#who doesn’t know that Caretaker is exhausted

[daydreaming-stargazer]

I have been thinking about the shifting dynamic between Qian and Yuan all week. A ton of people have written really insightful posts about these two, and I can’t get them off my mind.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again and again: the tragic backstory is not used as a shock factor or just to make you sympathetic towards a character. It is ingrained into Qian and Yuan’s thoughts, behaviors, actions, and responses. And it contributes to their compelling relationship.

Qian is hesitant around intimacy of any kind. Yuan is eager to care for the person who saved him.

We’ve seen from the beginning how much of a caretaker Yuan is for Qian. The vast majority of intimate physical contact Qian accepts is from Yuan (and by intimate I don’t mean romantic. I mean familiar, personal, etc.).

Qian rarely ventures beyond surface level relationships with people. His experiences growing up left him in a constant state of survival. He focuses on work as a means of survival and doesn’t consider slowing down as an option.

We see this at work, where he is often separated from his coworkers and rarely interacting with them outside of a professional capacity. He often stays late and arrives early at the expense of his own wellbeing.

It’s Yuan who bridges the gap. Who asks coworkers to take care of his brother. Who makes Qian sleep and eat right. Who is there at work and at home ensuring that Qian won’t overwork and exhaust himself.

But their relationship is not one-sided. Qian takes care of Yuan as well, making sure he’s able to take advantage of academic opportunities and clubs and things that Qian never had a chance to partake in. He gives Yuan a life where survival is a guarantee, not something to earn.

Qian protects Yuan through hard work. Yuan protects Qian through tender care.

When Yuan is sent away to study abroad, the time skip works because it isn’t used at the very end of the series to jump to happily ever after. Too often, time skips force us to miss important character growth and leave us unsatisfied and wanting more. By placing the time skip towards the middle of the series and using it as an actual part of the story and character development, we are able to see how Qian and Yuan live during the separation and the impact it has on their relationship.

And their reunion is more than one scene before the credits roll. There’s still many episodes for them to keep learning and growing together.

Once Yuan returns, the line between them has shifted. Qian actively seeks out Yuan’s care in a way he never did before. He’s always watching Yuan, reaching out for him, and aware of his presence. He had always welcomed it, but the separation forced him to feel what the absence of Yuan’s care was like. He was miserable.

Yuan matured on his own and still knows that he loves Qian. Being away only confirmed what he already knew. And Qian is starting to realize that he loves Yuan too.

Yuan knows exactly where the boundary is between them, but he’ll let Qian be the one to break it down. They have complex relationship, and it is being respected, not rushed. Moments are earned, not pulled randomly from the trope bucket.

#gahhh I could write about this series all day #everything is so intentional #so much thought and passion went into this series #unknown the series #unknown the series meta #unknown the series analysis #unknown bl #yuan x qian #qian x yuan #unknown #taiwanese bl #ah bee writes

[spacecowboyhotch]

In Plain Sight, Ch 2: A Hoard of Cupids

summary: nathan’s much more insightful about you than he used to be. it’s making you uneasy…and curious.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, pining, nathan trying to be nice but he’s so abrasive lol, pining, mentions of caretaking/sick family members, mentions of emotionally abusive parents, masturbation (m), sub!nathan if you squint

wc: 2,745

AN: back at it with part twoooo. thank you all for the kind words and support on this fic, i didn’t expect it to get the response it did but i’m really excited to give y’all the rest. fair warning that these chapters seem to be getting longer as i write on. happy reading!

in plain sight masterlist | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan gives you space— at first. When you return the next day at 7 a.m. sharp he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the living room or in the kitchen, not on his patio boxing. You assume he’s in his room, probably toying with one of his bots in a distasteful manner. The idea makes you shudder. But is it not easier to come to work with every task he could want you to do placed on his desk, no fuss?

You don’t like Nathan Bateman. He’s a pompous asshole, a know it all, a man who thinks only about his own desires. When he apologized— or rather attempted to— yesterday you thought that maybe you slipped and fallen down the stairs on your way out. By his standards, it was a top tier apology. You’d never once heard him apologize to anyone. On your drive home you had wondered if he had ever apologized in his life. The thought made you giggle, and then you’d turned up the music and forgotten about him until right now.

Sat at your desk, an ungodly stack of things to do. There’s a note sat on top. It’s simple and straightforward, lacking emotion but somehow still has your stomach flipping. It reads:

In meetings all day— let me know if you need anything. Go home early today.

Mr. Bateman

P.S. I’ll spruce up my apologizing skills.

You regard the note cautiously, raising your brow at it before you let yourself laugh a little. Was this a joke or had Nathan Bateman taken some criticism to heart (which is rumored to not exist). You fold the note up, and for some reason slip it into your bag.

The last thing that’s on your mind is that Nathan’s watching you. He sits in the dark at his monitors, leaning in closely. His eyes trace your figure on the screens intensely, watching as you read and read and read. He expects no reaction from you beside maybe throwing it in the trash. But then you laugh, and he watches you store it for safekeeping. A piece of him will go home with you. Nathan never thought he’d be jealous of a piece of paper, not when he seems to have the entire world at his fingertips.

—

He returns to his normal behavior after a week— partially because he thinks you settled in. And partially because…well he begrudgingly can admit to himself, in the comfort of his own mind, that he misses you. When you get to work the next Monday he’s sat on an observation table, examining what looks like a deconstructed robot brain.

You aren’t even able to open your mouth and say good morning before he’s talking to you.

“Are you sleeping okay?” He asks, his eyes appraising you intensely.

You stop in your tracks, regarding him as always, your expression pieced into that calm expression. So you’re back to normal, none of that fire. He expected it but that doesn’t keep him from feeling disappointed.

“Sir?”

“You look really fucking tired. Exhausted,” He tacts on for good measure.

Your spine goes completely rigid, your grip on your bag tightening. You are tired. So very tired. You work shitty hours for incredible money and then go home to take care of your younger sisters and mother. Dealing with Nathan is for them. For your sisters’ schooling, so they won’t feel left out when the other kids have the newest gadget or shoes. For your mother’s ever piling medical bills. It’s important that you don’t jeopardize something so precious.

“Is it affecting my work? Have I done something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No— that’s not why I’m—“ He stutters before closing his mouth and starting anew. You’ve never seen him like this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was flustered. But knowing Nathan, he’s just never asked a single employee he’s ever had if they’re alright. “I’m your boss, I worry about your well being. That’s what good bosses do.”

“Are you sure?” You ask evenly, eyes still trained on him.

“Am I—“ He stops, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he bites away his smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

If he was looking at you so intentionally he would miss the way your mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Mr. Bateman. I have a lot of responsibilities, not only here but out there as well.”

“Out there?”

“The real world. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

For the second time, you’ve rendered Nathan speechless. That night he lays in bed thinking of you, like many nights prior. He turns your words over in his head time and time again. The real world. Do you think he doesn’t know what it’s like out there? He wonders how much research you’d done for the job. Nathan used his brain to get here, climbing and climbing. He hadn’t been born into this but his personality lent itself to such a conclusion. Nathan knows what his real world used to look like, though one day he hopes that any of his contraptions can help him forget. He wonders what your real world looks like.

There’s no ring on your finger, but you could have a partner. Kids? Another job? He pays you well enough for that to not be necessary. Maybe you volunteer at a puppy shelter. He could picture it. You in something other than your stuffy work clothes, a smile on your face as you drown in puppy breath and slobber.

He groans, rolling over in bed to plant his face deeply in the pillow. Maybe he can smother himself out of this. Thinking about puppies? He might as well be one, he’s practically lovesick if you have him thinking like this. When would he get used to feeling this way? His usual cynical thoughts feel like they’re being pillaged by a hoard of cupids.

He doesn’t even know if you feel the same. Being better for you is one thing, but what if there’s no payoff? What if he changes for you and you leave him high and dry? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He feels the back of his neck sweating and sits up.

Nathan’s been down this road before, it’s brought him his fortune and an insane work ethic. It’s all brought him sorrow he’ll never be able to escape. Being with his parents feels like a fever dream sometimes and other times he feels 6 again, like he’s drowning in their expectations and insults, trying to measure up. He’d given up eventually, once he realized that they would never love him the way parents should. Why try to do anything anyone wanted but himself when they could still treat him poorly for it?

He’s the way he is from his own indoctrination. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced himself that he was the only person that truly matters.

But, now there’s you. You, who looks so soft, you that scratches an itch he didn’t even realize he had. You, that he wants to goad and prod and poke until you unleash all of yourself on him. He closes his eyes and lays back, envisioning you right here with him. He feels insane, his heart— his mind, his dick— are taking him through a whirlwind of emotions right now.

He palms himself through his boxers, eyes squeezing shut tighter than before as he tries to narrate. He pictures you in one of his white shirts, it’s fabric nearly see-through with the way it clings to your breasts. He grasps his length through his boxers letting out a heaving sigh. Fuck he wishes this was you.

If there’s anything that Nathan knows how to do its not only being smartest but the most imaginative. He’s been daydreaming for as long as he can remember. Universes with better outcomes— having worth, or loving parents or anyone for that matter. Anyone to be on his side. He imagined codes and synthetic body parts that live and breathe in front of him. He can surely imagine you, breathy and horny in his bed, jerking him off. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, or inappropriate. He wants you, and maybe this is the only way he can have you. He slides his boxers down, finally done teasing himself. Licking his palm, he grabs his cock, starts stroking and succumbs to the thought of you.

Another moan bubbles out of his throat. He can see your nipples through his shirt when you straddle him like this. Your thighs are soft against his own and he would reach for your free hand, thread his fingers through your own. Your hands are smaller than his, smooth and supple. And god, you’re stroking him just the way he likes it, the soft wet sound making pleasure shoot through his groin.

You’d overstimulate him wouldn’t you? With that clever mouth barely pulling up a grin, eyes full of fire as you stroke him past the point of pleasure. Would you make him watch? See the way your hands would grow slick and shiny with his cum as you kept pumping and pumping, pushing him to another release. Covering you both in him, until you’re too needy to keep toying with him. Nathan cums just as he’s imagining the feeling of you dragging your bare pussy against his sensitive cock. He whines and keens off the bed, the high singing in his veins. He swears he can almost imagine the way you would moan.

His eyes open, the spell broken. He’s alone, covered in his own spend, chest heaving like he just ran a 10k. He avoids his reflection when he walks into the bathroom to clean up. His loneliness spikes again and he heads to the kitchen, reaching for the first bottle he can find.

—

“You’re late,” He says stiffly, crossing his arms as he watches you cross the space to sit at your desk.

The day after he’d gotten off thinking of you he’d had the slightest difficulty looking at you. It quickly faded, he was too greedy. Too needy, if he’s being honest. He can’t get enough, he doesn’t know if he could ever say it but you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You’re openly frazzled; your shirt isn’t tucked in, your hair is a little more frizzy than usual and you look as tired as ever. He regrets his biting tone immediately.

Even as you explain you’re moving, setting your to-go mug on the desk, fetching your calendar, booting up your computer. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman. My sisters were less than cooperative this morning.”

Nathan turns completely away from the bins he’s been searching through, raising a brow at you in surprise, “Your sisters?”

“Yes— one is 7 the other is 14. The little made getting out of the house…difficult,” You murmur distractedly, eyes trained on your screen.

“Isn’t that your parents’ fucking job?”

His question snaps you back to the present— you hadn’t shared nearly as much as you could’ve. But you’d gone into this job wanting to be nameless and faceless. Memorable only for the quality of the work you do.

You shake your head, daring a quick glance in his direction that you immediately regret when your eyes meet his.“I realized that I’ve shared far too much about my personal life. I should work, Mr. Bateman.”

Nathan immediately understands your deflecting. How many times has he been asked by reporters and interviewers where his family is? Enough times that he’s had his publicist strike the topic from the acceptable lists. That was about all he was good for anyway, Nathan says what he wants when he wants.

He goes back to the task at hand— though now with you here he doesn’t quite remember what that was. A part…some sort of part that he needed. Wires? Screws? A metal plate? He sighs in frustration and leaves without another word.

Your gaze is on the door as soon as it shuts, making sure he’s gone. The tears that you’ve been biting back fall and you bury your face in your hands. Your youngest sister had begged and pleaded for you to stay warm in bed with her this morning. With your mother so sick, you’ve practically raised her yourself these last few years. It makes her needy, which you understand. But what she doesn’t understand is how delicate the balance you found in caring for your entire family is. Middle sister lacks just as much understanding, with heaps of attitude. She doesn’t want to snuggle with you or with younger sister. Mediating this entire situation is what made you late.

It feels like you’re cracking under the pressure but that isn’t an option, is it? As if the universe wants to make it clear, your computer chimes. It’s Nathan, asking you to come to his office.

—

He’d meant to go clear his head in his office and come back to get whatever part he was in need of. But, when he sat in his chair he was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk, presumably crying by the way your shoulders jerked every once and a while.

He’s pinging you before he can think better of it. He watches you read his message. You’re such an anomaly— you sit up immediately, reaching for some tissues and cleaning yourself up as if nothing happened. You even check yourself in the reflection of your computer, fidgeting with your hair, tucking in your shirt once you stand. As soon as you start out of the office he turns off his monitors, not one to be caught snooping around though it’s right and was clear in the contract. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you don’t think your anything worth watching…Nathan would like to change that assumption.

“You pinged me, sir?”

How would he play this? He couldn’t admit that he just watched you cry.

“Trying my hand at this apologizing shit again. I— Nathan Bateman— am sorry for being insensitive. Like I said last time, I don’t know your life or you. Alright, how was that?”

“I would say a solid, 5/10, which is a 50% improvement.”

“Fuck me, you’re a tough crowd. What am I docked for? You know I’m all about perfection.”

“There was a lack of originality. And you omitted your middle name.”

It takes everything in Nathan not to giggle. The way the words come out of your mouth are so funny… or maybe he’s just obsessed. It could be both. “My middle name is classified information.”

“Does Wikipedia know that?” You ask, tilting your head in that uncanny way.

Nathan can’t hold in his laugh this time, running a hand over his beard, “You’re funnier than you look.”

Your mouth twitches, and you give him the smallest nod, “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

He pretends to think about it. “This apology is feeling pretty one-sided to me.”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Bateman, thank you.”

“Accept something else,” He proposes, going out on a limb. Suddenly your stare is too intense, the room is too hot and small. What the fuck is he doing?

“What’s that?” You ask, as soft and sweet as ever.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” He says simply.

“With you?”

Nathan ignores the twinge in his heart— your tone barely changed. If he wasn’t with you every single day, studying you, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I can invite the droids if you want. They’ll just stare at us while we eat.”

Your hand tightens around your planner. Dinner with Nathan…choosing to be around him? It seemed like as of late he was trying to be…more palatable. This could be an act of good faith. But, you have your sisters and mother to think about. You’ve given her nurse enough overtime hours in the last few weeks.

“Without getting too personal, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing it sir, I have to get home to my sisters as soon as possible.”

Yes, your family, that you never talk about. He could accommodate, what’s he the fucking boss for if he can’t?

“We’ll do it early.”

You sway a little as you think about this— that’s new, he thinks to himself, filing that information away for later.

“You’ve already got me apologizing, I can’t add saying please to the list of acceptable behaviors. I’ll lose my fucking edge.”

“How early?”

“3:30.”

“Alright, then, sir.”

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue , @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @kotaropuppy

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fanfiction #ex machina fanfiction #in plain sight #arson writes #not sfw

[callsign-rogueone]

braids - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x reader (duchess!) ✉️: Duchess has her hair in traditional braids right? Do u think Bren would learn how to braid her hair? And do it on days that she's tired or exhausted. Or maybe he would help her get the braids out of her hair at night. words: ~1k 🏷: no book spoilers, no triggers. just my response to the above and my thoughts about Bren, Duchess, and her hair. I promise there’s sweet headcanons under all my rambling about how I picture her braids. and I tried to make this as inclusive as possible and discuss multiple hair types, but I’m not very knowledgeable about that so I apologize if something is wrong!

The short answer: yes, absolutely. Brennan is a caretaker and protector first and foremost. It’s why he became a mender; he’s the eldest of the family, takes responsibility for younger siblings, and he’s just that kind of guy. He’d take incredibly good care of you as his partner, and that extends to every aspect of your life, especially your daily routines and self care.

The (very) long answer: I’ve purposely left descriptions of her hair as “intricate traditional braids” both as a nod to the Tyrrish knots that Xaden has Violet learn in the books, and for inclusivity, because I think that description can apply to anyone. The exact styles, the care required, and the length of time that she would wear them (doing them up on a daily basis, or leaving them in for weeks/months) depends on her hair type, so I’ve been leaving it up for interpretation because I want to cater to everyone. But I think that regardless, Bren would absolutely be willing and eager to learn how to help you with it.

I’ve never watched Game of Thrones, but I’ve seen pictures and clips of Daenerys, and she was a major inspiration for Duchess -- powerful woman of noble status who commands (or in Duchess’s case, speaks for) a riot of dragons, shows femininity through her dress and hair, but isn’t afraid to fuck someone up if they wrong her or her family.

So I’d imagine something like her character wears, but a bit more practical for fighting and training (maybe ending in one braid going down her back instead of having a half-up, half-down thing). Some examples I found on pinterest:

Another thing I’ve been imagining is several tiny silver charms / clips woven into the braids, decorated with runes (this will come into play later on in their story 👀) like these.

Now for the headcanons:

As we saw in allies, Bren recognized the braids as something of traditional importance, and it was one of the things that drew him to her. He loves and admires her dedication to her culture, and he also thinks they're absolutely gorgeous -- the girl looked him in the eye and said his name and he folded. Man was smitten from day one. 

He loves seeing you with them or without them: the first time he saw you with your hair down, completely out of the braids and messy, loose, it changed his brain chemistry forever (it didn’t help that you were half-dressed at the time, as well, but I digress)

I didn’t want to get too into deep this, because I do have a scene like this sketched out already, but I’m a weak weak woman so I’ll give it to you anyway:

One of the first few times y’all ~spent the night~, he was entranced watching you fix up your hair in the morning, at the ease and speed with which you redid the sections that had come undone / smoothed everything out, put the clips back in, and got it ready for the day.

He would have offered to help if he wasn’t so shy about it (still in disbelief that this actually happened, and she’s still here), and if you didn’t seem so capable yourself; after all, you’ve been doing this on your own for years now.

Braiding behind your own head takes some considerable upper body strength, so if your back or arms are injured, he won’t hesitate to help out, because he knows it’s important to you and he wants to help, wants to be close to you, and even after he mended you, he still doesn’t want you straining yourself.

You’re a little skeptical at first, but you quickly realize he knows what he’s doing. Think about it: this man is the older brother of two sisters, with parents who worked long hours at high-stress jobs. He absolutely knows how to properly detangle and brush (starting at the ends, being gentle with it) and can do basic braids, etc. 

He’ll stand behind you and help you take them down, incredibly careful not to pull too hard. When they’re all out, he’ll work his fingertips into your scalp ever so gently, noting the way you sigh in relief. Gives the back of your neck some attention, too. Those hands… sorry, where were we?

He’ll also help you do them up again -- they may not be as fancy or as pristine as if you did it yourself, but they’re pretty good. He’s bashful about it as you look over your shoulder in the mirror to examine his work, but he practically glows when you thank him and tell him he did well. 

He keeps a few of your hair bands in the pockets of his flight jacket in case one breaks. Not embarrassed to wear one around his wrist, either -- his hair isn’t long enough to use it himself, so it’s a clear sign that he’s holding it for someone else, that he’s spoken for.

I talked about this the other week in some Garrick headcanons I did, but I’m gonna say it again: hair washing. 

It would take a while for y'all to get to a point where you can shower together because you're both shy nervous bbs for a while, who can’t hold hands without bursting into flames (no pun intended) but like, after you're married, for sure. 

He really gets in there, gets all the dirt and blood out, washes the day off and leaves you nice and clean and relaxed. He does not miss a single spot. Helps you condition, rinse, and dry it after, too. Full service, complete with forehead kisses.

Another thought that I won’t get too far into, and am leaving as a strict hypothetical: IF you were to have a daughter, and IF she wanted to wear her hair like her mama does, Brennan would 100% be on the job. The Duke Consort of Lindell and the Colonel of the Tyrrish army has years of experience brushing and braiding and detangling, and he takes incredibly good care of his girls. They’re gonna be looking fresh at all times.

#brennan and duchess #brennan sorrengail #brennan sorrengail x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine

[thetarttfuldickhead]

As much as I love the notion of Roy as the reluctant but resolute resident Jamie Tartt Caretaker (duties include: cuddling, Special [and sometimes insane] Rules just for Jamie, loving concern disguised as shouting, and thoughtful nodding while wondering what the hell Jamie is on about) I’m growing increasingly amused by the idea of Jamie as the team’s official Roy Kent Whisperer, now that Ted’s clicked his heels three times and fucked off to Kansas.

Say Roy’s in a mysterious foul mood and running everyone ragged to the point where even the tying together of dicks starts to seem reasonable? The team turns to Jamie: “The fuck’s going on with Coach?” 

Jamie shrugs and makes one of his exceedingly expressive faces. “I don’t know, I didn’t do nothing.” 

Isaac’s eyeing him like he maybe doesn’t believe that. “Well, you need to talk to him. Figure out what’s going on before he fucking kills us.”

Jamie makes another face, scoffs maybe, partly because uh you think this is bad you wouldn’t survive a single one-on-one training session with him, and partly because he’s still a little contrary at times and also doesn’t like getting saddled with things. “Um, why me?” he demands. “You’re the captain.” 

Isaac is unmoved. “Yeah, well, and as your captain, I’m telling you to go talk to Coach.” Off a nudge from Colin, he adds: “Please.”

“Yeah, come on, boyo,” Colin adds. “You and Roy have this whole thing, he’ll listen to you, mate.”

And that’s true, innit, and the thought of that cheers Jamie up considerably, so yeah, sure, he’ll talk to Roy, don’t worry about it, lads.

Jamie’s many and varied tactics for getting Roy to open up ranges from point blank asking what’s going on and refusing to stop making empathic faces until Roy tells him, to cunningly sharing something vulnerable about himself in the hopes that Roy will reprociate, or having Roy join him for some sort of activity designed to eventually lower Roy’s guard, or following Roy around and being obnoxiously cheerful until Roy gives in from sheer exhaustion (and also, but secretly, from being a little bit soothed by Jamie’s happy presence). The whole process usually involved Roy telling him to fuck off at least thrice and possibly the repeated slamming of doors, but Jamie’s nothing but tenacious and in the end he always gets his man. With time and Roy’s continued sessions with Dr. Sharon the need for this sort of intervention becomes rarer and rarer – but when the call comes, Jamie is ready! 

(Having Jamie be the spokeperson when it come to special requests is a bit of a gamble, though, because a lot of the time Roy is actually far more likely to say no to him than to anyone else. And, of course, any concerns not tied to Roy being in a mysterious foul and/or weird mood that needs particular handling, is sorted by Isaac, who takes his duties as captain very seriously.)

#in fairness to roy #i think he’s far more likely to listen to his fellow diamond dogs now that he started therapy #and i imagine beard in particularly will keep an eye on him if things get messy #there’s keeley too of course #and rebecca can also be trusted to set him straight in times of need #but the team is not likely to go to any of them for help handling their coach #and while i adore that roy gets to have multiple sources of support #because heaven knows he needs them #i am who i am and will always be a little extra insane about roy and jamie #and all the mad things they are to one another #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy & jamie #my stuff

[hunterscabin]

The Lighthouse Part II

Summary: A hunt takes a turn for the worse, and Sam and Dean fight to keep you alive.

Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader

Warnings: Angst; drowning; language; resuscitation; whump

Word Count: 2.2K

Author’s Note: I used Regina Femrite’s painting “Beam Of Hope” as inspiration for the setting. Comments and feedback are always appreciated! I hope you enjoy! 

The Lighthouse Part I

Dean carried you to dry sand and sat down. He placed you in front of him, your back nestled in his chest. He wrapped two strong arms around you, balling one hand and grabbing it with the other. Expertly, he thrust his fist inward and upward. Water began to drain from your mouth. Sam fell to the sand in front of you and placed a gentle hand on your forehead to help keep you upright. Once Dean was satisfied that he’d expelled as much water from your lungs as he could, he cradled your head and laid you down. 

Dean placed a calloused hand on your forehead and used two fingers to lift your chin. Despite ridding your lungs of water, you still were not breathing.

“Come on, kiddo,” Dean pleaded as he pinched your nose and sealed his mouth around yours, inflating your lungs. Sam grabbed your wrist praying to feel your heartbeat. It was faint and slowing, but detectable.

“Pulse?” Dean looked to his brother, dreading the answer. Sam nodded “yes,” still trying to catch his breath.

The urgency Sam felt turned to utter panic as he watched Dean continue to force air into your broken body. Your soaking wet clothes clung to your small frame. Your lips were an impossible shade of blue and your skin a deathly gray. 

Dean wrapped his lips around yours, this time blowing more forcefully. “Breathe for me, Y/N/N,” he cried out between breaths, “Please, breathe.” Dean had barely registered the lightheaded feeling that began tugging at his senses, when his brother stirred next to him.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice was frantic. Letting go of your wrist, he reached across your body and pressed two fingers to your neck. Seconds spanned a lifetime as Sam waited for the beat of your heart to reach his touch. He could feel Dean’s air entering and leaving your body, but there was nothing else. His stomach dropped. “She doesn’t have a pulse.” Sam groaned.

Dean felt as if all of the blood drained from his body. A darkness loomed over the beach. The one thing he was supposed to protect was dying beneath him. 

Dean moved to start CPR, but Sam was already hovered over you. He placed a hand in the center of your sternum, lacing the other on top. He locked his arms and began pumping your chest. After 30 compressions, he looked to Dean. 

“Breathe.” Sam commanded. 

Dean blew two deep breaths into you and looked back up at Sam who had already started his second round of compressions. Your delicate body rocked with each forceful push. 

“Fuck,” Sam whimpered as he felt one of your ribs give way. Dean heard the crack and glanced up at his brother. 

“Sammy,” Dean willed his brother to look at him. Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, defeat and exhaustion evident on his face. “You’re not hurting her, you’re saving her,” Dean assured, knowing exactly what Sam was thinking. Ever the caretaker, Dean found the words to comfort and encourage his brother even in the midst of his own fear. “You’re doing good, Sammy. Keep going.”

Sam nodded in understanding. He hung his head as he continued pressing down on your chest. “Please, Y/N/N,” Sam pleaded, “Come back." 

Dean quietly joined in his brother's panic. You weren’t responding. They needed a new plan. He thought momentarily about finding a crossroad, but he knew you’d never forgive either of them for making a deal. That’s when Dean remembered. 

"Sammy!” Dean’s exclamation jarred Sam’s already racing heart. “There’s an AED in Baby.” In their frantic attempts to revive you, Dean had forgotten the life-saving box that Bobby had given him “In case of an emergency.”

“What?” Sammy questioned in disbelief.  

“After a bad hunt,” Dean said breathlessly, “we lost too many people that could have been saved.” Dean began to gauge the distance between him and the car. “Bobby swiped two AEDs and made me promise to keep one in Baby.” 

“Take over for me,” Sam shifted, preparing to run. 

“No,” Dean protested, “You have to be exhausted from swimming back with her. I’ll go.” It wasn’t the time to argue, but Dean saw the look of strain on his brother’s face and knew that running to the car and back would push him over the edge. He needed Sam to preserve whatever strength he had left; Dean couldn’t save you on his own.

Sam said nothing but agreed by finishing a cycle of compressions and leaning down to take over breathing for you. The second Sam pinched your nose and placed his mouth on yours, Dean took off. He had never run so quickly in his life. He closed the over 100-yard distance in a matter of seconds.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through him, Dean was winded when he returned. He couldn’t imagine how exhausted his brother must be. He looked at Sam who was bent over, breathing into you. 

“Any change?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  

“Nothing.” Sam’s tone and face were flat. His entire body ached. His arms were burning, and even with the harsh wind against his wet clothes, he was sweating from the effort of keeping your heart beating. Still, he maintained a steady pace, determined to save you.

“Do you need to switch?” Dean asked as he opened the AED.

“I’ve got her.” Sam replied confidently. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Dean pulled the AED out of its case and turned it on. He reached down the inside pocket and pulled out a pair of medical shears. 

“Don’t stop,” Dean advised as he began to cut your shirt, “I’ll work around you.” He pulled your clothing out from under his brother’s hands.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Dean muttered as he exposed your chest. Dean took off his flannel, and as soon as Sam moved to breathe for you, he used the opportunity to dry you off. 

He pulled the pads from the AED and followed the instructions on the box, placing one near your right shoulder and the other on your left side. The machine prompted Sam to hold compressions and he fell back on his feet. 

The machine called out for everyone to stand clear, and Dean pressed the glowing shock button. He cringed at the sight of your jerking body. Sam pressed his fingers to the side of your neck and Dean took up your wrist. Relief washed over them as they each felt your faint pulse growing stronger. Sam leaned down, placing an ear over your mouth. Dean watched as his brother’s face hardened.  

“She’s still not breathing,” Sam announced with defeat. Dean positioned himself by your head to begin breathing for you again. 

“You can do this, Y/N/N.” Dean muttered as he pinched your nose and sealed his mouth over yours. He glanced at your chest to make sure it rose with his breath and shuddered. 

“Sammy,” Dean’s furrowed brow glanced down to your torso then back up to his brother, “cover her.”

Decency had taken a back seat to their frantic attempts to revive you, but now that your condition was less critical, both brothers were acutely aware of how exposed you were. Sam reached for Dean’s flannel and draped it over you. 

Dean inflated your lungs again. This time, he felt something inside you pop, like a wet balloon becoming unstuck. He gave you one more deep breath, and as soon as he removed his mouth from yours, you began coughing up water. 

“That’s my girl,” Dean encouraged as he rolled you onto your side, “Keep coughing, Y/N.”

Sam reached out and helped pull you over. He rubbed gentle strokes up and down your back as the coughing continued to rack your body. Dean kept one hand under your chin and another on your forehead to keep your airway open as your body worked to expel the remaining water in your lungs. Your coughing finally subsided and was replaced by a low, raspy wheeze. 

Sam laid down on his side so that he was facing you. He lifted a hand to brush the hair away from your face, thankful to see the color returning to your cheeks. With his other hand, he grabbed yours and squeezed gently. 

“Y/N?” he whispered, “Y/N, baby, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” It was faint, but he could feel your grip tighten ever so slightly.  

“Good girl,” he sighed with relief, as he stroked your hair. “I’m right here, Y/N/N. Dean and I are right here.”

The sound of Sam’s voice stirred your senses, and you began to blink your eyes. A rush of pain coursed through your body, and you started to panic. Sam noticed your breathing become erratic and brought his face close to yours. 

“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re okay, baby girl. Look at me.” Your eyes found Sam’s and immediately filled with tears. 

“Hi, Y/N/N,” he breathed, his tone and face were warm with assurance. “Slow breaths in and out, okay?" 

"Sammy,” you choked. Your voice was raw and your throat stung.

“I’m right here.” He leaned in and placed a firm kiss on your forehead. 

A raspy sob escaped your lips. Instinctually, you began to curl your legs toward your chest for comfort, but it only intensified the pain.

“De.” you cried out. Dean’s heart swelled at the sound of his nickname. He was by your head in an instant. Sam sat up so his brother could move in. Dean crouched down so he was at eye level with you. 

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice broke when your teary eyes met his. “We’re both right here.” Your arms feebly reached out for him. Dean slipped one hand under your head and the other under your waist. He pulled you close to him and felt how badly you were shaking. 

“We need to get her out of these wet clothes.” 

Sam found the medical shears in the sand and carefully cut the sleeves of your already torn shirt. He peeled the cold, wet fabric away and helped Dean slip your arms through the dry sleeves of the flannel that had been covering you. Sam wrapped the front of the shirt around your back, and Dean moved his arm to secure it in place. 

“Let’s get her back to the car,” Sam urged as he unplugged the AED pads from the machine. Dean gathered the cords and lifted you with ease. 

“De?” you whispered. 

“Yeah, sweet girl?” he cooed, pulling you closer to him.  

“S-s-o-c-c-cold.” you managed. 

“I know, Y/N/N. We’re almost there,” he assured as the Impala came into view. You nuzzled your head in the crook of Dean’s neck, his familiar and comforting scent easing some of your pain.

Sam jogged ahead, opening the back door for you and Dean. He slid in and reached across to the front seat, starting the car and turning up the heat as high as it would go. 

“I have a pair of sweatpants in my bag in the trunk,” Dean instructed, as he reached the car. He sat on the edge of the back seat with you in his arms and gently rocked you as he whispered soothing words in your ear. 

Sam crouched in front of you with dry clothes and a blanket in hand. He pulled the shears out of the AED case and began to cut through your pants. Dean did the best he could to help maneuver you, in an effort to keep you covered. Fortunately, his large flannel enveloped you down to your knees. Still in his wet clothes, Sam was starting to shiver. At the mercy of his shaking hands, he struggled momentarily in helping you into Dean’s sweatpants, and you let out a pained and embarrassed whimper.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N/N.” Sam lamented, his eyes creased with sorrow. 

“S'okay S-s-sammy,” you assured, your voice still hoarse. Sam successfully slipped a pair of dry socks on your feet, and he and Dean worked to wrap you in a blanket. 

While Sam changed into dry clothes, Dean rubbed your back and arms hoping to restore some warmth to your frozen body. When Sam returned, Dean stood up with you and pressed a kiss to your temple before handing you over. 

Sam held you close and slid into the back seat. Once he was situated, he made sure you were comfortable, and you gave a weak nod. Dean grabbed another blanket from the trunk and draped it over you and Sam. He shut your door and moved to the driver’s side, sliding into his seat. He directed all of the vents so they were blowing hot air toward the back of the car. 

Dean caught Sam’s glance in the rear view mirror and they shared a long look of anxious relief. Dean nodded in understanding, and Sam’s eyes fell back to you. He cupped your face in his hand and pulled you closer, placing a kiss in your hair.    

Before putting the car in gear, Dean paused to watch the two people he loved most in this world. The sight of you and Sam solidifying his unwavering vow to protect his family above all else.

Masterlist

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #supernatural whump #spn fanfic #spn whump #cpr #resus #resuscitation

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 39, Part 2 (The Trial)

James has been resistant to retiring, but his aches and pains have slowed him down. He approaches Downstar and is honored for his tireless service.

[Image ID: James sits in the middle of the screen.]

It was strange for Weedfoot to consider herself to be even close to elder age. Still, there she was, watching her mate throw off the caretaker title and become an elder. He put on a show for Downstar and the others, claiming that he wanted to continue his service, to guide his kits through apprenticeship, but was “too easily exhausted” to continue his vigilant protection of the camp and all within. Now it was somewhat true; camp duties were his favorite, and walks around the territory had begun to tire him. But Weedfoot was certain that her fellow perceptive Clanmates saw the truth of it all.

James was finally old enough to retire without being called lazy, and he was taking that opportunity like a kit hunts a mossball.

Weedfoot let her mate celebrate his retirement with Parsley and Rabbitjoy. She would have plenty of time with him later, so why not let him brag to his friends about how easy his life would be now? Instead, as the Clan dismissed and Downstar went to her den, Weedfoot followed Downstar. The tortoiseshell leader was a bit like her old, friendly self now that she had Rustshade to pour her worries on, but since Harvest Moon a few days prior…

“Downstar?” Weedfoot called into the leader’s den. Downstar had been about to step into her nest, but turned at the sound of her deputy’s call.

“Something the matter?” Downstar asked. Weedfoot hesitated, unsure how to open the conversation. Paleshade would have known; she was always closer to Downstar than Weedfoot, even compared to the first moons of RippleClan, when the leader and deputy duo flowed together like birds flying in formation.

“I spoke with Rustshade and Mousesong earlier today.” Weedfoot entered the den and took a cautious seat a couple tail-lengths away. “Both will be ready for the trial tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

“So soon?” Downstar sighed.

“By AshClan standards, this has been tediously slow,” Weedfoot said with a forced chuckle. The tensed muscles under Downstar’s fluffy coat killed Weedfoot’s laugh.

“StarClan,” Downstar groaned, walking toward the exit. “The first trial in RippleClan’s history… and I have to try my own kits.” Downstar paused and stared out at camp. Weedfoot joined her. Downstar’s gaze rested on a group of three outside the warrior’s den. Rustshade leaned close to Shadowdrop and Wildclaw, as he was prone to do in recent days. They were more than likely discussing their plan of attack for the trial once again. The pair of siblings couldn’t leave camp without escorts while they awaited their trial, and the wait physically dragged on Wildclaw. Even as she listened to Rustshade, she glanced toward the camp exit.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Weedfoot sighed. “This is a fine mess we’ve found ourselves in.”

“How can I hope to judge them fairly when all I see are three healthy grandkits and my son acting like the father he’s dreamed of being?” Downstar turned back and marched into her nest. “The story doesn’t feel real to me.”

“Try not to think about the story too much,” Weedfoot reminded her. “You need to be as open-minded as possible for the trial.”

“I will be,” Downstar growled, tail fluffing. “I don’t give anyone special privileges. If they did something wrong, I’ll punish them, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” Weedfoot stiffened. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know they were ready.” Weedfoot bowed to her leader.

Yet as Weedfoot turned to go, Downstar groaned, “Wait, wait. Don’t leave, Weedfoot. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should not have snapped at you.” Weedfoot hesitated. She slowly approached Downstar and sat beside her. “I haven’t been able to talk to Rustshade while he’s preparing to defend my kits. I can’t deny my current feelings about this mess.”

“We’re conducting this trial together,” Weedfoot reminded her. “If anyone can listen to your worries about it now, I can.” Downstar sighed. She relaxed slightly and shifted closer to Weedfoot.

“Why did they have to go about it like this?” Downstar sighed.

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Shadowdrop is charged with endangering a queen and stealing her kits. Wildclaw shares the charge. Rustshade acts as their defender and Mousesong as their inquisitor.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw stand behind Rustshade. The three all watch Mousesong stride forward.]

---

Practically the entirety of RippleClan took the day off to bear witness to the first trial in their young history. Rabbitjoy would still need to cook and they couldn’t simply leave their borders unchecked, but if a cat could stay in camp, they did. Who would want to miss such a spectacle?

Each of the original four Clans had their own traditions for a trial, which meant RippleClan needed their own, and quickly. The Clan had Rattlepelt to thank for their final idea. As the subjects of the trial, Shadowdrop and Wildclaw each wore tight leather bands around their necks, almost like the strange collars of human society. Rustshade had a smaller band around his front paw, a symbol of the defender empathizing and placing themself in the paws of their charges. Mousesong, as inquisitor, had the most elaborate adornment; a necklace lined with beautiful clam shell beads, dyed blue with dogwood bark. The beads clacked together as Mousesong moved like the soft whispers of StarClan taking their place as quiet judges.

Downstar sat on top of the Shiprock, with Weedfoot settled below her, eyeing the Clan for any disruptions to the trial. Fennelspot sat to the side of the rock, fidgeting with the sand under his paws. The sunrise burned across the ocean and covered the camp in warm orange light. The shadows concealed Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who sat by the nursery with four kits. Troutkit had opened her eyes the day before and babbled random sounds that vaguely resembled words, but the litter of three black kits were still quiet and shut off from the world.

“A trial is a sacred duty of a just leader,” Downstar declared, all eyes on her. “To decide on guilt and punishment for a crime such as this without hearing from the Clan would be the act of a tyrannical leader. This is why we have our codekeepers; with them, we honor our laws and protect one another.” Shadowdrop’s gaze fell to his paws at the mention of codekeepers.

“A trial demands silence from the audience,” Weedfoot called. “Do not interrupt the proceedings unless there is an emergency. If you need to speak to me, please wave me down and do not draw attention away from the trial.” Weedfoot stared at the elder’s den with that statement. James had his five kits gathered around him. Most were polite and sat quietly, studying the trial, but Lavenderkit squirmed and trotted around his family. Waspkit smacked his brother and forced him to sit. 

“Inquisitor,” Downstar said, turning to Mousesong, “are you ready to provide evidence of code-breaking and prove the guilt of the accused?”

“I am, Downstar,” Mousesong huffed, her necklace clinking as she nodded.

“Defender,” Downstar continued, looking to Rustshade, “are you ready to protect your Clanmates from undue punishment?”

“I am,” Rustshade said.

“And…” Downstar said. She hesitated for a moment as she made eye contact with her son and daughter. “And accused, are you prepared to accept the outcome of this trial, whatever it may be?”

“We are,” Shadowdrop said, unflinching.

“Then inquisitor, explain the purpose of this trial,” Downstar declared, laying down with her paws dangling off the tip of the Shiprock. Mousesong stood and faced the rest of RippleClan.

“Shadowdrop and Wildclaw share the charges of endangering a queen and her kits,” Mousesong began. Her gaze lingered on each of her Clanmates for a few long seconds before moving onto the next cat. “In this, the pair stole three kits from their mother’s belly and left the queen to suffer birthing complications and eventually pass onto wherever the souls of loners go to rest. Today, I will prove to you, cats of RippleClan, that Shadowdrop coerced a loner into having his kits in an attempt to fill the emotional hole left by Carnationspeckle’s rejection of him. In doing this, he recruited Wildclaw to bear witness to the birth and take the kits to RippleClan, where the molly of Shadowdrop’s desires would feel compelled to nurse and care for his children, just as Shadowdrop dreamed.” Oilstripe reflexively moved in front of Carnationspeckle at the mention of the brown molly’s name. 

“Today, I intend to prove that Shadowdrop acted not out of love, but of selfish desire that cost a young molly her life. I also intend to prove that Wildclaw shares this guilt as an accomplice to the stealing of Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit.” Mousesong looked back to Downstar as she said the names of the three newborn kits. Downstar nodded, and Mousesong sat back down.

“Defender,” Downstar said, “how do you refute these charges?”

“The code my charges are accused of breaking is the Code of Queens and Kits,” Rustshade said. Rather than facing the crowd, Rustshade remained focused on Downstar. “However, in the process of this accusation and investigation, members of our Clan have also broken this code. This code is meant to protect kits and their parents from undue harassment, and yet Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot set off to investigate Shadowdrop’s claims, thereby breaking the code themselves.” Clammask tried to speak, but Scrubmask harshly nudged her, keeping her silent.

“This code allows for the breeding of kits with cats outside of the Clan in order to encourage the growth of our numbers and strength of our blood. We may memorize this code as applying to mollies who become pregnant, but it applies to toms who bring their kits to camp as well. Shadowdrop had no romantic ties to the mother of his kits. He did not break the code in this way. He cannot be blamed for the death of his queen because upon leaving her, she displayed no signs of the fatal condition that would befall her.”

“She had a name, Dad!” Clammask finally snapped. Parsley, Waspkit, and Rabbitjoy yowled their agreement.

“Quiet, quiet!” Weedfoot yowled over them.

“So I have to be quiet but you can yowl all you want?” Lavenderkit hissed at his brother.

“No one should be yowling,” James huffed, flicking his tail over both toms’ noses.

“Clammask brings up a good point, despite her interruption,” Downstar sighed. “The queen’s name was Cinderella. We should refer to her as such. She may not have been a Clan cat, but we owe her enough respect to use her name.” Mousesong and Rustshade bowed slightly.

“Cinderella’s death is a tragedy,” Rustshade continued, “but she had no intention of joining RippleClan and had no romantic relationship with Shadowdrop. At the heart of the situation, this was not a break in the code, as I intend to show you today.”

“Very good,” Downstar said. “The inquisitor and defender will take turns calling their witnesses to give statements before the Clan. They will both ask questions of the witness and present appropriate evidence during each interview. The inquisitor will call her first witness.”

“I have many witnesses I plan to call today,” Mousesong declared, “such as Clammask, Waspkit, and Carnationspeckle. However, there is one witness that overshadows the rest in importance. I call to bear witness before RippleClan and StarClan… Cinderella.” RippleClan stared at Mousesong. No one dared speak up. Then Oilstripe slipped away from Carnationspeckle. Traditionally, witnesses were supposed to sit next to the deputy, but Oilstripe left a large space beteeen herself and Weedfoot.

“Mousesong, Oilstripe, explain this,” Downstar ordered.

“Not long after Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot returned to camp with news of Cinderella’s demise,” Mousesong explained, “Oilstripe began to see a new spirit wandering camp. We all know of her ghost sight, as verified by Fennelspot, so this in and of itself is not surprising. Yet this spirit lacked the same starry pelts as StarClan spirits and looked nothing like any cat Oilstripe knew of. This cat was Cinderella. She has agreed to answer questions with Oilstripe as an interpreter.”

“Objection!” Rustshade yowled. “Oilstripe has never reported seeing the spirit of a cat outside StarClan in the past. Even then, how can we trust that she’s reporting exactly what this spirit says?”

“Thank you for the trust, Dad,” Oilstripe muttered.

“We treat the testimony just like we would treat anyone else’s,” Mousesong explained. “I’m sure StarClan wouldn’t accept a perversion of their gift. If Oilstripe were to add her own words to the testimony, StarClan will likely inform Fennelspot.”

“Incredibly unorthodox,” Downstar muttered, “but I don’t know a time in living history when a Clan has been able to take a dead molly’s testimony. Oilstripe, do you swear to report only what the spirit of Cinderella tells you?”

“I do,” Oilstripe said, glancing overhead at her leader.

“Then begin your interview, inquisitor,” Downstar declared.

[Image ID: Mousesong speaks with Oilstripe. The ghost of a smoky black molly with a white collar stands next to Oilstripe. Oilstripe/Cinderella say “We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”]

Mousesong approached Oilstripe with a calculated gaze. She glanced at the empty spot beside her.

“I hope your afterlife is peaceful, Cinderella,” Mousesong said to the empty space. “I’m sure Rustshade will be questioning you on how you can exist when we thought Oilstripe only saw StarClan spirits. Do you have any answers for us?” Oilstripe’s ears tilted to the empty space. She was quiet for a while, listening to something no one else could hear.

“My mother told me that when I died, I would spend a year in the land I left behind, making sure my loved ones are safe before I move on,” Oilstripe said, although it would be more truthful to say that Cinderella said so. “This is just what I expected. Since I died, I thought it would be good to make sure my kits went to a good home.”

“Yes, your kits,” Rustshade huffed. He marched up beside Mousesong. His focus shifted between Oilstripe and where everyone presumed the spirit of Cinderella sat. “Kits you had with the young black tom behind me, am I correct?”

“She’s nodding,” Oilstripe reported.

“Is it true that you agreed to give the kits to RippleClan long before their birth?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe squirmed as she waited for Cinderella’s response.

“I think you’ve made her nervous,” Oilstripe admitted, shifting closer to the Shiprock.

“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Mousesong sighed. “You find that you’ve died, you find a stranger who can see you, and you’re suddenly thrust into the ritual of a strange group. I can’t relate to being dead, but I understand feeling strange. I came to RippleClan when I was young. Everyone decided my fate for me. I imagine that’s a bit like what you’ve experienced as a loner, am I correct?” Oilstripe listened for a long time.

“Froggy told me about the Clans,” Oilstripe/Cinderella explained. “I didn’t want to live in one, but I liked what you could do. I thought if I could cook prey for my sister and I, it would be easier to live away from humans. I asked a few cats I saw near your borders, but none seemed interested in talking to me until I met Shadowdrop.”

“Yes, elaborate on your relationship with Shadowdrop,” Mousesong urged her on.

“We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”

“Did he tell you why he wanted to have kits?”

“He wanted a family.”

“Yes, a desire that the code has clear-cut provisions for!” Rustshade interrupted. “This only proves my argument, Downstar. Shadowdrop was not romantically involved with Cinderella, it was a deal as simple as the ones mollies make with strange sires.”

“That may be true,” Mousesong huffed, “but we have yet to get to the kitting itself. Can you take us through it, Cinderella?” Shadowdrop shifted closer to Wildclaw.

“When I felt the kits coming, I went to RippleClan,” Oilstripe translated for Cinderella. “Shadowdrop told me about all the medicines in the Clans, so I thought we would have the kits there. We met up nearly every day, so I knew where to wait for him. When he saw me, he told me to stay strong and went to fetch help.”

“He brought back Wildclaw, yes?” Mousesong clarified. 

“My memory blurs a bit when they get back. I was focused on my kitting. The first two kits came out right, but after the third kit, I felt different. I think there was an issue. It was hard to describe. What I remember is that not long after I cleaned up the third kit, Shadowdrop and his guest left with the kits. I was alone. I wasn’t sure what to do. I headed for home, but I suppose I never made it back.”

“It may be an odd testimony, but members of RippleClan, you’ve heard it from the victim,” Mousesong declared, facing the crowd. “Shadowdrop and Wildclaw left Cinderella behind, in pain, without her kits. Fennelspot could have saved her, but she never got the chance. How can we say this is a simple case of siring when they left Cinderella to die and tried to forget she ever existed?”

“I want to go back to how you said your memory blurs,” Rustshade huffed. “If you don’t remember much, how can we trust that what you do remember is correct?”

“Shadowdrop showed up with three black kits, didn’t he?” As Oilstripe repeated what only she could hear, she glared at Shadowdrop. Another pair of eyes stared at the black tom too, but they were invisible to nearly everyone. Shadowdrop felt the glare of both mollies.

Shadowdrop and Wildclaw are found guilty. Shadowdrop is demoted to a warrior and must spend the next half moon in exile. Wildclaw will be on nursery duty until the litter is apprenticed (a task she hates).

[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw listen to their sentences.]

There were quite a few more witnesses after Cinderella (Waspkit, Clammask, Carnationspeckle, even Oilstripe came back as her own witness) but none could match hers in terms of strangeness. It seemed every interview looped back to what the unseen spirit had said. More than a few cats stepped out of camp to debate whether the loner’s ghost was actually there or if Oilstripe was lying to get Shadowdrop in trouble. Regardless of the truth, Mousesong dug into the statement like prey with every argument she crafted.

Rustshade, oddly enough, only called Wildclaw as a witness. She didn’t have much to add; her brother asked for her help, of course she helped. Shadowdrop, however, stayed where he was, studying his Clanmates, itching at his ceremonial collar.

Downstar took a while to make a decision. She called many members of RippleClan into her den to hear their opinions on the matter like any informed leader would. Despite it all, the wait was like a blanket of fleas crawling across the pelt of RippleClan. Shadowdrop and Wildclaw waited with Rustshade in the center of camp the entire time. While Wildclaw kept pestering Rustshade about what would happen next, Shadowdrop stared at the nursery, where his three squirmy kits slept in the darkness.

Downstar left her den shortly before sunset. Conversations died away and curious eyes watched Downstar climb onto the Shiprock. Shadowdrop sat up and nudged his sister. Weedfoot hurried out of the nursery and took her place below Downstar.

“I have come to my decision,” Downstar announced, studying her kits. “Before I pass my judgment, however, there’s someone we still haven’t heard from today. Shadowdrop?” Shadowdrop met his mother’s eye. “Wildclaw may share your charges, but in essence, you are the one on trial here. You’ve barely spoken today. I need to hear this from you. Tell us the truth, Shadowdrop. Please.” Shadowdrop stood, shaking the sand off his paws.

“I wanted a family, Mom,” Shadowdrop said. “I went about it the only way I could. If I couldn’t have them with Carnationspeckle, I would have them with someone else. I hid the truth at first because I knew people would make the wrong conclusions. I can be a great father. I’ll raise these kits to be model RippleClan cats.” Wildclaw poked Shadowdrop before he could say more. Over by the warrior’s den, Clammask and Oilstripe bristled. 

“Shadowdrop…” Downstar sighed. Her weary eyes washed over the Clan. “There were other ways to start a family. The way you’ve gone about it was irresponsible and selfish. What if Carnationspeckle wasn’t here to nurse your kits? Or did you sire them knowing she would?”

“That’s not what he wanted, Mom,” Wildclaw growled, stepping closer with unsheathed paws.

“Wildclaw, you don’t know what he wanted,” Downstar snapped. “You followed him out into the territory and didn’t ask questions. You don’t think these things through, Wildclaw, and it shows.” Wildclaw froze. She sat back beside Shadowdrop. Downstar sighed deeply, a shiver running down her pelt. As she relaxed, she sat taller and glared down at Shadowdrop and Wildclaw.

“Warriors of StarClan, may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect RippleClan. Shadowdrop, Wildclaw, I find you guilty of endangering a queen and her kits. Your act of siring may be protected by the code, but you left a struggling mother to die and took away her kits. No matter what deal you may have made, you were cruel. All you cared about was having kits that you could watch Carnationspeckle nurse.”

“That’s not true!” Shadowdrop yowled. “I… I was…” Shadowdrop’s eyes bounced in his skull, searching for answers he couldn’t find.

“Shadowdrop, your attempt to sneak around the Code of Queens and Kits shows me that you cannot be trusted to guard the code in the future,” Downstar said. Her tone was still and steady. “Upon your return, you will no longer be a codekeeper, but a warrior assigned to whatever tasks your Clan needs.”

“Mom…” Shadowdrop gulped.

“When he returns?” Wildclaw snapped. “What does that mean?”

“Cinderella agreed to your deal in order to learn our skills and better survive as a loner,” Downstar explained. “You showed no compassion for her, and so should get a glimpse of what she may have experienced. For the next half moon, you will live in exile. You will not be allowed in RippleClan territory and must care for yourself like Cinderella did.” Shadowdrop stared up at Downstar. He kept still, but his jaw quivered and the tip of his tail twitched wildly. “In other circumstances, this could have been a permanent exile, Shadowdrop. Reflect on that. Mousesong, escort Shadowdrop out of RippleClan territory.” 

Rustshade gently helped Shadowdrop out of his ceremonial collar. Shadowdrop’s scared gaze tore into the nursery as Mousesong nudged him back. RippleClan parted as Mousesong shoved Shadowdrop out of camp. Halibutdusk looked at his paws as his brother passed. Downstar couldn’t look away.

“Wildclaw,” she finally said after a long, pain-soaked minute. “You could have helped Cinderella, but you didn’t. I believe you have perspectives on Clan life that need to be corrected. As such, until Shadowdrop’s litter is apprenticed, you will be on nursery duty. You will not be allowed on any other patrols and will care for the kits’ every need.”

“I don’t need to be in the nursery all day!” Wildclaw groaned. 

“You do and you will, Wildclaw!” Downstar yowled. “There will be no bargaining. Your punishment is set. May StarClan forgive you both. This trial is over.” Downstar soared off the Shiprock and sulked into her den. Halibutdusk was the first of the Clan to step out of the crowd. He headed for his mother’s den. Wildclaw struggled and pulled at her collar. Rattlepelt had to pull her paw away and help her before she broke the leather. Oilstripe hurried to the nursery, Weedfoot’s kits slipped around her to find their mother, and the Clan carefully broke into heated whispers.

With that, RippleClan’s first trial was finally over.

(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Mousesong: 15, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 83, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wildclaw: 31, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Shadowdrop: 31, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 43, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 31, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #weedfoot #oilstripe #james #shadowdrop #wildclaw #mousesong #rustshade #halibutdusk #waspkit #clammask #lavenderkit

[bultaoreunheyyy]

Sleepyhead

Title: Sleepyhead

Word Count: 2261

Summary: Nothing can wake a sick Taehyung up when he’s sleeping, except for maybe a sneeze. 

Sickie: Taehyung (snz/cold/flu)

Caretakers: Jimin, plus the others 

A/N: I wrote this with Taehyung as the sickie, since he was #2 in this poll, and also wrote it with Jungkook (#1 in poll) for an upcoming scene in long sickfic w/out title so stay tune for that soon!

Jimin’s legs are falling asleep.

He shifts a bit back and forth on the couch, testing how much he’s going to be able to move without waking Taehyung, who’s currently using his lap as a pillow, but Taehyung only keeps snoring and doesn’t react in the slightest.

Jimin sets his book on the arm of the couch and slowly unfolds his legs from their crossed position. He stretches one foot out in front of him, then the other, pointing his toes forward and sighing in relief at the pull in his aching muscles. He shifts again, leaning slightly to one side until he feels a satisfying pop in his back. He rolls his shoulders a few times for good measure and then carefully palms Taehyung’s forehead.

Taehyung is still warm, still feverish, but it’s to be expected. Jimin cards his hands through the sleeping man’s hair, smoothing it all back from his face until it’s fanned out around his head. 

Suddenly, Taehyung’s nose twitches, and Jimin sighs because he knows what’s coming next. He reaches over and plucks two tissues from the box that’s resting between Taehyung’s arm and the back of the couch, bringing them up to Taehyung’s face as he waits for the inevitable.

Taehyung’s current snore breaks off into a half-snort, half-cough, and his eyelashes flutter. His nose twitches again, his reddened nostrils flaring wide, and then Taehyung sniffles hard enough that his nose scrunches up.

“Poor thing,” Jimin murmurs as he watches Taehyung’s struggle. “Can’t even get a nap in without needing to sneeze.”

Taehyung’s lips part and he sniffles again, the sound more insistent this time. Jimin tucks the tissues around his nose and Taehyung’s eyes open just a fraction.

“Hhng,” he whines softly, congestion stopping the sound from coming out fully. 

Jimin peers down at him. “Hey, Tae. Go ahead and sneeze. I’ve got tissues.” 

“Huh?” Taehyung’s brows furrow.

Jimin pats him on the chest. “Go ahead.”

“Go…” Taehyung pulls in a shaky breath. “Hhg?”

With a soft laugh, Jimin nudges the tissues against Taehyung’s nose, but the sneeze never comes. Instead, Taehyung lets out a tiny, weak cough and then blinks hard several times, trying to keep his eyes open for long enough to focus on Jimin’s face. 

“That tickles,” he whispers, bringing one hand up to paw at his nose. His hand bumps Jimin’s hand and he whimpers when he can’t push the offending ticklish tissues away. 

“Oh,” Jimin chuckles, quickly pulling the tissues away from his nose. “I thought you were gonna sneeze. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” 

After a long pause, Taehyung tries to open his eyes again. “Don’t wanna…sleep.” 

“Do you want to blow your nose first? Here, go ahead.” Jimin situates the tissues around Taehyung’s nose once again. “Blow.” 

Taehyung snorts and sniffles but does not blow his nose.

Waiting patiently, Jimin pats Taehyung on the chest again. Taehyung doesn’t respond. With one hand, Jimin fishes his phone out of his pocket to text Jungkook, asking him to bring a cool compress and some other supplies.

Just when Jimin thinks Taehyung has fallen asleep again, he turns his head just slightly and sniffles wetly before he murmurs, “Jimin?”

“I’m right here. Go ahead and blow your nose.”

“Wanna go on a walk,” he murmurs instead after another full minute of silence.

“A what?” Jimin laughs. “Taehungie, dear, you can’t even stand right now. No walks today, okay?”

Taehyung doesn’t hear him. He’s already asleep again.

He doesn’t truly wake up after that for a few more hours, instead drifting in and out of consciousness, feverish and exhausted. 

During that time, Jungkook brings a new fever patch and a cool compress along with a much needed cup of coffee for Jimin.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jimin moans into his coffee cup. 

“You’re gonna get sick too, you know,” is Jungkook’s reply. While he’s been very attentive to both his and Taehyung’s needs, continuously checking on both of them and bringing anything Jimin asks for, he’s worried about germs and he’s sure to let Jimin know everytime he comes near.

“I have a great immune system,” Jimin counters. 

Jungkook nods knowingly and leans on the back of the couch, his hand traveling to the back of Jimin’s neck. He massages there for a few minutes, and Jimin moans because he’s been sitting on the couch for the entire day and Jungkook’s strong hands know exactly how to find the knots in the neck.

When he’s done, Jungkook reaches down and briefly runs his fingers through Taehyung’s hair in a comforting gesture, but he’s quick to pull away. 

“I’m gonna go wash my hands,” he says. “And go breathe some fresh air. Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Jimin replies, smiling gratefully. 

Taehyung doesn’t move a muscle, staying sound asleep throughout the entire exchange.

It’s a little while later when Seokjin brings Taehyung’s next dose of medicine out to the living room. 

“Has he been this warm this entire time?” He asks Jimin, hand on Taehyung’s forehead.

“No.” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s just in the past fifteen minutes or so that he’s been pretty hot. It’s definitely time for more meds.” 

Seokjin slides his hand down to cup Taehyung’s cheek. Taehyung’s eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t wake, and Seokjin just doesn’t have the heart to wake him up. “He still has fifteen more minutes until he’s due for another dose,” he reasons, pressing the backs of his fingers to the side of Taehyung’s warm neck with a frown. “I’ll go grab him some water first.”

Seokjin brings water and then leaves after about ten minutes, promising to return soon but letting Jimin have the task of waking Taehyung up. 

“I just don’t have the heart to wake him,” is his excuse when he looks at Taehyung’s flushed, sleeping face.

“I understand.” 

After Seokjin leaves, Jimin realizes he’s starting to sweat under the warmth of Taehyung’s body. He also needs a bathroom break, so he eases himself off the couch and stretches his arms above his head. Taehyung snuffles but otherwise remains asleep. When he returns from the bathroom, it takes Jimin another five minutes to properly coax Taehyung awake, and he only stays awake long enough to let Jimin prop him upright and tip the medicine into his mouth, and then he swallows one single sip of water before he’s out again. 

Taehyung is still snoring away in Jimin’s lap when Hoseok and Yoongi return home from their long meeting. 

As soon as Hoseok is through the door, Jimin can hear him loudly explaining something to Yoongi, boisterous and full of energy like usual. When Yoongi spots Taehyung asleep on the couch, though, he puts a finger to his lips. It takes Hoseok a second to see him, and when he realizes he spins around.

“Oh! Sorry,” he whispers when he sees Taehyung and Jimin on the couch.  

Jimin just smiles and goes back to his book, tightening his arm around Taehyung protectively. Taehyung doesn’t even stir. 

When Namjoon comes to find Taehyung, he’s still sleeping in Jimin’s embrace.

“I was thinking of making him a doctor appointment,” Namjoon tells Jimin, keeping his voice low. He settles on the arm of the couch and reaches down, rubbing his hand up and down Taehyung’s arm. “I don’t really want to do it without his input but I haven’t been able to catch him awake all day.”

Jimin chuckles and sets his book down. “I say go ahead and make it. Earlier he was agreeable to the idea of going to get shots and maybe an IV if he wasn’t feeling better. 

Namjoon nods. “Okay. Will do. We can always change it later.” Glancing down at Taehyung, fondness mixed with a bit of worry in his expression, he sighs. “And how are you feeling?”

“So far, so good.” Jimin gives a thumbs up. He reaches down and brushes his fingers over Taehyung’s forehead. “Hopefully I’ll avoid catching this. He’s been having a rough time.” 

Taehyung murmurs something in his sleep and Jimin draws his hand back. Taehyung remains asleep, though, and soon he goes back, cupping his face and rubbing his thumb back and forth across his fever-hot cheek. 

“I’ll text you the details in case you want to share with Tae when he wakes up and I'm not here,” Namjoon says, and then he leaves to make the phone call. 

Jimin picks up his phone and sees that he has three texts from Jungkook, all asking if he wants something: want me to pick up more tissues at the store? and want to go to the movies on saturday if tae is better? and I’m by the cafe do u want another coffee?

He’s replying to the texts– yes, sounds fun, and YES PLEASE– when he hears a sound across the room.

“Oh.” Yoongi’s standing in the space between the couch and the kitchen, a cup of steaming hot tea cradled between his hands. “I didn’t realize he was still sleeping.”

“Poor thing is so tired,” Jimin confirms.

Yoongi walks over and sets the tea on the coffee table and then disappears back into the kitchen. A short while later, he returns with two more mugs, one for himself and one for Jimin.

They sit and sip on their tea. Taehyung sleeps on. Even when they’re done, and Jimin is ready to get back to his book, Taehyung is still asleep, snoring away with his head in Jimin’s lap. 

“I’ll make him more when he wakes up,” Yoongi says with a small smile. He picks up the mug, freezing when Taehyung suddenly sniffles.

Jimin looks down and sees Taehyung’s eyelashes fluttering. He reaches down and rubs his chest, waiting for him to fall back asleep or wake up. Yoongi sets the mug back down on the coffee table in case it’s the latter, and Taehyung’s lips part with a small whimper.

“Hey,” Jimin says, rubbing his chest some more. “It’s okay, Tae. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow. “Nnndhh.”

“Shh, you’re okay.” 

Taehyung’s nostrils flare, and Jimin’s eyes widen. “Oh!” He quickly grabs a tissue and holds it up to Taehyung’s face. Nose twitching, Taehyung sucks in a breath, and then his eyes flutter open only to slam shut in the next second as a massive sneeze barrels out of him.

The sneeze is so loud that it makes Jimin’s ears ring and Yoongi, despite having seen it coming, clasps a hand to his chest in surprise. 

A minute later, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin all come out to check on Taehyung.

“Sounds like someone is awake,” Namjoon says with a smile.

“That was some sneeze, Tae,” Hoseok comments. “Bless you!”

Jimin and Yoongi chuckle and watch as Taehyung sniffles and paws at his nose, eyes half closed. 

“Still waking up,” Namjoon amends his earlier statement.

There’s a sudden loud knock on the door– it sounds more like a kick– and Seokjin hurries over to check the peephole. He opens the door immediately to reveal Jungkook standing there with two trays filled with various to-go beverages. 

“Sorry,” he grins. “I didn’t have any hands to knock.” He looks past Seokjin and spots Taehyung sitting up on the couch, hair sticking up in all directions as he scrubs at his red nose. “Oh, shit, did I wake him up?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nope, he just woke up a few minutes ago.” He takes one of the trays and carries it into the living room.

Jungkook passes out iced coffees to everyone, and a cup of hot tea to Taehyung. “The barista said it’s sweet, but good,” he says, and Taehyung smiles blearily up at him before taking a sip. He still looks half asleep, and a minute later he’s handing Jimin his cup and sliding back into a reclining position. 

“Anyone want to keep me and Taehyungie company?” Jimin asks the room. “We can put on a movie?”

Jungkook nods and chooses the seat furthest from the pair. He pulls his knees to his chest, sipping on his iced coffee and giving a pleased hum.

Taehyung is asleep again before the movie even starts. They keep the volume low, but Taehyung is a dead weight against Jimin, snoring softly and not so much as flinching even when one of them laughs or the movie gets loud. As the movie is ending, though, he moans softly, his eyelashes fluttering. Jimin runs his fingers through his hair and smiles down at him.

“You waking up, sleepyhead?” He asks.

Taehyung’s face scrunches up. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he rolls over halfway until he’s on his side, nuzzling his nose against Jimin’s stomach. He sniffles, a low whine in his throat when Jimin pats his hip.

“Let’s get you to your bed, hmm?”

Very slowly, Taehyung opens one eye, then the other. He peers up at Jimin and hunches forward like he’s trying to curl up into a ball. He starts to move one hand up towards his face, but it smacks into Jimin’s elbow. He whimpers congestedly in frustration.

And then, he sneezes.

It’s not particularly loud, as far as a Taehyung-sneeze goes, but it is aimed directly at Jimin, completely uncovered, and forceful enough that it shakes the entire couch. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.

“Wow,” Jungkook eventually says from across the room. He has a blanket wrapped around his entire head and body like he thinks it might help shield him from the germs. “Ohh, yeah. You are so gonna get sick, Jimin.” 

#bts sickfic #sickfic #bts snz #sick bts #fever #sick taehyung #caretaker jimin #caretaker seokjin #caretaker hoseok #caretaker yoongi #caretaker jungkook #caretaker namjoon #bts hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #taehyung snz

[whumpwillow]

a whumpee who used to live in luxury. A royal, a noble, something else equally as wealthy? They were cared for beyond belief, wearing soft clothes and sleeping on silk sheets and bathing in palatial pools while servants massaged scented oils into their hair.

and then they lose everything. they suffer and are hurt irrevocably. theyre thrown in the dirt. theyre forced to wear the same clothes day in and day out. they have to do all the work for themselves because there arent any more servants to do it for them. theyre filthy and exhausted and aching and yet they must continue.

then caretaker comes into the picture. draws them a bath. whumpee doesnt remember how long its been since theyve had a warm one, or even how long its been since they were clean. caretaker helps wash their hair, their face. theyre gentle, so gentle, more than whumpee knows they deserve.

It’s not like how it used to be. It’s not in a gold-lined tub with expensive scented oils and rose petals. but its the best thing whumpee has ever experienced. he doesn’t care that its a little haphazard, just that caretaker cares enough to do this for him and wanted to help him.

#today on really specific tropes #platonic bathing trope my beloved #whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whumpee #whump tropes #whump scenario

[kabie-whump]

Oh! You're willing to take whump writing requests? 👀

If so... could you write a Whumpee and Caretaker getting into a bad argument, and Whumpee storms out, only to be kidnapped and not heard from ever since? And Caretaker feels SO GUILTY to the point they blamed themself for arguing with Whumpee over something so trivial? It's okay if not, but ever since reading your bandit story, I would love to see more stuff from you, especially if you're up to writinf my favorite tropes! :O

-- @whumperofworlds

Yeah absolutely I'll write that and I'm gonna make it Onthyes and Ventis :)

~~~

Onthyes hands Shayah Ventis's journal when she opens the door. "Can you give this to Ventis, please?" he asks. "He left it at my place."

Shayah takes the journal slowly, her brow furrowing. "He's not here, blondie. I thought he was with you."

"What?"

Ventis doesn't have a place of his own so he's constantly bouncing between Onthyes's and Shayah's respective homes on a whim. If he isn't with Onthyes he can always expect to find him at Shayah's.

So where is he?

"He left mine late last night. I thought he was coming here."

"You didn't go with him? You escort him everywhere."

Onthyes feels his palms start to sweat, his heart racing. He never lets Ventis go out alone, especially late at night. The genasi bitches at him about it all the time but Onthyes always insists, knowing that Ventis is a bright sparkly beautiful target for lowlifes of all kinds. Even now that he's finally gaining control over his magic Onthyes has never left him out on his own.

But last night, when Ventis had stormed out with a literal cloud thundering over his head, Onthyes hadn't followed. He'd said he wanted space, and for the first time Onthyes had given it to him.

Shit.

"We had an argument," Onthyes admits. "He didn't want me to go with him."

"That's never stopped you before."

"I know!"

Shayah's eyebrows climb higher on her face at Onthyes's raised voice. She steps inside, grabbing her cloak and her bag, and then joins Onthyes outside and locks the door behind herself.

"Come on," she says. "We're gonna find him. If we're lucky he's just shacked up with some handsome stranger and he'll be on one of our doorsteps soon."

That would not be lucky at all for Onthyes. The idea makes him feel sick. Even if Ventis doesn't offically belong to him the thought of him going out and finding someone else to sleep with feels so so wrong.

They comb through all of Ventis’s favorite places: the library, the tavern, the market by the harbor, all to no avail. They even wander by a dingy little nightspill den just in case the fight had been bad enough for him to relapse but luckily they don’t see him there either.

By the time night comes Onthyes is in a state of panic. He can’t decide which possibility is worse: that Ventis decided he never wants to see him again or that something happened to him.

Oh gods, what if something happened to him?

What if someone grabbed him off the street? What if his withdrawl-induced hallucinations returned and he wandered off, chasing shadows into the middle of nowhere?

(Click here to travel to an alternate timeline!)

A week goes by. Onthyes doesn’t rest. He becomes obsessed with searching for any sign of Ventis, but every passing day of finding nothing brings him closer to the verge of insanity. Shayah has to force him to eat and rest on multiple occasions.

One one such night, Onthyes dissolves into exhausted, guilty tears on Shayah's couch.

"It was such a small thing," he chokes out, hugging a throw pillow to his chest. "He'd met some new friends and he liked them but I thought they seemed like trouble and I was scared that he'd relapse if he wasn't careful with who he saw. You know how hard it was to get him sober the first time so I really didn't want any of us to have to go through that again but he took it as me not trusting his judgement-"

"To be fair, we shouldn't trust his judgement."

"But you know that's a cruel thing to say. Especially to him. Especially when he's just started being able to trust his own mind again."

Shayah sighs, tipping her head back and blowing out smoke from her pipe. "I know, blondie. I know."

Onthyes scrubs the tears from his eyes. Moping around isn't going to help him find Ventis, but Shayah has forbidden him from going out searching again tonight.

"It's all my fault," he whisperes. "I felt hurt cause he didn't appreciate that I really just want to keep him safe. But I should've followed him anyway."

"He'll turn up."

And he does turn up that same night in the form of an exhausted and bloodied body collapsing against Shayah's door in the dead of night, the sound rousing Onthyes from his fitful sleep on the couch.

~~~

Might continue this later :)

Ventisposting taglist: @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

#whump #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #oc #original character #oc whump #nonhuman whumpee #tw kidnapping #whumpee x caretaker #ventisposting #ventis

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.

#okay yeah this does deviate slightly from the ask but #close enough in my defense i got excited and ran a tad wild #Love unaware displays of horrifying power!! #Remeber that the person giggiling drunkenly in your party is more than capible of killing you at any moment <3 #magical whumpee #unaware whumper #whumpee turned whumper #delirious whumpee #out of it whumpee #an ask tag #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumblr #my stuff

[lovedianagrey]

hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names. 

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.  

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out. 

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore. 

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a  Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion. 

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. 

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process. 

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings,  Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards. 

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it. 

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

#soukoku fanfiction #skk #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fanfic recommendations #skk fanfiction #double black #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai

[georgiapeach30513]

The One to Sacrifice, Part 3

Summary: being here is getting to you.

Pairings: Raleigh Becket X Reader, Johnny Storm X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings:  language, mentions of cheating, mentions of secrets, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

The moment your father had told you the pond had been scraped you were ready to get back on the ice, but you had responsibilities now, and they involved making sure your niece was taken care of. Everyone else’s lives got to go on living like they always did, but yours changed the moment that Mike had passed away. You became her sole caretaker. Her confidant. Her shoulder to cry on. Her everything.

“So I get to play hockey here?” She looks up at you sleepily. So far Tanzy had enjoyed being here. You had your doubts. Hopefully it would make taking care of yourself easier. As far as your personal life went, it was much more difficult. Small towns had the tendency to do that.

“Yes, darling, now go to sleep,” you whisper, giving a kiss to her forehead.

“Did my dad love hockey?”

“Your dad and uncle Frank loved hockey. Him, Frank, Johnny, and…”

“That man that brought us home?” She peeks up through her lashes at you with the most mischievous grin, and you just nod. “Did you ever kiss him?”

“Go to sleep,” your voice is a bit more animated, but it doesn’t raise. Playfully covering her eyes she starts giggling uncontrollably. “Tanzy!”

“What? He’s cute. You should kiss him,” you roll your eyes, and settle back on her bed. You need to go out on the ice, so whatever it took for her to settle down, you’d do. “He’s nice, too. He drove us home.”

“Uh huh,” you give a fake yawn that you know she doesn't believe, but you can’t help it. It was late, and you were emotionally exhausted, and only one thing helped. You can already feel the tingle of the chill on your cheeks.

“Did you love him?” Tanzy breaks your daydreaming of just moving on the ice. Giving you the softest and knowing smile as she looks up at you.

“Young love,” you agree. You loved Raleigh in your way, although you never loved him the way he loved you. You didn’t even understand what love was. And then some stupid boy with blue eyes that had the most beautiful bit green in them stole your heart, and you didn’t have the balls to break up with Raleigh.

“You should try again,” she lets out a little yawn, flipping over onto her side. “I don’t want you to be alone like daddy was,” she yawns again, waving her hand at you, “I’m good, go skate.”

This child. She knew that you needed to skate, “Love you, Tanz.”

“Love you, too,” she could very much be faking her sleepiness. She’s done it before. But she wasn’t a baby anymore. She was growing.

With a sigh, you run into the mud room, and grab your things. Putting your skates on sitting on the bench by the pond. Remembering a simpler time and skating with your brothers. Inhaling the frosty air with a smile. Skating on the pond brought back so many memories. A less complicated life. Joy. Laughter. Love.

Making a few rounds on the ice, you try to not think, just exist. Focus on your feet and legs as you launch into the air. Not think about everything that happened. Too much had happened. And even more was bubbling up to the surface, and there was more you hoped never would.

Spinning around, you let the world melt away. Let everything blur out in front of you, but then you feel Johnny’s hands on your body. Blurring into puppy love with Raleigh. Someone you didn’t have to hide. Mike would have killed you. He threatened to kill Johnny when he found out.

You come to a stop in the middle of the ice. Your chest heaving with frustration more than exertion. You really knew how to fuck up things. It’s why you prefer to push people away. Coming back home was smothering you. The only one you couldn’t run away from was Tanzy; because she needs you. Who else would take care of her?

On the one hand was this toxic love based on passion and your bodies. A fire that burned too brightly, leaving you with nothing left but ashes. On the other hand was someone you could make a life with. A life here in a small town in Maine. Things weren’t complicated with Raleigh until…Johnny.

You aren’t even sure you loved Johnny, you just wanted him. Wanted everything he had to offer, and he had big dreams and stars in his eyes that were the same as yours. But he made it. He didn’t sacrifice anything. Kept living his life, and pretending like Tanzy didn’t exist. Mike had counted on him, and he failed. Again.

You take off quickly just wanting to get in the air, and get your mind off — them. You didn’t want either of them quite frankly, and yet they were still both here. What were the odds that Johnny was being forced to be a coach to a girls’ hockey team? And you sigh as your body spins around because there’s a part of you that is lying. You did want something. Honesty, possibly.

You have to think of anything but them. Think about what would have happened if you decided to have a partner. The only one you had ever skated with was Raleigh. You’d giggle as he’d lift you up in the air, and twirl you around. You should have kept things simple, despite his push to turn romantic. No, it was his ability to make you laugh and feel comfortable. Raleigh should have had all your firsts.

You try to imagine a life where things didn’t get fucked up. Where Raleigh came with you to Minnesota. Mike could have still been alive. Tanzy would have had her father, and you would have had your big brother.

You imagine him as your partner. Practically could feel his hands back in yours as you skate around the pond. Life could have been different. Maybe you wouldn’t be thinking about these constant what if’s in your head.

“You…”

“Ahh,” you fall down on the ice, and glare up at Raleigh who stops so abruptly he falls over as well. “What are you doing?”

He sits up, placing both arms on his knees as he gives you that quintessential Raleigh Becket smile, “I came to apologize,” he tilts his head to the side as he looks at you. “I spent all this time feeling like I didn’t get any closure, and…dammit, Pix, I should have been there for you.”

”What?” Your head turns to look at him quickly. Confusion doesn’t even explain what you’re feeling. Or the secrets you were hiding. How did they fit in with Raleigh?

“When Mike died. I shouldn’t have offered my help, I should have just been there. You quit your dream to raise a child that wasn’t your own.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Would you stop,” you look at him confused. What exactly did he mean with that? “You don’t have to be a martyr. You don’t have to do this all alone. You shouldn’t have done it alone. Tanzy…you’ve done a good job on her. You should have had a support system.”

A silence looms between the two of you. Never even getting off the ice. You look up at the stars, and whisper out a thanks to him. Starting to lean into his body a bit before your head lays over on his shoulder. The best thing about Raleigh is the comfort.

“You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

“Is that an invitation?” He can feel the smile that creeps up on your mouth, and you feel the chuckle building up in his chest that he doesn’t want to release. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Is this a Storm thing?” You groan, starting to lift off his shoulder, but he pulls you back down. “Did he mean anything to you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did I?”

You’re unsure how to answer. Because he did mean a lot to you. Johnny is complicated for various reasons. And you have told yourself he meant nothing to you for a long time, but you fear it is to protect yourself the most. Because at the end of the day, you felt like a conquest to Johnny. An easy lay. A virgin.

Raleigh whispers your name, lifting you up to look at him, “Did I mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” you answer with the utmost sincerity. He smiles with glassy eyes, and you hate yourself for the pain you caused him. Not just the lack of closure but the fact he found out about his girlfriend cheating on him. “I loved you. You were my best friend.”

“Why did you do it?” You shrug your shoulders, removing your gaze from his heavy stare. It is too intense, and you can’t fully handle the way he is looking at you. Clinging to any hope you can offer him. “Don’t look away.”

“I don’t know. I told you…it was…”

“You,” he takes a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully. It was years ago, and the pain is still there. Wedged deep inside of him because he didn’t doubt the way he felt. He was completely in love with you then, and nothing had changed. “Because of a school girl crush. He was your first.”

“He was my only,” that didn’t offer much comfort, but you see his face relax a bit. His hands cup your cheeks, leaning his forehead into yours. “Raleigh, I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you didn’t deserve him, his forgiveness, or any of his kindness. But you melt into it. It was the first time in so long you have felt comforted. No one ever bothered to check on you, and even if they did, Raleigh just knew. The the need to run away from everything seems to have stopped. You didn’t want to run anymore. You are tired. “Can we start over?”

“I don’t know what that means, Raleigh,” his eyes flick down to your lips, and you know without him saying anything. “Clarify.”

“Start from the beginning. Forget anything happened.”

“You’re suggesting we’re more than friends?”

“I’m suggesting I want you in my life. I’ve missed you, and my feelings haven’t changed,” if you made friends with girls, maybe they would have told you that he was a man that had never moved on, and that should be a red flag. But you didn’t move on either. You had no desire to make a choice. And at the time there was only one choice you could make. So you ran. You pushed everything into your career, and didn’t let any of those emotions bubble up to the surface. No one knew, and you repressed everything. You didn’t want them to know. You didn’t want to know.

“At your pace.”

“Remind me?” Your mouth tips up in a smile, hoping he didn’t forget what it meant. With a smile that matches your own, his eyes flutter close, and he presses his lips against yours. No one moves, and the kiss is warm and lingering. You still aren’t sure if you ever loved him the way he loved you. Or the way he deserved, but you hope you find it.

You settle into his arms, snuggling closer, and feeling at least comfort. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t love, but it was…something.

“Tanzy, why are you still awake?” Tanzy looks back at her uncle, shushing him before her eyes go back to the ice. “Oh…they didn’t waste time,” he rolls his eyes as he sits down beside his niece. Giving you and his best friend an eye roll. The two of you embrace in a hug before you stand up, and start skating around the ice.

Laughter fills the winter air with a lightness that he hasn’t seen in his friend in a long time. The two of you fall in sync, partnering up, and going with the flow. He sighs as Tanzy flips around in her bed. “They kissed.”

“It wasn’t their first time.”

“But it was like a real kiss,” Frank chuckles, reaching over to pull the covers over both him and Tanzy. “She never kissed anyone back home. I never saw a boy.”

“Don’t make sense out of your aunt.”

“She deserves to have fun. She’s a good aunt. She worked a lot. I never saw her on the ice. And now we’re here, and she’s laughing, and — they were in love, huh?” Frank shrugs his shoulders, retching while Tanzy watches her uncle curiously. “What?”

“Thinking about Raleigh and my sister is weird. He’s a good guy, but it’s…gross. But I know he’s never looked at a woman like he does Pixie.”

“Be happy for her. She didn’t smile a lot. She’s always thinking.”

“About what?” Tanzy yawns, and starts to snuggle into his body, just like she used to with her dad. She didn’t ever want to forget him. But most of what she remembered was through someone else’s memory. “Your dad?”

“No. She has secrets, Frank. Secrets that make her sad.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a kid. Her and dad whispered a lot. She cried a lot, and then she had to take care of me,” she yawns again, and her words get softer. Quieter. “Let her be happy.”

“Go to sleep, and I’ll try,” he gives another quick glance outside, but looks away quickly. You weren’t so much skating as holding onto each other. That weird thing the two of you did when you just touched foreheads together and looked at one another.

Secrets. You had secrets that made you sad. You did leave, and not tell Raleigh goodbye. Wouldn’t return his calls. You didn’t like the idea of “Johnny,” Frank groans. Johnny did something. He always did.

“You and the mechanic,” Tanzy starts to tease you, but you turn around to look at her shaking your head. She was supposed to be getting her gear ready for hockey practice. “Uh huh, I saw you.”

“Skating together is nothing to get too excited about,” after a bit of sleep, you realize that even just a slight peck of a kiss was a horrible idea. Raleigh clearly is still in the zone of everything is perfect, and he can be perfect just for you. It isn’t that you doubt that. But you have only just arrived and there are still so many things swirling in your head, and you are drowning in thoughts. You need to skate, and every time you did there was a man.

“Yeah, but you didn’t just skate. I saw you,” she gives you the sweet mischievous grin that makes you think of Mike, and you can’t even be mad at her. She had this attitude just like Mike and Johnny, always into something, and always ready for a good time.

“I remember now why I hated your dad’s room right there.”

“Why because he watched you kiss that man, too?” Wrapping a hand around her stomach she lets a wave of giggles rush over her. Head leaning back, and you try — try not to laugh with her, but you can’t. She already seems happier here than she did. Being around family is good for her, and a bit suffocating for you.

“Raleigh did watch me skate a lot.”

“Did Johnny?”

“Now what kind of question is that?” Tanzy shrugs her shoulders as she lifts up a duffle bag. “Why would you ask about Johnny?”

“Why are you getting so defensive about Johnny? It was first the mechanic, and now him. Did you kiss Johnny, too? Like the Johnny Storm, did you kiss him?” You stepped right into that. You couldn’t blame her for being curious, but your relationship with Johnny was for nobody’s ears. You buried that and the memories a long time ago.

“Go on, get into the car. Gimma is waiting for us,” you car still hasn't been fixed. You didn’t doubt that Raleigh could, but he of course had other cars ahead of you. With a deep sigh, you watch Tanzy jump into the car with your mom, and you look around the kitchen. Nothing had changed. It brought you a bit of comfort, and still there was that tad of unease that always lingered in places where memories of your brother were the strongest.

Nothing is ever easy here because some things just never change, despite how much is always changing. Just take a deep breath, and go.

Trudging out to your mom’s car makes you feel like a child again, especially going to the rink. You fasten your seatbelt, and look in the rear view mirror, and the sly smile on Tanzy’s face lets you know she’s not letting this go.

“You should invite Raleigh for dinner.”

“Tanzy!”

“He was most likely going to come anyway. I have to make sure all my boys are fed. Him and Frank mosey on in. It would be nice for…” Tanzy starts laughing uncontrollably as your mom rattles on.

“It would be nice if you guys wouldn’t make a big deal about it. Raleigh and I…”

“Yes, yes,” your mom looks at you with an exasperated look. It isn’t the first time that she’s had this conversation with you. “You and Raleigh have always skated together. And skating together always leads to him crawling into your bedroom and watching movies until you pass out, and I tell him to please use the front door instead.”

You glance towards her looking ashamed. You had no idea she actually knew about that. “I allowed him to stay because he made my ice princess happy. I could hear you guys laughing, and you almost never stopped talking, so I didn’t think anything was going on. And then when you actually were dating — honey, nothing ever happened?”

“Tanzy is in the car.”

“I know about kissing!”

“What I mean is you shouldn’t have to stay in your head. Raleigh gave you something more to talk about than skating. He opened up your cold heart. I heard you laugh, and weren’t repeating your routine obnoxiously over and over again. Raleigh made you human, and I hate to think that someone who was your best friend,” starting to interrupt, she covers your mouth with her hand, “I know he and Frank are close, but those two didn’t have what you two had.”

“It would be really weird if they did. I’m glad to know that everyone thinks I’m…”

“Icy,” you shoot a playful glance back at Tanzy, but try to laugh. You weren’t the most personable human in the world, and you never had been. But there is a part of what your mom is saying is right. You did feel differently around Raleigh. He was able to bring out the best of you.

“Well there he is,” your mom smiles and gives Johnny a wave as she pulls into the rink. No one was here. “Tell Johnny I said hey, and he should come by for dinner tonight, and…”

“No!” She looks taken aback as you shout at her. “Just — not yet. We don’t even know how he’s going to be with his goddaughter,” you take a deep breath, and hold your head up high as you get out of the car. Giving a wave to your mom as you give Johnny a terse nod. He’s so full of himself, his smile just gets larger.

He gives your mom a friendly wave, and his hand presses on Tanzy’s back, “Why don’t you go ahead and dress out, there’s some things I’d like to discuss with your aunt.”

“Are you wanting to kiss her, too? Aunt Pixie, you’ve got all the boys,” she gives a little giggle as she runs into the rink, and you follow right behind her.

“Let me guess, you were kissing that Neanderthal Raleigh?” You don’t answer, just walk right into the rink, and have a deep need to skate on its smooth surface. “Wow, okay. So, you won’t give me the time of day even though I know what you taste like, but you’ll let that man kiss you in front of Tanzy.”

Spinning around you glare at him, “That got your attention, ice princess. What does Raleigh have that I don’t? I got the bigger bank account.”

“And you got the bigger head.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,” you shove his shoulder. This is what always irritated you about him; his ease at getting under your skin. “You didn’t even give me the time of day, but you let that man kiss you?”

“Why do you care? It’s not like you couldn’t have any girl that you wanted. And you have. Raleigh is…”

“Hung up on you. We both know it. Did you tell him about us? About how I couldn’t keep my hands off you, and you were just as needy for me?”

“I thought you needed to talk to me about something. Where is everyone?” You did not need to go down this road again. You just wanted for Tanzy to practice, and you to eventually go home, and away from him. He is your kryptonite.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers before he starts walking towards the ice. “Has Tanzy ever played?” You shake your head no, sitting down on a bench, and he joins you. Too close. Just to prove you don’t like the closeness, you scoot away. “Her dad was Mike Weiss, and you didn’t put her in hockey?”

“I was struggling to feed us both, and you wanted me to put her in an expensive sport that I couldn’t afford?”

“You could have told me,” see this is the reason you easily fall for Johnny. There’s something in the way he looks at you, actually concerned. “That’s why you’re back, money?”

“Kids are expensive, even more so when you’re on their own. Her godfather didn’t reach out, so I just made do. And now I’m back in. Back here wallowing in the past, and…”

“You always were so melodramatic. It’s not that serious. You’re here getting help and support. Who fucking cares?” You cared. Your pride cared, and he called you melodramatic. “Keep the drama for the ice. It’s what I do, baby. You don’t have to have all that shit swirling in your head while you try to make sense out of everything. We had fun, right? So you cheated on some chump that was obsessed with you. How come you never had sex with him? Am I the only one? You look better when you keep your issues on the ice, and let me do the thinking for you.”

“That doesn’t fix everything.”

“Does constantly worrying about it?” You still. If there was anything you always admired about Johnny was his ability to not care. “Pix, can I be honest with you?”

“You always are. Even if I don’t want you to.”

“You’re wound too tight. You always have been. That’s why we…well, you wanted me to teach you. I did, and for a few months you relaxed. You skated better than you ever had before, and then you just — poof. I wasn’t heartbroken, but that man you are kissing was. So if you want me to relax you, get rid of him. Or use him to relax you. Either way, get laid,” you stutter a moment, as you hear the locker room door slam shut.

“Unless you want to tell me what really happened. Because believe me when I say this, Pix, something happened. Between you and me, and you’re hiding from it. You don’t have to tell me, but if it’s something that keeps you this stressed, and made my best friend yell and cuss at me, well…that’s your call since Mike can’t explain shit.”

You start to say something. Anything. But Johnny stands up, and gives a nod to Tanzy. “I know I’m an asshole. But while I’m here, I could be your asshole. And I’d like to get to know the squirt. And offer coaching. One on one. Pix, I’m not the evil monster you want me to be. I’m just a prick,” he reaches down to pick up his skates, leaving you wondering what exactly was going on inside your head, and if you made a bigger deal than things. Just like you always did.

Take out the men. And think about just you. You have to take responsibility for your actions. No one can but you. You may be sticking your foot in your mouth, but Johnny deserved to know Tanzy. “You should come by for supper sometime. You and Tanzy can skate on the pond.”

“I haven’t skated on that pond in years. What do you say, squirt, want me to start giving private lessons?”

“What about practice?” She asks, looking around to see everything is still empty. He set you up, but this will make her so happy.

“Practice doesn’t actually start until tomorrow, but we can get some skating in. Pix? Care to join us?” You shake your head no, wanting more than ever to just see Johnny with her. Watching as he actually laughs at things she says, enjoying her. It’s a shame he had all this time without her, and she with him. It just works.

You feel a slight ping in your heart as you watch them, giving your mom a text that there wasn’t actually practice today and she could pick you up.

I knew. Johnny said he could bring you two home.

Of course he did. Of course she knew. It’s fine. It was okay. Get out of your head. That was years ago. Raleigh would have to get used to Johnny being in your life. For Tanzy. And that’s how you wanted to keep it. For Tanzy.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmaii @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @charmed-asylum @cjand10 @rosemirrors @midnightramyeoncravings @patzammit @valhalla-kristin @kmc1989 @peaceinourtime82 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

#the one to sacrifice #johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x fem!reader #johnny storm x female reader #johnny storm x y/n #johnny storm x you #raleigh becket #raleigh becket x reader #raleigh becket x fem!reader #raleigh becket x female reader #raleigh becket x y/n #raleigh becket x you #raleigh becket fanfiction #raleigh becket fanfic #raleigh becket fic #raleigh becket fics #johnny storm fic #johnny storm fics #johnny storm fanfiction #johnny storm fanfic #chris evans #chris evans character #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam character #hockey au #hockey

[btswrckd]

Secrets and Lies

Mafia member!Namjoon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Part of the War of Hearts universe! You've spent the last 10 years not really knowing just who your best and only friend actually is or just obsessed he is with you, but when an unexpected threat emerges from your mother's past, he's given an opportunity that he just can't pass up.

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of guns and other weapons, mention of death, mention of obsessive behavior, Namjoon's kind of a prick to an old one-night stand

A/N: Ta-da!! It's here!! I'm sure there's more warnings I missed and I'm sorry!! As you guys may know, I've been working on 3 separate fics for the War of Hearts verse and I'm still working on them, but I wasn't sure whose story I wanted to put out first. As I'm bouncing back and forth between the stories, I've finally figured out the order in which I want to put them out. Please enjoy guys!

“Are you going to tell me what, exactly, we’re doing here?” Hoseok yawns from the passenger seat of Namjoon’s sleek black Hyundai. Why Namjoon thought of such a car as “inconspicuous”, Hoseok will never know. Honestly, he was pretty pissed that Namjoon had dragged him out of the house at 4 o’clock in the morning to watch random people come and go from some 24 hour diner that sits just before entering city limits. But when the door opens for the hundredth time and a pile of messy hair sitting in a bun atop the head of a beautiful girl comes bouncing out, he rolls his eyes. Now he knows what the hell they were waiting around for. 

“Seriously, Namjoon,” Hoseok groans and burrows into the heated seat. “Can’t you stalk your girlfriend without me?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon hisses at him. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you are stalking her, correct?” 

“Hobi,” Namjoon warns again, “shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t hear whatever it is that Hoseok mumbles under his breath, simply shaking his head and turning his attention back to the waitress who’d just finished a 12 hour shift. Without the top of a messy bun flouncing about, he’d have lost you in the mass of cars you were weaving through. You look tired, he notes, exhausted as you slump against the driver door of the beat up old car that you’d been saving up for. He never liked when you took the bus; too many strange men would look your way far too long for his liking. But he didn’t think a car like that would suffice either, even though it meant tracking you was a little easier. 

Your head thumps against the steel door of the small car you’d salvaged from a junkyard. “Still,” you remind yourself, “a junker car is better than no car at all. Definitely smells better than the bus.” It was the third 12 hour shift you’ve worked in a row and still had another 3 to go. To say you were exhausted would be putting it lightly. You’re worn out, both physically and mentally, but you have to keep going. Have to keep making money. Have to pay off the medical bills that only seem to keep racking up. The sound of an obnoxious ringtone blares in the dark parking lot and you jump in place as you recognize it as your own. 

“Shit,” you hiss, fumbling for your cell phone only to find the caller I.D. belonging to none other than your ex-boyfriend. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for him taking on the task of being your mother’s caretaker, it’s that you wish he’d stop trying to use her dwindling health as an excuse to try and get back together. “Minseok,” you answer, vexed. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Minseok snaps back, taking a deep breath to steady himself. After all, catching an attitude with you when he’s trying so hard to get you back is not going to earn him any brownie points. “Hey, so, you just got off work right? Why don’t you stop by and we can have breakfast? Your mom’s been asking to see you.”

“In time,” is all you can say. It’s all you’ve been saying since you were a teenager. Your mother is all you have left and to keep blowing off chances to visit her breaks your heart a little more each time. You love her so much, but the thought of seeing the frail body in place of what once was a strong and healthy woman makes you want to cry. You don’t know how long she has left or why you keep avoiding her, knowing damn well that she’ll be gone soon. You only know that distracting yourself with work doesn’t make you feel as helpless as sitting at home waiting for the inevitable phone call. Minseok is babbling about something, but you don’t catch what it is when the sound of approaching footsteps has you reaching for the pepper spray attached to your key ring. 

Namjoon is amused when you whirl around, pepper spray at the ready even if it is with a shaking grip. He laughs as your shocked face morphs to one of anger and embarrassment. Clearly, you hadn’t expected to be snuck up on in the middle of the parking lot of your job, and that makes him uneasy. You should always be aware of your surroundings. “What are you doing with that, you nut case?”

“Shut the hell up, Joon!” You kick at the loose rocks on the pavement, sending them flying in his direction. “You scared the crap out of me, asshole. What are you doing lurking around a dark parking lot anyways?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He tilts his head playfully, though there’s no hint of amusement in his tone anymore. You should have gotten in your car and left a long time ago, yet something or someone, namely Minseok, kept you from doing so. He recognized the look on your face when you’d looked at the phone screen. Even from across the lot, he knew who was stupid enough to bother you after a long week of working. With a roll of his eyes, he takes the phone from your hand and ignores your protests.

“Minseok,” he says into the phone, skillfully dodging your attempts to pry it away from him. “How are you?”

“I’m uh,” Minseok sputters, “good. I’m good, I guess. What are you um, what are you doing with Y/N?”

“Me? Oh, nothing really. Just came to pick her up from work. Yeah, she finally scrapped that heap of junk and decided to ride in style. With me. Goodbye, Minseok.” Namjoon ends the call, carelessly tossing the phone back into your waiting hands. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he nods down at you. “Heading home?”

“Trying to.” You prop a hand on your hip and he groans because he knows exactly what’s about to come. “You know I hate it when you do that. Getting under Minseok’s skin does absolutely nothing for you, so why do you do it? And you know he’s the primary caretaker for my mom. Stop trying to piss him off.”

“You never get after him when he pisses me off,” he points out. It was never a secret how much he despised Minseok, especially when you dated that little prick. Nothing makes Namjoon’s blood boil more than the image of Minseok taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing your skin, touching you wherever he pleased and you allowed. “Anyways, I wasn’t trying to get under his skin. If he feels threatened by me then it’s not really my fault. And what the hell is he still doing taking care of your mom? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Not everyone at the rehab center knows we dated,” you explain, missing the flash of anger in his eyes. “He’s the only one that mom trusts.”

“You know I can take care of her too.” He braces his large palms against the car door, trapping you between the metal and his body. “I’ve offered a thousand times, Y/N, you always say no.”

“I’ve burdened you enough.” 

Namjoon sees the brief downward tilt of your lips, a frown you try so hard to hide from him. He won’t have it. Tucking his finger beneath your chin, he tilts it up to look you in the eye. “You’re not a burden. Neither is your mother. I’ve told you before that all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N.”

“I just want her to be better,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the floor as they flood with tears. There’s no doubt in your mind that if you were to ask Namjoon for private care, he would gladly take care of it without expecting anything in return. That’s how it’s always been with him though. Always giving but never taking. According to his close friend, Hoseok, that’s how Namjoon’s grown up. You’re not entirely sure what his home life was like when he was a child, but his parents seemed to have done a wonderful job raising him. You can’t honestly say you’ve ever met anyone like him in all your 28 years of life. 

Namjoon’s finger becomes firm in making your eyes meet his once more. His mouth tightens into a thin line and you know he’s trying to hold back his frustration. When he met you in the hallway at the hospital nearly 10 years ago, you’d just learned of your mother’s diagnosis. To say you were distraught would be sugarcoating it. You were absolutely devastated. He remembers how 18-year-old you had slid down the wall with body wracking sobs, but you’d tried to hide it as your mother was just a few feet behind a closed door. You had wailed into your knees after drawing them as close to your body as possible. He had just rounded the corner of the hall, hissing into his phone about the absolute fucking disaster that was Hoseok’s assignment, when he’d seen you and he felt like time had slowed. Something about you, about the heart wrenching way your body curled up that made him feel…protective. It was his job to protect Taehyung, sure, but you were an entirely different story. You had nothing to offer him. No kind of incentive for his comfort. And yet, when he’d walked over and reached out his hand, you’d taken it. Taken it so damn easily and allowed yourself to be comforted by a complete stranger. It was always a mystery to him, how you’d melted into his body without noticing the blood staining his white dress shirt.

“Joon?” your voice cuts through the hazy fog that was his trip down memory lane. Blinking back your tears, you cup his face to bring him back to reality. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that when Namjoon spaced out, it took a great deal to bring him back. But not with you. Never with you. Because, somehow, your voice and touch, and yours alone could bring him back in a matter of seconds. When his brown eyes finally clear, you smile softly at him.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, taking your wrists in his large hands and running his thumbs along the veins of them. A smirk plays on his lips when he notices you shiver. Not from the cold, but from him. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you. Not the other way around. What was it that Minseok wanted anyway?”

“To have dinner. Or breakfast. Or, I don’t really know, but I know it had to do with eating in the same vicinity as each other,” you sigh and slump against the cool metal of your car. “I’m not exactly up for it, but I guess I should go. He says mom’s been asking for me, but I–.”

“What an asshole,” comes a familiar voice. One you aren’t exactly expecting, so when you jump, Hoseok’s deep chuckle cuts through the parking lot. You always wondered how he managed to stalk around without making a single noise. You feel Namjoon tense and tighten his hold on your wrists. 

The taller man turns to his friend with a snarl on his face. “A little warning next time, jackass.” 

Hoseok shrugs and purses his lips in an innocent way that makes you giggle. A grin splits his face as Namjoon scowls at him for being able to make you laugh when he himself couldn’t. “It’s late. Or early. Or fucking…whatever. Can we just go now? We kind of have someplace to be, you know.” 

And by someplace, Hoseok means waiting outside of Choi Hyunwoo’s apartment to grab his ass and get back to Taehyung. He quirks his brow up at Namjoon, rolling his eyes when Namjoon ignores him to face you. He turns his back to give you guys some privacy, but fuck if he’ll stand there all day watching Namjoon make goo goo eyes at you. 

“Don’t let Minseok guilt you into seeing him,” Namjoon says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I understand that you feel it over not seeing your mother as often as you think you should. It’s why I’m more than happy to set her up with private home care. That way you can also cut down on your part time jobs. They’re wearing you down.”

“Real charming, Joon,” you snort and shove him away. “But you know I can’t take you up on that offer. It wouldn’t feel right if I couldn’t at least help you pay for her care.”

“Then, for the time being,” he says through grit teeth, “at least let me stave off Minseok.” He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and haul your chest to his. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle and you blush. “Hobi, do me a favor. Take a picture of this.”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he was talking about because he winds his fingers through your hair, tilts your face up, and pretends to slants his lips against yours. You inhale sharply at the contact, fingers digging into his jacket in a death grip, and oddly, found it far too easy to lean into his faux kiss. Your eyes meet the intensity of his brown orbs, bouncing back and forth as if searching for something. Reason, perhaps? Or signs of insanity. Because why the hell else would Namjoon go to such lengths just to get Minseok off your back? 

Namjoon’s gaze deepens, his pupils dilating from the proximity. He can’t seem to remember that it was meant to be fake. He was meant to look like he was kissing you, not actually doing it. But he’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t want to know what your chapstick tastes like. If it’s the usual, nauseating taste. Or if this is one of the rare times you’d reached for the strawberry flavored lip balm. He almost chuckles as he imagines you rummaging through your bedside drawer and plucking your least favorite flavor in your haste to get to work on time. He always tells you to toss the hated flavor in the trash, but you, for whatever reason, never do. Apparently, you only keep it in “just in case” situations. Situations such as running late for work and not having the time to turn your apartment upside down in search of the usual, worn down tube of chapstick. 

Distantly, you recognize the faint sound of a cell phone camera going off, but when Namjoon sweeps the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip, your thighs clench together as the feel of the roughly callused finger sets your body on fire. It’s such a simple gesture and yet, you find yourself unable to catch your breath. When he pulls on your lip as he traces a path down to grip your chin, you rise to the tips of your toes in anticipation. You’re far too ready to kiss him, and a part of you panics when a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. You flush, embarrassed to have been caught leaning into his touch so shamelessly. You consider punching him as you usually do when he manages to fluster you, but then he presses in further, his own plump lips skimming across your mouth in an almost kiss that has you panting with need. Your eyelids become heavy and they close as pure, unadulterated desire pounds deep in your bones and your fingers card through his soft hair. You feel him shiver against the feel of your nails gently scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Namjoon knows he has to gain control of the situation soon. It was spiraling, and quickly, and he was more than willing to allow it to happen. But he doesn’t want the first of many kisses to come, be one that stems from him trying to piss off your ex-boyfriend. Because there will be more to come. He will taste you properly and he will continue to do so until you say otherwise. You, and only you, have the kind of control over him that no one ever has. Not even Taehyung. 

“Namjoon,” you whisper and you swear an actual groan leaves his mouth because your lips bump against his as you speak. “Please,” you beg even though you’re sure this is an entirely bad idea. Heat pools in your lower belly as you press up against him, his thigh slotting between the apex of your legs, a noise of excitement leaving your throat as he leans in.

“I’m only going to stand here for so long to watch you guys pretend to swap spit,” Hoseok comments in irritation. “It’s hot, sure, but we’ve got more important things to do, Namjoon.”

When Namjoon parts from you, the both of you are panting, breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand moves from the nape of your neck to slide down along the line of your jaw. His thumb sweeps across your cheek softly and he takes his time to look over your flushed face and heaving chest. Your eyes are still closed, making his chest swell with pride when one shift of his body makes your fingers tighten in his hair. 

You don’t even notice you’ve done it, not until you finally open your eyes to find that you are the one keeping him in place. Quickly, you release him and try to create some distance, but you only bump into your car door. You want to be angry with him. You want to question what the hell he was thinking. But most of all, you want to understand why it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. You’d known him since you were 18 and never once had it crossed your mind that he’d ever find you attractive. The same couldn’t be said for you, though, because you’d always harbored a small crush on him. You’d thought dating Minseok would quell that ache for Namjoon’s attention, but it really didn’t and you kind of felt bad when a small part of you wondered what Namjoon’s hand would feel like in place of Minseok’s on your skin. 

“Send this to him,” Namjoon’s deep voice startles you while he holds out Hoseok’s phone. He watches, amused, as you stare at the picture on the phone. He can see your mind working in overtime as you process the seemingly loving embrace Hoseok managed to capture. “Minseok’s always thought you and I were together at some point, or even hooked up, so it’s not that odd to see us like this.”

“No, you can’t!” you squeak and try to snatch the phone from his hand. That attempt fails as he easily maneuvers out of reach. “Don’t send that, Namjoon!”

Hoseok snatches the phone from Namjoon’s hand and stalks off back to the car. He’s mumbling something under his breath that you can’t make sense of and slams the car door once he’s inside. Sinking down into the seat, he leans his head against the window to rest comfortably in hopes of getting some sleep. 

“I have to go.” Namjoon sounds reluctant to leave as he steps away. He knows Hoseok already sent the picture to Minseok so there was no backing out now. In fact, Minseok should be calling you any second and he wishes he could stick around for that conversation, but Hoseok was right. If he didn’t leave now, then they’d miss Hyunwoo and the last thing they need is Taehyung tearing into them for screwing up. “Minseok will be calling soon. Ignore it, go home, get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

“But, I–.” you try to protest as he walks off and right on cue, your phone rings with irritating familiarity. “Damn it.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you fucking with your own feelings just to piss off Minseok?” Hoseok questions Namjoon on the ride back home. He pays no mind to the muffled groaning coming from Hyunwoo lying on the floor of the van they’d swapped into later that morning. “It’s only going to get worse from here now. You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles from the driver seat. He can’t say Hoseok’s wrong, he hardly ever is, but Namjoon isn’t willing to admit that. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as the memory of your lips and your touch, it all comes to the forefront of his mind and makes his chest tight. He had hoped that you did as he said and went home to get some sleep, but one quick peek at your Snapchat story revealed a breakfast plate filled with eggs and toast smothered in strawberry jam. Your mother’s favorite.

“You’re still pissed off that she went to breakfast with Minseok?”

“She didn’t go with Minseok. She went to see her mom.”

“Right,” Hoseok hums delightedly, “her mother. Who is currently being taken care of by who, again? Oh, right. Minseok.”

Namjoon uses the rearview mirror to glance back at his friend with a scowl. He knew he should have left his dumb ass back at home with Yoongi after he helped them pull the van from one of his family’s many junk yards. “You can join Hyunwoo in his misery, or you can shut the fuck up.”

Hoseok tosses his head back in howling laughter as Namjoon pulls through the security gates of Taehyung’s home. Pulling up to the front of the house, he gets out of the car to meet Taehyung and Yoongi at the passenger side door. He draws open the side door to reveal Hyunwoo bound, gagged, and covered in bruises. “Hoseok went a little…overboard.”

Yoongi’s low toned whistle makes him wince because he knows that Yoongi knows his lie was complete bullshit. “Damn, RM, you really did a number on this guy.”

“He tried to run,” Namjoon says as if it’s that simple of an explanation. When Yoongi shoots him a knowing look, he rolls his eyes towards the sky. That was, in fact, not what had happened and he had used it as a not so believable excuse to beat the shit out of Hyunwoo. It was a means to vent his frustration and Hoseok had let it happen without complaint. Then again, Hoseok never really complained about any  kind of violence. Save for the few domestic ones he’d seen over the years. Oh, he’d always let his knife or gun do the talking then. 

Taehyung climbs into the passenger seat and taps on the window as a sign for them to hurry the hell up before his wife comes storming outside. His phone rings while Yoongi jumps in the back with Hoseok and Hyunwoo. He answers it with a smirk on his face while Namjoon reclaims his seat behind the wheel. 

Namjoon isn’t entirely sure what the conversation is about but it was pretty amusing to watch Hyunwoo lose his shit. When Taehyung throws out an innuendo that clearly has his wife panicking, he tries to hide his smile as Taehyung pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it.

“She hung up on me,” Taehyung comments in disbelief. He really shouldn’t be surprised that Nabi would hang up on him after his little quip, or the fact that she hadn’t entirely forgiven him for their fight last night. But if there’s one thing Namjoon’s come to learn in the decades of friendship with his six brothers, it’s that they’re all the smartest people he knows…and the dumbest. It’s a good balance of brains and stupidity, it keeps things fresh. 

“I’m shocked she didn’t do more than yell at you last night,” Namjoon laughs. “Or that you didn’t kill Yoongi for being an instigator.”

“What good would it do me to be rid of him?” Taehyung catches Yoongi’s eye in the mirror. “But he is lucky I didn’t at least shoot him for it.”

“Jimin was the one who made it worse by giving you the spare key to your guys’ room,” Yoongi defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “Did it not get worse after you opened that door and Nabi nearly tore your head off?”

“Jimin’s not out of the woods either.” Taehyung scrolls through his phone, swiping through picture after picture that Hoseok had sent him earlier. Each of them include Hyunwoo stalking down various streets in his attempt to follow one of Nabi’s best friends. He thumbs through each one until…

“Is this a picture of you kissing Y/N, Namjoon?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot so far up that they nearly disappear into his hairline. 

“Hoseok!” Namjoon barks back at his friend. “I said send it to Minseok, not broadcast it to everyone we know.”

Hoseok shrugs from his spot in the back. “As I recall, I said I wasn’t going to stand around all day while you guys made out. But you made me wait anyway. So, that’s on you.”

“My god, Namjoon, you really didn’t hold back, did you?” Yoongi is too busy peeking over Taehyung’s shoulder to notice Namjoon holding up his middle finger. 

“Clearly, she didn’t either,” Taehyung notes, turning slightly so Yoongi can get a better look. 

“Stop it,” Namjoon hisses, reaching out to take the phone from Taehyung. “You guys are like fucking children. It’s a wonder how Nabi can stand the two of you.”

“You’re awfully angry for someone who kissed the girl he’s been pining after for 10 years,” comes Yoongi’s voice.

“I didn’t really kiss her,” Namjoon growls low in his throat and contemplates shoving Yoongi out of the moving van. “And I haven’t been fucking pining, you prick.”

“Someone’s pretty fucking testy this morning,” his senior hisses back, having had enough of Namjoon’s pissy attitude. 

“He’s just pissed that she spent the morning with Minsoek,” Hoseok not so helpfully supplies. “Apparently the picture didn’t do much to deter the poor bastard from asking her out again. Remind me why it ended between them again?”

Namjoon grips the wheel so tight that his arm shakes with barely restrained anger. Your relationship with Minseok ended on a relatively civil note. Something that always bothered Namjoon because it would have been easier for you to let go of him, or for Minseok to let go of you if things had just ended badly. But that hadn’t been the case. At least not from what you’d told him. You’d called him one night and, in an eerily calm voice, explained that Minseok had broken up with you. All of the time spent apart because of your part time jobs and having to tend to your mother had finally made him snap. You’d gone on to say that you weren’t really sure why you’d been so surprised. After all, Namjoon had been hinting at it for months but you’d never taken it seriously. It hadn’t bothered you that Minseok chose to part ways, maybe that’s why it angered Minseok when you didn’t want to reconcile. Maybe a part of him thought and still thinks that you didn’t care for him as much as he was led to believe. 

Good, Namjoon thinks to himself. Good, because fuck Minseok and fuck his selfishness for leaving you at your most vulnerable, and then turning around and hoping to get back together. Namjoon will be damned before that ever happens.

He tunes back into the conversation when it steers to Nabi’s best friend, Soyoung, whom Hyunwoo had been tailing. They inform him that Soyoung can be just as cruel as Nabi if not more, and Hyunwoo seems caught off guard. Namjoon finds it easy to fall into the cruel amusement his boss and friends have at Hyunwoo’s expense. That is, until Yoongi brings up the subject of what you and Minseok could have possibly been up to if you weren’t answering Namjoon’s calls or texts. Namjoon quickly shuts down once more, sneering at Yoongi’s reflection in the mirror.

“Damn,” Hoseok sighs and pockets his switchblade as they come up on Taehyung’s father’s building. “Now you guys have done it. He’ll be pissy the rest of the day now.”

“Us?” Yoongi hisses, pushing Hoseok’s shoulder roughly as they scramble out of the van. “You’re the one who brought it up first, dumbass.”

“You didn’t have to mention that she hasn’t responded, dipshit.”

“Enough,” Taehyung hushes them as they walk through the back doors of his father’s building. He doesn’t often use them, but given how they’re still holding Hyunwoo hostage, he doesn’t really have a choice now. “We’ll talk about this later,” he addresses Namjoon after stepping into the elevator.

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Namjoon thanks whatever higher power that keeps Taehyung occupied with the Seong brothers at lunch so he can thumb through his phone once more. He’s been waiting all fucking day for you to answer his call, which is yet to happen. He knows he said you needed to get sleep, but damn it, he wishes he could go and check on you. That, and the fact that he and Taehyung are still reeling from their earlier argument is on his mind. Taehyung’s plan to put Nabi and Hyunwoo in the same room as each other while giving Hyunwoo the freedom to move about honestly scares Namjoon. It’s clear that Nabi is capable of handling herself against any normal person, but Hyunwoo has grown up in the center of the mafia, being spoiled and coddled so much by his father that he believed he was entitled to anything he wanted. This included Nabi. It makes Namjoon’s stomach turn sour at the thought of putting Nabi in a situation that could potentially destroy her strong mindset. But Taehyung has all the faith in the world in his wife and Namjoon can’t blame him. Nabi is the furthest thing from timid and weak.   

Thunder crashes in the sky above and lightning follows, leaving their entire party to rush inside the cafe Nabi’s chosen to eat at. As they filter inside, Yoongi is hissing underneath his breath about getting caught in the rain while he shucks his jacket off to lay across an empty table. Jungkook and Jimin don’t miss the opportunity to piss him off further by shaking their hair about and spraying water everywhere. 

“Damn it,” Hoseok seethes at the two youngest, resisting the urge to slap one or both of them upside the head. “Can you two be any less civilized?”

“Jungkook!” Namjoon slaps his shoulder after the youngest wrings out his jacket over top of Hoseok’s head. As if Hoseok wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in the city. “Behave.”

Jungkook snorts in response and sets his jacket flat over the same table Yoongi has his splayed about. He’s the only one of them to not notice Taehyung drag Nabi off towards the bathrooms and Namjoon’s eye twitches when the Seong brothers do notice and 4 out of the 5 men move to stop them from following Taehyung and Nabi. It would be alot easier if Jungkook would pull his head out of his ass and get it together. 

“You can’t really expect us to stand here and do nothing?” Joongki, the oldest Seong brother and Nabi’s cousin, tries to shove past Namjoon.

“Unless you want to walk in on a very intimate moment,” Hoseok warns him while wrangling Jeonghan, Nabi’s other cousin, to an empty booth. “I suggest you sit the hell down and leave them be.”

“Nabi will be embarrassed enough without the two of you storming in there.” Yoongi grips Joongki’s shoulder and helps Namjoon shove him into the other side of the booth. “Know and understand this, Taehyung cherishes your cousin more than any of us here. There’s not a damn thing in this world that could stop him from giving her anything and everything she wants and needs. He will not hurt her, he will not coerce her into what’s happening, and he for damn sure will absolutely not touch her without her express permission.”

“Joongki,” Namjoon catches his attention, “I know you’re smarter than this. I know you would not have let Taehyung put Nabi under our roof if you thought we couldn’t keep her safe. None of us would let Taehyung hurt her. Jungkook nearly got himself killed multiple times just for stepping in between their arguments. Don’t lose your cool because you can’t handle that Nabi’s a grown woman.”

Finally, the Seong brothers seem to accept the words Yoongi and Namjoon speak, and Namjoon sighs in relief now that he can check his phone again. Still, nothing from you and it makes his blood boil. “Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, dialing your phone number and pressing it to his ear. “I swear to God, if you don’t fucking pick up…”

“Yeah?” Your breathless voice hits his ears like a symphony and all of the blood rushes to his groin. You’re met with absolute silence and pull the phone back to check if Namjoon had hung up. “Joon? You there?”

He coughs as his throat dries up and attempts to clear it in hopes of not sounding so gruff when he answers, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Just a little,” you huff out another breathless laugh. “It’s okay though. I had to get up and get some grocery shopping done before my shift at the diner tonight.”

“You should have done that after your breakfast with Minseok,” he growls, letting his temper get the best of him. “Then you could have slept longer.”

“I slept long enough.” You know he can practically hear your eye roll. “Joon, I didn’t have breakfast with Minseok. I went to visit my mother and he was there. He does happen to work there, you know.”

“Didn’t seeing my tongue down your throat scare him off?” he snaps back in response. “Didn’t it piss him off the way it pisses me off that he really thinks he has a chance after I sent you to him wet and ready for me?”

“Namjoon!” you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you had earlier that morning. What had gotten into him? He’s never spoken to you this way and while it did get you a little hot and bothered, it also reminds you of the almost kiss you’d shared. Something that most definitely should not have happened. It left you wanting much more and knowing you can’t have it. It’s a line you swore you’d never cross with Namjoon, not when he was your oldest and only friend. It would complicate things and you couldn’t handle losing him if it tore the friendship apart.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, making your heartbeat skyrocket. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, that wasn’t okay for me to say. I’m just—.”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever explanation he has for momentarily forgetting you were his best friend, not one of the usual girls he sleeps with. “Look, Namjoon, I have to go. It’s going to get late and I won’t be able to get everything done that I need to.”

“Y/N, wait. I—.”

“And don’t stop by the diner tonight.” You’re adamant in this because a few of your co-workers had spotted him this morning and texted you to ask if you’d been dating again. You don’t need them to think you’re attached to anyone, especially not Namjoon of all people. It would only make things awkward when he inevitably got a long time girlfriend and you were stuck having to explain everything. 

“Why the fuck not?” Namjoon tries his best to keep his voice down, but he’s not doing a very good job as Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s heads whip his way. “The area around the diner is dangerous, Y/N, I’ll be damned if anything happens to you.” He’s seething and it shows in his voice after hearing his full name from your lips. He’d learned long ago that if he made you angry enough, you would forgo his nickname in favor of his full name, and he never realized how much he hated hearing you say it until right this moment. “Where is this coming from?”

“People will talk, Namjoon,” you mumble, scooting to the edge of your bed in search of your pajama shorts. Your air conditioner has been on the fritz lately and it picks and chooses when to work. Today, it decided it did not want to work. Though it was still nice and cool outside, your apartment was like a damn furnace since the window latch had been broken. Admittedly, you don’t live in the greatest building with the greatest landlord. Or the greatest part of town. But it’s a roof over your head, so you can’t really complain. Namjoon had lost his shit time and time again when it came to your apartment so you decided to stop telling him all of its issues entirely. 

“So, let them talk,” he growls, turning away from Yoongi’s questioning gaze. His stare, in turn, had the rest of the guys and Taehyung’s parents staring as well. It makes Namjoon tense up when they notice he’s losing this argument. “Don’t take that chance just because I pissed you off, Y/N. Don’t push me away and shut me out because I’m being an asshole. That’s my fault and I’m sorry. But don’t…” he sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear the rustling of your sheets as you move about your bed. His throat bobs at the thought of what the hell you could be doing to make that much noise. “Just don’t, baby, please.”

Baby.

He called you baby and a part of you softens at the pet name. The other part of you gets angry that he would try to manipulate you by saying it. You’ve watched him charm girl after girl when he got bored enough and every single time, they fell for it. You hated it. Hated how they got to see a part of him he would never show you because of your friendship. Hated that he was using those same tactics now to manipulate you into forgiving him. Your chest feels tight and there’s a hitch in your breath when you tell him, “I don’t want people to think we’re together. It’s bad enough Minseok bought into the picture Hobi sent him. I don’t need my coworkers thinking I’m ready to date again. Especially not you.”

He takes offense to that. So much so that his knuckles curl into a fist, one that’s two seconds away from meeting the wall in front of him until Jimin taps his shoulder. It’s enough to make him look up and find that everyone was ready to go after the rain finally settled. Poor Nabi looks ready to combust, her entire face as red as a tomato, and Taehyung looks too fucking smug for Namjoon’s liking. He hangs up without bidding you goodbye because if he opens his mouth to say anything at all, it’ll only upset you even more. Especially not him? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

His life was never meant for someone permanent or special to be invited into. Not with the constant danger lurking around every corner, or the men he regularly spends time around because of Taehyung and his own family ties into the mafia. While his father treats his mother like a goddess, and Taehyung does the same with Nabi, Namjoon couldn’t see himself treating anyone with that kind of respect while you were around. You occupy too many of his thoughts. He’s aware that all of this falls on him. His unyielding thought process of never fully committing to someone because of you, is entirely his own fucking fault, and he knows it. His parents would be ashamed of him if he were to ever marry and be unfaithful. Then again, who would he be unfaithful with if not you? You’d never allow it. You have too much self respect to ever be the other woman. It’s one of the things Namjoon respects the most about you. Some women didn’t care if they were some man’s side piece in the mob. It meant expensive gifts, expensive trips, hell, some men even bought their mistresses homes in order to keep them happy. It wasn’t odd for it to happen, but Namjoon had taken great care to surround himself with people fully devoted to treating women as more than just play things. He never thought he’d ever actually find friends like that, until he’d met Taehyung, and then Yoongi, and Hoseok, and so on. 

He’s never told you what he does for “work” and you’ve never really asked. He can never truly tell you the truth unless he was willing to drag you into his life completely. Obviously, he really is ready, but you’d never plunge into this life head first without thinking of the consequences. It’s a dangerous line to toe and he knows he shouldn’t push, but clearly Minseok had said something to make you doubt him. Minseok had always made you second guess the things Namjoon did and said, and you’d cave under the guilty weight of taking Namjoon’s side over your boyfriends. Minseok had been able to weasel his way into your life and shove Namjoon out to the brink of Namjoon nearly storming to Minseok’s house with Hoseok and Jimin in tow. 

Damn. He has to get you away from Minseok. And soon. Because if he wormed his way underneath your skin, Namjoon would well and truly kill him this time.

Parting ways with Mrs. Kim’s car filled with Nabi, her cousins, Jimin, and Jungkook, Namjoon plopped into the driver's side of the van they’d arrived in. Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok follow suit, all silently climbing into the car in a much more gingerly manner than Namjoon himself had. Taehyung, while still sexed out of his mind, still had the decency to ask if his friend was alright.

“Sounded pretty intense,” Hoseok said from the back seat, eyeing Namjoon’s rigid form. “What did Y/N say to piss you off so much? Because the last time I saw that look in your eye, we nearly wiped out the entire Lee family. They still haven’t forgiven us, by the way. Mr. Kim’s got them nearly beating down his door to get to you, Namjoon.”

The tall man pretends not to hear a word Hoseok says because of course he remembers. He’d gotten into a fight with you then too. He vividly remembers how you’d questioned his lengthy absence when you never had before. You’d always figured his business was his alone and you shouldn’t butt in. But that time, Minseok had managed to convince you that Namjoon simply didn’t want to be around because of Minseok’s presence. While that rang true, Namjoon couldn’t exactly tell you that he’d been sent on an assignment to the Maldives with Hoseok to deal with a shipment the Lee family was in control of. He’d been gone for almost an entire month when you finally called, only to ask if he’d tired of you. He could remember the sound of your voice cracking as you tried to hold back tears. He had tried to explain, tried to tell you that it was for work, but he could hear Minseok’s mousy fucking voice in the background, taunting you in a sickeningly sweet way that only he could. You’d said your goodbyes to Namjoon, almost sounding final, and Namjoon. Had. Gone. Feral. Absolutely apeshit and cut down a good portion of the Lee men because he’d been pissed. Later, he’d told Taehyung that the family was indeed skimming some of the product, which was why he’d been sent to the Maldives in the first place. He’d silently cursed Taehyung back then, well and truly hated the man that had become his brother, and for what? A stupid argument that Minseok had incited? 

Taehyung clocks Namjoon’s grip on the wheel and winces at how his friend is about to lose all self control and possibly kill what little is left of the Choi family. For Namjoon to completely lose himself again, means that whatever is bothering him has to do with you. Taehyung almost feels bad for him, and he would offer some advice if he didn’t have bigger problems at hand. What he can do is try to free up some time for Namjoon to work things out however he needs to. Though, if this is anything like the situation with the Lee family, Taehyung can’t imagine the hell Namjoon will rain down on the poor sucker stupid enough to even so much as slightly push the wrong button. It would be a bloodbath of epic proportions and Taehyung runs a hand down his face at the thought. They can’t afford for Namjoon to be distracted right now, but it was inevitable. Every so often, Namjoon loses focus and becomes completely and utterly consumed by you. Even if you don’t know it. 

Yoongi watches Hyunwoo raise a curious brow at Namjoon’s behavior and the tense silence compared to the friendly banter earlier. When he turns to meet Yoongi’s stare, Yoongi sneers at him so viciously that it makes Hyunwoo visibly recoil. He smirks and looks out the front windshield, watching the buildings pass by in a blur. He can see the cogs in the machine that is Namjoon’s genius brain turn and turn. Something had to have gone completely wrong with you if it’s gotten this bad again. He can see Namjoon’s pupils dilate with the rush of adrenaline he’s sure to unleash on Hyunwoo if he makes one wrong move. He’s quite sure that Namjoon almost hopes the Choi family fucks up so it’ll give him a reason to go nuts. Namjoon lives on fear and chaos, it’s one of the things that made him so frightening and dangerous. It’s one of the many things Taehyung had sought him out for as teenagers. By that age, Namjoon had quite the body count and truthfully, if he and Hoseok had to go toe to toe, everyone knows it would be pretty damn close. What makes him even more scary is that no one would ever be able to tell how much blood stains his hands because of his cool and calm demeanor. 

Hoseok almost pays no mind to Namjoon’s disheveled state as he plays with his switchblade, every so often leaning over to knick Hyunwoo’s skin. It was almost torture and Hoseok knows if anyone could appreciate it, it’s Namjoon. However, with Namjoon’s lack of self awareness, Hoseok finds that he must enjoy this by himself. Really, he’s worried that Namjoon’s going to go on a rampage again. It took them forever to clean up the mess in the Maldives. Not to mention the complete shitshow that followed and Mr. Kim had to sort out enough for there to be some sense of civility. Goddamn it, he really doesn’t need another disaster on his hands. The Choi family better pray for themselves because God only knows what Namjoon is cooking up in his head. 

Namjoon’s phone rings in the silence and actually makes Taehyung jump a little. He glances down to find the name “Hana” in bold letters taking up the screen. Namjoon lets it go to voicemail because Taehyung’s sure that it isn’t exactly the name he wants to pop up on his phone right now. He doesn’t know who the girl is, but if you catch wind of it, then it won’t be good. The phone rings again and Namjoon picks it up with some bite in his tone.

“What?” Namjoon snaps.

“Oh, hey,” Hana purrs back, giggling even though she can tell how mad he is. “Are you busy? I’m kind of bored and thought—.”

“We fucked once, Hana,” he sneers, “and it wasn’t exactly memorable for me, so find a different dick to suck.”

“Fuck you, Namjoon!” she screeches at his audacity. “You know, I don’t exactly remember you complaining when I sucked your dick, you asshole! Here’s a tip, Namjoon, maybe don’t be a complete prick the next time a woman reaches out to satisfy you. There won’t be many left if you continue on like that.”

“You’re a placeholder, Hana.” Namjoon smirks and the guys in the van inwardly groan because now some poor girl is about to get the brunt of his wrath. “I don’t want anyone else, just one girl, and she’s not you. Maybe some small, pathetic part of you had hoped you were special but you’re really not. I was drunk and bored and you were willing to spread your legs for me, so fuck off.”

Taehyung winces as Namjoon slams his phone back on the center console. Jesus fucking Christ, that was brutal. Namjoon’s not exactly a saint but he’s very rarely crude to a girl. Whatever you’d argued about must have messed him up good if he was speaking that way to someone. They reach the house just after Nabi’s car gets there and Taehyung basically leaps out of the van to usher his wife from the car. 

Namjoon locks eyes with Nabi for a second before he turns his glare to Taehyung because not only does he have to deal with the Choi family, he’s still steaming from his conversation with you. He doesn’t see Nabi frown, only concentrating on getting Hyunwoo into the house without her seeing. He shoves Hyunwoo harder than necessary when Yoongi has to prod him forward with a gun. God, he can only hope this was enough to release some of the tension simmering beneath his skin.

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You’re almost halfway through grocery shopping when a sense of dread settles in your chest. You don’t know what it is or how it was even brought on, but you know there’s something not right. You round the corner of the canned food aisle, determined to get away from whatever it was when you bump into a firm chest. Strong hands reach out to steady you while your breath catches. You look up to find a handsome stranger with the oddest smile on his face. It’s not menacing but it certainly isn’t friendly either. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back to create some much needed distance. 

He only smiles wider, raking a hand through his dark hair and waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s not a problem at all. It’s my fault, actually. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” You blink up at him, unsure of whether or not you should even keep talking to him. Namjoon always hated the way you’d become friendly with anyone, especially strangers. You’d called him out on it once, insisting that he was just being paranoid, but he didn’t budge. He always says no one can be trusted, but then you wonder what exactly makes him so trustworthy, or why he trusts you at all. The thought of your best friend sends a pang through your heart and you frown. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so harsh with him earlier. He was only trying to help, but you let your insecurities shine through and lashed out at him. 

“Kang Chunghee,” he says, offering his hand in greeting. He can see the apprehension on your face even as you take his hand in yours and shake it. Taking a step too close, he towers over you in a way that almost makes you cower away. His eyes roam down your body from head to toe, but you’re so busy looking everywhere but him that you don’t notice. Your hair, he notes, and face look so much like your mother’s that it’s a wonder why you hadn’t been spotted before now. Then again, his father wasn’t exactly looking to make trouble with the Kim family, but he’d found out about your mother’s illness and insisted on seeking you out. His hand tightens briefly, making you wince, as the memories of his own mother begging his father to leave “that woman” be and come back home to her. He never did, of course, and soon sent Chunghee’s mother spiraling into a world of drugs and alcohol. Both of which killed her not long after your birth. 

“Cho Y/N,” you reply with a hiss, trying to pull your hand from his. It takes a moment for him to realize he’d been holding on too tight and quickly drops your hand. You take this chance to scan his face and realize he looks vaguely familiar but you can’t quite place it anywhere. He could just be one of the many patrons that have come and gone from the diner. You meet so many people at your job that it’s not entirely out of the ordinary to run into someone while out and about. As if on cue, your phone rings and you scramble for it in hopes that it’s Namjoon and you can apologize, but you’re disappointed to find that it’s your manager instead. You give Chunghee a polite smile before stepping away to answer the call. She only asks if you can come in a bit early as one of the other waitresses has called in sick. You sigh and check your watch to ask for some extra time to go home and get ready. Throughout the entire conversation, you notice that Chunghee hasn’t left your side at all, and you tense up when he steps closer once more after ending your phone call. 

“Ah, I have to apologize,” he says and takes a step back to give you some space. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Um.” You shift on the balls of your feet, clutching your phone tight in your hand and contemplating calling Namjoon. You shake your head. No. His paranoia is simply rubbing off on you and this guy hasn’t really done anything to offend or scare you other than being a little too interested. You remind yourself that at one point, Minseok had been the same way before he finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date. “I really should get going.”

“Oh, of course.” Chunghee gestures for you to go ahead and walk on, bidding you goodbye with a simple wave. Once you round the corner to the registers, his smile slowly fades into a grimace. If your mother is as beautiful as you are, then he can see why his father was tempted by her. His chest grows tight and bile rises in his throat that he has to swallow down. As a child he’d always wondered why his father could so easily cast him and his mother aside. Looking at you now, he sees exactly why. He’s only ever seen photos of your mother and none of you, but his father had told him it’s because he didn’t even know you existed. Not until your mother had grown sick and you’d somehow gotten tangled up in one of the notorious Kim family’s webs. Fool, he thinks of you. If only you had never come up on the Kim family’s radar then you never would have come up on his father’s. Or, he supposes, he’s your father as well. 

He gives you all of 2 minutes to get ahead of him before he stalks out of the grocery store to see you climb into a junker car that he can’t even fathom why it would even still exist. He slips into his own car, a much nicer one, and peels out of the parking lot just a little after you do. He takes turn after turn and a muscle in his jaw ticks when it dawns on him that you don’t even notice you’re being followed, and even worse, his eye visibly twitches after parking down the street from a rundown building that you seem to be living in. “For fuck’s sake,” he sighs to himself, running a hand down his face. He’s meant to hate you, to loathe your mother for stealing away his father’s attention and causing his mother to lose her damn mind. But a twinge of guilt eats away at him. His father was never the greatest man, but Chunghee’s certainly lived a much more lavish life than you have. His father may have laid his hands on him quite a few times during his childhood, but you’re so carefree that he’s actually envious, and even still, he feels bad that you’ve had to go nights hungry while he was gifted with so much food that he didn’t know what to do with it. He was 28 when he’d learned of your existence and by then you were already 18, living paycheck to paycheck and working yourself to the bone to afford your mother’s medical costs. Until that point, he and his father had always wondered where your mother had disappeared to. According to his father, she’d up and left one day, leaving behind most of her belongings for the obvious reason that she never wanted to be found again. She’d even changed her name and lived 18 blissful long years in the shadows. 

Chunghee can only wonder how she’d never figured out who his father was until it was too late. If he’s correct in his math, she’d already been pregnant with you when she skipped town. Which means she had to have found out that his father was both married and a dangerous man. He can commend her for wanting to protect you, which was far more than his father was willing to do for him. If you weren’t somehow tied to the Kim family, then Kang Himchan would have swooped in and stolen you away long ago. But with Kim Namjoon hovering around so often, the older Kang could only grit his teeth and turn a blind eye if he didn’t want to overstep and start problems. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you emerge from the building, basically running, and jump in your car to speed off. He looks at the clock on his dashboard, guessing that you took far longer than you thought you would to get ready. He gives you a few extra miles before he starts down the same road you’d gone, following along until he reaches the diner just before exiting the city. It’s far, he realizes as another glance at the clock shows that it took almost an hour to get there. He’d paid no mind to the time when he’d scouted out the diner last night. He’d come out on a whim, wondering if you were well and truly under the Kim family protection, and snorted when you’d gone the entire night without so much as a hint of the Kims around. When you’d left for the night, he’d gotten out of his car to confront you, but then Namjoon had shown up, and Chunghee had frozen in place. He’d been wrong because not only had the Kims been hidden in the literal dark, Jung Hoseok had been lying in wait as well. Anyone in this line of work knows who Hoseok is, and if he’s hovering around you, then this is going to be far more complicated than he first thought. He’s tempted to go sit in the diner, but after the disaster that was the interaction in the grocery store, he doesn’t want to give you a reason to contact Namjoon. So he waits. For hours. 14, to be exact, and he finds himself shifting in his seat every 10 minutes. Why the hell he feels so inclined to sit around for your entire shift, he doesn’t know, but you have to be tired out by now. How the hell would it look if he’s the one that’s exhausted when you’re the one who’s been running around on your feet all day?

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You can feel it. You don’t know what it is or where it’s coming from, but you know you’re being watched. It’s unnerving, and while you’re trying your best to get through your shift, you also want to find out who could be watching. Not wanting to let them know you’re on to them, you keep plowing through orders and customers, running hot plates from the kitchen, cleaning off tables and kitchen utensils, and itching to reach for your phone to text Namjoon. But he hasn’t reached out to you either, making a small part of you actually want to cry because you’ve upset him. It’s not often that he gets angry with you, but when he does, it never takes very long for you to apologize or for him to check on you even if he is mad. So for him to go the entire day without contacting you is terrifying. Especially when you know something is wrong. When your shift is finally over, you say your goodbyes to your coworkers and check your phone as you head to your car. Your shoulders deflate with disappointment, thoughts swirling in your head, so much so that they drown out the sound of approaching feet. Fingers tap on your shoulder, and you whirl around with an ear piercing scream, only to have someone slap their hand over your mouth.

Hoseok looks at you with a raised brow, a little concerned with your pale face and the sweat beading down by your temples. You’re scared and he doesn’t like that. He removes his hand from your mouth, watching as your bottom lip wobbles in an attempt to hold back a sob. He grips your arms tighter than he means to. “What happened?”

You heave out a sigh of relief, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. “Oh, Hobi. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream like that.”

“You obviously had a reason to, so help me out here, and tell me what could have scared you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise even though you know you shouldn’t lie. Hoseok’s always been good at telling when someone’s lying and you’re not entirely sure why you even tried. You watch him scan the dark parking lot anyways, fingers nearly bruising your skin with the force of his grip. You wince out loud, regaining his attention and he lets go of you. 

“I’m sorry.” He frowns, reaching up to pat down your messy hair. “I came to check on you. Namjoon’s been out of it all day and I know you guys fought.”

“It was stupid,” you whisper, casting your eyes to the ground in shame. Hoseok showing up on Namjoon’s behalf means that your best friend isn’t anywhere near ready to speak to you again. You really screwed up this time if he sent Hoseok all the way out here when he could have just called you himself. You feel awful that Hoseok even drove all the way out here in person just because you’re having a difficult time processing everything from the day before. The way Namjoon held you and looked at you, it was far better than you ever imagined, and you let your insecurities get the best of you. You’re doing what you’ve always done when someone gets too close. You’re pushing him away like you used to when you were dating Minseok. The two of you had fought more than usual while you were with Minseok, and this fight reminds you of those times. 

“It can’t be that stupid if you guys are this messed up over it.” Hoseok keeps petting your hair with affection, but he’s not fooled. Something else is going on here and you’re not being honest with him. He’s scared you before, albeit playfully, but even when he’d done it in earnest, you’ve never reacted that way. He’ll have to bring it up with Namjoon and hopefully it’ll be enough to pull his head out of his ass. After the disastrous confrontation between Nabi, the Choi family, and Taehyung, Namjoon had been even more on edge and left the house. Hoseok had assumed he’d come to tail you, but he wasn’t picking up his phone, so Hoseok drove out here to check. He’d grown worried when he got to the diner and didn’t see Namjoon’s car anywhere, so he’d gotten out to come ask you when his phone pinged with a message from Namjoon. He’d told Hoseok that he just needed air to clear his head and he was on his way back to the house. Hoseok was ready to leave it alone and go back himself, but his instincts had kicked in, and rightfully so. He considers memorizing the license plates currently in the parking lot to have Yoongi run when he gets back, but decides against it when he hears your car door open. 

“It is,” you remind him. “It’s a stupid fight over a stupid thing and Namjoon wouldn’t get it, and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just want some space, Hobi, is that too much?”

“Yes,” he growls, holding out the car door for you to climb in. “It’s too much for Namjoon and you know that, Y/N. He doesn’t like space when it comes to you and this fight is affecting all of us. We’re his friends too, Y/N, and it’s out of the ordinary for us to see him this way.”

“Then space is exactly what we need.” You slam the door shut, leaving Hoseok pleasantly surprised by your outburst. You’ve never taken that much attitude with him and he’s a little amused by it. You’re careful not to run over his feet as you back out of the parking space, giving him a small wave before driving away. Peering in the rearview mirror, you watch him fade into the background and miss the way his body locks up.

Hoseok turns slightly, meeting the eyes of someone he’s not quite familiar with, before the person rolls up their car window. There, he thinks. That’s what, or rather who, was bothering you. He glares at his reflection in the window as the car drives away, pulling his phone from his pocket to dial Namjoon’s number.

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Namjoon sits in one of the lounge chairs in his small library at the house, his hair sticking up in every direction after running his hands through it. After the confrontation earlier with Nabi and the Choi family, he’d gone out for a long drive. He was tempted to drive up to your apartment, or even stake out the diner, but he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you without forcing a conversation. The last thing he wants is to disrespect your boundaries, but his skin prickles at the thought of not checking up on you. He could never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. A light knock on the doorframe gets his attention and he looks up to find Nabi leaning against it. 

She gives him a soft smile when he gestures to the empty chair across from him, striding across the room to sit. “Are you alright?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” he snorts in response, pinching the bridge of his nose as the tension in his neck travels up to the base of his skull. “It was a hard day for you.”

She nods slightly. “Namjoon, can I…” she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs anxiously but he doesn’t push, only giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts. “What I did today, with Hyunwoo, and the gun. How did it look to you guys?”

“What do you mean?” He’s obviously confused because she can’t really mean to think his opinion of her has changed to a bad one. 

“Did it look like I was hiding something from you guys?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “Nabi, Hoseok told us that he suspected you weren’t exactly timid a long time ago. None of us really thought you were to begin with. Taehyung didn’t scare you, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t scare you. Hell, even Hoseok couldn’t scare you off even when you know the kinds of things we do.”

She inhales sharply, taking his hand when he offers it in support. “Growing up in this life definitely hardens a person, but sometimes I think I take it too far.”

“We’ve all had to do some unforgivable things to survive this life.” Namjoon’s thumb skims across her knuckles. “I think the way you kept that part of yourself closed off was just a way to protect yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that, even if Taehyung was angry about it. I’m glad you opened up, Nabi, it means you trust us enough to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable enough to ask what’s going on with you,” Nabi quickly changes the subject, jumping right into what she came to the library for in the first place. 

“It’s Y/N,” he sighs, dropping her hand and sinking back into the chair. “I may have had Hoseok send a picture to her ex that made us look like more than friends, and she got angry with me. She said she didn’t want me hanging around the diner for awhile to avoid her coworkers asking questions. For whatever reason, she doesn’t want them to think she’s in a relationship with anyone, but before we could really get into it, I had to focus on the situation here and I haven’t called her since.”           

“Namjoon,” Nabi admonishes him, slapping his arm lightly. “First of all, as much help as you think the picture was, I can promise you, it wasn’t. Secondly, how do you think she’ll feel if you start showing up around her coworkers and she has to explain that you’re just friends even though they’ve seen more? Honestly, Kim Namjoon, did you even fully think of the consequences that picture could bring?”

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue when his phone starts to ring and Nabi takes that as her victory before slinking out of the room. He shakes his head, amused but doesn’t want to admit it, before answering Hoseok’s call. “What is it?”

“Y/N’s being followed,” Hoseok wastes no time getting to the point. He’s already in his car, speeding after you and your stalker, but he was too far behind to begin with. His palms begin to sweat with what he can only describe as fear when he has to slam on the brakes at a nearby intersection. “Fuck!” he curses, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, losing sight of your car. “I lost them.” “Where?” Namjoon is up and in the garage, car keys in his shaking hands as dread fills his entire body. 

“Not far. If you leave now, you should meet her just as she’s getting home.”

Shit, Namjoon seethes to himself. His hands tighten on the wheel as he speeds down street after street. Shit, shit, shit! He tries calling you, but you don’t answer, and he doesn’t want to panic. You’ve just worked another double, he reasons, you always forget to take a phone charger with you so your phone had to have died. That has to be it. For the sake of whoever is stupid enough to follow you, that had better be what happened. The automatic voice echoes in the car as he gets your voicemail one more time. “Baby,” he says after the beep, “I know you’re angry with me, but I need you to pick up the phone.”

Three more unanswered calls later, his body is wound tight as he pulls up to your apartment building, not seeing your car anywhere in sight. He jumps out the driver’s seat and bolts up the stairs to your apartment, pounding on the door, but he’s met with more silence. He has to call his father, has to get their men out there in search of you, he has to. Has to. Has to. Has to.

“Joon?” your voice reaches his ears, but you’re not sure he actually hears you. You take in his heaving shoulders and chest, the shaking of his hands, and lay your palm on his shoulder to get his attention. You gasp in pain when he rounds on you, shoving your back into the wall with his long fingers wrapped around your neck. Your hand wraps around his wrist to try and pry it away, looking into his eyes to find them nearly black with rage. “Joon! Namjoon, it’s me!”

Namjoon’s eyes finally clear, blood still roaring in his ears as he seems to recognize you. He glances down to find his hand around your throat, quickly releasing you. “Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He holds on to your shoulders as you cough violently, trying to take in all the air you’ve lost, sliding down the wall as if to ground yourself. He falls to his knees in order to maintain eye contact, spearing his fingers through your hair to keep it out of your face, touching his forehead to yours. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

The hold you have on his wrists never loosened, and you use it now in support as the spots in your vision begin to disappear. You’re gasping as you brace your free hand against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away yet. “Jesus fuck, Namjoon. What the hell?” 

“I’m sorry! I thought…”

“What could you possibly have thought?” You finally shove him away and stand up, fishing the apartment keys out of your pocket. You shove them in the keyhole, unlock the door, and throw it open as Namjoon follows you inside. Reaching up to your neck, your hand shakes as it feels around your sore throat. “As if Hoseok popping up wasn’t scary enough.”

“Hoseok scared you?” Namjoon’s body grows tense all over again, turning to close the apartment door.

“He didn’t mean to.” You shake your head, shucking off your jacket and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. “I was just a little off tonight, that’s all. Hoseok snuck up on me after work.” Making your way to the cabinets overhead, you pluck out a cup to fill with water. You stand facing away from him to gulp down the water. All day you’ve been wondering what you could say to him, but now that he’s here in front of you, all words are lost. It’s not just because you’re angry with what just happened, it’s that you don’t know how to even process it. 

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?” His chest presses to your back, the deep rumbling of his voice vibrates against it, your treacherous body leaning into him. He braces his hands on the counter, trapping you in place, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I put it on silent,” you whisper, turning your head so your lips skim his ear. The tips of his ears turn red even though you didn’t mean to be directly in his ear, you smile. “I forgot to put the ringer back on after Hobi scared me in the parking lot.”

He hums in reply, one arm sliding across your belly to hook around your waist completely, pulling you against him. The sun peeks through the window, having risen in the time he’s spent in your apartment. “Another late shift, then?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a nod of your head. You meet his eyes when he raises his head to look at you. You glance down at his lips, tipping your head back just slightly and you swear he groans as he lowers his mouth to yours.

There’s nothing stopping him from kissing you this time. Not a damn thing stands in his way. That is, until there’s a knock on your door that has you jumping out of his embrace before he can actually do anything. He curses whoever is at the door, taking the cup you set on the counter to take a sip of water. His ears pick up the grating sound of Minseok’s voice, and he’s slamming the glass down on the counter before he can stop himself from getting even more pissed off. Striding to the front door, he reaches it just in time to watch you crumble to your knees, but he’s quick to stop you from hitting the floor. “Y/N?! What happened? What’s wrong?”

“She’s go–,” you sob out, tears streaming down your face endlessly. “She’s gone, Joon. She’s gone!” you shriek, gripping onto his forearms as your wails fill the apartment. Your throat is raw from screaming but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You knew it was coming, had always known, but you were never actually prepared for it.

Namjoon’s heart breaks with every body wracking sob you let out, and it hits him then just why Minseok was there. He holds you close, rocks you back and forth in hopes of soothing you, but it isn’t working. From the corner of his eye, he sees Minseok’s fingers twitch, trying to keep himself from reaching out to you, but Namjoon pulls you closer, refusing to allow Minseok to touch you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes you think the skies know when to be gloomy. The gray clouds that loom over the funeral procession feel as though they’re mocking you. Your mother loved rainy days, something you couldn’t come to enjoy as you grew older. You thought they were depressing, always lending a hand in her dwindling health, but she flourished in the rain. She came alive when the downpour would drench her to the bone, and as a child, you would giggle and dance in the rain with her. You remember kicking up puddles, getting your feet dirty and clothes wet, and it was everything to her. Growing older, though, you found that with the rain came runny noses, horrid coughs, sore throats, and missed days of school. You came to detest them until she got sick, and it was all she’d ask for; to see the rain. 

People, mostly Namjoon’s parents and friends, and some of your coworkers, gathered around you in comfort. They only want to help, you know this, but they’re not. Most people welcome the condolences and the sympathy, but you can’t seem to. You feel overcrowded, lost in a sea of people that you don’t want to see you break down. So you hold it in. Sometimes your breathing grows ragged as you try to hold back, but you manage to compose yourself before they can gather what’s happening. Namjoon is by your side the entire time, along with his parents, and they’re the only comfort you can find. The only ones you can stand to be around right now. They truly are your only family. Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Nabi take their turns to cradle you close. They aren’t just Namjoon’s friends, they’re yours too even though Hoseok was really the only one you’d spent an extensive amount of time with. Recently though, they’ve been coming around to the apartment when Namjoon was busy, all of them doing their best to keep you distracted. 

You’re sat in front of your mother’s picture with your head resting on Namjoon’s shoulder while everyone else is lined up against the wall, giving you and Namjoon the space you didn’t have to ask for, they just know you need it. Namjoon grips your hand tight, linking your fingers together and bringing up your joined hands to kiss the back of your knuckles. You peek up at him through tear filled lashes, breathing easily when he drops his forehead to your own, but that serenity doesn’t last long. A commotion breaks out at the entrance of the funeral hall, people whispering and darting about in a hurry. Namjoon’s father grits his teeth and demands to know what could be going on, when your breath hitches at the next person who steps foot in the room.

Chunghee has the decency to look apologetic as he catches your eye, taking a moment to dip his chin in greeting before stepping aside to reveal his father, Kang Himchan. He sees Namjoon tense, standing to his full height immediately to back his own father. Chunghee steps towards them in hopes of gaining control of the situation, but Kim Taehyung is quick to meet him. “Taehyung,” he simply says as if this were at all normal. 

“Kang,” Taehyung says through clenched teeth, tipping his head in your direction. Jungkook and Jimin are the first to reach you, followed by Seokjin and Nabi. Hoseok and Yoongi take their place on either side of Taehyung. 

“What the hell is this?” Namjoon’s father levels Himchan with a look that would send most men running. “How dare you come here and disturb this girl’s grieving. Have you no sense of decorum, Kang?”

“I am here to offer my condolences, obviously,” Himchan keeps his voice steady. Your mother was unknowingly his mistress, but he had loved her dearly, and wants nothing more than to know and understand you. His eyes search the room, finally landing on you, and they soften. You are the spitting image of your mother and it makes him breathless for a moment. He forgets who you’re surrounded by, taking a step in your direction, only to be met by Namjoon’s hard glare. His hackles raise, face turning red with anger. “You dare keep me from my own daughter, Kim?”

All of the air rushes out of your lungs as you struggle to breathe. Your body begins to tremble, view being blocked by Jungkook’s body, but you catch his hand sliding into the back waistband of his pants. A gun, you realize, and look around to find that he’s not the only person hiding one. Hoseok’s hand rests on his hip, the holster becoming visible as his suit jacket moves with him. Jimin and Yoongi exchange a knowing look before they too reach for their hidden weapons. 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to her,” Namjoon snaps back at Himchan, causing the older man to step toe-to-toe with him. He smirks at the older Kang. “That’s not a smart move.”

Before anyone can blink, weapons are drawn, all aimed at different people around the room as more men come barreling in behind Himchan. They surround their boss, standing in front of raised guns without a second thought. You scramble back towards the wall, as if pressing against it enough will make you invisible. Nabi is at your side, shushing you and squeezing your hand tight. 

“Enough,” Namjoon’s father bellows, throwing his hand up to stop anyone from actually firing. Putting his hand on his son’s shoulder, he pulls Namjoon back. “This isn’t the time or place, Namjoon. Go to Y/N. We’ve frightened her on an already stressful day.”

“Y/N,” Himchan repeats as though unused to saying your name, a smile playing on his lips at the sound. It was so like your mother to have picked something equally as beautiful as you are. His smile fades as he straightens himself up to look Namjoon’s father in the eye once more. “I’m well aware of her ties to you, Kim, but that is no more. She is my kin. My flesh and blood. It’s time she lives as such.”

“I don’t know you,” your voice cuts through the room, shaky and trembling. “I don’t know what the hell is even going on right now.”

“Y/N,” Chunghee finally pipes up. If he had known this would turn out to be such a shit show, he’d have never told his father about your mother’s passing. Ah hell, he knew it was going to be bad, he just didn’t really want to believe it. “Please, you have to believe us.”

“She doesn’t have to do a damn thing,” Namjoon roars and his friends tense, unsure of what he may do next. “You come here, Kang, declare her your daughter, and expect her to up and accept it? You’re out of your fucking mind. Even if we did believe this bullshit, I wouldn’t let her go anywhere with you.”

“You?” Himchan sneers. “You think you get any say in this? She’s my daughter, Kim. I’ve bit my tongue and kept my distance long enough, but now she needs us. Her mother is gone, her family is nowhere to be found, she is alone. But not with us.”

“She’s mine.” 

You let out a small gasp at Namjoon’s tone. You’d only ever heard him use it against Minseok when he was mad enough. You’re not sure what the outcome of this entire standoff will be, but you know you wouldn’t be able to stomach it if anyone got hurt. You’re able to wrestle out of Nabi’s hold enough to slowly approach Namjoon’s side, tangling your fingers with his. “Joon, let’s not do this, okay? Not here and not today. Please?”

Himchan’s surprise is visible on his face when Namjoon heeds your words, backing down almost instantly. He knew you were close to the Kim family and, up until recently, he was under the impression that you and Namjoon were just friends. Everyone else in the room seems to be used to this, and so he has to wonder when the change came about. Hope blooms in his chest as the gears in his mind begin to whirl. 

“We should go home for now,” Taehyung suggests, though as Nabi stands at his side, he’s pretty sure everyone knows it’s not his idea, but hers. He tries to hold in a sigh when Namjoon shoots him a glare. “Y/N will come home with us, Namjoon, don’t worry.”

“But I—,” you try to object, unable to accept anything more Taehyung has to offer. Not when he’d already done so much for you as is. 

“Hoseok and the guys will move your things in,” Namjoon interrupts, leaving no room for argument. He tugs on your hand and leads you out of the funeral hall, bumping his shoulder against one of Himchan’s goons. He can feel the reluctant pull of your arm, but he refuses to let go, not until the two of you reach his car where he buckles you in safely before sliding into the driver’s seat. 

The ride home is tense, the car filled with nothing but silence and what you suspect is grumbling coming from Namjoon even though he thinks you can’t hear it. He’s angry. More like pissed. This isn’t something any of them were prepared for. Hell, it wasn’t something any of them would have ever thought possible. Of all the people on this planet to be related to, the Kangs were the last ones anyone would have figured were your relatives. Not only that, but Himchan had forced Namjoon to show his hand, to show you a world he never should have dragged you into. He never thought he could come to regret befriending you in that hall so many years ago, but now he does. If only because he doesn’t really believe he could protect you from the power the Kang family holds. His own family is rather powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but if anyone could hold a candle to them, it’s the Kangs. 

“Namjoon,” you try to get his attention, “you’re angry.”

“I’m worried, baby, it’s different.”

“Because you think it’s true?”

“Because if it is true, then I don’t know if I can protect you,” he begrudgingly admits. 

You’re confused as you take in his words. What could you possibly need protection from? Even as you question it, the memory of everyone in there, guns drawn, comes to the forefront of your mind, and you know. You know Namjoon is hiding something. You’ve always known, but you could never have guessed it was to this extent. “Tell me,” you demand quietly and he strains to hear you. “Tell me, Namjoon, what all of that was about. What you’re hiding from me and what you’re afraid of because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that if you’re scared, then I have to be too. So, please, tell me.”

So he does. Namjoon tells you everything, from beginning to end. What his life was like growing up in the mafia, what he’d had to learn in order to protect himself and those closest to him, and more importantly, why he had to distance himself during the 10 years of your friendship. The only thing he left out was how utterly obsessed with you he’d become. He sounded crazy enough as is, no need to tack on that he basically stalked you from the day you met him. You’re quiet after he’s finished, spending the rest of the ride home staring out of the window. Even as he pulls into the driveway, you only stare up at the giant house Taehyung had built for Nabi a few years ago. Once in the garage, you unbuckle yourself at an alarmingly normal speed, as if you hadn’t just been told that your best friend was in the goddamn mafia of all things. What’s more, all of his friends and family are part of it too, and he’s afraid you might fear Hoseok now, but when you step into the house and Hoseok is the first to sweep you up into his arms, you cling to him as you always have.  

“You’re not part of them,” Hoseok insists, mainly because from what little of his childhood he remembers, the Kangs were the driving force behind him becoming an orphan. “Even if you were, blood doesn’t make them family, Y/N. Himchan is wrong. We’re your family.”

“Do I have to go with them?” you ask honestly, pulling back to look up at Hoseok. He may not have been truthful with you, but he never lied or coddled you either. “If they come for me, Hobi, do I have to go?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” comes Namjoon’s deep voice and you gasp at the stark difference. How you were never able to differentiate his tones before is beyond you. Then again, you think you may have purposefully ignored the signs, wanting to believe he could do no harm. He snatches you out of Hoseok’s arms, pulling your chest flush against his own and raking a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing on this planet that can take you from me, Y/N, not even Kang Himchan or his son.”

“Chunghee,” you hum. Despite all of the commotion, the only thing he’d had to say was that you had to believe what his father had been saying. You could hear the plea in his voice, wondering why he hadn’t brought any of this up the day he’d run into you at the store. Then it hits you, the realization that he’d done it on purpose. Was he why Namjoon had been so scared that day after your fight? Did Chunghee threaten you somehow? 

“Speaking of the Kangs,” Taehyung says as he strides into the living room, dropping himself on the couch while Nabi gives him a stern look. “Princess, I’m tired, and I can bet everyone else here is too. Can I just sit for a second?”

Nabi rolls her eyes, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink at the pet name he’s given her since they’ve been married. She lets out a small squeal when he pulls her onto his lap. “You’re an idiot, Tae. But you’re right.” Turning to face you and Namjoon, she explains, “The Kangs are well known in our circle. Even my grandfather made a deal or two with them, and while they’d given us no reason to not trust them, they’ve made it clear that they’re not out to make friends. They’ve built themselves a solid reputation starting all the way down from Himchan’s great grandfather. They’re a prestigious family, Namjoon, not easy to break through, not like the Choi’s. If you want to fight them, it’ll have to be with some heavy artillery. I can ask my cousins for their support and they’ll grant it, but it’ll take more than that.”

“That’s hot,” Taehyung attempts to whisper in his wife’s ear but everyone still hears it and Jungkook audibly gags. He’s always loved how smart his wife is and he’s not ashamed to show it.

“Stop it.” Nabi swats at his hand, climbing off his lap to walk up to you. “Y/N, you have to understand what could happen if we go to war with Kang Himchan. I don’t want to scare you, but it’ll get bloody and it’ll get deadly, but you have to believe that if anyone can protect you from them, it’s Namjoon. I’m not saying you have to go with the Kangs if they come to collect you, but” –She raises her hand to stop Namjoon from butting in–, “you also don’t have to stay here. If you want to get to know your father and brother, that’s your decision. We won’t stop you from doing it and we most certainly won’t isolate you for their actions and wrongdoings.”

“War?” is all you can say. It’s the only thing that had really caught your attention. That and the blood and death. 

“War,” Namjoon confirms, tightening his hold on your waist. “The Kangs won’t let you go so easily, but neither will I. Give Hoseok your apartment keys. He’s taking Jimin and Jungkook to get your things. I don’t trust that they’ll pull some shit if they know you live alone.”

“I can’t just take up a room here, Joon,” you insist even as you hand off your keys to Hoseok.

“Oh, you’re not taking up a room,” Hoseok chuckles, taking the keys from your outstretched hand. “You’re sharing Namjoon’s room.”

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“This isn’t happening.” You gawk at Jungkook and Jimin moving your things about Namjoon’s room a few hours later. They lug in a suitcase with a good portion of your clothes, most of which is jeans, t-shirts, and a bunch of pajama pants and shorts. Nabi had insisted on going with them to rifle through your clothes, throwing out the tattered pieces you’d shoved to the back of your closet and forgotten about. You turn to Namjoon lounging on his bed, looking as though a bomb hadn’t just been dropped on both of you. “You can’t be serious about this, Joon. I mean, this is your personal space, you can’t be happy about me invading it. The house is practically on full lock down, I’m sure there’s a spare room I can use.”

“No,” is all he says, reaching out to grab your arm and tugging you into the space next to him. “Taehyung’s taken every precaution to protect Nabi and I’ll do the same for you.” He looks as though he wants to say more but decides against it, getting up from the bed to slap Jungkook upside the head when he notices the younger man mocking him. 

“Nabi said Taheyung didn’t allow her out unless Jungkook and Jimin were with her.” 

Namjoon freezes at your words. Of course you’d ask Nabi what it was like living here, and of course Nabi wouldn’t spare any details. Jimin and Jungkook stare at him, waiting to take his lead and willing to downplay their roles as Nabi’s guards if necessary. He sighs and figures he’s done enough lying to you. He turns to see you with crossed arms and a look that says you already knew what to expect. “The same rules apply to you, Y/N. Until this situation is settled, you can’t go anywhere unless Hoseok and Jimin are with you, or I’m with you, or all three of us are escorting you somewhere. I’m not going to lie to you and say you’ll have everything you need here, but you’ll never be bored. I was going to have Seokjin or Yoongi assigned to you, but Jin’s helping Yoongi with something important and it’s taking all of their focus. Also,” he hesitates as you raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You can’t contact Minseok.” It’s entirely selfish of him to forbid any contact with Minseok, but it’s an opportunity he’ll take. 

With a roll of your eyes, you sink further into the bed, leaning back into his pillows. “Not that I want to talk to Minseok, but he did take care of my mom, Namjoon. I at least owe him a thank you.”

“Not right now,” he seethes, curling his hand into a fist, and Jungkook and Jimin take that as their cue to leave. Storming up to the bed, he grips your ankles and pulls you down to the edge. He smirks when you squeal in surprise, slotting himself between your thighs. When your squeal turns into a gasp, he knows it’s because you can feel how hard he’s gotten since you’ve been in the room. He plants his palms against the mattress, watching your eyes dart to the veins in his forearms, sliding forward until he’s nose to nose with you. “You can thank Minseok another time, sweetheart, but right now it’s best to keep your distance. If Kang thinks he can use Minseok to get to you, he’ll do it.”

Your brows draw together, regret settling in the pit of your stomach as you play with the collar of his black dress shirt. “My very existence is dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” One of his hands comes up to brush the stray hairs from your face. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t even know who your father was until now.”

A light knock on his bedroom door lets him know that it’s Nabi and she’s going to give him about 10 seconds to be ready. He scrambles away from you just as she plows through the door, smiling sweetly before breaking the news. “Taehyung has accepted Kang’s request to meet with you, Y/N. I know we should have talked to you first, but I don’t want your decision to be based on emotion rather than rationale. Is that okay?”

You nod, grateful that she’s on your side and to have her as a friend. Sitting up as she approaches the bed, you note that she fusses over you like a mother would, righting your clothes and smoothing your hair down. You want to laugh, but then you remember that when you were little, your mother would have to step in to make you presentable when you’d been too rough on the playground. Your smile fades. “He’s here now, isn’t he?”

“Goddamn it,” Namjoon hisses, barreling for the door. “You could have given us a bigger heads up, Nabi.”

“That wasn’t my decision,” she barks back at him, and you blink at her in surprise. It’s not very often people can talk back to Namjoon and he’ll just let it happen. “Taehyung surprised me too when he said Kang would be here soon.”

“Let’s just go,” you sigh, getting up from the bed to follow Namjoon to the living room, Nabi not far behind. Your nerves shoot sky high as you get closer and closer to the deep voices of who you now know is your father speaking to Namjoon’s father. Two weeks ago, you’d been wiping down tables at one of your part time jobs, living off ramen noodles and sandwiches, and one more speed bump away from possibly losing the bumper to your junker car, but it had been worth it. You’d do all of it over again to take care of the most precious person to you. How your life got turned so ass backwards, you don’t know, and you’re not entirely sure you want to figure it out. 

“She hasn’t had to live up to traditions and customs,” Namjoon’s father sounds as if he’s on the verge of losing his temper. “You cannot throw this on her after she’s just learned of you!”

“That's why she should be moved under my roof!” Himchan snaps back at Mr. Kim and you pause at the entryway of the living room, neither of them even see you yet. “She can learn of those customs and traditions.”

“So you can pawn her off to some low life thug undeserving of her?” Mr. Kim scoffs. “I don’t think so. Y/N is as much a part of our family as she is of yours. Even more so since we’re the ones who have been there for her.”

“I didn’t even know she existed until Harin got sick,” Himchan mumbles, dragging his hand down his face as you finally come into view.

You sit next to Mr. Kim while Namjoon stands beside the couch and Hoseok parks himself behind it. You’re not sure where to begin or what you can even say given his position. If he’s as high up on the chain of command as Mr. Kim, then you’re pretty sure telling him to go fuck himself is off the table. You look around as if searching for something or someone, only to realize he isn’t there. “Where’s Chunghee?”

Himchan sits up straight as you finally address him, offering a polite smile in response. “Chunghee had some business to attend to overseas. As time goes on, I’m hoping your relationship will become less strained.” He frowns when you grow stiff, having misunderstood, though he’s sure the truth won’t be any better. “When I met your mother, Y/N, I fell in love with her at first sight. She didn’t know who I was or even that I was…married. My marriage had been arranged by my father, as his marriage was, and his father before him. In our life, it is rare to find and marry someone we’re in love with. We’re paired with someone we believe can carry a strong bloodline. Your brother is a product of a marriage neither I nor his mother had a true say in. He was only 10 when you were born, even younger when I started an affair with your mother. She didn’t know what kind of life I had and one day she was just gone. Somehow, she’d found out, and left town without telling me she was pregnant.”

“So, Chunghee hates me,” you gather from everything he’s said. “Because of you.”

“Yes,” Himchan admits, shame burning his throat.

Namjoon steps in front of you protectively, effectively cutting off any more access Himchan had. “Are you saying your own son is a threat? You want me to give her to you when your own son could hurt her?”

“I would never allow that,” Himchan insists, but it lands on deaf ears as Namjoon turns to take your hand, ready to drag you back to his room. “I only want a good life for her, Namjoon. I’ve only recently learned of her struggles, ones that you’ve allowed her to go through.”

“Allowed?” you question at the sheer audacity both of them have to treat you like an object rather than a person.

“I didn’t allow a fucking thing,” Namjoon interrupts and Nabi rubs at her temples in exasperation. “She wouldn’t let me help. She’s stubborn that way, but it’s what makes her so strong, Kang. Don’t think for a second I don’t know why you really want her under your roof. You already have someone lined up for her to marry, but that’s not fucking happening.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Nabi throws her hands in the air, stalking to the middle of the living room and commanding attention in a way that makes you envious. “Unless we’re all forgetting that Y/N’s here, I think maybe we should ask her what she wants. Mr. Kang, I understand tradition better than anyone here, but given that she hasn’t grown up in your care or home, you can’t implement traditional values without her knowledge of it. That’s dangerous and you know it.”

“Who is it?” your voice cuts through the room, stepping around Namjoon to face your father. 

Namjoon looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head, mouth gaping open in shock. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“I don’t know what else to even do, Namjoon!” You throw your arms up in frustration, turning away from him with tears in your eyes. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with all of this.”

“Not by entertaining this stupid bullshit.” Namjoon’s hands curl into fists and Hoseok quickly takes up the space at your side in case his friend’s temper gets the best of him. 

“That’s what I was hoping to talk to Mr. Kim about today.” Himchan faces Namjoon’s father again, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I learned about my daughter 10 years ago, Kim, when she was 18 and forced into working job after job until her fingers bled, and through all of it, your son was there. From my understanding, my father and yours had meant to work together quite some time ago and those plans fell through.”

Namjoon inhales sharply. Is Kang suggesting what Namjoon thinks he is? Could he really be handed everything he’s ever wanted right here, right now? Would you even be okay with that?

“I want him to vet Han Youngjae in exchange for discussing a new business venture that could benefit us both,” Himchan continues, sending Namjoon’s world crashing down. “You know as well as I do that the Han family has been around far longer than either of our families. Youngjae seems to be a good man, but I trust your son’s judgment, especially when it comes to Y/N. I’ve worked with the Han family for awhile now and the arrangement for my son to marry their eldest daughter is being finalized soon.”

“Then why the fuck do you need more ties into that family?” Namjoon’s tone has gone dangerously low, sending a chill down your spine, but rather than fear it’s bordering on something else entirely. “You come into her life, our lives, after she loses her mother and you want to marry her off to a family like the Hans?”

“I want to give her time to adjust to the idea,” Himchan clarifies, searching for some kind of hope that you’ll just think about it. “I truly believe—.”

“I will not entertain this idea,” Namjoon’s father stops Himchan before he can explain any further. “Besides the fact that it’s entirely absurd, Y/N has already been promised to my son.”

“I’m so fucking confused,” you say aloud without meaning to, and Nabi giggles while looping her arm through yours. 

Himchan winces at your colorful language, sighing in disappointment. “Y/N, truly, you shouldn’t speak with such foul language, it’s unbecoming.”

“How my fiancée chooses to speak is none of your business,” Namjoon defends you, quickly growing used to the idea of calling you his fiancée. It makes his chest warm and body hum with need. 

You startle, bumping against Nabi’s embrace. Namjoon’s casual use of the word “fiancee” makes your throat dry. You rather like the way it sounds, but you have to remind yourself that it’s just to get your father off your back. But then, if that were true, what was all of that back in his room? Namjoon’s been acting rather odd lately, invading your space, holding your hand, kissing your cheek. It’s enough to convince even you that he might actually have feelings for you. You let out a heavy sigh while shaking the thoughts from your head. No, Namjoon was well aware of how much you cherished your mother. He was simply helping you through the grieving process, and now with the looming threat of your father, he’s doing what’s necessary to keep you safe. 

“It’s been quite the day,” Nabi’s smooth and commanding voice cuts through the men’s argument, effectively silencing them as they all turn to stare at her. “It’s late Mr. Kang, and while we understand your concerns for tradition and the need to keep up with them, we’ve taken your proposal into consideration and have deemed it unnecessary. As Mr. Kim has already stated, Namjoon and Y/N have been promised to each other. There is no need for her to marry into the Han family.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Kang says through gritted teeth. “Custom states that the engagement requires my approval, which I’m yet to give.”

“You’ve kept tabs on us all this time,” Namjoon reminds him with a wicked smile. “Surely you’re not so naive as to misunderstand just what we’ve been up to in the night’s I’ve stayed at her home.”

“Namjoon,” you hiss, cheeks flushing at his implication. True as it may be that Namjoon has spent a considerable amount of nights at your apartment, he really only slept on the couch and the one time he nearly slept in your bed, he’d conceded and left the room. “Stop it.”

“I’m stating facts, sweetheart, nothing more.” Namjoon turns to wrap his fingers around your free arm and tug you close to his chest. His arm snakes around your waist to keep you trapped against him. Your squeak of surprise makes him chuckle low and deep, making you shiver as he skims his lips across your cheek. 

Kang curls his fingers into fists at the display. While yes, he was well aware of Namjoon’s overnight stays, he’d never seen any open displays of affection. He’s not sure if it’s because Namjoon is truly a private person, or if this entire charade is a lie. Either way, he cannot allow the opportunity to tie more of his lineage to the Han family to pass him by. He breathes in deep and exhales slowly to calm himself. “Fine,” he says while straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. “I will let this rest for now, Kim. But be warned, should I find anything false about this ‘engagement’ of yours, Y/N will live under my roof and she will marry Han.”

“You can’t—,” you begin to argue, but Taehyung beats you to it by instructing Jungkook and Jimin to escort Kang to his waiting vehicle. 

“Understand this, Kang,” Taehyung seethes while he still has Kang’s attention, “I will not tolerate your persistence of taking Y/N from underneath my roof. If, and only if, she chooses to part ways with Namjoon, I will make sure she gets far away from us and you. Trust when I say this is not a war you want with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it as you wish,” Taehyung stands tall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as if to show your father that Kang isn’t nearly as in control as he believes. “But, much like Namjoon, I’m only stating facts. However, I will take into consideration another meeting with you and your son.”

“What?” Namjoon snaps, and becomes pissed when Taehyung holds his hand up to stop him from speaking further.

“I know that customs and tradition are being called into question, and while I don’t agree to forcing a marriage between the Han family and Y/N, it is my duty to consider it should any arrangements between her and Namjoon fall apart.” Taehyung frowns in your direction, knowing that all he can truly do is help Namjoon keep up appearances until this entire mess is sorted out. He can’t step in and completely dissolve whatever deal Kang has made with the Han family, but he can delay it until Namjoon can talk you into a real marriage. He hates it, and is well aware that keeping you from the Han family by forcing you into Namjoon’s family instead is rather hypocritical. He turns back to Kang and sighs in defeat, “I swear to you that I will consider it seriously. In the meantime, don’t hold your breath, Kang.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor with the way Taehyung dismissed your father like a child, and the fact that your father actually leaves after being waved away is even more shocking. You look to Nabi for some guidance, but she only shakes your head with a reassuring smile, leaving you to believe that things might actually turn out okay in the end.  

#kim namjoon fic #secrets and lies fic #war of hearts universe #bts fic #bts smut #kim namjoon smut

[local-critter]

Welcome again, and I was wondering if I could get a Hc for how you think the M6 would react to an Mc who has wings.

Winged MC

Asra

Upon your first meeting, he thought they were part of an elaborate costume since you met during a Masquerade

But when you continued to meet and they got to know you more they realized those wings were very real

He was so curious at first, but I think he’d be hesitant to ask many questions for fear of making you uncomfortable or scaring you off

They got used to them quickly and just accepted that your wings were a part of you like an arm or leg 

When you both lived together, he learned how to move around them while working with you

Helping you clean and groom them was one of your favorite ways to bond

Post Plague, your wings were in poor condition, but Asra could no longer help you groom them; it would send you straight into a catatonic state, to relive such tender and intimate moments; you’d remember too much and you’d be in agony

He had to painstakingly teach you how to care for your wings, how to stretch them out and exercise them because like any muscle they could atrophy

After the whole mess with Lucio and The Devil was done, he was overjoyed to be able to care for your wings again

It always felt very intimate and after having to leave you so much, he was desperate to reform a bond with you as equals and not caretaker/patient 

Prime time for cuddles, which they take full advantage of

Faust loves burrowing in the pile of old feathers

Julian

  Had no clue while you were working under him in his clinic

They were hidden under the plague doctor uniform you had to wear to avoid getting sick

He most likely didn't find out, whether you hid them or not, until the end of the whole fiasco 

Both of you were too busy trying to survive for him to notice and for you to notice he hadn't yet 

As soon as he did notice, he was shocked

Bro was NOT expecting that

He kind of wants to study your anatomy but is nervous to ask, doesn’t want to sound weird or scare you off

Briefly gets flashbacks to Valdemar ‘studying’ the corpses during the height of the plague 

He’s nervous around your wings because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable; he is as stiff as a board and tense whenever you stretch them out

He loves you too much to scare you off

Once you give him permission to touch them, he relaxes a lot more

He really likes to run his hands through the soft feathers at night when the day is done and he can just relax and spend time with his lover

Malak tries to groom you like you’re his kid

Nadia

She didn’t notice during your first meeting, she was exhausted and running on adrenaline when she just started banging on your door

The following day though, when you came to the Palace, she did realize and she was shocked; she’d never seen anyone like you before 

First things first, she wanted to talk to you about your needs and how she could best accommodate you as your host

She’s very mindful of them and is as respectful as possible but she’s also so so curious and is practically begging (mentally) for permission to touch them

Every outfit she has made for you is made with your wings in mind

She admires them a lot, she thinks they’re beautiful 

Whenever you two bathe together or whenever she has enough free time she sits down with you to groom them and make sure they’re nice and pampered 

It’ll take her a while to muster up the courage to ask if you could maybe take her flying but if you say yes she’d be super giddy and excited

Chandra feels jealous for a few minutes before you get to know each other and then she loves you

Muriel

 He didn’t know until the trip south; prior to that he’d do the bare minimum of checking in on you to appease Asra

He had no idea how to address them and just chose not to eventually 

He did feel a sort of kinship with you because he was different and felt ostracized because of it and he saw how the people in your neighborhood avoided you

During the trip and training, if Morga made a negative comment he would glare at her until eventually he got used to your presence enough to actually speak up and tell her to leave you alone

He’s aware of them constantly, whenever he’s around you and he makes sure to never so much as brush against them

You worry he’s nervous around them or thinks they’re weird

In reality, he just wants to respect your boundaries and refuses to touch them until he’s given express permission

Once he is though, he caresses your soft feathers as gently as he can, utter adoration in his eyes

He just melts

His face cycles through a dozen different emotions once you ask for his help with grooming because, on one hand, he wants nothing more than to treat you like he wishes he’d been treated as a child, with love and care

He wants to treat you gently, to hold you and help you

But on the other hand, he’s so scared

His hands are covered in so much blood that he’s so scared of hurting such a delicate part of you

Once you convince him though, grooming becomes his favorite thing to do

The chickens have accepted you as one of your own, they swarm you on sight now

Portia

She was so excited when she first met you

She’d already heard from the Countess that you were a powerful magician, so she had high expectations for you

And then she met you and you had wings? She was over the moon

She immediately grabbed the nearest one and stretched it out a little to get a closer look at the feathers 

Probably startled you a little ngl

You were not expecting that

You’d gotten a large variety of reactions to your wings but never one quite like hers

You probably took a step back and told her to give you your space because not many people are okay with a total stranger just grabbing them randomly 

Over the course of your adventure though, you get more used to her and she gets more used to magic

Once you two start dating she likes to brag a little about how she’s with such a cool magician, she’s very proud of you and of all you’ve accomplished together 

Portia definitely has a pretty thorough self-care routine and she makes sure you do too

She takes your grooming very seriously and takes time off whenever necessary to help you care for your wings

Pepi makes a pile of discarded feathers and likes to roll/nap in it

Lucio

They were practically the first thing he noticed about you

He was afraid at first that you were a demon he'd made a deal with and you'd come to collect 

Once you'd bound his spirit to you though, he thought you were good 

Your wings were one of the first things he touched as soon as he had a physical body again; they looked so soft 

He thinks they’re badass 

Loves bragging about them to whoever will give him the time of day

He wants to groom your wings with you so bad but he's terrified of hurting you with his metal arm

He pouts about it

He hates the cold so he cuddles up to you as much as he can the further south you go or the closer winter gets 

The dogs love playing with your wings

If you stretch your wings out they both jump up to try and bite them

They typically succeed too 

#the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #asra alzanar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #muriel of the kokhuri #first prompt

[esbee-daisy]

Sickie comes home to find Caretaker sick. After time and time again of being taken care of so lovingly by Caretaker, Sickie is determined to be the best caregiver ever.

Cut to back to back nights of zero sleep tending to Caretakers every need. Cuddling them, cooking for them, cleaning them up and cleaning up after them. Maybe they go out while it’s raining to get more meds for Caretaker and come back to find Caretaker doing poorly so they don’t even take the time to remove their wet clothes or take a shower to warm up.

Sickie has a notoriously terrible immune system so once Caretaker is on the mend, they’re paying attention to Sickie’s behavior to make sure they’ve actually remained healthy through the illness.

Of course Sickie has come down with whatever Caretaker had, but worse because they’ve been working themselves to death and neglecting their own health in an effort to care for Caretaker AND to hide how bad they feel. Sickie is covering themselves with makeup to cover their pallor, double dosing meds to keep their rising fever down, snorting Afrin like it’s no one’s business so they don’t sound stuffy at all, and using so much energy to act more bubbly than ever, knowing the slightest show of lethargy will alert Caregiver to how they’re really doing.

Just when Caretaker is starting to think they’re both out of the woods, they hear a thump coming from the bathroom, and find Sickie passed out in the shower underneath scorching hot water. Absolutely burning with fever and cleared of all makeup they’ve been using to cover their now obvious condition. Cue Caretaker slipping right back in to caretaker mode, but a delirious and exhausted Sickie is more difficult to help than EVER because they still have it in their head Caretaker is the one who needs help. But being in the burning hot shower for so long pushed them completely over the edge. Sickie is shaking uncontrollably, riddled with chills, burning with fever, glassy eyed and absolutely weak as a kitten, but they still are convinced they can handle it themselves.

Both of them feel so guilty - Sickie for once again being failed by their own body when they’re supposed to be helping Caretaker; and Caretaker because they’re responsible for Sickie getting sick and even worse, for not noticing how bad off Sickie was and letting them make themselves worse.

In the end, and despite their best efforts, Sickie is so worn down and out of it they can’t really put up much of a fight. Plus things are getting so bad Caretaker’s threatening to take them to the hospital so Sickie has no choice but to relent. But that doesn’t stop the shame and guilt.

Someone please write this for me 😭🙏😬

#sickfic prompt #sickfic #sickfic prompts #sickfic whump #whump #whumpee #caretaker #sick caretaker #fainting #fever #burning up #passing out #writing prompt #someone please write this #prompt #illness #sick #collapse #collapsing #limp #unconcious #shivering #shaking and shivering #freezing #dizzy #whump prompt #sick character #sick whump #whump tropes #whump ideas

[warmblanketwhump]

consider: a sick whumpee who is just exhausted. maybe they were really vocal before—they were just doing a lot of complaining, crying, or just talking because of how restless they were. but eventually they’re just so dead tired that all they can do is lay there and moan in response to anything caretaker tries to say to them. their fever just has them so worn out that they can’t cry or complain about it anymore and caretaker doesn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that they’ve stopped.

anon, this has me feeling some things 🥹🥹🥹 That utter exhaustion that takes over, where their suffering almost goes on autopilot, and they’re so sick and weak and wrung out. so they just lay there, eyes half open, staring out at nothing and everything, essentially dead to the world.

and then, there’s just the tiniest whimper that sneaks out and sends a crack down the center of caretaker’s heart. if they could do anything to make them feel better, they would. but they can’t, so they just stay with them and pray to anyone or anything that whumpee takes a better turn in the morning.

#sickfic #exhaustion #this is the GOODS anon #anon