve joined the group if it had just been the strange behaviors. He was not in any way prepared for when Jeong Jeong threw a fireball at Sokka’s head and the teen caught it, laughing like it was an inside joke.

His grandson… his Water Tribe grandson… was a firebender. A strong one if he could catch such a close attack with the ease he did. And had he not been informed from the others about the firebender of non-Fire Nation heritage? The very same men now conversing as though there had been no fire, no strangeness to the situation. His grandson, the very same he had passed off as an annoyance; who he’d assumed was as idiotic as his actions; who was cocky and was cut from the very mission he’d joined despite having a team to protect; that very same boy was one of the most powerful, if not the most, powerful firebender in the world.

And the boy hadn’t even greeted Pakku in passing. He’d simply joined the other elders and struck up easy conversation. It hit home in him more than learning that he’d attacked his granddaughter. More than finding out that Kanna had left him and married another. It somehow even hit harder than realizing he had driven his love further away by not fighting for what she’d believed in so passionately. Sokka had no reason to greet the waterbender. When had Pakku been anything but brusque with him? Shown any interest in the boy or his life? He’d ignored him for Katara and her strong bending.

It seemed Pakku was destined to keep driving his family away.

~_~_~_~_~_~

Sokka wasn’t paying attention to his sister’s reunion with her teacher. He knew she’d missed the grouchy old man despite the fact that he was, well, grouchy. Sokka could now understand it better himself, having missed Jeong Jeong after their group had had to flee. So he gave the two space and instead moved over to greet his friends and masters.

“Master Piandao,” he greeted, bowing to his mentors, “Master Jeong Jeong… Bumi.” For the last man, he changed the bow to that of the Earth Kingdom, beaming at the King as he did so. It really was just for show when it came to the royal.

The bows were instantly returned, despite the superior positions of the elders not demanding it. Jeong Jeong rose swiftly from his, making intense eye contact as he did. Sokka remained calm, remembering the first time he’d been subject to the almost-glare.

“Is there something you need, Master Jeong Jeong?” he tried. It was apparently the wrong move as the deserter’s gaze hardened sharply.

“You’re injured.”

“No…”

“Then why did you call me by name?” Sokka frowned before the question clicked.

“You seriously think I’m injured just because I didn’t call you J2?”

“J2,” Piandao repeated, a grin forming quickly at the nickname.

“We can discuss my questionable naming skills later,” the younger firebender intervened before the conversation could wander. “Now is the time to discuss what is going on and what is going to happen before we try to avoid dying tomorrow.”

“When did you develop aangxiety?” Bumi asked as he threw his arm across the teen’s shoulders. A few chuckles escaped before he could stop them, not that he was trying that hard.

“I’ve always had anxiety. Then I got a little airhead and suddenly I can’t go a day with aangst.”

“Agni, there’s two of them,” Piandao muttered, running a hand down his face. Jeong Jeong let out a huff of amusement at the duo, who were giggling at the puns. “What is it you wished to talk about, Sokka?” the master swordsman continued, now making his own attempt at changing the subject. The Water Tribe warrior raised an eyebrow at the mock pain in his master’s expression but obliged the man.

“I wanted to discuss what you’re all doing together, as well as the plan for Sozin’s Comet. Both Aang and Momo,” Sokka directed that last part at Bumi, “have disappeared. We know that Aang will likely show up when the Comet comes to fight the Firelord, but we don’t have a solid plan. Until Zuko informed us of Ozai’s plan to wipe out the Earth Kingdom, Aang was going to wait for the Comet to pass before he fought.”

“So our intel was correct,” Jeong Jeong stated solemnly. “Ozai plans to destroy the other nations as his grandfather destroyed the Air Nomads.”

“It will be easier to thwart the plan if Aang handles the Loserlord,” Bumi earned himself a couple of snickers at that, “and we have these kids to help.”

“I believe it would be best to discuss this with the other masters.”

“There are more of you?” Sokka asked curiously, wondering what other old people had gathered.

“There are a few, but only one will likely be available with all of our preparations. General Iroh, the Dragon of the West.” The teen nodded at that. It fit with what he had seen of the group's apparent association.

“I’ll go get the others and then you can lead us to your camp. I’m guessing you’re going to take back Ba Sing Se?”

“Yes. We will wait,” Piandao told his former pupil. Sokka bowed once more to the trio before hurrying back to his team. He passed Pakku again, surprised that the old man had not joined his companions seeing as Katara was no longer speaking to him. He ignored the thought in favor of addressing his friends.

“Gaang, pack up quickly. We’re gonna head to the old people camp and plan for tomorrow. Do any of you want to forgo the meeting?”

“I’m coming and you can’t stop me,” Toph stated firmly. Sokka nodded and looked to the others.

“I’ll sit this one out,” Suki said. “I think I’d be better with helping preparations.”

“I’ll sit out, too,” Katara added, drawing surprised faces from her comrades. “I don’t think I’ll be much help with the planning.”

“Alright. Zuko?”

“I don’t know. I’m not one for planning but I know more about the Fire Nation.”

“Well, your uncle is here, and he’ll be at the meeting.” The prince startled slightly at the comment, likely remembering their parting. He’d never mentioned the terms they ended on, but the group assumed they weren’t good ones.

“I’ll go,” Zuko finally decided. “But I might leave.”

“Understandable. I’ll keep that in mind. Now put the gear away and we’ll head out.” The team split up seamlessly, heading to do the jobs they each unspokenly had. The only ones who didn’t move to join were Toph and Sokka, the latter because the earthbender had latched onto his arm.

“Not so fast, Snoozles.”

“What’s the matter, Toph?” Sokka studied his younger companion. For the first time in a long while, she appeared uncertain or uneasy. The firebender couldn’t figure out which.

“Why don’t you like your grandfather?” she inquired quietly. It was so uncharacteristic of her and, coupled with the weird question, caused the young chief to pause.

“My grandfather? Both my grandfathers are dead,” he informed the girl before him.

“Pakku’s marrying your Gran-Gran, at least according to Katara.”

“Oh.” He paused again. “I don’t… not like Pakku. It’s just that I don’t really have anything to talk to him about. He’s closer to Katara than me.”

“But you ignored him.”

“He was talking to Katara.” Toph opened her mouth to continue, but Sokka cut her off, feeling the conversation was going nowhere. “Is this all you were concerned about? Because he’s a good man, if still a little sexist. And I have no problems with him. So let’s help the others and then we can head out. If you’re still worried, talk to him on the way over.” The preteen huffed, blowing her bangs to the side as she turned on her heel and stomped away. Sokka sighed as he went over to pack up his tent and help Katara with the sleeping roll. He would definitely need to watch how he acted around his apparent-grandfather.

~_~_~_~_~_~

The Gaang were at the large camp where the Order of the White Lotus, the group that the masters belonged to, had set up for the taking back of Ba Sing Se. Suki and Katara quickly left to lead Appa to a safe place and begin aiding in the preparations. Zuko and Toph noticeably pressed closer to Sokka, drawing comfort from the father of the group. He noticed their tension and discreetly started rolling his tile, knowing that the motion would likely only draw attention from his teammates. Predictably, the flanking duo relaxed at the sight of the round piece of wood. Sokka would need to paint it again after the meeting.

Piandao walked off to wake up Iroh, who had taken an early night, while the others entered a large tent with a table and exactly eight chairs within, one on each end and three on either side. A map was weighted on the wooden surface, several Pai Sho tiles marking different spots of the world. Jeong Jeong and Bumi sat on the right side of the table with Pakku across from them, a seat saved for Piandao next to the waterbender. Sokka moved to sit near Jeong Jeong but found Toph pushing Zuko into the chair. Upon moving to sit across from the prince, Sokka was shoved out of the way by Toph, who smirked as she made herself a rock stool.

“Toph, from the bottom of my heart, why?” She smirked more.

“You’re forgetting that I’m nobility. I know how we’re supposed to be seated, Snoozles.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” he retorted. “The most important people go on either end, and the ones on their right are the second most important. But I’m not the highest in position. Zuko is.”

“Zuko’s a prince,” Toph smiled smugly. “And I’m a lady.”

“Exactly. So why did you reverse our positions?”

“You are absolutely right. I’ll fix that for you.” With a stomp, the stool was pushed back into the ground and Toph stalked over to Zuko. She tugged him up and dragged him over to the other side of the table, pressing him into the chair she’d just vacated. With yet another smirk, she sat in his old seat, feet once again propped up.

“Toph, I’m not higher than a lady, and definitely not a prince.”

“Oh really?” Sokka did not like that look. “Remember when you and Katara told us about the Southern Water Tribe’s hierarchy? Well, I do. Actually really interesting to learn about the Water Tribe since no one ever thought to teach me. You’re going to teach me more when Loserlord’s dead. Anyways, you and Katara are royalty by your Tribe’s standards. You’re the children of the Chief. Only, Katara told us something after you left to meditate.”

“She didn’t,” the firebender groaned out, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“She did,” the little earthbender responded proudly. “You, Snoozles, are the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, which means you not only outrank me, but also everyone else here including our resident prince.”

Sokka didn’t attempt to fight it at that point. He simply sat down at the head of the table between his two friends, resigned to just accept Toph’s unusual behavior. Normally, she would take any opportunity to be the one in charge, but here she was, pushing the lead onto the older kid.

“Sokka, are you really the Chief?” Pakku’s questions caught three adolescents off guard, Zuko having been fully invested in seeing who would win the argument.

“Yeah,” the boy confirmed, settling back as they waited for Piandao and Iroh. “Dad left with the other warriors, so I was made Chief. Gran-Gran’s Chief in Absence.”

“She told me such, but I assumed her son was still leading.”

“That was Dad. He knew that they weren’t going to be back for a long time, so he seceded the position to me. He was following tradition and passing it to me as I was the eldest male and his son. Should’ve just given it to Gran-Gran.”

“But you’re fifteen,” Jeong Jeong interrupted, leaning forward with a glare. “How long ago did you become Chief?”

“It was about four years ago. I was eleven.”

“Wait, you ran a nation at eleven?”

“Not you, too! C’mon Zuko!”

“You ran a nation at eleven! Yet when I came for Aang, you said you were a warrior, not a chief!”

“Why are you all shouting?”

Everyone sitting at the table jerked towards the entrance to the tent, staring in surprise at the duo standing there. Piandao walked in first, sitting between Pakku and Zuko and peering around the prince at his old student. General Iroh entered after, moving to take his place across from Sokka, at the other head of the table.

“Apparently no one but the Gaang knew Sokka’s a king.”

“Toph! Chief, not king!”

“Same thing.” There was a loud thud as the teen’s forehead hit the wood, which was repeated at a lower volume as he began to bang lightly with his skull against the surface. It continued for about thirty seconds with the others staring amusedly at him, before Zuko slid his hand between the two opposing forces. Sokka looked up at his friend with a tiny pout before exhaling and pulling himself upright.

“Whatever, let’s just start this meeting. General Iroh, what are your plans for tomorrow?” The atmosphere snapped into a tenser feel, a seriousness falling over the group.

“Earthbenders will aid in our entrance, with all firebenders directly behind. Once we are within, we masters and the more experience benders will combat those aided by the Comet. All other warriors will begin taking down the lesser threats, such as nonbenders and earthbenders. We assumed your team would have a plan for fighting my brother.” Sokka nodded, lips pursed in concentration as he studied the map. He was able to figure out what most of the pieces marked, and it was with that that his mind worked out a strategy. He began rolling his tile again, something he had stopped when entering the tent. It was a movement done under the table but still visible to his friends.

“There’s going to be an airfleet, correct?” Iroh tipped his head in confirmation at the inquiry. “That means that they can travel far and fast in the relatively short time of the Comet. And they could split up easily to cover more area. It’s a given that Ozai will be there with the fleet. When Aang comes to fight, that will separate them from the ships. We’ll then need to take them out, or else the destruction will be exponentially larger.”

“No one but powerful and loyal Fire Nation engineers ever saw the blueprints,” Piandao commented. “We don’t have the time to get them and figure out how to take them down or find a way around the crew.”

“Why would you- oh, you guys don’t know. Makes sense.”

“What don’t we know?”

“I invented airships. You won’t need to get blueprints, I’ll just go there myself. They’re made of metal, so Toph will need to come as well. A smaller team will be better, so us and maybe one or two more people. That will nullify the fleet and prevent most of the destruction. Someone will need to take out Azula as well. She’ll be controlling the Fire Nation while Ozai makes the attack. I would suggest Zuko for that, as he’s got the best knowledge of the Caldera and Azula’s tactics.”

“Regarding your attack, I think that it would be best if you sent your most powerful earthbenders underground with a strong group of warriors. If you go deep enough, only the Dai Li could possibly sense you and you could make an attack from within the city, forcing the soldiers to fight on two fronts. From what Zuko told me, most of the Dai Li went with Azula. Maybe all of them but it’s better to assume some are there. They could be defeated easily by Bumi, so he definitely should go. If the nonbenders went through the tunnels after the main group, then some of the weaker earthbenders could make separate paths and pop up at different places throughout Ba Sing Se. Not only would that ensure that they aren’t attacked by Dai Li, it would also allow them to sneak up on the nonbenders and any other combatants they might meet. Warn them that some people have been brainwashed. We don’t have a way to figure out who and with the Fire Nation, who knows what they did with that technology.”

“Healers and medics should remain behind for the first ten minutes or so before following the second group underground. That way they won’t be attacked. They should wear something to distinguish them from soldiers. Maybe have them wear white, as it’s not going to be a color that blends in. If they help everyone regardless of the side they’re on, then they also won’t be attacked.”

“When did you have the time to plan this?” Jeong Jeong asked, his tone shocked.

“He’s the Schedule Master,” Toph spoke up in glee. She always loved seeing people on the opposite side of Sokka’s plans.

“Right now, it doesn’t matter when I made the plan. We just need to figure out who will go and where they’ll go to. Toph and I for the airfleet, Aang fighting Ozai, and Zuko with someone else against Azula. Katara can take on the role of both healer and fighter, so she can fit anywhere, and Suki’s a great warrior.”

“Very well.” Iroh moved a few of the markers around, rearranging them to represent the modified plan. A white tile in the Caldera’s location was moved to the center instead of the outer edge and a yellow one was placed on top of a red. Zuko and Aang. Without waiting to see the tile that Iroh would move for himself, Sokka took his white lotus and placed it on the coast of the Earth Kingdom most likely to be attacked.

“I see you kept the tile,” Piandao mused, a proud look in his eyes.

“Yes. You gave it to me, after all.” It came to the boy’s realization that the Order of the White Lotus probably had some special meaning to the tile, especially since they held Pai Sho in such a high regard that even Jeong Jeong had a board.

“Piandao was right to do so,” Bumi stated with a finality that moved them back to the plan.

“The strategies would work, and it is a thought none of us had to include healers in our battle. A fine idea to lessen any causalities on both sides. However, we need to decide on the whereabouts of your team. And we need to discuss the effects the Comet might have on you, given your peculiarity.”

“Katara can go with Zuko. She’ll fight with him and keep him alive. That’s extremely necessary, both because he’s a friend and because he’s next in line. Zuko, you’ll need to take over as fast as possible. The Fire Sages should be there due to Azula’s possible coronation. I don’t really understand how all that works, but if they’re there and you defeat her, you still have the most right to the throne outside of your father and any position held by Azula is rightfully yours. They’ll listen to you if Katara’s there to yell at them.”

“Are you sure we can take my sister? She’s insane and incredibly powerful.”

“Who knows dragon fire? Not her. Who is the only person Lan stays with besides myself? Not her. You are powerful enough to stop her in a fight, and you have the world’s greatest waterbender to aid you if anything goes wrong, which it will. You can do this.”

“Who is Lan?” Sokka, Toph, and Zuko all stared at Pakku for a moment, before their expressions changed. Toph was grinning with mischief, knowing perfectly well how the reactions would go. Zuko became utterly embarrassed as he would have to admit he was special when it came to the little Bluey. Sokka was grinning like Toph, but his was in pride at the thought of showing off his baby. With steady hands, the Spirit-touched boy reached into his shirt and withdrew the complacent being.

What occurred next was hysterical in many different ways. Jeong Jeong tipped over his chair as he jumped back in his seat, and Bumi barely managed to get out of his own before it, too, was knocked over. Piandao fell into Pakku, who caught the man and tilted back as far as he could go. Iroh sat frozen and tense at the end, eyes unbelieving. A huge slew of expletives exploded into the air from various masters, drawing Toph into a cackling fit. Sokka was clutching Lan protectively against his chest, angry at how no one seemed to appreciate his baby, and Zuko was trying to comfort the boy without breaking down into laughter.

Lan, sensing her caretaker’s distress and woken from her nap, wrapped carefully around Sokka’s neck and growled. When the attention was successfully drawn her way, she moved further up into the black hair above her, and hit her small paws against the firebender’s head. It was an action that somehow conveyed “be nice” without any previous knowledge of Lan’s antics.

“You all need to be nicer to my baby,” Sokka pouted, gently tugging said baby into his arms again. “She deserves better.”

#ATLA #atla #toph #Sokka #Suki #Zuko #Aang #Katara #Pakku #Iroh #Piandao #Jeong Jeong #j2 #firebender!sokka #firebenders #earthbenders #waterbenders #avatar #lan is nice #sozin’s comet #ba sing se #dai li #Azula #ozai should die #dragons #dragon fire #Sokka is chief #Sokka is royal #Zuko never really betrayed Iroh but he still was a lonely fugitive #Sokka is a father

[96harmony96]

Chapter one.

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, camila.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Cabello. Will you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Cabello.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of

faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Alejandro Cabello had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father.

My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited for a beat for the person to move out of my way and when they didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the person's face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just…wow. She sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that exquisite femininity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As she stared back, she altered…as if a shield slid away from her eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism she exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the woman in front of me. Inky black hair shoulder length framed a breathtaking face. Her bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely Emerald green eyes made her savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, her features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

Her dress shirt and suit were both black, but her tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. she smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was she.

she held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cufflinks and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in hers. My pulse leaped when her grip tightened. Her touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. she didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marrying the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

she stood with economical grace, pulling me up with her. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. she was younger than I’d assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but her eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to her, as if a rope bound my waist and she was slowly, inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. she wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. she was the kind of woman that made a person want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

she bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

she glanced up at me and the pose—she's nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. she held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re alright? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

she offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting her and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my brown eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Miss. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting students into that instead. By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did really well.”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Camila Cabello.”

“You have a natural grace, camila. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his collar. “My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”

The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine.

“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”

He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well, which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest person on the planet today. Maybe the hottest woman in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and she gave me a hand up.”

“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Dark. Lean and built. green eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot people don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive people have massive sex appeal. This woman had it all.”

My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after she helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”

I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “she wasn’t the kind of girl you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a girl you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this girl,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys and girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”

Of course he would know; men and women of all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this woman ever being fun,” I said. “she was way too intense. Still, I bet she'd be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real person. Just use ther face in your fantasies and make them perfect there.”

Preferring to get the girl out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was taller by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”

I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My brown hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.

“camila, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos—me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Camila.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.”

I followed him across the strip of hallway, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Camila. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and green eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

#camren #lauren jauregay #lauren jauregui #fantasy #fanfic #camila coelho

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Going on Sixty

Dean’s fifty eight. 

He’s pushing sixty, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s pushing as hard as his back allows - but it doesn’t seem to be working, and if he’d had a stick - though he doesn’t need one, thankyouverymuch - he would’ve been using it too.  

And it’s not just the number. 

He’s old. 

Bobby Singer’s words have never rung truer, and that man has said plenty of wise things in his life. “Old age is both - forgetting things like a drunk, and hurting all over like you’re sober.” It’s ridiculous. Dean won’t vouch for having had a brilliant brain before, but he didn’t used to forget why he went into the next room, he’s quite sure.

And, oh lord, his bones. His joints creak when he sits, and he wishes he’d given older hunters less shit for it when they’d all been whining in chorus about their goddamn hips. He gets sick easy too - Sam, the ever smart-ass says his immunity is as trash as the meals he’d have when he was thirty. He might be right. When it’s flu season, he wheezes like he might cough his heart out; and he’s sure anyone who hears him is positively scared about it too.

So, there. He’s old, and he’s grey, and he’s slow, and he’s grumpy. 

But hell, is he happy. 

Everyday, he wakes up on a mattress that’s known him for just the perfect span of time, under a white, fleecy comforter; all seasons of the year because they’re settled in Key West - who set their bets on Florida, ‘twasn’t him - and he wakes up next to the man he loves. 

Cas is either curled around him, hands tucked around his middle, or he’s cuddled up, pressed to Dean’s front, and Dean gets to wake up hugging him close, leg slot between his, and his nose in Cas’s hair - which frankly, he’s gotten so used to, that it doesn’t even make him sneeze anymore. 

And then they wake up - Dean mostly second; and breakfasts are cooked and coffees are made, newspapers are fetched and kisses are shared, until dressed in fresh clothes to go mostly nowhere in particular, he finds himself seated across Cas on their little table for two - they’d reasoned family meals are more fun on the patio anyway, and ninety percent of the time, it’s really only just them.

And every day, Dean thinks about how lucky he is, and it mostly happens while he’s staring at Cas unabashedly as the beautiful, wrinkled man solves the crosswords, and writes his lists on less printed pages to conserve paper.

Days pass slow, but years are always in a hurry - they’ve been married sixteen years, already. It had all Sam’s doing, that one, he’d never meant to have a grand big day out, with white linen tablecloths and calla lilies and a goddamn wedding photographer.

But he doesn’t need those pictures to remember. Cas, in his cobalt tuxedo, and Dean in his black blazer - both walked up the aisle because either one of them doing it had sounded unfair. He remembers the vows, the dances, and the kiss. It had been everything he hadn’t known he wished for, and he’d cried that into Sam’s shoulder a week after, when Sam brought homethe gigantic album from the studio. That day, he’d gotten to bring Cas home, and make honest men of themselves, he remembered saying - and then, they’d moved into their house together, husband and husband.

The house is close to where Sam teaches, close enough to the shelters they volunteer at twice a week, and at walkable distance from the diners, movies and parks. They have a library debossed in a wall, a garden at the back, and a study for where Dean and Cas alternate taking calls, pretending to be the FBI. 

It’s perfect.

And Dean Winchester’s happier than he’d ever been - and it sucks, because it doesn’t really seem to count. Because now, he’s old.

*

The troubles started slow, as you’d expect them to do.

Dean misplaced the keys to the Impala one fine evening when they’d planned in advance to go play pool and darts at Wren’s. He’d found them at Sam’s, the next day. And if he hadn’t been as busy as he was, correcting Cas whenever he called it ‘losing’ the keys, because he’d ‘known they were at Sammy’s, dammit’ - he would’ve given more thought to how that had been the very start of a long line of similar mishaps.

A particularly embarrassing once, he’d forgotten the other side of the grocery list when he’d gone out - Cas had justifiably nagged him about the lack of oranges, post-it pads, and condoms for the rest of the day.

Once, he got so utterly exhausted performing Baby’s monthly maintenance routine, he fell asleep - and Cas just assumed he was staying over at a friend’s and had forgotten to inform him, so Dean spent the entire night and then some, in the garage.

Yeah, because he slept ten frigging hours a day now.

Dean occasionally complains how it’s happening all wrong for him, because this stuff’s supposed to start at eighty! And Sam and Cas both shine their intellectual scowls at him, and he’s told that he’s been mislead. Cas goes on to add, with a smirk, that since Dean hadn’t exactly allowed himself to age till forty two - when they finally took down Chuck and bowed out of the game - it might be a way for his body to compensate for the delay then. Dean tells Cas then that he’ll make him sleep on the couch, and Sam points out that it’s not Cas who develops a crick in his back from that, and Dean declares that he hates them both.

If someone had told him - and honestly drilled it into his head too, that exercise at thirty would mean surviving at sixty, he would’ve fucking joined his brother on his smug-faced morning runs. He still wouldn’t have yoga’d, to be completely truthful, but he could’ve fucking ran. (Though, he wasn’t sixty yet. That was far, far away.)

But the point stood as it did. Dean felt multiple times the old Cas seemed to be, and especially on the times he messed up and Cas turned even more thoughtful and nice - he has to seriously resist the urge to pull a Crowley and tell his ridiculously understanding husband that he has no idea what old feels like.

Except he isn’t a hypocrite, and theoretically, Castiel is older than mankind, and Jimmy’s older than Dean.

*

A day just so, when Dean’s home and Cas is gone visiting Claire at her new place - she’d moved in with Kaia only last month, after dating for more than a decade, with a quiet, beautiful wedding in the backyard, so Cas had taken with him a waffle maker to keep up the tradition of wedding gifts in their family - and Dean’s sat by himself on the porch contemplating the nature of being old as crap and acting like it, he’s struck with a horrifying thought. 

He hadn’t realized it yet, but all the things he’d been doing wrong, have been affecting his relationship with Cas, somehow. 

The keys? They’d had to postpone a date, that Dean couldn’t even remember them going on later. It wasn’t his fault, but Cas had had a busy week. The condoms? Well, go figure that one. The sleeping in the garage? He’d smelled so much of motor oil that even he couldn’t be disgusting enough to lean in for a kiss the next morning. 

Perfect. So, it hasn’t been enough to ruin Dean’s dignity and his sense of normalcy. The ghost of two-years-to-sixty had to mess with the best thing in his life, too. 

Though, he reasons, Cas has been nothing but accommodating all those times - well, except for when he’s a smartass about it.

Mostly, he just tries to convince Dean that it doesn’t matter, really, and that he understands - but it just irks Dean further. It isn’t fair that Cas can still walk at the same ex-angelic-pace from before, or that he doesn’t have colds and acid refluxes. He’s happy that Cas doesn’t suffer, of course he is - but it doesn’t seem fair. 

Cas might be aging with him, but he isn’t growing old. 

Instead, while Dean developed body aches and lines on his face, he’d just developed more pronounced crowfeet from the ever increasing smiles, and it just made him more beautiful. And he’d widened some, but Dean just likes that more. 

Cas doesn’t forget keys, or sexy items on the Walmart list, or any of the shit Dean pulls. He doesn’t do things which might compromise their time together, or date nights. 

Dean’s the one who does that. 

He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before. He shudders at the thought of becoming like one of those old married guys who stop putting a goddamn effort - because he knows he’s grateful for the life he lives, everyday. Getting married to Cas is one of the best things that have ever happened to him. But does Cas know? Does Cas remember? Dean loves him, but he’s hardly able to show it anymore. He can hardly plan elaborate and adventurous dates, and he certainly can’t orgasm thrice in a night. He’s old, and he knows Cas gets it, but does Cas get it?

Suddenly very troubled, Dean takes another sip from his beer. 

As the years passed by, his tolerance for alcohol has gone lower. It even tastes bitter, going down his throat. 

Old age just became exponentially worse. 

*

The last straw is something as inconsequential as a backache is at this age, and as horrid as one too.

Watching Netflix’s Queer Eye in the living room, they’d fallen asleep on the couch, in the middle of the day. Their white settee isn’t large enough for them both to lie down, but they’ve managed to settle pretty comfortably, and it doesn’t even feel like they’ve had to squeeze in, because Dean gets to have his hand around Cas, who has his head rested on Dean’s left shoulder.

The episode is long over, and owing to autoplay, Dean wakes up to the Fab Five spending the week with a completely different person altogether; and Cas stirs too, and lifts his head from Dean’s chest, having migrated downwards to hug his hips, and -

“Fuck.” Dean winces. The loss of weight had allowed his spine to straighten mostly, and a sharp pain shot through his back. He has to fight his tongue to not swear again, because Cas is looking at him concerned - albeit, still drowsy.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, in a sleep-roughened pitch, and Dean tries to focus on that instead on his back. How wonderful Cas sounds, and sure he does, but - holyshit, his back.

“It’s - I’m good, Cas.” Dean placates, trying not to speak through his teeth, still trying to ignore the pain.

“Did we really fall asleep at three in the afternoon?” Cas smiles at him, and his eyes are bright and eyebrows are up. “I’m surprised at us, Dean.” He adds, in a not very surprised tone, and scoots upwards to Dean’s level.

The pressure helps a little bit, only enough for Dean to screw his eyes shut and kiss back.

Cas is slow, soft and warm. He is half draped over Dean’s front, and cupping Dean’s face with both his hands like he wants to take his sweet time kissing today - like he has nowhere else to be, and Dean knows he doesn’t, and he wishes to dedicate all his time to Dean’s lips and Dean goddamn wants him to, too.

It’s been some time since they made out like this. It’s leading to no where - of course it isn’t, they aren’t monkeys who do it on the couch anyone; it’s just what it is, it’s very in the moment, and it’s one of Dean’s favorite things to do. Except right now, he’s not in the moment. 

He tries to return the best he can, letting an arm fall over Cas, and move his lips in sync with his. Cas is adequately pleased to be the one leading, and makes a happy, contented sound as his tongue enters Dean’s mouth.

And it feels wonderful, but Dean’s back still hurts, in spite of the weight now, which means there’s really no easy way out of this.

Cas chooses that moment to let go of Dean’s face, and his left hand trails under Dean, while the right one moves up into his hair. “Dean.” He sighs, and it’s so perfectly gorgeous, that Dean begs for it to stop hurting, so he can start enjoying too, because they haven’t kissed like this in a while, and he’s missed it.

There hasn’t been a reason to not do it - they’ve obviously kissed good morning and good night, but this is still the fortnight Dean forgot the lube and condoms so they haven’t had sex, and now that Dean thinks about it, his back has been showing signs of impending doom, as well as -

“I love you,” Cas breathes out, still nice and tender on him, and his mouth still engrossed in kissing him. 

“I -” Dean looks at Cas, sleepy blue eyes and soft, shaven cheeks, engrossed so completely in Dean - and feels an overwhelming wave of lucky again. “I love you.”

Shit, the least he can do is give Cas what he’s asking for - his back could be tended to, some other time. He’s been a hunter all his life. If he can’t even kiss his husband back without thinking about his aching back, what has he even been doing?

He stops thinking entirely, and gives himself up to making Cas feel good - he hums under his breath like he knows Cas likes to feel on his lips, and tugs Cas closer, and he almost feels better himself, until Cas’s wandering hand somehow snakes to the exact spot Dean’s pain is focused on, and as Cas groans, he presses, and -

“Fuck!” He cries out, almost yells, leaping a good inch off the couch. Cas is on his feet almost instantly, kiss swollen lips now frowning in earnest, studying Dean.

“Was that -” Cas pauses. “Is that an erogenous zone you’ve newly developed, and not told me about?” He asks, and he’s frank is all that matters. “Did you -” His eyes track lower along Dean’s body, where his member is definitely perking to attention, newly so under Cas’s curious stare.

“What? No.” Dean flushes, at the idea of coming in his pants like a horny teenager, from perhaps the most innocent drawn-out kiss he’s ever shared with Cas. Only because he’s been thinking about his back, that is. 

“It’s -” He almost tells Cas. Then he remembers the way Cas had looked at Dean, how much he’d wanted this, and how long it’d been. “It’s nothing. Just got reminded of something, or…whatever. Come back.”

Cas squints at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dean swats He still doesn’t dare to move his spine though, because after he’d sprung up in pain from Cas’s hand brushing the area, he’d managed to find a spot where he wasn’t quite feeling the pain.

Cas continues to squint.

“C'mere.” Dean motions, and makes the mistake of turning towards him to persuade Cas with full-blown puppy eyes, which usually work - because another bout of pain shoots through him, and he visibly squirms.

“Backache.” Cas declares, crossing his arms on his chest. “You have a backache.”

“S'no big deal.” Dean shakes his head.

“Okay.” Cas agrees, and sits down on the couch next to Dean, but not touching him anymore. Dammit. Cas had wanted to kiss him, wanted to keep kissing him, and Dean hadn’t even been able to get kissed. He was a complete moron, and now he knew he wouldn’t be able to get Cas to return to the kissing, till he’d dealt with the situation. 

“Tell me where.” Cas demands.

“I said it’s not a -”

“Falling asleep on the couch must’ve triggered it. You’ve been stiff since Thursday.” Cas notes, ignoring him. “I’m going to shift the TV to the bedroom tonight. You’ll help me with the plugs and the chords, you always know how to get the wires right. Now, can you walk?” Dean opens his mouth to protest that he doesn’t want to, because all he wants to do is sit on that couch, and have Cas on top, kissing him. “Because if you can’t, I’ll have to pick you up and put you on the couch which can be pulled into a bed, and you can stretch out.”

“Cas.” Dean whines.

“Dean.” Cas replies, matter-of-factly. Dean can’t tell if he’s pissed because Dean’s killed the mood by getting a stupid backache, or because Dean didn’t tell about it before.

Who’s he kidding, though? This is Cas. It’s the latter.

“Well, I haven’t tried to walk yet.” Dean finally gives in. Cas smiles, and it’s not a triumphant smile, Dean must have imagined it. But the fond twinkle in his eyes, he couldn’t have imagined.

Cas gives him a hand in getting up, and hooks Dean’s arm around his own shoulder to mostly drag him into bed. He plants Dean on his side, almost with a nonexistent grunt, and rewards him with another smile.

“Lie down. On your front, if you can.” He instructs. “I’ll come back with some ointment. Do you need help flipping to your front?”

“Y'know, you may wear a coat all the time, but you’re not a doctor.” Dean’s only trying to be annoying because Cas is a goddamn dream, and it is a miracle he loves Dean, so Dean must test his patience to make up for it. 

“I used to be able to heal - I think I’m close enough to one.” Cas replies, if a bit sad. “And if nothing else, I’ll kneel next to you, and rub the ointment into your back.”

Dean involuntarily sighs at the thought of that, because while the change in setting is helping, it still hurts like a bitch. And a massage sounds like heaven, right now.

But he realizes instantly after, how he just sighed at that thought like an nineteenth century actress, and grumbles. “Never thought I’d be this happy about a massage. And it’s not even a sexy massage.”

“I’ll have to take your shirt off. I could take my shirt off too,” Cas offers, from the other room, and now he’s moved on to the part where he’s snarky about it instead of kind. “We’ll bag the sexy, don’t you worry.”

“Shuddup. I’ll be lying on my front, anyways. Won’t even get to see ya.” Dean’s cranky, but Cas’s laugh comes across the hallway to him and makes him smile. Cas walks back into the room, sporting a smirk, as he unbuttons his shirt and gestures at Dean to flip over. Dean steals a proper glance. He gets to look at Cas everyday, naked if he wants to, but Cas never stops looking good to him. He’s got the toned abdomen, though you can’t see the formerly well-defined abs. Plus, he’s got chest hair, and there’s his pecs, and the shoulders, and his collarbones - and Dean has a flashback of the time he drunkenly confessed that he’d totally sleep with him, even if he hadn’t been around to see the coverboy model looks he’d had before, or even if he wasn’t the best man Dean had ever known, just because of those arms. 

So, sulking, but without his heart in it, Dean adds. “Sixty six’s not your fucking prime, you massive show-off.”

“Ouch.” Cas deadpans, and it’s not even funny, but Dean just loves his wisecracking idiot so much, so he laughs.

*

But this episode just reaffirms his fears. This newly-old thing is really trying to fuck up his marriage. That stupid backache - which subsided the next day, because Cas’s fingers are magic, and not just when they’re around Dean’s dick or up his ass - had cut into his quality time with Cas. He doesn’t want to let another old-person problem interrupt his time with Cas. He can’t possibly keep this up. 

Even if he has to put in more of an effort, he’s going to make it through this. 

*

“Say, Cas.” 

Cas raises his eyebrows as means of asking Dean to go on. 

“Wanna go out with me friday?” Dean proposed, putting on his most charming smile. Cas looks at him properly, as if analysing his face. Dean reruns his own words through his head, and suddenly realizes how much he sounds like they’re both in highschool. That’s what you say to the cute guy you have a crush on in the boy’s locker room. Or, in the case of Dean’s very heterosexual adolescence, the chick you share fries with in the lunch hall. In any case, it’s not what you say to your husband, suddenly and without preamble, when you’re both in the same bed, having ice cream for dessert while you watch Bohemian Rhapsody.

But Cas’s smile lights up his entire face, when he answers Dean. “Of course, Dean.” And he proceeds to slip a little closer to the middle, so that Dean can have his arm around him while they watch the movie. Dean feels a warmth blooming in his insides as well. Maybe the old thing won’t ruin this for him, after all. He can still make it right. 

“It’s a date.” He mumbles, squeezing his hand. 

“I thought so too.” Cas replies, and Dean can hear his amused smile in his voice. It’s wonderful. 

“Good.” Dean beams. “I’ll meet you in the living room at seven.” After changing clothes beside you in the bedroom at six thirty, he doesn’t add, because it sounds cheesier this way, and one thing Dean’s always loved about Cas, is that the guy really does dig the textbook chick-flick moments. Almost enough that he converts Dean into it. 

*

It’s a goddamn wonder that he doesn’t look as old as he feels, Dean thinks, adjusting his tie in the bathroom mirror. He can’t remember the last time he had to wear one.

He may have wrinkles now, but when he smiles, they look just like the smile lines he’s had since forty. Got to smile more then, he notes, grinning at the mirror, and feeling satisfied with the results. 

He’s wearing a blue shirt, which is a much lighter color than Cas’s eyes are - he’s not even trying to be cheesy, but when you spend all your time looking at your husband’s spectacular eyes, you develop tendencies to compare it to everything else blue you see. And he’s trying out a new-ish fad, and wearing a tie without a blazer. It’s too hot for a blazer. But Cas likes him in ties, so he’s wearing the one Cas got him for his fifty sixth birthday.

It’s indigo, with grey stripes. Cas is wearing grey, he knows. He caught a peak when Cas picked it out of their closet. He likes that shirt.

Dean looks at himself one last time.

For all his whining, he can still clean up nice. He marches out of the bathroom, feeling a little proud of himself, and excited to find Cas. Sure, blame him for wanting to see Cas’s reaction when he checks him out.

He reaches the living room, and is stunned, momentarily. "Cas.“ He just says, without meaning to. The word rolls off his tongue, like it does a thousand times each day, and Cas turns towards him. 

He is in the grey shirt Dean anticipated, but he hadn’t been prepared for how it looked on him, and he’s rolled it up to his elbows in just the way Dean’s told him multiple times he likes - and he’s wearing jeans instead of trousers, and he’s done something to his hair that Dean has no time to process, because Cas is soon walking up to him, and Dean’s definitely losing his peripheral vision too now, fucking presbyopia - or maybe all his eyes want to do is focus on the eyes, and tune all else out.

He has no time thinking about Cas’s reaction on seeing him, not when Cas looks like this, does he?

“Good eve - Okay, hi.” Dean abruptly ends, eyes widened, as Cas reaches him, stopping unbelievably close. It’s stupid how he’s literally done everything there is to do, with this man - and his proximity still gets Dean flustered sometimes. 

“Good evening. You look breathtaking.” Cas tells him, having to look just the little bit up to meet his eyes. 

“Well, I - uh, we still got it.” Dean corrects, leaning downwards to close the gap. Cas hadn’t been expecting it - why not, Dean has no idea; but it’s fun to take him by surprise as Cas slowly melts into the sensations, and Dean only pulls away for air. 

He’s never going to get tired of kissing this man. He’s never going to have had enough. Even if it had been all he did in all of his life, till the day he breathes his last, it’s not going to be enough. Dean’s gonna get old and Cas is not, because he might not be immortal anymore, but he never learnt to start aging - and Dean’s gonna wither and fucking die someday, and all things in the world are gonna get old, but kissing Castiel? That’s never going to get old. 

Cas inhales slowly, deeply, and looks at Dean in that particular way which he reserves for Dean. Dean really fucking loves it.

“I thought we were going to go out.” He says, and the teasing is loud and clear. Dean almost gives in too. As if he’d turn down an offer to stay back in bed with him. 

“Yeah, but we aren’t roleplaying a first date.” Dean says, instead, his upstairs brain getting the better of his downstairs one. “We’re still going to be married. We still get to kiss.”

“Then why was I looking up icebreakers, earlier?” Cas grins back. 

“Because you’re a weird, dorky little guy.” Dean offers, but pulls back too. The further away he stands from Cas, the lesser is the risk of them not being able to make it to the date.

“I’m hardly little.” Cas looks satisfied enough by pointing that out, to not respond to more, and instead goes to pick up his trenchcoat. “Are we leaving now?”

“Sure, big guy.” Dean rolls his eyes. He puts on his own coat, having to stretch his back to get in it. It’s a pleasant surprise, but none of his body parts are aching presently. He’s hoping it stays this way. “I’ll drive the car out to the front. Wait outside for me?”

Cas nods, and Dean goes. He settles in the driving seat, and slides his hands down the cover of the steering wheel. “You ready to charm my date for me, Baby?” He mutters, affectionately, as the engine roars to life and soon subsides to a purr as he drives it out of the garage.

Cas gets in next to him.

“That’s fresh air.” He points out.

“I know.” Dean grins at him, sideways.

“You used an air freshener.” Cas adds. “In your car.” He pauses, as if to process. “This doesn’t smell like the house either. You used a car freshener.”

“I know.”

“You must really love me very much,” Cas jokes, and Dean’s stomach almost drops because hell, that was quick. And of course he does, kind of why he orchestrated the entire thing. He doesn’t know what to say, so he does the one-shoulder-shrug - the universal sign for, I guess.

Cas ducks his head at that, and it’s all sorts of adorable. “So.” He starts, as Dean starts to drive. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ve had plenty of time to ask me before,” Dean remarks. “I know you like being surprised. Are you sure you want me to tell you, or is this just one of the icebreakers Buzzfeed taught you?”

Cas chuckles. “Both? And I’m not an amateur. I used Bustle.”

“Well,” Dean grins back. “It’s this newish continental place, near the bowling alley we went to on my last birthday. I looked it up on the internet after hearing of it from various sources, and they have pretty good reviews. We’ll have to try the thukpa.”

“Then we shall do so.” Cas answers.

“Yeah, place is real busy too.”

“Oh.” Cas bobs his head. “What time did you book for us?”

“Yeah, funny thing, I had a problem getting - oh, son of a bitch!” Dean suddenly pauses, horrified. The car swerves as he realizes, and stops thinking entirely. Then he’s pulling over, taking an acute turn from the middle of the road, and Cas is staring at him, trying to figure out the cause for the strange behavior. Nothing had happened on the road.

“Fuck!” He swears, still gripping the wheel. Cas is beginning to panic, asking Dean what’s wrong, on repeat. Dean doesn’t know where to begin. Horrified at himself, absolutely whitening rage - he turns to glare at Cas, though he’s only furious at himself.

“Fuck.” He repeats, for emphasis. “I forgot to make the fucking reservations.”

*

Dean storms into their house, having parked the Impala on the road, trusting Cas to follow. He keeps up, indeed, constantly asking Dean what was up with him. Dean unlocks their door frustratedly, and prances inside.

“Please sit.” He motions, waving his arm in the direction of the couch.

“We could just have driven around!” Cas protests. “Dean, I get that you’re irritated at yourself, but -”

“No.” Dean states, flatly. He sits gingerly down on the armrest of a couch, as Cas takes the other sofa. “I need to do this. We need to talk.”

For a fraction of a second, Cas’s eyes widen, and they’re a little bit worried. Frightened. It must be the pop culture affiliations that phrase has.

Dean leaps to correct himself. “No! Not like that - Never like that. You’re perfect, Cas.” He sighs. “You’re everything I could ask for.”

“And you’re upset about that.” Cas points out, blinking.

“No, idiot. I���m fucking thrilled. But I’m not.”

“So, you’re thrilled, and you’re also not thrilled.” Cas repeats, squinting at him now. Cas is leaning towards him, and Dean gets up from the armrest, and begins to walk around, to avoid Cas’s eyes.

“No. I am thrilled. I’m just not everything you could ask for.” Dean admits, with resignation. He’s tried to fight it, he’s tried to be better, he’s tried everything, but he’s old and pathetic and cannot even keep Cas assured that he loves him - as was just exhibited. He’s been doing everything wrong, for everything right that Cas does.

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but Dean goes on. “I don’t remember stuff, and I can’t do things anymore - and I creak, Cas - and you’re always so fucking okay with all of it, but you shouldn’t have to be with someone who can’t even remember to book a table for a date!”

“I told you we could’ve driven around the town, and then microwaved leftovers for dinner.” Cas throws back. “I liked that car smell.”

“You shouldn’t have to compromise!” Dean argues. “You give me everything I want. You should get everything you want too, Cas! That time, we had to cancel a date cause I lost my keys -”

“You didn’t lose them.” Cas tells him, cutting him off. Dean can’t tell exactly what mood Cas is in right now, but he sure sounds annoyed. Wow, so now Dean’s managed to do that too. Kudos to him. “And I don’t even want to go there now. Claire told me the owners were loud Republicans.”

“That’s not the point.” Dean complains, trying to remember what the point was, himself. “That afternoon! You wanted to make out, and my back was killing me, and we couldn’t -”

“I could always just kiss you now.” Cas declares, standing up, as if to prove his point.

“Not the point.” Dean hurriedly passes the opening to postpone this conversation. “Cas, I just want you to know that I wish I could be more. Like before. Or better yet. I was never enough -”

“Stop.” Cas positively yells, at this point. “I don’t care about the 'point’ you’ve conjured up, Dean. I get a say in this.” Dean’s silenced by the glare he receives. “I love you.” He begins, softening.

“I know.” Dean sighs.

“And I could not have asked for anything more than you are, Dean Winchester.” Cas takes a step towards him. Dean - okay well, he doesn’t move away, as much as he shuffles his weight to the other hip. He wants Cas to get there. “Because you’re everything.”

Dean blushes, though it’s a stupidly common line, because Cas isn’t just saying it. He’s practically emanating it. “Cas, no -”

“And you talk about not putting in an effort?” Cas rolls his eyes, and his neck goes with it. “Well, what have I been doing, then? I’ve been so comfortable with what we have, that I haven’t been initiating newer things, or asking you out, or -”

“That’s not your fault.” Dean says, shortly. “We’re not a week into dating. We’re settled, and domestic, and those are good things. If you were on your toes about us doing new things all the time, what’s the meaning of all the time we’ve spent together?”

Cas looks appalled, though Dean thinks he’s done a good job explaining it. “Awesome. You can whip out thoughtful lines like those when I talk about not putting in an effort anymore, but when it comes to you, I suddenly seem to want more?”

“Don’t you try to Dr Phil your way outta my fuck-up, Cas.” Dean warns, knowing exactly where Cas would take this.

“I don’t have to.” Cas replies. “Because it’s not your fuck-up. It’s mine. Somehow, I’ve failed to make you realize how much I -”

“You’ve not failed at anything!” Dean frowns. “I know you’re going to say you love me, and I -”

“What, you think I just say it?” Cas retorts. “There are millions of words out there, Dean. I have an exquisite vocabulary. I adore you, and I’m bewitched by you, and I cherish you, and I’m devoted to you, and I’m enchanted by you. But at the end of it all, I love you, for nothing could say it better.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Now, you’re going to let me apologize for allowing you to let such insecurities fester.” Cas tells him, having caught Dean in a daze. “You’ve always made me feel loved, Dean. And in these last sixteen years, you’ve made me happier than I could ever have known. You’ve smiled my bad days into better ones, and cooked meals for us to share on that little table, and you’ve let me kiss you, and make love to you, and be wedded to you, and you’ve never once let me feel alone. And since that’s what I’ve most felt, before you, I am more grateful for you than you could ever imagine.”

Dean feels his throat clog up.

“And every day, Dean, I’ve woken up knowing I love you, but gone to bed at night, next to you, somehow even more deeply in love.” Cas emphasizes. He’s standing much closer to Dean now.

“And I cannot believe I’ve never said this aloud, for I think about it all the time.” Cas swears, his tone delicate. “But you’ve grown and changed so much, that it’s that much easier to love you now. It was always too simple, but little by little, you’ve molded into all my nooks, and filled every strange-shaped crevice of everything I ever wanted.”

Dean’s lips tremble, as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and lets Cas hug him close. He feels a tear slip down his face, but it doesn’t matter, because Cas’s arms are around him, pulling him close, and he can just pause, and listen, and breathe Cas in.

“I don’t know how long it took, the first go-around, as you call it. Maybe I fell in love with you when I rebuilt you, or when I fought with you against Heaven, or by that river in Purgatory.” Cas whispers, words a little garbled as they’re spoken into the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “But if I had met you today, I would’ve fallen in love with you in a day.”

Dean lets out a choked sound, he wants to believe is a scoff. “You only had to ask if you wanted me to have a dad-bod, buddy. Back then, I mean.”

“You’re nicer to hug.” Cas justifies, and on cue, holds on tighter. “But it’s all the other things too. Now, you -”

“Please. Stop, Cas.” Dean begs, and it’s only a little bit of a joke. “If you go on anymore, I’m going to have to sit down, and then I’m not going to be able to get up, without being vastly unattractive about it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Cas informs him, pulling away to look at him better. “But fine. We can finish this conversation later.”

“And I can tell you more of my side,” Dean looks down at the floor, embarrassed. “Without you rambling off poetry about our relationship, and making it all sappy like you love to do.”

“Only if you aren’t determined to fault yourself.” Cas conditions, smiling now. He’s so beautiful.

“But I -”

“Dean.” Cas scowls, and Dean shrugs, quieting down. “Only if you swear to skip to the part where we talk about how to help you overcome this. Because, I’m sorry, but it’s not me who feels what you think I feel, at all.”

“Shuddup.” Dean mutters.

There’s a silence, a warm and comfortable one. Cas smiles, again, little but pleasant - and Dean mirrors it. He loves Cas so much. And Cas loves him.

“Date nights.” He blurts. “We could do date nights.”

“Of course.” Cas looks amused, but in a good way. “I think we could pull those off.”

“Let’s have them thursdays.” Dean smirks, and Cas grins.

“Good choice.”

“And let’s go on a vacation.” Dean suggests, suddenly. The pressure is gone, but the adrenaline hasn’t worn off. Their entire future seems to be a sky of possibilities. To make each other feel loved, and to be happy. To put in efforts, without making it a big deal. They can do this. “Let’s go to a beach. Out of the country. We could go on a cruise.”

Cas beams. “I would like that, yes.”

“And -” Dean stops himself, blushing.

“Yes?” Cas urges.

Dean squirms.

“- would you like for me to choose more panties for you?” Cas says, tentatively, at the same time that Dean says, “I want to dye my hair.”

Dean lets out a nervous chuckle, as Cas’s eyebrows go up. “Both?”

“Both.” Cas nods, stepping closer again, but this time it’s not a hug, as his hands go around Dean’s middle, but his head doesn’t go on his shoulder. Dean’s the one who closes the gap, exhilarated.

They’ve got this.

*

And as they eventually fall back on one of the couches, Cas straddling Dean because he’s the only one of them who can still do that - Dean remembers that they never pulled the curtains down, and moves to stop Cas.

“Curtain.” He pants. “Could you -” Cas doesn’t seem to get it, and continues to lavish kisses on his clavicle. “Cas.” Dean groans. “The window, please. No one wants to see two old geezers getting sweet on each other through the window.”

“Maybe exhibitionism would rekindle the spark you claim is dead for me.” Cas mocks. “And I prefer lovely, married couple. Less old, less geezer.”

“Sure you do.” Dean laughs back, burying his face in Cas’s chest. “You’re a billion years ancient ex-wave, and I’m definitely a geezer, but sure you prefer lovely, married couple.” Cas’s laughter rumbles through him, and Dean can feel it too.

And just like that, it’s pretty frigging perfect - the sixty 'round the corner be damned.

#destiel #supernatural #ahead of #spn s15 #dean winchester #bisexual dean winchester #castiel #dean/castiel #deancas #married destiel #hunting husbands #sam winchester #dreamhunter #spn ending #spn endgame #supernatural speculation #if this happens (or even the wedding does) I'll sob like a fucking baby #sam and dean #dean has issues #insecure dean #destiel fluff #destiel crack #destiel angst #angst laced with crack really #old destiel #dean is old #cas is back #spn #destiel ficlet #going on sixty

[adonis-koo]

don’t call me angel

Note: a parting gift for the new year! I hope you all enjoy because snarky best friends Seokjin/MC is my new favorite trope 🥺

↳ Summary: Life as an assassin was never what it was supposed to be, filled with bloody knuckles and bruised skin, sleepless nights and empty tears spilled. Life was hell, but it looked like just a fracture of heaven when Seokjin was with you. Until he’s become distant, tense when you speak to others, different, but just enough for you to subtly notice.

↳ Genre: Assassin!AU, angst, fluff, smut, fwb(?)

↳ Word Count: 14k

↳ Pairing: Seokjin/Reader, Jimin/Reader

↳ Tags: MC and Seokjin act like an old married couple, so much banter, jealous!Seokjin, dirty talk, begging, MC cries during sex, breathplay, overstimulation, oral (female receiving), tongue fucking, vaginal fingering, sex toys, bondage, possession kink, spanking, did I mention begging? Begging kink? Penetrative sex, MC doesn’t like to sub but Seokjin turns her into a little bitch, angry sex, HEAVY degradation, edging, cumplay

Namjoon | Seokjin | Jungkook

The seat was cold, the good news was your ass had become numb at least an hour ago, regardless, the metal outdoor chair that had been seated in front of the cafe that was well past closing time was anything but comfortable. Your knuckles were nearly blue and you had kept your teeth from chattering. How the guards didn’t bother to ID check you at this hour was honestly god sent. One lonely girl, three in the morning, a silenced beretta strapped to your stomach that was concealed by the hoodie you wore. 

You thought at least the weeb kitsune masks you had begged Seokjin to buy would’ve raised some suspicious if not their interest in harassing a young girl late at night. But alas, it was early morning, freezing and you could tell even with an AR-15 in hand they all would much rather be in bed asleep. Surely they would’ve seen your lip twitch in a scoff had it not been for the black medical mask: Sloppy.

No wonder this was like stealing candy from a baby when your target hired shitty club level security. Glancing back down at your phone your eyes flickered up once more to the figure across the narrow street, also seated on a bench, Seokjin never did like the cold either.

You couldn’t even finish typing before fumbling with your phone at the familiar sound of the silenced shot sound, pulling the pistol from its holster you had quickly rolled from your chair to kneel before firing two shots into the men who had hardly any time to witness their coworkers splattered like pancakes on a sunday morning onto the ground. 

“Can you fucking wait five seconds!?” You snapped standing up as you pushed the safety back on your firearm, “You’re lucky we’re as well trained as we are.” 

Seokjin who had been strolling across the road suddenly flung his arms up in the air, his face shielded by the- in his opinion- ridiculous kitsune mask and medical mask both. But you knew his expressions well enough by now to practically see the snarky, raised brow and incredulous look, “You were the one who wanted to take governors avenue! Seokjin it will be faster.”

Your lips curled in anger as you squinted at him from your skewed, darkened vision of your mask, this little shit was mocking you! “It was! Who the hell wants to fucking scale a cliff at three in the morning!? Not me!” You opened your mouth only to scowl as you twisted around to face the direction you had been slowly commuting.

Technically the more discreet route would’ve been cliffside but that was also under heavy regulation and Yoongi didn’t have enough clarence, or strings to pull to get you an entry card. Therefore scaling would’ve been your only option, but jesus fuck! Three in the morning, nearly negative ten degrees. It would the slowest pace, but safest.

But for fucks sake you killed people for a living who wanted to freeze their ass off cliffside when you had a direct path. It was the most risky and crawling with security but goddamn was it less cold between the buildings and a whole lot closer to your destination, so honestly? The choice was obvious to make, Seokjin just wanted to complain and gripe about not getting his way, to which you’d ignore or tell him to suck it up, like now.

“You know what? Whatever, the longer we stay here the more likely trucks will be on rotation, come on put the bodies in that alley way, snow will cover up the rest of the blood.” You were already dragging the meathead of the group into the narrow alley as Seokjin groaned, kicking at the fresh pile of snow before- most likely rolling his eyes and doing as told.

“Wouldn’t have to put a body in an alleyway if you did what we were supposed too.” Seokjin grumbled under his breath as he slumped the last body down next to it’s new grave for the next...hour at most? Your brain was constantly ticking in the future, that would be enough time...If everything went too plan. 

“Oh shut up where’s the fun in that.” You slapped his back earning a grunt from him as you let out a breathy laugh, appearing out of the alley way as you made your way back up the street. 

This villa was technically under curfew yet the guards on rotation really just didn’t seem to give a shit, most likely out of not getting paid enough and less loyalty to their boss then to their wives, it was the cars Yoongi said you’d have to watch out for. They were the higher rank and the ones that could track you down if things went from bad to worse. 

The good news was that was the last hurdle of this night...well on the outside of the mansion, The lights were all on and you could hear the music blaring even from here, they’d surely be up all night in celebration, Wonho and his cronies at least. Everyone else...well they might get the hint the party was over when you took your leave.

Seokjin and you had parted ways as he made his way to the watch tower that overlooked your room, or well the vacant one you’d be scaling too. The mansion was a little more tricky, guards were suspicious at every rattle and noise they heard and the time slot for you to scale up five floors was going to be crunched.

“Any day now.” You sighed, leaning back against the brick wall, branches uncomfortably sticking and poking every end of your body as you did your best to not breath as any time you did the bushes would rattle, a thin layer of snow was nearly coating your whole body and you couldn’t feel your fingers anymore, “Seriously for fucks sake, what are you doing? Taking a piss off the tower? It’s fucking cold and the little paranoid freak won’t stop staring at my bush everytime I try to move.” 

“Staring at your bush?” Seokjin’s voice crackled from your intercom as he tutted, sounding thoroughly unamused and you could almost see his snide lip curl, “You need to go back to languages class.” You only rolled your eyes as he continued, “I just set up camp and got rid of the bodies, you’re underneath your window right?”

You managed to get up against the building and set yourself down but two guards just wouldn’t leave the perimeter despite rotation, glancing up you could see the ledge of your room’s window even from the ground but there was no way you’d make it fifteen feet without a bullet in the ass, or potentially head, “Yeah but those two won’t leave, can you get them out of here?” 

“No there’s two over on the east side that could see from the position they’re in, let me wire Yoongi and see if he can help. Just sit tight for now.” You let out a silent groan as you pressed back against the wall.

You couldn’t say you weren’t getting paid enough for this, because in most casing you definitely were but honestly? No amount of money was worth sitting in ass freezing snow waiting for god only knew how long just to get inside. You closed your eyes trying to imagine the inside of the mansion, Wonho was rich, he’d have heating, it would be warm, maybe you could even get a drink if you’re lucky.

You nearly jumped out of your seat at the sound of the two guards who had been on standby suddenly rushing over to the east as if something urgent had happened. Fuck you could only hope Kim hadn’t blown his cover, he was a careful guy, there was no way it was him. Hopefully, he should be in the building by now.

“Yoongi scrambled their gates lock system, you have five minutes before west guards make their way up.” You didn’t need to be told twice as you stood up, wasting no time to utilize the window seals for your climb. Had you not been awake for over seventeen hours this would’ve felt like a piece of cake.

Your arms were still strained however as you paused, groaning as you muttered, “Namjoon better have unlocked that fucking window.” Kim was supposed to prep your room before making his way down to scope out the main floor, he was never sloppy, but being tired, sleep deprived and the first phase of hunger setting in was really making you question your life choices. Or what little choice you were given at least.

“You know if you keep bitching they’re gonna see you.” Seokjin replied, suddenly snorting as he continued, “Actually, bet they will. I’ll finally be free from your constant whining and stubbornness.”

Clacking your tongue you pushed open the window before climbing through, sighing you collapsed on the ground, temporarily closing your eyes as you replied, “Maybe, but your life would be a hell of a lot less fun without me.”

“Well it will be if you don’t get your ass up, come on Y/n we don’t have all day. Some of us don’t get the luxury of going inside.” Seokjin complained as you rolled your eyes, standing up as you shut the window. Turning around you made your way for the closet, pushing the hood down and peeling off your facial wear.

“Boohoo, suck it up. This shouldn’t take longer than a half hour at most.” Stripping down you let your skin bask in the heated warmth of the indoors. Your blood was pulsing and throbbing at the drastic temperature change as you began to dig through the closet. You could only hope Wonho had already drank enough to not be entirely straight on his feet or else this was going to be a lot longer than you wanted.

This however, was a celebration after all, Wonho just successfully took down one of Rio’s biggest militias and long time overseas rival. Everyone would be drunk tonight, and if not they were well on their way. 

“Wow you couldn’t even dress for the occasion,” Seokjin whistled low while tutting, as if in disappointment as you stood up straight, glaring over your shoulder at the window where he undoubtedly had the scope of his sniper aimed on your ass, only covered in a plain pair of black thermal underwear in hopes of keeping you warm. It did not.

“I’m here to lynch him Jin, not sleep with him.” You rolled your eyes as you pulled the dress from the closet, pulling it over your shoulders before tugging down the tight material that strapped against your body, your cleavage decently on display, hopefully enough to keep Wonho’s interest compared to all the other, more than likely attractive women to keep his attention. Kicking off your boots and peeling off your socks you could hear Seokjin scoff through the static, “Could’ve fooled me.”

You decided to ignore his comment as you slipped on the heels, you were already fairly tall as it was and if he couldn’t see you before he definitely would now given you were at the same height as a fully grown man, “Alright, I'm on my way to location, keep me updated if rotation for guards changes.”

“On it.” 

Shoving your clothes into the bottom of the closet you firmly shut the door before making your way out of the room, the hallway was packed just as you assumed yet no one questioned you stepping out of the room, all to absorbed in their conversations, or the person they were lip locked with. Shuffling through the hallway you made your way to the elevator, the woman inside was almost completely wasted, knocking you to the back where the greasy older gentlemen stood with a slight drunken leer in his eyes while licking his lips at the sight of your breasts.

Grimacing you folded your arms as you ignored the packed, alcohol reeked scene, finally breathing relief at the ding of the door before exiting the elevator. 

The main floor wasn’t much better, it had been completely trashed and bottles had littered the floor. Honestly it rivaled that of a much more expensive, and dangerous version of a frat house. Your eyes however weren’t trained on the floor anymore as you scoped the crowd, your eyes landing on the three piece clad blue suit and slicked, styled hair as you swooped in, strutting towards the figure before standing beside him with a hum, “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“We were briefed on this in the same room Y/n.” Namjoon glanced at you as he rolled his eyes, ever the pragmatic, glancing at your figure before giving a small nod, “Good to see you didn’t bust your ass trying to get in.” 

Your lips twisted into a scowl, you were never known for your scaling skills and maybe that was why you snubbed Seokjin’s idea of using cliffside to get in, regardless, you made it and that was what counted, crossing your arms you said, “And if I had, do you think you could get Wonho to swing the other way?” 

To that he rolled his eyes once more. Namjoon and you...had a long history one that was naturally shared with Seokjin of course. He was the leader of your group...well...as much as he could be. Operations were rarely held as a full team but usually he’d always lead them when they were. You and Seokjin were the first two to be assembled onto the team, or the first to meet Namjoon at least. You had met him before when you were younger though, briefly. 

Not only was Namjoon a good assault expert and spy but he was like the glue that kept everyone from killing each other. He had your respect and that was the highest honor someone could ever receive from you. He was an excellent leader. 

“You are the most stale person I’ve ever met,” You muttered under your breath, his lack of banter however was always something that made you grumble, he was dry, pragmatic and could always be relied on to get the job done. But where was the jazz? Where was the spice? The drama? Talk about boring, “Is the target on sight?” 

“Back corner of the room on the right. We have company.” Namjoon tutted, his tone of voice suddenly on edge making you stand up straighter, glancing around in search for what he meant. What you found however was the familiar sight of burgundy hair and a charismatic smile that could rival the sun. 

Squinting your eyes slightly you felt confusion suddenly cloud your thoughts at the unexpected appearance of your interrogation expert, “What is Hoseok doing here?” You glanced at Namjoon curiously but his expression told you he was just as in the dark, and his brooding eyes let you know he was less than happy about it.

“Who knows,” His eyes flickered to the ground, his icy glare enough to freeze someone had he looked up, “Park loves keeping us in the dark.”

It was the truth, in all fairness. Park almost always used the whole team for an operation yet never told one another, just leaving you all in the dark as the puzzle pieces fell together. You supposed you didn’t have a reason to know why Hoseok was here, but a heads up would’ve been nice had things gone sideways.

This was how Park ran though, it’s what made his business, his elite group from potentially selling him out and turning on him. You can’t leak an operation if you don’t know who else is apart of it. He always had more than one motive for something like this. You knew he did, you just couldn’t figure out what.

You shrugged, glancing at Hoseok’s figure one last time before letting your eyes slowly flicker to Wonho, he was still cramped up in the corner with his friends and right hand man, all laughing and looking about as drunk as you had hoped. Good. 

“Where’s your little protege at?” Your lips curled slightly as you quipped.

Namjoon couldn’t stop the snort from escaping his lips as he curved an eyebrow at you, flecks of amusement in his eyes, “Sitting at home probably beating the shit out of a punching bag. Made him sit this one out, it’s too important and I don’t think he has enough experience for something like infiltration yet.”

Humming you glanced back at your target, “Not a lot of faith there huh. He’s never gonna gain experience if you don’t let him.” It was ironic for you to be the one saying that given he hated your guts for an unbeknownst reason but you did feel for the kid. He had potential, he just needed to hone it, and maybe mature a little.

“Maybe when he doesn’t threaten to choke slam you anytime you’re in the same room.” Namjoon replied as you threw up your hands, you couldn’t help it. Well maybe you could, you were well known for instigating when someone was in a bad mood but still, you had to keep yourself on your toes somehow.

“Alright fair enough,” You surrendered with a sigh, “Let’s just get this over with, stand here any longer and Seokjin is gonna be up my ass about how he’s cold. You should head for rendezvous, I got things from here.” 

Namjoon only nodded as he replied, “Copy. Good luck L/n.” With that Namjoon took a step back before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you alone as you subtly kept your eyes on your target as you began your trek over to his location. Lingering around the bar as you shifted your expression into a far more pleasant one. It took a few more minutes but you had caught Wonho’s eyes just as you had hoped, tossing him a shy smile as you glanced away.

It was almost too easy getting his attention, you had played this little game for only a few more minutes before you watched him abruptly dismiss his friends as he walked your way. You had to drop your gaze back to the floor the glass you held still completely full despite acting as if you were casually drinking.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met, the names Lee Wonho.” Wonho had smoothly introduced himself as he loosened his tie, his eyes not leaving your figure as you bashfully glanced up, resisting the urge to let your lips cave into a full blown smirk.

Rather you kept the seemingly innocent look on your eyes as you smiled sheepishly, “O-oh...I...I didn’t realize you were the owner of the estate, Choi Dahyun, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

It was like a fish and reel and Wonho was practically racing towards the dry land as he wolfishly grabbed your hand you had extended, pressing it to his lips as he smirked, “The pleasure is all mine.” You had to resist the urge to cringe as you smiled once more. Easing into conversation with possibly one of the biggest underworld leaders at the moment.

It took months to set this up, to get to this moment in time. Finally, you’d be able to rest once this was over. It was almost amusing to think about, Wonho was a man in his mid forties, a whole empire behind him that had been passed down to him by his grandfather, he dealt in mafia affairs, one of the biggest narcotic dealers on the blackmarket and his stock of stolen military weaponry was uncanny. And yet, he was about to meet his demise by a pretty face and a set of tits. The irony was something you’d revel in for days and something that would look shiny on your resume. 

It was almost too easy getting Wonho up to your room, you had even kept your eyes peeled, feeling as if this was too easy. Did he know? You could feel the small sliver of paranoia in the back of your head. Did Wonho know who you were? Was this apart of his plan? You couldn’t help but wonder. At this point though, did you have a choice? It was now or never. 

You nearly grimaced at the way Wonho’s lips practically sucked against yours, his teeth messily gnashing as you pulled him into the room. The door shutting behind him as he whirled you around pressing you into the wall.

What you didn’t expect as your airflow to suddenly be cut off with a gag, Wonho only pulled away enough to look at you, smug and sneering as he hummed, “Nice try but I know Park’s bitches when I see them.” You gave an ice cold smile as you winced at the squeeze of his hand on your neck, “Why did he send you huh? Were you looking for the storage of narcotics? The data we hacked from Jang? Or did you just wanna get your little panties wet with the best?” 

You let out a squeezed scoff, “You think you’re some hot shit don’t you? Well let me tell you, trying to be mr badass and take me on by yourself was the worst thing your dick driven ego has done yet.” 

“Uh Y/n we have a problem.” You could hear Seokjin on your intercom, “I’m seeing a big head count on the eastern end of the perimeter, I think the bodies from earlier might have been discovered, are you almost done with Wonho?” 

You could hardly focus on his voice though when you were thrown across the room, wheezing as you were knocked against the dress, falling to the floor with a thud as your body ached in pain, “You underestimate me little girl. You think I’m the leader of the most powerful group on the planet? I’ve already crushed Yun’s little militia, next I’ll sweep Jang out from under his feet and when I’m done with him? I’ll fucking string Park on his ass for his little boy to watch. I could be god-” 

You jolted at the bullet pierced through his head, blood splattering the ground and leaking from the now grotesque state of what was once left of the man-god Wonho, or so he proclaimed himself to be. Sitting still for a total of ten seconds before you finally spoke, “Thanks- but I really wanted that on my resume…”

“Can you be grateful for once in your life? Get dressed and fucking light the place up we need to go now. There’s a helio on sight and I think Wonho was storing a good portion of his army in the warehouse.” 

Standing up you made quick work of your dress and heels before opening the closet and dressing in your outfit once more, your lips curled into a smile at the sight of the small bottle of gasoline Namjoon had left as a parting gift. Perfect.  

Pulling the hoodie up you popped the lid off the bottle before splashing gasoline throughout the room, opening up the window you poured the rest down the wall, your nose wrinkling at the pheromone smell before quickly throwing the bottle over your shoulder and scaling the wall. You could hear yelling and gunshots in the distant causing your adrenaline to spike as you swore under your breath.

Pulling the lighter from your pocket you lit up the gasoline, the fiery path licking at its substance as it spread up the wall and into the room. Quickly you glanced each direction before hurrying back to the watch tower. What was the gunfire from? And furthermore you couldn’t hear the helio.

“I’m headed for rendezvous, you good?” You had quickly pushed yourself up against the wall. Holding your breath as the two guards hurried past towards the west side, what happened?

“Already halfway there, you better hurry up before I decide to leave you.” Seokjin tutted as you scoffed, was that a challenge? He knew you could never say no to that.

Getting to the plane was already difficult as it was, the place was crawling with guards and security and by the time your room had exploded the whole place was being evacuated. It was an absolute mess. But the large crowd of panicked civilians gave you a big out to escape through the crowd on the bright side.

You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when you saw the plane, Seokjin leaned up against the set of stairs in place scrolling on his phone, “Did you hear about Hyuna trying to get into Jimin’s pants last night?” 

Peeling both masks off as your hoodie knocked down you looked at him incredulously as you both stepped up into the plane, nodding at the guard who shut the door as you huffed, “We literally just finished killing one of Korea’s biggest crime lords and you’re fucking concerned about who Hyuna is sleeping with?”

“It’s a valid concern!” Seokjin replied indignantly, pushing his own hoodie off before throwing his masks onto the other couch, collapsing on the couch you both stood in front of as he groaned, “Should be for you too since Jimin is the one trying to get in your panties.”

You groaned at his words, sluggishly flopping down next to him. Seokjin had been incessant on bringing up the younger college boys crush on you the past three weeks and just as every other time you still didn’t understand what he was getting at. Your body involuntarily curling against his own as Seokjin pulled you close. His chin resting on your head as you dug your nose against his neck, “Shut up.” 

Seokin only snorted, “You know I’m right.” You could only let out a yawn, ignoring his probing. The kind he did when something bugged him but he never wanted to outright say it. It had been like this since you had the unfortunate luck to garnering Jimin’s undying attention. You had never pried though as to why it bugged him. At least not until he got on your nerves.

Regardless, you were glad the day was finished. Wonho had finally been lynched and you would get the well deserved rest you had earned.

“Shoot her.”

Your heart was racing and it hurt to blink. When did things come to this? No… you always knew this would be the outcome. Everyday of your miserable existence was spent in preparation for this, all the blood that stained your hands, all the screams that would forever haunt your memories, you knew it would come to this. You just didn’t think you’d be on the losing side. If there was one thing you were never prepared for, it was him who’d pull the trigger on you.

“I said: shoot her.” He snarled, the gun aimed at your forehead had been shaking, god you remembered this so many times. 

Glancing up weakly his expression was one you’d never forget, the way Seokjin’s eyes were blown out, his knuckle white from how harshly he gripped the gun, adrenaline in his own veins forcing it’s view into life as it shook. He looked horrified, as if living the horrors he’d dream of every night, “Shoot her Kim and you could go places. You’ve come so far, you’ve already killed so many...What’s one more?”

You swallowed thickly, fear shooting through your veins at the way Seokjin’s expression morphed, his fear suddenly dampening as if curious by his words, his eyes leaving yours as he turned his head ever so slightly, as if listening to his every word, “Seokjin jesus christ don’t listen to him. Please.”

“Do it. Pull the trigger Kim, just another faceless person to add to the body count.”

Fear twisted onto your face at the way he tightened his grip on the gun, slowly his lips curled into a smile, almost sneering down at you. Of course it would end like this. The way it was supposed to end, “Better luck next time L/n.”

The scream in your throat had ripped out as you shot up from the sprawled on position in bed, the wet substance of tears dripping down your cheeks despite the constant tremor in your body, your breath shaky as you ran a frantic hand in your hair. It was just a dream! It was just a dream! Seokjin would never do that to you. He never did.

You jumped at the sound of the door opening, a small whimpered sob escaping your lips at the sight of Seokin’s sleep ridden appearance, having heard the familiar cry through the walls as he sat down on the bed, wordless as you practically flew into his arms, a hiccup escaping your lips as you burrowed into the safety of his neck.

“Shhh, it was just a dream.” Seokjin hummed gently, lips pressing into your hair as you choked out a soft sob, “Was it the same one?” Wordlessly you nodded as you forced the ugly sob down your throat, tears silently treading down your cheeks as Seokjin laid you both down, his arms securely around you as he tucked you away against him. 

Your tears slowly began to cease at the feeling of his hand stroking your back, occasionally tangling and playing with your hair as he continued to pepper your head with soft kisses soothingly, your heart rate had finally begun to slow down as Seokjin murmured, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” You spat out, your voice raspy, anger twisting in your veins despite your watery eyes, your hands had balled into fists against the white shirt he wore, “I hope he’s rotting in hell.” Seokjin only sighed, pulled away a little as he laid his head on the pillow you both shared. 

His eyes had that soft gleam in them, the kind he’d only reserve for you in moments like this, when it was four in the morning and you’d have to be up soon for debrief, “You know I never intended on shooting you, right?” 

Your eyes dropped to his chest as you felt his long fingers brush your near cold tears from your cheeks, “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that he still tried to convince you too,” You were well aware of the bitter tone your voice held as you bit out, “Wish I could’ve been the one to kill him. I would’ve been a hell of a lot less merciful.” You snarled anger twisting in your eyes at the mental image, “He’d be begging for me to kill him.” 

“Y/n…” Seokjin could feel a piece of his heart chip at the borderline insanity in your voice, the kind he and you both tiptoed on every day, you had been put through such a horrendous childhood, it amazed him Park hadn’t put you both in a mental ward yet, or at least in therapy, ”He’s dead.” Seokjin cupped your cheeks, his gaze penetrating your soul the way it always would in these late, dark hours, “You need to let it go. Holding on to this isn’t going to do anything for you.” 

You felt your lips quiver, a small scoff escaping your mouth at your own patheticness, a new fresh stream of tears trickling down your cheeks as you murmured, “I wish I knew how.” You knew he was right, that you needed to let the resentment that had festered in your mind for your childhood, the horror you went through, you needed to let it all go. But how? Where could you begin? There was just so much. And it wasn’t like you could go to a regular therapist for this.

“Shhh.” Seokjin cooed softly, pulling you close to him as you let out another soft sob, curling against his warm body for safety. 

The only person you would ever trust on this planet, you both had gotten on one another's nerves now more than anything. But Seokjin was all you had left in this world, you’d never let go of him, “Just try to fall back asleep, I’ll be here if you wake up.”

Your eyes were already falling heavy against your cheeks, the smell of strawberry body wash he insisted on using lulling you back to sleep, you’d be okay. You’d be okay as long as Seokjin was with you.

“So, rough night?” The boldness in your casual words, as if you hadn’t been sniffling and bawling your eyes out last night, was immense, if not annoying to everyone in the room, all dead eyes with a lack of sleep. You raised your brows at the silence you were met with at the oval dining table everyone sat at as you took a sip of the motor oil Yoongi considered coffee.

The only person who had been absent at the table was Taehyung- who had been getting cozy with a governor's wife in Peru, not out of actual interest for her. But for his job at seduction and information retrieval, he could undoubtedly have everyone their knee’s for him in the matter of ten seconds if he wanted. The power of being hot and knowing it.

Namjoon only sighed as he facepalmed, his protege though- the one with the permanent brooding scowl on his face ever since he laid eyes on you let his face screw into an even more sour look, as if that was even possible. 

You couldn’t stop the snort from escaping your lips as your eyes met, “We’re not here for small talk.” Jungkook suddenly snarled at you, as if breathing the same air as you pissed him off. It probably did.

You whistled as you leaned back in your seat, thoroughly amused at the way he gritted his teeth and snarled like a rabid dog, “Aite damn. You don’t have to give me such a constipated look though- I mean seriously, you look like you’re about to bust the fattest shit since birth.” The gurgled choke came from Yoongi- the only person who could appreciate your dry yet somewhat cheeky sense of humor.

Jungkook suddenly stood up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table as he growled, everyone not bothering to intervene, as they all knew this was the only form of entertainment they’d ever get when you were all in the same room, “Is this some fucking game too you? Park has never called for all of us to be in the same fucking room. And all you can do is crack a joke?” 

You clacked your tongue as you leaned back in your seat, such a hot head...Namjoon’s protege was something else. Not that you minded though, at least not completely, it meant you had someone to provoke meanwhile until Park could be benevolent enough and make time for you all, “He’s never called us together since you’ve been here,” Your eyes cut slightly and your words pointed, “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Now get your panties out of a twist, me and Seokjin just lynched Wonho, whatever this is, can’t be more difficult than that.”

Jungkook was, the newest addition to the team by a little over a year. You didn’t know the details and furthermore you didn’t care. 

As long as Namjoon trusted him you would as well, as you did trust his judgement. He was pragmatic and had a good read on people and if he thought Jungkook was worth taking in, then you’d imagine he had a good reason to believe so.

And the more you worked with Jungkook- against his will, you could understand why. He was a remarkable marksman and a hell of a shot, but he was also ill tempered, foul mouthed and had the maturity of an eleven year old boy, dare you mention it made sense given he was the youngest out of you all at the staggering infant age of 21.

Jungkook would have chipped a tooth at how hard he grinded his teeth together, glaring you down as if you’d explode upon contact, his childishness never ceased to amaze or amuse you, his sour expression almost made you laugh. Fortunately, it was a good thing you still had some self restraint left, being ever the observant and noticing the bulge in his pants you were almost eighty seven percent positive that was not a boner. 

You didn’t think Jungkook would kill you, but you wouldn’t put it past him to take out a kneecap if you pushed enough buttons. 

The doors, thankfully opened to the sight of Park Woojin, CEO and billionaire to one of the world's largest corporations, he was well known for his reserved yet charming nature and was almost always doing good works, funding for charities and such. He also just so happened to be your boss, the one who owned his own elite team of assassins and special unit for his every underworld need at the drop of a hat. He was untouchable. He was the devil in a three piece suit, walking in as if he had owned your lives.

It only served to make you angry that he did. Jungkook was a talented kid, he was smart and a good shot, you could commend him all day long- though never to his face as he didn’t need an ego the size of Park’s- but if there was one thing you couldn’t understand, it was why in gods name did he willingly sign his life away.

On long nights you and Seokjin often mused the question; why would he do something so stupid? It was different with the rest of you, you didn’t get a choice in doing this, being who you were, Park did own you, he owned all of you. And for Jungkook to just...sign the contract. You couldn’t wrap your head around the concept. He didn’t just sell his soul to the devil, he gave it to Park on a silver platter. 

“Good you’re all here.” Park pulled the seat out at the end of the table as he sat down, everyone had quickly straightened in their seats…besides you, too tired and not enough of a will to live anymore as you stayed slumped in your seat with said cup of motor oil in hand, “I have places to be so I’ll make this quick. L/n and Kim have terminated Wonho Thursday early morning. I’ve only found out last night that they were actually in deal with Jang.” 

His dark eyes suddenly pierced on you, “You said Wonho was planning on destroying them correct,” You gave a brief nod, “My thoughts are he was attempting to earn their trust and take them out from the inside. Jang refuses to believe that and is out for redemption at the moment. You’re all to keep a low profile for now. They don’t know I was the one who sent you and right now we’re under suspect. No one is going on any missions or operations until this is resolved, understood?”

Everyone gave a nod yet no one spoke a word making Park stand up as he nodded, “Good. You’re free to stay or go but make sure you’re discreet in public. Especially you Y/n, you were the one inside the mansion last seen with Wonho.”

You only yawned with a nod, not taking his words too serious. This wasn’t the first time this had happened either. And if Jang seriously thought his shotty guys could take you out he was an actual idiot. Or at least that’s what you told yourself because you honestly didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Briefly you noticed Jungkook seemed to tense and Namjoon had shot him a look making you and Seokjin both glance at one another, as if catching the same moment.

At least there would be something to gossip about later. 

Most people assumed by your dry, snarky and cynical personality you were above mundane things such as gossip. They were wrong in every way possible. What could possibly be more fun than to laugh at others misfortune and continue to spread false information, you and Seokjin took delight in hearing about any sort of campus drama, teammate drama, anything you guys could get your filthy hands on for discussion.

Hoseok was the first to jump out of his seat with a groan as soon as Park shut the door to the room, “Could’ve just sent us a text. Thanks for lighting the whole fucking mansion on fire by the way.” He sent you a sharp smile, yet when you looked closely you could see the minor flecks of annoyance that could cloud any sunshine smile he gave.

You clacked your tongue as you shot him finger guns, ignoring his annoyance because in all honesty if he wanted to get pissy with someone then he should’ve mentioned it to Park in the five minutes you briefly saw him, “Not my fault Park didn’t let us know we’d have a little imp crawling up everyone's ass last night. And here I had hoped you got toasted with the rest of that place.” 

Hoseok couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips, though annoyed, he was also one of the few who didn’t mind you. Well, most of the team didn’t mind you honestly. Hoseok in particular enjoyed word spar with you and was possibly the only person who never took it personally, “I’m like a roach babydoll-” 

“Gross and ridden with diseases?” You cringed, initially realizing where he was taking the sentence but unable to resist another potshot.

“Unkillable.” Hoseok sent a wink, he was about as much of a playboy as Taehyung was, in all honesty, but the fact that he had really likened himself to a roach was both, cringeworthy and ballsy at the same time. 

Seokjin lifted his lip slightly in disgust as he scoffed, “Babydoll and roach don’t belong in the same sentence.” He stood up as well, stretching out with a yawn, his hair dusting over his bangs and his eyes just as tired as everyone else's yet you could notice he seemed tensed and a little annoyed for reasons unknown.

Hoseok only let the smile curve on his lips again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he replied, “And Y/n would still jump in my bed if she went home with me.” You indignantly parted your lips to reply you most certainly would not. But then again...No words came out of your mouth as you considered, honestly, who were you to object to that? 

“I...yeah okay fair enough.” You had come to terms with it, mutually agreeing that you would definitely sleep with him in such a scenario while watching Seokjin grit his teeth, looking at you sharply though you didn’t understand why. 

Hoseok sent you a wink before exiting the room making you snicker, you were a shameless person, you wouldn’t lie and pretend like you were offended by his words when he was right.

Shrugging you stood up to join Seokjin as he rolled his eyes, choosing to say nothing though you could tell something snarky was on the tip of his tongue. You supposed you’d have to confront this new behavioral change eventually, just not right now when everyone was curiously eyeing you both.

“Y/n! It’s so good to see you!” 

You froze at the angelic, sweet voice. All you wanted was a warm croissant roll and something sweet to drink. Was that too much to ask for anymore? 

Coughing you whirled around to see the beautiful face of Park Jimin, his smile precious and sweet and eyes were practically sparkling at the sight of you. Why, why did he have to like the grungy, dead eyed kid that didn’t even go to college? You only hung around for the overly expensive coffee at this cutesy cafe. 

You see, the problem wasn’t Jimin, well it was, but it really wasn’t because of him. He was the sweetest soul you had ever met and for some reason, had the most heart melting crush on you, except it was one sided. 

Awkwardly, given he was your bosses son. If Park ever caught wind Jimin was associating with you, you were positive not even god could help you in that situation. 

You still couldn’t see it. The fact that they were actually related. Jimin was nothing like his father, he was sweet and gentle, he’d probably cry if he ever had to hurt a fly, let alone a human. 

And that was the saddest part. 

Jimin wasn’t even aware of the empire he would soon inherit. The girl he had a crush on that he’d have to string up like a puppet and use for his benefit. You’d have to watch his father crush every ounce of innocence he had. The idea, actually hurt to think about. 

You couldn’t help but wonder some days, if his smile would be the same after his father told him you were a slave assassin, that you had killed over hundreds of people and tortured plenty of others when Hoseok needed an extra hand, would he still like you when he saw the blood that stained your hands and the wrath in your veins?

Jimin, was the only person on the planet, that could possibly make you feel ashamed for who you were, what you did for a living. Jimin was like the sweet humanity you had been void of your whole life. You liked his presence, you genuinely could see yourself with him. Happy. But that was a reality you’d never indulge in. No this wasn’t a fairytale, and you weren’t going to act like there was a happy ending for you when there wasn’t.

“Don’t you have class?” You didn’t mean to come off as standoffish, but you could never fully get to know Jimin, at least comfortably. Furthermore, as much as you enjoyed his company you couldn’t help but wonder if Park knew about it already. About this, about his son’s interest in you. Was he waiting for the right moment? It was difficult to say but you didn’t want to risk it, you could toe the line with Park all day long but you knew when it was time to straighten up. The sooner you could shoo Jimin out the door the better.

Jimin raised his brows slightly, the soft tufts of honey blonde hair covering his forehead as he tilted his head in confusion,  “It’s winter break Y/n. Are you busy…? I’m sorry if I interrupted something.” 

You could almost feel invisible sweat bead down your neck as you gave a tense smile, “No of course not! I just uh…” You glanced away, unsure of how to tell him the truth, you were avoiding him like the plague in some false hope he’d get the hint and stop coming around, “Sorry, you know I’m not in college. I don’t know off weeks for shit.” You offered a weak, apologetic smile, accepting your fate that you’d just have to entertain him for a few minutes.

At least until Seokjin got tired of waiting for his french hot chocolate you were holding and you knew he got pissy if you took to long at the counter. Jimin only laughed softly, that pretty smile on his plump pink lips and his nose was red from the cold weather outside, “It’s okay, going to college isn’t for everyone. But that’s why I’m here, I…” He trailed off for a second and you could vaguely see the pink dusting his cheeks that couldn’t have been from the cold weather, “I noticed you haven’t been here in awhile. I was almost sad at the idea you were avoiding me…”

“Why would I avoid you?” You gave a strained laugh, forcing your mind to not list every single reason on the long list in your head, “I was just out of town visiting family. But uh- I’m back now. I have some time off from work too so it’s nice.” 

Jimin’s eyes suddenly lit up, the way they always did when you brought up your personal life. It wasn’t a secret he was curious about you more then he should’ve been and you would always shut down questions that borderlined too close to the truth on who you were. 

So to see you volunteering information like your job and family had Jimin obviously excited. You couldn’t help but mentally cringed at your lie. If only he knew you didn’t have a family and your job was far from artsy and cute like his major in photography.

“Oh? I’m glad to hear then! I sometimes get worried I mean...I know you have your roommate but I just can’t help but get worried if you get lonely, you can always call me you know.” Jimin gave a sweet smile causing you to shift in your spot, glancing away as you gave a cough, rubbing the back of your neck as you shrugged.

“I really am fine...think of me like the hermit on the mountaintop- besides me and Seokjin have known each other since we were kids, I’ll be dead before he crawls out of my ass,” You huffed making Jimin laugh once more, his eyes crinkled like little crescent moons and his whole being radiated nothing but warmth and gentleness. 

“Y/n,” You jumped at the sound of the devil, Seokjin held your upperarm like his life depended on it making you wince as you shot him a look, “Hey Jimin!” He gave a tensed smile before leaning a little closer to you, “Y/n we’re supposed to head to the grocery store, do you have our drinks?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his tense tone, you never went with him to get groceries either…”Uh...yeah?” In your line of work you never openly questioned him in these moments before shooting Jimin an apologetic smile, “Sorry....See you around though.”

Jimin looked a little disappointed, his face falling slightly making your stomach sucker punch as his eyes flickered to Seokjin’s hand on you, “Oh...of course! I’ll see you later Y/n, take care.” You couldn’t even hear Jimin finish his sentence as Seokjin dragged you out of the cafe, your lips twisting into a snarl at his heavy manhandling.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You dug your feet into the ground as you glared at him, you were waiting for him to interrupt but he didn’t have to drag you out of the building! And what the hell kind of excuse was getting the groceries? You were supposed to stay in the cafe and enjoy your drink instead of staying outside in jack frost’s asshole. 

Seokjin only dragged you along the street, gritting his teeth as his eyes flickered around, his voice low and stern as he snapped lowly, “Guy seven o’clock by the entrance hasn’t took his eyes off you since we entered the building. Call me paranoid but given what just happened I’m not risking it.”

“Oh for christ’s sake.” You dug your heels into the ground as you forced him to stop, groaning as you threw your arms up in the air, “No seriously what the fuck is your problem? I don’t give two shits about the guy who was checking out my ass from where I stood, guys can’t even breath in my direction without you getting all pissy anymore.”

Seokjin suddenly glared down at you his eyes darkening a little as he grabbed your arm, “Stop fucking shouting,” His growled with a low voice, “Let’s just get home you’re being delusional.” 

Your lips parted in offense, brows shooting up as you scoffed. You could endure a lot, you could be called a frigid bitch when you turned down guys, you could be called a whore, a slut and everything else in between. But you would not stand for being called delusional when you knew damn well you were not.

“Delusional!?” You shouted purposely as he dragged you along the sidewalk, “I’m not the one who looks like something crawled up his ass and died just for talking to Jimin. You did the same shit yesterday morning at that meeting too! Just fucking admit you have a problem and tell me what it is!” 

You nearly yelped as you were shoved into a back alley, your drink dropped and your back pressed into the cold brick wall and Seokjin towering over your as he shoved a hand over your mouth, You scowled while looking up at him as he mouthed for you to ‘shut the fuck up’. You could hear muffled talking and the distinct sound of a radio before crunching footsteps walking past, “Fuck I just saw her.” “Shut up and spread out she’s around somewhere.” 

You swallowed keeping your heartbeat steady as Seokjin let go of your mouth, quietly grabbing your hand before you both began to further down the alleyway, “Are you done being a drama queen?” Seokjin grunted quietly, glancing at both ends before dragging you to the right and popping back out onto a main side street, you shouldn’t be too far from your apartment but you’d need to be careful if you didn’t want to be followed.

“This conversation isn’t over.” You snapped back quietly, letting Seokjin lead you to the safety of your shared home. The rest of the trip back was silent and most people glanced at you both like you were two delirious crackheads and to be fair you felt like one too with how much sneaking Seokjin made you both do. 

Sighing you opened the door to the apartment walking inside as you tucked your tongue into your cheek, choosing to stay silent as Seokjin carefully shut the door before locking it, his eyes peeled on the small glass panel that revealed the outside world as you crossed your arms. Sighing he back away from the door as he stretched out, “At least we’re stocked up on food, those guys will probably be around for the next few days, which means no going outside.”

He gave you a pointed look as if having already forgotten what you had said while outside. Seokjin paused after a moment, noticing your lack of banter and complaint before honing in on your rarely serious expression. 

Sure you looked dead most days, and most would assume you were always serious and both glaring at everyone, which was partially true. But most didn’t see your furrowed brows and lips pressed together as if focused on Seokjin’s figure alone, “Oh jesus christ…” Seokjin groaned as he turned around walking towards the kitchen as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t care who you choose to sleep with Y/n, it’s not that deep.”

Your lips twisted into a scowl as you followed behind him, glaring holes into those stupid broad shoulders of his. He could act like he didn’t care all he wanted but you knew something was up and obviously it needed to be addressed before it bled over into your work life, which could potentially be fatal for you or him, or possibly both of you, “Don’t feed me that line of bullshit Seokjin! You’ve been broody for the past month, whatever is bothering you just fucking tell me.” 

Whipping around Seokjin’s eyes suddenly squinted into a glare as if warning you to drop the subject, his jaw beginning to clench as he growled lowly, “Who says I’m brooding? That’s you’re trope not mine. Drop it Y/n, when have you ever cared before?” 

You suddenly stepped back at his venom like words, your jaw dropping before you felt anger shooting through your veins that heroin had nothing on as your fists suddenly bawled up. How dare he say that! After everything you both have been through? How dare he fucking act like he had the right to say that! “Where the fuck did you get that idea? Are you dead in the head?” You snarled, stepping closer into his bubble as you shoved at his chest, “We’ve been through over ten years of utter hell and you have the fucking nerve to say I don’t care!? I’ve done nothing but try to talk to you and you won’t stop bitching and acting like you’re fine when you obviously aren’t!” 

“And when I said drop it you won’t fucking listen. You’re so stubborn you know that?” Seokjin snapped, suddenly stepping closer as he backed you against the wall, “You only bothered to ask because it fucking suited you in the moment- don’t you act like some saint- like you actually didn’t notice beforehand. You’re only asking because I took you away from your idiotic dream boat Park-fucking-Jimin.” 

You couldn’t even believe the words you were hearing at the moment. You could admit he was right, you had noticed beforehand but you didn’t assume it was detremential, or that it was something he even wanted to talk about it. And fair enough, you should’ve asked anyways but seriously!? Bringing Jimin into this was such a low blow, “Do you ever hear yourself right now!? What does Jimin even have to do with this!? I’m fucking tired of being dragged away, glared at with snide comments anytime I interact with another male, so I’m sorry it just so happened to be with Jimin, and who the hell gave you the right to dicitate who I like and who I don’t huh?” 

“Oh so you do like him?” Seokjin accused vehemently, anger burning in his eyes as he lunged down, caging you between his arms, his breath hot and nose close to brushing against yours, “Like him, when he doesn’t even know who the fuck you are? What you do for a living? That you’re his dad’s personal assassin at beckon call? I’ve known you my whole life, have had your back for fucking years Y/n, years. I know who you are and I don’t give shit- I never did. So why are you out daydreaming about shit that won’t happen? Can’t happen? I won’t fucking let you run off on some childish notion and get killed because of it okay!? You are all I have in this goddamn world and I’m not about to lose you!” 

Your lips had been sealed shut and your pupils dilated as your head pressed back against the wall as you glanced at him, he...he what? It was quiet for a moment but Seokjin’s intense gaze didn’t falter, as if waiting for you to argue back. As if anticipating your resistment, yet it never came. Instead, you let out a snort, as if realizing what this was about and why your partner had to be a dramatic premadonna, “Are you seriously jealous? For real?” 

You watched him part his lips several times like a fish out of water before snarling, “I’m not jealous! I’m just being your babysitter before you do something dumb.” 

Clacking your lips you sighed exasperatedly, you should’ve known something like this was going to happen eventually, “I never said I liked Jimin, and where the hell did you get the idea I was gonna run off with him? Where? Do you honestly think I’d leave? I mean, seriously.” 

Seokjin’s face was flushed now, looking both embarrassed but too angry to admit it as he clenched his jaw once more, his hands suddenly grabbing at your hips with a possessive squeeze he was well known for when he became insecure. 

“You look at him like some doe eyed damsel in distress,” He growled, stepping closer, his hot breath against your ear stirring your body as you felt his hands slide to your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze.

“And I’m the delusional one,” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way warmth quickly spread between your legs, “Seokjin, we’re partners. We have and always will be. Maybe the idea is nice but you're right.” You let out a breathy moan at the feeling of his lips suddenly attaching to your neck, giving a nip at your skin in warning as if not evening wanting to hear about you liking the idea of being with Jimin, “You’re the only person I have left too dumbass, the only person I trust, you’re just as stuck with me as I am you.” 

Seokjin immediately hauled you up against the wall, the muscles packed against his arms bulging against his white shirt as he held you up, tongue hot and lathing against your neck before letting his lips drag against the shell of your ear, “Never said I was complaining dipshit. Im gonna fuck you in every single room tonight,” You’re lips quivered with a quiet moan at his hips thrusting into yours, his thick hardened cock restrained in his jeans brushing against your thigh, “Make you forget everything except my name.” 

“God you’re so possessive.” You sighed as he kept hold of you, moving you to the counter to set you down before grabbing at the hem of your shirt, peeling it up as his lips moved down your neck. You could feel a brief smile on Seokjin’s lips, as if knowing you were right, yet not bothering to apologize. It was okay, you didn’t want one anyways. 

When you knew him your whole life, it was easy to say this wasn’t the first time this had happened, whether it was him or you. Sleeping together was both convenient and safe. You trusted one another more than anyone else, it made sense you’d keep one another satisfied sexually. 

Seokjin made quick work of your bra before attaching his plump lips to your right bud making you let out a louder moan, his hips slotting between your thighs as you squirmed beneath him, your cunt already sticky and clinging to your panties, “Mmm fuck, you like it though, I know you do. Always moaning like a little bitch when I say you’re mine.” Seokjin gave a cocky smirk as he squeezed on your left breast before sucking against your right bud again, your breathy laugh mixed with another moan.

He was right, you did think it was hot, there was nothing like angry rough sex at three in the morning, rough whispered words saying who you belonged too while the bed rocked into the wall, “Well if you’d just fucking admit you’re jealous this wouldn’t happen.” You wheezed at the feeling of his hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gag at the expense of your airflow, “You know choking me is a good way to get a roundhouse kick in the gut. It activates my fight or flight response.” 

Seokjin glanced up at you, his eyes lidded and smug as he dragged his tongue down your stomach, edging against the hem of your pants as he loosened his grip on your neck, “Can you not be sexy for five minutes?” 

“Impossible.” You sighed dramatically as you leaned your head uncomfortably against the cabinet that held all of your mugs, acting as if this was an everyday topic rather than him about to eat the soul from your pussy, “We aren’t newly weds Seokjin, is foreplay really that necessary?” 

Seokjin scoffed between your thighs, popping the button on your pants and unzipping them before curling his hands beneath the material as he peeled them off along with your panties. The cold air of the apartment was enough to make your soaked cunt all the more excited.

It had been too long since Seokjin had properly fucked you and your body was ready to wither beneath him, covered in sweat and cum from round after round of sex, “It isn’t when you’re that easy to make wet, look at that cunt,” He licked his lips, grabbing your thighs as he put them over his shoulders as he leaned down, a small whimper leaving your lips as your pussy lips spread and your wet cunt on display as he licked along your inner thigh, “So fucking wet and we haven’t even gotten started yet.” 

Your lips twitched in annoyance at him as you replied, “Well if someone wasn’t so picky about where we had sex this woul-Oh!” You let out a high pitched moan as Seokjin wrapped those damn plump lips around your sensitive clit, having not been touched in over two weeks making your eyes snap shut at such intense attention, “Oh fuck…” You moaned softly as your hands tangled in his fluffy tufts of black hair. 

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” Seokjin hummed before letting his tongue drag back against your clit once more, your hips eagerly rolling along his tongue as you felt his hand follow up your thigh until his fingers began to tease your entrance, “Mmm fuckin’ mine, bet Jimin wishes he was buried in this little cunt right now.” 

You couldn’t even properly respond as Seokjin pushed a finger inside you, your walls clenching as his tongue lathed against the sweet spot of your swollen clit making you yelp as you kicked against his back, “F-fuck, Jin.”

Pleasure was rapidly spiking through your body and it was nearly pathetic how quick Seokjin could make you cum when he wanted too. Pushing another finger inside you he curled his fingers into that spongy little spot that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arching in probably an unflattering way as you whined, “Beg for it,” Seokjin lazily demanded, as if he could suck on your pretty clit all day, and if challenged, he probably would, “Fuckin’ beg for it.” 

“You’re such an assh-Oh! Fuck please! Please jesus christ Jin please!” You whined at the way he harshly sucked your clit to get you to shut up, his fingers digging into your g-spot making your walls rapidly clench and convulse around his fingers, your orgasm as close as your hands tugged against his hair, “Mmm! Shit please, let me cum all over your face please.” 

Seokjin let his tongue slip past his lips as he continued lathing against your clit, eyes focused on your fucked out expression as you clenched around him nearly screaming at the way your orgasm hit you all at once, walls squelching around his fingers as they were coated in your cum. Seokjin expertly helped you come down from your hazey high as your thighs began to tremble, pulling his fingers from you as he stood up, licking his lips smug as he demanded, “Suck.” 

With quivering lips you parted them obediently as Seokjin pushed them into your mouth, sucking the salty thick substance from his slim fingers as he gleamed down at you proudly, “Bet he jerks his little dick to the idea of you sucking on his fingers too.”

Popping his fingers from your mouth you huffed, running a hand through your hair before clacking your tongue, “How many times do I have to say I don’t like Jimin.” It seemed that was the wrong wording though as any mention of Jimin’s name from you had Seokjin curving a brow, picking you up by the thighs Seokjin had lead you down the hall as he nipped against your neck, “Stop saying his fucking name.” 

You were dropped at the head of the bed, subjected to watch Seokjin pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the godlike body beneath, there were more than plenty of scars and bruises, a few nicks here and there but his muscles were chiseled and toned from his years spent as an assassin. You’d kiss every scar on his body if he’d let you, “I’m not saying anything, I’m just saying Jimin- oh shit.” 

You swallowed when he opened the nightstand drawer to grab the handcuffs that had been conveniently left there from the last time you both had slept together, his tongue tucked into his cheek as he raised his brows, your cunt dripping in arousal and cum at the way he always looked so hot when he was pissed, “Oh shit is right you little brat.” 

He didn’t hesitate for a second as he straddled your stomach, your first reaction was to fight him but it was little use as he grabbed your arms, shoving them above your head as he wrangled your wrist into one side, “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a fucking smartass and I wouldn’t tie you up.” Seokjin successfully cuffed you to the railing, leaving you at his mercy as he straightened up, looking down at you like you were dirty beneath his feet, “But that little cunt likes it right? My filthy little bitch likes to be tied up and made to take what she’s given, right?”

Your pupils narrowed into a glare, not in any position to be objecting when your pussy was coated in cum and begging to be stuffed full of his cock yet you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your lips in a bratty fit of rage, “More like you can’t keep me in one spot without the help.”

Seokjin’s lips twitched at your defiance, yet on another hand also not surprised by it long too used to your bratty ways as he grabbed slid off you to grab your thighs, pulling them back over his shoulders before you felt a sharp sting on your ass making you yelp, “Should I gag that little bitchy mouth too?” 

You couldn’t even find a haughty reply before suddenly whimpering, the feeling of his wet, warm tongue plunging inside you making your walls clench around him while giving a breathy moan, his fingers teasing their way up your clit before circling your sensitive bud, “Fuck! A-ah! You’re such a dick.”  

His hand immediately left your clit to slam his hand against your ass in warning, the sting traveling to your cunt in excitement as your walls clenched around his tongue once more, a laugh escaping your lips that you disguised as a moan before curling your back at the way his tongue roughly dragged into your g-spot, the skin of your hands digging into the cuffs as you rattled against them.

Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your hand as Seokjin let his fingers circle over your clit once more, a whine of objection leaving your throat as he pulled his tongue from your, licking his lips as he continued to play with your sensitive bud, “Have you considered shower sex before?” 

No amount of pleasure in the world could keep the glare off your face, watching the way that little shit’s lips were tempted to pull into a smile as you sneered, “You want my pussy at all or should I go ask Jimin for some help?” 

His gaze twisted into a mutual glare, eyes darkening and it was only now you realized you had royally screwed yourself over as he dropped your thighs, almost ignoring your words for the moment as he stood up.

Your eyes however dropped down to his pants as they slid to the floor revealing the thick angry cock bouncing up to his abdominal, it was not only long but it’s girth had your body clenching all over against and his bulbous tip would always be a painful stretch no matter how much prepping, “Oh yeah? Well how about we give him a call then? Let him decide if you’re being taken care of?” Seokjin asked, his voice in a near sneer as he grabbed your legs, pressing them against your chest making you whine, “Let him know this pussy is getting stuffed and cumming all over my dick?” 

You struggled to kick your legs as the feeling of the thick shaft of his cock running against your wet, cum coated cunt, rubbing past your clit as you moaned, too much teasing being done to you as Seokjin growled, “Want my cock you little slut? Then beg, I want to hear how bad you need it.”

Whining your face twisted into a rare pout, you had already begged once today and he was really going to make you throw your dignity out the window? You whimpered with a gag at his hand suddenly grabbing back against your throat again, “Should I get out a vibrator too?” 

Your body was heating up with fresh arousal at the idea but before you could even reply Seokjin squeezed at your throat, “You know what? I will, I wanna see my little bitch in tears tonight, see how bad she needs me.” 

Seokjin leaned over your body before grabbing the wand that was inside the nightstand, your thighs already rubbing together in need of another release. You couldn’t help but swallow at the click of the vibrator, the buzz worst then any gun to your head could imitate, “Spread your cunt, I know you like being a little whore and putting it on display.”

“Maybe I’d like it more for Jimin.” You challenged, eyes squinting as Seokjin gritted his teeth, not hesitating to pry your legs open before roughly pressing the vibrator into your clit, a loud whine echoing off the walls as your hips spasmed and rocked up into the vibrator.

“Jimin this, Jimin that,” Seokjin rolled his eyes, his jaw clenched as he turned it up a setting, moaned whimpers escaping you as you tugged rapidly against the restraints that held you, “Just admit you like being turned into a little bitch, you like when I play with this cunt until it’s dripping wet and soaked in cum,” You cried out at the feeling of two fingers plunging back inside you, the lewd wet squelch of your walls rapidly clenching around him as he clacked his tongue, “Is your little pussy gonna cum again? Do you need cum?” 

“Please.” The cracked whimper wasn’t as enticing as you had hoped but you could hardly process a word anymore, too much stimulation overwhelming you as Seokjin sneered at your pathetic attempt

Seokjin suddenly curled his fingers inside you with a growl as you kicked your legs and your eyes began to burn with tears, “I know you can do better than that. I said: Fucking beg.” His fingers continued rapidly curling into your g-spot, the vibrator in your clit almost too much to handle as he skillfully continued to edge you.

“Mmm! A-ah fuck, please! Please! Shit, wanna cum so bad, please!” What was left of your dignity had completely crumbled as the words flew from your lips, vision blurring with tears as your body burned to intensely only for Seokjin to pull away, “Please! Need it so bad, please.” 

Seokjin let the sadistic smile twist onto his lips, watching the way your body quivered beneath him, the tears trickling down your cheeks and completely submissive beneath him, turning down the vibrator before letting the tip circle around your entrance, enjoying the way your body twitched as he hummed, “Are you gonna be a good girl and apologize? You should be thankful I play with this cunt as much as I do.” 

Dragging the vibrator up your slit before coaxingly rubbing over your clit, a small sob escaped your lips as your hips bucked up into the vibrator, his fingers pushing back inside you before curling once more into your g-spot, “A-ah I’m sorry! Please, please, please I’m sorry!” 

Your cracked, whimpered words like music to Seokjins ears as he felt your walls tighten around him, “And what do you want baby? Use your words.” His mouth near watering at the way your hips rolled against his fingers, your little hole taking his fingers so easily as your face became nearly unrecognizable to anyone else besides himself. “Mmm! Please!” You whined your clit thrumming with vibration as you cried, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks at his torture, “Please let me cum, please! Need it so bad, please.”

Seokjin let his tongue graze against his lips, reveling in your pleading as he finally let out a smile, turning the vibrator up once more that gained another sob from you as he coaxed, “There’s my good girl, now cum all over my fingers, be a good girl and cum.” 

Your walls were rapidly clenching around him and your clit was throbbing as the moan caught in your throat, the force of the orgasm enough to rip it out into a scream as a new sob escaped your, your body twisting and snapping in hot searing pleasure. 

“Mmm fuck that’s a good girl.” Seokjin guided you through your orgasm with ease before gently pulling his fingers from you and turning off the vibrator as your thighs trembled. Your mind nearly blank as you continued reeling from pleasure.

You barely even registered when Seokjin had uncuffed you from the bed while whistling, “Jesus, I think this is the most fucked out you’ve ever been, are you gonna be able to take getting stuffed full?” 

Despite his words he and you both were well aware this was far from the first time you had been this fucked out, Seokjin didn’t even looked worried at the way you trembled, having become so well acquainted with your body, “I didn’t just beg like a cheap pornstar to be told I’m not getting dick.” 

That was enough to cause that annoying windshield wiper like laugh to sound as he spread your legs making you jump, mirth in his eyes at your crabbiness, having never been a fan of begging- or subbing before but Seokjin was also aware he was the one exception, “I know you love my dick but calm down it’s not going anywhere.” 

A breathy whine escaped your lips as Seokjin let his thick bulbous tip circling against your entrance before pushing inside you, the stretch burning and pleasure shooting through your sensitive walls as Seokin didn’t bother to wait for you to adjust, his hips immediately slamming into yours as your back arched with a whine, “You know- you never did answer me, should we call him? Let him listen to your little pathetic moans? Let his dick get hard at the idea of fucking my girl.”

Your mind could hardly register his words, too caught up at the feeling of his cock squeezing into your small hole and brushing over your g-spot with each stroke as your hands clawed against his back, “Fuck- are you insane?” You tried to turn it into a snap but all it came out as was a pathetic whine, hips rolling with his as his hand dragged down to rub over your clit again, a moan escaping your lips at the sensitivity as you clenched around his thick shaft, “My phone’s back in the kitchen.”

Seokjin let out a moan before huffing, “I’m trying to be sexy, can you play along for once?” You both couldn’t help but let out a shared strained laugh as his hips continued to roll against your’s, his cock completely coated in both your cum and arousal making a mess against your thighs. Unexpectedly Seokjin pulled out of you making you whine as you popped up indignantly, royally fucked out with dried tears on your cheeks and a hoarse voice, “I am not finished with your dick yet.” 

Sitting up Seokjin pulled you into his lap, the first time you’d gladly be manhandled all day as you quickly grabbed his throbbing dick, pumping his base a few times before properly sinking down on it, a quiet moan escaping you both as he let out a strained chuckle, “You’re such a fucking-” 

You yelped at the loud smack of his hand stinging against your ass, “Cockslut.” Your walls clenched at the degradation, hips suddenly rolling as you bounced against his thick cock, whining as you buried into his neck, “Oh you like that? Being my little cockslut?” You moaned at the feeling of his hand spanking against your ass once more, the sting burning in your skin making your walls clench harder, “Riding my dick because you’re a needy little slut? Does that cunt need my dick?” 

“Mmm please...!”  You whined, having been teased too much to challenge him anymore, skin slapping against skin with every bounce of your hips, you were so fucked out on his cock you could hardly focus on anything but the way it’s thick throbbing shaft split your pussy open and the way it rubbed just the right way into your g-spot, “Yes, my pussy loves riding it.” 

The wet squelch of your body clenching around him forced a moan from Seokjin’s lips, “That’s right, my dirty little bitch.” You whined at the smack of his hand on your ass once more. Seokjin’s hand dived down to your clit once more, rubbing it as you cried out tears immediately stinging your eyes once more at how sensitive it was, hips bucking and bouncing against him as his tongue dragged against your neck, “Gonna cum all over my cock? Make a big mess like the little bitch you are?” 

“Y-yes.” Your voice desperate and cracked as Seokjin rubbed down on just the right spot against your swollen, sore bud causing you to clench once more, Seokjin let out a long deep moan as you felt the warm thick string of his release cream inside of you leaving your pussy a swollen, sticky messy as you slowed your hips down.

 “You know…” You had to pause for a second as you let yourself heave and gulp for air, coming down from your high of sex before continuing, “If you ever feel like you’re being replaced, you should just talk to me about it- seriously.” You leaned a little away from him to look him in the eyes.

While angry sex was a personal favorite between you both, it was by no means an actual remedy to your problems, and Seokjin knew this, his eyes a little bashful as he sighed, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, “No...I...I was just childish...I never liked sharing you when we were younger either, this isn’t any different I just…”

He set his chin down on your shoulder to get away without having to look at you, feelings were always something that felt a little awkward to discuss, but you cared about one another so much you both would always force it out from the other, “You mean so much to me Y/n, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, whether it’s from dying, or you just getting tired of me and leaving-I just- I need you. You’re the only reason I have left to keep going.”

“Seokjin…” You sighed, pulling yourself off his now softened cock before properly seating yourself in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist before wrapping your arms around him in a much accepted hug, “I’m not going anywhere. And if you feel like I’m going too, you need to talk to me about it. I know you’re a total dumbass and it’s difficult to believe but you’re all I have left too. I’m not going anywhere, we’re partners, always have and always will be,” You pulled away from him before giving him a cocky wink, “Til death do us part motherfucker. Now let’s go watch a movie or something, your cum makes me feel like a sperm bank.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Seokjin furrowed his brows as you stood up, hobbling over to his dresser as you grabbed a hoodie.

“The same thing as beatface.” You wiggled the hoodie over your head before rolling your eyes. Your life was anything but easy, and there was still so much to come, but you’d be okay, you and Seokjin would always have one another’s back, and even the sky could fall but you’d be fine. As long as you had him, “You know what? Nevermind, you’re worthless Kim, just pick a fucking movie.” 

#bts #bts x reader #bts x y/n #seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader smut #seokjin x y/n #jin x reader #jin smut #seokin smut #assassin au #assassin!seokjin #assassin!reader #bts au #bts assassin au

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - prelude

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m so excited to be starting this fanfic a bit sooner than expected, but i’ve been outlining it since i finished the outline and end for the unseen one and decided to go ahead with it when i saw a nice pink aesthetic board. i hope you enjoy the prelude, let me know what you think xx

NEXT CHAPTER

handmaid: a female servant, a subservient partner or element.

The lights were unusual shades of blue, green, and red. That was the first thing she noticed as she walked inside the club Genevieve had picked for her last night of freedom, as she called it. Of course the lights weren’t the only thing that was bothering Y/N: the loud music which made it impossible to have a civil regular conversation, the heels that were too tall and did not belong to her, the equally borrowed tight see through black dress, the long earrings that got tangled in her hair whenever she slightly turned her head to the side, the constant on/off rhythm of the lights and the need to squeeze between a sea of people to get anywhere were some of the things that made her want to return home, curl in a nice thick cozy throw and watch TV until her eyes were too heavy to remain open.

Nevertheless, she was to be constantly by Genevieve’s, or Gwen as she preferred to be called, side, mostly by her father’s orders. Therefore, here she was in a Friday night, dressed in mostly Gwen’s hand me downs that would normally lay in a cardboard box in the back of her wardrobe. Soon enough, Gwen had found herself a nice booth, after all being the daughter and apparent heir to the west mob family had its perks. Sometimes, even more perks than dangers. 

       - Oh, Y/N this is Nathan. - Gwen introduced her to one of the man that were sat at her booth. He was the picture perfect look of man she normally surrounded herself with, the type of man you would see in a teen sitcom with plump skin and a Californian-like vibe to them. It wasn’t exactly a hard job for her to attract them either as the young heiress was, in a word, stunning. Her unruly red locks were constantly slicked back in a straight hairstyle, dark makeup and a red pout constantly got her whatever she wanted. However, tonight she was kissing all of that goodbye as first thing in the morning, she would finally be formally presented to that who was to be her husband. 

It had been arranged way before Gwen had even been born and despite the glamourisation and complete debauchery seen in most mobster movies Y/N had grown up watching, most weddings occurred that way, planned. This one in particular was a special one considered the Stan family mafia and Gwen’s had been sworn enemies until the day she was born when her father signed her hand away. It was mostly a tactic to unite both families in a way that was very permanent. Y/N had learned not to be shocked about it, however, she still didn’t like to think of two grown men deciding the future of a unborn baby girl as if she were currency. Yet again, she was a woman and since she had an older brother, who despite working as a doctor and giving up on the lifestyle ages ago was still pretty much the one expected to take on the mob boss title, she was either to life in complete bliss or to get married. 

Her betrothed however was a completely different story. Gwen wasn’t much to talk about either, saying that they had met once when she was eighteen at a formal her father had thrown and that he had pretty much ignored her the whole night, so most of what Y/N knew about him came from rumours. The Stan mob family had quite a reputation, specially when it came to hits and their associates, however they were always somehow shrouded in mystery. Sebastian Stan himself was one to adore that sort of aura, so much that despite it all, Y/N had never seen him or knew what he looked like. She knew him to be older than Gwen, with a sharp tongue and a certain allure that attracted bottom feeders, but other than that, she knew nothing.

      - Gwen, we should probably go home. - she urged, constantly checking her phone and watching the hour number increase as if time was nothing. However, the young girl had no absolute interest in going home, specially when she had found herself a rather interesting company. - Gwen, your father is gonna be mad. 

      - If you’re so worried about my father then don’t question me. - Gwen returned to her flirtatious conversation with the blonde boy, leaving Y/N to huff, grab the pink sugary drink she’d been drinking for the past two hours, and venture herself in the club, they sure probably had a smoking lounge which led to some sort of air she could inhale. In all honesty, even inhaling smoke sounded better than inhaling the smells of the main floor. 

Weak on her feet due to the oversized and worn out heels, she made her way through the crowd, her eyes paying no help at finding any sort of stairs of doors that would led to some sort of freedom due to the constant blinking lights. Defeated, she decided it would be better to return to Gwen before she decided to abandon her for Malibu Ken however, Y/N quickly found herself in the middle of the dance floor being pushed from side to side. Whenever she tried to walk some way, the sea of people would make her walk the other way like some helpless puppet until she hit something rock hard, spilling her drink and sending her crashing to the floor. She felt her chest hit the coloured blinking ground hard, and had it not been for her own hands holding onto the floor, her head would’ve ping ponged off the pavement too. 

Nevertheless, none of that mattered because what first came in sight as she looked ahead were what looked like a very nice pair of leathered shoes which made her face pale and her heart stop. She had spilled her drink on someone. No, not just someone. Someone either rich or with enough connections to get inside one of the most elite clubs of all of New York. 

Y/N looked up, not completely being able to make up every single feature of his face but being able to make up that it was a man, a much taller man who probably did not have a smile on his face. At the thought of being screamed at or thrown out, she immediately rushed to her feet, noticing the big pinkish stain spreading on what looked like a pristine crisp cotton dress shirt. Her hands flew to the napkin holders in one of the tables, immediately grabbing enough tissues to clean a whole country only to dab the drink out of his shirt, her heart racing as nothing came out of it. 

     - I’m so sorry. - she probably said for the 100th time, tissues bunched in her hands as she finally got a good look of his face. He had an unreadable look on what she thought was probably the single most gorgeous face she had ever seen in her whole entire life, and that was something coming out of someone who had met half the models at Paris Fashion Week with Gwen. It was somehow being stoic and classic, like a 50′s mysterious Marlon Brando. He stopped her motions, grabbing the tissues from her hand and placing it at the bar. That was it, this is how I die, Y/N thought to herself. - I’m so sorry, I’m ... I can pay for the shirt, I really didn’t mean to spill it on you. I just wanted to get some air but everything is confusing here and ...

     - It’s alright, angel. - the man raised his hands, showing no harm but still maintaining an aura of mystery, almost as if she wasn’t supposed to be talking to him. 

     - I have to return to my friend. - she stumbled onto her feet, praying not to fall in front of anyone else as he looked at her leaving. She was just a doll and he couldn’t help but observe as she got lost in the middle of the crowd like a sheeps in a wolf’s den. He was hypnotised by her figure in that god awful oversized dress, thinking about how beautiful it would look draped on his floor, how radiant her eyes appeared looking up at him ..

    - Everything alright, boss? - his view of the crowd was obstructed, the clear sight of her disappearing and being replaced by the ugly mug of one of his men. Had he had his gun with him, he would’ve been laying on a pool of his own blood right now. - We saw the girl and ...

    - And now you’re gonna go fucking look for her. Invite her to the VIP room, don’t keep me waiting. - he watched as they rushed into the crowd like headless chickens looking for a girl they barely got a look of. He snickered, taking a step forward to return to the only place where it didn’t stink of cheap liquor. He stopped, noticing he had stepped on something and slowly moved his feet away to see a small dainty necklace with a pendant that looked like some sort of bird. The man scrunched his face as he lowered to grab the chain, probably some cheap metal, before sticking it in his pocket, taking a quick look of the crowd.

Y/N meanwhile was being dragged out of the sleazy club by Gwen who was no longer interested in her boy toy. The girl couldn’t lie, she was happy she was being dragged away from the club, however, rushing down the street in oversized heels. Due to the rush of exercise and adrenaline coursing through her blood and turning her rather breathless which led to her putting her hand over her chest and noticing the lack of her necklace’s chain.

      - Wait, Gwen. - she stopped the heiress before they could get inside the car where the chauffeur had been patiently waiting their arrival. - My necklace, I don’t have my necklace.

      - Maybe you didn’t bring it, Y/N. - the redhead spoke up, already inside the car, phone in hand. - C’mon, it’s probably home. 

      - I’m sure I brought it.

      - You’re worrying too much, c’mon. - Gwen patted the leather seat of the car. The young girl took a long full look at the club, Gwen was probably right, maybe she didn’t bring the necklace. With a quick motion, she closed the door of the car, watching as the club became more and more distant. 

A memory.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan AU #sebastian stan reader insert #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob boss AU #ingenue!reader

[simtrospective]

SCRAPPED STORY CHALLENGE by @bugsims

01. Post a few screenshots from a scrapped scene / edit / story! 02. Share why you scrapped this specific thing. 03. Tag five friends, and watch the fun play out!

Thank you to @gilded-ghosts for the tag.

Because I wrote so much that you might prefer to skip, let me do 03. outside the cut. I tag...

@ladykendalsims - @jet-plane-sims - @boogey-studios - @pinkmonsimblr - @dynastiasimss

The above pictures (plus the related tray files) are all I have left of an idea that was half-formed to begin with and which never got off the ground at all.

01.

Depending on if you’re a follower of mine + how long you’ve been following me, you may have seen a few of these shots before but I’ll explain them anyway:

Set 1: The characters Charlie, Hick, and Craig, in their original states on the left and their enhanced, final states on the right;

Set 2: A few WIP pictures of the performance space/club/thing I built;

Set 3: A bunch of test shots I took to see how the characters looked interacting, what they did naturally, and how they looked when I ~directed them. I used these pics to try and find my editing style for the story. I didn’t find the style I wanted. Clearly.

02.

I scrapped this idea because it never came together; I didn’t connect with the characters; I didn’t care about the storyline; I’m not done with my new save so I couldn’t ~comfortably start telling this story when the rest of the world was/is disordered; and on and on. The point is, I wasn’t feeling any of this. Oh! And I hate the whole vibe and time period and aesthetic irl; what on earth was I thinking writing about it?!

So. What was this going to be?

[[Under the cut because this is... so, so long. So long.]]

Charlie, Hick, and Craig were

going

to live in Del Sol Valley in my new save, in the Pinnacles neighborhood, which I was

going

to turn into a Laurel Canyon-style neighborhood. An entire community of would-be songwriters/musicians were

going

to live in the two smaller lots and commune with one another and be the New Guard colliding with the Old Guard; the huge mansion lot was

going

to house an aging former film-current soap actor confronting his mortality and also hating the living shit out of these hippies whose existence he took as a personal affront--I digress. Back to the “story.”

Charlie, Hick, and Craig met after each arrived in DSV separately and they vibed and they moved in together, all in a matter of, like, a week’s time. Charlie and Hick vibed especially. So much in common! Such poor little rich [kids]! Both came from pampered environments in which their family money and respective fathers’ connections allowed them to skate through life and to play at being musicians because--despite crying oppression at the hands of upper class WASP-dom--they'll always have safety nets to ensure they’ll always be okay. Charlotte Grant graduated from her all-girls prep school and put on a floppy hat and became Charlie Grant; Richard Hickey (lololol) ripped up his acceptance letter to Britechester and grew his hair out and hitchhiked and told people to call him “Hick.” They’ve lived parallel lives and “recognize” one another as soon as they meet. They have an electric connection, but neither will verbalize that. Above all, they... really want to sleep together.

Craig grew up working class and has no safety net; he just wants a little adventure before he gets a real job/grows up/gets married (his gf back home is off to college; they’re long-distance; it’s... not going to work). He’s a good guitar player and he’s a good songwriter and that’s it but maybe it’ll be more? What do they say about the lottery? Can’t win if you don’t play? Charlie and Hick want to be famous ~rule the world. Hick plays guitar well and tries to write songs but they’re shitty. Charlie is passively learning the keyboard and writes songs that are not... bad...? Some are... good?

Charlie and Hick--can you tell they eclipse Craig, yet?--have weird sexual chemistry and tension: they tease, they flirt, they taunt, they enjoy one another’s attention but they never so much as hug. They both have cruel streaks as only disconnected, spoiled, emotionally stunted bluebloods can: the torture of their relationship/non-relationship gets them off more than anything else could and that thrill drives much of their behaviors: bringing wanton strangers home for one night stands, each hoping the other is watching/overhearing, fighting about little things, acting like inappropriately close siblings, acting like strangers. Craig suffers their whims; Charlie and Hick aren’t just united in their toxicity and their dreams of fame, but in how they make Craig into a third wheel or a--well, punching bag is too strong a term. Charlie and Hick think they’re teasing their bff but you know how it is to be teased allllll the tiiiiiiime and how it can make your head spin when people who can’t get along with one another join forces--without even having to discuss it--to turn on you. Their relationship gets patched up, you’re hurting, they insist it’s not a big deal and even that you even liked it. We’re all friends. We’re all best friends omg.

But sometimes they have fun together. They have a lot of fun together. Sometimes it all is everything each dreamed it would be. DSV is a wonderland and their careers are happening and life is happening and they’re best friends. They’re soulmates for life.

The three work on music, perform at clubs. Craig is starting to come into his own as a man. I hate the term coming-of-age but in the background of the Charlie & Hick Show, Craig is maturing. He has to, because C&H are fuck-ups. They jeopardize scheduled performances. They don’t know how to talk to club owners. They’re not interested in paying their dues. They are unable (or unwilling) to promote themselves without being obnoxious attention whores. They don’t practice or help write songs. They don’t take care of the house. Hick is late with his rent. Charlie thinks she can flirt her way out of everything. Craig is also the only one of them who works; he has a day job at a print shop, gives guitar lessons on the side, and makes sure the three get gigs and don’t get evicted. The only thing C&H put consistent effort toward is making the social scene or finding a party or scoring drugs or getting laid. As the group’s local star(s) rise, their fates start to change course which increases the interpersonal tension. Hick’s fun-loving nature is starting to turn into a legit substance abuse problem and he’s picking fights with the wrong people and socially devolving, his arrogance and issues and general laziness rendering him unable to relate to others; Charlie is getting a lot of attention from older men In the Business, who have the money and connections to make her a solo star, which she is shrewdly considering; and Craig’s resentment toward his “friends” and disillusionment with the superficiality of DSV is making him rethink his motivation for coming west in the first place.

Oh, and Charlie and Hick--again, as their paths change and as their weird tension remains unresolved--continue to take their bullshit out on Craig and now it’s not funny anymore, it’s not cute, it’s not exciting, and neither is it when Hick ruins a show by being too stoned to perform and neither is it when Charlie brings unsavory characters home who trash the three’s equipment and neither is it when C&H steal Craig’s songs and perform without him at a gig they didn’t tell him about.

What I intended was that the story would at first seem to be The Charlie and Hick Show, all about them, as if we’re supposed to root for them, but ideally, through my ~deft hand 🙄 the reader 🙄🙄 was supposed to be like, Um... hold on-- until it eventually was quite obvious that these two--though human; though in situations we could understand and empathize with--were captured at a point in their lives when they were Super Toxic Assholes, and what you were watching all along was Craig as Hero.

So I had ideas, but I didn’t know how to fit them together and I didn’t want a really long story and I couldn’t--I just couldn’t figure it out. I do know that the end was going to be Craig screwing them like they’d been screwing him, a final middle finger with consequences. I know that he and Hick were going to have words and Hick was going to try and fight him (such a loser) and Charlie was going to throw a Hail Mary of like... trying to seduce (lol) Craig into staying omg I always had a thing for you/we’d be such a great team/I always thought we could ~be something ~together uwu bullshit like that. Was this true? Was this true in her own mind? I think I was going to set the story up so that if you reread, yeah, it could be true, but she’s so flirty and manipulative and socially savvy and used to getting what she wants that who knows what her real feelings ever are? Ultimately that would’ve been irrelevant bc Craig never looked at her that way and hates her and Hick now; good going guys. It’s worth noting, I guess, that when I put the group on a test lot, Charlie was super into Craig immediately, went right to him, stood close to him, was eager to make romantic overtures; she went 0 to 60 in an instant and as so far as is possible in this game they had chemistry, but Craig was not feeling the romance. And no one was feeling Hick.

Anyway, Craig was going to move on with his life and Charlie and Hick were going to learn nothing and blame him, ~the end.

And then, as I continued to play my save and maybe tell more stories, there would be Easter eggs, references to Charlie, Hick, and Craig older/in the future and where they went in life in the background of other, unrelated stories: Hick’s substance abuse problems and rehab stints and going by Richard again and his eventual moderate fame and eventual sobriety and attempted comeback and his bad relationships with his exes and children; Charlie’s legit fame + marriage to a producer + eventual fade away + moderate comeback + solid second or third marriage and bff relationship with her children 🙄🙄🙄 and her palatial house on the coast and now she exclusively wears white and ivory and pampers her dogs and eats raw (but drinks wine) because it “cured” her undiagnosed, unnamed “autoimmune disorder,” which she wrote a book about resulting in a semi-comeback but as a Famous Person and not a musician. Craig going to college and becoming a high school English teacher who plays in a local band on the weekends and who has a good marriage (not to the long distance gf) and nice kids, one of whom would eventually have her own story where she pursued musicianship with her dad, which got him back into his first passion but it was a qt father-daughter project and not An Attempt to Be Famous.

So. Idk. That’s what this all would’ve been. But it wasn’t, and it won’t be!

#sims 4 #ts4 #scrapped story challenge

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

The Lore of the Forest - Prologue

Summary: Nothing ancient and magical is ever really lost. When the descendants and heirs of the myths and legends come together to live a normal life, something - someone - is thrown into their plans. Bringing with them aid, magic and so much more.

Pairing: Eventual BTS x Reader  Genre: Poly, Romance, Fantasy  Chapter Warnings: Loooong funeral rites, somebody dies and lives again and reader is not around, eventually it’s gonna be a lot of world-building

Funerals, Seokjin’s grandmother used to say, are more for the living than for the dead, as most rituals tend to be. It is a way to provide time for the grieving to process their grief while dressing their dead. It is a time for families and friends to come together- a life’s end bringing a community together as much as a life’s beginning. It is a time for stories and for truths magnified and lies sharpened as the left behind share the good and never the bad about the dead.

“What good would it have done?” his grandmother said, a weary and bitter smile tugging at her thin lips, when his mother angrily eyed the other aged, albeit, younger woman across them at the other side of the pyre. They had just watched his grandfather’s body burned as per tradition when the woman from beyond the mountains he left them for arrived.

His grandfather was an attractive man from whom Seokjin inherited his broad shoulders and dark eyes. The fae blood still running strong in their line - always making them eye-catching, desirable and dangerous. The most attractive man in the village, his grandmother used to say. He married his grandmother at the young age of 16, before he even presented, had children with her when he was 18 and left her when he was 22. He left them after a travelling caravan brought him the woman from beyond the mountains, and he stayed with her until he was 60 only to come back to his grandmother on his death bed.

Needless to say, Seokjin’s mother and two uncles were livid. Their relationship remained strained even after two decades of his grandfather trying to make amends. However, whatever hate his mother harbored for her father paled in comparison to the hatred she nurtured and cradled in her heart against the woman that took him away from them.

“What do you mean, what good would it have done?” his mother spat out, her hand tightening around the then eight year-old Seokjin’s. “How dare she even show her face here? She—”

Quietly, his grandmother held up a hand, silencing her child. Seokjin remembers how her grandmother’s pale eyes curved into a small smile directed to the woman from beyond the mountains. Soft and understanding, with a hint of heartbreak.

“We got your father’s body in the end.” His grandmother’s eyes flickered to the ashes on the ground. Most of the people have left, leaving their immediate family to stand still until the last of the cracking firewood burns out.

His mother blinked rapidly, watching the fire burn out and it was the only time Seokjin ever saw his mother look like a lost child. “But what’s good in a body?” she asked, voice cracking of lost childhood and longing. I wanted him alive, she perhaps thought, I wanted him around – I wanted him to stay.

Finally, as the embers died out and the woman from beyond the mountains retreated with her back hunched, his grandmother answered, lips shaking, “At least you have something to bury.”

Seokjin never understood what that meant. In his young mind, it didn’t matter whether you had the body or not, your loved one was still dead – gone to a place you cannot retrieve them from. However, now, looking at the empty pyre in front of him, Seokjin knows that he would give absolutely everything just to have something concrete to mourn over.

From beside him, tense and with angry eyes, he knows that Yoongi feels the same. The younger man stare angrily at the empty pile of wood and if he had even less control, he would’ve set it on fire easily.

Though angry, Seokjin could still see the thin film of tears that his friend refused to let go. He knows Yoongi blames himself for the emptiness in front of them and yet Seokjin doesn’t know how to comfort him yet – not when all of them are mourning. Across them, Namjoon stands tall beside Hoseok, their mourning robes painting them wan, the grief swaying them like windblown trees closer to each other. At the east is Jimin, shaking, his control of his powers loose, evident at the quick changing of the shade of his hair, and at the west is Taehyung, both carrying their dead brothers garments.

The villagers have already paid their respects to their family, leaving them to their own grief and process. Nobody wanted to mention how this funeral is a month too late, nobody dared. Not with Namjoon forming scouting troops week after week, not with Hoseok silencing anyone who dared insinuate Jungkook’s disappearance as anything but and definitely not with Yoongi’s glowering mood after every failed retrieval mission.

It was just a normal scouting day, Seokjin thinks. So normal it should’ve been suspicious. They hadn’t had an incident with any creatures or neighboring settlements in almost a year, so much so that they got confident – cocky, careless, even and sent their youngest out alone.

Jungkook was so excited, as he always was, and bragged that he’d catch a bear AND a wild pig for dinner. But hours passed, then days… he didn’t come back. By the second day of his disappearance, Namjoon and Hoseok went out to scout, only to come back empty handed. The third day was followed by Taehyung and Jimin, the fourth with Yoongi and himself – and yet, every time, they came back defeated. The whole settlement then pitched in, volunteering to come with and expand their area of search.

The first week was easy, logistically. The second, not-so much. At every failed attempt, the morale and hope dipped deeper and deeper.

It wasn’t until the third week that one of the remaining elders approached Namjoon about a funeral. Yoongi almost went mad, upturning the table inside their home, when the elder reminded them of how Jungkook’s soul will suffer if not guided properly. The old man was ancient, and though Yoongi was old as well but that man lived through the two great wars and held sway in the village still, albeit built on old respect.

Namjoon had asked for another week and it paid off, in a way that broke their hearts. At the very edge of the dark forests, they found Jungkook’s broken weapons, a shoe and dried blood. The blood that painted the forest floor like spilled water from a jug, and though none of them said it out loud, they knew that nobody survived losing that much blood. Not in the forest and definitely not alone.

And so there they are.

Seokjin have attended the most funerals as the their settlement’s quasi-healer. Out of respect, he attended the funerals of those he cannot save, and so he knows what comes next.

At the ringing of the first bell, Jimin steps forward from the east, from where the sun rises, with Jungkook’s oldest clothes. It lies lightly on his hands, pale and threadbare from years of use. From Seokjin’s place, he could see an old shirt with a patched up hole by the collar and remembers how Jungkook tore it when he was 13 and climbing trees, and Seokjin chokes back a wail, biting his lips and willing himself not to look away.

Jimin speaks as he tosses the clothes into the fire, the dancing embers reflected in his brown eyes, “From East, where all things begin, I speak: blood at childbirth, you are honored.”

Above them, the second bell rings and he and Yoongi step forward. Yoongi cradles a lacquered box containing the hide of Jungkook’s first solo kill. In an ironic twist of fate, it was that of a wild pig. When Jungkook killed it, it was Yoongi who taught him how to butcher it, dry its hide and smoke its meat, and now, it too is tossed into the fire.

Seokjin speaks, the older of the two, and says, “From the North, where all things grow, I speak: blood of youth, you are honored.”

The third bell echoes, as a hush falls into the clearing. The sun is now setting and it paints them orange as Namjoon and Hoseok step forward. The fire has grown bigger and Seokjin almost misses what they brought. With their palms turned up, they carry the replica of earrings they forged as a family. Jungkook never took it off once he received his, none of them did, and so upon his disappearance, Namjoon and Hoseok took the job of creating replicas to toss into the fire.

It is made from the ore at the edge of the continent and forged with their hottest fires. Jungkook’s pair was simple studs with his animal etched onto it with careful hands. Upon tossing it into the pyre, Hoseok comes forward and speaks, “From the South, here, I speak: blood of the covenant, you are honored.”

For a moment, nobody wants to move, just staring at the burning pyre of their youngest brother’s belongings, his body lost to them. It aches something painful in their bones, the loss of their youngest, a failure as his older brothers to protect him. Although Jungkook was already a man by their settlement’s standards, it still hurt. Sometimes, at night, Seokjin swears he could still feel their bond thrumming from his heart to the dark forest - but by dawn, it was gone. The hope lulled him to sleep, only to break his heart awake over and over again. 

The last of the bells will be ringing anytime now, and Taehyung shivers at the cold and finality of it. In his arms is all of Jungkook’s remaining clothing, his favorite furs, his colorful bands, his beads – and Taehyung doesn’t want to let go.

But finally, the last bell rings…

Followed by another. And another, one after another, coming faster and faster.

Heads whipping to the watch tower, they could see the bell ringing continuously, pulled by whomever was in charge below. It’s a blatant disrespect – and Namjoon almost whirls back into the settlement in anger when a young boy breaks into the clearing, gasping for air, his hair littered with leaves and branches.

It’s Namjoon’s apprentice, Kyun. He falls to his knees at their agitation, and gasps; “It’s… It’s Jungkook – he’s… He’s alive!”

And he is, indeed, alive.

Alive and in very good condition. Just unconscious, Seokjin confirms.

“How… how did this happen?” Jimin asks, sitting by Jungkook’s shoulder. He, Taehyung and Seokjin are gathered in their house’s common room after deciding that Jungkook’s room was too small for everyone to keep an eye on him. Tears have not stopped spilling from Jimin’s eyes from the moment he saw his brother’s silhouette leaning against the watch tower. “I mean, we looked everywhere!”

“Is it even important? He’s here, he’s alive.” Taehyung answers, still shaking in relief. At the back of his mind, he’s thankful he didn’t burn his brother’s clothes – or else, Jungkook will be pissed. He eyes Jungkook’s round cheeks, rounder than a month ago it seem and the tighter fit of his clothes.

There are so many questions but none he cared for at the moment.

Rounding from the kitchen, Seokjin nods and sets down a tray of bread in front of the two, gesturing for them to eat. Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi have left to attend to the members of the settlement, assuring them and gathering information about Jungkook’s arrival. He was unconscious when he was found, it’s a given that somebody brought him back – but who?

As if summoned, Namjoon enters their home followed by Hoseok and Yoongi, all the tension from their shoulders melting away at the sight of their brother. Here, complete, Yoongi feels most at ease even with the uneasy situation they’ve brought back.

“Here, let’s talk in the kitchen.” Seokjin invites.

Pulling the divider close, Hoseok crosses his arms and sighed. They are all exhausted, physically and more-so emotionally. It’s been a roller-coaster of a month but still gratitude wins out as a smile tugs on Hoseok’s lips. “That boy’s always been dramatic.”

It fishes out a short bark of laughter from Yoongi, “This is a little too much for my tastes, I have to say.”

Eyes darting between his two older brothers, Jimin clicks his tongue. “Care to share with the rest of the table, hyung?”

Hoseok nods towards Namjoon and the latter rolls his eyes but acquiesces, after swallowing a piece of bread.

“Our patrols found him by the outpost, inside a basket.” Namjoon starts, (“A basket? What is he, a baby?”) and ignores Taehyung’s jibe. “Yes, a basket. It’s in the gatherer’s hut, they could use it for fruits. It’s expertly weaved – which leads us to believe that someone took care of Guk that’s why we can’t find him.”

Seokjin almost smiles at Jungkook’s old baby name, the one he was called before he earned his second syllable.

“Jin, what injuries does Jungkook have?” Namjoon asks, the lilt of his voice revealing a bit of his leader’s blood.

Seokjin checked him over earlier, after washing the grime of his body and he found an assortment of those. “He has a broken leg, well, had – somebody set it well, a fractured arm and I found… bear scars on his back and temple.”

“Scars? You mean scabbing?” Yoongi asked, suspicious. “It’s too soon for wounds that big to scar over.”

“I know,” the healer nods, he shrugs his broad shoulders. Unless Jungkook managed to hide an incident with a bear from them, then Seokjin’s sure that those injuries are new. Even when the only proof he has are the paling bruises surrounding each one. “I don’t understand it either.”

“Whether or not they healed Jungkook,” Namjoon starts, glancing beyond the divider, “We’re still not sure of their intention, so we’re strengthening our forces and rotating the guards until we get more information. How long do we have to wait until Jungkook wakes up?”

“Give or take a day.”

Hoseok nods, already listing up a series of question for their youngest to answer. “A day it is.”

“The mirror never lies.” a quiet voice murmured. It sounds so far away and yet it surrounds him still and Jungkook wills himself to focus. He is face down, his face slotted right inside a hole on the wooden table. Where is he? All he could see is dirt and all he could hear the sounds of a stream nearby and the crackling of hearth.

Why can’t he move? Under him is a thin blanket, covering the wooden bed. It’s scratchy and has several holes. There is a warmth beside him and a rustle of clothing before a damp cloth makes contact with his back. The searing pain has Jungkook groaning and flinching away, only to find his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Fuck, what is this.

“You’re strong. I’ve given you three doses and you’re still struggling. Well, to be expected of your kind, I suppose.” The voice observed, barely surprised at his movement. “Your kind”? Safe in their abilities, Jungkook observes. A rival settlement? A witch? No – they haven’t been around in centuries.

“Try not to struggle so much,” the voice murmured again, this time, close to Jungkook’s ear, “this is for your own good.”

Jungkook wakes up gasping, surprising Jimin who was sleeping beside him.

“Jungkook! You’re awake!” Jimin smiled, almost reaching out to his brother when he noticed Jungkook murmuring to himself. “Jungkook?”

In the dark, Jungkook’s eyes glow blue, darting left to right, reeling from his dream. Or was it a memory? What was it? It’s quickly fading into smoke-- barely registering the fact that he was home – home! – and surrounded by his slowly waking up hyungs, Jungkook turns to Jimin and almost shouts, “Bring me a quill, quick!”

“Stream, berries, peppermint… what is this?” Yoongi his right hand on his face, exasperatedly. Across him, Hoseok shrugs, taking off his boots and hanging his vest. The hunt went well, the captured deers helping them stock up for the coming winter.

Yoongi is holding the parchment of paper Jungkook wrote on the first night he regained consciousness. It’s barely legible, some words are completely unreadable while the few that could be deciphered make absolutely no sense. And it was useless to ask Jungkook, because the next time he woke up, he didn’t even remember writing it – or anything that happened to him the last month he was missing.

It’s deeply concerning to Namjoon as the leader of their settlement and as their brother. Jungkook’s lack of memories mean that there could be nothing of use to prepare. Knowledge has always been Namjoon’s style of leadership, and without proper information, Yoongi knows that he feels like he’s running blind.

Added precaution was given to everyone in the settlement and while some find it reassuring, others are vocal in asking why they can no longer hunt alone and so on. Without a solid reason to give them, Namjoon has been busy placating any disgruntled member of the group along with Taehyung, whose presence provides a calming effect that none of them could replicate.

“I feel like we’re missing something here.” Yoongi muses. The blacksmith turned over the parchment as if the answer will suddenly materialize if he turned it over enough times.

Hoseok snorts and fishes the paper from Yoongi’s fingers, “You think?”

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi pokes his tongue against his cheek. He has half the mind to just let go of the whole thing and just be thankful that their brother is back and healthy, but as a responsible part of their community, figuring out who and why they healed their brother was priority.

More importantly, the question of how they healed them continuously pop in and out their family’s conversation.

No one has seen anything like it. When they asked Jungkook, his last memory was fighting a bear before being cut down with the animal’s weight. He remembers its claw tearing through the sinew of his back, and its front legs breaking his left thigh. However, almost no proof of it existed when he returned – and now, just a week after, he’s bounding here and there as if brand new.

If there’s someone out there with that ability, Yoongi thinks, bringing them into the fold will be beneficial to all. By whatever means necessary. 

#bts fanfiction #bts x reader #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #settlement au #magical humans #namjoon x reader #rapmon x reader #jim x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #kpop fanfiction #this fic came out of nowhere jeez #witchy reader

[ohshitmomitsawritingblog]

Okay but I think Sasuke would be so happy when he's about to have his first kid and so oddly and cutely protective. I 100% support this man leaving on the outskirts in a tree house like community and bonding with Kakashi like his dad never did. Like the both of them sparring as a bonding session I 100 support

Sasuke as a parent is two parts undying unyielding devotion and love, one part freezing inability to connect at times because he fears pain (both inflicted and received) and three parts wordless tenderness. Like he’s not a perfect parent or husband but he’s resolutely present. He’s so overly protective and clingy, especially with his young children. I think he’d have a hard time putting them down. Def the perpetual baby sling dad. He may seem a little ‘colder’ to his kids when they’re older but he smiles at them way more than he does anyone else. It’s hard to translate but I get the image in my head of him being like that slow, even paced dad who genuinely loves seeing his kids bloom into their own personalities and likes and dislikes. He never says no, but he never coddles.

 I think Sasuke might be a harder parent if Kakashi wasn’t around (who in turn would’ve been a hard parent if the years hadn’t softened him a great deal) and I think the ironic bit of it is that they’re both relatively new to the role of parent. Sasuke and Kakashi’s kids would theoretically be maybe 2-4 years apart in age so Kakashi is like slapping the train tracks in front of himself as he goes and Sasuke is like wow. How Sage. And it’s only mildly sarcastic. 

Sasuke is ‘living’ (is it living if he stays in this little house like, four days a year until he ends up getting married?) on the edge of the village/just outside of it and the quiet is nice. No prying eyes or obligation and he sometimes takes his kids to swim in the pond he used to train at when he was a child, even if it’s a walk. His kids complain because the house is ancient, but well cared for, and there’s no A/C and if someone flushes while the other person is taking a shower the water goes cold, and why can’t they move to Konoha? Sasuke always gives them non answers and the topic never progresses beyond ‘well get A/C unit money’.  

Anyways. Sasuke and Kakashi are chronic midnight conversationalists. Even when Sasuke is in jail and Kakashi keeps on telling him that he doesn’t actually have to do this and Sasuke insists that oh yes, he does, and the conversation ends there because Sasuke Uchiha is a stubborn mule of a man. He and Kakashi sit and talk in the dank dark of Sasuke’s cell. They always spent time together when Sasuke was younger, but Kakashi never talked like this before, speaking lazily about nothing and telling Sasuke about this village in the north west who makes red bean mochi, or these pretty iridescent rocks he found in the mountains one time that he still doesn’t know the name for. 

K: maybe I was high?

S: you got high?

K: what, you don’t think I haven’t done a few drugs in my life?

S:i mean you look like you have

K: …

Sasuke learns so much about Kakashi during these evenings. Sometimes they argue, and they both see a kind of stubborn anger that both mirrors their own and repulses the other. Sometimes they cry over quiet conversations that will never be repeated beyond those cell walls. Sometimes Kakashi gets him to laugh. And then other times, rarely, when Sasuke is sick or too miserable to talk or just resolutely angry over something he’s thought about during the day, Kakashi sits and reads him books long into the night. Like he’s a child, like he’s someone to be dotted on.

“Don’t treat me like a child.” 

“Don’t talk like a big baby then 🤪”

When Sasuke is released from prison these conversations turn to the rare piece of mail. Both of them are animals of convenience, and when Sasuke returns to the village, he and Kakashi spar from early morning into the dusty orange of the afternoon. It’s a way to communicate without speaking, which time and distance makes awkward at times. I think Kakashi and Sasuke weave and bop back into shooting the shit nightly when Sasuke comes back to the village to settle down. They talk as equals now, with Sasuke having his own stories to share. Most of them are good. And thus we circle back to the top of this overly long post: Kakashi gives Sasuke advice on parenting, Sasuke sometimes argues with him, sometimes offers better advice. They spar a few days a week. Sometimes he and Kakashi get heated over card games.

It’s something that boarders on parental, but it’s not something Sasuke admits to himself until, probably, his S/O points it out. Sasuke doesn’t want a replacement for his father, but there are some nights where he thinks: my father didn’t even get a chance to be a father to me. What is Kakashi? Is it so bad, to think of him like—

And then he rolls onto his side and glares at the wall for the rest of the night. It’s a mixture of betrayal and overwhelming hope that he really could rebuild his family, and also like he’s coping out in the worst ways. He doesn’t want to replace his family, and he can’t reconcile the living and the dead and the dead with the living. Kakashi probably doesn’t admit to himself how much he sees Sasuke as his first child until Sasuke has his own kid and Kakashi can’t help but feel proud and so deeply loving towards him. Maybe a day comes where Kakashi says ‘you’re my baby, after all’, or maybe it doesnt come at all. It doesn’t really matter because their bond is inhnerently famial and supportive and loving.

Aka: Two fatherless men become fathers in their own ways, they’re better fathers than their fathers despite consciously not knowing how to be a father but knowing what they wished a father would be to them.

God, it’s all I want.

#anon #mod talks #idk how to tag these #sasuke hours #kakashi hours

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous; technically a continuation to this)

Penguin Logistics - a company where the sexual tension could be cut with a knife if you so desired. Many of the Operators who worked with the girls (and Bison) of PL had to wonder if the business’s leader/mascot/breakout rap superstar had intentionally brought together a group like this, but if anyone had had the balls to ask, they hadn’t shared what they learned. It was kind of weird for them to think any of them would actually do something about their feelings.

Then everything changed when Sora and the Doctor confessed their feelings to each other.

It was about three months after that fateful day; Mostima had returned after the fiasco with Lungmen a week ago and hadn’t gone off again yet, her excuse being that she wanted to explore Rhodes Island before heading out again. Sora had just gotten engaged (no points for guessing to whom), and Emperor had decided it was as good an excuse as any other to throw a party. There’d be plenty of booze, plenty of music, and everyone could just have a good time. At least...that was the plan.

At some point that night, one of them suggested playing a game of poker; who made the suggestion doesn’t really matter, but the fact that most of them agreed to play certainly does. Bison and Croissant abstained; it’d already been a long day, Bison had a job starting early the next day, and Croissant had had a couple more drinks than she’d intended and didn’t feel like gambling her spending money away so quickly. When he noticed the trouble she was having walking in a straight line, Bison offered to help her to her room, and they said goodnight to the rest as he had to use both of his hands to keep her steady.

Emperor volunteered to play the dealer for the evening - he didn’t want to rob them all blind, after all - which left Sora, the Doctor, Texas, Exusiai, and Mostima (arranged in that order) paying into the pot. It was clear early on that the Doctor knew the cards but couldn’t bluff for shit, and she was the first out; since buy-ins were using real cash, and she was rather light at the moment, she didn’t join back in, and after a couple more hands, Sora was out as well. That left two angels, one fallen, and the fastest delivery-wolf in the west in a game far more intense than the amount of empty bottles around the office would’ve implied to an outsider.

“Alright girls, this is gonna be the last hand for the night.” Emperor yawned, flapping his flippers rapidly to shake off the sleepies before dealing their cards. “Whoever walks away with the most at the end of it wins the whole thing. Texas, if you don’t mind, it’ll be $300.”

“Sounds good to me.” She took the smallest stack of chips adding up to that price and slid it into the pot.

Exu glanced at her cards once, twice, three times, before finally saying, “I’ll call.”

“I’ll raise it to $1000,” Mostima asserted. She hadn’t looked at her cards once. 

“Call,” Texas replied almost instantly, putting in the required $700.

The red headed angel hemmed and hawed for a moment before nodding to herself. “I’ll raise to $2000.”

“...All in.”

“Call.”

Exusiai smiled brightly. “Call!” All three players moved their chips into the pool.

“I know I said ‘last hand,’ but shit, this is a real turn.” Emperor went through, flipping cards, until all were revealed. “Alright, that’s two Jacks, a Queen, and two fives. Let’s seem ‘em, Texas.”

“Ace-King.”

Exu’s eyes went wide. “Hey, I got that, too!” She revealed she did, in fact, have Ace-King as well, each of a different suit to Texas’.

“That makes three of us,” Mostima confirmed, turning over both her cards in a single motion. “What a way to end the night.”

“Well, I won’t bother splitting the pot myself. Don’t forget to clean up on your way out.” Emperor hopped off his stool, leaving them to stew in the pot he left for them.

After taking care of that much, Texas collapsed into the loveseat. “What a night.”

“I’ll say,” Exusiai agreed. “I can’t believe Sora’s really getting married.”

“I always guessed it would be her first, if any of you were going to.” Mostima shrugged, flicking a $5 poker chip in the air and catching it on her thumb ad nauseam.

The other Sankta in the room cocked her head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ignoring Bison for the moment,” she continued, “Croissant has never showed much of an interest, I travel too much to settle down, and Texas always looks annoyed or mad at something which scares people off.”

“And what about me?”

Mostima smiled. “You’re always going to hold out for me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have to, you know,” she retorted. “And Texas isn’t that scary.”

“I’m not?” The Lupo seemed nonplussed by that.

Exusiai hopped up and walked over to her. “Not at all. I’ll kill two birds with one stone right now.”

“Exu, wha-” Texas didn’t get to finish her sentence, however, as a pair of lips stopped her from doing just that. Her eyes flared open as it happened, but the next few words were slow to come out. “...Mostima, when did you get over here.”

“I can erase time,” she shrugged.

The other angel pouted. “No fair - I was going to do that.”

“You always did have good taste,” Mostima smirked before giving her a kiss as well. “Happy?”

“No.” Her face was a mask of mixed emotions.

Texas stood up from her chair and took Exusiai’s hands in hers. “You were saying?”

“Really?” She immediately perked right back up. “Aww, Texas, have you been holding out on me?”

“Don’t play dumb; that’s my job.” As she said that, one arm went around the angel’s waist as the other went to the small of her back. Exu followed suit, and one passionate kiss later, they’d fallen onto the couch next to them, the Lupo on top with her tail wagging all the while.

Mostima watched all of this with an expression the other angel might’ve recognized if she weren’t occupied at the moment. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it-”

“Mmm.” One of each of their hands reached out to pull on her. They looked up at her, with Exusiai speaking for the both of them. “You can stay, if you want.”

“Well, with an invitation like that...”

-

The next morning, Sora walked into HQ, humming her latest song-in-progress up until she saw the amount of loose clothing on the floor. Glancing over at the couch, she blushed heavily before turning around and announcing, “Good morning, girls!”

“Hmm?” Texas woke up at the bottom of the pile before groaning. “We had to do it in the office, didn’t we...”

“You two started this,” Mostima smirked, her head on the other side of the couch.

Exusiai sat up and stretched from the top of the pile. “Aw well. Sora, could you help a couple girls out getting back in order?”

“S-sure, Exu.” The four of them went through the clothes scattered on the floor, the idol’s eyes pointedly focused on the ground until they were at least moderately covered. “H-how did the game go?”

“Three-way tie,” Texas replied before snorting as the other two began to giggle.

At that moment, Bison staggered in, looking like he’d just barely made it out of bed himself. “Mornin’, ev’ry’ne.”

“Morning, Bison!” Exusiai cocked her head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. ‘zere coffee yet?”

Sora walked over to the machine. “Not yet, but I’ll make you some.”

“Thanks.” He sat at the bar and buried his head in his arms. “‘Stoo damn bright’day.”

“What happened? You look like you got run over by a truck,” Mostima observed, her characteristic half-smirk now fully in place for a day’s use.

He looked back at her, attempting to glare but only managing to squint. “Wazzup mosta last night.”

“Really?” Exu couldn’t imagine why. “How come?”

“Mornin’; girls!” Croissant walked in and joined Bison at the bar, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

He returned the favor, setting his head on her shoulder. “Thnx 4 wakin mup thz mornin,” he slurred together.

“‘Course,” she smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek. “D’ya want me to come with ya for this’un?”

“Mmhmm.” Sora set a cup of coffee next to him, which with Croissant’s help he managed to hold to his lips for a sip.

Texas asked the question on all their minds. “Did you two spend last night together?”

“Aw shucks, he was a real champ,” Croissant beamed. “A real keeper, this one.”

“I should call my dad before we head out,” Bison muttered.

She rubbed his back. “You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that after one night.”

“Thanks,” he shook his head, “but I want him to meet you, and if we’re going that direction anyway...”

“Now ain’t you just the sweetest apple in the barrel!” The cup of coffee was set to the side as she set upon him.

Texas and Mostima shared a glance and a smile as Sora looked between them. The Sankta shared the thought with her as they looked at Exusiai. “I’m pretty sure ours is sweeter.”

[Note: There was another way they could’ve found out about Bison/Croissant...]

#arknights #texas (arknights) #exusiai (arknights) #mostima (arknights) #bison (arknights) #sora (arknights) #croissant (arknights) #this was a little weird to right #but holy shit was it fun at the end there #my boy bison at it again #also expect more croissant #i don't use her for missions #but i'm realizing now how much i love 'country' accent #reminds me of my home town #i kinda sound like her sometimes irl #it's great #arknights fic