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crazyyluvr · 4 months

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Dealing With the Problem = Breaking the Problem’s Nose

pairing: remus lupin x slytherin!reader

summary: You punched another student because he was annoying. Not because you were defending Remus Lupin. Totally not.

genre: crushing, fluff?, kind of enemies to lovers but not really (reader hates Remus but Remus likes reader), sunshine x grumpy trope?

wc: 2.1k

content: reader can throw a punch, gn!reader, there’s a fight, a lot of cursing, remus gets insulted, remus is a simp fr, reader is very... salty? idk how to describe them.

note: woah, two posts in one day? so rare. I wrote this without any particular idea in mind, but I want to show my appreciation for Remus, because we love Remus <3

oneshot under the cut :: not proofread

Remus Lupin was interesting.

He was not like his other friends; he was quiet, more reserved than them. The Marauders were the heartthrobs of Hogwarts, and Remus Lupin had his own group of “fans” that found his certain allure appealing.

You hated him.

The times when you would had the unfortunate requirement to talk to him, he was infuriating. He would send that damned smirk of his your way even when you were obviously about to blow a fuse. He would use those annoyingly smooth pickup lines on you when you were literally insulting him. He compliments you and uses pet names on you that makes other people do a double take on you from how he treated you like you two were dating.

He may have been the quieter one among his friends (besides Peter of course), but he could act as embarrassingly as Potter and Black do.

You were going to kill him someday. If he doesn’t kill you first with his smooth words and soft gaze.

As much as you hate him, your body betrays you. All the time.

Your cheeks flush when he compliments you. Your knees go weak when he calls you dove. Your brain lags when he uses one of his pickup lines that you never seem to predict.

The reactions were out of your control. I mean, if anyone else treated you the way Lupin treated you, you’d probably act the same.

Right?

Wrong, because you hate everyone besides your friends in Slytherin, no matter how kind they act towards you. Lupin just happened to take a page out of your house’s mascot and slither through your walls to become an exception.

Wrong, because you never would have punched someone purely out of instinct after a particularly horrible insult.

You were disappointed in yourself. You were doing well in restraining your anger during the past few years in Hogwarts, so why did you have to snap now out of all times?

No matter how annoyed you were at yourself, it couldn’t overpower the satisfaction you got from finally shutting Avery up.

So, how did it happen?

Let’s rewind.

—————

You were taking a stroll in the grass with Barty, who was always willing to accompany you on your spontaneous walks. The two of you were just talking about people you particularly hated in Hogwarts until you came across the two that placed particularly high on both your lists: Avery and Snape.

Being in the same house as the two vermin didn’t make you or Barty dislike them any less, especially you. You were one of the precious few halfbloods in Slytherin, and they never failed to insult you about it.

You didn’t care about blood statuses, though. But that didn’t matter do them.

They targeted you constantly, picking on you, tripping you in the hallway, spilling drinks on your back, and other petty things.

You always bit back with your words. You knew that if you tried to deal with it physically, you might be expelled from the school for violence.

Thank goodness Pandora, Barty, and Regulus ere always there to restrain you. Especially Barty. He was your closest friend, and although he wanted to beat them up himself, he didn’t want you getting in trouble.

Today seemed to be an exception.

“Oh, speaking of,” you cut Barty off, your gaze souring as you caught sight of the two you were just ranting about.

Barty followed your gaze, his lip curling in disgust. They were crowded over someone, but the tree beside them obscured your view of the victim. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing wickedly and pushing the person.

“Are we going?” Barty knew you well. He knew you were going to do something about it. He just hoped that you were going to use your words instead of your fists, because he hasn't finished his strategy on how to hide bodies in school just yet.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, picking up your pace, Barty a few feet behind you to give you space. You may hate everyone in school, but not enough to leave them in the clutches of people like Snape and Avery.

“What kind of fucked up entertainment did you two idiots decide to do today?” You called, making the two turn your way.

“Ah, just the person we were talking about,” Avery sneered. “What do you want now? You here to check up on your boyfriend?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. You stepped to the side a little and groaned internally when you saw who Snape and Avery’s target was today: Remus Lupin.

His face was contorted in anger, his clenched fists peeking out from his slightly oversized sweater. Whatever Snape and Avery were teasing him about must have really struck a nerve in him.

“Leave them out of this,” he warned.

“What’re you going to do about it, huh?” Snape taunted him, approaching you. “C’mon loverboy. Not so strong now that your bodyguards aren’t here, ain’t that right?”

“Why don’t you boys take a break from being dickheads, yeah?” You said, testing out the chance of a diplomatic ending. “Go find some other place to dump your bullshit on, preferably the greenhouses. They could use the fertilizer.”

Avery made a beeline towards you, partially shoving Snape out of his way to grab your collar and pull you toward him. He was practically steaming.

Diplomacy was out the window, I suppose.

Barty a step towards you, as did Remus, but Snape stopped the lanky boy and you put your hand up to make Barty pause. You could handle yourself.

“You wanna say that again, bitch?” Avery seethed.

You had to restrain yourself from puking in his face after you felt drops of his saliva hit your cheeks, but you stood your ground. “I said you’re full of shit. Did some of it get in your ears or something?”

Avery looked like he wanted to hit you, but instead he leaned in your ear. You cringed at the lack of distance, but it quickly morphed into something else as he whispered, “You wouldn’t be barking as much if you let your ugly ass boytoy do the talking for you. He’s the one better with words, eh? Bet he uses them so you would want to fuck him. Tell me, is his dick as deformed as his face is?”

Avery never got his response as you reeled your fist back and let it fly, making direct contact with his nose with a satisfying crack.

—————

“I don’t believe it,” Madame Pomfrey tsked in disappointment, dabbing a paste on the bruise around your eye. You had to suppress a wince, since the rest of your body was too sore. “You should know better than to start a brawl in the courtyard.”

“They had it coming,” you muttered, making the nurse dab with a little more force than necessary. “Ouch.”

"You could have sustained worse injuries than this, stupid child!" She scolded, like a mother reprimanding a disobedient child. And like a disappointed child, you stayed silent and hung your head in slight guilt.

Only slight guilt because you still firmly believed that the two idiots had it coming to them.

You heard a moan of pain, and you could have sworn that you saw Madame Pomfrey roll her eyes. "You don't have that much severe injuries, so I'll check up on you in a while after I treat Mr. Snape and Mr. Avery."

You nodded. Before leaving, the nurse turned to Remus Lupin, who was icing a bruise on his cheek on the cot beside yours. "Watch over them, and after a few minutes, apply ice to their bruises," she instructed, and the Gryffindor nodded.

"Treasure, how're you doing?" Barty called from his cot across from you. He had sprained his ankle from kicking Snape hard in the nuts, and although he winced in pain occasionally when he moved, his grin told you that he didn't regret what he did.

"I'm okay B," you replied, grimacing slightly as one of the pulled muscles on your back acted up.

Remus noticed your flinch, and approached you worriedly. He was better off than you and Barty, the bruise on his face the only thing that he obtained from the fight. "Are you sure?" He asked, concerned. You didn't like how soft his eyes were as he gazed at you, or how your chest squeezed slightly at his worry.

"I'm fine, Lupin," you quipped, although your voice lacked its usual venom.

Remus hummed, unconvinced. He turned to the bedside and grabbed the ice that Madame Pomfrey left for you and held it out for you to grab.

You scoffed. "I said I'm fine. No need to baby me."

Remus rolled his eyes slightly. "And I don't believe you. Besides, the nurse said to ice your bruise after a few minutes. A few minutes has already passed, and frankly, she can do more damage to me than you can in this state."

You grumbled, turning your head. Your pride made you stubborn, as it did to many, but thank goodness Remus Lupin has had training in dealing with prideful companions.

He closed in on you, holding your face by the chin and tilting it towards him. You tried to fight back, but his grip was firm, so you simply sighed and resigned your fate. You could only hope that the observant boy didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

He gently placed the ice on your eye.

"Sorry," He murmured when you hissed at the sudden cold.

You purposefully averted your gaze from him, eyes fixated on the wheels of another cot.

That didn't stop you from spotting Remus's fixated stare on you from your periphery.

"Stop looking at me like that, Lupin," You spat, still refusing to make direct eye contact with him. "What do you want?"

"Why did you punch Avery?" He asked, finally making your eyes snap up to him. "He said something that provoked you. What did he say?"

You scoffed. "The usual bullshit that comes out of his mouth."

"I heard that."

"Fuck off," you called to the curtained cot where Avery currently resided. Madame Pomfrey hushed you disapprovingly form behind the curtains.

"I don't think that's true," Remus said, eyes narrowed as he studied you like a problem he couldn't solve, an enigma he wanted to understand.

You looked at him in silence for a moment, before heaving a sigh and looking away again. "He insulted you," you mumbled, words faint and hard to decipher, but Remus got the general meaning.

Well, judging from his grin, he got the general meaning.

"What did you say?" He asked. You looked at him, offended. Remus Lupin was teasing you.

"Clean your ears next time, Lupin," you shot a glare at him, but it didn't have as much heat behind it as you would have wanted.

"Nope, don't try to escape from this," he chuckled, using his hand on your chin to make your visible eye make contact with his brown ones again. "What did you say, dove?"

You groaned. You absolutely loved hated the effect this boy had on you.

"He insulted you, Lupin," You snapped, cheeks blazing at this point. "Happy?"

Remus's playful expression melted into one of disbelief. "You punched him because... he insulted me?"

"Salazar, you really are deaf," you rolled your eyes. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

Remus seemed to still not be able to wrap his head around the idea. You, the person he's been pining over the past few months, defended him. And got hurt because of it.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you apologizing for? I started that fight with my own free will, and they deserved every cut and bruise they received."

"Amen," Barty replied. He was obviously eavesdropping on your conversation, and you couldn't say that you were surprised.

"But still." His lips tilted downwards along with his gaze. Salazar give me strength, he's pouting. "You were dragged into it when they were picking on me. I could have —"

"Yes, there are many things that you could have done, but you can't reverse time to do them now, Lupin," You said severely. "I don't need you apologizing for things I don't regret doing."

Remus looked up at you hopefully. "You don't regret defending me?"

You blinked, realizing the implications your words gave off. You played it off with a huff. "Whatever."

"You didn't deny it," Remus teased, a small smile on his face. He still felt guilty that you were hurt because you were defending him, but you didn't regret it. That had to count for something.

"Whatever, Lupin."

"Call me Remus."

"No."

"Please."

"Absolutely not."

"Dove?"

"... Fine, Remus."

"Heh, I knew you liked me."

"What — I never said I did!"

"But you never said you didn't."

"I —"

A retching noise was heard. "Ugh, your lovey-doveyness is making me sick."

"Shut up, Barty!"

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #marauders era #marauders #marauders x reader #moony #moony x reader #hp #sirius black #james potter #barty crouch jr #regulus black

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ween-kitchens · 5 months

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so shiver, but shiver with a friend

1034 words

the boat is creaking. that's not even remotely abnormal; the boat spends more time creaking than it does staying silent—gem built it so it would do that. sure, it took a lil' getting used to, but it didn’t take long for the rhythmic rocking and gentle creaking to become conducive to sleep, and now gem finds it far more difficult to sleep in silence. after all, silence means something is wrong—the engine rumbles if it's working, the waves splash against the sides of the boat if it's still afloat. a creaky boat means gem is still alive, and the boat is still running. but this isn’t your average ambient creaking. like she said, gem knows the noises of her little fishing boat like the back of her hand, and this is not a normal creak. this is a suspicious creak. and- sure, that might sound silly, but have you memorised every sound this boat can make? didn’t think so.

this fic exists for two reasons, which are stiff stiffyck's love for qpr elven duo (gem and scar) and also me overthinking scar's wheelchair worldbuilding in the hermitcraft world

this could be a lot better but alas I have been consumed by depression writers block, so honestly i'm just proud this ended up as a finished fic

btw this is one of my first times writing wheelchairs, and whilst it is fantasy so things are gonna be a little different, I would appreciate if someone could tell me if I did something wrong/insensitively!

the boat is creaking.

that's not even remotely abnormal; the boat spends more time creaking than it does staying silent—gem built it so it would do that. sure, it took a lil' getting used to, but it didn’t take long for the rhythmic rocking and gentle creaking to become conducive to sleep, and now gem finds it far more difficult to sleep in silence. after all, silence means something is wrong—the engine rumbles if it's working, the waves splash against the sides of the boat if it's still afloat. a creaky boat means gem is still alive, and the boat is still running.

but this isn’t your average ambient creaking. like she said, gem knows the noises of her little fishing boat like the back of her hand, and this is not a normal creak. this is a suspicious creak. and- sure, that might sound silly, but have you memorised every sound this boat can make? didn’t think so.

anyway, all of this to say that gem is pretty sure someone is on her boat at the middle of the night for what she deeply hopes are not nefarious reasons. although, she cannot think of any reason someone would be sneaking onto her boat at two in the morning—nefarious or otherwise. maybe it's grian trying to lag some things out of her chests? but why on earth he wouldn't do that in the day when she wasn't on board, gem has no clue.

there's a new noise now, one that suggests against the idea of nefarious deeds, but only confuses gem more: a kind of squeaking, like a rubber ring being taken off, or an air mattress being slept on. okay, that doesn’t rule anything out at all, and only serves to make everything far more complicated. who is bringing a rubber something onto her boat at 2am? what is happening here?

overtaken by an amounting curiosity to whatever the hell is actually going on, gem climbs out of bed and pads softly along the floorboards in her slippers to her door. she regrets not installing one of those peepholes, because now she actually has to engage with the something that's happening outside in order to investigate. gem is sure there isn’t anything especially dangerous that could be going on, but she pulls out her sword preemptively as she opens the door slowly to find-

to find..

well, she's not sure what she's found.

"gem!" says a cheery scar, who is. on her boat? how is he on her boat- he uses a wheelchair, and the boat is in the middle of the river.

except- no, hang on, his wheelchair seems to be completely lacking wheels, which gem would argue is the main point of a wheelchair. where the wheels should otherwise be, there are floatation devices—seemingly rubber, which explains the noises gem was hearing earlier—in patented hotguy colours, so she assumes that's intentional. okay, that's- that sure is something.

"you-" gem scrambles for any words to express how bizarre this situation is and fails miserably. "you’re on my boat." is all she manages. void, it is way too late (early?) to be trying to figure this out.

"I am on your boat!" scar says, looking rather proud of himself. it's kind of sweet, to be fair—even as it only adds to the crazy situation. "y’know, I didn't think i’d actually manage it. last time I tried, I sunk."

gem blinks, giving up on making sense of the situation now and letting herself just go with the bizarre. "yeah, I can imagine why scar." she gestures at the rubber wheels (they look a bit like wheels, anyway). "how did you get those?"

"cub helped me!" scar smiles, as if this was a normal conversation to be having. does he even realise how strange this situation is, or is this just normal for him now? "see- you know how my chair has an elytra mode?"

"uh huh."

"well, now it has a swimming mode!" scar says, and he clicks a button on the underside of the seat. within an instant, the floatation devices deflate, replaced swiftly by the regular wheels. "ta da!"

"that- I mean, that's very cool." gem says, and she means it, despite how unenthusiastic she knows she must sound. in her defence, it is the middle of the night. "I just- why are you here?"

something changes in scar's expression immediately, and gem panics a little until scar says meekly, "it- okay, well. now it sounds silly."

gem snorts. "because showing off your inflatable wheelchair at two in the morning is normal?" she tilts her head, and her voice is fond when she says, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

a smile tugs at the corners of scar's lips, and gem feels something warm in her chest to see it. "I know, I know." he hesitates for a second, before giving a huff of exasperation. "I wanted a hug." scar admits, glancing at the floor.

"wh- scar." gem finds herself beginning to smile. "do you really think I would ever turn down a hug from you?"

scars grin is almost shy as he opens his arms, and gem practically falls into them, burying her face in his jacket. man, she has missed hugs from scar; she loves the way they fit together so well, like pieces of a puzzle, perfectly matched to one another. there are very few places where gem feels entirely at home—she's been pretty much everywhere, so she knows what home feels like—and scar is closer to home than any place has ever felt to her.

before she knows it, scar has scooted forward just enough to unbalance her, and she lands on top of him. gem scoffs playfully as scar laughs to himself, holding her closer.

"I can't hug you properly if you’re stood up, y’know." scar mumbles into her hair.

gem rolls her eyes, fond as anything. "well, i’m not complaining." she's quiet for a moment, letting herself appreciate the moment—breathing it all in. "I love you." gem murmurs.

scar squeezes her, and gem can almost hear his smile when he says, "I love you too."

#hermitfic #wren writes #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #geminitay #hermitcraft #please don't tag as ship <3 #elven duo #hermitblr #I can’t figure out any more tags tell me if I need something else GKDHS

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prentissluvr · 2 months

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but daddy i love him — sam winchester

cw : gn!empath!reader, light angst, fluff, some canon typical violence, demons, mentions of weapons, emotional manipulation/some emotional abuse in reader's past/presence, dean's kinda mean for a bit, kissing, food/drink mentions, poor editing, 11.3K words. listen to but daddy i love him by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you were raised sheltered from the world, but once you meet sam, you come to understand what freedom means. ౨ৎ . . . [ empath : has the ability to read and manipulate anyone's emotions. not the psychology kind lol ]

you’re not a demon, though you’re certainly no angel. in all technically, you suppose that you’re closer to a demon since they used to be human. not that you’d want to be put in the same box as any single demon, but you know that they feel some emotions. angels, you’re told, do not. to you, that’s quite a strange concept. someday, you’d like to meet one to see if it’s true.

and though you are not a demon, you’ve learned very well how to be like one, or at the very least how to feel like one. this is only helpful because your uncle, the demon who raised you (who is not your real uncle, nor related to you at all) wants you to be just like him. that implies being entirely uncaring and mostly unfeeling, with the exceptions for feelings being guiltless, hatred, annoyance, generally anything negative and parallel with aggression, and pleasure in the face of enacting pain or evil things upon somebody else.

having been surrounded by exactly that for as long as you can remember, you have no trouble pretending to be that way. in actuality, you find it totally impossible to embody it in truth. you, opposite to demons, are especially in tune with all aspects of your humanity. this does include the bad, but you’ve spent your life clinging to and longing for the good. plus, you don’t particularly enjoy experiencing the constant negativity that rolls off of most demons and right onto you. although your powers are geared towards other humans and you can’t read or manipulate demons’ emotions as easily, you learned to use your powers on them before anything else.

today, you accompany a crossroads demon, as per usual. your uncle has you trying a new tactic to aid in soul-collection. unfortunately for you, it's been working well and you have to pretend more often than not that your powers are failing you when they’re working just fine. you feel like a door-to-door salesman for guaranteed painful death and torture until one’s humanity is ripped away, all under the guise of pretty or petty dreams come true.

your accompanying demon, russell, is one of your least favorites. you don’t really like any of them, but unfortunately, russell is one of your uncle’s most trusted. you think it’s stupid, because you’re able to tell that he’s a coward and most likely not as trust-worthy as your uncle thinks. personally, you just find him annoying.

russell approaches the next house, knocking on the door as you lag behind. the man at the last house sold his soul in exchange to look ten years younger. not everyone exchanges their lives for such stupid reasons, but when they do, it makes you feel extra disgusted by the work you have to participate in. but for the sake of fooling your uncle, you pretend to enjoy it. someday, you might get away… you just don’t know what you’d do or how you’d survive.

the owner of the house opens the door, and the second she sees you and russell, dressed in suits and smiling all fake, her annoyance and skepticism immediately become apparent to you. your first order of business is to push that away and replace it with openness, curiosity, and a little bit of desire to get her to listen to you. since you “failed” at the first three houses and were successful at the last one, russell expects you to make this one work as well. it takes a bit of concentration to keep everything subtle and slow so that she doesn’t notice anything too strange.

when she greets you, she smiles a little and you know that you were successful. you let russell do all the talking as you continually feed the woman more desire and assuredness. little by little, you tug at her hesitation, pulling it away as russell gives her his pitch.

“anything you could ever dream of for the small price of your soul!” he lies about how small of a price it is and you mask your abundant discomfort. the more and better you do for your uncle, the more he lets you off of your figurative leash. the woman, mrs. hadley, as she introduced herself, is on the verge of saying yes. you’re seated in the living room as she goes on about how her one wish is for her young son to be treated well at school. you debate sabotaging the deal to save her, when the door bangs open and two men burst into the house, both sporting various weapons.

mrs. hadley screams and your concentration snaps. immediately, her fear and confusion wash over you, along with everything else that the two men and russell are feeling. suddenly quite overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before remembering you’re under threat. russell curses loudly, and when you snap your eyes open, he’s halfway across the room as he sprints full speed for the back door.

“sam!” shouts one of the men, nodding towards you and the frightened mrs. hadley as he takes off after russell. the other man, now dubbed sam, points his knife at you and begins rehearsing a latin exorcism.

“i’m not a demon, i swear,” you say, slowly standing and putting your hands up in surrender. his eyebrows furrow in confusion. you also sense his urgency and protectiveness, but you don’t sense as much aggression in him as you’d expected. the rush of that which you’d felt before must have been from the other man.

“then what are you?” he asks, voice gruff as he slowly approaches, trying to carefully manuever in between you and mrs. hadely.

“i’m human,” you answer, honest but withholding the full truth. “i promise,” you plead, trying to gauge his reaction without actually manipulating his feelings. when sam reaches mrs. hadley, he holds his arm in front of her protectively. there’s still fear and utter confusion rolling off of her.

“wh–what the hell is going on?” she asks, voice panicked.

“it’s alright,” sam reassures, trying to be as gentle as possible. “you just can’t make that deal. it’ll get you killed.”

“what? killed, i– but it seemed– it seemed fine?” you can feel doubt creep into mrs. hadley as well as she questions why she trusted you and russell so much without any real reason.

“trust me, whatever they promised you, it’s not worth it,” sam emphasizes. mrs. hadely goes to speak again, but sam returns his attention back to you. “what are you doing with a demon?”

“i… they have me trapped,” you say in a half-lie.

he clenches his jaw, but most of his distrust subsides because he feels more concerned for mrs. hadley than you. he tucks his knife somewhere accessible, and turns to the woman to comfort her. he tries to explain without too much detail that she should never sell her soul to anyone, but that it’s best if she tries to forget this all. but it’s clear to both you and him that she’s just panicking more and more. you easily read the way that sam wants to help her and it makes you want to do the same.

you mean to just send mrs. hadley a touch of calm and comfort, just so sam can get through to her. but you yourself are panicked and overwhelmed, never having been in such an out-of-control situation, and your strong desire to help her comes out unfiltered and unhindered by your usual careful control when you deal with humans. suddenly, mrs. hadley is grinning from joy, even laughing a little. for a moment, this seems fine to you. you fixed her fear, didn’t you?

but sam turns even more confused and worried. this, in turn, confuses you and breaks your concentration, and she falls back into an even stronger fear as she realizes starkly that she’s been experiencing emotions that aren’t her own.

she bursts into tears. “what– what was that?” she cries. you feel quite overwhelmed by her strong emotions.

you frown deeply. “i– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to– i mean, i was just trying to help. i didn’t want want you to feel so afraid. i can help, though, i promise. i just– i was distracted and humans can be so sensitive.” you begin to approach with your hands still in the air, but you halt when her fear spikes even more and sam’s hesitance returns in full. they don’t want you near. you consider manipulating both of their emotions, just to get them to allow you closer, but you think better of it at the last second. they might grow even more wary if they notice the change in their own feelings.

“did you do that?” sam asks.

you deflate in guilt. “i’m sorry,” you say again, filling your voice with sincerity, “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you look at mrs. hadley, then proceed carefully, “but i can help, just a little, i won’t do anything crazy– i– i can’t do anything crazy, i promise. and i can make sure that no one ever bothers you again. you don’t have to let me close if you don’t want me to, but i really can help. just to… to calm things down a little and– and leave a little room for you to process. or, of course, i can just go and you’ll never see me or that guy again.” you look between sam and mrs. hadley, trying to calm yourself so you can get a proper read on both of their emotions without overloading yourself with all the information. mrs. hadley is just about as confused and scared as before, but you think that sam’s reassuring presence is helping her. you’re not so sure that your words have done anything to help. sam himself is still hesitant, but as some of his wariness slips away, you think he might be willing to hear you out or at least let you go unscathed.

“oh, you’re not going anywhere,” comes a gruff voice from behind you, along with the kiss of cold metal on the back of your neck. it’s a gun, you presume. you slowly lift your hands back up, having forgotten about the other man’s presence when he disappeared to take care of russell. you turn your attention to his feelings instead of the other two in case you need to use your powers to try and save yourself. he’s got aggression, calm anger, and a whole lot of protectiveness practically spilling out of him. he thinks you’re dangerous. he’s not necessarily wrong, but you really aren’t a danger to them, not unless you have to be.

“i’m telling the truth, i swear. please, just– just let me go.” you keep your voice steady, but pleading, trying not to let on just how scared you are but also appeal to their sympathy. you’re in danger, something that you’re completely unused to despite the way you grew up all around it.

“and let you get back to those demon bitches? not a chance. what even are you?” the man’s voice is unforgiving as he digs the gunpoint further into your skin, pressing for answers. you wince.

“dean, wait,” sam interrupts, “i don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone,” he says, trying to reason before dean gets any more violent.

“sam, they’re clearly working with demons. i think that qualifies as trying to hurt people. we don’t even know if they’re human,” dean counters.

you’re about to speak again in your own defense when a familiar voice fills your ears.

“it’s always you boys, isn’t it? i should have known that the winchesters would crash my little soul-collecting party,” your uncle drawls.

“crowley,” sam growls, and you’re suddenly flooded with his anger.

your uncle completely ignores sam in favor of dean. “i kindly ask that you let my sweet pet go, squirrel.”

dean turns around, pulling you with him. “so they’re with you?” dean asks, voice accusatory.

“they are. and if you don’t hand them over, i will knock you out cold without a second thought. your choice, of course, darling,” crowley quips. you’re highly confused. the three clearly know each other, but your uncle has never mentioned anyone like the “winchesters” before. dean grows even more suspicious of you, sam confused and worried, and you know very well that crowley is only barely covering up his total anger. he’s anything but pleased to have found you in this situation.

“tell me why, and i’ll hand them over,” dean bargians, not realizing just how much he’s pissing crowley off. your uncle doesn’t even wait to answer before sending dean flying across the room and grabbing your wrist.

“let’s go,” he grumbles, tugging you along with him. you glance back at sam, who moves forward, trying to stop crowley until he too gets flung into the wall.

“uncle!” you shout in protest. “wait, i need to–”

“absolutely not,” he shouts back, “what the hell were you thinking? how’d you mess up a simple deal so horribly?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly remembering yourself. he’ll only grow more angry if you continue to protest.

“damn those winchesters,” he grumbles to himself. as he drags you home, he continually complains about them, cursing that you got mixed up with them and pounding into your head that you should never, ever get involved with the winchesters.

⟢⟢⟢

honeybee cafe is just about the only solace that you have. it’s away from your uncle and the other demons, the place you always come when you’re allowed out without supervision. on top of that, it’s small and quiet, and you never visit during crowded hours. technically, you’re required by crowley to stay somewhere with other people so you can practice your powers on them. you picked this cafe for it’s cozy, quiet atmosphere, and the general lack of patrons from one to three pm. that way, you’re never overwhelmed by too many emotions. it’s usually just you, another regular or two, and the few workers. maybe it’s a little odd, but you feel secretly close with the people whose emotions you tune into over and over again. and you certainly don’t manipulate their emotions as crowley likely wishes you would.

you always sit in the corner furthest from the door, facing the rest of the small shop so that you can keep an eye on anyone who comes in or chooses to stay inside. sitting with your favorite beverage and a book you picked up from the library beforehand, you relish the comfort and warmth of the sunlight coming in from the window behind you. your room at home has no windows, and that just about kills you. you love windows.

only the soft tinkle of the bell on the cafe door interrupts the focus you lend to the book in front of you, and you look up on instinct. your breath catches in your throat as you immediately recognize the man who walks in. he doesn’t notice you, but you watch him as he orders a coffee. as he waits off to the side, you turn slightly, and you’re too late to cast your eyes down before he catches your gaze. his face lights up in recognition and surprise. he takes a step towards you before he’s interrupted by the barista’s call of his name. quickly, he takes the cup from their hand and thanks them before turning back to you. you weren’t planning on speaking to him, not after your strange first encounter and crowley’s warnings against him, but you feel an odd sort of relief when it becomes clear that he wants to approach you, to talk to you. he had left an impression on you when you’d met. he’d just seemed so… good.

his eyes flicker around the cafe as he comes closer, likely looking for signs of demons.

“i’m alone,” you assure him, smiling carefully as he gets close enough. he nods, slowly sitting across from you when you nod at the seat. “though i have to be back by evening or someone will come looking for me,” you explain, mouth forming a small frown as you think about it. he’s confused and concerned as he looks at you, and it feels sort of nice to guess that he’s maybe worried about you.

he seems unsure of what to say, so he just jumps right into it. “i never caught your name. i’m sam winchester, though i’m sure you got that before. can i ask… are you an empath? i did some research since we last met.” he gives you a tense sort of smile, not because he’s nervous, but just because this second meeting feels very awkward.

you nod and give him your name before anything else. “and yes, i am an empath,” you confirm, unsure if you should explain further or not. he seems to understand well enough.

he’s a bit more hesitant the next time he speaks. “and can you explain your… situation? you said you were trapped, and crowley seemed very possessive of you… but i thought i heard you call him uncle? whatever it is, i can help you get away from him, my brother and i have dealt with crowley too many times to count.”

his immediate offer to help and instinct to suggest you just leave crowley are both sort of overwhelming to you, but a part of you likes his words.

“oh. i– well, it’s complicated. crowley, he’s– he’s sort of my only family.” sam’s eyebrows raise a little in questioning. “we’re not actually related, or anything, but he raised me. he’s– well, he’s taught me everything i know and… i can’t– i can’t really leave. besides, he’s really not all that bad,” you try to excuse, suddenly feeling oddly defensive in a way that you can’t really explain. “and i get days to myself like this, i– i have my freedom, i just… before, i didn’t want you to think i was trying to hurt people, or that i like to, but uncl– crowley doesn’t really know… that i don’t like the things that he… that he asks me to do for him.”

suddenly, this wave of sad understanding rolls over you from sam, and you’re not sure why. his face doesn’t change much as he listens, but to you it seems like he thinks you’ve said something so sad.

“but it’s alright,” you quickly try to amend, “he thinks i’m weaker than i really am. that way he doesn’t suspect when most demon deals i’m a part of fail. i have to… i have to get some to work so that he thinks i’m trying, but i promise i try to hurt the least amount of people possible. and.. and he still lets me have my days out when the deals fall through. i botched two yesterday, but i’m still here, aren’t i?” you attempt at sounding lighthearted, but sam’s sadness doesn’t go away much. instead, you just feel compassion blooming from him as well.

“i understand,” he says kindly, “i didn’t think you were trying to hurt people. i believe you.” he’s completely sincere and you realize that that’s not something you’re too used to from almost anybody you talk to.

“thank you,” you sigh in relief, smiling and trying to show him that you’re sincere too. “your brother? dean?” sam nods. “he didn’t believe me,” you state.

sam cringes a little. “he can be like that. he–” he purses his lips, looking for the right words, “he doesn’t trust very easily. he’s very suspicious of people he doesn’t know.”

“i don’t think he really thought i was a person,” you say, starkly honest in a way that surprises sam for a moment. you don’t quite understand what his surprise was for, but he quickly shoves it away before you can ask about it.

“he’s– he’s working on that. i’m sorry he made you feel that way,” sam says, truly feeling apologetic.

“well, i didn’t feel that way. just him. i know that i’m a person,” you smile, trying to reassure him and wishing he didn’t feel sorry.

sam smiles back a little. “right,” he nods, “well, i’m still sorry he thought that way about you. he’ll come around.”

“thank you, sam. but you don’t have to feel sorry, it’s not your fault he felt that way,” you assure, completely sincere and trying to work out why sam would feel sorry about something he didn’t cause, nor that he agrees with. he’s already proved himself to be kind and believing enough.

“sure,” he agrees, trying to figure out the right way to explain what he means as he begins to understand how truly sheltered from normal human interaction you’ve been. “but i know how it feels to have someone doubt how human you are and that it’s not a good feeling. so i’m just sorry and empathetic that you had to experience that.”

you nod in understanding. “ah, well, that’s kind of you… you’re right. it wasn’t the most pleasant thing to feel, but i understand that dean was feeling sort of afraid and definitely mistrustful. you didn’t really find me in the most trustworthy position. but if i meet him again, i hope you’re right that he’ll come around. i really am just a person, but i get that i’m, you know, not one hundred percent normal. really, empathy’s a very human thing, mine’s just… exaggerated, i guess.” you look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion. “but you, sam? why would someone doubt how human you are? you feel things just like a human.”

sam gives you a half smile. there’s a tinge of bitterness when he answers, but the way he talks and feels makes it seem as though time as softened most anger or sadness. yet, it also feels as though he’s never really talked about this much.

“i used to have psychic powers. i’d have visions, these premonitions before people died.” he explains it as something so casual, and he’s trying to feel that way about it, but he really seems to care. “in a way, i was barely different from you. of course, i’m still not. we’re both people.”

“really?” you ask, curious, “i didn’t know other people had that sort of thing. and your powers? they’re gone now?”

“it seems like it. i haven’t had a vision in a long time,” he answers.

“you seem relieved by that,” you note. sam picks up on the tinge of sad disappointment in your voice.

“i am,” he answers honestly, “but not because it’s bad to have those sort of powers. i just didn’t really enjoy getting visions of people dying violently.” he gives you a tight-lipped smile to show you he’s okay being lighthearted about it all.

you relax. “right, of course. that must have been hard,” you give him a small, kind smile, “i can feel that it was hard. i’m glad you don’t have to go through that anymore.” you’re all sincerity, and sam smiles right back.

“can i ask what it’s like for you? to have these powers?” he asks, careful and kind. he wonders if you get headaches or terribly tired of feeling other people’s emotions all the time, but he doesn’t want to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.

you’re slightly taken aback by the question, and not because you don’t want to talk about it. you just never really have at all before. you realize the simultaneous oddness and loveliness of this conversation. not once have you spoken about your powers with another human before, much less one who has some understanding about them.

“well… i guess i’ve never really thought about it much. just because i’ve never known anything else. i honestly don’t remember much from when i was young, but crowley’s been teaching me how to use them for as long as i remember. it’s both better and worse with practice, i guess. and the way i learned was kind of odd.” you pause, unsure if sam wants to really hear about it all. but he gives you an encouraging nod and you feel genuine interest coming from him, so you continue.

“i started learning with demons, but they feel a whole lot less than humans do. and i can’t feel or manipulate their emotions as easily or strongly since my powers are geared towards humans. but since that’s how i learned, it’s decently easy now, though it technically takes more effort than it does for humans. now i’m practicing on people, and it’s sort of too easy. it takes much more control because i’m used to exerting more power on demons. and humans feel things much more strongly, and are much more sensitive to change. i’ve gotten much better, but if i’m distracted or overwhelmed, my control slips. that’s what happened with mrs. hadley.” suddenly, you remember her. “is she okay?” i made things worse for her, didn’t i? you think.

“she’ll be alright,” sam says. “she was shaken up, but she was doing much better when i left. don’t worry too much about her.”

you almost want to ask again, if she’ll really be okay, but it seems that sam will most likely give you the same answer he just did. “okay,” you relent. then you realize you did more explaining about how your powers work than what it’s like for you. “to really answer your question; it’s my norm, and i’m not sure what it would be like without them. but sometimes i think it might be nice if i didn’t have them. i would’t have to help the demons, and it can be… overwhelming. i’m used to the demons; their emotions are easier to tune out. but with people? well, they just feel a lot. of course, i’m used to my own feelings, but to feel that, plus everything else around me, especially when someone could be feeling so much all at once is just… it can be a lot. i’m learning how to tune it out, but honestly, i’m still figuring it all out.”

sam thinks you look a little embarrassed when you finish, and he certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way. “that makes sense,” he reassures, “i barely had any control over my own powers. i can’t imagine how difficult it is to be in control of something so complicated and fickle as emotions. most people can barely deal with their own emotions. being able to feel everyone else’s too can’t be easy at all.

you nod in simple agreement. “it isn’t. but i’m also glad for it. sometimes, unc– crowley has me use it for his, you know, demon things, and i don’t like that. but i think my powers are part of the reason why i’m able to hate it. i’m so connected to humanity, the good and bad in everything that people feel, that no matter how i grew up, i’ll always have empathy in its rawest form. and though i don’t get too many chances, and i mess it up sometimes, i can help others when i’m away from the demons. last week, there was this girl in here,” you smile lightly at the memory as you begin to recount it to sam, “she was smiling and nice to everyone, but i could feel how just sad she was. i paid for her drink and told her she looked pretty, and the way that it made her feel… i didn’t even have to use my powers. she was just so grateful and happy that she teared up. and i barely did anything at all. that’s what keeps me going,” you say, completely honest, “knowing that i can help and that it’s my choice when i do it.” you feel like some huge weight has been lifted from your chest. you’ve never said this all aloud, and certainly not for someone else to hear. but something about sam and his sincerity and goodness makes you feel comfortable enough to say almost anything at all.

sam looks at you with a sort of admiration and total understanding, and that alone is almost enough to overwhelm you. it seems like, in all your experience in feeling, sam is showing you more, all by himself and without even trying. to be understood, so fully in so little time, is not something you’d ever felt for yourself before.

“i know what you mean,” he says, and you absolutely believe him. you want to know him, more than you’ve ever wanted to know anybody. you want to know all about what he feels and why and what he likes and how he knows what you mean without being able to read your feelings like you can his. and you know that he feels just about the same way you do. he wants to know you just as much as you want to know him.

and so you talk and talk and talk until you realize that the sun is dipping low in the sky because you begin telling him how much you love windows. then it’s a sort of frenzy; you’re worried you’ll be caught and try to leave right away, but sam catches your wrist, his calloused hand so gentle on your skin. he asks for your number, but you don’t have a phone, so you tell him to come back at the same time next week if he can. then you rush out and he watches you go.

the next week, sam appears in the cafe doorway at 1:24 pm, and he looks all soft when you smile at him wide. before you have to go again that day, he hands you a cheap phone with both his and dean’s contact already in place. he tells you it’ll make things easier because he might not be able to make it again next week. he doesn’t know when he’ll be on a hunt or not. then he tells you not to call dean unless it's a true emergency; dean still isn’t sure about you.

when you go, you forget to ask him how to use it. so, when he texts you on thursday to tell that he’s on a hunt, and might not make it to your meeting spot on sunday, you’re very unsure what you’re supposed to say. figuring out how to use the phone itself isn’t difficult, but you’re unaware that your simple response of “that’s okay.” is a bit bare-boned and dry in response to his kindly worded message. over time, you get used to how sam talks over text and learn how to emulate it.

and when sam calls you for the first time, you’re completely taken aback. you’d seen people talking over phone calls many times, but you’d never actually done it yourself. you accidentally hang up on him four rings in, but he calls you back a moment later. your surprise is delighted when you hear his voice through the speaker. then you discover it’s just like a demon call without all the blood involved. you also discover that, while you can pick up on emotions from his voice, you can’t really use your powers at all through the phone.

he regretfully interrupts your long spiel about the different pastries you’ve tried from honeybee cafe, telling you he has to go. you ask why, confused that you can’t just keep talking since you’re now able to through the phone. you love talking to him, and you think he enjoys it too. then he tells you that he was just calling to see if you could meet a different day this week, like he asked at the beginning of the call, and that dean expects him to be doing research for a case right now. you ask why he didn’t just text like normal, why he’d call if he didn’t want to keep talking.

“i do want to keep talking,” he reassures, “it’s just that i don’t have the time right now, but i thought calling might be a little easier than texting this time around. but i can call you again later tonight?”

“okay,” you respond, happy enough with that solution. after that, you call him any time you have something to say. he laughs to himself, completely endeared when you call him to tell him that you saw a very cute cat, then hang up seconds later before he can even respond.

eventually, you come to learn that he can’t actually pick up most of the time, but he tries to as much as possible, and that calling is nicer when you both have the time to actually sit down and talk. as you get to know sam, you learn many, many things along with all the questions he answers about himself.

most amazingly, you learn what it feels like to fall in love with someone fast, and what its like for them to fall right in love with you too. whatever connection that you and sam felt the first few times meeting each other very easily and naturally turns into love. there’s this tug between the two of you, pulling you closer to each other every time you meet. his hand brushes over yours and you smile at him brightly, and you constantly think about each other when you’re apart.

sam tries to take things slow, feeling a little bit like he’s taking advantage of you and your sheltered past. but you know what you want, what you feel, and what he feels too. he wants you just as much as you want him, and you see no reason not to give each other just that.

and it’s so glorious, because you don’t have to read his emotions to know that he loves you back. he makes it so abundantly clear with the way that he acts around you, the way that he looks at you, and the way that he kisses you. you’ve learned that you’d do just about anything for him. you’ve learned how to feel this wild joy that you didn’t know how to feel before.

and it’s true that you’ve learned other, less pleasant things. you hate aiding demon deals even more than you thought. you’ve begun to think that, maybe, almost everything crowley’s raised you to view as the facts of the world, aren’t nearly as true as you thought. you’ve learned that maybe you don’t really owe him so much for raising you or teaching you to use your powers, and you’ve thought the scary thought that he might’ve done it all just to use you. you’ve learned that you should be able to do anything you’d like without having to fear the king of hell’s wrath. that you want to, probably should, get away from crowley, and that feeling like you don’t have a choice isn’t healthy or good for you at all. you’ve learned that you’re still too scared, but you’d rather be with sam, and that every day you spend with him, you become braver.

you’ve also found out that loving in secret can be hard, and that you want to see sam all the time, not just the times when both of you can sneak away. apparently, dean’s still having trouble “coming around” to the idea of you. he doesn’t know that sam’s yours and you’re his. he’s worried that you’re manipulating sam in caring about you, but sam’s reassured you that his love for you is the realest thing that he feels. you couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he trusts you so much.

he trusts you so much that every weekend possible, he meets you in the cafe or the nearest motel and you spend hours just talking or laying in comfortable silence together.

he always books the room with the best view from the window and opens the curtains before you get there so that the sunlight bathes the room in warmth and light. today, the late afternoon light is especially pretty, tinted orange and casting a bright hue over yours and sam’s skin as you lounge in the bed together.

his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, both of you propped against the wall with several pillows. you hold his other hand, playing with his fingers and relishing in the feeling of his pretty nose against your cheekbone. because he can’t resist you, he likes to keep his face as close to yours as possible so that it’s very easy to kiss you. his lips will brush against your cheek constantly, and other times he lifts his hand from your upper arm to gently nudge your face closer to his so that he can seal his lips over yours.

you’ve already talked about lots of things today; the best toppings on salad, sam’s most recent case, the symbolism of rhododendron flowers in the book you finished three days ago, and surely more. but the last hour has been quiet, filled with more rustling of blankets, soft sighs, and occasional whispers more than anything else. you’re content, and sam is too, for the most part. often, you try not to be reading sam’s emotions, but spending so much time with him and being so close to him has put you almost irrevocably in tune with his feelings, and you can feel that something’s nagging at him. it’s both good and making him nervous at the same time, but you don’t say a word. you wait for him, until he’s ready to say whatever it is.

it’s when he presses another kiss to your temple that he speaks, voice a more steady volume rather than a whisper this time. “honey?” he says like a question, signaling to you that he’s got something to say, maybe something important that he wants to ask.

“yes, love?” you respond, trying to sound receptive to whatever it is he wants to talk about.

“i, uh, i asked dean if he’d try and meet you, and i managed to convince him. he– he doesn’t know that we’re together, love, but i told him i ran into you again. i think… i think he probably suspects that there’s more to it than that, but he hasn’t said anything about it and i’m taking that as a good sign. would you be okay trying to meet up with him?” he asks, careful and tentative. you can tell that he’s scared to interrupt the balance of things, but that he really wants this. you know how much he hates hiding this all from dean.

“of course,” you assure him quickly. you want the same as him. you don’t want to have to stay furtive and distant from sam so much. but you also have a question. “are we… going to pretend? you know, not to be together?”

sam’s face falls a little at that thought, and at the hint of sadness in your voice when you ask. “i don’t want to,” he starts.

“but you’re nervous,” you gently interrupt.

“a little,” he admits, giving you a small smile, “but i was going to say that it’s up to you. dean could… i don’t know, freak out and i don’t want you to have to worry about that if you don’t want to.” you nod at his words, feeling a bit embarrassed at your interruption. while you try not to let your ability to discern his feelings dictate exactly how you interact with him, you’re still learning that sometimes what someone feels doesn’t always let you predict what they want to say. and of course, he’s sincere about his concern for you, as always.

“well,” you consider his words seriously, “maybe we don’t have to tell him out right, but if he asks? we don��t have to lie?”

“of course, honey,” he nods, “i’d never lie about being with you if he asked directly,” he promises, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that sam is proud of loving you, and one of his least favorite things it’s having to hide it. he wants dean to know, he just doesn’t want him to say something scathing to you or try to keep him away from you.

“okay,” you smile. you understand his hatred for hiding it and his nervousness well. you’d be more nervous than he is now about crowley discovering what you’re doing and who you’re meeting with when you’re out on your own. “but you don’t have to worry, sammy. we’ll try to keep him from asking unless he’s reacting well. if he’s still too suspicious, i’ll know and make sure we won’t act in a way that will make him ask. we have time,” you assure.

now sam feels conflicted, because he’s both relieved by your reassurance and sorry you’d have to hide that he’s yours and you’re his. then he’s suddenly hit by this desire to hide anything at all. he doesn’t want to hide from dean or let the way that dean feels get in the way of him seeing and loving you whenever he wants. he wants to show dean just how good you are and how good you are for him.

“thank you,” he says sweetly, “but i don’t want to keep hiding it from him, not for any longer. you’re too important to me for that.”

you want to melt right into him. “you’re important to me too, sam. really, really important. we’ll do this on your time, yeah? whatever you want.”

“yeah,” he smiles, “and we’ll do other things on your time, and others on ours,” he says assuredly.

you give him a nod as he reminds you that he’s by your side as you build up the courage to get away from crowley. sam has always been cautious about the topic, never saying too much until it was you who brought it up. the first time you told him you’d been thinking about escaping crowley, about realizing you don’t owe him your service or that he doesn’t treat you well, you had felt this surge of pride rush off of sam and onto you. outwardly, he was gentle and quietly encouraging, and he’s been just that since. he reminds you that you should do things at your own pace, but he’s there to do everything he can to help you. the more time you spend with him, the readier you are to stay with him, and just him. unlearning the things that you’ve had beaten into your head for as long as you can remember is nowhere near easy, but it’s undeniably better with sam by your side.

and less than a week later, you’re nervous and wishing for that exact comfort as you wait for him and dean to meet you in the cafe. you sip on your usual order, glad for its familiarity. after ten long minutes, your head shoots up at the sound of the door’s little bell ringing, signaling the arrival of sam and dean. dean walks in first, eyes scanning the small coffee shop until he sees you. you try not to look too nervous as you stand and send him an amicable smile.

you glance at san as he comes up from behind dean, giving you a reassuring smile. the sight of him relaxes you a bit, though you’re so in tune with his emotions by now that his own nervousness immediately washes over you. as dean approaches you try to get a read on his emotions as well. he’s less hostile than you expected, moreso careful, defensive, and begrudging. there’s also a hint of willingness along with it all, and you cling to that. there’s even some trust thrown into the mix, though you assume that it’s reserved only for sam.

“hi,” sam says kindly as he and dean take the seats across from you. you sit along with them.

“hi, sam,” you answer, reciprocating his friendly smile. “hi, dean,” you then say, turning your head to look him in the eye.

“hi,” he echoes, voice gruff. he settles his elbows onto the table top, trying to look casual and at ease, like he’s the one in control of the situation. “let’s, uh, skip the pleasantries. sammy here tells me that we should be protecting you from crowley. i don’t trust you and i’m not convinced you even need protection at all, given that you were helping him with his little demon deals. i’m also not convinced that you’re not using your freaky powers to make him trust you.”

“dean,” sam hisses. you feel a spike of anger from him when dean uses the word ‘freaky.’

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling a little at sam. you honestly appreciate dean’s frankness. “i understand that. i know we didn’t meet in ideal circumstances. i might not trust me either if i were you. and i’m honestly not sure exactly how i can convince you to, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me give it a shot.” dean looks completely skeptical. “without my powers, of course,” you rush to assure him.

“and i’ll know that how? you can literally change the way that i feel. it’s not really a good look for you,” he points out, earning a glare from sam that he completely ignores.

“you’re not entirely wrong,” you acknowledge, “but that’s a lot easier said than done. first of all, the effects of my powers are only temporary. i can only use my powers on you when i’m around you and focused enough. aside from that, you’d most likely be able to tell if i did use them.” dean raises his eyebrows in suspicion, so you go one to explain further. “you’re aware of what i can do, and you’re rightfully wary about it. that means you’ll most likely pick up on even minute changes in your emotions that i make. when you’re aware like that, you can overpower me. my abilities are strong, but frankly, authentic human emotions are stronger. long story short, i can’t do much at all to you. and while sam’s less wary than you to begin with, he’s still aware enough that the same applies to him. either of you would know and be able to overpower my hold on your emotions if i tried anything. the most i can do is get a read on what you’re actually feeling.”

dean still looks skeptical, but you sense a bit of his unease being to slowly slip away. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

without a word, you send just a small wave of trust and comfort through him. for a moment, he relaxes, but just as quickly, his scowl deepens and his own distrust replaces your influence. your affect on his emotions is easily pushed away.

“that’s what it would feel like if i were trying to get you to trust me with my powers. that was about as subtle as i can be with emotional manipulation, and you still noticed. all i can do is tell you that you’re still skeptical, but a little less than when you walked in here. and i can hope that means that you’d be willing to hear me out. i really, honestly could use the help.” you add as much sincerity to your voice as you can, relying on almost all logic to convince him.

dean scowls even more when you mention his feelings and read them accurately, but he does seem to realize that you read a whole lot more than what you actually said aloud. he also can’t say that he thinks you’re lying. it was easy for him to pick up on your influence. almost immediately. “fine,” he grumbles. “no promises, though.”

you nod, relaxing a bit despite his words being less than kind. “that’s fine,” you accept. “thank you.” you glance at sam, suddenly feeling unsure. he gives you a sweet nod and smile and you take a deep breath before forging on. “i don’t know how much sam told you about my… situation. but… for a long time i just didn’t really know i had any other option than to stay with and help crowley. and you don’t have to believe me, but, for the record, i really don’t enjoy helping him. but i think that he’d freak out if i left. and maybe send an army of demons after me, which i do realize would be highly inconvenient for you…,” you trail off, feeling more and more nervous. you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and give your full explanation as to why dean should be compelled to help you.

“but crowley’s also bound to find out that i’m holding my powers back and purposely sabotaging his demon deals. and let’s just say that nobody wants that. he wants my powers and i don’t know what lengths he’ll go to to get them. so… if you help me, you’ll be keeping my powers out of the hands of the king of hell, which means slowing down his demon deals and making sure i’m not doing whatever evil demon-y things you think that i might.”

you can see dean contemplating, sense his feelings shifting. he intertwines his fingers and looks at sam with a raised eyebrow. sam nods, his expression completely serious. dean turns back to you.

“alright,” he says, “this is nowhere near the worst deal we’ve ever made. we’ll take you with us, keep crowley and his demons at a distance, and you can get out of our hair and onto your own life once things settle down. sound good?” he asks the question like he’s already made the final decision.

“thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. it’s not perfect since he still doesn’t know that you’re totally in love with sam and he’s totally in love with you, but it’s a better start than just about anything else. then it suddenly hits you that you’ll really be walking away from crowley, and that scares you. sam manages to catch your gaze. he looks at you with a hint of concern, but also relief as well. you can see him asking with his eyes, should we tell him? it’s you that gives him an encouraging nod this time. if you want, you’re saying.

he gives you a smile, and you know it means that he’s going to tell dean, right here, right now. you’re about to smile right back, but your gaze catches on movement behind him. your face drops, and you feel the blood drain from it. you don’t catch sam’s worried look that he gives you before he twists in his seat to see what you’re looking at. everyone reacts just a little too late, and crowley slides into the seat beside you.

“well, hello boys! darling,” he looks at you pointedly before turning back to the brothers. “not quite the trio i expected to find today! or ever, considering the fact that i expressly ordered you to stay away from the winchesters, isn’t that right, darling?” he doesn’t even look at you, but you cringe away from him slightly. a wave of protectiveness rolls off of sam as he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to pull you right away from crowley.

you avoid crowley’s question entirely. “what are you doing here, crowley?”

“crowley? what happened to uncle? you’re breaking my heart, darling,” he drawls, faking a dramatic offense. “just because it’s one of your free days doesn’t mean i can’t visit you, does it? especially not when i get a report that the winchesters are headed inside your favorite cafe. as your caretaker, i was very alarmed. these two are quite dangerous, you should know.”

sam looks at you carefully, wanting to speak up for you, but not wanting to say what’s yours to say or decide what’s yours to decide.

“i’m leaving with them,” you say to crowley, blunt and too scared to force out any words that aren’t simple. “i don’t want to keep helping you collect souls.” pride and relief wash over sam. it feels good to sense.

but crowley’s anger is the opposite. he’s red-hot mad. “after everything i’ve done for you, you’re going to try and leave with the bloody winchesters?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. it’s not like any of it was ‘for me’ anyway. it was all for your own gain. sam’s done more for me than you ever did.” you let that last sentence slip out without trying, but you find yourself too angry to be in complete control of the things you say. angry, and afraid.

both dean’s and crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. “sounds like you’ve been spending time with dear sam now, have you?”

you swallow, biting the inside of your cheek before speaking. “i– i have. and i’ve learned much more important things from him than i have ever did from you. so you can just give this up and make things easy. i’m not going back with you.”

“i raised you,” crowley growls. “do you know how much i hate children? but i still raised you, taught you to use your powers and made you stronger than you ever would’ve been without me. what the hell could this giant twat have done for you that’s better and more important than that? and don’t dare say something horrible like love. have you never considered the power that you’d have by my side? clearly you learned nothing of loyalty! you’re completely thankless and a complete dimwit if you thought i was going to just let you go. i’m taking you back, whether you like it or not, and you’ll stay in your room until i’m positive you won’t set foot near dearest dean or your stupid, freakishly tall boyfriend. is that understood?”

“no,” you choke out, reaching for sam’s hand across the table. crowley looks like he’s about to explode. dean quickly puts his hand out to interrupt.

“we’re getting stares,” he says, “we can take this outside.”

“no,” sam counters, standing and pulling you up with him, guiding you to stand by his side. “we’re gonna go. and you’re not following, crowley, unless you want my demon blade shoved up your ass.”

“do i look like i care about stares?” crowley seethes, standing and grabbing your other wrist. you yank at his hold to no avail, and sam moves to break his hold as on you he continues to speak. “i will toss both of you winchesters and everyone else in this godforsaken place across the room until you’re all knocked out cold, if that’s what it takes.”

“let me go,” you insist, voice almost a snarl, right as sam tells him to get his hands off of you.

crowley ignores you, even as you struggle against his iron grip. “you first, moose,” he says through gritted teeth.

the second that dean steps closer to the three of you to intervene, crowley flicks his free hand and sends dean crashing into the farthest wall. a few disjointed screams ring through the cafe and spikes of fear wash over you from all the innocent civilians. sam’s anger grows by tenfold and all of it has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. you know that crowley wasn’t bluffing when he threatened everyone in the cafe, so you untangle your hand from sam’s and stretch your arm out in front of him before he can lunge at crowley.

“it’s okay, sam,” you say, voice surprisingly calm. you stop struggling and sam looks at you with such desperation and pleading that you almost want to let him fight. but you don’t want him or anyone else hurt. “i’ll be okay. and i’ll be back.”

“no, don’t do this,” sam starts. crowley doesn’t wait for you to answer as he begins dragging you away. you stumble more than once, looking over your shoulder to see sam start after you. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t, sam,” you beg. “it’s okay, i promise.” your voice raises to a shout to make sure he can hear you as crowley pulls you through the door and away from sam.

⟢⟢⟢

you know without a doubt that sam’s looking for you. that he’s pouring every minute into finding you, that he’s probably skipping meals and losing sleep because of it. but you also know that you won’t be easy to find. either way, you’re getting out. out of this godforsaken room with no windows and drab walls and out of this life, away from this fear. and you’re going to do it yourself.

it’s not easy, per se, but it’s not difficult either. just tedious and time consuming. it’s fortunate for you that crowley’s narcissism can blind him to certain things, like the fact that you’re much more adept at using your powers than he thinks you are, or that the demon guarding your door, hazel, hates him for giving her such a boring job. he doesn’t even think that you’re capable of manipulating his emotions, given his extra power as king of hell, and that’s exactly why it works when you do.

your escape plan is simple, though not foolproof. but it seems to be working so far. each time that crowley checks on you, you boost all of the hatred and annoyance in both your guard and him. this makes crowley snap at your guard constantly, berating her and blaming her for things she didn’t do. in turn, this makes her hate crowley even more, to the point that her rage no longer needs to be manufactured. hazel hates him more than enough on her own.

even more subtly, you’ve done your best to appeal to her, mostly by complaining about crowley through your shut door and lessening her annoyance as you speak. at first, she’d tell you to shut up, but now, she listens if you don’t talk for too long, sometimes even complaining back.

but today, when she began complaining about crowley to you, unprompted, you decided you’d throw all of your effort into escaping. she’s particularly spiteful, all on her own, and all day, you boost that feeling, complaining along with her and building up the sense of comradery she’s starting to feel with you.

crowley stops by, and you can feel her anger acutely. you do as you’ve done every day, making him annoyed so he says something scathing. with the strength of her hatred, you’re impressed that she doesn’t say something back, something that would likely get her killed by his hands.

instead, she waits until he’s gone, and begins to mutter to herself how she’d love to cut that haughty smirk from his face. you lean against the door, making noise so she knows you’re there.

after a few moments, you speak. “you could just leave,” you suggest casually. she scoffs, trying to sound annoyed at you. truly, you can tell just how much she’d like to do exactly that.

“and risk getting hunted down by his minions? not a chance,” she growls.

“i hate him just as much as you do,” you remind her strategically. “if he’s not in charge, you wouldn’t have to worry about his minions, right? whether it’s now or later, i’m getting out and i’m making him pay. he doesn’t know that i have the power to turn every single one of his demons against him. he thinks i’m weak, but i can topple his kingdom, and i will.” you infuse your words with venom and conviction, just how any demon would like. then you fill her with conviction too, making her believe your words easily. “all i need is to get out of this goddamn room.” to you, her silence is loud, but her feelings are louder. hazel grapples with her hatred and her fear and her utter spite.

“i know you have the key,” you remind her. crowley would never bother to be the one to unlock it each time you need food. “we can both disappear, right now. crowley will get what he has coming for him, i’ll make sure of that.” you send her a wave of boldness and reassurance, confidence that this would be a good decision. it’s easy to feel when you tip her over the edge. a split second later, you hear the door unlock and come face to face with her determined expression.

“this isn’t a favor to you. it’s for me,” she says, voice low and harsh. “i’ll be waiting to see what you do to him.”

easily, you act just how you know she’d want, eyes and voice ruthless like how you learned to be growing up trying to convince crowley you were like him. “trust me. i’ll rip his kingdom apart brick by brick,” you snarl. she nods, and you brush past her, feet light and quiet as you make it out of the building without incident.

once outside, you break into a run, unable to stay calm enough to walk. clutching the small bag of belongings you took, you make for the road. it’s a bit of a ways away, but you reach the highway, panting and desperately looking out for a car that’ll pick you up and take you to the next town over. all you need is to get on the train and head for kansas. you have the way to sam’s bunker memorized.

too afraid not to keep moving, you walk along the side of the road, listening intently for any car or truck. the area is quiet, frustratingly slow, and the few cars that pass you by choose to ignore the thumb that you stick up in the air.

it’s practically torture, walking and walking and waiting. waiting for something to go wrong, for crowley and his demons to find you within mere hours of your escape. your anxiety builds as your hunger and thirst do, and you want to sit down in the grass when you pass an exit sign signaling another five miles to the town with the train station.

but you don’t think you can stop, even with your parched throat, heavy feet, and anxious heart. it’s a strange feeling; elation mixed with nerves so strong you think you could throw up.

you perk up at the sound of a rumbling car engine, but deflate in disappointment before it even comes into sight from around the corner. it’s headed in the wrong direction, straight back towards the place you want to get away from. for a moment, you wonder if you should try and hitch a ride anyway, in case they can drop you off in a different town with a train station. then the car comes into sight, its sleek black body reflecting back the mild sun of the afternoon. you gasp, an impossible hope entering your body.

it had taken you a moment to recognize it; sam’s never driven the impala to see you before, but he’s shown you pictures of his brother’s beloved car. praying it could really be him, you wave your arms in the air, heart beating wildly.

the car slows and breaks a little ways away from you, and before it even comes to a full stop, the passenger side door swings open, and sam comes running out. he looks nowhere but you as he runs across the wide road.

“sam,” you gasp, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. you match his pace, running to meet him. he practically crashes into you, enveloping you in his arms and sighing out your name. you hug him back just as tightly, pressing your face into his neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he breathes out, “crowley was hard to find and–”

“shut up, sam,” you grinned against his skin, the affection clear in your voice. “don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. it was my choice and i knew i’d be able to find a way out. and i knew even better that you’d look for me.”

he barely parts from you, just so he can gently place his hands on the sides of your face and really look at you. “you’re amazing. i–” he stops himself from saying sorry again. “i know that wasn’t easy for you, none of it. but you did it. you did it, all by yourself. i’m so proud of you.”

your heart lurches at his words. they feel too good to hear, too sweet, too full of relief. tears spring into your eyes as you really realize just how difficult it all was, as you’re hit with exhaustion from the walk and the fear and the uncertainty of it all.

“thank you, sam,” you whisper. it’s true that you did it all for yourself, but it may never have happened without him. “you helped me. so much, sam. and i missed you a lot, and– and–” you decide that if you keep talking, you’ll cry. so instead of that, instead of trying to come up with something to bring justice to the way that you feel, you kiss him. you remember that sam knows how you feel because that’s how he feels too. and though you can’t quite show him that in the way you experience his own feelings, you can show him by kissing him, and kissing him hard.

he melts into you, his hands impossibly soft, yet steady and so sure on your face. he kisses you back with the same ferver, right there on the side of an empty highway with his brother likely watching. he doesn’t care, not about any of it.

when you finally part, breathless, dean clears his throat loudly, and you grin at sam a little bashfully. he grins back. you peek around his shoulder to see dean leaning against the car’s hood, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“while i hate to break up the lovefest, i’m not sure how long we’ve got until crowley sends that army of demons you mentioned. let’s hit the road, kids,” he calls out to the two of you.

in the car, it seems clear that dean’s attitude towards you has improved significantly since your last meeting. maybe it was seeing the way crowley treated you, watching you give yourself up in defense of sam and the others in the cafe, or seeing sam this past week and a half and coming to understand how much he really cares about you. whatever it is, you completely welcome the hesitant sort of affection that begins to permeate dean’s wariness of you.

then, there’s sam, sitting all content in the passenger's side and unable to stay still. he keeps turning to look at you, as if he has to be sure that you’re really there, sitting pretty in the backseat of the impala like he’s imagined a million times before. the only thing keeping him from sitting next to you is the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands and lips off of you, and that would be a bit too much with dean in the car. so instead, he smiles at you all soft and listens intently when you explain how you got out. he tries not to talk too much to avoid bothering dean, but you can tell that dean doesn’t mind one bit hearing the happy tone in sam’s voice as he talks to you.

and for you, to be flying down the highway and looking at your sam, your revelry, your wild joy, you finally understand what freedom really feels like. what it feels like when it’s yours.

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seventhemaverick · 10 months

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Astro Observations 🌱

Disclaimer: This is my first Astrology post! I tried to do this earlier this year but tumblr lagged and it deleted all of my hard work lol. But now I’ve gained the courage to give it another go! I’m not a professional astrologer. I just study it in depth when I have time. Still very much a beginner. Please be kind and if I’m misinformed let me know! If you want to repost my work please credit me. This also has personal opinions in here don’t take it too seriously babes!

🌾 I don’t typically think Leo’s and Scorpios go together romantically BUT any other relationship outside of that exudes power team. For ex: Kylie and Kris Jenner. Scorpios are known to love power and Leo’s love the spotlight! Kylie was bound to be a favorite after her « ugly duckling » phase. Kylie rolls in the dough and Kris keeps that empire going. I’ve seen many Scorpio parents with Leo kids and they really seem to love them the most lol

Let’s talk about underdeveloped placements real quick!

🌿 Having a parent that is toxic or underdeveloped and has placements that fall into your second house can obliterate your self worth. ESPECIALLY if you have planets in that house and their placements are exactly conjunct 0° or 1-3°.

🌾 If your mars sign is exactly square one of your parents mars or 1-5° orb… 🌚 take the steps to move out if you haven’t already it’s for the best.

🌿 Capricorn moons I wish I could hug all of you. You had to grow up so fast and got handed some of the worst cards. But nevertheless resilience is your middle name. As you age things will get easier if you stand on business! Integrity is key.

🌾 I know libras are known to be superficial or whatever and I’m kinda one of them lol. I literally live off of aesthetics and I typically have nice skin but when I have a massive break out? I literally want to hide until they’re gone. My stress is next level when I don’t look my best.. I’m also a Leo Venus 😅 in the tenth house at that and have cancelled plans when I look and feel shitty.

🌿 All of the air signs almost always value intellectual stimulation first from their partner. Someone they can have great rapport, banter with. Someone that’s witty and knows a wide variety of subjects or has many interests is very hot. Sagittarius is the air sign of the fire signs so I’ll loop them in on this too.

If we lost any zodiac element, it would bring chaos to the entire world.

🌾 Air brings logic and reasoning, water brings compassion and empathy, earth brings grounding and patience, fire brings passion and vitality. Life is about interconnectedness.

🌿 I remember reading a blog that the gods put the constellation of Libra in between Virgo and Scorpio because they were too much alike and it’s so true lol. Both signs can be so compulsive and it’s overwhelming from what I’ve heard from Virgo and Scorpio placements. I can also see this easy going equivalence being the case for Sagittarius being in between Scorpio and Capricorn. The benefics happy go luckies in between the malefics drained and over it.

🌾… moon 3rd house overlay is addictive especially combined with 7th/8th/12th overlays in that synastry. I don’t think I can ever do that again unless we both have it overlaying each others charts. Someone’s moon in your 3rd house, their mind fascinates you and it’s easy to communicate with them you feel seen and heard. You dream about them, you think about them all the freaking time. It is the most annoying thing because why are you taking up my brain space like that bro? I had this with someone and I still think about them it’s been over for quite some time now. Another person that’s in love with me, my moon falls into their 3rd house and they tell me how much they think about me and day dream about me. I had said issue of daydreaming with the other guy. 2/10 would not recommend unless moon person is developed.

🌿 When the moon transits your first house you’re more likely to be more emotional and make drastic changes to your physical features! When Doja Cat shaved her head the moon was transiting her first house and I literally did mine the next day when it was transiting my first house.

🌾 Opinion but I love Pisces placements they are so helpful and loving when developed. I think the underdeveloped ones are too but they expect something out of it where the developed ones are just really selfless. I’m a Pisces Stan! I have so many in my life lol I have no Pisces placements. My 5H is in Pisces lol

🌿 Degree theory is that gworl. It helps you relate to the planet and it’s placement more depending on what the degree rules. For example I was dating a Sagittarius Venus in the 9th house at the 9° and he embodied that free spirited nature of Sag Venus fr. Another example, you can be a Pisces Venus but it’s in your first house at the first degree and the way you love embodies a more aries way of loving. Fiery, passionate a bit aggressive but very deep and tender to the core.

🌾 I’ve also heard the theory of when you reach the age of certain degrees of the placements you have you unlock that placements characteristics. Something significant happens to you during that age or you might master that placement regarding the planet and house placement.

🌿 The degree of your rising sign is more than likely the age of something significant happen in your physical life/to you physically. This is tea y’all.

🌾 You most likely share placements or degrees in your chart with your siblings. My sister is a Scorpio sun, Aries rising, Virgo moon and I’m a Libra sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon. If I was born two days earlier I would’ve been a Virgo sun and if she was born one or two days later she would’ve been a Libra moon. So I think thats pretty cool. We’re also both Venus dominant and she has a Libra stellium 💗. You really choose your family for your next life lol like that’s so crazy to me.

🌿 Ima say dis with my chest. STOP doing wrong by Saturn ruled placements!!! Saturn is ruled by Capricorn, Aquarius in traditional astrology and we cannot forget about its exalted sign in Libra. As a Libra, I receive karma with the quickness but also people that have done wrong by me their quality of life decreases and or whichever house Saturn is in their chart is deeply affected in the worst ways.. daddy Saturn don’t play bout his! Be fair and follow the golden rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

🌾 Having heavy Sagittarius placements in your chart makes you open to learn different languages or different cultures.. just always wanting to learn. Whatever house it’s in you want to master in life.

🌿 The mutables Gemini Virgo Sagittarius Pisces love their niches, they are the teachers and preachers of the zodiac.

🌾 Geminis have the gift of gab more than any other zodiac. Sagittarius could possibly go toe to toe with them

🌿 If anyone ever tries to degrade you for studying astrology and eggs you on to prove this practice to be true, get their birth info and read them their Chiron sign and house placement. Hit ‘em where it hurts!

🌾 Scorpio and Libra placements are usually the generational trauma breakers of their family. Honorable mention- Saturns children, Capricorn and Aquarius

🌿 An undeveloped Capricorn placement that enters your life is literally satan reincarnated to torture you for whatever you did wrong in your past life. And I (if u were raised around Christianity) believe Jesus was a Pisces/Aries! I can argue about this all day! In tarot Capricorn rules the devil! Like hellooooo

🌾 Sixth house/Virgo placements are pretty good at taking care of pets and plants. They feel the most sane around nature and animals.

🌿 Personal planets harmoniously aspected to Neptune make the person seem very angelic like. Very soft souls, earth angels. Hard aspects have people having an even more distorted projection of you.

🌾 Personal planets harmoniously aspected or not to Uranus gives you that shock factor some people will be repelled and some people will be very intrigued.

🌿 Aries placements especially sun and moon are really loyal! I’m talking mostly platonically. Once they see you as their person they are truly ride or die.

🌾 Cancer placements can be one of the most loving and giving when developed. Some spiteful mfs when underdeveloped omg.

🌿 I realize cancer placement women get treated with the cutest romantic gestures. I think they lovers want to do these things for them because they give off ethereal or princess vibes but they’re also real nasty in the sheets lol

🌾 Cancers don’t really get a bad rep even when they do shady things. For example: Selena Gomez when she dated Abel even tho she was cool with Bella was super weird. And I think a lot of people forgot how Kevin hart cheated on his wife like it was nothing lol. Ariana grande with the donuts and now the Ethan thing chileee. It’s like they get a second of backlash and then everyone adores them again lol.

🌿 Having a grand trine in your chart can make you so damn lazy in the houses those planets/figures are in 🥹🥲. It’s crazy cuz that talent(s) will come natural to you and you’ll over look it! Please don’t.

🌾 Grand squares are TOUGH but it pushes you to break cycles and overcome so much in your life. Same with t-squares

🌱 Astrology is really a map. It shows you which path you can take and where you can end up when you include discernment and discipline into your daily life. It’s never an excuse to behave the way you do. Ultimately it helps us reach our most aligned and enlighten self! I hope you all enjoyed. 🌱

Idk why I can’t figure out how to delete this question thing so let’s do a cute lil questionnaire!

#astro notes #astro observations #astrology #astrology observations #degree theory #scorpio #libra

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tojisun · 3 months

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sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

pining for someone in an established relationship sucks, or: hockey player kyle garrick x f!reader, kyle x f!OC (one-sided)

context here and here! major cw that this is me being delusional [thumbs up emote] other cw: fast-burn, time jumps, outside pov // 3.5k words

current timeline: kyle garrick’s second season (pre-injury)

she has always liked garrick—it’s hard not to like him, after all.

he is electric. beautiful, especially on ice. he skates like it comes to him as easy as breathing; like he’s been born with no other purpose but to take to the ice. she doesn’t understand why people called him overhyped when garrick is a beast in his own right—tearing through the space with ease and confidence, overpowering even the ones with legacies longer than his own.

as if there was any doubt that he wasn’t destined for the big leagues.

she’s not really privy to the nuances of ice hockey, oftentimes content with only watching. it was garrick who made her want to learn more about it; who had her scouring through the net about anything and everything because this way, it felt like she could know more about him.

it was pathetic, really, if not a little funny, but she felt vindicated by it. she felt as though she…deserved this much; this sliver of kyle garrick that she can have. this version of him that she can get to know because the real garrick is closed-off to the rest of the world. because the real garrick has a whole other life before him and it didn’t include her.

then, somehow, someway, she finds her way to him.

it starts off with a question—do you want to come?

there is not much to be said about having a cousin in the league—she’s family, yes, but sasha’s so much older than her now. he’s even moved across the country to join his current team, the specgru, where he found his now-wife. so really, she falls under sasha’s radar quite often, which she was fine to begin with.

but things kept lining up, and one thing led to another, and then sasha’s wife, mila, was inviting her over to a party. a specgru party.

it felt like, well, it felt surreal.

one moment she was watching them on ice, from those special boxes for the wives and girlfriends, then the next they’re in front of her.

garrick is in front of her.

he looks beautiful, catastrophically so. there are not enough words that exist that can describe him but if she were to try, she would tell the world how garrick was like the sun—warm and tender, his gravitational pull so strong it has her trembling. aching.

he lagged behind the older members, shy and quiet most of the time, but she couldn’t stop looking at him, her throat constricting as the bubble of her desires razed her.

she needs—

he turns, his eyes meeting hers.

ah, she thinks to herself as the air in her lungs leave her in one swoop. his eyes are a startling hazel.

kyle.

garrick told her to call him kyle. he murmured it to her with a shy smile, and she couldn’t look away from his crinkled eyes, creased in a way that made him look younger. in a way that made him look more familiar and less untouchable.

kyle.

just thinking about his name filled her up with immense giddiness, the butterflies rising from the pit of her stomach to tickle the back of her throat. she repeated his name as much as she was allowed to, murmuring it to herself or calling it out loud because when she did, kyle was always there to look at her with his kind eyes.

he was so patient with her. so understanding of her awe.

he kept her company even when he didn't need to, and a part of her felt bad for monopolizing his time, of course, but kyle had talked to her in stilted murmurs and filled up their bubble with anything and everything, until the awkwardness drained and they were left with aching stomachs as laughter continued to peel from their lips.

she couldn't find it in herself to be guilty; she couldn't find it in herself to wish that kyle should have just left her.

she is, after all, still so very selfish.

and now that she's gotten a piece of what being with kyle was like, she doesn't know if she could ever stop the feelings settling in the pit of her stomach anymore. she doesn’t know if she could ever rationalize herself anymore because this thing she feels for kyle, it seemed to be heading toward a storm.

somehow an easy friendship between the two of them developed. a sort of companionship that had her up late at night, tumbling every message she’s received from him, no matter how sparse and little.

it’s not his fault, after all. the season already started, and she knew that the specgru are out for blood this season—they want to advance to the playoffs, and then win the cup that was snagged from their chest by the lightnings last season.

so she savours everything she receives, from the replies to her morning greetings to the memes he sends her sporadically during the day. she tucks everything into the pockets of her chest, knowing full well that this isn’t ideal. that this is destructive. desperate.

but no man has ever made her feel the way she does for kyle—that sort of feeling that makes someone want to sleep earlier so that tomorrow comes a lot faster, or that feeling that zaps out one’s appetite for no apparent reason, or that feeling that cages one’s mind until all one can think of is them.

until all she can think of is him.

kyle is—

kyle is a wonder. a riot.

he is all that is good in the world. all that gives her joy. she understands that the weight of her feelings must be a burden to kyle if he were to ever find out, but it’s just that, kyle is...

he is amazing. his hockey is amazing. his skills and abilities are amazing. his attitude and fortitude and his perseverance are all amazing.

she understands now why hockey players are called stars. their blaze runs hot and bright, a supernova, something that is almost so religious, and it is all so enchanting that one cannot help but store their dreams—a sort of patriotic need for the cup to come back home—into their cluster.

but stars, they crash. they burn. they sputter, snuffed out of their light, of their wonder.

she wonders why she has forgotten such fate.

she finds out about it through a news article; in a way that hammered into her their circumstances. their differences.

she was unable to watch the game, too caught up in the swirling miasma of her life. everything felt too shaky, like things got ahead of her, and she so desperately tried to catch up. to stabilize herself.

kyle had told her good luck.

she had forgotten to return it.

and now—

specgru defenceman, kyle garrick, out ‘long term’ with reported broken clavicle.

all of a sudden, it is like the ground was ripped from under her and she is left falling, dread and surprise and hurt swirling in her gut.

it felt surreal, like it wasjust a bad dream that she couldn’t wake up from. like the words are a jumbled mess and her mind is just so desperately slotting the pieces together to make sense of it all.

what does this mean for kyle?

she swipes out of the hockey central news and rings sasha, but he would not pick up her calls and mila was only able to recount whatever was broadcasted, but she took it with shaking palms, her worry bloating because kyle has never been so unreachable before. so worryingly absent in her life.

she needed to hear about what happened from someone she trusts. not from the news media, nor the threads of posts made online, but from someone who knew kyle too. not garrick the player, but kyle for the man who he is.

mila said it happened so fast that no one could even fathom the gravity of the situation. she said she saw kyle skating for the puck, another opposing player hot on his heels, almost uncomfortably so, before the two of them just toppled into the boards.

“it took a while for him to stand up,” mila murmured, her voice faint on the other line. “but we knew it was bad when we saw him holding his shoulder. and then they pulled him from the game and we knew then that it couldn’t have been something small.”

“is he—” she paused, not knowing where to even begin. “do you know if he’s—”

“…i don’t know.”

the call ended there. she doesn’t even remember if she replied to mila, too caught up in the worry churning in the pit of her stomach. too caught up with the weight of her doubts crushing her.

what does this mean for kyle, if not some sense of retirement?

she does not get to meet kyle until after the surgery.

(everyday, she finds herself drafting a message to him.

i’m sorry, it begins.

i heard what happened. she deletes this.

i heard you’ll miss the rest of the regular seas—

i heard they’re saying you might have to r—

you’ve had a good career—

i’m sorry, it reads, so soulless and inadequate for the storm in her heart. she scraps it out and throws her phone to her bed.)

sasha had been the one to tell her that he was scheduled for one, his nose wrinkled in confusion at her insistence in being updated.

“i knew y’were close but…” he told her then, almost accusingly like there’s something she’s got to admit.

and she knows she has to tell someone about what she feels for kyle, or even stop dancing around it every time mila asks, but it was too intimate. it was too fragile.

so she shrugged and ignored his narrowed eyes, hoping that he’d drop it. and sasha may be a hulking mass of muscles with only hockey and mila in his mind, but he heeled and told her when kyle was available for guests.

she bought him flowers and it feels so silly because she knows they are only placations. she knows that kyle wants nothing more than the ice—not their ‘i’m sorry’s nor their ‘next time’s nor their ‘get well soon’s. but what else can she do for him besides this?

they’re friends. they’re just friends.

this is the extent of what she’s allowed to do.

these are the things she tells herself as she makes his way to his room, greeting the players loitering outside—they're kyle’s closest friends since he got drafted.

“oh, y’might have to wait for a wee bit, lass,” mactavish says before she could peer into the small window of the private room to check on kyle.

she turns to johnny, frowning. “oh? is something wrong?”

mactavish huffs a soft laugh, and seeing the faint humour in his face eases her worries up a bit.

“he’s alright now,” he replies, then giggles again. “we just can’t intrude, yeah? not when his girl’s in there with him.”

he turns to riley, blind to the way her breath got stuck in her lungs. “how long did he say that they didn’t see each other? three years?”

riley’s watching her, his face pinched in discomfort. mactavish pokes him again when he doesn’t reply.

“almost four,” is what riley finally manages to reply, his voice rasping out like a grunt, the words slithering from the cracks of his teeth like he could see her.

like he knows what kyle means to her and what this news, this shocking revelation, is doing to her.

mactavish looks back at her again, smiling, still so unknowing. still so innocently honest.

“i have to—” she fumbles, her fist tightening around the stem of the bouquet she’s carrying. “i’m going to—”

she bolts, her feet thudding against the sterile floors.

pinpricks fill the back of her eyes, raging as they push against her restraint, stinging, until the tears bead, pooling, her eyesight blurring, and then they fall. she gasps out a sob, the cry lurching from the depths of her lungs and tearing through her trachea.

it hurts.

she bites down the sobs that threaten to come out, fighting against the agony until she’s finally back in the comfort of her car.

she breathes, dragging in a wet inhale, then she breaks.

her first feeling was heartbreak. the second was betrayal—how could he not have told her? did he trust her so little?

but just as fast as the feeling of betrayal came, so too did the rationalization. the spark of clarity burning through the anger and the hurt to tug her out of its depths, straining to bring her out of the vitriolic spiral.

mactavish and riley’s words descend to her, heavy but enlightening.

almost four years. kyle has not seen his girlfriend for almost four years.

he was someone else’s person before she and kyle even met.

she finds his socials and digs around, skirting past the guilt of worrying about this more than his recovery.

she scrolls past his recent pictures, past the ones taken with the team or the ones in his juniors, past the brand deals and the ads he’s featured in, until she finds herself deep in his past. she pauses, taking in the pictures of kyle in some north american university, playing for their varsity team.

he is younger here but just as passionate. just as in love with hockey. only—

there, she finds you.

you were startlingly the focus of his page before he moved across the continent for the league. you were there, always by his side or featured on your own, his love overpowering in the way he shares to the world how he sees you.

framed in the sun, melting into the sea, giggling as you lay in the grass where he took you for a picnic date—kyle shared it all.

he shared his life with you to the world—his life with you in your dorms as you two studied for exams, or in a corner store while you two munched on food at three in the morning, or you cheering for him in the stands, slapping at the glass protector in your excitement while you stood beside a man who looks so much like you.

few scrolls in and she learns that that’s your brother, kyle’s lifelong friend.

she realized then, how you and kyle are interwoven together—two beating hearts, twined into one.

how could she have missed this all?

how could she have thought that she knew kyle at all? that the pieces he’s shared with her defined all that he is?

then, she finds one picture that truly captivated her. one that made her sit upright because this showed how you were, are, his cornerstone—you took to the ice, standing beside him in your own gear, the two of you infinitely intimidating as the two of you stared into the camera, hungry for something.

hungry for a win.

you know ice hockey.

(in a way, that single fact explains so much.

kyle needed someone who knew him beyond his story, beyond his fame. someone who knew his hockey before it was muddled by the bets. before the politics of it all.

kyle needed someone who—)

oh, she thought.

oh.

she returns back in the hospital despite the curl of shame and sadness that settled in the pit of her stomach. she returns because kyle is still her friend.

the boys are gone by the time she reaches his private room, but she falters in her steps anyway because there, she sees you.

you are sat by the visitor’s seats, bent over in your exhaustion. it is staggering to truly see the woman whom kyle cares about the most—the very same one she just learned about an hour ago.

you are older now, of course, different from the pictures taken years ago, but you continue to be shrouded in that aching familiarity of being kyle’s person. like it just makes sense that you and kyle are together.

something churns in her heart, but she bulldozes through the weight of it all and ambles towards you.

you look up at the sound of her feet, blinking weary eyes up at her.

“hi,” she greets shyly, cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

“hey,” you reply just as softly, confused, until your eyes fall to the flowers she’s carrying and then you’re smiling, patting the seat beside your own.

“he’s asleep right now,” you say as she sits. “i heard you were here earlier but you had to go because something urgent came up. hope things are alright?”

“yeah,” she croaks out, reeling from the familiarity in your tone, like you know of her, somehow. “had to, uh, take a call. how’s he?”

you hum, rubbing your forearm softly—a nervous habit, she notes. kyle does it too, sometimes.

“stable,” you begin. “it was a quick surgery so there’s that. they said he’ll be fine.”

she bites her lips, hesitant. then, “and, uhm, what will happen to him now?”

it is here that you smile, wide and excitable, and she blinks in her surprise, unable to see where you’re coming from. unable to understand where you find the fortitude to do so. and then, you laughed, the sound of it almost barked out like it came from the cages of your ribs, rattling against your bones to shake you awake. it was raw, booming. it was sunny and bright.

“he will be back,” you finally reply, voice so airy like you are floating on air. “his career’s not over.”

there is a sense of finality in your words. a sense of belief so strong, it sounds reverent.

(later, alone with her thoughts, she will remember the words she almost left with kyle—you’ve had a good career—and she will realize why you continue to be the one he chooses.)

“i’m glad,” she murmurs, huffing out in her relief because she had been so afraid. so muddled with worry.

you giggle, the sound twinkling like chimes, before telling her your name.

i know, she almost slipped out only to bite it at the last minute.

she gives you hers in return.

“i know,” you say, gentle and kind. she jolts in her surprise. “kyle talks about you a lot.”

what could she even say to that? before, she’s sure that her heart would’ve caved in, and she would be filled with butterflies so strong, she’d get dizzy; that she’d feel a flicker of hope burn bright, and it would warm her up and sustain her until she meets kyle again. but not now. not anymore.

so she settles with, “yeah?” in hopes that such a short answer will hide the way she trembles.

“yeah,” you tell her, so genuine it makes her hands clammy. “i’m glad that he’s found his people here, you know? people who see him for himself, more than anything else.”

you sound so grounded—kyle’s cornerstone.

you look at her with nothing but kindness. happiness.

(a part of her knows that you know what she feels for kyle.)

“he’s…wonderful. well, he’s more than that but i think,” she pauses to chuckle. “you know that better than anyone else.”

when kyle wakes up, you tell her you need to grab something for him to eat. the two of you pretend it’s not your way of giving the two of them privacy.

she walks in, her nose scrunched at how wrinkled her flowers are now, but kyle beams at her in gratitude altogether, weak hands curling around the flowers with such tender.

he looks exhausted, pained, still, and she doesn’t even have to ask if it’s less about his injury and more about the fact that he’s made to miss the rest of the season.

“i’m sorry,” she finally gets to say. “i wish you didn’t have to miss anything.”

“i know,” he replies, his smile pinched. then, she watches as he shuts his eyes, breathing in deeply, before his body uncoils, now more relaxed.

“i know,” he repeats, blinking up at her. “but i’ll get it all back next year.”

“yeah?” she asks, not out of doubt but to bring the fire back in his eyes. she wants to see them hardened, resolute.

kyle grins, manically almost. “hell yeah.”

she laughs, feeling something in her unfurl, like a taut string cutting loose.

they talk with the same familiarity, with the same cadence, and she sees how your presence has not changed anything between the two of them. it is all so refreshing. merciful, almost.

and she now knows that it is because kyle has never thought of her in any other way that isn’t just friendly or platonic, but it means a lot to her that she can continue to have even this with kyle.

“oh, lapochka,” mila murmurs, her face crumpling in her worry. mila opens her arms and she dives in them, her choked sobs muffled on mila’s shoulders.

mila holds her for a long while.

notes: i daydreamed this so hard i had to write it LMAO ik it feels so juvenile but pls let me have it. i had to see it come to fruition and i enjoyed writing a fic structured this way!! especially since the OC is just as nameless as the reader so yk one can insert themselves into her too :’3 BUT YEA! thank u for bearing w me and i hope u guys liked it <33

#hockey au #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod x reader #kyle garrick x oc #suns

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cryingat300kph · 5 months

Text

Pretty Thing

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Boytoy!Mechanic!Reader

(Bad) Summary: When Ferrari gets a new pretty boy for a mechanic a certain 4x world champion takes notice.

Rating: M Warning(s): Mentions of sex, but no actual sex. Cursing. Use of Y/N. Allusion to homophobia in sports. F slur (but in a self-descriptive and reclaimed way) -Not Proofread-

Length: 1.4K Words

A/N: This is Seb in his chaotic flirt Ferrari era, like 1st/2nd year at Ferrari vibes. Also the ending is kinda cut off because I lost steam, but wanted to put something out. Let me know if ya’ll want this continued, I have ideas ;) <3

“Lewis look, that’s who I was talking about.” Seb says poking Lewis’s arm gesturing towards the bar. “Him?!” Lewis asks turning back to Seb. “Yeah.” Seb suppresses the urge to add Isn’t he pretty? “Damn I'm surprised they would hire a mechanic so-“ “so gay?” Sebastian supplies. “Heh-Yeah.” “Well he usually doesn’t look like that.” Seb says again gesturing towards the man.

The “that” Seb is referring to is the absolute twink uniform you are wearing. You might as well be wearing a flashing sign reading “I like dick! ;)” And Sebastian thinks you look completely and utterly delectable; more than usual.

He’d had his eyes on you since you joined the team at the top of the year. At first he noticed you because were young for someone not on the PR team, and far too handsome to not be in a more front-facing role. He was glad he was known to make sure to get to know all new members of the Ferrari family, because it meant he could satisfy this curiosity; finding out you had climbed the ladder at the factory quickly and had always wanted nothing more than to be in the garage track-side.

His interest in you only grew as he got to know you better. He knew obviously that as a mechanic you weren’t just a pretty face, but he soon found out you weren’t just either of those things. But someone who was extremely funny, kind and just as much of a nerd about racing as he was.

And so, a friendship slightly-beyond coworkers started to form. Now, at halfway through the season you two could be called proper friends, but your friendship is still very tied to work. Either way, you feel comfortable around Seb, comfortable enough to speak freely of your interests and life outside of racing. However, one thing he doesn’t know about you was that you don’t mind sharing a bed with a man.

Its hard being queer in formula one. It’s 2015 and huge strides have been made, but motorsports lags behind. Especially as someone who is involved in a more “masculine” job at Ferrari you keeps your more flamboyant tendencies under wraps. European ideas of masculinity help a lot, but it’s still a bit lonely, stressful and draining, to be closeted.

Hence why you’re here.

It had been a stressful race weekend, but Seb ultimately got podium and everyone was rightfully really happy and the team planned to go for drinks with the winning Mercedes team.

Seb had protested a bit when you said you thought you’d sit this one out. “I would, trust me, but I’ve had this headache all day and I doubt a hangover will make it any better.” You lied. He had seemed to come back to himself, like his earlier protest was a slip. Laughing it off. “You’re right, go, rest. We need your brain intact!”

You had chuckled at that saying bye to him and driving back to the hotel to get changed before heading out for your real plans. You felt bad lying to Seb but after this weekend a guy needed some attention damn it! But most importantly you wanted to dress how you want and exist how you want for once even just for a couple of hours.

---

Without you at the party Sebastian is more melancholy than usual. He's cursing himself for crushing like a teenager, but without you there he’s lost interest. “Dude is this about the guy you told me about.” Lewis asks seeing Seb is obviously down about something. “what? no- it” “Where is he? Go talk to him!" “He’s not here, had a headache so he stayed back.” “Well you don’t seem to be having fun so go after him, just ask to hang out.” “But the team, i should-.” “Kimi is enough of a party for the team, he’d probably enjoy the company.” Lewis nudges him. “You know why I can’t Lewis.” Seb says seriously. “Yeah.” Lewis agrees and they’re silent for a bit before he speaks up again, mischief in his voice. “But maybe we could find some other entertainment for the night. To quell the ache?” “What are you suggesting?” Seb asks suspicious. “There’s a bar a couple blocks from here. Heard its a discreet spot, good for cruising.” He says like he’s stating the weather and not suggesting the two biggest F1 drivers at the moment go cruising for gay sex.“What if someone sees us.” “we’re in America, no one knows who we are.” And Seb is just tipsy enough, and yearning to fuck a stranger and imagine it’s you, so he agrees.

“Let’s do it!”

---

And so, Sebastian now finds himself at a loss for words, staring at you. At you, sipping a cocktail, half sitting on a bar stool, your back slightly arched. Honestly the picture is so inviting. Lewis is just looking at him with a smirk.

Sebastian sees that a couple men obviously have their eyes on you too. He watches as the bartender hands you a drink gesturing to one of the said men. You look over and the man starts to get up. Seb feels his fists tighten, but he relaxes when you hand the drink back to the bartender looking at the man apologetically. He’s glad the man gets the idea and sits back down, Seb doesn’t want to think what he would have done if the man had persisted.

Wait, so maybe you’re just out for a nice night alone, he doesn’t want to disturb that. But dressed like that? He’s having a hard time resisting.

“Lewis what do I do?” He asks. “The flirt is asking me?“ Lewis scoffs, but when Seb just looks at him annoyed, he Chuckles; he’s never seen the confident man so nervous before. “Just, go get him tiger.”

He knows it’s now or never, so Sebastian goes to the opposite end of the bar and tells the bartender to get you a drink.

-- The bartender hands you another drink. It’s top shelf which catches your eye. A couple men have bought you shots and stuff throughout the night but so far when the bartender pointed to who they all weren’t your type. Or they quickly stopped being your type the moment they opened their mouths.

When you ask who, this time, the bartender cocks his head to the end of the bar. You look over and it’s Sebastian! Your eyes go wide, unsure of what to do. What is he doing here?! Here, where you are looking like a complete faggot and nothing like you do at work. But he’s your friend right, he would’ve found out eventually and he just bought you a drink?

You tamp down the flicker of hope that tries to spark. So you just smile and raise the drink to him raising your eyebrows. It’s friendly coworker shit right? He’s just being nice. Your brain is forced to stop working overtime when he approaches you and starts speaking.

“I could barely recognize you y/n!” He says smiling and friendly, but with a hint of something? And he is blatantly looking you up and down. Tongue between his teeth. Oh. You can’t help lighting up despite being nervous. “Well let’s just say the Ferrari uniform is not my personal style.” You joke. “This definitely suits you much better.” He blatantly flirts, which catches you bit off guard, but you try not to show it, excitement now replacing your nerves. “You think the boss will let me wear a crop top to work?” “Maybe I could ask him nicely.” Sebastian says and then leans closer.

“Having something so pretty in my garage can only bring me good luck right?” “Oh, I don’t think you need luck, Seb.” You laugh because now you are definitely blushing.

“Every driver needs luck.” He says low.

The way he's looking at you. It’s almost too much. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. In the span of a few minutes you’ve basically come out to a coworker turned friend, but also discovered that apparently Sebastian Vettel, Ferrari driver, four time world champion also likes men. And now said Ferrari driver and friend is flirting with you.

You can't wait to see where the night goes.

#to be continued?#my writing #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x male reader #f1 x you #f1 fic #sebastian vettel x reader #Sebastian vettel x male!reader #sv5 x reader #sv5 #sv5 fanfic

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rosesradio · 29 days

Note

saw your leo headcannons about touch and i loved them! sometimes (most times) when we're overwhelmed or cant think of words for affection or dont want to be touched, we kinda just gently bonk our head to the nearest part of the person we're showing love to so you should totally do that with leo?

love your writting, thanks for reading this ^^

thanks so much—i wrote a little thing with this, i hope you like it !! 💌

It’s at an impromptu, unsupervised bonfire that you first give in to this previously unexplored point of contact. Your heart pounds, brain lagging as it catches on to bits of chatter from the campers and the crackling fire. The smells of smoke and marshmallows overwhelm your senses, the wood from the log bench digging against the back of your thighs.

It’s fine. It’s fun. You are having fun with your friends—especially with your boyfriend, Leo. But it’s also kind of a lot.

Unable to think of what else to do, you lean over and bonk Leo’s shoulder with your forehead.

Leo lets out a soft laugh. “Is this some kinda new dance move, or are you saying it’s time to go to bed?”

You let out a non-committal hum. You do want to leave soon, though it’s not urgent.

“Okay,” Leo started patiently. “Feel free to give me a bonk when I get the right answer…you want to leave right now…you don’t wanna leave any time soon…you wanna leave after this next song—“

At the last answer, you give him another bonk, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You don’t feel like being too touchy with him, though his warmth tethers you, dampening the overwhelming feeling of everything else for just a moment.

“You’re so right,” Leo replies with an exaggerated yawn. “One more song, and then bedtime.”

He bonks your leg lightly with his, a promise of his own.

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #pjo #pjo drabbles #rose’s asks

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dairy-farmer · 24 days

Note

Aaw D:> tumbr ate my first draft of this. But I persist!

Because? Consider! Ra's being a GENUINELY charismatic, manipulative Threat! Oh shit!

He can read you at a glance. Offer you your hearts desires. Money, power, vengeance, purpose. Don't you YEARN? Haven't they WRONGED you? The world is... so very UNFAIR, isn't it?

Don't you want to feel safe again?

Be strong?

Poisoned honey, spoken in a pleasing voice. Any mask for any job. Mentorly, seductive, fatherly, concern, whatever breaks your walls. Makes you TRUST him. He's been doing this for years. Centuries.

Bruce calls it a cult for a reason.

Never let him get into your head. Let him talk. Give no quarter or it's DONE. Bruce drilled it in to all of them. If you give even a sliver of the smallest scrap... he will take you for all you are worth and destroy you. Mould what remains however he pleases. Bruce himself, BARELY had the mental and emotional strength to escape.

And he's the most stubborn bastard alive.

But... but Bruce is GONE. Lost to the time stream. And no one believe Tim. Will listen. Yeah, he's not explaining himself that great. But he's upset, his brain has always moved faster then his mouth, it's... it's kinda a terrible combination. But that doesn't mean he's CRAZY!

Of all the shit they've seen! THIS is where you think things become impossible!? THIS is when you won't even check?! Fine. He'll go on his own.

Except he's not on his own.

Because Ra's either believes him... or has spotted his chance to strike.

Murmurs and drawling and croons in his ears. Like the devil whispering temptation as it leads him farther and farther from home. Tim's TRYING. Remembers what Bruce told him. Give him nothing. But... but every snapped reply, every short answer, is met with such... predatory amusement.

He's making a mistake.

He KNOWS he's making a mistake.

But Bruce is out there. He... he has to get him home. He can do this.

Then Tamara Fox is sent after him by her dad. He gets stabbed and loses an organ, nearly dies in the desert. Now there's a hostage and fucking spider assassins hunting Ra's cult of killers.

Ra's, who no longer seems amused.

He can't-... he HAS to do this. For Bruce. For Tam. For the people they've killed.

He manages. They invade. The stuff of nightmares. Honestly, fffffuck Ra's, he can handle himself. He's getting Tam and Pru out of here and blowing everything to kingdom come. Except... except... shit, the leader. Touch of death. He's so tired. Reflexes not what the should be, torso still too stiff from being TORN OPEN.

Weeks of jet lag, poor sleep, worse diet, and just generally spotty meal times, have taken their toll. His reaction time is off. Not by much. But enough to die by. And... and this is it. He IS going too...

THWUMP!

Staff. With the sort of deadly precision even weapon master's would consider unachievable. The sort that take lifetimes to achieve. So close, if he blinked, his eyelashes would sweep the weapon that just saved his life. The force behind that strike would shatter bone. The follow up, clearly meant to kill.

Ra's Al Ghul.

Tim is already jerking back and toward Tam. No time to observe. But... oh. Oh. He must look so... so CLUNKY with a staff in his hands, in Ra's eyes. The man moves like a rolling storm. All dark untouchable mist and deadly flashing light. Dances have been less elegant.

But that doesn't matter. It CAN'T.

He has to get out of here.

Tim leaves Ra's to either win or die. Flees with Tam and Pru. Pulls up his "fuck you, Ra's" program. And tries to get it going...

Shit.

Only half the bases blew.

A blow, yes. But not the "get fucked, now and forever" like he intended. At least the alarms behind him are sounding. So THIS one is gonna go. Rip in burning peices, ya spider fucks! (No one tell Bruce. It's been a long year okay?)

Except when has life EVER been kind or fair to Tim? Even once? ESPECIALLY this year? Ra's. Barely sweaty from his death match and ready for round two, just kicked open the hanger door behind them. Still in full armor. Still fully armed.

Tim doesn't even bother to calculate in his head.

They're fucked.

He slaps the evidence Bruce NEEDS to be rescued into Tam's arms. Tells her to get it to her father. Begs Pru to get her there. Tells them... to run.

Stands his ground.

He gets his ass beat like a drum. It's not even CLOSE. He's wounded, exhausted, and down to one weapon. Less trained then Ra's. And Ra's? Already warmed up, well rested, armed to the teeth and IN ARMOUR. Also probably pretty mad, what with Tim blowing up his bases.

He... he doesn't expect to wake up.

But he does.

Fancy guest room. The sort of guest not allowed to LEAVE, but still. Rich woods, fine fabrics, tasteful design. Ra's in an ornate, silken, open robe and loose low hanging lounge pants, sprawled out like a tiger as he casually sharpens a sword.

Subtle.

Captured then. He would have expected a dungeon after, you know, the whole "fuck you" base exploding. And Ra's? Doesn't even pause in his weapon maintenance as he calmly, in an almost musing voice, informs him that there's no NEED for THAT.

"Bases can be rebuilt. Rabble recollected."

"But you, Detective?"

What a glorious last stand~. Why, Tamara was it? He's quite sure Tamara is TEARFULLY recounting "your valiant final moments, even as we speak. You've done all the work to kill yourself, FOR me, Detective. I would be a fool not to take advantage of that."

He finally pauses, testing the edge of the blade. Pleased with it's sharpness.

Tim let's himself flop back down on the bed, refusing to wait for eye contact with those gemstone green eyes. So... what now? Torture? Brainwashing? Lectures on how awesome you are and how Tim should totally join you?

Of course not. Why would Ra's do THAT, when he has Tim right where he wants him? Tired, hurting, isolated. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. In other words... broken down. The world has done his job FOR him. Not, of course, that he'd ever SAY that. Why show your hand, after all?

So, no, no~

Now? You rest. Ra's brings you food. And if you want something? You'll have to trade for it.

Theeeere it is! Time called it. And WHAT, you creep, EXACTLY will he be expected to "trade"?

So suspicious! But, of course, he understands. Their's has hardly been a pleasant relationship, so far. Riddled with conflict. He simply wishes for conversation. For Tim to take care of himself. Allow RA'S to take care of him. After all, Ra's knows he would never allow him to help, otherwise.

.....right. "help".

Tim knows that's bullshit. He is trapped and this is a trap. Some form of conditioning. A fostering of dependence, maybe. He refuses to fall for it. Ignores Ra's, turns over, and pretends to go back to bed.

Ra's just hums, amused.

Because... sure enough? For all that Ra's oh so helpfully furnished "his" room with books and art supplies? Non-technological amusements? He can only ignore the only other person in the room for some many days. Can only stew in his "what ifs" and not knows for so long.

Damn it.

So he trades. Cagey and suspicious, looking for traps in every bit of wording and every action. Just as Ra's knew he would. Slowly exhausting himself. Just as Ra's knew he would. Hyper-vigilance taking it's brutal, chipping toll.

Just as Ra's knew it would~.

He asks only you eat this lovely snack you will enjoy. Take a nap, as look so tired. Allow him to massage those worn, long abused muscles. Wash the unmanageable curls of your hair. A conversation, perhaps, on that topic you love so much. You are quite knowledgeable.

And... and damn it. The body? Straight out refuses to stay vigilante forever. Especially when there appears to be no threat. When things are soft and soothing. It starts to slip through his fingers like sand. He keeps catching himself. Forgetting. Catching himself again.

Ra's has such... such a soothing voice, when he wishes too. Like rich cologne on a winter's coat, wrapping you in a masculine warmth against the cold. Strong, deadly hands. Unfairly good as they gently cradle his head, run fancy soaps and scented oils through his hair. Untwist the mess his muscles have become.

Like... like he's on some sort of high end vacation.

Or some pampered pet.

He's actually back to a healthy weight. He doesn't look like a disaster survivor.. and he just... just...

He has to get out of here. Soon. I-It's so comfortable. Soothing. Like sinking into warm honey, it clings. He just... there's this growing part of him that wants... because... because, yeah. Yeah, maybe he IS tired. Maybe it WOULD be nice. To stay. To be taken care off. Pampered.

But he CAN'T.

He has to get out.

So he confronts Ra's. What's it gonna take? Hopefully. This will blow up. A fight maybe. Something to give him some ANGER. Anything but this damn comfort and softness. It's sapping his will to fight. But of course not. Ra's has got him read like a learning letters pamphlet.

Of COURSE Ra's will let him go~!

...if Tim does... one little thing for him...

Those fucking TRADES. And this is it, he can feel it. Trap already sprung and now comes the moment to either gnaw off his own leg or be captured. Ra's looks so unbearably pleased. Victorious in his machinations and now reaping his reward. Tim wants to break his stupid smug face. But that will get him nowhere.

What.

What is the God damned trade.

Oh~ Just a moment of your time. Allow Ra's a taste of the feast you so vigilantly gaurd against him. He spreads his arms, elegant, white teeth flashing like a damn shark. The very picture of a wealthy, powerful, scoundrel. Promises in a low purr to behave.

The part of his brain that lights up when he's about to do something stupid, practically explodes from his head just to beat him to death. Sings the song of ten thousand klaxons. Oh... oh this is so PROFOUNDLY stupid there are are no words. Is possibly THE WORST idea.

He still... agrees.

Watchs Ra's not so much stand, as rise to his feet. Fluid and controlled. Letting his robe slide from his shoulders in an easy roll, to fall into a pool on the ground. The sword is set aside. Ra's focus on him. Undivided. It... it should not be MORE terrifying, unarmed and in just pants, then armed and in full armor. And yet...

Tim's mouth feels bone dry. Mistake. Mistaaaake....

He feels hunted. There aren't even that many steps, to cross the room. Yet he's shifted, distinctly, from a stride to a prowl. Tim feels absolutely no shame in backing up. Trying to gather his thoughts.

Ra's doesn't give him the chance.

Before Tim can even full register more then "too close!", a powerful hand is sliding through his hair to cradle is head, an arm like steel wrapping around his waist. He's pulled into an overwhelming kiss.

He brain stops.

The taste of Chai and a commanding mouth, overwhelm him. Steal his air. Tease and focus his attention. He's manhandled back onto the bed. A hand trails down Tim's body, another reaching up to wrench one of the pillows free of the pile. A possessive mouth slowly meanders down his body.

Kisses, sucked marks, teeth lined tastes of skin.

His hands grip like they want to imprint themselves. Leave permanent marks. Are trying, very, very hard not too. Not yet at least.

Not even divine intervention could save his shorts, Ra's rips them. Guides a pillow under his lower back. Tim has all of a second to be confused before everything Iights up. He chokes on a squeak.

The rumbling laugh Ra's makes does NOT help. Powerful hands holding him in place, keeping him from escaping the... the hot and wet! Tim writhes. It not the first time someone's eaten him out. But... but! It didn't feel like this! Was teammates and just fooling around. Not practiced seduction and centuries of skill.

His legs are already shaking. He's gasping for air. Trying to buck his hips closer to that magnificent feeling, trying to get away from how overwhelming it feels. Clenching his fists in the sheets. Whining like he's wounded.

It's PERFECT. Ra's KNEW he'd be weak to pleasure.

Knew his Detective was worth the wait.

Rolls and teases his tounge down, just a bit. Brings calloused fingers into play. To drive his Detective mad. Tease his sensitive little gem, while he plunders deep and cruelly with his tounge.

It's delightful. Watching him come apart. Again and again. First on his tounge alone, then joined by his fingers. Finding the places he KNOWS his Detective his most sensitive, and rubbing, stroking, teasing without mercy or relent.

Until even that magnificently stubborn boy, is a teary, drooling, red faced mess. Thighs painted with his pleasure. Limbs weak and trembling. So BEAUTIFULLY compliant and needy. Reliant on Ra's for everything. Craving his warmth. His care.

Head empty of those ever rushing thoughts.

He, of course, keeps his word. Let's Tim go. Back to the real world. Too the cruelties man does to man. Too being unappreciated. Tired and overworked. Too an empty, uncomfortable bed. A poor diet. The judgments of so called friends.

Hmmm~ Ra's wonders~ how long will it take?

Before the world does his job for him? Again. Before his Detective is tired. Sore. Lonely. Worn down and in need of care. Of a little... pleasure. A warm body to hold him in the night. Companionship IS vital to a healthy human mind and body, after all. Ra's can be a "friend". A lover. Whatever works, really.

He has time.

And Tim? Tim made the mistake of letting him in.

-🐼🐼🐼

ra's being MASSIVELY charismatic, having an effect that just lulls people into wanting to follow and obey him makes a lot of sense honestly! especially since for the most part the situtation given is that people follow ra's more out of admiration for his power/control of the lazarus pits and that's really it. ra's being incredibly charismatic and inspriring the fanatical loyalty that cults exhibit is soo good!

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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stayconnecteed · 9 days

Text

🪐˓⠀˚⠀the arrival⠀@⠀seven.

synopsys: nobody knew you were going to the wedding, and it really was a last minute decision, but you simply couldn't miss such an event in your little sister's life. your arrival, though, changed the dinner plans of your mother, and with a free night, some of the groom's men decided to celebrate late the new year ahead of them.

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀10 . 6 k words⠀⠀skz mlist.⠀⠀monday .ᐟ

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀pairing ★ han jisung x afab!reader x lee felix.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀genres ★ non!idol au, wedding au ; friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, roommates to lovers, one bed trope, oblivious to love (idiots to lovers), it kind of starts as a love triangle but, polyamory.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀sunday's warnings ★ first chapter! this is more like an introduction, but still : mentions of insecurities, social anxiety, theraphy - selfharm is mentioned too but no one actually does it - and bad relationship w parents (reader's mother is the villain, yes). also, alcohol consumption, slightly drunk decisions - they still can consent tho. as for the smut part today is male on male action, kissing, hickeys, the usual + oral, protected sex.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀author's note ★ hehe. you'll see. this is for the jilix girlies out there (neutral intended tho). i'M SO EXCITED! also, this is my first time writing m x m sex so i'm absolutely sorry if it makes no sense :((

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀credits ★ mdni banner by @cafekitsune + warnings : if any under 18 / ageless acc interacts with this series i'll block them.

There was no cereal left when Jisung emerged from his assigned room, his mind occupied with the craving for a snack, wrapped in one of his most recurrent hoodies and with his pyjama bottoms hanging off his hips. For a moment he stood in the middle of the kitchen, frowning at the opened cupboard where he was sure he had left the box ーno cereals on the insideー as if the cause of all the world's misfortunes lurked behind the wooden door. He had just woken up, he couldn't process such an important loss when he barely had two functioning brain cells.

He had stayed up so late that he had been able to go out and watch the sunrise on the beautiful terrace in the living room. The jet lag was draining all the energy he'd been able to store up from the few hours he'd slept on the plane, and although he didn't know what time it was, the fact that there was no sign of Felix ーthe door to his room open, the bed unmade, but no sleeping blondeー meant it was past noon. And all he wanted was a bowl of cereal and milk, but apparently the flat where the Bhangs had placed them was haunted and would deny him the option of a quiet breakfast.

It was unfair. Especially since he had made the trip for him, his best friend, Chan, who was finally getting married. And of course he had enough money to pay for all the expenses for a week of celebrations but not for a single box of cereal for one of his best men. It was unfair. Maybe he did have some in his flat, that selfish Aussie. Jisung knew he was staying with his fiancée on the first floor, so he would just have to take the elevator and sneak into his apartment, carefully checking the kitchen until he found the cereal. It seemed like a perfect plan, so he walked back to his room, slipped on a pair of sneakers without even tying the laces, put on his headphones with the latest playlist he'd been listening to, and left the flat, leaving the door open.

Another reason why the situation was unfair: Chan's parents were filthy rich. They owned a luxury resort and several flat blocks in Sydney, where the event was to be held, and had decided to close the buildings for the week and accommodate the guests there. He knew that the property they were in was the closest to his friend's parents' home, something about Chan being able to visit Berry anytime he felt like doing so, and was also where the bride and groom and their closest guests ーbridesmaids and best men, plus other friendsー were staying. That included Jisung, who was sharing an apartment with Felix, the other Aussie in their group, and the terrible absence of chocolate cereal.

That meant that there was no need to lock the doors. Besides the fact that he was perfectly capable of forgetting the key inside, the only people who could get in were people he knew, people he trusted, so they treated the whole building like a big house. Which was a crucial part of his plan to steal Chan's cereal. He walked slowly to the lift, trying to wake up, rubbing his eyes to make the sleep fade away, and pressed the button for the first floor. The ride was fairly short, and once he arrived in front of the apartment door he completely ignored the “do not disturb” sign and went straight to the kitchen.

He had already achieved almost half of the plan. With Post Malone's ‘Sunflower’ blaring through his headphones, every step he took felt like Miles Morales at the beginning of his movie: nothing could go wrong. He had to open the cupboards one by one, because the distribution of food was different depending on who was living on which floor, but he couldn't hide the victorious smile that escaped his lips when he finally found them. Yeah, the brand was not the same he usually had, but brands were different in Australia, after all. And Chan had a very similar box of his cereals hidden in the kitchen between empty cabinets. He scoffed, what were those two eating? Each other?

Oh, God. Maybe they were. He had ignored the sign at the door because he had thought they were sleeping... But his little incursion could actually end up really messed up if his friends turned out to be tangled in the sheets. He was grateful to have the music blasting in his ears, just in case Chan and his fiancée were really, reaally busy, as he searched for a bowl in utter silence. After burying his head in the fridge in search of milk, and getting hold of a spoon, he sat at the newly refurbished kitchen island, watching TikToks with an absent minded air, enjoying the taste of chocolate on his tongue, humming contentedly.

It was the first time he was going to spend New Year's separated from his family. When Jisung had received the beautiful white letter with gold details in which Chan and your sister invited him to their expected wedding, he had accepted without hesitation. They were perfect together, and he wouldn’t miss such an important moment in their lives. Then, talking it over with Felix, he had realised that the ceremony would be in Australia, and that the festivities would last almost a week, starting on the third of January. It seemed like he would have a great time, but he had spent New Year's Eve on the plane, sleeping, instead of celebrating with his brother and parents, and he had certainly missed them a bit.

It was not the first time he had travelled to the hometown of his Aussie friends, but he never ceased to be amazed by the radical change of season it was to board the plane in Incheon, with the city covered in a thin layer of white snow, only to arrive in Sydney, and watch the seaside city stretch its lazy fingers towards the sun in a warm climate. Weather worked backwards there, blizzards decorating the summer and welcoming Santa Claus with a tropical setting straight out of the Caribbean. Jisung had missed the Australian Christmas that Felix talked so much about, but he didn't feel like going for a walk on the beach either. Not yet, anyway.

He had actually been hiding in his room for almost two days, and he didn't think anyone could blame him. It was a change, and like all changes, he needed time to get used to it. Listening to his roommate share how much fun he'd had in the waves, hanging out with his family on the day they'd been in town, was enough for him. The big smile on Felix's face made him feel much better. And the chocolate cereal was a big help, as was spending the night watching old K-dramas. Startles, for example, were not.

And so when he noticed movement in his field of vision and looked up to see Chan, shorts dangling from his hips, hand on his bare chest and staring at him as if he'd just broken into his house ーwhich was so not trueー, he was so frightened that he nearly spat the cereal onto the counter. He started coughing like crazy after swallowing hard, and Chan ran over to pat him on the back, helping the air flow normally through his lungs again. He took off his headphones, and while the music was still audible coming out of the speakers, because he always listened to his songs louder than recommended, they heard your sister's sore voice from the bedroom asking Chan if everything was all right.

“I am, baby!” he answered, looking at Jisung with a raised eyebrow. “Jisung seems to have choked on our cereal, though”.

“Jisung?”

“Hi!” he managed to mutter, still trying to regulate his breathing completely.

“He is raiding our kitchen!”

“I am not!”

“Let him get some cereal, Channie!” protested his fiancée, and Jisung stuck his tongue out childishly at his friend, knowing he had your sister's protection. “I'm sure he didn't have the opportunity to buy anything to eat yesterday.”.

“If he eats something now he won't be hungry at dinner, and you know how your mother gets if there's food left over!”

That was Jisung's life since Chan had started dating her. Before he was the child, cared for by the elders of the group, certainly suffering some friendly bullying that he didn't complain about, and trying to raise a laugh whenever he could. Now he was the son of the old married couple in love. They were not yet married per se, but they had been acting that way for some time. And he had been the lucky one who had not only gotten the privilege of Minho hyung having a soft spot in him, but your sister had one too, and that made him untouchable if they were around.

“But there is still plenty of time for dinner,” Jisung said, pitifully.

“No, there’s not,” replied the Aussie, frowning. “Dinner’s in an hour and a half.”

“Really?” he exclaimed, rushing to his phone to check that Chan wasn't trying to trick him. “I was looking forward to breakfast!”

“You can finish your cereal if you want, but it's already eight something.”

“Well, dude, you were still in bed, so what are you talking about? ‘Eight something' is too late for a nap, I don't know what...” Jisung opened his eyes wide when he saw the way his hyung was blushing and couldn't help but cover them as he got confirmation of what he had assumed they were doing. “Oh, no, I didn't want to know, God, you didn't have to tell me! What is wrong with you!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Your ears are red!”

Chan seemed ready to defend himself, opening his mouth to explain that he couldn't control his reactions, but then your sister let out a scream. He saw his friend's body tense up, brow furrowing again ーthis time tilted with worryー and he burst out running back to his room, so Jisung had no choice but to follow. It was his adoptive mom who had just screamed, and also his adoptive mom who was wrapped in sheets, beaming a glowing smile that had nothing to do with the shriek she had just let out, her phone lit up in her hands.

“Baby, we have to cancel today’s dinner.”

“Do not do that again, please” Chan pleaded, holding his hand to his chest again, feeling his racing heart under his fingertips. “Enough scares for today.”

“Sorry” she mumbled, sheepishly. “But! Look, my sister just texted me!”

“Your sister?”

“Yes!” she confirmed, setting the phone down on the mattress and bending slightly to pick up a shirt from the floor.

Jisung felt really uncomfortable as he realised that he had caught them unknowingly, and that he had been eating cereal while they were there… naked, doing stuff.

“She never replied if she was going to be able to come to the wedding,” Chan said, approaching his fiancée to gossip about the message she had received.

“Because she wanted it to be a surprise” she explained, shaking her fists in the same adorable way Chan did when he tasted a really good dish. “But she couldn't let Mom know she was coming, because you know how she'd get, so she just got to the airport and doesn't know where she has to go.”

“And we just call off dinner?” asked the groom, his eyes widening in horror. “Your mother is going to have a heart attack. Besides, what do we do about the announcement?”

It did feel like he was witnessing a random conversation between his own parents. For a moment, they hadn't even realised they were talking in front of him, too busy reading each other with their gazes, and Jisung just hoped that this announcement they were talking about wasn't a pregnancy. They would make great parents, but he wasn't ready to have a little brother.

“After a flight of so many hours, she's going to want to rest. Dinner and the announcement can wait, as can my mother. It's our wedding, and you know what my sister means to me,” she stated, clearly determined. “Don't mention what the plans were, anyway, please. I know she'd feel terrible if she thought she screwed anything up, especially if my mother had organised it.”

“Don't worry. We can make the announcement tomorrow at lunch, when she's rested. Now let's go pick her up.” he replied, caressing her shoulder gently. Then he glanced quickly towards Jisung, catching his attention. “Hey, Ji, this is your chance. You come with us and we stop at a supermarket on the way back? Cereal's on me.”

Who was Jisung to reject free food?

Jisung had only met you once, but he remembered every single detail with precision.

It had been at a birthday party a little over two years ago. Chan was turning 29, and everyone was nervous because they didn't know how he would take the surprise party his girlfriend had thrown for him - he had never liked being the centre of attention. However, all Chan could think about was how nervous he was because his girl had told him she wanted to introduce him to her sister. Jisung had thought that the sister thing was a trick to make Chan go to the place where all his friends were gathered, but it turned out that you had shown up too.

From what Chan had told him, meeting your partner's parents was an important but stressful time. After all, most people place a high value on their parents' opinion when it comes to introducing them to the person they have fallen in love with, and all you want, as the person introduced, is to be liked. The dinner that the Aussie had attended could not have had a better outcome, with her mother smiling excitedly at him and his father hugging them goodbye. Although the mother was rather peculiar and Chan had heard too many stories about her, he had finally managed to win them over.

It hadn't been difficult because Chan's real problem had always been you, the older sister. The heiress of the family business who had taken the position of CEO upon your father's retirement. The devoted daughter who had sacrificed her adolescence to raise the youngest in the family, trying to follow your mother's strict guidelines without complaint. Your sister adored you, and appreciated everything you had done for her, and Chan knew that if there was anyone he should win over, it was you. So even though his girlfriend had assured him that you were a very shy and sweet girl, the aura of perfection that you radiated when your sister spoke your name had made him feel insecure.

And Jisung hadn't been able to help but feel the same. His heart had been racing with the erratic rhythm he felt before an exam he hadn't studied hard enough for, anxiety bubbling in his chest. It wasn't helping Chan calm down, and he didn't know why it was affecting him so much, but he couldn't stop the choking feeling. He'd known all his friends since they were little, and slowly their lives were settling in, becoming adults, while he felt like he was still the same loser teenager he'd always been. Besides, he didn't see a future where Chan wouldn't end up with his current girlfriend, and while he hadn't found it hard to feel comfortable in her presence, meeting her sister was different.

It was more serious. It involved opening up the group to outsiders, and Jisung hated change. But he had stood frozen as your sister flashed her trademark big smile, raising her arm to wave at you, beckoning you to come closer. He had watched you move through the crowd in your light dress pants, framing your waist with a thin belt, your loose hair floating with every step. Elegant, regal, classic. Straight out of a fashion magazine, perhaps from the section on looks to wear as a businesswoman. Jisung didn't even know what exactly had crossed his mind at the moment.

He had felt Chan deflate beside him, as blowfish out of danger, but he was still tense, his body a bowstring. He had tried to do the same, to relax, of course, while your gaze was fixed on his friend, but the only result had been to run out of air. Then he had focused on your sister, who gave off an infectious cheerful energy, and repeated to himself that if she was capable of looking at you that way, like you hung the stars on the sky, you couldn't be all that dangerous. He knew Chan's girlfriend, and while it was true that she trusted very easily, you were sisters. It was impossible for you not to have some of her kindness.

At least until Chan had uttered his name, introducing him as his best friend and co-worker, and then you looked at him. And the rest of the party had ceased to exist around you. His feet seemed unable to move, nailed to the spot where he had stopped to drink before he knew you were coming into his life. Your gaze was sharp over him, analysing him. He bowed slightly as he felt Chan's hand on his back, to acknowledge your presence and show some respect, but he could only take a relieved breath of air when your eyes stopped wandering over him, your attention back on whatever it was your sister was telling you about.

You hadn't spoken to each other. You had murmured a faint ‘hello’, but Jisung had never gotten around to responding ーat least not using his voiceー, so he had no conversation to evoke except the liquid embarrassment that still created shivers in its wake as he remembered the fool he had made of himself. He had merely looked at you like a child did with a toy, but through a glass, him on the street and you looking unreachable in your display window. At least, he hoped so. That you hadn't noticed, of course, but in case you had, that your image of him was that of a bashful boy who was nervous around you.

He wanted to think that if he had looked creepy, Chan would have told him, even your sister would have told him. God, and he didn't think of you as an object either, the toy thing was a silly metaphor. Besides, more than nervousness, it really looked like raw anxiety. He didn’t really know if the way his heart had been racing was out of fear or shyness, but Minho had told him that it was obvious you had had a clear effect on him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He just knew he still kept making a fool of himself in his own mind every time he thought of you.

That was why he couldn't possibly allow himself to be with you in the same car, with no chance to run away as soon as he started to feel awkward. The most sensible thing to do, anyway, would be not to get into the car at all ーhe was already feeling awkward just thinking about itー, but he would have to give explanations that he wasn't prepared to utter out loud. And Jisung would rather swallow his anxiety and pretend to be civilised in Chan's car than admit that he had been thinking about you too often for two years.

The surprise reflected in your beautiful narrowed eyes indicated that you did not expect that the first person you would see when you looked up would be none other than Han Jisung. He knew it, and he wasn't taking it to heart because after all, the one you had sent the message to was your sister. You were the spitting image of bewilderment, your expression of confusion turning into a frown until you spotted your sister behind his back and he saw you flash a smile he had never seen curving your lips before. The sting of feeling ignored cried in his chest, but he understood. You spent your life travelling, he didn't even know when was the last time you had seen each other.

Chan and he faded into the background as you hugged your little sister, murmuring greetings and 'I love you's in the arms of what you considered home, and Jisung stared at the disarranged way your dress had wrinkled at its bottom. You had been waiting sitting on the floor, legs crossed, your suitcase standing next to you, an image that contrasted with the neat way you had styled your hair, the expensive-looking dress you wore bringing luminosity to your face. You were slightly taller than Jisung thanks to the esparto sandals you had slipped on before taking a cab to the airport, but all he could think about was your smile.

The same one you addressed to him with an embarrassed curve once you separated from your sister, out of her embrace but still with your arms entwined, when the excitement of being with her again dissipated.

“Sorry for not saying hi” you said, your tone clear but warm. You nodded in his direction, pronouncing his name slowly, as if savouring it, and then went over to give Chan a quick hug ーno doubt having more familiarity with him than with Jisung.

“Do you remember Ji?” your sister asked, just as surprised as he was, as she led you to where her fiancé had parked.

“Of course! Chan's shy friend” you answered, smacking Chan playfully in the arm when he tried to take your suitcase. “No offence.”

“None taken.”

So you actually remembered him, and he wasn't creepy in your memories. Jisung had to suppress the smile that crawled into his lips just thinking about it.

“Do you remember me?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a teasing hint in your voice.

He wanted to scream that he did, his enthusiasm threatening with revealing the gradual way he was realising you weren’t as dangerous as he had thought, but he breathed before talking, “Yeah, definitely. Chan’s famous sister in law.”

“Famous?”

“Well, your sister doesn’t shut up about you, so it seems a reasonable adjective,” intervened Chan, saving Jisung some time to compose himself.

After two years he was talking with you, you two were having a proper conversation. It was amazing.

“Aww, my little sister can’t stop mentioning me?” you joked, an airy giggle escaping your lips. But the subtext was clear to Jisung, that comment had meant a lot more to you that you wanted to let on.

“Well, it’s not my fault you appear to be related to half the topics I talk about.”

Both sisters bursted out laughing, leaning into each other like two old trees in the park, and Chan opened his car, helping you lift your suitcase and bags into the trunk while your sister called dibs as passenger princess. Jisung had assumed the position he had before, in the seat behind the driver, and waited until you had sat next to him and Chan had started the engine to remind his friend of his promise.

“No worries, mate, I’ll get you your cereals,” he reassured him, chuckling under his breath.

“You didn’t have a proper breakfast for your guests this morning, sir?” you joked, earning an embarrassed laugh from your soon to be brother-in-law. Then Jisung saw you scoot over in your seat with your arms resting on your sister’s backseat, and ask, “Does Mom know I’m here?”

“I didn’t tell her anything, why?”

You cleared your throat, your brows furrowing with worry, “Last time I saw her, we argued. Like, a lot.”

Jisung tried to make himself busy looking through the window, averting his eyes from you two as he heard your sister whisper a fearful ‘Again?’, feeling like he was intruding on a conversation too private for his ears. Luckily, Chan surely had been thinking the same thing, because he pulled into the first free space he could find, quickly parking in the echoing silence that had fallen over the four of them, and with a strained smile signalled Jisung to get out of the car. He didn't even utter a word, just grabbed the keys, placed a sweet kiss on his fiancée's cheek, and joined his friend outside.

“They need time to talk about it” he said, like it would explain everything. Jisung nodded. “I think there’s a Wollies five minutes away, let’s go.”

If Jisung had to be honest, he hadn't actually noticed your mother. He knew who she was, but the first time he had seen her was at the engagement party she had organised for her daughter and Chan a few months ago. She had struck him as a serious but kind woman, who had not once dropped her smile during the entire event. Jisung supposed, in retrospect, that that detail was slightly incriminating, but only if she could be accused of being somewhat forced.

But in the short time that had passed since he had left the comfort of his bed until that very moment, every comment he had heard about her had helped him confirm an opinion that backed up the occasional ‘She’s crazy, mate’ that Chan had repeated in front of him so many times in his fast-paced English conversations with Felix, the thick Australian accent spilling out of every word.

Then he heard Chan sigh.

“This week is going to be hell for them.”

Jisung had never paid attention so fast before, “What do you mean?”

“We knew the wedding was going to be difficult with their mother around, but she didn’t want to leave her out of it” he muttered, as if guilt was eating him alive for sharing intimate matters of his fiancée's family life.

“You've got yourself a very sweet girl, hyung,” his comment brought a soft curve to Chan’s lips, just thinking of your sister's gentle soul, and all the times he'd had the opportunity to witness it. And then he sighed again.

“When her sister didn’t RSVP’d, I totally understood it, and even if it had hurt her, she did too because it was the best for everyone” he continued, guiding Jisung through the streets of his hometown effortlessly. “And even though his mother is probably the reason she is still going to therapy, she showed up so she could attend our wedding. I will be eternally grateful to her just for the look of happiness on my fiancée's face now that they are together.”

Therapy. You could go to therapy for many reasons. Jisung went once a month to help his anxiety, to vent about topics he didn't feel able to share with anyone. And although the day before, the morning of the session and even five minutes before he felt that he was drowning in the uneasiness of someone who has the feeling of facing a periodic exam, although the hour and a half with his psychologist turned him into a sensitive mess of tears and lonely puzzle pieces, that night he always slept better. Therapy helped. Jisung was glad you had that escape route.

“She has had no physical incidents,” Chan said. She has not attempted suicide, Jisung translated. “But I shouldn't have said anything anyway. It's one thing to trust you to talk freely about whatever, and another to share such sensitive personal information about someone without asking their permission.”

Jisung had always admired Chan, but now he felt proud of him, of his ability to keep his moral compass intact. He had to admit, with shameful embarrassment, that he wouldn't have been able to ask him to shut up if he had continued talking. Every piece of information about you seemed addictive to him, like adding emotional depth to a character who had been mentioned for several seasons but had never learned anything about. Chan had just shown him cracks in the smooth porcelain you decided to show as perfection, and now he wasn't going to be able to look at you without seeing you.

Chan put an arm around Jisung’s shoulders, a gesture of affection that he never tired of showing, and he realised that they had already arrived at the supermarket.

“Anyways, let’s go get you some cereal, hm?”

Felix had two empty shot glasses in front of him when Jisung arrived at the Perfect Blues resort bar. He hadn't even looked at his phone since he had walked with Chan into the Woolworths closest to where you and your sister were waiting for them, but when he returned to the apartment with his box of cereal and some more snacks, he saw the notification he had missed it.

‘Hyung just cancelled dinner, wanna hang out?’

Jisung had smiled, thinking he would find the blond Aussie waiting for him in his room, but his absence was obvious, and the catastrophic state of the bathroom told him that he had taken a quick shower after spending the day at the beach and had decided to start without him.

It didn't bother him. Jisung always declined invitations to meet after dinnertime, generally because he felt he was much better off at home, with his belly full and falling asleep in front of his favorite TV show. Often his friend Minho would join him, but generally Jisung liked the quiet of the night. If there was anyone he was capable of breaking his comfortable routine, however, it was Felix. He had been called a simp too many times to avoid acknowledging that he would do anything for his best friend. Even stay best friends, even if his heart asked for more.

Walking to the resort pub where the dinner would have been held had been tricky because he couldn't quite figure out how to use the Maps app on his phone, but once he spotted Felix in the crowd, sitting at the bar but bouncing to the beat of the music the DJ was playing behind him, his shoulders relaxed. Jisung approached his friend with a big smile which the blond lazily returned, and he repressed the urge to wrap him in a hug by way of greeting. Normally they were very affectionate with each other, but the alcohol would bubble up way too easily for them, and that meant Felix would be clingier than usual. Jisung could accept a certain amount of physical contact with his crush before the certainty that it wasn't reciprocated overwhelmed him.

One thing at a time.

“What can I get you?” the bartender intervened between them before they could exchange a word, his accent thick and his gaze soft, and Jisung wondered if he was Chan's cousin.

“Whatever he was having,” he replied hurriedly, trying not to blush. Jisung didn't understand why talking to strangers made him so embarrassed. The man seemed nice. “Oh, and a glass of water, please,” he added. Given the hours it was, Felix would have time to sober up before leaving the place.

“How was your day?” he asked the blond, sitting down on the free stool next to him and leaning slightly towards Felix to hear him better.

But Felix seemed in a world of his own, watching him carefully and squinting.

“You have a mole on your cheek,” he whispered, and Jisung had to steady his grip on the bar to keep from falling over, his palm stretched out on the surface condensed by drinks that had already been removed, when his heart skipped a beat in his chest at his words, “That's why I like to give you kisses there.”

I wish I had a mole on my lips, Jisung thought, but he widened his smile. That wasn't Felix talking. He was just drunk. All there was to do was be patient and nice, because it was obvious to him that Felix didn't have a clue about half the words that came out of his mouth. Jisung had been in his shoes, he knew the lack of control that came with alcohol.

“That's cute,” he told him, resting a hand on his thigh to draw Felix into his voice so he'd understand what he was saying. “How was your day? I didn't see you today.”

“It's just that Hyune wanted to learn how to surf,” he explained, his knee moving under Jisung's hand to the rhythm of the beat. “We woke up early and ate out.”

Jisung was startled when the bartender set down a clean shot glass in front of him and picked up the bottle of whatever Felix had been drinking ーvodka, though he didn't like itー, refilling it at an overwhelming speed.

“Sorry it took so long, but I had to go get it inside,” he exclaimed, to make himself heard over the music, picking up a regular glass and setting it down in front of Felix. “His is on the owners, because of the wedding," he added, emptying in the glass a small bottle of water, which he opened in front of them, "yours is on me."

Jisung blushed again as the bartender gave him a playful wink, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ in response, and he couldn't help but check what he'd put on to get his attention like that. He'd barely had time to change out of his pajamas when he'd arrived at the apartment, so he'd grabbed the first thing he'd seen in the suitcase lying open on the floor of his room. It was nothing special. Oversize dark jeans and a yellow and black plaid shirt three times his size. Maybe it had too many buttons undone. Changbin always complained because he had another friend who did the same thing. But Wooyoung did it on purpose, Jisung just forgot.

Felix whined, breaking his train of thought, and tugged on Jisung's long shirt sleeve with an adorable pout pursing his lips, “You're not listening to mee.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he told him, focusing on his friend, “I was thinking about...” he couldn't tell him what the bartender had just done, because he'd try to match them, and Jisung didn't want to spend the night explaining to the poor guy why he wasn't going to do anything with him, “what I'm wearing. Maybe it's not appropriate.”

“You look gorgeous, Ji, don't worry about it.” he tried to reassure him, the R's tangling in his mouth like a tongue twister. “I was asking you about Chan. No one's seen him all day.”

Jisung felt the temperature in the room rise too many degrees, his skin hot and feverish, but he didn't know if it was because of Felix's breathy compliment or because of his question, to which the only possible answer was hopelessly connected to sex. How was it his fault that his hyung was so horny?

“Chan hyung was busy,” he said, keeping his answer as concise as possible.

He felt like a twelve-year-old boy. He was old enough to talk about such things without being shy about it. Even if he wasn't too experienced, the Internet existed, and with it porn. Everyone knew what he was talking about even if he didn't say the word itself, because there were so many ways to call it. And yet it wasn't because of the subject matter that he was acting that way, but because it was Felix he was talking to. And talking about sex with Felix meant thinking about both at the same time. And that was dangerous.

Luckily, Felix was a hyperactive drunk, so if Jisung talked to him about something else he would forget what he had just asked.

“Did you only drink those two shots?” he gestured towards the bar, shamelessly changing the subject, and Felix followed his hand with his gaze.

“Seungmin had beer,” he whispered, as if it were a secret, “he gave me some.”

Seungmin would have loved to see Felix make a fool of Jisung without really being aware, the two of them alone in their shared apartment, totally uninhibited by his damn beer. He told himself he had to warn the poor Aussie that he had been poisoned by a dog. But at that moment what had gotten him high were the two shots he'd downed upon arriving at Perfect Blues, so he had to match Felix to keep the anxiety from eating him up inside at every sentence either of them blurted out, enough to remember his actions but still be able to blame any nonsense he did on the alcohol. So he sighed, turned, shoulder to shoulder with Felix, and emptied the vodka in one swallow.

The alcohol went down Jisung's throat leaving its harsh flavour in its wake, and he closed his eyes to keep them from tearing. He wasn't going to risk taking a second one, but in at least half an hour dancing it would kick in. It always did. Especially if the last thing he'd had was two spoonfuls of cereal. He just had to convince Felix to drink the glass of water. It shouldn't be that difficult.

Jisung had taken a second glass of vodka. After almost an hour among the sweaty bodies of the people dancing around him, the room spun slightly when he moved his head. His mouth felt dry, but he couldn't stop. He had shouted every song, even if he didn't know it, surrounded by his best friends. Felix was glued to him, his hand on his shoulder, their legs intertwined, clumsy steps of an improvised dance. He was having a good time. He thought he was having a good time. He had to be having a good time, because he saw Felix's luminous eyes, the bright smiles of Minho and Changbin, who had dropped by shortly after, and he needed to match them.

He was tired. His muscles were throbbing, he felt sticky, transpiring through his shirt, and the heat was beginning to overwhelm him. It had stopped being fun at least twenty minutes ago, when the DJ had repeated the song that was playing when he had arrived at the bar, and the coincidence screeched through his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on Felix's body next to his own, and repressed the urge to melt against him. He rested his forehead on his shoulder, and the soft texture of his denim jacket pressed against his skin as Felix laughed.

“Look, Ji can't do it anymore!”

For a moment he wanted to laugh, as did the rest, at a joke that at any other time he would have found hilarious. But Felix was right. He couldn't do it any more. For two days he had been fighting the feeling of vertigo that shook his heart whenever he was left alone, and he allowed himself to think about his future. He had been left alone on purpose, knowing that an honest look from the groom or Felix would make him break down, because they always managed to make him burst open like a torrent. And it couldn't happen. Because he'd been holding back too long, and to snap at his best friend's wedding would be to ruin it.

So he sighed, disentangling himself from his friend, and slipped through the crowd back to the bar. He tried to crack a smile for the nice bartender, collapsing on the stool, and was able to make it genuine when he placed a glass of cold water in front of him without having to ask for it. He crossed his arms over the bar after taking a sip, ignoring all the background noise, and rested his head on them, hiding from the outside. As always, he told himself. Hiding from everything.

For a few moments he took deep breaths, trying to convince himself that he was being dramatic, that he had to pull himself together so he could get back. But then he felt a hand caress his back, and the comforting weight felt so gentle and familiar that he didn't have to lift his head to know it was Felix. He turned his face slightly, putting on a mask of happiness, the one he deserved, and forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat in an attempt to tell him it was okay.

“Come on,” he whispered, loud enough to be heard.

Jisung raised his head slightly, not really understanding what he meant.

“Come with me,” he insisted, holding out his hand.

He said it as if it was necessary, as if he had to have Jisung by his side, him and him alone, and Jisugn didn't hesitate to take his hand. He took a breath, preparing to go back to Minho and Changbin and the tide of people he knew would swallow him whole, but his breath caught in his throat as Felix laced his fingers with his, holding his hand as gently as he always did, and led him towards the exit. He helped him meander between pairs of friends chatting at the entrance to the venue, and couples flirting and whispering promises to each other in the darkest rooms, and Jisung felt like he could breathe again as he felt the soft Sydney night breeze on his face.

Felix didn't utter another word. Probably with anyone else, that would have made Jisung squirm uncomfortably, even feel trapped, but it was Felix. Sweet, smiling Felix, who had always been there for him. Of course his presence was going to be like a warm blanket on the harshest day of winter. Of course he was going to be head over heels for him.

And as they walked hand in hand, back to the floor, their shoulders brushing against each other with every step, Jisung knew he had to do something different. The alcohol coursing through his system gave him a dose of courage that his body lacked in his day-to-day life, and the reassurance he felt at his side, along with the constant touch of his smooth skin in his, made him form dangerous ideas. Like kissing him, for example. Normally, no matter how much he wanted to, he always held back, fearing the consequences. But he was tired of holding back. If Felix rejected him, he would learn to live with it. But enduring the constant uncertainty weighed heavy on his heart.

He squeezed Felix's hand, smiling, three times, and knew without looking that he was mirroring him. Then he repeated the squeezes.

Jisung waited, holding his breath, as Felix pulled out of his pocket the keys of the doorway. He had to let go of his hand so he could open the door, and he passed quickly as Felix held it for him. He walked to the lift, pressing the button three times, as he always did, and heard the sound of the door closing. He turned in time to see Felix twist the keyring's kangaroo-shaped bead his finger, and swallowed as he positioned himself next to him. It was the right moment. He just had to turn and do it.

But then the ‘ping!’ of the lift echoed down the hall, and Jisung grimaced. This time Felix moved the first, and waited until Jisung was inside to press the button for his floor, with a flashing four that lit up under his finger. Jisung knew Felix wouldn't say a word until he spoke, respecting that the energy had left his body, and waiting for him to recover before interacting with him. But Jisung hated it when that happened. When he ran out of energy, the thing he most wanted to do was listen to him talk.

But it was true that they were both engaged in waiting. Constantly. For everything. And it was exhausting.

“Hey, look, it’s about to strike midnight,” Felix was looking at the screen over the lift’s buttons, where a white ‘23:58’ stood out over a pitch black background. Jisung made an affirmative noise, his gaze wandering over the weather information that appeared under the numbers. “Do you want to pretend it's going to be New Year's? It'll be as if we hadn't missed it.”

Jisung nodded, smiling, and Felix took out his phone, turning it on. The screen lit up, this time a minute closer to midnight, and Jisung saw that the photo Felix had was one that Hyunjin had taken of them when they weren't looking at one of their get-togethers in the garden of Minho's house. He smiled at the memory while Felix enabled the option for the seconds to appear as well, so that they could count down together. They both waited, again, in silence, as the seconds passed. Their gazes remained locked on the numbers, shoulder to shoulder. And when the moment came, Jisung heard the Aussie whisper a faint ‘ten’.

One second, one beat of his heart, and they both uttered a quiet “nine”.

Felix turned towards him at the sound of his voice, his lips tightening into a luminous smile, when he realised that Jisung was following suit. He playfully nudged his shoulder, but returned his eyes to the phone almost instantly to watch the numbers change, “eight”.

Then Jisung remembered the tradition he had with his brother. For as long as he could remember, his family made wishes on New Year's Day, usually requests for good health and happiness between them. When he was little, under the rule of never asking for anything for oneself, he and his brother made sure the other wished for the gift they were looking forward to receiving most for their birthday. It pained him to realise that he had not been able to share it with his family again that year. And he hadn't wished for anything at the time January 1st began, either, because he had been sleeping on the plane to Australia.

“Seven.”

His most logical thought, he figured, would be to wish Chan and his fiancée an amazing married life. Lots of joy and shared memories. After all she had been through, and how hard he had worked for the stability they finally enjoyed, they deserved it. But it was also true that since they had met they had developed a complicity that allowed them to find the positive side of any situation, always. Maybe they didn't need it so much.

“Six.”

For a moment, he thought of you too. About the impeccable version of yourself you offered so that no one could ever make you feel the way your mother had again, and how lost your gaze looked when you didn't have your sister's attention on you. You did seem to need it. It was a difficult decision, because his heart certainly felt like it was willing to lean towards you.

“Five.”

But if anyone was present in his heart, it was Felix. And as he had decided earlier, he was tired of waiting for some magical moment when they would both decide to confess the secret love they had been professing to each other for years. That only happened in the dramas he watched with Hyunjin, and in romance books. But life was all about risks, and he had to be willing to take some if he wanted to move forward, just like his friends did. Just like Chan had done the day he met his fiancée.

“Four.”

Jisung held his breath. He didn't know if the vodka was still running through his system, but he felt more awake than ever. His heart was pounding too hard in four different spots in his body, thumping heavily against his chest, and even trying to escape through his temples. It was the nerves, he told himself. He was facing an irrevocably significant moment.

“Three.”

He reminded himself that this was no fleeting whim. His feelings for his best friend had grown with every interaction, every smile and every selfless cuddle. Felix always made him feel safe, helping him stop doubting himself even when everyone seemed to turn their backs on him, repeating over and over again all the antonyms of the negative adjectives Jisung used to conjure up when everything went wrong. Felix was his person.

“Two.”

Sometimes he drowned in those feelings, as intense as the usual flood of emotions that bubbled up inside him. But then he would look at him, Felix's gaze glued to his own phone, waiting impatiently for twelve o'clock to strike, and he told himself it would be worth it. It would take a weight off his shoulders, whether the kiss was reciprocated or not. He would take whatever Felix wanted to give him, and that would be enough. With him it always was.

“One.”

Besides, in Western culture, one of the many traditions was the classical midnight kiss, wasn't it?

Felix turned to him, phone still in his hand, lips parted, “Happy New…!”

And then he kissed him.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the first time it had happened that way: fast, unexpected, hungry. From that first kiss they'd shared at fifteen, practising for the latest years of high school, to the desperate way Jisung had attacked Felix in the middle of the elevator it had been more than ten years, but it felt just as familiar as it had in the past. Jisung closed his eyes, like he had once done, unable to think of anything but Felix's lips against his own. His brows furrowed, trying not to read too much into the kiss, to avoid getting excited by the way his best friend had reciprocated it.

A kiss could communicate a lot of feelings, but words were needed to make them clear.

“You’re drunk, Ji,” he said, his chest rising with each quickened breath, pulling his hands away from Jisung's shoulders, as if he had just realised he had put them there, of what had just happened between them.

“No, I’m not,” he whined, falling into the autumn brownish of his eyes, “I promise.”

It would not be the first time he had lied to himself. He just wanted to kiss him again, to feel his hands roaming his body without shame, and if he had to pretend that his tipsyness was not the reason he'd managed to act, he would. Again and again. To him, it was completely worth it.

“Please.”

Jisung saw the moment Felix’s selfcontrol crumbled under his touch, all the alarms that ringed in his head long forgotten. One single word, and he was all his. One single second, and Felix's hands were back on his shoulders, as if they'd belonged on the thin fabric of his shirt forever, moving up to his neck and ruffling his hair as he pushed him towards the metal wall of the lift. Jisung exhaled a sigh against his mouth, no longer resisting the consequences, surrendering to Felix, closing his eyes and memorising every caress.

The crushing weight that had settled in his chest throughout the night had melted into a steady drip of desire sliding down into the pit of his stomach, a fire that crackled louder each time Felix intertwined his tongue with Jisung's. He couldn't believe it was finally happening. He couldn't believe that the way Felix's body was pressed against his, Jisung's hands on the soft arch of his back, was no longer purely platonic, and that every time Jisung grinded against him he let out that low groan, and that it was for him.

So when the ‘ping!’ echoed again in the tight space of the elevator and they parted for a shared breath of air, Jisung let out a giggle. Felix looked up at him with fully dilated pupils, flushed to his ears, and returned the shy smile, resting his hand on the one Jisung had on his waist to pull him towards the corridor. In a short, clumsy walk they both made it to the front door, and Felix opened it on the second try.

Jisung didn't even bother to check that the door was locked before leaning Felix against the wall and burying his face in the blond's smooth neck, kissing and nibbling every inch of skin he laid his mouth on. It was addictive how responsive he became under his hands, sliding pretty whimpers from the abc of his throat, shivering under his touch, his Adam's apple twitching under his tongue, his hips twitching uncontrollably against him every time Jisung's thigh moved against his crotch.

“Lix-ah,” he whispers, raspy voice, swallowing another embarrassing noise, his lips hovering over Felix’s.

“Hey,” he answers, his loop-sided smile cracking against Jisung’s mouth, unfocused, narrowed eyes observing him. “Can I suck you off? Please, Sung, can I?”

Jisung nods, his heart beating so fast he feels it will stop at any moment, and he manages to swallow with difficulty. He sees Felix licking his lips hungrily, and then how he hooks his index fingers into the buckles of Jisung's oversized jeans. He doesn't need to hold back the whimper that catches in his throat when the waistband of his trousers digs into the back of his hips. Felix has turned him around effortlessly, and now he's once again the one trapped between his lips and the wall.

He didn't mind. It was a position where he could lean on if his knees gave out. Especially when, still maintaining eye contact with Felix, he watched as he dropped to his knees in front of him. They had stopped looking at the time the moment Jisung kissed him, but just the same time seemed to have slowed down since then, his erratic breathing ticking off the seconds. He could only focus on Felix.

On Felix and the darkness of his pupils, watching him from below as if he were praying. On Felix and the softness of his fingertips as he carefully undid the buttons of his shirt, exposing his bare chest. On Felix and the warmth of his breath, which he feels exhaling slowly and heavily against his abdomen. On Felix and his hands, small and quick, resting on Jisung's hips, trembling in the air, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button, pulling down the zip. Sliding the trousers down to the floor. Sliding his shorts to the floor. Kissing the tip of his cock with care and reverence. On Felix, Felix, Felix, Felix...

Jisung closed his eyes the instant Felix put it in his mouth. He felt a breeze of heat rise up his chest, settling on his cheeks, as he realised how much he had leaked into his underwear, and how little he wanted Felix to notice it. For the short amount of time that had passed, the precum stain had been embarrassingly obvious, but Felix seemed to have ignored it, too hungry to even pay attention. A shiver ran down his spine and Jisung wondered if it was cold or disappointment that Felix hadn't teased him for how excited he was. He seemed oblivious to his urges in the presence of the blond.

His mouth fell open with a moan, eyelids fluttering, as Felix began to bob his head against him, a tear of drool spilling over his pretty rosy lips, and he clenched his fists at the sides of his hips. It was amazing ㅡJisung hadn't had much experience in anyone's bed, but Felix clearly had, just by the skilled way he used his tongue, running it along the underside of his cock, smiling as Jisung choked on nothingness at the feel of Felix's throat so tight and warm around him.

It made him want to be jealous of whoever enjoyed it before him, but he chose to focus on the fact that he was the one who had him on his knees at that moment.

“Lix, hahㅡ Lix, please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with all he hadn't been aware of letting out until then, “I'm going… Lix, I'm cumㅡfuckㅡ I'm cumming…”

But he didn't listen. He didn't seem to want to. He was determined to savour the whole thing, and by the sharp look in his big dark eyes, Jisung knew he had it all to lose. Whenever he competed against Felix, he was always the loser. In this situation it will hurt less, he knows. So he lets go, whimpering his best friend's name between his teeth, his hand tangled in Felix's velvety, blond hair.

And when he managed to open his eyes, his labored breathing making him feel slightly dizzy, Felix was grinning like a sinner, waiting to make eye contact with Jisung so he could open his mouth and show him his tongue. He had swallowed it all. Dirty little thing. He had no idea Felix was that kind of lover.

But far from succumbing to his devilish face, Jisung grabbed him by the front of his white shirt, sticky and clammy under his fingers, and pulled him up, bringing their lips together in a spittle-filled, toothy kiss. He was desperate. To keep devouring him, to take him to his room, to prove to him why he should stay with him.

He sliped off his shoes with his feet, first one and then the other, letting Felix mimic him, and the clothes around his ankles are left lying on the floor as Jisung slidded his hand down to grab the back of his neck, his tongue clumsily in his mouth, and directs him, backwards, to the room he was assigned to when he arrived in the city. It was dark, but he didn't mind in the slightest. His eyes had grown accustomed, and the sight of Felix's shining pupils in front of his, the clear silhouette of his body as he pulled his jacket off, is enough for him.

He just wanted to feel it all, and hold every second of it in his memory.

Felix chased his mouth as Jisung broke away to remove his shirt, and it didn't take long for him to lift his hands, a shiver running through his body as the fabric caressed his nipples in his way up, kissing Jisung again as soon as he pulled it to the floor, amidst the mess of his room. He was able to fumble with the button of his dress trousers, ignoring the zip, when his legs hit the edge of the bed. He tugged them down with a jolt, and kneeled on the mattress, face to face with Jisung, his hands again wrapped around Jisung's shoulders.

They separated for a moment, the time it took Felix to childishly pull Jisung's open shirt to the floor, and he kissed him again, pulling him until he managed to have him on top of himself. Jisung rested his hands on the sides of the blond's head, pinning him to the mattress, sliding his tongue down Felix's neck, and felt his cock twitching, hardening against his best friend's bare thighs, when he heard Felix moan.

“Sung,” he said, eyes closed, wrapping his legs around his hips, pulling him close until there wasn't room for a breath between their bodies. “Please, I need… I need you, please.”

Jisung hid his face in the hollow between Felix's shoulder and neck, and poured a whimper over his sweaty skin, letting the friction of his hips push him a little over the edge. But Felix took one of his hands, his agile fingers curling around his wrist, and drew them to his ass, guiding Jisung's fingertips between his cheeks.

“I'm all ready for you, see?” he insisted, babbling lips moving against his ear. “You see, Sungie? ‘Touched myself… Just a bit, earlier in the shower.”

Jisung's head spinned as Felix whispered the slurred words into the room, quiet but too loud at the same time, and he released his grip so he could slide his hand across the mattress to his nightstand. The bottle of lube was nearby, always handy, and he picked it up with trembling hands, getting on his knees. Felix let his legs fall onto the bed, expectant, exposed, as Jisung poured it generously into his hand, bending down to leave a kiss on his lips while he slipped his fingers inside him.

The reaction was astonishing. Felix's cock throbbed over his tummy, his abs clenching and unclenching, mouth wide open. Jisung smiled, lowering his kisses to Felix's abused neck, working him open.

“My good, naughty boy,” he murmured, and Felix exhaled an breathy laugh, his hands tightly gripping Jisung's dishevelled sheets.

“Like… likewise,” managed to reply, but the words choked in his throat in a low whine when Jisung withdrew his fingers, leaving him empty.

He moved back to the drawer as fast as he could, grabbing a condom with sticky fingers, tearing the plastic with his teeth and pulling it down his length. Felix doesn't have time to process it, his hands clutching at Jisung's shoulders for dear life as Jisung slidded himself inside of Felix. They both held their breath, Felix throwing his head back, furrowing his brow, his throat buzzing with pleasure. Jisung waited, concentrating on not releasing right away, while Felix adjusted to him.

“So, oh, fuckㅡ so big,” he moaned, digging his short nails into Jisung's skin, “so good, so big, oh God…”

“Yeah?”

He wasn't even able to respond, his gaze lost in the ceiling as Jisung slammed his hips against Felix's, the fucked out expression making Jisung groan. He loved that face. He was going to treasure forever those freckles that painted his friend's pretty face. His arms trembled as he kept pushing into Felix, gasps coming from his rosy lips, and Jisung tried to find him in the dark. Felix welcomed the open-mouthed kiss with feverish urgency, mind too focused on his pleasure to notice that Jisung had caressed his way down to Felix's cock, jerking him off with renewed energy.

He wasn't going to last long, so he had to focus on Felix. Focus on squeezing his cock the right way, earning every sweet noise with pride, savouring the harsh flavour of vodka on his tongue.

“Sungie… Hah, Sungie I'm… I'm going to,” but Jisung didn't let him finish the sentence, drowning his gasps in another dirty kiss.

Felix tangled his fingers in Jisung's hair, making his hips stutter, the musky scent of their sweat tingling in his nose with each thrust. Jisung's muscles twitch as he notices the way Felix tenses beneath him, his cum spilling between his fingers as he cums, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. That was when he let himself go, jaw going slack as he emptied himself into Felix's warm hole, releasing all the built up stamina into one final thrust.

He collapsed, smiling lazily against Felix's skin, and hoped it was not a dream. Then he felt his friend humming, his chest too comfortable, caressing his scratched back. He had to get up, throw away the condom and clean themselves before he could even begin to think about sleeping. Once he woke up, he would deal with the consequences. Their whole friendship had been amazing, but that night belonged to him. Especially if Felix regretted it the next day.

Because Jisung knew only one thing. His last wish before midnight had been for Felix to kiss him back. It had been selfish and impulsive, but worst of all, it had been a wish for himself. That broke his mother's main rule, and probably meant that even if it had come true, it would have terrible repercussions.

#﹙ ★ ﹚⠀mars⠀—⠀writes.#neverendingdreams #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids han #stray kids felix #han jisung #lee felix #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #jilix #jilix x reader #jisung x reader x felix #poly!skz #poly!jilix

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