#my friend have foot step lighter then a ghost and do this to me all the time

[diorcities]

ace of spades (zcl)

☆͟ 🎱:pairing: chenle x afab!reader ☆ genre: smut, mature content. ☆͟ ♠️ content: pwp, gambling, rivals / frenemies, meandom!chenle, softdom!chenle, oral fixation, skin fixation, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (chenle pulls out), cum eating, spanking, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, make up sex, biting. some other cautions: small mention of a crime, alcohol consumption, chenle calls himself daddy once, they're both competitive, intense and extend kiss scene (i love writing this), reader makes one incestual joke, featuring jisung, ningning being chenle's sister, haechan, the hwang siblings, ex former nmixx jini, an yujin and hu yunjin. ☆ wc: 6.4k.

☆͟ 🃏description: in the world of asia's rich and powerful, nothing is as it seems. behind the smiles and luxuries, secrets, lies, and betrayals are hidden. a group of pretentious young adults, children of wealthy parents from the asian elite, move between parties, business, and scandals.

son of the west's most famous tech tycoon, chenle is arrogant, capricious, and manipulative; his unquenchable thirst for glory and greatness moves him to do the most despicable things if it keeps him getting what he wants: you.

based on little white lies by one direction. to my friend, @ohmytyong ♡

ningning shares a glance at jini.

“stop that,” she says with annoyance. the girl ends up stopping the clattering of her foot on the pavement and disposing of the cigarette; ningning has lost count of how many she has on.

“what if someone saw us?”

“what if?” ningning responds, distracted. “are you worried, little lamb?” ningning was growing tired of the whining of the girl. pure empty concerns, in her opinion. “i thought you wanted this. i thought... you'd kill for it. what if someone saw us? no, better, what if one of us speaks? would it be her brother? would it be... you?”

“hi, girls.” yeji arrives offering them both a cup of loaded coffee. “god, you look like you're losing your shit,” she says to jini.

“i don't like coffee,” she points out.

“i know,” yeji simply responds.

jini lets out a disbelieving sigh. “fuck! am i the only one who's worried of what we've done?” she utters seeking comfort, as if she didn't already know that she won't find it there.

the girls share a countenance that makes jini more uneasy. she opens her mouth to surely continue complaining when she leaves ningning expectant and dazed when nothing comes out.

“what you've done,” you correct, announcing your arrival. “lighter, please.”

ningning shares fire with you while jini watches you in a bewildered look when you share complicit glances with each other but her. “first murder?” you joke, looking at the girl's colorless face.

the three of you watch pleasurably her head putting the puzzle together and the realization settling in her stomach. “you.”

you smile wide and sharp.

you've always found the strange relationship intriguing. questioning every smile and every look; they all play a game that was best not to get into unless you know how to play equally well.

the queen of the deck game.

ningning, with her wit that sparkles like a sharp diamond always seems to be two steps ahead, leaving you to wonder if her words hide sharper edges. yeji, with eyes that have seen more than they tell, hides her true interests under enigmas, and you wonder if her shadowy wisdom is a guide or a labyrinth. jini, with her appetite for success and fortune echoing like a flame, is attracted so much by the heat that she can't stop until it burns.

sometimes you don't know how far the limit is. sometimes you'd like to know it for yourself. one misstep, one wrong play, the stakes are high, and faces are masks.

although, you've always known how to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

the academy bell rings and you take the coffee from jini's cold hands. you smile condescendingly as the girl seems to have seen a ghost. “next time, do like me and go for the head.”

── 11:30hr 🃏 ago ──

the outlook was promising. the wealthiest people in asia all gathered in one place. the ensembles, clubs, and parties were in abundance as they made deals to become more millionaires with jazz music playing in the background.

the world revolves around the rich. sports cars, expensive champagne, private schools, commodities. the privileged part envied by the masses. gambling, scandals, fraud, felonies, cults, crimes, scams, obsessions was the side that was kept secret. with ambition comes power, and with power comes temptation. something that young blood can't control after tasting a pinch of it.

chenle had had enough of that.

other, less mundane things excited him now. like seeing your delicate skin bristle when you noticed his presence very close to you, your body tense up, your breath freeze in your throat because god forbid it to be so close; chenle had taken all his willpower to contain the urge to bite your naked shoulder.

the eyes of your companions register it under your ignorance. haechan smiles smugly as jisung says, “look who's here. done sucking your father's balls?”

chenle arrives at the circle with a nonchalant air. “ask your mother.” haechan bursts out laughing.

ningning approaches in an ethereal halo with a glass of champagne between her claws of the same shade as her lips. she's machiavellian beautiful, with sharp features, her beauty is certainly a weapon. chenle's aware of the influence ningning has on people, and couldn't be more disgusted by it. “gentlemen, having a reunion without me?”

“god forbid. i have not yet psyched myself up to put up with you so early.” jisung replies, stealing a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

the illusion is stronger when you are together. chenle has grown up with you, he has known you all his life. something so secret and twisted can only exist with people with the same tendencies. and while friendships are bound by affection, you are bound by secrets.

a circle. an alliance. the selected and exclusory society of the young wealthiest children. forged with vice and deception, glory and greed. to be the best. to be the ace.

“so, how's business? making deals to sell personal information to the highest bidder?” haechan wonders, playing with a loose strap of ningning's dress while giving chenle a sly smile although his gaze is not even interested in returning the look at him, somehow spellbound by the nice view in front of him.

he shrugs behind you, “marvelous, how's yours?”

“my dad's closing a deal with one of the big ones. he's been talking to me about it, i couldn't be more bored by the criminal laws,” he concedes, vaguely.

“oh, pardon me. i meant the drug business,” chenle points out causing a flurry of reactions. jisung chokes on the champagne in front of you. his cheeks are flushed and he is flustered from the alcohol.

giggly and careless, your brother's naïveté makes him the weakest link of all. jisung is simply too good and disinterested in anything that doesn't involve going against you. sometimes you wonder if he is so afraid of disappointment that he doesn't even try.

he's never been good at drinking either.

“don't you think you're overdoing it?” chenle casually asks, looking around.

“stay out of my business, would you?” he says fed up before going in his direction and giving him a playful headlock. the pleasant laughter of the pair makes the rest of the group join in just before the music changes and becomes livelier.

ningning lets out a scream and hurries up the champagne, taking haechan to the track without any objection.

“ji, dance with me,” you request under the nagging gaze of the only boy who's unmoved by your charms.

“don't be capricious, sister. you know i don't dance.”

“allow me.”

before you can answer, chenle grabs you and drags you toward the center of the room. the closeness of your bodies only makes it harder for you to manage to stay neutral, not when his fingers seem to be caressing your waist. “how aristocratic, since when do you like to dance?” chenle shrugs his shoulders as he leads you.

“i'm tentative. i am quickly influenced by beautiful things. and because this proximity can be excused if we dance, otherwise, how am i going to be able to tell you without raising suspicions that i know a little secret?”

chenle is entertained by the reaction he gets from you, feeling your heart pounding against his chest. look at you, a whole personification of purity, too bad it can't stand alone. “what about a gentleman never tells?” a sly smile forms on his pursed lips as he hears you.

chenle pulls you to him, your jaw now resting on his shoulder as he embraces you and spins you in his arms. “i am no gentleman.”

“no,” you say, “you're vain, vicious, and perverse.” chenle takes your chin in a playful and twistedly affectionate manner, observing your body slowly spinning until you press your back against his chest. you sway to the melody when you hear chenle clearing his throat. his breath hits your cheek when he laughs then, his hands press you more against him.

you muffle an exhale as you feel him pressing against your back, his hands molding to your waist, the dominant grip he holds you under. “and yet, you find yourself fascinated.” chenle makes you face him, and you shake your head with peppiness. “explain this... lingering feeling every time we touch. i know you feel it too.”

“what thing?”

“this tension.”

“i'm afraid i have no idea what you're talking about.”

“oh, no? may i ask why are you get suddenly agitated when i touch you here.” he moves his hand dangerously toward your naked lower back. “d'you run out of air often, princess, or it's just me?” his warm breath brushes against your ear as he keeps you close.

chenle's intoxicating aroma clutters your thoughts, and you have to make an extra effort not to trip over his feet. “these are your tactics for flirting with girls? i'm very unimpressed.” chenle watches you roll your eyes, curling his lips.

“not remotely close, although i'm pleased that you are interested in knowing my seduction methods. but since you're talking about tactics, i'm deeply curious about whether this is how you act with haechan too or it's just for my eyes only.”

the piece is finished and another one begins right after. however, your bodies remain frozen in the same place, gazes glaring at each other, trying to see weakness, trying not to be the first to bend.

“and that act you talk about is...?”

“playing dumb, which i confess, never looked good on you.” you were always amazed at how chenle's brain worked. calculating wit, this personification of scheming and wickedness made chenle a dangerous adversary.

“i thought you liked them compliant and subtle.”

he hums in denial, “i like them dainty and haunted, like a drowned lily.”

you giggle with a grimace, throwing the boy off. “is that one of your puzzles? sorry, i don't like games.” chenle nods, his tongue playfully pushing the inside of his cheek as he grins in amusement.

you wouldn't be so careful not to play his game. he is a prodigy at plotting, there was nothing that escaped him. the deceptive epitome of why no one beat him at strategy. nothing that would imply competition. billiards, fencing, chess.

if you could describe this interaction, if you could describe even the purpose of the allyship with such devious people it would be a simple card game, and if so, that would make chenle the ace of spades.

chenle escorts you off the dance floor. “no, you just like the chase.”

“what makes you think that?”

he shrugs, with nonchalant air, “i happen to know how much you love the euphoria of being caught doing something you're not supposed to. maybe that's why you hang out with friends who wouldn't hesitate to push you off a cliff, or be part of a circle with such vain people, or how much you want me to fuck you on this dress.”

you burst out laughing, “you're the smartest person in the room.”

chenle delights to see you look around in case anyone has heard him; he also hasn't gone unnoticed the way your breath got stuck in your throat for his words, and you hate yourself for it. he comes so close to you that you smell his manly fragrance. “no. i'm the most ambitious.” his warm lips rest on your skin for less than a second, yet the feeling it leaves in your stomach lasts longer than that.

you let the bewilderment win, and you hate him for that. you hate how he can get into people's heads, how he can mess with yours. by laying his intentions so bare, it can't be that simple. what does he intend to do?

“see you at midnight.”

your eyes follow his devilish figure as he leaves the room, and your hand itches at the place where he kissed you. someone comes next to you and you suddenly feel a sense of rage.

“good evening, would you like to da...?”

a hand reaches out towards you but you cut it off when you pronounce “no.” harshly, reenacting the path taken by the young man with fervent eyes.

── 🃏 midnight ──

the music becomes so subdued, carried by the cool night wind, that it seems like a distant, forgotten dream that slips through a forgotten room full of previous gala guests revealing their true selves after a pretend night when you set foot inside.

there is a pool table in the center where two beautiful bodies touch each other impudently. the air feels heavy and ningning steals a bottle from her father's collection, returning to the hungry embrace of her lover that night.

haechan pulls away from her neck just enough to give you a sly smile.

“well, hi, there,” greets ningning. “done using my brother?” your fingers snatch the bottle of champagne from her, taking a long sip. “oh, i was starting to be afraid that sharing wasn't your thing.” your eyes sweep her under the amused gaze of the tanned boy with lipstick smudged all over his face.

“and i was starting to think incest was your thing.” a pleasing rush washes you by ningning's stunned look, it feels gratifying. “luckily, this is a safe zone.”

she scoffs.

“safe zone, huh?”

“yes,” you assure, “we've grown up together, we're close. it almost feels like family.”

haechan's laughter echoes just when you scan the room.

“cheers to that.” jini laughs, approaching as she drinks from her glass. “let's make a toast for stealing achievements, and stealing boyfriends,” she says to ningning under your bewildered gaze. both girls clink their glasses and their venomous gazes fix on you.

“i don't steal achievements, i own them. but, yes, let's have a toast.” you clear your throat and your fingers steal the glass from jini's hands without her showing any resistance. “to the circle, to camaraderie, to the ace, to boy toys, and last but not least, a toast to the copycats.”

it will always amazed you how you could show your darker side to a bunch of petulant and vain young people and distrust them so much. these people, these twisted people were your friends by default.

besides the pool table, there is a small bar where jisung pours himself a glass of many in the company of the hwang siblings, yeji and hyunjin, sons of the hwang dynasty. their parents were renowned businessmen in the country and that night future partners of your parents, with riches made by extraction and export of precious minerals. haechan was the only child of attorneys who worked in the tax and criminal fields, with the best criminal law firm and soon closing an important alliance at that night's gala. and finally, the zhong. specialized in computer engineering and big data, they've created an empire that ningning and chenle were responsible for squandering.

then there were the... twins? cousins? known, perhaps? you couldn't tell since they both behaved the same way —yujin and yunjin. one was the daughter of fencing's most prestigious director and the other had nouveau riche parents, who were at the time, having a bliss as chenle buried his head (and teeth) in their necks at times.

his shirt is a mess and you soon find out why when yujin runs her hands over his toned, pale chest. then yunjin laughs at something chenle says to her before they both look in your direction and you feel your cheeks burn, choleric.

how dare he? turn you into a joke that he can tell in the ears of his lovers?

“new attendees?” you ask.

“applicants,” chenle corrects.

“in that case, shall we vote?” you suggest, feigning to get the attention of the others. yujin lets out a skeptical huff that chenle tries to ease, but it has already triggered your bigotry. “get. out.”

yujin looks at you dumbfounded as chenle's embrace unravels from their shoulders. helpless, yunjin asks with an anxious laugh, “who do you think you are? chenle?” she seeks for comfort that the boy shakes off when he shrugs his shoulders.

yunjin laughs in awe before leaving in sheer frustration and giving you a dirty look, that you politely respond to with a quick smirk, deciding to back out once you've done your job of ruining his night just as he ruined yours.

you hear chenle's shrill giggle behind you as he decides to follow you closely to the now-unoccupied pool table. “jealous, by any chance?”

“remotely. sick, perhaps.”

“is that what causes you not to have my attention?”

you scoff, “quite the opposite. a friendly game?” chenle takes his eyes off the lower part of your body when you turn around to face him. his darkened eyes go from yours to the cue stick you're holding. a smile dances on his pouting pink lips.

“i like a little bit of challenge.”

“a competition, then,” you solve, going for the rack when chenle intercepts you by taking you by the wrist to go for it instead. the balls are arranged just as ningning's high-pitched laughter breaks out in a soft melody drifting from the floor below.

“stop being so loud, woman.”

jisung turns his head from your direction to look with amusement at the pair. “shall we move the party to the lake?” yeji suggests; they steal a couple more bottles, and a couple of cigars making their way to the exit amidst stumbling and fraternal hugs. jini stays behind, pulling away from jisung and hyunjin's arms to ask, “you coming?”

chenle is not interested in looking at her when he replies “in a moment.” his eyes fixing on yours. a slit of light enters through the half-open door of the illuminated corridor, and chenle's eyes absorb every glimpse of it. “do the honors.”

the crackling of a fireplace warms the place and flutters your chest, or is the gentle brush on chenle on your waist when you head toward the cue ball. chenle watches you from the other end, and that's why your body leans more than necessary and the breeze hits your cleavage.

“has the match already started?” he wonders, darting his gaze from you. his wild eyes following the path of the balls shooting in all directions; you see his mind scheming behind his focused gaze as his feet move in the direction of his target.

chenle disappears from your view and your body betrays you when you smell his lingering fragrance closer. feeling his presence behind you, the proximity once again tortures you. your body is caught in the middle as he prepares to shoot the cue ball with you in his arms.

the warmth emanating from his body impact your naked back as he pins you between him and the table, makes possible for you to feel the growing bulge pushing against your lower back; the unexpected friction catches you off guard. your pelvis twitches in an involuntary motion and chenle misses the cue ball.

he muffles a sound at the time you bite your lips, struggling to suppress the thrill of electricity that runs through you when your mind becomes dense and thick. your body charge with elation and you blush when he hums, the mere gesture sending shivers down your spine. chenle tenses against your body as your back gives in and arch into him, hips moving slightly upward feeling his erection a little more pressing up your butt; the thin fabric of your dress causing the sensation to feel even rawer.

your mind doesn't think it through as you lean across the table taking the cue stick from his hands. fingers instinctively going to your waist as you bend over. dizzily sensing the hardness of his boner, your chest heaves as an avid thrill takes force in your gut.

chenle welcomes you again when you get up and the number 1 ball has entered the pocket. you feel his haunting presence as he removes the cascade of hair from your shoulder and moves closer to your ear, “and it's only just beginning to be midnight.”

you hum, “i'm done with the fun here, i'd like to go to the lake now.” a gasp of surprise freezes in your throat as his hand squeezes on your waist and easily turns you around. you witness the words that freeze in his throat as his gaze drifts below your clavicles, and you are aware at that moment of the soft hardness of your nipples, poking through the silky fabric.

a velvety feeling creeps down your thighs as a smirk blooms on his lips. “not the smartest decision, but sure shit, princess. anything else you crave for?”

“not really.”

a gasping sound comes out of your mouth when chenle squeezes you close to him without forewarning. something wild flutters in your chest under the young man's sharp gaze. your lips part to let out shallow exhalations when his mouth dangerously lurks on yours, tingling with anticipation. eyes closing against your will and body giving in to his command. you become lighter as he holds you like he pleases. “you sure?”

the answer trembles on your lips, but you are unable to say it.

chenle enjoys having you this way. seeing you so affected, your body reacting the way he wants it to. “say the magic words, princess.” you swallow hard when he lurks on your exposed neck, surprising you when your head pulls back to give him more access.

you wait. you anticipate his lips finally resting on your skin, blood burning in your veins, eager to feel him, but you are stunned when he pulls away just enough to look at you again.

your eyesight has become narrow, covered with black fog, your gaze feel heavy if you try to focus on him. you look at him with narrowed eyes. breath becoming a wild beast that writhes and lashes out at your ribcage. mind blurring his sculpted figure with sharp strokes, smooth and tender skin that reveals the first three buttons of his wrinkled shirt.

fuck it.

his fingers dig painfully gently into the untouchable skin of your waist as you slam into his body and your lips attack his. teeth and tongues meeting in disorder, wild gasps as your mouths devour each other to the point of dissolving the other.

his mouth feels hot. his taste addictive. your tongue savor his while your fingers mess up his hair. pull. caress; your emotions scatter and get tangled. your body hums and you find yourself out of breath as you feel him pushing you backwards until you hit the edge of the pool table.

chenle pants against your lips and your instinct is to reach out and bite them with desire under layers and layers of resentment.

“shit.” he mutters, hissing. heart pounding his chest while your hands won't stop touching him. he can do nothing but gasp desperately. he wants everything. being bitten, caressed, kissed.

he wants you. he craves you. always has. his body burns from the rawness and cruelty in which he desires you. your body stuck to his, your predatory eyes on him... his head pulls back, briefly having a lucid moment, and he pants “one last chance.”

his fingers glide down your soft thigh and your eyes close, sensitive. receptive. you feel him position himself between your legs, your thigh slightly brushing against his hips. you see him grit his teeth. one of his hands wraps around your neck gently, his thumb brushes your jaw before bringing his face closer, and you ask “for...?”

“stop pretending.”

you scoff. you delight in watching him frown in annoyance before he falls into a trance as you wrap your wet lips around his thumb. you're able to see in his eyes the urge he tries to repress. how he tries to keep pace with his breathing. how he tries not to get excited about the way your mouth sucks his finger before he chuckles under his breath.

all your boldness shakes as he locks you between his body, hands gripping your waist and assisting you to sit on the board. your arm instinctively wraps around his neck. faces very close. dangerously close. yet chenle doesn't give you a break, and you sense his next move when he tilts his head and kisses you again. unscrupulously. like a hungry man. split lips for his tongue to tease you and taste you a thousand times, breaths suffocating in the other's mouth. tongue swirling over yours before his lips hover over your mouth. chenle sucks playfully, drawing you towards him. sticking to his body. his hands rest on your lower back as he lets you take the reins of the destructive kiss in which your mouths merge.

heads turning the other way when the other does, deeper, safer, bolder kisses. an eternity or maybe a second has passed, in which your mouths meet infinitely, lips fitting into each other, moving to the same beat as the other, imprinting thousands of repressed emotions that you taste them on each other's tongue.

your body reacts to his midas touch. fingers running down your back, arching against him. belly holding everything in a ball that begins to grow and expand, feeling heavier, and harder to keep at bay. it twists you inside and melts towards your intimacy, making you want more.

he breaks the kiss and you watch his arrogant expression falter as he pulls himself together, “well?”

your breathing is ragged and your thoughts are scattered all over the room. your head pulls back, cornered, “fine! i need this, badly.”

“that's my girl,” he rushes to say, succumbing in front of you as his mouth attacks your neck.

his tongue slides down the hot vein that throbs under your sweet skin and it's taking all your will not to whine loudly. a grunt leaves his lips and hits your skin when your nails burrow into his flexed arm, moaning breathlessly. “look at that, she can moan.” your mind collapses from the silky sensation that begins to fill you and makes your fingers go towards his hips, searching for the buttons of his pants.

chenle pulls away from you and helps you take off your pants. your hands finding the bulging from the erection underneath. mouth begins to salivate as the edges of your vision blur, teeth catching your lower lip when a gasp comes out of you. tummy burning with aching desire to see it, hurriedly grabbing your hands on the waistband of his underwear and pulling it down to reveal his manhood.

emotions are too strong to think clearly. turns you into a disaster of clashing mouths and groping. your body buzzes with the intoxicate feeling chenle causes you as he grazes your body and attacks your mouth with fiery kisses. you let the primitive pleasure that lashes your being make you submissive to him when he pulls you down from the table by your thighs and forces you to turn around. his fingers tangle with the bottom of your dress as he pulls it up and exposes your body. “fuck. you know how much i love lacy things.” any hint of a response is undone when you feel his fingers touch your core due to the lack of fabric covering your intimacy.

your breaths freeze for related reasons.

his digits massage the area with delicacy and you feel like you are about to lose your mind. “so deliciously wet.” your body breaks at his diabolical touch. fingers up your folds to the swollen and needy area.

your throat builds a cry. your eyes shut tightly. chenle's fingers slide down at your entrance until they detach from you. the scream comes out of your mouth when he spanks you. “easy, pretty. you'll want to keep it quiet.” his digits attack your clit once again and you dig your teeth into the forearm that holds you against him while his fingers abuse you. eyes roll as he sticks his middle and ring finger into you and starts pumping rhythmically, the coldness of his rings nibbling on the sensitive skin of your entrance. “so soft. so good taking it, darling.” a shudder hits you from the smooth and solid of the material pressing deliciously against you while his digits fuck you.

sounds burst out of you against your will at the pace of his swirls. your walls take chenle's fingers until the squelch sound joins your moans. he pulls his fingers out of you and spanks you again before pulling your panties down.

he makes you take them off completely before he comes back with you and you can feel him press the tip of his penis into your folds, sliding up and down, covering his erection with your luscious excitation to push it inside you with ease. the full feeling leaves you breathless and you find yourself letting out a breathy giggle from the pleasurable sensation that blooms in your lower belly when he stuffs you with his cock.

chenle rocks in and out of you, getting you used to his length, and your legs tremble as he does so, feeling the shot of arousing sensation every time he thrusts you. your heart flutters as the speed changes and you find yourself gasping for breath. pelvis begins to hammer yours mercilessly. your crotch fills with dripping, numbing pleasure as your body twitches and contorts, having moved nothing. chenle dominates you. he holds you in place to receive each merciless, demonically good thrust. moving one hand to your mouth when you threaten to scream from how well he's fucking you. legs trembling as your pussy takes him again and again, you welcome him into your slippery, swollen walls, feeling sensitive. his cock penetrates you with sharp, swift thrusts and you find yourself in space, taking him deliciously. belly filling with searing fire that threatens to spill into your bloodstream.

“god, you feel so well, you feel s—so nice, angel.” chenle fails to contain his own moans, and his teeth bury into the smooth skin of your shoulder, muffling the moans in your skin as he buries his cock and your pussy begins to tingle. “a-ahgh, fuck!” your lips are caught in your canines at the growing knot in your belly as chenle hammers you ruthlessly.

your eyes squeeze closed and a white noise takes over your mind as you try to find your train of thought, but all your common sense vanishes from your hands before the delicious pumping of his cock abusing your needy pussy; heat spreading from your belly and spilling down your thighs.

it takes almost all of your strength not to succumb right there. to not let the wonderful sensation of his cock driving you to ecstasy.

“o-oh god, chenle,” you cry. your body collapses on the pool table and causes chenle to thrust you from another angle. eyes rolling to the back of your head and moaning building up and spilling from your lips from how good it feels. chenle hisses “s-shit, don't stop moaning. f-fuck, yn. you feel so fucking amazing. sound so exquisite.” his thrusts become sharper, your body jolts and the feeling leaves you dizzy and groggy, mind blank as the pleasurable sensation takes over your body.

chenle grabs you tightly by the waist as his pelvis hammers yours roughly, the sound of your skins clashing filling the room along with your moans and the squelching noise of your cunt taking him with each stroke.

the snap of your skin when his palm hits your butt pulls you over the edge. your hands turn to fists as you try to hold it inside, but the fire crackles inside you, and a pleasurable pain forms in your core. the tingling sensation spreads through your belly wildly and you must stifle a scream.

“feels good, princess? too good? want to cum on my cock, baby?” he coos, “fuck, let me feel you. i need to nut in you so bad, need to stuff you nice and pretty.” his cold hands pull you up and slam you against him, starting to stroke your hard nipples, your lips part open to release a curse that chenle waits for with expecting eyes. “fuck, i'm so close,” he announces, stopping briefly to catch his breath.

chenle suddenly chuckles behind you, “yn, don't fucking tell me you're making this a competition?” your laughter turns to an eager gasp when the switch the pace.

the constant movement has turned you into a whining mess as you try to encapsulate your newfound desire. your dress has wrinkled and the straps that hold them now lie undone, exposing your breasts that press against the pool table moving slightly from the magnitude of chenle's pounding.

your head pulls back and a hoarse moan breaks on your lips as his mouth rests on your neck and his teeth nibble on your skin as the thrusts slow down. your body feels enraptured and weak, and your muscles don't respond to your commands, totally carried away by the crushing desire.

chenle mutters something under his breath before his hands leave your breasts and you feel him cover them again with your dress. your cloudy gaze rests on the half-open slit of light coming in from the hallway, and like a spell you return to your five senses as you process what chenle has said before. your hearing comes back to you the moment you hear someone approaching the room, and something wrinkles in your stomach as you feel chenle still inside you, with no hint of pulling out his cock of you. tummy burning with aching thrill when the door opens and a figure hidden by the shadows stops right at the entrance.

your body is embalmed with terror when you recognize the figure. ��sungie,” you pronounce, feeling your mouth dry. jisung slowly enters the room and your body tenses; chenle stands still behind you but one step closer and jisung would be able to see that his pants are on his calves. and your dress is wrinkled and moved up to your waist. and his dick is shoved down inside you. you swallow very hard. “still on the billiard match?” he asks with curiosity as he passes the two of you and heads to the bar.

“as you can tell,” chenle blurts out, and takes you by surprise when he moves his pelvis towards you; his penis slides easily in, then you feel him slide out. your cheeks burn at the notion that he's really fucking you while your brother is in the room, “will you take too long? we're in the middle of something.”

your eyes widen in panic at the choice of words and your belly tightens in turn because you're still aroused and because chenle keeps rocking you torturously slow and deep.

“mmm,” jisung hums and forces you to hold back the grimace of pleasure that was beginning to form on your face when he looks over his shoulder. “just came back for more cigars.”

your hand squeeze chenle's bicep as he shoves his cock, hitting the delicious swollen spot inside, rocking side to side to make sure you feel him against your walls, full length coated with your creamy arousal. your hips react impulsively and you grind against him when his hand pushes your stomach towards his dick and you feel it buried in you.

his eyes meet yours when you look over your shoulder, smiling smugly, “just like that.”

“screwing up.” fuck, he said what you think he said? you both stop abruptly when he walks towards you and stops right at the other end of the table. his eyes squint you for what seems like an eternity until his sight falls on the billiard balls. “the game's pretty much fucked up from the way i see it.” he clicks his tongue, “i'll let you to it.”

jisung barely leaves the room when you feel chenle slide out of you. your throat forms a groan when you feel the emptiness in your pussy, forced to die instantly when he spin you on your heels and his hands tug hard at your dress. “hey, this is silk, moron!”

you let him strip you of your dress and manipulate your body as he sees fit when he makes you sit on the edge of the table to slide the fabric down your knees when he responds, “i'll buy you a new one. only if you let me take it off.” the cold bites your bare skin and chenle's heavy, dark gaze devours it. your breath condenses in your throat by the primal look of the boy contemplating your body; it fills you with infinite glory to know how affected you are that your legs spread open.

his eyes fall on your crotch and something furious flutters on your belly when he licks his lips. “gonna stand there and look stupid?”

a wail of surprise escapes your lips as his cold hands open your legs wider to position themselves between them. your hands grind on his shirt, unbuttoning it with nimble fingers as you feel his mouth creeping around your neck. “you look so fucking delicious.” warm lips sit on your sensitive skin and for a moment you forget what you're doing, rolling your eyes as his teeth finally bury themselves in the smooth flesh and his cock enters you slowly.

you feel every inch he pushes inside, hands making you grind against him until he shoves it all the way in and leaves you stargazing.

your moans in unison gather in the air. “o-oh, god.” you swallow hard. face burning and tickling with raw desire damping chenle's cock when he begins to pound you.

chenle's head buries in your breasts and nibbles and sucks on your tits, tongue wrapping around your hard nipples, before taking them in his mouth one and then another, sending shivers down your spine. your insides tighten as he hums and you feel the vibrations of his vocal cords deep within you, wreaking havoc on your sanity.

you're completely out of your head. spacing. thoughts liquefy with every hard thrust he gives you. legs trembling with pleasure as your mouth spills moans one after the other. “jesus, le, o-oh~.” you lock glances with him, watching his face twitch excitedly, brows furrowed, and skin starting to sweat. “so good, princess.” his mouth attacks you fiercely in a wet kiss before his lips move to your shoulder, where he sucks and bites.

chenle makes you drown out a sound when he lunges at you and pushes you against the pool table, laying you on it while his fingers burrow into your ribs without stopping the haunting hammering of his pelvis. cock hitting over and over your sweet spot, making you smile mesmerized at how good it feels. hissing and groaning, “yes, yes.” fog clouding your senses, sharp pain numbing your limbs, dick fucking you so good. “o-oh—” you cry from pleasure, back arching and tears forming on your eyes. the crushing climax coming closer, you bite your lips, troubled.

your body arches and twists, pelvis moving in a spasm towards him, “fuck!” he pants, “fuck, i'm close, s-so close.” his eyes close savoring the thrilling moment of ecstasy that embraces him. your body goes into another spasm as the searing pleasure spills into your belly and runs wildly down into your pussy. “chenle—” a scream escapes your throat before your mind is clouded with white noise and your body is paralyzed before it starts to suffer waves of strong spasms.

chenle drinks every pronounced throb of your pussy, and delights in your clenching walls wrapping around his cock empties his seed inside before taking his length out and milk the rest on your stomach. pearls of cum dripping into your tummy as his hot nut inside you starts to slide out.

the fog begins to recede from your thoughts and now you find yourself totally sober to say “le,” in a whine, staring at your stomach, “you better clean this up before someone comes in.”

your hand gets lost in his hair as he comes down to you and his mouth begins to clean his cum from you. an excited laugh assails you when he also takes the opportunity to bite your belly.

you bite your lip when he gives your pussy a lash with his tongue. sucking and tasting your velvety arousal. you drown out a groan and a current shakes your body. chenle diligently wipes the remnants of ejaculation with his mouth, taking his time. hands spreading your legs wider as he teases you, tongue swirling against your folds and your entrance before moving to your swollen clit.

you let out a shaky groan when you suddenly remember something.

“you still have my panties, a souvenir?” you taunt.

chenle pulls back far enough for you to look into his eyes, mouth pulling away from your pussy when a smile forms on his lips. your body shakes in anticipation just as he pronounces, “a trophy.” he comes over and kisses you, the taste of his cum mixing on your tongue before you break the kiss and look out the door.

“d'you hear that?” you utter.

“the wind?” he says, making a pretense of kissing you again but you stop him.

“someone was there,” you pronounce, blood rushing up your neck just as a knot grips your stomach. “jisung! oh, my god, jisung was standing there!” you squeal, panicking.

chenle removes your nails off his skin and rolls his eyes “okay, and? hope he enjoyed the show, that fucking heathen.”

you shake your head, starting to freak out. “oh, my god! no! it can't be, right?... he c-can't-” you breathe before your eyes glaze at chenle, because the more you come out of lethargy and hysteria takes hold of you the clearer your mind becomes, and the sharper the figure in the hallway. “that foul harpy.” chenle sighs and holds a hand to his septum in anticipation.

“jini,” he states as if it were some kind of poison.

“you have to do something about it.”

chenle snorts, in disbelief. “like, what? killed her?”

“seduce her or something!”

he bursts out laughing. “yn, are you serious right now? remind me why would i do that?”

“because, because! she's blinded by greed. she'll tell everyone, and no one can know, jisung can't know. he'll ruin me.” you mutter.

“because you're daddy's girl?” he sneers maliciously. his eyes squint at you when he sees you so tormented.

you see him debating behind his wild eyes whether to help you or not and panic lures in you. shit. you're willing to cry if it means convincing him, and he can notice it, because he clicks his tongue in delight. “yn, yn, yn,” he says like a mantra, “fine, fine.” he gives in, watching you whipping away the fake tears.

“let daddy take care of it.”

there was no way to describe the relationship you had with zhong chenle. it could be this symbiosis where both parties could get what they wanted. putting your reputation in his vain hands not only made you feel stupid but at the same time relieved. despite being a manipulative liar, he had ambition. you don't think you can remember a time when he didn't get away with something he truly wanted. there was no better prospect than to leave your faith in the hands of his machiavellian wit.

so you return to the party, trying to look composed. but chenle is still haunting your head and not allowing you to concentrate. your parents introduce you to some important figures and you are forced to put up the best façade because jisung is nowhere to be seen to help you.

thinking about jisung doesn't help either.

chenle: meet me at the pier.

the cold nibbles your skin as you make your way to the old zhong pier. you used to come when you were younger in the summer to lie with ningning and jini on the shore to sunbathe before getting splashed by your brother and chenle. vacations on the lake were full of refreshing days where you either took a swim or lay on a boat where you fell asleep from the swaying.

the lake is frozen by a thin layer of ice, and the closer you get, the more you can hear the laughter and pleasant chatter that others have a little further away from you.

there's a cut-out silhouette at the edge of the pier, waiting for you.

“le.”

jini turns around and smiles at you sharply. “just the copycat.”

you smile patiently.

“dear jini, tell me what you plan to do? murder me?” you mention, stepping closer. “are you going to push me into the lake? literally stab me? i'm hard to kill, and i wonder, how long will it take before someone comes?”

“do you really think someone will come?” she utters furrowing her eyebrows, “your brother? who lives under your shadow? hyunjin or yeji, after telling them that you were against the agreement with their parents? ningning, who hates you as much as i do? haechan, or perhaps chenle?” her eyes sparkle when she mentions his name, and the implicit of it gives you chills when you start to doubt whether it was he or she who sent the message.

“you want everything i want,” you provoke.

“gosh, you're so self-centered, aren't you? taking space, and taking the things that were for others. you don't realize this is your end, and no one will come to your rescue. chenle won't come to your rescue,” she corrects.

“oh, no need,” you say simply. “i've always loved to be a martyr, it's poetic.”

“you're quite a psychopath.” she laughs, and it's only at that moment that you notice how much she's been getting closer to you as you talked. “i... like to be ambitious.”

a scream freezes in your throat as she pushes you toward the lake.

── 8:02hr 🃏 after ──

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

“It’s really coming down, isn’t it?” Cangse asks, her eyes looking up at the tin roof that hangs over the train station, as if she could see through it and watch as the building gets pelted with rain without letting it touch her or the bag that’s starting to dig into her shoulders. The weight of it is welcome and familiar, it no longer burns and itches like it had after she’d first left her mother’s house.

The old woman who’d been standing next to Cangse for the last two stops only smiles and shakes her head, “This is a winter rain still, my dear, you haven’t seen a rainy day in Yunmeng until you’ve been here in the spring.” Bringing one finger up to her nose to try and brush warmth back into it, Cangse wants to ask the woman what the difference between a winter and a spring rain was, but she doesn’t get the chance.

The headlights of something bulky and black sweep over Cangse and the old woman, making them squint, even as Yu Ziyuan sucks on a lemon in the driver’s seat, both hands gripping the steering wheel. They needed her there, but it would be a cold day in hell before Yu Ziyuan would be happy about it. Cangse doesn’t dare dim the smile on her face as she waves and turns back to the woman standing beside her.

“Popo, are you going to be alright by yourself?” Cangse does her best not to bend to speak to the old woman, but it’s hard, the woman is short, and Cangse worries about the woman hurting herself to look up at her. Rain and cold were supposed to hurt old bones, weren’t they? “My friend could give you a ride if you want.”

Calling Yu Ziyuan a friend was a stretch when she was already honking the horn, the sound of it blaring, but the old woman only smiles and shakes her head, her hands gripping her bag tightly. “My son will be here soon, you go on. Your friend doesn’t seem like the patient type.” For one moment longer, Cangse and the old woman share a conspirator’s smile, trying to drag another round of honking out of Yu Ziyuan, but then Cangse is being nudged down the steps.

“Are you wearing bell bottoms?” Cangse hadn’t expected to be helped with her bags, but the sight of Yu Ziyuan’s bell bottoms more than makes up for it, the grin spreads across Cangse’s face before she can stop it, the rain is still pelting her back, and Yu Ziyuan is still frowning up at her, though she shuffles further against her side of the car, the heel of her boot catching against the car’s floor.

“Shut the door! It’s freezing out!” Yu Ziyuan demands, though she looks no less like a ruffled cat when Cangse does as she’s told, the car shaking and bouncing as she gets settled into her seat, tracking in mud that neither of them mention. Cangse would get used to the mud, she would have time.

The car starts and Yu Ziyuan reaches into her bag with one hand, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, her foot still heavy on the brake. She must feel Cangse looking at her, because Yu Ziyuan looks back, the cigarette between two fingers, “Did your mother not tell you what mine did? It’s fine to smoke, but only in the car.” It’s the driest thing between either of them, but Cangse knows a joke when she hears one, and she doesn’t stop herself from snorting, even as she cracks the window, just enough to let the smoke out and to keep the warmth in. Cangse doesn’t blame Yu Ziyuan for smoking, not since Jiang Yanli’s health had started its downward tick, but it still almost makes her cough, and it still makes her eyes burn.

“I thought you and Jiang Fengmian would have sent Wei Changze after me.” Wei Changze would have been happier to see her, but he would have insisted on helping Cangse with her bags, and Cangse would have had to thank him, but not in the same way she would have thanked Yu Ziyuan, had she offered.

Finally, Yu Ziyuan takes her foot off the brake and they start rolling down the gentle slope of the hill, picking up speed when she finally presses on the gas, the cigarette still held between two fingers. Those fingers are no longer near Yu Ziyuan’s mouth, though. “Wei Changze had to drive A-Li and her father to a doctor’s appointment.” The phrase “A-Li and her father” raises Cangse’s eyebrows, the meaning behind it clear. They were fighting again. She’d seen it during their courtship, during their engagement, even on their wedding day. Or, at least, she’d seen some of their fighting on their wedding day. Wei Changze had carefully pulled her away from that, keeping her hands held tight in both of his.

Cangse sees the smile on her own face in the window’s reflection, but she can’t see the old woman on the train platform anymore, but she doesn’t see another pair of headlights behind Yu Ziyuan’s car, either. She must have gone inside of the office, she’d only stepped out to keep Cangse company after all, hadn’t she?

The woman had been there, and she’d gone inside the station office, where it was warmer and drier, to wait for her son.

“Fengmian wants another baby.” Yu Ziyuan says it suddenly but steadily, the train station behind them growing smaller and smaller in the rearview, the cigarette between her fingers is already halfway burnt. Cangse presses her lips together, but she isn’t surprised. Jiang Yanli was almost five, she was almost five and already needed delicate handling. Jiang Fengmian would want someone he could play with. It still sets Cangse’s teeth on edge.

“What do you want?”

Cangse doesn’t ask the question lightly, nor does she ask it to be cruel, but Yu Ziyuan’s cigarette is almost completely ash by now, only a sliver of white left to see before she stubs it out quickly. Some of the ash blows onto the denim of Cangse’s jacket, but she won’t begrudge Yu Ziyuan for it.

“I think,” Yu Ziyuan starts and stops, loosening her grip on the steering wheel, “I think I’d like a boy.”

~

“He fucking didn’t.” Wen Qing’s voice rings out across the dining room, a coffee cup still held in one of her hands, but Meng Yao doesn’t turn to look at her. The spoon in his hand is too heavy, but he still plays with it, even as Jiang Yanli stands up from where she lingers just inside his line of sight. She’d been lingering like that, since Saturday evening had dripped into Sunday morning like ink, and Meng Yao had pretended that he hadn’t heard Wen Qing tell Jiang Yanli that the bruises on his neck looked self-inflicted.

They weren’t, Jiang Yanli knew that, though she hadn’t said it. It went unsaid that there was no point, but Meng Yao knew that the bruises that had been there, even though they’re fading into nonexistence. He’d hoped… he’d wanted them to be gone by the time Lan Xichen got back, so he wouldn’t have to explain, but his hand still strays up towards his neck, trying to feel for swelling that went down. Jiang Yanli and her constant, too cold, ice pack had seen to that.

“I’m not pulling him out when he gets stuck in the mud again, my whole front end almost came off the last time.” With sleep heavy eyes, Meng Yao can see Jiang Yanli’s hand on the small of Wen Qing’s back, neither of them backing away from the window. They don’t have to worry about being seen, both Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were already in town, taking care of their own businesses. They rarely came home for lunch. Jiang Yanli had told him that when she’d stepped into his office, refusing to let Meng Yao take his lunch there. Jiang Yanli had gotten stubborn about leaving Meng Yao alone. She’d left his office door open, and lingered like a ghost dressed in blues, and purples, and the occasional yellow or green, or she’d kept him from leaving to the loneliness of his own room.

She’d almost driven him crazy, but he’d been grateful for it. Meng Yao had been grateful for every interruption and every excuse she’d given just to keep him from being alone.

It still hadn’t stopped the nightmares, nor had it stopped the sleepless hours that came in between, but Meng Yao is grateful for every measure Jiang Yanli had gone to. He’d done his best to swallow it all down, but even Yu Ziyuan had called him out for the dark bags under his eyes and the way he’d only picked at his breakfast.

His work still hadn’t suffered because of it, Meng Yao had made sure of that.

“A-Yao,” Jiang Yanli’s voice is as gentle as the hand she puts on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts and making Meng Yao look up at her. He wants to shield his eyes from the brightness that spreads across Jiang Yanli’s face, “You’ll come to the door with us, won’t you? Xichen is back, and he’ll want to see you first, I’m sure of it.” There’s insistence in Jiang Yanli’s voice, her smile wide and bright enough to make Meng Yao think to shield his face from it.

It takes him a moment too long to realize what she’s said, but when he does, Meng Yao is letting the spoon clatter into the bowl as he stands. He doesn’t care if Wen Qing turns to glare at him, he hasn’t cared about that since Saturday evening, but he somehow cares even less now.

Meng Yao can’t help but glance out the window as he walks by, his eyes falling on something light gray and shiny, and tragically just low enough to get caught in the worst of the mud if a storm were to come and swallow them up. Wen Qing’s words make sense now, even if Meng Yao had only been half listening to them. The three of them walk to the front door together, but Jiang Yanli allows Meng Yao to lead, trailing behind with Wen Qing as Lan Xichen beats them to the door, his bag hanging heavy on his shoulder and his keys still jingling in his hand.

Something makes Meng Yao stop short, his throat going tight and the light bruises around it suddenly burning again, as if they were fresh. His hand twitches, but Meng Yao won’t let himself reach up and press his fingers to them, he’d done enough of that when he’d looked into his own reflection, wary of any sudden change that might happen.

Can Lan Xichen see them? Would he have any idea that they had been there? If he doesn’t, Meng Yao won’t tell him, he couldn’t and wouldn’t put that weight on Lan Xichen’s shoulders. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he did, and he couldn’t expect Lan Xichen to either, no matter how much he might want to.

But there’s already a hand pressed against his cheek, a thumb already stroking just underneath Meng Yao’s eye, soft enough that he can’t choke down the pull he feels to wrap his hand around Lan Xichen’s wrist. His own thumb strokes over the rounded bone of Lan Xichen’s wrist. If they hadn’t had an audience, Meng Yao might have pressed a kiss to Lan Xichen’s palm, but he’s too aware of Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli standing at his back, pretending that they don’t see the two of them, just like Meng Yao pretends not to see the two of them in their spare, stolen moments.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen starts, a gentle smile spreading across his face, but Meng Yao feels no need to shield his eyes from it. His other hand twitches, wanting to reach up and hold Lan Xichen’s face in return, but the chance is taken away by the sounds of two people bounding down the stairs from where they’d been doing who knows what for how long, only coming down to cut Lan Xichen’s words before they’d even fully formed.

Meng Yao has no energy left to be angry at them for it, nor does he stop Lan Xichen’s hand from slipping away from his face, though their fingers still linger, still clinging to each other by the tips. Something so small shouldn’t settle all the ruffled parts of Meng Yao, but it does. Touching Lan Xichen soothes the frayed ends and soothes the bruises that still burn at Meng Yao’s throat, whether Lan Xichen can see them or not.

It’s easier to follow the group of them to the kitchen this time, to watch as Lan Xichen drinks water from a tall glass that Jiang Yanli gets for him, to watch him lean against the counter, to participate in the flurry of conversation that comes when Lan Xichen returns, a glass of water held in his own hand.

This is a routine that Meng Yao had seen before, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be part of it. He’d tried to stay out of it, and he’d tried hard, but now Meng Yao doesn’t have to force himself to remember Lan Xichen’s name, nor does he feel the prickle of being someone new somewhere old.

He doesn’t stop himself from listing, just a little, after the others leave him alone in the kitchen with Lan Xichen, all the frayed, ruffled, and now soothed parts of him dragging him downwards, until his forehead meets Lan Xichen’s shoulder and fingers press into Meng Yao’s cheek.

“Yanli called me, you know,” Lan Xichen starts gently, stroking the apple of Meng Yao’s cheek with just the tips of his fingers, “she told me what happened.” Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn’t imagined that Jiang Yanli would have told on him, but he might have known that she would, if she’d been pressed. “Let me see?” Lan Xichen asks, and Meng Yao starts. The prickly feeling comes back into his stomach and he hesitates for a moment too long, swallowing thickly. “I won’t make you, A-Yao, but I was worried, I thought…” Lan Xichen doesn’t finish, Meng Yao won’t make him.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Meng Yao makes himself tilt his head back, exposing what remains of the bruises and letting Lan Xichen bend down just a little to look at them. His thumbs press into the sides of Meng Yao’s throat, and he closes his eyes, his own hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He won’t allow himself to push Lan Xichen away, he would let him be kind.

Lan Xichen deserves to be kind, if he wants to.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispers, leaning in closer and pressing a kiss to either side of Meng Yao’s neck, “what got ahold of you?” Lan Xichen isn’t looking for an answer, Meng Yao knows, but the words stick in his throat like bones.

Meng Yao doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels both of Lan Xichen’s hands on his cheeks, his lips on his forehead. There isn’t a breath of space left between them, and Meng Yao finally lets himself set his hands onto Lan Xichen’s hips, asking him to stay close without a word. “I should have been here, I could have…”

“Xichen,” Meng Yao tries to speak, but his voice is already muffled against Lan Xichen’s chest as he’s pulled close and bone crushingly tight. What could he have done? Would he have gone out into the woods and returned with nothing, just like the police had? Would he have tried to open the door from the hall, and would he have gotten the same result that Meng Yao had? Meng Yao presses his face into Lan Xichen’s chest and breathes hard, trying to shake the cold memory of that room off of his skin still.

“A-Huan.” Lan Xichen reminds him softly, fingers stroking gently through his hair now, though his voice is no less serious, “When we’re alone, I’m A-Huan, remember?” Meng Yao nods, but doesn’t dare raise his face from Lan Xichen’s chest, not when Lan Xichen’s whole body is still so comfortingly warm around him, driving whatever miniscule amount of wakefulness away, and making Meng Yao sleepier by the second.

“A-Huan, I missed you.” Meng Yao allows himself to say it finally, no matter how muffled his voice is in Lan Xichen’s oversized sweater. The words twist a wary laugh out of Lan Xichen, the sound of it comforting against the top of Meng Yao’s head.

“I didn’t get around to grading any of the boys’ work that I said I would, that’s how much I missed you.” It pulls at something in Meng Yao’s chest to hear that, his arms sliding up to curl around Lan Xichen’s neck, though he’s almost too short for it. “I would start to, but then I would think about you, and I would think about how you would already have all of this done. I would try again, but the same thing kept happening.”

Despite everything, Meng Yao hears himself chuckle, the point of his chin pressing into the center of Lan Xichen’s chest. For a moment, there’s only quiet and the two of them, clinging to each other like no one else could walk into the kitchen and see them, but then Lan Xichen is speaking again, the sound of him quieter now than it had been before, “I thought we could sneak away a little bit later, that’s why I brought the car. There’s a place down by the cove, Yanli told me how to get there once.”

“You’d take me there?” Meng Yao has to ask, but the words are brittle. Even if Lan Xichen didn’t know how to get there, Meng Yao remembered the walk to the cove well, when he was younger, couples went there for bragging rights, but Meng Yao had never been lured there by some high school boyfriend’s siren call, not once.

“I would.” Lan Xichen answers, pulling away, though only far enough to look into Meng Yao’s eyes before he kisses him, soft and sweet, and far, far too quickly. “Yanli says it’s prettier at night, but I thought we might catch the sunset.”

If Jiang Yanli had gone to the cove… Meng Yao silences that thought with a tiny shake of his head. He wouldn’t think about what Jiang Yanli had done with anyone at the cove, be it Wen Qing or anyone else.

If Lan Xichen took him there, it would be their cove. Theirs and no one else’s.

“Alright.”

[babyboy-cody]

HI ALYSSA!!! 😃 What you wrote for grayson was beyond BEAUTIFUL. can you write something where they’re in a new relationship and she gets introduced on the podcast??? 🥰

i’m gonna try really hard to not go overboard this time 😭

The atmosphere was lighthearted and playful. Since 7am to the early afternoon, you’ve been extremely nervous and fidgety. Grayson recognized the early signs of an anxiety attack and made to bring out one of your sensory toys, the ones that make the popping and clicking sound. He brought you to a secluded corner of the house, away from everyone and all the noise, and blocked them with his body until you calmed down. The scent of him, the overall height of him, the gruffness of his voice, and the soft teddy bear vibes Grayson was giving off had you feeling more at ease.

“What if… What if they don’t like me, Gray? I mean, I’m not like the other girls you’ve hooked up with before. I’m not some insta baddie or a bad bitch. I’m me and they’re gonna hate it,” you quietly rambled to him while frantically popping and clicking your sensory toy, all the while keeping your eyes on your hand movements. Grayson allowed you to rant, not stepping in until you were fully finished. “I mean, Kris is different because she’s perfect for Ethan and she never really got any hate - not that I know of. She’s like a soft baddie, I’m not even 6% of a baddie.” This made Grayson smile as he crossed his arms and stared down at you. “Like, I’m not Tyson and it just… sucks feeling like this.”

“Look at me,” he told you, his voice low enough for only you both to hear. When you nervously peer up at him, no longer using your sensory toy, he places his large hands on your warm cheeks, thumbs gently stroking back and forth. “You’re not Tyson and that’s why I’m in love with you. You think I care about insta baddies? You’re the fucking queen, you hear me?” When you start looking down again, he quickly lifts your head. “Aye, I’m not done talking to you. You’re nothing like those girls and that’s what made me fall for you. Your kind soul, pretty eyes, and good vibes made me feel so comfortable that I always wanted to be around you 24/7. Ask Kris.” He smiles at the sound of your soft giggle and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners. “If I love with all my heart, the people who support us and want us to be happy will love you too.”

“Yo,” Ethan called out from across the room. “You ready?” He was looking at you, more so worried about your reputation than Grayson’s. “There’s no going back.” His tone was teasing and his eyes held no malice. You looked up at Grayson and he gave you a small nod and grin, as if telling you, ‘You got this.’ When you gave Ethan an enthusiastic nod, he excitedly claps his hands. “Lets do this shit!”

When you followed them to the room where they do their podcasts, you felt that anxious wave crash over you again. Grayson, being the extremely observant man he is, made sure you had your sensory toy in your hands as he rubbed your arms gently. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks that felt like butterfly wings fluttering against your skin because of his growing beard. Kristina shot you a thumbs up from her spot in the kitchen as she ate some avocado toast. You felt more at ease as Grayson and Ethan shot playful jokes at each other back and forth. You took your spot beside Grayson on the swivel chair and took the headphones he hands to you. After setting up the mics and cameras, you got yours comfortable and sat a foot or two away from Grayson so that they’re able to do their intro without you in the frame.

“It’s now or never,” you quietly mumbled to yourself.

“Good evening, everybody!” Grayson enthusiastically speaks into the mic. “Welcome back to Deeper with the Dolan Twins. I’m one of your hosts, Grayson.”

“And I’m your other host, Ethan. If it’s a little harder to tell who is who, I wore white today and Grayson wore black,” Ethan states confidently. “Grayson is always wearing his greasy ass trucker hat.”

“It’s not greasy, shut up.” Grayson sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, sending a look to the side as you covered your mouth to stifle your laugh. “So, today we are doing things a little bit differently.” You sat up straighter in your seat. “As all of you know, we had Kristina on our podcast to furthermore introduce herself as Ethan’s girlfriend.”

“And today,” Ethan rubbed his hands excitedly. “We have a very, very special guest. We are introducing… drum roll, please…” Grayson quickly tapped his fingers against the table. “Grayson’s very own girlfriend, Y/N!”

Grayson was quick to pull your chair closer to his as you held the mic and laughed quietly as they both cheered loud and clear. “This is my very lovely and very beautiful girlfriend, Y/N. Say hello to the audience.”

“Um… hello,” you awkwardly said, causing Ethan to snort. “Shut up, E! I’m nervous.” You shyly covered your face, groaning when Grayson pulled your hands away and placed his hand between yours. You immediately started playing with his fingers; a sense of calm washing over you. “Well as nervous as I am, I am extremely excited to be a guest on your podcast and I hope it receives good reactions.”

“On a lighter note, lets dive deeper into how the relationship between you and Gray… developed,” Ethan said and got comfortable in his seat.

“You tell the short story and I’ll tell the long story,” you told Grayson and lightly patted his shoulder while looking at him with such love-filled eyes that even Ethan can see from across the large table.

Grayson cleared his throat and never once move his hand from between yours. “Well we met a few years ago and started fully dating, I’d say, almost a year ago. And we met through Kristina because you’ve been really good friends story.”

“Okay, guys, people that are listening and watching,” Ethan interrupted. “Remember to get very comfortable because this story is going to be a fucking rollercoaster of emotions.”

“Oh god,” you facepalmed. “Now, for the long story. I’ve been really close friends with Kris since our childhood. I moved to Australia at a young age with my dad after my mom passed away, and we were just two peas in a pod. The way you and Grayson are with each other is the exact same way Kris and I are with each other.” Grayson leans his chin on his hand and never once looks away from you. His attention was all on you… and your lips. “And then, back in 2017 is when she started telling me about Ethan. And she had mentioned that you had a younger brother-”

“Younger by, like, 20 minutes,” Grayson interrupted with a scoff.

“Younger brother,” you emphasized a little louder, causing both twins to laugh. “And she had asked Ethan stuff about Grayson, to which she transferred back to me. So, she was like a bird messenger.” You giggled as you said that, causing a big grin to form on Grayson’s lips. “And then no sooner after that, we started talking more frequently and getting to know each other. And it just.. grew after that.”

“Didn’t Gray ghost you?” Ethan suddenly asked. Grayson groans loud beside you and covers his face embarrassingly. “I remember you freaking the fuck out because of it.”

“Yes, the motherfucker did ghost me for a few weeks. Wanna explain why, hm?” You teasingly asked him with a raise of your brows. Grayson blushed fiercely.

“So within the first three months of us talking, that was when I fully started developing strong feelings for you. And at the time, I had been fucked over so many times by so many people and was never really able to hold a long relationship. And I partially blamed myself for that because I tend to.. rush things, if that makes sense. I’m a romantic and when I fall for someone, I fall hard.” As Grayson passionately spoke and opened up his feelings, your eyes went from his eyes to his lips to his hands and back and forth. The way he spoke with his hands made you hide a smile by biting your lip. “And I was terrified because I automatically assumed that I was gonna fuck it up one way or another. The only way for me to cope was to push my feelings aside, and it just effected us both so negatively.”

“Yeah, from past experiences, it can be really difficult for someone to come to terms with the true emotions they felt. I was the same way with Kristina, you know. It felt like I had to walk around eggshells out of fear of fucking up the one thing that was good for me.” You and Grayson nodded in agreement. “I remember when we came to Australia after what happened and Gray was running back and forth, just writing what he wanted to say to you and he almost cried because his pencil broke.”

You quickly looked at Grayson. “Really?” You weren’t teasing him, you were shocked. Your voice was soft and you had a pout on your lips that he kissed away. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Nooooo!” Grayson yelled out and threw an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side.

“That’s so sweet!” You whined and pouted some more. “I never knew that, Gray. I know that in the past, there were some hardships that we were able to overcome and the way we communicated with each other, it just made our relationship stronger.”

The conversation ranged from topic to topic. Your life growing up, the death of your mother, your dad’s rescue farm in Australia, your college degree, and some moments between you and Grayson. You felt so comfortable and carefree that Grayson noticed a changed. You laughed more and spoke louder. You playfully bantered with Ethan and provided your own insight on serious topics regarding the negative effects of social media and about mental health. He’s so sure in his heart that people who love and support him and Ethan are gonna love you the same.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part Six)

Summary: rafael returns and things only get more complicated as the Davis case begins

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,240

Song: There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me / But if it's all the same to you / It's the same to me (coney island by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, the angst is back, lot of soft parts, but a lot of difficult emotions to detangle, “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, things are happening, and i want to saw those of you who spot all the little parallels w/i the fic i love you. thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen​ and @bucky-of-the-opera​ for being the best beta readers!! 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t imagine this moment. 

The moment you saw Rafael again. It was a thought that haunted the recesses of your mind — stuffed away with all memories of him — one that wriggled to the forefront when your thoughts had quelled in the silence and stillness. And you wondered what he would say. And what you would say. 

And now you didn’t have to wonder. 

"What are you—" the question deflates on your lips — stupid question —  so you ask another, "when did you get back?" 

"A few days ago," Rafael jerks his head to pull you aside, an easy smile on his lips, too easy. It wasn't easy when you both started dating. It wasn't easy when you left. It wasn't easy when he proposed. And it wasn't easy to say no.  Nothing was easy when it came to this. But there he was, "my mother is moving down to Florida." 

You raise your eyebrows, "Finally retiring? Did you have to pry the keys of her charter school out of her fingers?" 

He gives a wry smile, "No, but helping her find a replacement and helping her pick out a place down there made it easier. That and promising to help her move." 

"You're a good son," he was good — a good son, a good friend, a good prosecutor— 

But he wasn’t good for you. 

"Well I am a man of many talents," he crosses his arms, “with a few notable exceptions.” 

And you know where this is going — to a place you don’t want it to. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off, “Are you representing Davis?” 

The words stuck in his throat, his mouth opening and closing, before he swallows them, “I am,” 

“I didn’t know you did defense work,” 

He tilts his head, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? I assume you’re here because Noble-Gordon wants the case?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Keeping tabs on me?” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the teasing is so routine — the banter clicks into place — picking up right where you both left off, smoothing over broken hearts and hurt feelings. Hiding behind quick witted barbs because it was easier than untangling ensnared feelings. 

“Rafael—” 

“I met with Jack,” he admits, holding his hands up, “I asked about you. Can you blame me for being curious?” 

No. No, you couldn’t — not when you had asked Jack about him. 

“I can try,” you want to bite the inside of your cheek when he smirks, “why do you want this case?” 

“Off the record? Liv and Fin,” he slides his hands inside his pocket, “I suspect they didn’t know your firm would want the case for themselves, but,” he adds, “there’s a way this could work for both of us.” 

“How?” 

“How about a partnership?” 

“A partnership?” 

“Your firm gets their name on the case, and I need financial support,” and you furrow your brow, “but I have some terms.” 

“Of course you would,” you sigh, “what are they?” 

“One, I do the actual defense work in court, two, your firm’s involvement is limited to only a few employees — I don’t want your partners’ politics to be running the case — and three, you’re on the case with me,” and you raise your eyebrows, “before you say no—” 

“Before I say no?” you repeat, “Rafael with everything that happened—” 

“Before anything happened, we worked cases together, and even after everything happened, we did,” he shifts from foot to foot, “we know how the other works, we know our strengths and weaknesses, and I need someone I trust to work this case on — so I can walk into that courtroom for the first time since—” he sighs, biting his lip before speaking again, softer, “I want your help, and I know I have no right to ask for it, but I am. And that term is negotiable, but I’m pretty sure your firm will agree. You’re the best person to work this case.” 

“But—” 

“And before you ask,” he says, gaze soft, “this isn’t a ploy to win you back.” 

You blink,  “I know,” 

Did you? You wished you could tell your heart because now it’s thumping against your ribcage, “I know I missed my chance, and I don’t want to cross any boundaries,” he reassures you, “this will be professional.” 

“‘Professional,’” you repeat, the taste of the word disconcerting with just how unprofessional this felt, “Rafael—” 

“Just think about it,” he tilts his head, “meet with Davis — trust me, he needs our help,” and then he pauses, “and you know that we’ll be facing—” 

“I know Sonny is the A.D.A. on the case,” and he’s also my boyfriend. The words want to leave your tongue, but the sheer awkwardness is as disconcerting as working with Rafael — “Look—” 

“Don’t give me an answer yet, just talk to your firm,” he checks his watch, “I have to go, but I’ll email you.” 

“And where’d you get my email?” he shrugs. 

“You can blame your firm for that one — firm’s website lists you,” and he begins to walk past you before pausing to look back, “it was nice to see you...counselor.” 

How was it that he walked into your life as easily as you had left his? How was it that you wanted to hate him, but it was so easy to like him? How was it that everything was so easy — when it was him? 

“It was nice to see you too,” and you spared one last glance at his retreating back, as the guard buzzed you in. 

And that wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him. 

Sonny was beginning to doubt any of this would ever get easier. Checking his watch, it was well past 3:00 PM and he hadn’t even eaten yet — typical. He spares a glance at the whiteboard —  littered with schedules, case numbers, and statuses of cases. 

But there was still so much to do. 

He checks his phone — you had texted him, the messages bunched together, but his eyes fall back to the files stacked on the conference table. He begins placing them in a case box. It would have to wait.

“Carisi?” and he pauses at a voice — a voice he hadn’t heard in quite a while. He’s grizzled — different from the clean cut A.D.A. he once was, but he’s also lighter — again, different from the broken man who left his city with his reputation in shambles. 

His words, not Sonny’s.

But now Sonny knows, knows that he wasn’t only broken because of the case, of having to leave his city, but because of you — the you that Barba had been with for years, the you whose heart he broke, the you who said no when he proposed. 

And now you were dating Sonny. 

Him, not Barba.

He stands in his doorway, “How’s the eighth floor treating you?” 

But this was the same man that was his mentor, his friend — so he smiles. 

“No differently than any other junior A.D.A.,” and Rafael gives a knowing smile, as Sonny continues to put away the files. 

“They want you to cover their ass all the time? Never lose a case?” he knew it well — because he had lived it. 

“Pretty much,” Barba crosses his arms, as Sonny grabs the box and brushes past him, “it’s good to see you, Barba. If you came to taunt me, I got all day.” 

And it was good to see him — why wouldn’t it be? He would be lying if he didn’t wish before that Rafael was his boss instead — it would have been easier if nothing else. But not now. 

“Huh, they gave you an office,” Barba remarks, glancing around his shoebox of an office, peering out his window to look at the paralegals at their desks, “nice view.” 

Sonny places the box down, snorting, “I had to move the xerox machine and four filing cabinets just to get the desk in,” and then move them back. It wasn’t much — but it took him this long to get it — glorified closet or not, it was his. 

“So you caught the Mickey Davis case?” He’s standing by the window, and Sonny sighs — the case had been all over the news, the media were having a field day, and so were his bosses upstairs. These were different times — and this was a dangerous case — vigilantism wasn’t something to be taken lightly. But it wasn’t something that was simple — not in this case. 

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny sighs, leaning against his desk, “horror story.” 

“What are you charging?”

Sonny almost scoffs, “The guy brought a gun to court, he followed the vic to transport, and shot him at point-blank range. What do you think?” 

“I think the guy's got a Purple Heart, titanium leg, and PTS,” Sonny blinks — what was this?

“That doesn’t change what he did,” Sonny says slowly — Barba knew that — killing is still killing, no matter how justified it may seem. 

He said it himself best — otherwise we might as well let the blood flow in the streets. 

“He was betrayed by the V.A. and A.C.S., even the eighth floor has to know this is a dog,” Barba says, stepping forward, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips. 

“Maybe,” Sonny admits, “but they still want him to do time.” 

“That has to be negotiable,” and that’s when it clicks. 

Sonny pauses, his mouth parted, as Barba meets his gaze, “Hold on,” he says slowly, “before we continue—” 

“Mm-hmm,” 

“Are you representing Mickey Davis?” And it’s Barba’s turn to pause, and he’s searching Sonny’s gaze — and he doesn’t know for what. 

“I am,” 

Sonny scoffs — that would have been nice to know from the start, “Okay,” Sonny gets to his feet, shutting his door and rounding the table to sit behind his desk — time to get down to business, “What kind of deal are you looking for?” 

“No way you want to put this guy on trial,” 

“Three and half years? No, but thank you,” Barba sits across from him, and Sonny knows he’s playing hard ball — he always played hard ball, but this time, they weren’t on the same team. 

“Barba, we both know this wasn’t heat of the moment,” 

“Maybe to you, not to Mr. Davis,” 

Sonny raises an eyebrow, there was defending your client and then there was plain hubris,“There's security cam video. There's multiple eyewitnesses. Mickey broke the law—” 

“A jury might see that as defending his daughter when no one else did,” Sonny narrows his eyes — jury nullification — did he get that strategy from Calhoun or Buchanan? 

“Get the jury to ignore the law?” Sonny knew he wouldn’t make easy on him  “That's a slippery slope, Rafael.” 

He smiles, he’s almost proud, “You really have become a lawyer,” 

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “What does that mean?” 

“Mickey Davis is a human being. So are the jurors,” Rafael rises to his feet, as Sonny calls after him. 

“You going for insanity?” He half-expects him not to answer — that would be the smart thing to do — but Rafael’s pride always trumped any strategy. 

“I'm going for straight-up not guilty,” Rafael opens the door, turning, “and my co-counsel may be in touch as well.” 

“Co-counsel?” Sonny leans back in his seat — he didn’t know Barba needed a second chair, “who’s that?” 

And your name leaves his lips, “Excuse me?” 

“Looks like you’ll be facing both of your mentors, Carisi,” and he knew that Rafael hadn’t seen the picture of you on his desk — “I’ll make sure to relay the offer as well. See you at arraignment.” 

Sonny stares at the closed door, before his phone vibrates again, and he glances to see another text message from you: Hey, checking in on you. Can I drop by? 

And Sonny knows, he knows you would never cheat. He knew this doesn’t change the year you had spent together, he knew it doesn’t change that you loved him, he knew it didn’t change anything, but — another text comes through: I miss you — it was complicated. 

Not right now. Busy. 

And he sighs, but it also didn’t change how he felt about you. 

I miss you too. 

The lights in the D.A.’s office had long ago dimmed — the barely lit fluorescents flickering as you passed the empty line of desks before finally reaching it. You knock at his office door, leaning against the doorframe, watching him work, his brow furrowed in thought, pen flicking as he scribbled notes. 

“You forget about me?” Sonny barely looks up from his work, tight lipped, and your smile begins to slide off your lips, “Sonny?” 

“Sorry, got caught up in work,” he leans back in his chair, just as you step forward, “what time is it?” 

“Way past dinner,” you round his desk, leaning against it as you tilt your head, “you okay?” 

You reach for him, but he moves away, crossing his arms, “Barba dropped by,” and his eyes fall on you — and you wonder if this was what it felt like to be interrogated — the pages of the book snapped shut, his cards resting against the table, and his face blank, “He wanted to discuss the Davis case—” 

Your heart drops, “Sonny—” 

“—and apparently you’re his co-counsel?” he shakes his head, sighing, his eyes falling to his desk, “When were you going to tell me that you met with Barba?”

You frown, “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you before I went to meet him — but I couldn’t reach you. You know my partners wanted to score some points—” 

“Because of the Thompson case, I know—” but his brow is still furrowed, “but how did you end up calling point on the case?” 

“I had to meet with Davis to discuss the details of the case,” you explain how your partners were too busy to go down and handle it nor did they trust any of the associates to do it, “we need this case — it’s a high profile case involving a vet? We had to jump on it, but when I got to Rikers, it turned out someone else got the jump on it first.” 

He scoffs, “Barba,” 

“He had already met with Davis, he offered to work in partnership with my firm, granted I handle the case and he gets to be in the courtroom,” and Sonny raises his eyebrows. 

“He asked for you specifically to work the case with him?” 

“Because he knows how I work,” your hand reaches for him slowly, “nothing more than that. Sonny, please don’t be mad — it was a coincidence.” 

“I’m not mad,” he sighs, eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, “Would have been nice to know you two decided to work the case together,” 

“I was going to tell you — I was just about to—” 

“I know,” and he’s pulling you into his lap, “Just don’t let me find out you’re working with your ex from your ex,” 

“I won’t,” you whisper, pressing your lips to him softly, “I promise. I didn’t mean for this—” 

“I know,” he kisses you again, his arms wrapping around your middle, “what about us?” 

Your lips purse, “What about us?” 

“Our relationship — will we have to disclose?” it hadn’t been a problem since the cases you handled fell out of Sonny’s jurisdiction most times and when it didn’t, you delegated the work to someone else, “it seems like professional responsibility 101,” 

“Well, I already told Mr. Davis, I got his written consent in writing when I met with him, just in case I end up handling the case,” you bite your lip, “as for the judge, it shouldn’t be a problem as long as we have the consent of my client.” 

Your hand runs over his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, “Are you going to work the case?” 

“I have to talk to my firm, see what everyone wants to do,” your fingers run over his face, “but if they do want me to handle the case, are you okay with that?” 

“You know I can’t make that call for you,” his hand rests on the small of your back, “it’s yours to make, sweetheart.” 

“But I don’t want to make it without knowing you’re okay with me working with him—” you lean down to press a kiss to his temple, “are you okay with it?” 

“I am,” he says softly, “are you?” 

“The firm needs the case — and this could be my shot at making partner,” his lips press butterfly kisses to your neck, and you sigh, “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Sleep on it?” he murmurs against his skin, “always how the best decisions are made.” 

“Says who?” 

“Me,” he replies. 

And you chuckle, noses brushing, as you lean closer, “As long it’s from a reliable source,” and your lips meet again, he pulls away, but you give chase, until you’re pressing him into the seat, fingers sliding along his shoulders, your hand finding the back of his neck, swallowing his moan with ease. 

“Doll,” his lips are kiss ruined, eyes fluttering, and you trail kisses along his jaw, “you’ll be the end of me,” 

And the double meaning isn’t lost on you —  “I would be happy to end with you,” 

He smiles, and it’s enough. For now. You rest your forehead against his for a moment in the relative silence, only broken by the hum of the fluorescents and the quiet sound of your breathing. 

Until his stomach growls. 

And you blink, a grin breaking across your lips, “Hungry?”

“It depends,” and you slide off his lap, offering your hand to him, and he cocks his head, “did you cook?” 

You huff at him, “You’ll be glad to know I ordered takeout right before I got here,” and he gets to his feet, taking your hand, “but just for that, I’m cooking for the next week.” 

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he wraps his arm around you, grabbing his bag, before flicking off the light. 

And after you got back to the apartment, eating dinner, and slipping into bed, you lied awake, his quiet snores filling your ears, and you turned to look at him — barely illuminated in the moonlight that peeked through the parted shutters. His eyes shut, his breathing steady, his freshly washed hair falling against his forehead. 

You turn away, reaching for your phone — finding the email from Rafael, disclosing the details of the case — a question ending the email: Are you in? 

And you glance back at Sonny — only you didn’t know the answer. 

He was okay with you taking the case, right? You scoot a little closer, nestling yourself beside him a moment, he said he was okay with it. 

You shut your eyes. He was okay, and you would be okay. 

Right?

“Wow, this is a nice upgrade from your office at the D.A.’s,” Rafael remarks at your office door, taking a moment to examine the room.

You barely look up from your work — a dozen cases, associates’ work to check, and several arraignments to do, “That’s because someone took the only nice office, and stuck me in a closet off of yours,” 

“Bureaucracy at work,” he replies, shutting your door and taking stock, “how’s defense work treating you?” 

“The same way it has been I left the D.A.’s office,” you spare a small smile, “wonderfully.” 

“Found your calling?” you shrug. 

“You could say that,” you sigh, placing your pen down, “what about you?” 

“What about me?” he raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. Always had to work for it when it came to Rafael Barba. 

“What have you been up to?” 

“Looking something I lost a few years ago,” and you furrow your brow, and he smiles, “don’t flatter yourself, counselor — I meant a calling,” 

Your cheeks burn, “You came to talk arraignment? Thought you could handle that yourself, Mr. Innocence Project,” 

“I wanted to talk deal,” Rafael crossed his arms, “there was one thing I didn’t disclose to you in that email and that’s my meeting with Carisi,” and you blink, only you knew about that already, “I met with him yesterday — he offered man 2.” 

Sonny didn’t mention that, but then again it was better that he didn’t, “But you don’t want to take it?” 

“I don’t,” he slides into a chair, pulling a legal pad out, leg folded over his knee, “I think we can do better — I think we can get not guilty.” 

You raise your brow, “Do you want to—” 

“I want to go for jury nullification,” he crosses his arms, shrugging, “we have a strong case for it.”

“And we have a man who literally shot another point blank on security footage, and who brought a gun with him to court,” you shake your head, “we have to at least consider it,” 

“What’s there to consider? Mr. Davis doesn’t want to take the deal,” and you pause, and Rafael nearly wavers, adding, “I may have discussed it with him—” 

“Before asking me about it?” 

“You only told me this morning you were on board,” Rafael holds up his hands, “I had a duty to relay it to him,” 

“And what did he say?” 

“He said he didn’t want to deal — he wanted his day in court,” he tilts his head. 

“Did he? Or did you?” 

“What are you implying?” 

“Did he come to this conclusion on his own or did you help him along?” and he pauses — all the answer you needed, “Rafael, this is our client, we have to be realistic—” 

“He’s a vet with—” 

“Awards and a prosthetic leg I know, but he also could go to jail for murder — and never see his daughter again,” and he opens his mouth to speak, “so I’m asking you, are you taking this to trial for him or for you?” 

His lips are a thin line, “First of all, this is for him — I wouldn’t take this trial if I didn’t think there wasn’t a good chance of winning and if I knew this wasn’t what he wanted,” and he sits up, “and what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Your firm probably wants this to go to trial — need the publicity of a trial for this to work — for you to get the break you need, isn’t it?” Rafael argues the same way he does in court — his words pointed and true, aimed for the chinks in someone’s armor, “sounds like we’re on the same page.” 

You glare at him, “Don’t question my motives,” 

“Then don’t question mine,” the words are terse, a period at the end of a paragraph that is still left hanging, until he chooses to start a new one, “Is this about the case? Or is this about us?” 

You scoff, “So much for keeping it professional,” 

Your name leaves his mouth soft, but firm, and your eyes meet his, “Is it going to be like this?” he asks, crossing his arms, “throughout the entire trial?” 

“Like what?” 

And he sighs, running a hand over his bristled chin, “I know I’ve made mistakes, I know, you know, but I can’t change what I’ve done,” his voice grows soft, “and I’m sorry, I wish I could — I wish I didn’t hurt you, but I did, and I take responsibility for that,” your gaze falls and he continues, “but if this is too hard, if you don’t want to do this, if you’re still angry, like you have every right to be—” 

“I do,” the words leave your lips, “I do want to work with this case with you — it’s just—” you break off. You had meticulously tucked away any feelings for Rafael Barba away along with any reminder of him, including the man himself. It was easy, it was clearcut, but this wasn’t easy — because now your feelings were leaking, slipping from your careful control, and where there was a leak, there was a flood. And you were bound to get hurt. 

“It’s hard,” he swallows, and you blink. 

“It’s hard for you?” the words leave your lips harshly, and he flinches, “I didn’t mean—” 

“No,” he gives a rueful smile, “I deserved that, after everything I put you through,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together, “I did love you, I did, I was just afraid.” 

“What were you so afraid of?” 

And he shakes his head, “I saw so many relationships fall apart around me — my own, my parents, our cases—” he breaks off, “I didn’t want us to hate each other, I didn’t want to regret you,” a bitter chuckle leaves his lips, “but you ended up regretting me.” 

You frown, “I don’t regret you,” and his brow furrows, “You’re surprised by that?” 

“If I were you...I’d regret me,” and you sigh, hands wringing under your desk. 

“Rafael, I loved you, even though it hurt, I can’t regret that. Do I wish things turned out differently? Maybe, but,” your voice softens, glancing at the picture of Sonny on your desk, and you gesture around you, shrugging, “it also got me to where I am.” 

And you know you should tell him — you should tell him that you’ve moved on, you should tell him that you’re with Sonny, but the words are lodged in the back of your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to say them before he’s already speaking. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, licking his lips, before smiling, “I’m glad, for that much at least,” and he sits back again, “So—” 

“So?” 

“Are we taking this to trial?” and you bite your lip — jury nullification was a risky move — for both the policy ramifications and the risk involved — but, that wasn’t your responsibility anymore, your duty and your only duty is to your client. 

“Are you sure this is what Mr. Davis wants?” and Rafael nods. 

“I would give you his exact words, but there are some obscenities,” and you snort, shaking your head. 

“And you’re sure about putting him on the stand?” 

“Not at all,” he scoffs, “he’s questionable at best, and a loose cannon at worst.” 

You rub your temples, “That’s going to play well during cross,” 

“We’ll prep him well — let’s just get through arraignment,” he sighs, flipping to a fresh page, “Carisi is going to ask for remand, how should we play it?” 

“We ask for R.O.R. — he’s a father of a young girl who was just raped and impregnated, he’s a decorated veteran who needs physical therapy, and he’s not a flight risk.” 

Rafael chuckles, “And when we don’t get it?” 

“Honestly, I’ll take anything over remand,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “we should schedule a psych eval, start on gathering information on his tours, interview character witnesses and especially those who can testify to what he saw—” your words fall short when you see Rafael is smiling, “what?” 

“Nothing,” he waves you off, pressing the tip of his pen to his lips, “Go on.” 

And you blink, before going on — not noticing the way his smile returned when your eyes fell away. 

Running late from the office — be there soon. Your text comes in just as Sonny’s food arrives at the table, and he’s about to order for you when a voice draws his attention away. 

“Mr. Carisi,” Sonny’s head snaps up his phone to find Jack McCoy smiling at him, “am I interrupting?” 

His mouth is dry, and he shakes his head, “No, not at all,” he gestures for him to join him, and Jack does, not bothering to look at a menu, “so I suppose this isn’t a social call?” 

“I wanted to ask your progress on the Davis case,” he crosses his arms. 

And he blinks, wondering why he hadn’t bothered to ask whether you had told his boss if a) you two were dating, and b) if he knew you were on this case, “Discovery is ongoing — I’ve handed my materials over per the new discovery rules within 15 days, and now I’m waiting on the defense to turn over their evidence.” 

Jack shakes his head, “New York law catching up with the modern days — a damn fine day for defense attorneys — before we could sandbag the day before, not that I ever did that,” he gives a wry smile, before his eyes fall to Sonny’s phone, vibrating, “you need to get that?” 

“No, sir,” Sonny waves it off, “What’s your interest in the Davis case?” 

“Well, I am your boss, I’m interested in all your cases,” he replies, before smiling, “I did hear who the defense attorneys for the case are.”

And Sonny picks at his food, “Oh?” 

“I am just curious how prepared you are to tackle a case against both of your old mentors,” Jack says, as Sonny chooses then to sip at his drink, “and your partner for that matter.” 

He chokes, “Who—” 

“It was obvious — at least to me,” Jack shrugs, “don’t pretend you haven’t heard the rumors about me,” he adds, furrowing his brow, “one piece of advice, son—” 

“We are planning on disclosing to the judge—” 

“Not that,” he says sharply, “you’ve been good together — the two of you. But it’s easy to let a case get between you,” 

“Is this about Diana Hawthorne?” 

And Jack raises an eyebrow, “Did—” 

“Rumor mill isn’t just about me, sir,” he shrugs, “I heard it a while ago, that case was tough,” 

“Made tougher by our relationship,” he sighs, “I think sometimes if we hadn’t been together, maybe things—” he cuts off, “my point is, you two have done a good job of keeping professional and personal from mixing so far, but when you both start bringing this case home—” 

“We won’t,” Sonny says, and Jack raises an eyebrow, “we won’t.” 

And Jack relaxes, before shoving his hands in his pockets, “How long have you two been—”  

“Over a year now,” Jack smiles softly. 

“Are you both happy?” 

And is he happy? When he’s with you, he feels at peace for once — the world and its horrors slipping away, until he feels nothing but you in his arms. You challenge him to grow — even when he doesn’t want to. And he would do anything for you — he would give you the life you wanted, give the family you want, give you his best — if only he could give you the same peace you give him. 

“We are,” Sonny smiles softly, hand slipping into his pocket, thumbing the ring box in his pocket, “in fact—” 

“Hey,” you arrive, glancing between him and Jack, furrowing your brow — and he knows you hadn’t told Jack, “Jack, Sonny — what a—” 

“Cat’s out of the bag, sweetheart,” Sonny slips his arm around your waist, and you tilt your head, before realization washes over you, relaxing into his touch, “care to join us?” 

“You’ll be joining him,” Jack slips from the booth, “like I said, this wasn’t a social call,” he smiles between the two of you, “we should set up a lunch.” 

“Will do,” you nod, “I’ll call you." 

With a nod, he leaves, and you slip into the booth beside him, "Hi," you kiss him, "menu?" 

"I would have ordered for you, but I got interrupted,” and you bump his shoulder. 

You snort, “I wouldn’t have ordered if my boss was grilling me about my relationship,” 

“You didn’t tell him?

“Should I have?” he’s frowning, and you’re shaking your head, “it’s not that I didn’t want to,” you bite your lip, “sorry, I’m not explaining this well,” you sigh, placing the menu down, “it’s just Jack had me and Rafael figured out from the second we…” 

Sonny is shaking his head, sipping at his drink, “Yeah, well looks like not much has changed,” 

“Well, he didn’t exactly approve of me and Rafael, which is why I was worried what he’d say to you,” you purse your lips, shifting in your seat, “did he say anything?” 

Sonny pauses, “No I don’t think so,” and Sonny’s biting back a smile, remembering Jack’s words — he approved. 

And now you’re bumping his shoulder, “Why so smug, counselor?” 

“No reason,” and you’re stealing one of his fries, “I’m just glad I’m not on his bad side.” 

“No one would want to be,” you say as the waiter comes order, taking your order, as well as the menu from your hand. 

“Did you tell him?” 

“Jack? I just told—”  

“No, I mean,” he licks his lips, “did you tell Rafael that we were dating?” 

And he was hoping he wouldn’t see your brow knit together like that, see your fingers wringing in your lap, “I didn’t,” 

His mouth is dry, and he’s turning his body to face you, “Why?” 

“I didn’t know how to bring it up — to just say, ‘by the way, I’m dating Sonny, just thought you should know,’” and doubt begins to creep in, “we were trying to keep things professional—” 

“I understand,” and your lips are twisting and he knows you don’t believe him — hell, he doesn’t believe him. 

“Do you want me to tell him?” and he doesn’t know what to say — he wants him to know, but why does he want him to know? You weren’t his property — he didn’t own you, he knew you wouldn’t do anything. He trusted you. 

Didn’t he? 

“I’ll tell him, Sonny,” and Sonny’s gaze snaps to you, “he’s picking up files from me at the office, and I’ll let him know—” Sonny opens his mouth, but you cut him off with his lips, “we have to disclose to the judge on Monday anyway before jury selection, it’s necessary.” 

“I don’t want to make you—” 

“I know,” you silence him with another kiss, soft, comforting, and his guilt settles, instead peace seeps in, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” his heart warms, as the waitress brings over your meal, and Sonny’s check, and he checks his watch, “and I gotta go. See you tonight?” and you shake your head. 

“I got to work late tonight and I have arraignments early in the morning — but I get off early tomorrow and I’ll be waiting to make it up to you,” you kiss him again, before pressing chaste kisses along his jaw. 

“Looking forward to that,” and he wants to ask — ask why you won’t consider moving in, why you brush it off, and the question burns on his lips, until the words are seared into his tongue — but he doesn’t, “call me?” 

“I will,” and he kisses you one last time, before slipping from the booth.

And he wonders, fingers finding the velvet box in his pocket — if you won’t move in with him, will you even marry him?

Can you do me a favor? Rafael’s text comes in as soon as you’re leaving from court, and you’re sighing at your phone screen. 

And another: Please? 

He really must be desperate. What’s up? 

Can you drop the files off somewhere for me? I can’t make it to your office today — something came up. 

Is something wrong? 

Only with my mother’s cable service — they were supposed to be by today to disconnect the service. 

You snort, Then sue them. 

Civil is not my area of expertise, and then he adds, but I may be willing to learn if they take any longer. Can you please drop the files off? 

You raise an eyebrow — ‘please’ — he really must be desperate. 

You bite your lip — you wanted to get home early, but you also needed to tell Rafael about you and Sonny. You glance at the time, sighing, before replying to him. 

I’ll drop by with the files — text me the address now. 

A tax ride later — you had arrived at a place you thought you would never be again. You couldn’t but stare at the door of Lucia’s place. You had been here five years ago — first and last time you had met his mother. And it was the first time you had realized you had to break up with Rafael. 

It was over the moment you left here — even though neither of you wanted to admit it. His kisses could no longer patch your heart because it was no longer cracked — it was broken. 

But it didn’t make it any easier to leave him. 

You shake yourself from your thoughts, knocking on the door — but you had. 

And so did he. 

You hear his voice from within the apartment — a muffled coming — and some stumbling, until finally you hear the telltale sounds of the chain, bolt, and locks. 

He opens the door, wiping his face with a towel — and he’s clean shaven. And you blink — he smiles at you, the very same smile he always gave you, “You shaved,” 

“And you’re observant,” and he finds you staring at him, “Does it look bad?” 

“No, no,” he steps aside, letting you inside the apartment, before shutting the door and locking it, “you look good.” 

And his lips are curving in a grin now, “I look good?” 

Your cheeks burn — always a dog with a bone, “Don’t push your luck, Barba,” 

“Ouch,” he snorts, “you used to be much more accommodating to my self-esteem.” 

“That was when I worked with you,” you cross your arms, taking a survey of the apartment — more boxes than apartment at this point, you could barely take a step before tripping, “men work better with their ego stroked,” You find your way to the kitchen table — his makeshift office from the looks of it — complete with two cups of coffee, “Old habits die hard, huh?” 

“They often do,” he sips at the coffee, holding it by the rim with the tips of his fingers, “everyone is allowed to have their vices.” 

“And here is your other one—” you pull the files from your bag, “I brought everything you asked for — you should be well prepped for jury selection.” 

He nods, flipping through the materials, “You’ll be there right?” 

“Of course,” you blink, “any reason you ask?” 

“I may run a little late on Monday, but it shouldn’t be an issue—” Rafael waves it off, before setting it down, “can I make you a cup of coffee to thank you?” 

You offer a small smile, “No, I probably should get home, but I’ll see you on Monday,” and you swallow your nerves, squeezing the handle of your bag, “but there is something I wanted to tell you—” 

And that’s when you hear the lock clicking, “Rafi, how many times have I told you to just leave the door unlocked?” heels clicking against the hardwood, arms full of bags. Rafael slips from his chair, rounding the kitchen table. 

“And how many times have I told you that’s not safe?” he replies, taking the bags from her arms, and then she spots you, blinking, “Mami, you remember—” 

“Oh!” she walks over, pulling you into a tight hug, “it’s so wonderful to see you again, dear,” 

“Lucia, it’s great to see you too,” you smile, awkwardness smoothed over the warmth of her smile, as her hands found yours, squeezing, “it’s been far too long.” 

“I’ll say,” she shoots a glare at her son, before her eyes find yours and soften again, “I had warned him not to let you get away, and did he listen?” 

Rafael is rubbing his temple, “Mami, please—” 

“Oh,” she looks between the two of you, raising a brow, “if you’re here does that mean—” 

“No,” he clears his throat, the tips of his ears red now, “I told you we’re on this case together. I needed some files dropped off—” 

“You must join us for lunch,” and both you and Rafael open your mouths, “I insist, please. This will be the last time for a while I will be up north for a bit. Let me impose.” 

And your eyes flicker between Rafael and his mother, before Rafael speaks, “We can’t impose on any plans—” 

“I’ll stay,” and his eyes fall on you, as your phone feels heavier in your pocket with guilt — knowing you would be late, “it’s fine, how can I say no?” 

Lucia squeezes your hand. And how could you say no to this? 

After lunch, you’re helping Lucia clean up, when Rafael is in the bathroom, washing the dishes while she dried,  “Are you looking forward to moving down to Florida?” 

“I am, even though I’ll miss my work and my students,” she sighs, her shoulders much lighter, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living the same — I want to have time for myself, I want to experience new things, not like my mother,” her voice grows smaller, the plates clinking in the dish rack, “I don’t know how much Rafael told you about her—” 

“I knew that she had passed, while Rafael and I were together,” he had been a mess — he wasn’t sleeping, he was barely eating, you had to ply him to get him away from the office —- when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. He had blamed himself for his grandmother’s death for so long — and even now you wondered if he had ever stopped, “she was a wonderful woman.” 

“I wish you could have met her,” she sniffs, “she would have loved you,” and you nod, silent, and you feel her eyeing you, “what happened with you and Rafi anyway?” 

“It just didn’t work out,” you knew she wasn’t going to let it go that easily. 

“You two loved each other,” Lucia replies, “that just doesn’t go away.” 

And you did — you had loved him, you would have married him, you would have started a family with him — but he didn’t want that. And you did. 

“It doesn’t,” you wanted to brush it off, you wanted to tell her you were with someone else, you wanted to say something to make her stop pushing, but you couldn’t, “I did love your son, Lucia. I really did, but it wasn’t the right time for us.” 

“You made him happy—happier than I’ve ever seen him, even now,” and you meet her gaze, “you can’t tell me you don’t feel something for him now? Can you?” 

And you waver, no words coming to mind, “Lucia, I—” 

But then the bathroom door is creaking open, and you jolt, continuing to wash dishes, tongue tied and cheeks burning in shame — why didn’t you mention Sonny? Why didn’t you just tell her you loved someone else? But another question nagged at you, as the object of the question appeared before you — and you turned at the sound of your name to find him smiling at you. 

Why couldn’t you say that you didn’t have feelings for Rafael? 

“Ma, we should probably let your hostage go now,” he tilts his head, hands in his pockets, “I’m sorry if we stepped on your plans—” 

You clear your throat, “No, no, it’s fine—” And you move to grab your coat and bag, “but I really should get going.” 

Lucia holds out her arms, wrapping you in a hug, “It was wonderful to see you dear,” 

“You too,” you smiled, despite the interrogation that rivaled your son’s, “if I don’t see you again, please have a safe trip to Florida,” 

“Thank you, and good luck on your case,” she presses a kiss to your cheek, as Rafael stands by, arms crossed. 

“I’ll walk you out,” he nods at his mom, before slipping out of the apartment with you, as the door clicks behind you, and he walks you to the elevator, “I’m sorry my mom shanghaied you—” 

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, as you press the call button, “I enjoy being shanghaied when it involves your mom’s cooking,” 

“But still, I don’t want you to think that was my intention—” 

“Rafael?” you cut him off, “it’s fine.” 

And the elevator dings, the doors sliding open, “Are you sure?” 

You smile at him, sighing, stepping in, “If it’s not, I’ll just sue you,” and he scoffs, “I’ll see you Monday, Raf.” 

The nickname slips out before you can help it, and the doors close shut, as you step back, back of your head leaning against the wall. 

What the fuck were you doing? 

~~~

Rafael slips back inside, shutting the door behind him, “So what was that stunt you pulled to get—” 

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Lucia replies, wiping her hands off, and crossing her arms. His gaze softens, “you still have a chance, mijo.” 

“Mami—”

She finds her way over to her son, “Do you miss—” 

He sighs, “You know I do,” but he shakes his head, turning away from her, “but it’s over, I can’t cross that line again—” 

“Can’t or won’t?” she places her hands on her hips, “you heard us — couldn’t deny having feelings for you still, and you — I’ve seen you since you’ve been working the case, you’re happier.” 

And he doesn’t want to admit it — it hurt to see you again, after you had rejected him, but more because of the way he had treated you. You were a reminder of yet another way he had failed, but also a reminder that he wanted to be so much better. And he did, and he was. 

He wasn’t the same person — he had grown, and so had you. 

And maybe, for once the timing was right — your mouth wrapped around his nickname, the way it used to be, still ringing in his ears. 

He turns to face his mother, “Now I’ll ask one more time, did you hear our conversation?” 

And he smiles, “I heard everything.” 

And he knew what he had to do. 

“Where is your co-counsel?” Judge Harper asks sharply, and you stand twisting your fingers, “Counselor—” 

“I apologize, Your Honor,” you are texting Rafael for the sixth time, asking him where he is, “Mr. Barba is not responding to my attempts to get into contact with him. He had told me he may be a little late—” not twenty minutes late, but— “if you could give us a few more minutes—” 

“The People have no objection,” Sonny adds, sparing you a sympathetic look. 

“Even so, this is wasting the jurors’ time,” Judge Harper sighs, “Can you proceed without him?” 

Fuck — you still needed to disclose to Judge Harper.

Proceeding without disclosure would be a violation of your duties, and your eyes slide to Sonny who purses his lips, not to mention Sonny’s. Well no time like the present, “Yes, but I would like to enter chambers before then,” 

Judge Harper blinks, but agrees, rising to enter her chambers, and just as you round the defense table, Rafael arrives through the double doors, harried and rushing, “I apologize, Your Honor, I—” 

And he's glancing at all of you on your feet, halfway across the courtroom floor, and Judge Harper speaks first, "You're just in time to join us in chambers, counselor,” 

Rafael’s eyes flicker between you and Sonny, a questioning brow raised, but he follows, and your heart sinks. 

Fuck. 

He needed to know — you just didn’t want him to find out this way. You had opportunities — you had your chance, and you had lost it. 

Just like he lost his — with you. 

The doors close behind you, as Judge Harper settles behind her desk for a moment, “Now, what is this about?” 

The uncomfortable feeling of everyone’s gaze settles over you, and Rafael’s gaze feels sharper than the others. 

But why did it feel sharper? 

It had been years since you had been together, years since you had ever— and why would he care if you were dating Carisi? Why did it feel like his gaze was carving into your mind and he could see the truth written across your forehead? But you still didn’t know — you didn’t know why you cared. 

Why did you care? 

Your throat was tight, and you still couldn’t think of an answer to your own question. 

“I wanted to disclose something — something that’s already been disclosed to my client with his consent in writing from the very start,” you swallow the lump in your throat, unable to meet Rafael’s eyes, 

“We wanted to disclose,” Sonny cuts in, “We were waiting for the trial to start, since we didn’t find any need to disclose to the arraignment judge, since Mr. Barba and I handled that.” 

“Disclose what?” And you still can’t bring yourself to look at Rafael. 

You hand her the paperwork, glancing at Sonny, “I’m currently in a relationship with A.D.A. Carisi.”

[anna-justice]

Partners - Upstead

Summary: My take on 8x03 (be ready for some deep analysis and feelings!!)

Warnings: fluff, angst, jay halstead having 27 anxiety attacks

Requested: Yes! #25, “I’m not leaving.”

…

“You catch that?” Jay asked his partner as they exited the interrogation room. 

Hailey gave a quick nod, “Yeah, he knows something. He’s good at pretending he’s not scared though.”

They rounded the corner, picking up their pace to head back to the bullpen, “Hey, Upton.” Both of them turned to face the resident desk sergeant. Hailey immediately noticed the package in her hand, she grimaced internally. “Not just calling me anymore. Now the feds are sending me packages for you.”

Hailey took the package off her hands, keeping her face as neutral as possible. She could feel Jay’s gaze on the back of her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re gonna have to rein this in at some point, not that I don’t like being your mail lady.” Trudy said dryly.

“I know.” Hailey said, wanting out of this situation as fast as possible. “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.” With that she left from the same way she came from.

Hailey looked down at the package, smiling softly. This wasn’t the first package she had gotten and of course she was flattered, but she wasn’t sure the bureau was the best place for her. “The feds?” Jay asked, pulling her out of trance. Hailey grimaced again, this is not how she wanted to tell him. 

A few minutes later, Hailey sat at her desk. All too aware of Jay leaning over her, his hands braced on her desk. (It didn’t matter that his own was less than three feet away, it never had.) He was attentively watching their boss, but she was too focused on him to even hear what he was saying. She distracted herself further by going back to typing on her keyboard, but Jay had other plans. “What did the feds want?”

Hailey took a deep breath, sitting back in her chair. She stared forward for a second. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She remembered why she got the permanent spot in intelligence in the first place. She remembered how stand-offish and lost Jay was at the beginning. She remembered all the times he asked Voight if he had heard from Lindsay, how his face fell when he finally realized she was never coming back. Even if Erin was a ghost now, she wasn’t always. “It’s a job offer.” She grinned at him. Even if it was a hard no, the feds still were fighting for her.

Jay didn’t miss a beat, “Well, that’s good. Where at?” 

Hailey held her breath for a second, “New York.” She said, reluctantly. She looked up at him, hoping to catch whatever feelings he was trying to hide. 

“Cool.” Jay said. They smiled at each other and then Jay high tailed it out of there. He felt like his chest was going to explode. There was this feeling in the pit of his stomach: fear, dread? He had no idea, but it rivaled the way he felt the whole time he was overseas. 

In the span of ten minutes, he felt like he had been transported back three years. As many times as he told himself that Hailey was not Erin, and that he and Hailey were not him and Erin, he couldn’t help but worry. If you look at the facts, it’s clear. Hailey told him she was leaving, she didn’t disappear in the middle of the night with no goodbye. She didn’t ignore his phone calls and clean out their once shared apartment all by herself. Erin did. 

Hailey pulled him out of the dark whole that it caused. She pushed him to go to therapy, she made him talk about his PTSD, she got him help. She was his partner, his best friend. As happy as he was for her, and as sure as he was that she would excel there, he wasn’t ready for that to be over. He wasn’t sure that he could handle it, no, he was sure he couldn’t. He would go with her in a heartbeat. Even though New York City was one of his least favorite places in the world and his entire life was in Chicago, he would drop everything and go with her. She was the biggest part of his life now, what would be left for him here if she was gone?

Hailey watched walk away from her desk, he was only across the room, but he was too far away. How could she ever handle 800 miles?

…

Hailey stood leaned against the wall in the conference room, Jay in front of her, hunched over a chair. She wouldn’t lie, part of her felt stupid about not taking the job. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but nothing would beat the feeling of a foot chase in -6 degree weather in Chicago or an interrogation with Jay. And that moment only reiterated that.

“And as I have said, I’m not asking any questions. I’m just giving him the info.” Hailey stifled a laugh. “We learned that there was a woman inside that house, so clearly, we’re missing something.” 

The lawyer jumped in quickly. “He’s got nothing to say.”

Jay started again, “Look, Truman, you’re gonna get booked on your warrant at the end of the day, so we don’t have to release you in 48. We can keep pressing-”

“All right, this is enough.” The lawyer interrupted.

Hailey locked eyes with the suspect, staring him down in an almost empathetic way while Jay continued to lay out the facts. “You’ve got motive, no alibi, you were in the area. You see how easy I can make it that you and your girl, you go for a little joyride, you’re looking to settle some scores, you entered the house and slaughtered everyone inside?”

“I’d never step foot inside that house.” Truman said, his lawyer pushing him back into his seat. 

Hailey took a step forward, it was her turn. “You would never step foot in that house?” She looked at Jay before locking in on him. “Why’d you say it like that, you would never?” She leaned on the table, getting a little closer to him. Her gaze was intense, but her approach was a little softer than Jay’s just a few seconds before. 

Jay watched Hailey lean across the table, happy to let her take over the questioning. She was so good at her job, and anytime he got to watch her, he savored every moment. She made him a better cop. 

“This little girl,” Hailey said, pulling out photos from the crime scene and laying them out in front of him. “Watched her mother get killed in front of her. Her whole family was murdered in front of her.” She took a breath, he couldn’t bear to look at her. She knew she was close to cracking him. “This tiny kid has to deal with those moments of violence for the rest of her life.” Her tone became more aggressive as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look at me. You said you would never step foot in that house, and I’m guessing that’s because of retribution, because of Benny?”

His lawyer tried to hold him back, but Truman continued. “It’s not because of Benny. I would never step foot in that house because of her.” He pointed to the picture of McKayla, Hailey looked down, confused along with Jay. “She’s the reason why. She’s protected. I go near her, I end up dead.”

Hailey looked back at Jay, somehow the whole situation was more confusing than when they started. But, even so, they had gotten the information they needed. Hailey left the room with a million questions, but she was satisfied. They were so good together. 

…

After a long few days, Jay and Hailey sat at a bar that wasn’t Molly’s at a bar table by the window. They both had their hands on their beers, resting on the table. If either of them reached out any further they would be touching. “All right, let’s do this.” Jay said, chuckling. “Just rip the bandaid off.” Hailey laughed. “What did the FBI offer you?” On the outside he was joking with his partner, on the inside he was praying that she didn’t care enough about it to tell him.

“Hmm, okay.” She said, looking down at the table. She smiled genuinely, “Joint level task force, with the HIG. All interrogations, all high-level targets.” 

Jay trained his eyes on the table, “Sure, sure, sure, sure. That sounds awesome.” Hailey laughed out loud and Jay shrugged, you couldn’t tell by his smile, but he was losing hope. “Is it good pay?”

“It’s great pay.” Hailey shook her head, “Honestly, it makes me a little embarrassed about what we get paid.”

Jay smiled at her, “Well, you’d probably be really good at it.” He couldn’t look at her, because he was being serious. He knew she would be good at it, but she would have to be good at it in New York.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Hailey said, shrugging.

“You liked it out there, right?” Jay asked.

“Uh…” Hailey trailed off as the waitress set down their check. “I don’t know if I like it. I think it was just what I needed at the time.” She explained.

Jay nodded, “Okay, but you don’t need it now?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like he was asking her something else.

“No, why? You think I need it?” Hailey asked immediately and Jay laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I should take it?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like she was asking him something else.

Jay sucked in a breath. “No, uh…” He stared at the table, trying to find the words to say what he knew he wanted to say, they never came. “I’m saying it’s a good job for a good cop.” He was being serious, and honest and genuine. But he wasn’t saying what he needed to say. He smirked at her, just for a moment, but enough for Hailey to catch. He stood up with the check, but Hailey grabbed his attention as he turned back.

Hailey stared at his then empty seat, slightly frustrated. He just didn’t get it, and as much as it scared her, she needed to spell it out for him. Her shoulders met her ears and she talked quickly, “You could tell me you don’t want me to take it.” She shrugged, shaking her head, obviously trying to make the heavy statement a little lighter. “It was an option.”

 Jay opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was at a loss for words. He shook his head, smiling. He wanted to tell her how much he needed her, he wanted to tell her how much he wanted her to stay. But, an opportunity like she had been given didn’t come around everyday, and he refused to be the thing that held her back from what she wanted to do. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.” He looked her directly in the eye and for the first time all night, said exactly what he was thinking. “I’m just practicing self preservation here.” 

Erin. Was all Hailey could think, it was all she could think about all day. She refused to walk away without at least some closure, for both of them. She sucked in a breath. “The agent on the phone said the only reason a good cop doesn’t take a job like this is ‘cause they’re scared.” She finally got the nerve to look at him, because she was, she was so scared. “Implying that I was afraid of change and that I wanted to stay here where it’s safe…” And didn’t she? She didn’t want things to change, she felt safe in Chicago, with Jay. 

“So, he’s a dick.” Jay deadpanned, causing her to laugh. He sighed when finally saw the pained expression leave her face. 

They both laughed for a moment, locking eyes. “I don’t think that’s why I don’t wanna take it.” Hailey let her gaze fall, his green orbs too much for her to handle. She took a breath, “I don’t want to take it because of you.” She confessed. 

Jay stared at her, his brain all together stopped working for a second. All he was aware of was her soft smile and how fast his heart was beating.

Hailey watched his face fall and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or shock, but she knew it was too late to back track. “I’m better, with you as my partner.” Partner, they both had such a love/hate relationship with that word. At this point it felt like a cop-out. “You know, you, 21, Voight. I know I’m better here.” She shrugged, looking down and back up at him. “So, I’m not gonna take it.”

Jay fought the urge to smile, his emotions were all over the place. “You sure?” He asked, and he wasn’t quite sure he was asking her. It could have meant so many things. Was she sure about not taking the job or was she sure about him?

“Yeah.” She said almost immediately. 

The waitress returned with the paid bill, reminding the two that the earth was still turning. And they weren’t the only ones in it. Jay quickly put his card away and Hailey stood up, pulling on her jacket. It felt like so much had changed between them, but really nothing had. 

Jay looked at Hailey, concerned, she looked sad almost and he was worried he had caused it. “He wasn’t really wrong though, was he?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes. “You gain something, you give something up.” He was right, but she didn’t care. She would give it all up if it meant gaining him. 

Jay had only seen Hailey cry two times before then: the night McGrady was killed and the night they fought Booth. Both of those times he wanted to kill the son of a bitch who hurt her so bad, but right now, he was almost sure it was him. “Maybe but, not always.” 

Hailey looked at him and was hit with a wave of something indescribable. She couldn’t pretend anymore, she couldn’t just be his partner. They were so much more than that now. In a span in three seconds it felt like the last three years of her life replayed for her, and she remembered everything. The way he fought to be her partner and actually going to therapy, the way he defended her against Booth, the way she felt when he was shot that night in the parking garage, the way it felt to see him after she was kidnapped, the way it never felt with Adam. The way he tackled her to the ground in that van, completely careless with his own life for her sake, how hard it was to imagine not working beside him. How hard it was not being his partner, how hard it was finding him that day in that room. The way she cried for him in the waiting room, the way she kicked herself everyday for not telling him how she felt. The way he fought for that woman, the same way she wished someone would have fought for her. How much she missed him while she was in New York. She remembered everything. 

She groaned, this was it. “It’s been a long time…” She looked away, she couldn’t take it, wiping a stray tear from under her eye. “Since I saw you as just my partner.” 

It hit Jay like a semi truck, he couldn’t believe what she was saying. He had no idea what to say, so he didn’t. He took a step forward, his heart clenching at the sight of the disheveled girl in front of him. He captured her lips with his, lifted her up off her toes so she could reach. Her arms found her way to his neck, one sliding slowly down his chest. They both thought they were dreaming, they had both wanted this for so long. 

After what seemed like forever, they both finally pulled away. Hailey blushed, Jay’s gaze hot on her face. She shook her head, “No way, I’m not leaving. Definitely not now.” 

Jay laughed, “Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?” 

“Would you be offended if I said yes?” Hailey smirked.

“Not at all…” He sighed out, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, letting his hands get tangled in her blonde ponytail. 

So there they stood, making out in a bar where no one knew them or their history. They weren’t colleagues, they weren’t best friends, they weren’t partners. They were just Hailey and Jay: they were everything.

…

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I think I’ve watched the episode a million times and this just seemed more fun than posting an analysis! Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! <3

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

For the two-part drabble game, how about 6 - In bed at 2am, blissfully drowsy, and 28 - “If I kissed you right now, what would you do?” :)

Hi Friend!

Thank you for the ask!

It turns out drabble isn't in my vocabulary so this went sideways faster than one footed duck (who are surprisingly bad at balancing for birds) and ended up over 2.5k. So enjoy the ficlet? The oneshot? I don't know what acceptable lengths are.

Also this is super duper NSFW so you've all been warned.

They’d won. They’d actually won.

The thought sent a jolt of excitement through Anakin as he made his way to his quarters for the first time in months.

The treaty had been signed and the last of the deployed troops were being recalled. Sure, there was still a lot of mediation to do, the clones right’s bill to get passed through the senate, and probably what would amount to a lifetime of therapy to begin but this was it.

The war was over.

Anakin spent the last three hours trying to outdrink Rex, which had been a mistake because the man had drunk the equivalent of paint thinner for the last five years and Anakin was a lightweight, and the next two sobering up as much as he could when he realized that the war was over.

Tonight, was the night. Or morning. Time had definitely gotten away from Anakin.

He rushed towards the quarters that he shared with Obi-Wan faster, so excited that he’d almost tripped over himself at least four times. He arrived there, putting the code in wrong a few times until his fingers decided to cooperate and the door opened with a hiss. He hurried to Obi-Wan’s room, letting the doors open and stepping in and-.

He wasn’t there.

Anakin blinked and then started to look around as if his master could somehow be hiding in the closet or underneath his desk but the man was nowhere to be found. He sat down on Obi-Wan’s bed, drunk mind still kind of fuzzy as he tried to figure out where his wayward master could have gone at three in the morning. Today was the day. Wasn’t it? Had Obi-Wan changed his mind? With a stab of pain in his gut, he realized his master had probably decided to do some celebrating of his own. A different kind of celebrating than Anakin had been doing. After all, it’d been nearly four months since they’d been temple side and Obi-Wan was only human.

Anakin swallowed around the lump in his throat and laid back on the bed, letting the smell of beard oil and spiced tea fill his lungs as the lingering ghost of Obi-Wan’s force presence wrapped around him.

Tonight, wasn’t the night, he realized, his stomach hurting at the thought. It might already be too late. It was probably too late, and Anakin didn’t even know why he’d thought that it would happen anyway.

He sat up, wiping angry tears off of his face and standing unsteadily.

Fine then. If Obi-Wan wasn’t here, if he wanted to spend the night in someone else’s bed instead of seeing what was right in front of him, then Anakin wouldn’t do the disservice to the both of them by being in his when he returned.

He let the door open and shut behind him, blinking away the stinging in his eyes as he started over to his room, angrily letting the door open and stomping in, deciding that he’d sleep in his bed and then in the morning he’d put in the request to move quarters like he should have after his knighting ceremony. He was a Jedi Master now. He couldn’t continue to share quarters anyway, without it raising questions and he’d just tell Obi-Wan that. Yeah, that’s what he’d do, he’d crawl into his bed and-.

He stopped short, hand still reached out to pull back the covers.

Obi-Wan was curled up into a small ball in the middle of the bed and Anakin didn’t quite remember his master ever being that small. But he supposed it been a while since he’d seen anyone other than The Negotiator.

His auburn hair was fluffy like he’d just taken a shower and let it air dry, freckles dotting across his face from the sun he’d gotten during his month-long campaign in the Outer Rim. He was breathing deeply, His face was shoved into a pillow- Anakin’s pillow, his mind supplied- but he could still see his full lips, mouth slightly open in his sleep. Anakin pulled the blanket down a bit and looked to see his shoulders were bare, the skin lighter than his face from constantly being covered, but no less beautiful. The creamy white skin was still decorated with light dots and a few cuts that he must have gotten while fighting Grievous.

Anakin let his hand brush across Obi-Wan’s shoulder and Obi-Wan shuttered slightly in his sleep, body unconsciously moving towards Anakin.

All of Anakin’s anger had immediately been zapped from him, the tension falling from his body as he looked at the beautiful man in his bed.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered, kicking off his shoes and crawling up onto the bed to shake him gently. Obi-Wan shuffled a bit and then stilled again.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said a little louder, letting his hand slip down across Obi-Wan’s clavicle.

He twitched again, eyes blinking open sleepily as he tried to get his bearings.

“Anakin,” he sighed when he saw him, letting his eyes close and opening his arms, “Mm there you are. Come lay down. It’s late.”

“You’re in my bed,” Anakin told him, trying to keep the smile out of his face.

“So I am,” Obi-Wan told him, voice giving nothing away.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Anakin asked him, shucking off his shirt as he climbed under the sheets with Obi-Wan and wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

“I guess that depends on what you think it means,” Obi-Wan replied.

“You’re not answering my question,” Anakin told him, ducking his head so their foreheads were almost touching.

“You haven’t asked me a question I can answer,” Obi-Wan explained, “I may need a bit more context than that.”

He wanted Anakin to be specific? Anakin could be specific.

“If I kissed you right now, what would you do?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and Anakin relaxed as he was the mirth behind his expression.

“I’m not sure,” he said, as if they were having a conversation about the weather, “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Anakin closed the space between them, taking Obi-Wan into his arm and kissing him with everything that he had, sucking on his bottom lip and licking along the crease of his lips until he opened his mouth to Anakin’s assault.

Anakin shifted, pulling Obi-Wan on top of him, grasping at his hips as he started to grind up into his. Obi-Wan let out a loud moan, pressing his own hips to meet Anakin’s thrusts and Anakin felt dizzy with the heat that was between them, the desperation for something they’d been waiting for, for too long.

They broke apart, both panting heavily and Obi-Wan started to drag his fingertips across Anakin’s chest. Goosebumps started to break out against his skin and Obi-Wan grinned at him.

“The war is officially over today,” he told Anakin.

“It is,” Anakin agreed, still breathing heavily.

“That means I’m officially no longer your superior officer, council member,” Obi-Wan told him, and then he bent down so that his lips brushed against Anakin’s ear, “We’re officially equals.”

“Yeah?” Anakin asked him, brain fuzzy with pleasure and anticipation at his words.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan replied, kissing down his neck and then his chest, hands roaming down the vee of his abs.

“Does this mean you can officially fuck me?” Anakin asked him, gasping as Obi-Wan sat up, hands trailing down this inside of his thighs.

“If that’s what you want,” Obi-Wan told him, blue-green eyes dark as his breath hitched.

“That’s what I want,” Anakin assured him, squirming under the man, “Please?”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” Obi-Wan mused, lifting his hips to start tugging at Anakin’s pants.

“Oh kark,” Anakin groaned as the cold air hit his cock. Obi-Wan started to pull of his own sleep pants and Anakin couldn’t help but watch, mouth going dry at the sight of him.

“If you keep looking at me like that, this isn’t going to last long,” Obi-Wan warned him.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives and if you don’t kriff me right now I’m going to die,” Anakin breathed out, moaning as Obi-Wan sat back down on his hips and leaned down to press another kiss to his mouth, this time an open-mouthed, rough kiss, teeth clashing together almost painfully.

“Then we’d better get moving,” Obi-Wan gave him a smirk, giving him a kiss before climbing off of him to spread his legs. Anakin eagerly let him, the weight of what was happening not settling in until Obi-Wan was between his spread legs, putting one of his feet against the bed and then sliding it back so that Anakin was exposed for him.

Anakin’s breath hitched and Obi-Wan looked up sharply, fingers brushing over his face.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked him softly, “I won’t be mad if you want to wait.”

“I’ve been waiting for years,” Anakin argued, “I’m just a little nervous is all.”

Obi-Wan gave him a soft smile, kissing him as he shifted to dig between the mattress and the frame, pulling out a bottle of lube.

“How did you know that was there?” Anakin asked, face heating in embarrassment.

Obi-Wan hummed noncommittedly as he popped the cap and squeezed some out on his fingers.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin squeaked.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” Obi-Wan told him as he started to circle his entrance, “And these walls aren’t that thick.”

Anakin was mortified, even as he started to pant harder when Obi-Wan slid a finger into him up to the first knuckle.

“You could hear me?” Anakin asked and then feeling as if he would die, “All of it?”

“Do you know how hard it was to stay on the right side of the door when you’re calling my name?” Obi-Wan asked him, voice thick with lust as he started thrusting one finger in and out of Anakin, “While you’re begging for me? When you come you leave the bond wide open and it’s like I’m in your body for a second, watching you shove your fingers in and out of yourself while you cry for me.”

“I didn’t know,” Anakin told him, head thrashing as Obi-Wan slides a second finger inside of him. His blood was boiling, and he felt like he’s being cooked from the inside out when Obi-Wan curled his fingers and hit his prostate straight on.

He won’t ever admit to the sound that comes out of his throat at the sensation.

“You look even more beautiful when it’s my fingers inside of you,” Obi-Wan told him huskily, “You’re flushed from your face to your cock while you squirm on my fingers.”

Anakin let out an impossibly high keen and pushed his hips back down onto Obi-Wan’s fingers harder. He feels like one point of concentrated heat and need and he almost sobbed when Obi-Wan slid a third finger into him.

“I want you; I want you, please,” Anakin mindlessly babbled. His cock was impossibly hard and Obi-Wan’s fingers felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be split open on Obi-Wan’s cock like he’d been dreaming of since he was his padawan. He pushed the mental image towards him, not trusting his mouth to be able to get the words out.

“Oh force,” Obi-Wan said breathlessly, “You’re so desperate for it.”

“Please,” Anakin begged, “Please.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers slid from him, and he whined at the empty feeling but then he opened his eyes at the snick of a bottle opening, watching with rapt attention as Obi-Wan started to spread the slick on his cock and then he was adding more against Anakin’s hole.

“Please,” Anakin sobbed out.

“It’s okay darling,” Obi-Wan shushed him, “I’ve got you. I promise.”

And then the head of his cock was pressed against Anakin’s hole and Anakin was taking a deep breath as Obi-Wan breached him, his body trying to resist the intrusion.

He felt as Obi-Wan pet at his hips, throwing Anakin’s bent leg over his shoulder.

“You’re doing so good dear one,” he told him, “Just relax and let me in.”

“Please, oh,” Anakin moaned, forcing his body to relax as Obi-Wan continued to press in.

It felt like forever before he was fully seated in Anakin, the pressure of being open so wide sending an ache through his spine.

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan told him, panting as he shook with the effort of staying still, “Oh you’re so tight. You’re so tight, kriff.”

Anakin waited until the ache in his spine lessened and nodded at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan pulled his hips back slightly, pressing into him and then repeating it over and over, each time letting his cock slide out a little more until he was thrusting eagerly, pulling out until only the tip remained in Anakin and then pressing back in, in one solid motion, fucking the breath out of him.

The pain in his spine gave way to pleasure and he could feel his orgasm building in his gut, whimpers, and moans escaping his lips as Obi-Wan began to fuck him earnestly, the headboard of the bed shaking with every thrust.

“You’re so perfect,” Obi-Wan told him as he fucked him, “You’re so beautiful like this, split open on my cock. Look how good you take it.”

“Please, please, please,” Anakin babbled, his mind unable to come up with anything else as pressure started building in his balls and he desperately wrapped a hand around his cock, only for his hand to be pushed away, replaced with Obi-Wan’s calloused, tight grip. He stroked him once and then twice and Anakin was gone, letting out a wail as he came, back arching up as he painted his own stomach his cum.

His legs shook as Obi-Wan continued fucking him through the aftershocks, pressing against his over-sensitized prostate.

“I’m almost there,” Obi-Wan promised him, “You’re so good. You’re squeezing so tightly around me. Kriff, you feel so good. I’m so close- oh!”

Anakin felt Obi-Wan pulsing inside of him as he shoved into him one last time, something warm and wet splashing inside of him and filling him up.

Obi-Wan collapsed on him, panting heavily. They laid like that until Anakin started to squirm underneath of him, thighs beginning to cramp from the way Obi-Wan had him bent in half. Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows, pulling out and letting Anakin’s leg slip off of his shoulder before sliding into bed next to him and pulling their bodies together.

“We should probably shower,” Anakin told him sleepily.

Obi-Wan made a noncommittal noise, tucking Anakin’s head under his chin and tangling their legs together.

“Your cum is leaking out of me,” Anakin tried again and Obi-Wan’s grip tightened on him.

“Exactly how it should be,” Obi-Wan told him, “You’re mine and now you can’t forget it.”

“I’ve always been yours,” Anakin whispered into his chest, “I’ve waited for you for ten years Obi-Wan. While everyone else was out experimenting I knew exactly what I wanted.”

Obi-Wan clutched Anakin tighter to his chest, breathing out hard.

“I love you,” he whispered into Anakin’s hair.

“I love you too,” Anakin whispered into his chest.

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!reader)

A/n: Hi! Rin here, sorry I’ve been a little late, but I have to present to you a few facts before we go down with the story! I might have not mentioned the specifics of the character, but apparently Reader would be around 153 cm in height, and Sebastian 173cm. Just gives off the tall vibe, don’t you think? Their ages,,, I suppose Sebastian would be 25 and the reader 23. This is based on previous chapters and the height of Abigail’s sprite.

She’s quite perky, being the new girl and all, but if you don’t like this, then I can change her personality. 

The lines in here are mainly extracted from Sebastian’s main lines in the game, so I’ll have the Reader’s lines orbit around those.

OH, IF YOU GUYS WANT RANDOM HEADCANNONS, I’LL DO THOSE TOO AS A SIDE PROJECT

CHAPTER TWO

It was another sunny day, and (Y/n) was already up and down onto the field. Her hand clutched a few empty packets of parsnip seeds and the other held a watering can. They were given to her as a starter kit, along with some run down tools her late-grandfather had left for her in the house.

The Earth was tilled and the seeds were planted. Now, all that’s left is to water the crops and she’ll be clearing the farm next. 

She wiped the sweat rolling down her face with the back of her hand, quite exhausted from exerting her energy to nurse her farm. There was still a lot to do, and she had to run extra jobs to gain income as she wait for her crops. 

She had to clear her farm, she had to run and see Pierre for more seeds, she had to meet this man named Willy who wanted to meet her, there was still so much to do and she had no idea if she could finish it all!

She sighed, but she knew this path was much better than working as an office lady at Joja.Co, working till she dropped, literally. And there was endless mountains of paperwork waiting for her.

Maybe she should water her plants, then run off to Pierre’s and down to the docks, she planned in her mind. She clutched the metal tool in her hand, determined to finish her plans before the day ends.

As she watered her plants, she hadn’t realized that someone had accidentally wandered off to her farm, from absentmindedly walking as they thought of random things. But when a clad boot had landed by the entrance of her farm, it was starting to look tidy.

And that’s when they realized that the abandoned farm they usually hung out at was now housed the young woman currently watering her plants in the field.

“Abigail?” called out the girl with (h/c) hair, her head raising as she spotted the purple-haired girl by the entrance of her farm. “Oh, hi, (Y/n)! Sorry, I was just walking and accidentally ended up here,” she said, flustered.

“Ah, it’s fine! You did tell me you loved exploring the overgrown fields, right? You could come over anytime you like!” the farmer girl said, a little smile on her face. It was still morning and in Spring, but Abigail could see the red cheeks from tirelessly working on the farm on her face. 

She felt a bit bad that it was only a girl that had to manage the whole land, so she made up her decision in her mind.

Walking over to the panting girl, she asked, “Want to hang later?”

The girl’s face quickly morphed into a bright smile. “Sure thing! Just let me finish up here, and I’ll be right with you,” she said and began to hurry up on her task.

Soon enough, the two girls were strolling down the pathway heading towards the town square. (Y/n) had cleaned her hands earlier after doing farm work, but to Abigail, her appearance was so clean, it was as if she hadn’t done any work on the farm.

“So, where to first?” Abigail asked. (E/c) eyes looked over at her green ones, peering curiously. “Hm, maybe to  your family’s store. I would like to get some new seeds,” (Y/n) said, arms by her sides.

Abigail shrugged. "Don’t you want to buy those at Joja Mart?” she asked curiously. She wasn’t trying to fail her family business, but she wanted to know this girl’s mindset before deeming her as ‘good’ in her books.

“Well, I’d rather boost the local economy. After all, have you not seen the prices on seeds?! They’re 15g more expensive than the ones at Pierre’s! Plus, they’re at better quality! I’d choose Pierre’s over theirs any day!” she groaned out as the two stepped into her father’s shop. 

“Ah, it’s farmer (Y/n)!” her dad greeted cheerfully from behind the counter. “Hi, Pierre!” she greeted back.

But the farmer never realized that Abigail’s face had reddened at her remark towards Joja Mart. Rather, she felt as if it were directed at the entire Joja.Co themselves. The way she had dissed them really was interesting to her, she had never seen someone so against the Joja Mart before in the entire town.

“Hey, Abigail?” the girl called once she returned from the counter. “Do you think we’ll be able to get to Robin’s in time?” she asked, and Abigail nodded. 

“What for?” she asked, looking at the slightly smaller girl as she stuffed her seeds into her red backpack. “Ah, I need her to build a silo for me. It’s a shame to just cut down all that grass when you can actually store it for the farm animals, no?” she said as Abigail nodded in agreement.

The two headed off to the mountains, reaching the house just half an hour before business hours were over. The two breathed in relief. It was quite a hike up, and they were running to reach up in time.

“Sorry for dragging you into this, Abigail,” the farmer panted, but Abigail laughed in response. “No worries, I was the one who wanted to tag along with you,” she said, as the two went to the door.

“Hey hey! It’s Abigail and (Y/n)!” Robin greeted just as the two had stepped foot inside the house. “So, (Y/n) how is the woodwork holding up? You OK?” the orange haired woman said cheerfully. (Y/n) nodded, as she approached the counter. 

“Yeah, everything’s just fine!” she said, placing her hands on the counter. “So, the older woman began, ”What’s up?”

The (h/c) girl and the woman began discussing farm plans and the location of the silo. The way the girl was so efficient and brave really pulled Abigail. She sat there as she watched the two converse, that was, until a certain raven haired figure emerged from the basement.

Sebastian sparred a glance to the girl and his mom, before giving a lazy wave over to Abigail. She waved back in response, following him out to chat. But before that, she tapped (Y/n) on the shoulder, informing her she’ll be outside and went well on her way.

“You guys seem to be friends,” Sebastian said, not even turning back. His hands were in his pockets as he made his usual way to the lake by his house. “Well, yeah. I accidentally ended up on her farm. We hung out for a bit,” she concluded simply. 

“I’m kinda interested in her, though,” Abigail admitted, earning a snort from Sebastian. “Dude, she’s like. I dunno, younger than you?” he teased, making the purple haired girl slap him on the back. “So not true. We’re both 23 this year,” Abigail defended.

“Plus, I know you want to talk to her as much as I do,” she teased, making him tense up. “What makes you say that?” he said, pulling out his box of cigarettes and a lighter. “Well, she is from the city, don’t you want to ask her how is it there?”

“I--” “Hey, (Y/n)!” Abigail interrupted him, waving at her to come over. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her. It wasn’t like Abigail to be like this around other people, nonetheless someone entirely new to the city, Maybe there was something about her behind her bright and cheerful demeanor. 

“--it’s really a shame about the mines though,” the farmer said, making Sebastian look over at her in curiosity. “I want to see what’s in those mines. Maybe I could find something useful for my use,” she said distantly, staring at the pile of boulders that piled in front of the cave entrance. 

“Haven’t you heard? There are monsters in there,” Abigail said, making Sebastian feel like hitting her to shut up. What good was it to tell her that and risk her moving out if it were true?

But the girl shrugged in response. “Wouldn’t it be more exciting and adventurous if monsters did reside in the caves? I mean, it would prove more of a challenge,” the girl said with a smile on her face, shocking both Sebastian and Abigail. 

His dark eyes widened as a similar scene played in front of his eyes. Three children and a small voice. “I want to explore those caves one day!”

“(Y/n)...was it?” Sebastian asked, the girl humming in agreement. A light chuckle passed his lips.

 “We’re gonna get along just fine!” Abigail cheered, as she slung her arm across (Y/n)’s shoulders.

“What were you going to say, Sebastian?” she asked, but the male just shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

“It’s nothing.”

[wherevermyway]

why can’t we drink forever? (1/2) // minsung // 18+

one: i will only complicate you series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit sexual content past character death, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, edgy cynical depressed jisung, ambiguous/open ending. word count: 5,883 also on AO3

originally posted: 20 january 2021

After being arrested for driving under the influence, Jisung learns that money can buy his way out of jail time, but it can’t buy his way out of his feelings.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“I don’t know how things got this way, Sungie, baby. I’m worried about you.”

A sarcastic huff leaves the lips of the young man seated in the passenger seat of a sleek, new all-white Audi. He kicks his feet up on the dash, earning a frown from the middle-aged woman driving the vehicle. The young blonde stares out the window as he fumbles around his hoodie pocket. Out comes a white pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes and an engraved silver lighter.

“You and me both, ma,” he tuts as he pops a white cigarette up from the pack into his mouth, flicking the dial of his lighter as he takes in a deep breath. He jams a finger down on the window button, the crisp winter air blowing the grey cloud around, the acrid scent of burnt tobacco filling the car. “Guess if we knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be in the car now, huh?”

“Maybe you’d have gotten into a better university,” his mother sighs as she shakes her head.

A devious smirk curls up on the young man’s mouth as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking a long drag. He knows better than to verbally respond with a cynical quip.

Maybe I’d be fuckin’ dead.

Alcoholics Anonymous sounded like a cult following: a twelve-step programme where all of its members had to follow a strict code, be mentored by a sponsor, and thank some bullshit deity to be given a new chance every day. “Every day is a new chance,” the cult leader would say at the beginning of every meeting. “May God grant us the serenity…”

“I’m Jisung, and the courts told me I’m an alcoholic, so I guess I’m an alcoholic,” the artificial blonde shrugged his shoulders, the ghost of burnt coffee still dancing on his tongue as he spoke.

The mindless cult drones spouted off a casual “hi, Jisung,” in monotonous, unenthusiastic unity as the young man sat down.

“How did you get here?” The meeting’s leader was relentless in prodding the young man. “You’re not obligated to tell us, of course,” which was a boldfaced lie, “but acknowledging your problems might help your recovery.”

Jisung brought the styrofoam cup full of lukewarm, acrid coffee to his lips and took a long sip. He winced at the taste and pursed his lips as he made eye contact with the leader. “I was abducted by aliens, man, now I’m here. Shit was crazy.”

The leader frowned, ready to interrupt Jisung.

“Nah,” the young man kicked his feet out from under the metal fold-up chair, flipping his hood over his head with his free hand. “I got drunk, went out to get more booze, then hit a tree on the way back and the cops pulled me over since my headlight was out. The internet wasn’t lying when they said all cops are fuckin’ bastards.” His quip earned a laugh from a few younger members, whereas several of the older people shook their heads in frustration.

“Please,” the leader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s refrain from political commentary. Thank you for your,” there’s a pause as the leader clears his throat, “for your candor, Jisung. Now that we’ve introduced all of our new attendees, why don’t we move along with the next step in the meeting?”

The meeting was pointless, all of the same shit that Jisung had read about in the fliers that were handed to him with his sentencing. He had to endure twelve months of this, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else with his life, anyways. Jisung poured the last of the disgusting coffee from the cardboard takeaway box into his cup, then tossed the box into the large rubbish bin at the end of the table. One last cup of free shitty coffee before he left; it would pair nicely with the cigarette he so desperately craved.

“Hey!” A bright voice came up behind him and Jisung rolled his eyes at the way optimism dripped from the trill. He slowly turned around, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his cup. A young man with neon pink hair, probably the same age as Jisung, smiled widely as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Felix, nice to see someone here that’s about my age.”

Jisung gingerly accepted the hand and shook it twice before quickly sticking his hand back into his pocket. “Charmed. How long are you stuck here for?”

“Oh!” Felix shook his head, smile still wide on his face as he pensively looked down to his shoes. “I’m not here for… well, I’m a psychology major.”

Of course he was.

Felix tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and tapped his foot twice as he continued to smile at Jisung. “I’m also new here and was hoping I could make friends.”

Jisung shook his head, reaching into his hoodie pocket for his pack of cigarettes and familiar silver lighter. “I’m not a good influence. Don’t think I’d make good friends with someone so… nice.” He meandered a white cigarette out of the packet with a single hand, then tucked it behind his ear, lighter still tucked into his palm. “No offence, dude.”

The smile finally fell from the pink-haired man, who quickly pulled his hands from his pockets, “wait, wait!”

Jisung cocked an eyebrow at the man, biting his tongue as he felt the clawing at the back of his head, his synapses screaming a plea for him to get a hit of more nicotine.

“I don’t wanna sound desperate,” Felix ran his bottom lip under his teeth as he looked around nervously, “I just really wanna talk with someone that’s so different than me. I’ll even buy you dinner or something from the diner down the street.”

As insulting as the words ‘so different than me’ came off to Jisung, desperation was a bad look for anyone. “You got a car?” Felix nodded twice, biting his lip as he stared at Jisung. “Lead the way, psycho student Felix.”

Felix’s eyes went wide and his bright smile came back, beaming brighter than before. “It’s psychology, not psycho.”

The blonde rolled his eyes as he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it in between his teeth. “I know what I said.”

The food at the diner was mediocre at best: rubbery scrambled eggs and burgers made from frozen patties that were likely a concoction of rejected organ meat slurry and textured vegetable protein. It was cheap, but it was always good. Rich in comfort, lacking in quality: the antithesis to Jisung’s life.

Jisung hadn’t been here in two years, not since his friend turned on-again, off-again boyfriend Changbin left for university, halfway across the country. This was the place they’d come to at three in the morning after hitting up a house party, where they would drunkenly curl up with each other and swap kisses that tasted like stale beer and watery coffee.

This was the place where Changbin broke up with Jisung for the final time, Changbin citing that they wouldn’t be able to stay in contact much anymore. However, he hadn’t told Jisung that he was sleeping with someone that graduated a couple years prior and was conveniently attending the same university as him.

That night tasted like vodka and strawberry soda, the latter of which Jisung never let grace his tastebuds again.

The blonde scowled down at his orange juice, watching the ring light above their table shimmer and ripple in the liquid. He hadn’t heard from Changbin in two years, and he was as bitter about it as the black, burnt edges of the hashbrowns that stuck to his plate.

“You okay?” Felix poked his fries with a fork, bringing one to his lips as he scanned Jisung’s expression.

“Are any of us okay, psycho student?”

Felix furrowed his brows and set his fork down against his plate, chewing on the crinkled french fry a bit before he swallowed. He folded his hands together and rested his chin against the interlaced fingers. “No, like,” he shrugged, eyes shifting around a bit, “I mean it. You seem kinda distant.”

Jisung rolled his eyes up to meet Felix’s and he cocked his eyebrow. He was starting to regret tagging along with this kid he barely knew, feeling like this was less of a potential friendship and more like a therapy session. “You don’t know me, man.”

“No, but I know people.”

“You’re a sophomore psychology student, dude. You don’t know shit.”

The pink-haired man sighed, back thudding against the plasticky booth. “I guess you’re right about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, though.”

“Your funeral, then.” Jisung followed suit, leaning up against the booth with a bit more tact, swinging his arm around the wood frame. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was thirteen. Got bored when my parents fucked off to Italy on some shitty trip without me.”

Felix tilted his head up like a dog, suddenly alive with renewed interest.

“They’re only parents in blood and title.” Jisung looked down at the table, scratching inanely at a chip in the pale green linoleum. “I was raised by nannies and tutors until I was fifteen. Most parents would probably panic when they leave the house, coming back to an empty liquor cabinet. My parents? Nah, they just restocked it and told me not to drink too much at once.”

“That’s,” Felix’s voice trailed off as he looked away, milling over the new information.

“It’s fucked,” Jisung finished the sentence, then brought the plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth and took a long sip. He set the cup back down and pulled up the sleeve covering his left arm, presenting the flesh over the table. Felix visibly recoiled as he eyed dozens of scarred lines littered across the skin, some marks still relatively fresh. “Their response to this? ‘We’ll get you into therapy and you won’t do this again.’ It was always the best money could buy, but their money didn’t do shit to my brain.” He shuffled the cloth over his arm again, ignoring the look of pity Felix offered him.

“If money could buy them a better son, they would’ve traded me out, like upgrading a car on a lease.”

Felix stumbled over his words a bit as Jisung rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and his wallet. “You still wanna make friends with someone like me?”

It took a moment, but Felix tentatively nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound like you have many friends to begin with,” he nervously sputtered out.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and licked his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t do friends. But life’s full of surprises. Anyway, gimme your phone so we can swap contact info.”

They exchanged phone numbers and Jisung dropped a couple of bills on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as soon as Felix opened his mouth to protest, “you’re a university student and I’ve got my shitty parents’ cash to burn.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Felix questioned as Jisung stepped out of his shoddy 2003 Toyota Camry.

Jisung nodded once, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead. “You got it. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door with a fake smile that faded as soon as he turned around. Sure, Felix was the antithesis of everything Jisung was, but he could prove to be a source of entertainment over the next year.

Despite being cynical and vehemently anti-religion, Jisung always said a quiet prayer to himself as he opened the door, hoping his parents weren’t home when he arrived. Today, it seemed like luck was on his side: his mother’s keys weren’t on the key rack, and his father had yet to return from some bullshit ‘business trip’ off in China. Perhaps it was Morocco or Norway; they all blurred together in a haze of indifference. All Jisung was sure of was the fact that his father had probably taken one of his mistresses away to some foreign country he was pretending to secure a business deal in.

“Everyone’s favourite fuck-up is home!” Jisung shouted in the empty vestibule, his voice echoing against the cold walls. He didn’t expect a response, so when he was greeted with a comfortable silence, he smiled to himself. He kicked his shoes off and unceremoniously tossed them into the corner by the key rack.

His heavy, heel-first footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine out of a glass display cooler as he padded towards the main refrigerator. He pulled out a box of takeaway Indian curry from the night prior, setting both the box and the bottle on the marble kitchen island, shuffling his feet towards a drawer. He retrieved a fork and a wine key, tossing them onto the countertop as he pulled out his phone, pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

Jisung opened the bottle of wine as he sat down on a stool next to the counter, tossing the cork towards the rubbish bin, shrugging as he missed. That was a problem for later, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it now. Completely ignoring the takeaway carton, Jisung grabbed the wine bottle, then took a long guzzle directly from it. He winced a bit as the flavour of fermented floral grapes perfumed his mouth with a sharp, sickly rotten scent. The bottle clattered loudly against the marble, the echoing reminding Jisung of just how alone he was in such a large house.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, bringing his phone up in front of his face, scrolling through one of his playlists until he found the right song. With a few taps, some Drake came through the kitchen speakers. Jisung turned up the volume to near max, his head subconsciously moving to the beat of “In My Feelings”. He took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, the tip turning from paper and plant to a red, ashy ember as he inhaled.

Was he allowed to smoke in the house? Of course not.

Did Jisung give a shit? Absolutely not.

A text message popped up as Jisung aimlessly scrolled through his various notifications. He opened it, barely scanning through the entire message from his mother until his eyes stopped on a blue phone number. His eyes narrowed, poring over the entire message. “A coworker of mine offered to be a sponsor for you: Lee Minho. He’s a few years older than you, but he’s nice. Here’s his number, please reach out to him.”

Jisung sarcastically scoffed, locking his phone as he placed it back on the countertop, swapping it for the bottle of wine. He took a drag off of his cigarette, then took another long swig from the bottle. “We admit we’re powerless to alcohol,” he mutters the first step under his breath as he slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe I don’t fucking care.”

Jisung woke up on the couch to the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor just before eight in the morning, his fingers jostling an empty bottle of scotch on the floor as he brought his hands to his face.

“Get cleaned up, please.” His mother’s voice was accompanied by bright spotlights suddenly shining directly on his face. “I’ve invited Minho over to meet with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Jisung’s voice was low and gravelly, groaning as he sat upright. The world spun, his body carried by the false inertia his mind had created.

His mother trotted off to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “I know you didn’t. I did it because I care about you, Sungie.”

The blonde rubbed his clammy hands against his face again, attempting to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He grabbed his phone off of the floor, then wobbled his way upright, the living room spinning around him in a familiar sense of uneasiness.

“You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

Somehow, Jisung managed to make his way upstairs to his room, stripping an article of clothing off with each lazy step from his bedroom door towards his personal washroom. By the time he got to the glass enclosure of the shower, he was totally stripped bare. Jisung distantly stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a gaunt and ashy doppelganger staring back at him with a pained, empty look on his face.

Instead of stepping into the shower, Jisung approached the mirror, subconsciously bringing his hands to touch his flushed face. His cheekbones were more prominent now than they were earlier in the year, dark circles painted in broad strokes under his eyes. His gaze trailed down the scars he had inflicted on his arms and on his thighs, reminders of the failed attempts to take his own life that he was now forced to carry with him, wearing each line and mark as a badge of shame.

A warm tear rolled down his face as it contorted into an expression of terror and hurt, before he took his fist and crashed it into the mirror in front of him, a spiderweb of the impact left behind in the cracked glass as he pulled his bloodied knuckles away. Some glass shattered to the floor, some still wedged in the gaps between his fingers, and Jisung stared at the crack that split his reflection into several fragments.

How he was still alive was beyond him.

“Mrs. Han, please,” a lilted, unfamiliar laugh travelled up the staircase as Jisung slowly made his way down towards the first floor. He squinted at the noise that caused his head to throb, realizing that someone unknown speaking to his mother, likely the Minho she had mentioned earlier. With each step he took towards the drawing room, the voice got louder, each staccatoed laugh more pronounced.

“Jisung, come sit,” his mother said, replacing the genuine smile on her face with a fake, ‘Vaseline-on-the-teeth’ smile. She motioned towards the empty space on the couch, opposite from the young brunette that turned around.

Jisung met his eyes and it suddenly felt like his surroundings cracked and shattered around him, like the mirror upstairs. Rich brown eyes glistened behind the black and gold browline glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose. Rose-tinted lips curled upwards in a shy smile, revealing large, rabbit-like front teeth that rested softly against his bottom lip.

“Hi,” the stranger said with a gentle wave, “I’m Minho. Resident biochemist at the pharmaceutical company your mother works for.”

As Jisung made his way over to the open spot on the couch, he squinted, refusing to break eye contact with the strange invader. It felt like he was a wild animal on display, about to be poked and prodded by zookeeper staff or by scientists in some sort of underground, off-the-books laboratory. It would fit, after all, since the man was some sort of scientist.

“I’ll let you be,” Jisung’s mother says, rising to her feet. “Maybe you should tell Minho about your little misstep last night, hmm?”

Jisung rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head sarcastically. “Go enjoy your overfilled glass of wine at nine-fucking-thirty, ma. I’ll be here spilling my guts to a stranger that gives more of a shit about me than you.” Minho winced and his expression fell from cheerful to shocked.

The men stared at each other, Jisung’s gaze layered with arrogance, and Minho’s heavy with awkward discomfort. “So,” the younger man kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his trusted lighter from his sweatshirt pocket, hoping to wrap up the conversation as soon as possible. “I know you work with my mother, you’re an alcoholic, and your name’s Minho.” As quickly as Jisung could take in a breath, the cigarette between his teeth was lit, and he was glaring at the intruder through the grey haze that came between them. Their eyes met again, Jisung growing more and more wary by the second. “Why should I pick you as my sponsor, when I feel like you’re just gonna snitch to my mother?”

Minho’s jaw looked like it was clenched too tight, his bottom eyelids squinted upwards as he studied the younger man in front of him. They watched each other, eyeing each micromovement the other’s face made. About halfway through Jisung’s cigarette, Minho finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact, and took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for you to trust me, or to spill your life story,” he shifted, sitting upright, “but for you to see me as a mentor when things get hard and you want to dampen your feelings with alcohol. I’ve been there, Jisung.”

Indignation washed over the younger man’s face, quickly replaced by a familiar wave of arrogance. Jisung shook his head, ashing his cigarette directly onto the floor. “Doubt it,” he tutted, licking his teeth as he nodded his head, staring at the ring on Minho’s finger. He smirked to himself, then turned his head away and up towards the ceiling. “Looks like you’ve got someone that loves you. I don’t know what that feels like; never have, never will.”

The elder chewed on his bottom lip, clenching his fist as his eyes subconsciously scanned the ring on his finger. “Had.”

“What?” Jisung turned his head back towards Minho with a look of disgust on his face, ashes falling from his cigarette.

The brunette sighed, leaning further into the couch, nervously running his thumb over his balled up fingers. “He’s the reason I turned to drinking, to fill the void he left in my heart when he died.”

Shit.

For the first time in ages, Jisung felt a slight pang of regret twinge in his abdomen.

Minho swallowed hard, almost as if he were holding back his emotions. “We were married for five years, together since high school. You’d think I would’ve known the signs, but Chan was so good at hiding things, hiding his pain from everyone.”

The ember in Jisung’s cigarette died out as he found himself enraptured in Minho’s story.

Chan was Minho’s high school sweetheart. They started dating their sophomore year of high school, both attended the same university, and they got married when they were twenty. To Minho, Chan was everything. They supported each other, making the other man stronger and gave them a reason to go on.

Minho had no idea that Chan was severely depressed, holding his true feelings to his heart. Not long after Minho’s twenty-fifth birthday, Chan disappeared, only leaving a journal behind. It had started off with an apology, that if Minho found his journal, that it was too late to save him and that Chan had simply given up. On nearly every page, Chan reiterated that it wasn’t Minho’s fault, that Chan was just too far gone beyond repair, that Minho had given him a new lease on life, but it wasn’t enough.

Exactly three weeks after Chan had gone missing, police were on the doorstep of their shared home.

“Dental records,” Minho whispered, his eyes distant and glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “That’s how they knew it was Chan. I don’t remember much after that, but I thought that I could find the answer to why Chan took his own life at the bottom of a bottle.”

Jisung’s grip on the arm of the couch was so tight, his knuckles had turned white and they were starting to ache.

“Several bottles,” Minho continued, “several bottles and several near-death experiences waking up in the hospital later, and I still hadn’t figured out the answer. I figured that maybe I’d see him again if I drank enough. Now,” he folded his arms, tucking his chin into his chest, “I’ve accepted that I’ll never know the answer to that question, that I need to live on for him. If there’s an afterlife, maybe I’ll get to ask him myself. Until then, though,” Minho rolled his teary eyes up to meet Jisung’s uncomfortable gaze, “I just want to atone for not doing enough before. I want to help others that are hurting, you know?”

They continued to stare at each other for what felt like hours, until Jisung finally shook his head. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Sorry,” his apology was shockingly sincere, “I guess I spoke before I thought.”

Minho awkwardly smirked, dismissively waving his hand in between them. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at rock bottom and that there’s a way up and out, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Maybe Jisung was willing to give Minho a try.

At first, Jisung agreed to meet with Minho once a week after the mandatory AA meeting he attended. It took seven visits spanning seven weeks before Jisung eventually opened up about the neglect he faced from both of his parents, the emptiness he felt from being raised by nannies, feeling like money was more important than his own life.

Ten weeks in, they started hanging out on the weekends. Their relationship shifted from mentorship to friendship, and it was somewhat a relief that Jisung finally had someone he could trust enough to call his friend.

Week fourteen was when things started to shift further. Jisung hadn’t consumed alcohol in eight weeks, and things were clearing up, slowly but surely. He had been meeting with Felix more and more, too — maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but Jisung was at least trying.

Things were looking up for the first time in Jisung’s life.

At week sixteen, Jisung stayed over at Minho’s apartment, convincing him that he needed to watch Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. The blonde had vehemently pressed that it was, quite possibly, one of the best series of all time, animated or otherwise. After some gentle pressure, Minho finally caved, and they sat on his couch, diving into the show and into some mediocre takeaways.

They had gotten through the first three episodes and Minho finally relented that, yes, it was a good show and that, yes, Jisung was right.

“I knew you’d like it, dude,” Jisung snickered, playfully poking at Minho’s chest. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a crooked smile, and he wore Minho’s seal of approval as some sort of badge of honour.

The brunette turned away, softly smiling into his shoulder as a rush of crimson started to tint his face. “You’ve got me trying all sorts of new things, Ji,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he flashed his teeth at the younger man. “So much for me being the mentor here, huh?”

Jisung sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth at the nickname, trying to ignore the warmth blossoming up his face. He tried to stumble out some sort of response, but he caught himself getting lost in the way that the overhead lights shimmered in Minho’s eyes, highlighting the soft amber and warm bursts of hazelnut that erupted around his pupils. His expression started to falter, and he felt a familiar rush of excitement bloom in his chest, causing his nerves to come to life all around his body.

He remembered that this was how it felt right before he shared his first drunken kiss with Changbin, but something about this felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that Jisung was completely sober, but he desperately wanted Minho to kiss him, to want him back. However, Jisung wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea, pondering over if Minho was really ready to start a new relationship, especially with someone he was supposed to be mentoring.

“Something on your mind?” Minho’s voice was soft as it gently guided Jisung back to the moment. “You’re kinda spacing out on me.”

“No, no,” Jisung stumbled around the words he wasn’t sure he could say, suddenly distracted by the television in the background. “I guess I was just thinking about the show.”

Minho’s head tilted to the side, concurrently lifting his brow in confusion. “You guess?”

Jisung waved his hand in between them and readjusted his posture so he was further away from Minho. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s one of those shows that you watch and you see something new each time and—”

Warm fingers were suddenly on the side of Jisung’s face, pulling him back into Minho’s space. “You’re a terrible liar.” The voice was soft, yet assertive; low, but so loud. Jisung’s eyes went wide as Minho’s apartment blurred around him, his vision suddenly taken over by the sight of the brunette’s face right up next to his. In front of him.

Before Jisung could process what was happening, he was subconsciously pressing his lips into Minho’s, trying to remember exactly how kissing worked. It was years since the last time he had any practice, but it all came back to him as Minho helped guide Jisung’s face with his hands.

Minho’s tongue was soft, warm, and damp as it gently pressed up against Jisung’s lips, wordlessly pleading for entrance. Without letting his mind mill over the fine details and concerns he possibly had, Jisung parted his lips. Timidly, he rolled his tongue around Minho’s, his hands quivering as his fingers scrambled for purchase in Minho’s hair.

Unlike anyone Jisung had kissed before, this felt right, even if there were some uncomfortable grinding of teeth and awkward nose bumping. Within a reasonable amount of time, they slowly became experts at training the way the other wanted to be kissed. As if Minho could read Jisung’s mind, he would interrupt his soft kisses with gentle nips and grazes at Jisung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jisung’s voice cracked as Minho pulled his teeth down his bottom lip, “my neck, I…”

Minho swiftly moved his lips from Jisung’s, peppering tiny pecks against his jawline to his ear, stopping to take the blonde’s earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, grazing the tender flesh between his teeth. Jisung’s back involuntarily arched as the grooves of Minho’s teeth pulled at his sensitive skin, the sensation causing his nerves to come to life with an electrical jolt from head to toe.

The brunette chuckled, his warm breath brushing up against the tiny hairs on Jisung’s ear. He said nothing, simply moving down to press a few soft kisses to the skin just below the younger man’s earlobe. Minho’s lips were soft, gentle, only to be quickly replaced by a sudden, harsh bite into the tender flesh.

A yelp, accompanied by uncontrollable twitching, came from Jisung, who was simultaneously melting into Minho, but also pulling away. The elder’s fingers dug into the blonde’s waist, keeping him in the same position, not allowing him to escape. Jisung’s yelp had faded into a whimper, which evolved into a moan as Minho sucked the flesh between his teeth, quickly repeating the process several times in various spots along Jisung’s neck.

The moans were increasing in volume and breathiness, Jisung subconsciously, frantically rutting his pelvis into the couch. Minho must have caught on to this, letting go of Jisung’s waist to ease him down onto the couch. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s again, dancing his fingertips down to the waistband of the younger man, who was completely blissed out.

“Can I help you with this?” Minho’s voice was somehow both soft yet assertive as his palm pressed against Jisung's clothed erection.

Words eluded Jisung, verbal language suddenly turning into complex algebraic equations that didn’t translate from his head to his tongue. Instead, he groaned in affirmation as he hopelessly rolled his hips upward, finding himself pitiful that he was so desperately craving for Minho to just keep fucking touching him.

Things started to blur in a haze of wanton desire. Minho’s hand gently stroked Jisung’s cock, paying special attention to the way that his fingers and palm brushed against the head. Involuntary twitches took over Jisung as he whimpered and mewled, his shoulder blades grinding into the couch. Minho continued to nibble and bite at Jisung’s neck, occasionally whispering words of assurance and praise into his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” as he slowly dragged his hand from the base of Jisung’s cock up to his head.

“I can’t imagine how incredible you would feel around me,” as he gently thumbed the slit, rubbing precum around the sensitive head and causing Jisung to bite the back of his hand as he failed to stifle a cracked moan.

Jisung’s breaths turned erratic and he was nearly convulsing as his body started to twitch. Minho shifted his weight to his knees, slowing his strokes just enough so that he could awkwardly shift one leg off of the couch to position his head in a way he could take Jisung into his mouth.

“What are you—” Jisung started to question, until he found himself losing control of his body as Minho rolled his tongue around his cock. “Fuck, Minho!” He clamped his eyes shut, arching his back upward, hitting the back of Minho’s throat as he convulsed, his orgasm suddenly completely taking over him. “Minho,” he whined and unclenched his fists; “Minho,” he panted and opened his eyes; “Minho.” With one last breath, he was back to reality.

This had to have been the closest thing to heaven that Jisung thought he would ever experience.

Jisung had stayed over at Minho’s that night, too tired to function like a normal human. They slept on the couch together, necks crooned in uncomfortable positions all night long, bodies stiff from the unnatural firmness that Minho’s couch held. The next morning, they chose not to discuss the night prior, but they did exchange some soft kisses, until Jisung protested, mentioning that their morning breath was distracting him from actually enjoying the kiss.

Their weekends continued on like this: spending time watching a couple of episodes of their chosen programme until they got distracted and lost within each other. Nothing progressed further than handjobs, the occasional blowjob, and the one time that they rolled around naked, making out for so long and so intensely that the way they pressed their bodies together caused Jisung to come without any additional stimulation — and, hey, they liked it.

The budding relationship between them was confusing. During the week, Minho acted like the appropriate, wise mentor, with Jisung as his eager pupil. When the weekend came around, however, all bets were off. In everything but title, they were boyfriends for all intents and purposes. Every time Jisung tried to bring it up, Minho would shut down, saying that he wasn’t ready to really think seriously about it yet.

So, Jisung didn’t press. He was sure that their intimate interactions were causing conflicting emotions to arise within Minho, emotions he probably had been ignoring since Chan’s death, trying to shove them down as time went on. Even though he wanted to navigate the full spectrum of sexual experiences with Minho, Jisung remained silent until Minho was ready.

[shimmeringclouds]

Karamatsu - Lycoris Radiata

𝘠𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘪!𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Dim. Yet warm. You figured that's how a forest would be during the summer.

With that thought in mind, however, it didn't help you whatsoever with finding the path you were supposed to be walking along. Of course you would lose track of where you were meant to be walking; wandering minds and feet aren't exactly a good pair.

Glancing upward through the mess of tree branches and leaves, you could just about make out the glimmer of stars above you. Looks like you missed dinner. Again. Was it really so hard for you to go for a relaxing walk in the woodlands?

Sighing, you rubbed your upper thighs. Sore. The blood pumping through them felt weird against the fabric of your trousers, thumping uncomfortably against your fingers. Tingling. Just... weird.

Tree trunks stood by attentively, waiting patiently for your tired figure to curl up against its' bark. And you did just that, groaning as you stretched out your arms and legs. Your arms fell with a thud to your sides, fingers absentmindedly caressing the cool grass beneath you.

...Now what? Were you just going to sit there for the rest of the night? A ridiculous idea, surely. However, it was the only thing you could do. It's not like you knew if anyone was nearby to help you get home and, even then, you didn't think you could just trust anyone you would meet in the middle of the woods at night.

Another sigh. You're good at those, aren't you? You tried to take a look at your surroundings, only to see the dark figures of trees and bushes (at least, you hoped they were bushes). Dark blues and greens, hues of black, absences of colour.

A flash of red. A stark contrast to the deep colours around you. A beautiful flower, you saw. Its' crimson petals clustered together in the centre, with numerous similar coloured stems curling upwards, swaying and dancing with the wind.

"A Spider Lily, huh?" you muttered. You reached out and grazed the tips of your finger against it, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You shouldn't bloom here, all alone like this..."

Your mind briefly wandered back to a conversation you had had with a friend at some point throughout the week. Being the flower enthusiast she was, you always allowed yourself to become subject to her seemingly endless rants about flowers, plants, herbs - anything that she had knowledge about. You remembered what she had said about these richly coloured beauties.

'If you see someone that you may never meet again, these flowers will bloom along the path.'

It sounded like a beautiful but tragic piece of poetry. You began to wonder where the myth had even come from. When was it first spoken? Was it based on true events? Was it really such a bad thing, not meeting someone again?

You knew, from experience, that letting people leave your everyday life was actually beneficial for yourself. Although it took you a number of years to realise it, you found that the kinds of people you attracted were a lot worse than they appeared to be. Deep down, they were monsters. Horrible people, who have the audacity to call themselves human.

Of course it was painful, but only at first. Now, it didn't bother you much anymore. Your soul felt lighter, if anything, indicating that you were getting better, not worse.

Releasing the flower from your ghost of a grasp, you leaned your head back, closing your eyes. That was enough for today. It was time to rest for a while. Breathing in, and out, slowly, ever so slowly, a feeling of slumber crept its way into your body.

Relaxing your tense muscles, you released a long, heavy breath. Sleep.

"It's dangerous to sleep out here, my dove."

"WHA-!!"

An unholy shriek escaped from your throat suddenly, and you pushed your body away from the tree you were leaning against, crawling rapidly across the ground. Whipping your body around, your wide eyes landed on the lantern that outlined the shadowy figure, who stood just behind where you were previously sitting.

"S-Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, angel!"

The deep, husky voice that whispered into your ear became slightly higher pitched and frantic. You saw the figure step forward, causing you to flinch.

"Ah, do not worry, princess. I won't harm you..."

"That's what they all say!" you blurted out. A short silence followed before you asked:

"Who.. Who are you?"

The figure stepped forward, raising its' lantern to reveal itself.

It was... a man. Yet he wasn't human. His skin was pale, eyes surrounded by red markings. On top of his brown hair was a pair of glowing blue horns, which seemed to flow like fire. his clothing seemed old fashioned, covering his slightly built figure in dark robes of satin and ribbons. The lantern that he held also emitted the same coloured light as his horns, flickering before you.

"You may call me Karamatsu, my dear," he bowed slightly, a cat-like grin crossing his features. "I am but a humble spirit who spotted a wandering soul, lost and alone in a forest that humans should be cautious with. Perhaps some guidance is in your best interest?"

"I, uhm... You're not.. human?" A deep chuckle sounded, sending a shiver up your spine. It was echoey. As if, even though he was standing right in front of you, he was still so far away.

"I'm afraid not, flower. I am an Aoandon. But do not be afraid, I am not here to hurt you. I would only be a guilty guy if I were to leave such a beautiful woman alone in the woods, where anything could happen."

He reached out a partially gloved hand to your figure, still on the ground.

"Please, allow my light to guide you home."

You were sure that if you could see the words he spoke, they would be surrounded by flowers and sparkles. You never knew a man - or anyone, for that matter - to speak in such an overzealous manner.

However, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. You guessed that's why you reached up and grasped his unnaturally cold hands, allowing him to pull you upwards in a swift motion. He grinned softly down at you, making you realise just how short you were compared to him.

"May I ask for your name, love? Or would you prefer the names I give you?" he winked. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, in fear that he would actually hurt you if you got on the wrong foot. So he was a gentleman and a flirt? What an odd combination.

"[Y/N]..." you decided to not answer his second question. It was probably for the best.

"[Y/N]. A wonderful name! As gorgeous as the stars above! I am certain that they aligned to create a bridge just for us to meet on this special night!" Karamatsu's hands were waving around in wild, extravagant gestures. He looked ridiculous. What a strange character.

"I- .. Sure.."

For most of the journey, you listened to this... spirit, ramble nonsense about the scenery around you, or about your features that he found endearing. There were times where he would deliberately lower his voice into something he thought was sultry and enticing, peering into your eyes with a smouldering stare. You didn't mind the dip in his voice at all, not a single bit. It was just the way that the poor man was clearly trying too hard to make you fall for him.

'He clearly has never been successful with any woman before... How cute!'

You couldn't help yourself. You had just met him, and you already wanted to know more about him. Was that weird? Probably. Maybe it was the touch-starved part of yourself that was talking, longing to be held in someone's arms after being neglected by so many for so long.

"Watch your step here, my dear." His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, peering up at him to see this a pale hand was held out to assist you. You gladly took hold of it, fingers grasping his colder ones. Even as he helped you over a few jagged rocks in your path, you weren't willing to let go just yet. Although his skin was cold, his touch felt inviting and comforting.

You didn't want to let go yet.

And it seemed that Karamatsu was overjoyed by this, his eye glistening with a kind of happiness that you had never seen a human hold before.

"A-Are you afraid, sweetheart? There is nothing to fear, not as long as I am here by your side! However, if you wish to hold me tightly, I will never object you!" The slight tremor of nervousness in his words sounded so endearing to you.

"Good, because I wasn't planning to let go just yet."

You had never seen a human wear such a broad and satisfied smile, either. It was contagious, causing you to smile timidly up at him in return.

Eventually, though, your midnight stroll had to come to an end for the both of you. Karamatsu had led you to the beginning of the trail where, just a little further ways down, was a bus stop for you to get home.

"We have arrived, my angel."

"Ah... right," you mumbled, slight disappointment seeping through your tone. Karamatsu chuckled, his cat-like grin widening slightly.

"What is this? Is my fair maiden unwilling to let me go?"

"Something like that..." you mumbled, keeping your face directed towards the ground as you released your hold from his arm. Karamatsu's cheeks bloomed pink, a shade darker under the moonlight.

"A-Ah! Well," luckily, he was able to snap out of his surprised stupor, "Do not be so sullen, my moonbeam!"

'Moonbeam?'

"I'm sure the stars will align once again to reunite us as we journey through our lives together, and one day... One day, maybe..."

His bold tone suddenly simmered down to a gentle murmur, almost lost to the breeze if you weren't standing so close to him. A gentle smile was on his face now, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence of something akin to a far away daydream.

"I hope, one day, our paths cross again, my love."

His cold fingers caressed your own, lifting them up to press a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. It may have been brief, but the cold touch burned itself into your skin, lasting as he slowly, reluctantly, pulled away.

"Have a safe journey home, angel!" He grinned, saluting quickly before turning away, holding his flickering lantern before him to lead his way back into the forest he called his home.

You had no words left in you. They had all been snatched away by his comforting words and soft touches. His kind eyes, his dazzling smile. His glowing aura that led you through the darkness around you.

Ah, but good things never last long for you. You had to leave before you missed the next bus. You had leave this lonely, broken soul behind. Just like how he had no choice but to leave yours.

Turning away, you caught a glimpse of red from the corner of your eyes.

A trail of red spider lilies. Standing tall and blooming where he once stood a moment ago.

'Please... Meet me here again. One day.'

[imagineaworlds]

When the World Stopped -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Smoking tobacco. Mentions of underage drinking. Allusion to the use and trade of drugs.

Pairing: Young!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2028

When I first saw him, he was hiding behind the school with his friends, passing around a few cigarettes. While they were certainly hiding from the public eye, they weren’t exactly under cover from anyone like myself who would happen upon them. I mean, their whole operation was out in the open. They weren’t even that good at exchanging the sticks and the lighters in their palms without being obvious about it. The least they could have done was use the shed out on the far off baseball field as cover. But, nope. They were right there, sitting on a bench, lighting up for anyone to see.

I guess I shouldn’t have been exactly surprised, either. The kind of crowd he ran in wasn’t exactly breeding valedictorians. Most of them probably saw themselves winding up in prison or a grave six feet under for their ten years after high school plan. They were the kind of kids who were totally nonchalant about school and socializing. It didn’t matter what their attendance was, how well they did with their grades, or who liked them because they all felt like they had been set up for failure in life, so what was the point in trying, right? But he was the worst of them all. From what I heard in the rumor mill, he liked to smoke more than just cigarettes, and he couldn’t have given a single fuck about what would happen if he got caught with it on the school’s campus. He was probably the one who told the rest of them that they should start lighting up then and there.

As I passed by them though, trying to maintain my distance so as to not draw attention to myself, I could feel his eyes following me. There was a point where I glanced up quickly to see if he really was watching me or if I was going insane, and I could see just how out of place he suddenly looked. While all of his friends were still joking around, shoving each other, poking each other, and putting the lighters in each other’s faces, he stopped entirely to just stare at me. His mouth fell agape slightly and I saw his eyes soften. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the kind of kid who would run with that crowd— let alone run it.

“Aaron—” one of his friends laughed, shoving his shoulder back to catch his attention.

He barely wavered, moving with the impact of the hit, but his eyes stayed on mine. I slowed down ever so slightly, just to see if it was me or if something behind me caught his attention. But as I came to a slow and steady stop, he jumped up from the bench they were sitting on, and he ran over to me. His hair bounced with each step, the cigarette trapped between his teeth holding on for dear life, but his eyes were still on mine.

“Aaron!” his friends called after him.

I started walking again. I wanted nothing to do with him or the friends who were waiting for him to go back. They weren’t the kind of kids I necessarily enjoyed, and I was positive that no one would think it was a good idea for me to get caught up in a crowd like that, either. As the new kid, I had been working over time to ensure that my image stayed squeaky clean. I didn’t need students, teachers, or parents of my new friends judging me based on the simple, stupid fact that the wrong kid ran up to talk to me.

“Wait up!” I finally heard him call when I turned on my heels and nearly made a run for it.

I froze in place and screwed my eyes shut as I cursed myself for daring to look up at him in the first place. Maybe it was my fault. He had been watching me for some reason. Maybe it was because he wanted me to give him a reason to pick on me. Maybe he was going to pull a knife on me and tell me to hand over all the money I had— which wasn’t much, obviously. But him and his friends seemed like the desperate kind to steal just to get enough cash for cigarettes or booze.

I turned back on my heels so that I could face him, and maybe get the upper hand by telling him off before he could try something. “What do you want—”

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to exhale the smoke.

I furrowed my brows. “What’s it to you?”

He smirked. “I just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

“So?”

“So… You’d think that I would have noticed someone as breath taking as you before.”

I chortled. What a line. Geez, I couldn’t believe that I actually thought that this kid would try to rob me. He probably couldn’t even hurt a fly, despite the impression he was trying to give the rest of the world. Between the leather jacket, the black shades clipped to the collar of his shirt, the cigarette between his fingers, the fake diamond ear piercing, and the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, anyone would have guessed that this kid was a low-life, amount to nothing, soon to be high school wash out. Hell, I clearly thought that about him at first, too. But when he stared at me like that, then started talking, then smiled… I realized that he was just a kid like me. Maybe he was lost, or maybe he was just downright stupid for acting the way he did, but he was still a kid.

But that line he hit me with… I couldn’t help but laugh. This act he was putting on for the rest of the world dictated that he needed to be the kind of guy who was a douchebag and could go up to any person with the same line, and somehow get in her pants. Though, I doubt it ever really worked. It certainly wasn’t working on me. It didn’t even roll off his tongue the way he wanted, which was probably a product of the fact that he seemed to cringe himself in response to what he said. It was a douchebag line, and he knew it. He was probably just ashamed that he said it— but more so that he had to play the role that told him he needed to say it.

“I should be going,” I said to him.

“No— Wait—” he insisted, reaching out to grab my hand before I could walk away again.

When his skin met mine, we both froze, staring at my wrist and the grip he had around it. I could feel that I had stopped breathing, yet I couldn’t seem to remember how to inhale. I knew that I needed to breathe eventually, but with his hand on me, I wasn’t sure if I could. There was something about his touch. It didn’t scare me, like I thought it would. It didn’t make me want to scream out for help or to tuck tail and run. In fact, it made me want to stay. Somehow, it made me want to listen to all of his cheesy pick up lines, to give him the chance to make one stick— just as long as he was still touching me. The world felt quiet when he held me like that. It was such an innocent touch, yet, for some reason, it made the reality around us disappear long enough for me to look back up at him and realize that he was just as taken aback as I was. Where he once had an asshole-type smirk, he was now biting his bottom lip, trying to focus on finding his breath again.

My eyes searched his for a moment. I took note of how dark they were. Besides the vivid brown irises, his pupils were dilated to the point I thought that I could get lost in their black abyss. Then I panicked when I actually started to get lost. I pulled my hand away from him in an instant and tried to play it cool by using my palms to flatten out my skirt.

“Who are you?” he asked again, this time more sincere.

I looked at him through my lashes. “Y/N.”

“Y/N… what?”

“It’s a small town. You’ll find out eventually… Aaron.” It felt weird to say his name when I didn’t know him. It felt like whispering the same of a ghost. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait—” he stopped me again. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot against the sidewalk impatiently. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Not whatever it is you’re doing.” I glanced over his shoulder to see his friends still lighting up while watching us intently. “Like I said, I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

“Hotchner.”

I raised a brow. “What?”

“My last name is Hotchner. Now you have to tell me yours.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to any such terms.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. Will you at least agree to letting me take you to a movie tonight?”

I chuckled. “Why? So that you can try to shove your tongue down my throat for two hours? I’ll pass, Aaron Hotchner.” I made a step to the side to try and escape our conversation, but he caught me again, and I felt the world disappear once more. “Will you ever let me leave?”

“Only if you say yes.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to. That’s the whole point, right? And, well… trying to stick my tongue down your throat for two hours is just an added bonus.” He laughed, returning to his douchebag persona as he let go of me. I gagged. “I’m kidding!”

“Hotch!” his female friend called from the bench.

He shooed them with a waving hand behind his back. “Listen, Y/N,” he let my name roll off his tongue, “I’d really like to take you to a movie tonight. No tongue involved. Say yes, and if you like it, maybe you’ll consider telling me your last name. Say yes, and you hate it, you can say ‘I told you so’ and never see me again. Say no, and you'll just sit at home all night, asking yourself why you couldn’t think or breathe when I do this…” His pinkie lightly ran over my wrist, sending a shiver up my spine. Damn him. “What do you say?”

I sucked in a deep breath as his touch retreated. He was right, unfortunately. If I said no— which, I really wanted to— then I’d just be moping around, wondering why the hell I looked at him, why he came running over, why he seemed to be interested in learning my name, and why the hell the world seemed to stop every time he touched me. But, like I said, I had worked too hard to get where I was with people’s impressions of me to throw it all away for a night of answers. Aaron Hotchner was bad news… He really was. He was exactly the kind of person I should’ve been staying away from. Yet, his eyes seemed to capture me again long enough to practically hypnotize me into nodding and whispering, “Yes.”

Hotch, as his friends called him, grinned ear to ear at my response. He fixed his posture, standing up taller than before. He bit down gently on his cigarette, breathing in a hefty amount of smoke. With his hands now free, he brushed his hair back out of his face, then winked at me. From behind his cigarette, he mumbled, “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You don’t know where I live,” I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile. “I’ll meet you there at six.”

He grabbed his cigarette again. “Fair enough.” He exhaled carefully, pushing the smoke up into his nose… seductively. “I’ll see you then. Y/N.”

I nodded. “See you then. Aaron Hotchner.”

And the world caught up to reality again as he turned to run back to his friends.

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @marvelismylifffe​  @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​

[cutegirlmayra]

I'm a simple person with simple needs: angst, dark sonamyy, hurt/comfort. Please Mayra only you can do this (claps hands in prayer)

(NOT MY ART! Found here (x) Please support the artist!)

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN, do not send me any! This also means Commissions are closed too. (I’ve got a waiting list, sorry!)

Asks that follow the Blog Rules are okay though (x)

Find this prompt discussed on Pajama Blogs (x 26:11)

Prompt:

Due to a Chaos Rift that shook the very fabric of space and time, the Master Emerald being severed in two and trying to attempt to mend it back into one again was Sonic.

Since he was the only one that had connected so many times to the power of Chaos, channeling it into his very core, it was almost like he was a being of pure, controlled chaos energy.

However, this was not the case.

As Knuckles performed the act of combining the Master Emerald’s power to link it to Sonic, which was whole at the time, it ended up reversing the effects...

Instead, once Sonic was perfectly linked to the Master Emerald, the Master Emerald didn’t combine it’s energy to match Sonic, but Sonic’s soul ended up matching the Master Emerald...

Two Sonic’s were created, one with a darker hue and the other with a much lighter hue than the original Sonic.

They both seemed off from Sonic, one possessing more of an anger and the other a quiet justice that sporadically meant being protective over his friends.

This meant that Darker Sonic, the one with anger, also was more emotionally unstable and his actions didn’t seem to make much sense other than lashing out.

Lighter Sonic, the one with a serious look always to his face, valued heroism almost to the point of excessivism. Although not as emotional as his dark brother/other half, he was almost stoic but deeply loyal and passionate to his idea of ‘right’ and extremely merciless in destroying what he considered ‘wrong’.

Unable to stand each other, the two would often fight unless separated. It was almost as though the two conflicting sides of Sonic’s personality and very being were constantly at odds with each other, resulting in Knuckles never being able to get them to work together to conjoin back into Sonic--and consequently--bring the Master Emerald back into a whole state of being as well.

Chaos, the God of Destruction, tried to fight the two Sonic’s into joining together again, shoving them up against the other and using his power to force a fuse, but Amy was the only one to hear Darker Sonic state that Lighter Sonic would never accept him, and therefore, never merge successfully back into what they once were.

She felt she had found a clue... but as they defeated Chaos in his weakened, torn state, they vanished...

As everyone tried to find the Lighter Sonic, Amy... went for the Darker.

She knew he was staying in an abandoned mansion somewhere in the woods, one he would talk about back when he was dealing with being a werehog... she had heard his ghost stories and about a camera flashing to help him fight, then his frustration and tearing through the home... but she wondered if that’s where his other self had run off too...

She wasn’t wrong...

Creaking open the door, after passing the gates, it was clear the ‘ghosts’ that used to live here were too afraid to re-enter the home. Unable to fully communicate to her, they played charades to retell the events that had occurred. In his emotional coldness, Darker Sonic must have gone into a fury and kicked the three out of the mansion, wanting to be alone...

Amy put a finger up to her mouth, worried about him... the Lighter Sonic seemed to be the hero-side of Sonic... but he also seemed crueler.

She didn’t want to believe that this Darker Sonic was apart of Sonic’s true self either... he seemed too unstable and emotional... but she’d rather try and reason with that than stoic stubbornness...

She wondered if the Chaos Rift had split and twisted Sonic’s personality traits... their was no way Sonic could be so torn between these parts of himself all the time... wouldn’t someone break under all that stress? Did he really, truly struggle with two sides of himself..?

Did he discipline himself to act one way, but truly desire another? Or have the tendency for it?

She shook her head from her thoughts as she passed the gate and had already walked through the door, peeking in to see what she could find.

It was once a lovely home... she could tell by the woodwork, the remains of the furniture... it could have been a very luxurious estate...

“...Sonic?” She called out quietly, seeing something turn it’s head in the dark.

Leaning rather relaxed but frighteningly still on a banister upon the large staircase that split into three,... was his shadowed self.

Sonic was too free-spirited to have internal conflicts this bad... right?

Was chaos energy promoting such division? Was the Chaos Rift more than just some attack Shadow used back then... did it actually continue to chip and crack away at the Master Emerald every time it was used to create... this?

Shadow was already fine with never using such an ability again, but everyone was convinced this Sonic was like the evil tendencies of man within Sonic,... but Amy couldn’t help and see some suffering in him...

Lighter Sonic had dismissed her in a cold way... and she knew that couldn’t be... exactly... her Sonic either...

Could she see... Sonic in this light?

She froze at the foot of the three-splitting stairway... her hand up by her chest as she scanned his form delicately... careful to try and read his body language and figure out what was going on.

“...Sonic?” she called again, but he didn’t respond, only huffed and quickly sped to the far right stairway, raising a hand to the rails.

“Amy Rose... I should have known you wouldn’t know better.” He mocked under his breath... But he turned his face away from her, suggesting that maybe he thought she was in danger of himself... it almost seemed like the mock was a double-edged sword cutting into his own pride.

“I’m here... to talk.” She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head and trying to see him in the light. There wasn’t much of it... but some open windows on the bottom floor made her seeable, so... if she could get him to come down...

“Talking only ever ends with someone being proved right.” Darker Sonic gestured out his arm, haphazardly. He took two powerful steps down the stairway, eyeing her as he moved to the center and let go of the rail. His shoulder pointed to her intimidatingly, as though a warning... “And I’m not here to be proven anything.”

The harsh growl to his voice made her realize he was still compromised, and she closed her eyes to inch away. “I know you’re not bad, Sonic... So I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” She tried to be brave, taking her shaking hand by her chest and gripping it strongly with her other one, but it made her look more afraid...

“If you are Sonic... then I know there’s no evil in you. Not even a little bit.”

She jumped back when he sped all the way down to her, standing directly to her face with a strong presence of critique.

“Of course you would say that... while everyone else follows like lapdogs after my other half... you would come to the unwanted side.” He smiled as he moved closer, but she immediately paced herself back and adverted her eyes.

He stopped then, standing tall. “...Are you afraid?”

She shook her head, “I could never be afraid of you...”

A smile crooked to the side of his muzzle, but disappeared quickly. He moved forward again, “Then why not try to convince me... that I should fuse with my other half... and not the other way around.” he reached out to her, and she looked at his hand to see what he’d do.

He smirked and suddenly gripped behind her neck, pulling her back as the door smashed through and Lighter Sonic walked bristly into the room, dusting himself off in a pompous way from the dust and debris.

“Give her back.” He stated without much tone or even emotion. “Kidnapping never was something I admired.” he joked, but it completely lacked Sonic’s charm.

Having Sonic’s charm, Darker Sonic lowered his eyes and held Amy out in front of him, “So like you to jump to conclusions... As though you actually care about her.” Darker Sonic then threw Amy over his shoulder, pointing accusingly to his Lighter Self. “Let’s end this! I won’t be repressed anymore!”

“...You’re so impish.” Lighter Sonic shook his head, “Rash, a real bore. Let her go and I’ll prove I’m the only Sonic that need remain.”

“Now you sound like Metal.” scoffed Darker Sonic, letting Amy roll off his shoulder and arm to land to the floor.

She wasn’t hurt, just spun up a bit as she landed on her hands and knees.

When that happened though, Lighter Sonic’s expression finally changed and he twitched to hold a hand out to her, “Can’t you let her down a little easier!?” he demanded, “She’s a girl, after all!”

“She’s taken worse tumbles.” Darker Sonic stood in front of Amy, as though showing he wouldn’t let Lighter Sonic play the hero this time. “All you see me as is a villain to control... A urge to suppress... You’re embarrassed by how you are!” he hunched himself down, “Well, I’m not gonna take the backseat this time... I’m you, smart-one! And you can’t get rid of me that easily!” he took off and rammed a fist into his blocking arm.

“You’re endangering my friends... you think that’s acceptable!?” Lighter Sonic threw a kick out that Darker Sonic flipped over and landed with a bit of style.

“I didn’t do anything...” Darker Sonic grumbled as Lighter Sonic disregarded him and headed over to Amy, looking at him from over his shoulders as he was still rearing to fight. “Don’t ignore me!” he shouted out, which was like a loud boom that caused Amy to plug her ears.

She had never heard Sonic’s voice with such ferocity before...

Lighter Sonic bent to a knee and took her arms, helping her up. “You should get out of here.” he checked to make sure she was fine, and then like before, completely turned away from her.

It was strange... though he seemed caring, he didn’t really express it well. The Darker Sonic...

She remembered him reaching out to her, then pulling her to him to get away from the door blasting open...

They both cared... but in different ways, expressed that they didn’t want to hurt her...

Then they clashed into each other, Chaos energy slashed through the air as they collided each time, cutting some wood in the mansion and making the ghosts cower and the girl shriek at her home being so torn up.

Amy emphasized but she didn’t know what she could do... She knew that Darker Sonic had taken the two pieces of the split Master Emerald with him... so she started up the stairs, bracing against each deadly beam of light that exploded from the two’s fighting.

She had already learned there was no way to reason with them to stop fighting... from the previous times they had clashed, it was just no use no matter what anyone did.

How did Lighter Sonic know to come here..? Was there still a sliver of connection between the two..?

That would mean...

As she tried to climb the stairs, Darker Sonic saw her and immediately rushed to stomp a foot down by her reaching hand.

She gasped, withdrawing her once reaching hand as the blasts got so forceful that they shoved her to the ground.

“Where are you going?” He seemed so angry... but there was hurt in his eyes. “You’ll find nothing up here!”

Lighter Sonic then tackled into him, rolling and crashing them through the already rotting wood railing as they and the splintered remains of that side of the stairway gave out.

“Sonic!” Amy cried out, seeing the stairway collapsing and rushed to jump to the edge as half of it came down.

She pulled herself up and breathed hard, looking down to see them throw off the rubble and continue pounding into each other in an alarmingly hostile rate.

She then wondered... could it be Sonic?

“You almost hurt her!” Lighter Sonic argued, getting a punch in before Darker Sonic returned the same.

“You know full well I wouldn’t do that!” He then shoved against him, and they were evenly matched as their arms gripped the other’s shoulders and tried to push them back.

They gritted their teeth, one looking overly justified and the other with unbridled rage.

“Sonic... your emotions... your ideals... they clash too often, don’t they?” She whispered to herself, realizing that Sonic was a good man, but one that was like the rest of humanity... constantly dueling the two sides to yin and yang. One with passionate cause and the other with selfish needs.

She quickly continued her climb, though she desperately wanted to fall down with them and unlock them from their deadly feuding, she knew she couldn’t match the chaos power they both wielded at the moment.

Darting from room to room, she threw the doors open, not bothering to close them as the Sonics naturally followed in their brawling, trying to reach her.

“No!” Darker Sonic reached out to her but was blocked off and hit back by Lighter Sonic.

“Amy, get out of here!” Lighter Sonic gestured a hand out that slashed across from his chest, “It isn’t safe!”

Darker Sonic actually took the initiative and bolted pass Lighter Sonic, attempting to grab her and take her out of the mansion and warzone himself, but Lighter Sonic quickly intercepted.

They brawled down the hallway in vicious rolls and slams against the sides of the wall as they continued to pursue Amy, both with a similar goal but different ways to go about it.

‘There’s Sonic...’ Amy felt her eyes get watery in her fright at the mansion not able to handle the two fighting Sonics powers, but another part of her was determined to put them back together again.

She finally found it, at the end of the hallway, she burst open two large doors that revealed the Master Emerald on a balcony... upon closer look... she marveled that there was still a small piece that was conjoined, not severed yet.

She nodded, realizing this meant that they were, both, Sonic.

She turned around and spread her arms out, seeing the Sonics tackle into the balcony room and used her hammer to separate them from their wrestling, childish squabble and threw each of the other to opposite sides.

“That’s enough!”

The two panted but got up from the ground.

“This doesn’t concern you...” Lighter Sonic went for a gentler approach, but there was still somewhat a condensing hint in his actions. “Just leave this to me.”

“Stop!” Amy shoved her hammer towards him, making him pause in his pursuit to her. “I’ll get to you in a minute.”

He was stunned to hear that, his eyes actually emoting the look of being talked back too.

She glared at him, “I’ve had enough of your self-righteousness for one day.” she then looked to Darker Sonic, who was holding his arm and spat out to the side of himself.

“My thoughts exactly..!”

“And you...” Amy stepped in-between the two, making sure she could only see one side of Sonic at a time. “I never thought I’d say this to Sonic... but you need to calm down.” held out her hand without the hammer in it, gently trying to appease him looking tenderly towards him. “You’re hurting... you don’t want to fail, but you hate not being the hero... even though at times, you’re just a boy, and you want to do things your way, not the heroic way that everyone idealizes you to be.”

He looked up as though confused how she knew that.

“You were happy... weren’t you? When I was the one to turn my attention to you instead of to him, right?”

He remained silent, as though ashamed as he calmed his breathing, and looked away.

His eyes were scanning the floor wildly... as though worried she could see right through him.

There was a gentleness to the Darker Sonic she hadn’t seen before... but after putting the two on different sides of her eyes... she could start seeing traits line up.

“You’re neither good nor bad, either of you!” She looked back to Lighter Sonic. “You are duty bound, that’s why you hate the selfish freedom the other desires to the point of not listening to reason, but enacting your own idealistic views only makes you suffer too.” She saw him pause and as though swallowing his pride, lower his head and stare intensely at her.

“You can’t pretend you know me...” He seemed to be letting the words bounce off of him, or trying too.

While Darker Sonic was taking it to heart.

Realizing she couldn’t get through to Lighter Sonic so quickly, she turned back to the vulnerable side, “You both admitted you didn’t want to hurt me, right? Is that the only thing you two have in common?”

She saw the piece that was still intact, way at the bottom of the emerald’s pointed center... she knew the real Sonic was still poking out somewhere... and she had to find it.

Otherwise... she didn’t want to imagine what would become of him.

“It’s not all reputation, is it?” Amy looked to Lighter Sonic, seeing Darker Sonic close his eyes to shut this all out, as though too shy to admit and ashamed to admit his jealousy over the praise and admiration his other self, a mask he put on to be adored, always seemed to receive. “And you, carefree and usually always up for an adventure... you’ve been angry too long.”

She was trying to comfort both, but the hurt between both sides was so immense... he had been playing both sides all his life... how could she mend something so incredibly torn and damaged?

“But if I know anything about Sonic... it’s that his natural self is a hero.”

The two turned back to her, their heads moving as though that hit something deep within them.

She closed her eyes, trusting they wouldn’t punch each other out for at least a few seconds while she spoke. “The Sonic I admire... is like the wind. He can be cold at times, but also warm and inviting... he races through the fields and enjoys every second of his life. There’s never a dull moment, and as long as you can keep up, he’ll carry you along for the ride... He’s kind, but he’s also a force to be reckoned with.” she gestured her hammer and hand out to each of them, then looked at her own hands. “One hand grips a powerful speed and anger...” she grasped her hammer, “The other one... can’t stand to hesitate and leave someone in need. It can’t help but want to save and lift others up.”

The two seemed to be stilled a moment... and behind Amy... the torn Master Emerald began to respond to Sonic’s soul... it began to fuse slowly it’s torn self into a glowing, invisible torch that was repairing itself.

Amy turned around to see it, and both Sonic’s instinctively raced to either one of her sides, holding a hand out as though defending her from the sudden heat and lighted sparks from the Master Emerald.

Looking at them, she smiled.

Looking at each other, a slow roll of their eyes, they parted immediately. Walking away, Lighter Sonic put one hand to his hip as though trying to remain cool, while the other folded his arms and tsk’ed to the side of himself, not wanting to play nice.

Amy sighed, seeing that they still were a bit different... but very much the same.

“Will you at least try and find a happy medium?” She moved towards them and took their hands.

Darker Sonic let her gently sink her hand into his folded arms and coax out, very gently, his hand...

Lighter Sonic pulled away, sharply, but seeing Amy’s hammer disappear from being pointed at him... and now her hand pleading for his approval... he looked away and lightly placed his hand to her own...

Lighter Sonic looked nervous and tried to distance himself from the emotional tension... but also the overwhelming love that Amy was showing to both conflicting sides as Darker Sonic used his other hand to flick his own nose, sniffling as though trying to not look dorkish either.

Amy giggled at their familiar responses, “I think I see you for who you truly are now, Sonic.” she liked this, not having him hide his emotions, but being unable to stop his two sides from revealing themselves. “There’s a saying.” She gripped both their hands in a loving embrace, jolting them down a bit in her newfound cheeriness at them not fighting anymore, but actually listening. “That there’s two wolves inside the heart... and the one you feed, will be the winner and devour your heart.” She put their hands together, “However... Some asked, why not starve the two wolves? And another few asked, why not feed both equally, keeping an equilibrium between the two...”

The two Sonic’s saw their hands glowing... much like the light from the Master Emerald, slowly healing.

They finally looked at the other one of them... and Amy saw a neutral expression in each of their eyes...

She smiled and looked to each of them before back down to their hands, placing her hands below and above them, making sure they stayed together.

“But you know what the chief said? Feed your heart... and it will be too large for the wolves to devour.”

The Sonics looked back to her.

“I heard a different tale.” The Darker Sonic stated, “One is good and the other is bad.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.” Amy nodded, “But in this case.” She raised her head, “I think the wolves are just our conflicting personalities. One side of me, for example, loves to stay at home and get some chores done. Strange, for you and maybe most, right?” She giggled, watching the mending of the Master Emerald slowly increase in speed, and noticed at the corner of her eyes the two Sonic’s delicately intrigued and hanging off every word she uttered, as though this was the missing meaning they had always longed for in their chaotic inner-life. It gave her courage to continue, hoping that her words would feed Sonic’s soul, and let it form as one again. “But I enjoy cleaning, tending my garden, or even going out to shop for little things I may need in the week.” She then clasped her hands more firmly, but with added love over the two’s hands, as they looked down to action.

One acted a bit surprised, but the other grew flustered and adverted his eyes at her newly adjusted strength for keeping them together.

“However, sometimes I don’t have the energy for staying indoors all day or going through sales racks... sometimes, I really want my life to be less boring, more exciting, and so I race along after you and the others, wanting to do my part to be... even a small change... in helping the world be a better, safer place to live in.”

The Sonics... together... smiled.

In a strange noise, their voices seemed to overlap each other when they chuckled at her words, and she knew by the look of the Master Emerald that if she just kept their hands together for a bit longer... the Master Emerald would fuse his heart together again.

“Those two wolves... don’t devour me.” Amy stated, “Neither one is bad, it’s just the one I choose to pamper that day.” She nodded to her words. “Sometimes I don’t want to do either of them, and that’s not bad either! It doesn’t mean I’m lazy, but lazy days aren’t a bad thing too.”

She watched as she removed her hands... and both Sonics kept their hands on or under the other... letting them remain together.

“You two aren’t wolves,” She put her hands up to her mouth as she giggled more prominently now, “You’re just stubborn hedgehogs that don’t know what to do with yourselves! One of you wants to be aloof and peaceful, while the other wants to fight bad guys and save the world with his friends. Neither is bad, and both of you... are the sides of Sonic’s heart.”

She placed her hands to her chest and closed her eyes as the two Sonics happily stepped in unison towards each other, and with the last light of the Master Emerald fusing itself together, Amy kept her eyes closed with the giant beam of light till it faded.

“...Amy..?”

Amy slowly opened her eyes, and looked up to see her beloved’s face again.

“Thank you.” He stated, earnestly, putting a hand to his hip and looking tenderly towards her. “I never knew I needed that... pep-talk... thing.” he admitted, but goofily moved his hand in a funny way.

She giggled again, and he chuckled to her laughter.

“Let’s let the others know it’s all good now.” He nodded in the direction that made most sense, but then also tilted his head as though changing gears. “I thought no one would accept the silent, selfish desires of my heart like that, Amy... but you’ve shown me that I’m not bad for wanting certain things... I just want them... at different times.” his gentle smile was the one she loved to see, his new humility and self-awareness made him open but complete again, and she was overwhelmed with her feelings once again.

“Ahh!” She squealed in delight, covering her face and twisting her body away from him, lifting her leg up slightly and letting the tip of her boot keep her somewhat balanced.

“H-huh?” He looked curiously confused at her behavior, and leaned towards her, turning his body left and right to try and see why she was acting this way. “What’s the matter? Amy?”

“You’re so handsome!” she cheered, then parted her hands to flirtatiously lean her nose up by his, but still watching him pull back and not daring to touch hers with his. He made a face but she found it funny, seeing him wincing his mouth back like that, “Especially when you’re thanking me~” she teased, and he looked away, groaning at her antics and then rubbing his nose slightly with a wink towards her.

“You would still be you, even split in two, wouldn’t you, Amy?”

“Oh, one part would definitely be all over you, that’s for sure.” Amy leaned back and put her hands behind her back as Sonic suddenly looked a bit frightful.

“O-oh?” He was definitely turning sheepish, starting to walk passed her as the Master Emerald and him were still linked, so it up and lifted itself into the air and floated after him. “You don’t have to tell me the rest of it.” He kept his head down and eyes closed as Amy trotted off after him.

“Well, actually, without my self-restraint, I’d have probably carried you tied to the chapel by now.”

He groaned again as she skipped after him.

“Hmm... Maybe I should split myself. But would that mean you’re only married to a part of me... or..?” as she thought teasingly out loud, he finally turned around and gave her a scolding look, shaking his head as though she was taking the joke too far as Amy then laughed at him.

He seemed to give up and throw his arms up, shrugging, “Remind me to make sure that never happens to you then...”

“If I’m ever linked to the Master Emerald... and Shadow breaks his promise--which I know he wouldn’t!--but if he did... would you... do what I did for you and help put me--and the Master Emerald, of course--back together again..?” she asked, cutely, as he stopped to think a second.

“Ah! Really! You have to think about it!?”

“No... not that.” Sonic mused as he suddenly grinned back to her, “Just thinking... is there even a part of you that wouldn’t be all over me?”

Amy blushed and held her tongue after that, as Sonic laughed and laughed while making it out of the mansion, apologizing in a deep, forward bow to the ghosts, and then taking Amy’s hand to help her keep up his fast pace as they made it back to Knuckles to cut off the link.

Amy wanted to ride the Master Emerald, so he helped her up on top of it, and although it did float a little closer to the ground, she was able to hang on as Sonic took off at lightning speeds...

Later, when Amy was dusting off some of her home, the doorbell sounded off.

Leaning on her home’s sign, Sonic jokingly pretended he was looking at his nails.

“Which part of your heart are you feeding today, Amy?” He acted as though uncaring, but Amy was already growing in excitement at seeing him there, at her home, unexpectedly. “The part that likes to clean all day... or the side that likes a little excitement every now and then.” He put his hands behind his head, smiled cheekily to the ground with his eyes closed, before turning his head to her with a proud look on his face as he opened one eye to a subtle ‘winky’ expression~

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Saturday, 19:08

Song: Mark Diamond - Monster

Lucas checks the messages again as he walks, just to make sure he didn’t imagine anything. But it’s all there. Jens inviting him to go trick or treating with him and his little sister, with the condition that he has to wear his costume once more, complete with a winky face.

So, naturally, Lucas is skating to Jens’s house in his full princely form.

He’d thought it was a weird offer, at first, though he has come to understand that it’s more of a request. Robbe usually goes with him, Jens says, but he wants to spend the night with Sander and Jens refuses to complain about that, this time. Lucas is honestly honored to even be his second choice, especially when it seems to be a tradition.

Plus, he’d never pass up an opportunity to see Jens.

He’s given up denying it to himself. It seems to have gotten easier, now that it feels slightly out in the open. Noor had placed it under the light and made it impossible to ignore. He’d thought it would terrify him more, but he still only feels relieved.

He is also very confused, and a little anxious, because he definitely can’t be imagining what happened after. He didn’t imagine Jens staring at him at the party, and he didn’t imagine how they’d almost kissed.

He refuses to believe he misinterpreted it. Jens is the one who started to lean in first. Jens was going to kiss him. Jens had wanted to kiss him.

At least, this is what Lucas desperately wants to believe.

The hope has been blossoming there since they’d met, the irritational little sprout of hope, telling him that this time he may be in with a real chance. Telling him that the signs he’s been seeing are real, that every time Jens’s gaze or touch lingers, that every time he smiles extra wide or laughs extra loud, it’s not just Lucas’s head playing tricks. It’s real. It means something. He’s not imagining it. His own interest might not be for nothing. His feelings don’t have to be ignored. He’s not setting himself up to be torn down.

He also thinks he’s stuck up in the clouds and treading a very thin, dangerous line.

As he makes it back to Jens’s street for the second time in twenty-four hours, he reminds himself that now isn’t the time to think about it.

Jens is already stood outside, back in his skeleton costume and gesturing dramatically through the door at someone Lucas can’t see. Lucas slows to a stop a few houses down, planting his foot on the pavement and kicking up his board. The sound is enough to alert Jens to his presence, and the line of his shoulders softens as he turns to look at Lucas. Lucas smiles and offers him a wave as a little girl trudges out to meet Jens.

Lucas takes a few slow steps closer and hears Jens say, “Lucas is here, Lies, can’t keep him waiting.” He ushers the girl—his sister, clearly—out to the gate, and she follows without much protest.

Lucas’s smile grows as he watches them, almost missing the other person peeking their head out the door. “Don’t I get to meet him?”

Jens looks back and Lucas follows his gaze to see an older girl at the door, possibly older than them. He lifts his hand in another wave as she grins excitedly at him and Jens makes a sound of protest. “Nope, already late.”

Lucas snorts as they reach him. “Late for what?”

“Well, do you want to introduce yourself?” Jens raises a brow. He’s plain-faced today, foregoing the makeup he’d worn the previous night. Meaning, if Lucas touched him, he’d be met with nothing but smooth skin, soft and golden under his fingertips, warming the closer Lucas allowed himself to get.

He shakes the thought away and with it denies Jens’s offer. He looks instead at the younger girl already staring up at him, dressed as a little fairy, complete with a small set of wings sprouting from her back. She bears little resemblance to her brother, eyes and hair both a few shades lighter, but there’s something in the curve of her smile and her curious expression that makes their relation unmistakable. He asks Jens, “Are you at least going to introduce us?”

Jens sighs, as if it’s a much bigger task than a few words. “Lucas, this is Lotte. Lotte, this is your second babysitter for the night.”

Lucas rolls his eyes and then smiles at Lotte, oddly nervous as she gazes up at him.

“Jens, he’s a prince, that’s way cooler than you.”

Lucas laughs as Jens grows instantly offended, flicking her head lightly. She shies away and glares up at him. Lucas decides they’ll probably get along quite well.

“Yeah, Jens, I’m way cooler than you,” he teases, gratified at the face Jens pulls at him in response.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s super uncool to be trick-or-treating with your big brother, but who is the one who brought you the pretty prince, huh?”

Lucas blushes at the words and has to pretend he isn’t as Lotte examines him once more before shrugging in acceptance. “I don’t think princes skate though,” she wrinkles her nose.

“Cool princes do,” Jens mutters, but he takes the board from Lucas’s hands. “I’ll leave it just inside the gate so you can get it when we get back.”

Lucas watches him jog the few steps back to his house and tuck the skateboard against the front wall. In the minute he’s gone, Lucas does his best to ignore the still-stuttering beat of his heart and Lotte’s probing gaze. Maybe he should have given himself more time, before seeing Jens again, he thinks. Maybe then he would’ve had himself under better control. His blood wouldn’t be rushing so quickly to his cheeks, his head wouldn’t be spinning so much, his hands would stop shaking.

More likely, it’s his permanent condition around Jens now, and he’s fooling himself if he thinks otherwise.

Jens makes it back to them and sets a hand on Lotte’s shoulder to begin guiding her down the street, and within minutes her paper pumpkin basket is filling up with various treats. There are a few other kids running out, mostly all a little holder and in groups of at least three, but Lotte seems unbothered, skipping around on her own. Jens and Lucas follow along side by side, making up mini ghost stories inspired by the various decorations adorning the houses.

“How come you have nothing outside your house?”

Jens shrugs as Lotte runs up and eagerly rings another doorbell. “We wouldn’t have had any at all if Lies hadn’t come home. My parents don’t really think about these things.”

Lucas nods. “I didn’t think mine did, either. I’m surprised my dad put in the effort, but I think that’s what he was hoping.”

He has noticed that Jens has never asked him about his father, or his lack of any mention of his mother. He appreciates it more than he could say, this silent understanding Jens allows him. Even though he wants to tell Jens. Out of everyone, he would want to tell Jens.

He just isn’t sure he’s ready to go there. They haven’t reached that level of personal. Not quite yet.

It doesn’t stop Lucas from wanting to kiss him, though.

“Are you a fan of Halloween then?”

Lucas looks over at him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah? Aren’t you?”

Jens shrugs, smiling, and gestures to Lotte as she comes back to their side. “This is my Halloween. Are you a fan?”

“I would have preferred it if we at least got some treats ourselves,” Lucas admits.

“You can have some of mine.” Lotte suddenly looks up to him, eyes wide, the picture of innocence, and his heart melts slightly.

He shakes his head softly at her. “That’s okay, Lotte. You deserve them all. You look way cooler than me and him combined.”

It’s enough to make her beam, and she latches onto his hand to begin dragging him to the next house with her. “You should just come up with me. I know the lady who lives here. She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Jens calls from a few steps behind them. Lotte doesn’t pay him any attention. “Don’t I get offered some treats?”

“You get to hang out with your friend,” Lotte says simply.

Lucas is a little pleased when Jens doesn’t argue further. He gives Lotte’s hand a tug. “Why aren’t you trick-or-treating with your friends?”

She pouts at the street in front of her, swinging Lucas’s hand. “Mama says I’m too young and they live in a different place. But she said maybe next year.”

“Double digits,” Jens agrees, “then we’ll see.”

Lucas doesn’t go up to the next house with her, even when she turns her pout on him. But when she comes back, she does grab his hand again, only this time to place her tiny handful of sweets in it. He grins down at her, thanking her quietly, and then she’s back to beaming and skipping up to the next house.

Lucas looks at Jens and finds him gazing back softly, eyes bright and lips just slightly curved upwards. He’s still one of the prettiest people Lucas has ever seen, even in the dull glow of the darkening sky and the scattered streetlights. Lucas’s heart still takes a few beats out of rhythm.

Jens snaps his gaze away as he follows after his sister, but he walks closer to Lucas now, leaving their hands bumping every few steps. He only abandons Lucas’s side for a moment to chase after Lotte, ignoring her complaints as he crouches down to adjust one of her wings where it has folded back. He smooths down a few strands of her hair while he’s there and she finally offers him a smile, tugging at his hand now to get them moving again and still checking to make sure Lucas follows.

It’s odd for Lucas to realise there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

So I got to thinking too deeply about origin stories the other day. I wrote this in a frenzy in one day so cut me some slack you guyss~ lol

(here you go @katzkinder @mrskeletondarkness )

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession." He murmured, eyes fixed on the green velvet drapery only half discernible in the dim lighting filling the claustrophobic confessional box. "I once more lost my temper. It was just a small child but he was lingering in the outer hall and I knew him well. He is Alexander and on kitchen duty this week."

"And what did you do?" The soft voice from beyond the altar asked.

"I lashed out. I do believe he may have cried." There was no response to this but a lingering sigh and he grimaced. "There are more, of course. I was prideful of my position and my duty to oversee the facility in the absence of Father Antonio. I have overslept once and missed the Holy Hour."

"Unbecoming of a deacon."

He bit his lip, fingers curling tightly into his palms. "Yes, Father."

"This is something that I seem to see a pattern of." The voice had grown lighter and almost joking. "Are you perhaps not a morning person?"

"Not at all." He muttered sourly.

"See that that be something you work on."

"Yes, Father." He began sifting through the recent memories for something more inconsequential, struggling to see past the irritation he felt at the call out and finally settled on the most interesting. "I witnessed a marriage the other day. They seemed quite happy."

"And the sin?" The voice lilted up in amusement.

"I took the top most layer of the wedding cake."

There was a desperately concealed snort and then a clearing of the throat and he did his best to hold back a smile. "I think that is enough, don't you? Is it not time for your infirmary rounds?"

"Yes, Father. Ah- this is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.” He intoned dutifully, making to stand and dust the loose crushed velvet from his robes.

"For penance you will help the boy Alexander in the kitchens when you have completed your other duties." A pause and then, "And no bread at dinner for the week."

Scowling unseen in the dark, he nodded. "Yes, Father."

"Your Act of Contrition."

Taking a deep breath, he settled back onto the stiff wooden bench and let his mind drift as the familiar words flooded forth. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart, in choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned-"

The infirmary that he chose most to visit lay at the edges of the city and he often found himself wondering if it was the walk through the crowded, busy streets, or the lack of elderly patients at that particular institute that he liked about it. It was difficult to say really and bore no real worth in contemplating beyond relishing in the somewhat fresh air that blew in from the smaller subdivisions and off the ever renewing water of the fountains so recently restored.

"You're here again." 

Her voice was gentle and welcoming, clearly biased in her delight at the sight of him, and he struggled to hold back a smile.

"Of course. It is an almost daily occurrence."

"That it is." She smiled, ushering him in and down the hall. "I'm afraid most are sleeping at the moment and not much in need of such a friendly face."

"Then I shall do the rounds with you."

She once more smiled brightly and nodded, turning to gather her jacket. "Please do!"

Their conversations were always varied and pleasant, and he found her to be a relaxing presence; all at once joyful and demure, and yet suggestively combative and interesting. It was of course, he mused somewhat guiltily, a plus when the sun hit her endless golden hair and flashed, star bright, against the darker colors of her dress.

It was something that he was always mocked for. But then, he decided, watching her laugh cheerfully with one of her patients, worth it. 

"They say there was a werewolf spotted not far from here!" Matteo exclaimed, dropping his plate down on the table. It clattered and threatened to spill and he chuckled self consciously.

"Do not be an idiot." He murmured testily, pulling his own plate farther away to protect it from the splattering of gravy off Matteo's. "They will say anything to keep a head up in notoriety."

"You're always so dour and pragmatic!"

"I am not, I am merely-"

"Yeah, yeah! A deacon of the church, bent on becoming pope." Matteo laughed, stabbing his spoon into the lukewarm potatoes they were being served. 

Blowing out a harsh breath, he glared over at his friend. "Don't say things like that!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

"You once again demonstrate your enormously empty head."

Matteo only laughed once more, and he looked away again, down into the dregs of his cup and wondered if it were possible. Was it something that he could dare to dream of being worthy of? "Superstitious fancy." He muttered, not expecting an answer.

"You know, Faaver Antonehio claims is all twue." Matteo slurred, mouth full of bread. "He says thas why-" He paused and swallowed loudly, earning another glare. "He says that's why the city shuts down after dark. That and vampires." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Folly." He scoffed. "Vampires are no more real than ghosts."

"Then what do you think we're so armed against?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have demonstrated quite a lack of faith."

He spun around, long gown fanning out and creating a rustling against the stone flooring in the otherwise total hush of the hall. "Father!"

"Calm down." Antonio chuckled. "I do not mean in your studies, but in your disbelief in what I'm sure you have been hearing murmurs of in the streets."

Wracking his brain, he could only come up with one common theme, and he struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open. "Do you mean the vampires and werewolves?"

"Exactly that." Glancing up and down the hall, Antonio stepped closer, his candle threatening to go out in the sudden rush of air between them as he approached. "For no other reason than your safety, please try to keep in mind that rumors are all based on something."

Without pausing to think that perhaps he was throwing his friend to the dogs, he snorted. "So all that ilk that Matteo spouts is not just nonsense but true?"

"More so than even he seems to ascribe it, yes." Antonio answered. He hesitated and then placed a hand on his shoulder, resting heavy and warm in the chilly hall. "You have duties in the morning so try to keep your head, alright? And do not let it affect your sleep. But remember this, you are destined for far more than you see before you now."

The innocuous statement seemed more confusing than reassuring and so he merely nodded. "Yes, Father."

Later, as he lay in bed, staring unflinchingly at the dark cavernous ceiling of his room where the moon, long since risen, was casting shadows into the corners, he couldn't help but picture a large wolf running through the streets and found himself hard pressed not to laugh. What a bunch of ridiculous lies. It was all just childish dreams and jokes blown out of proportion by the uneducated masses. And though it may very well be his duty to love and protect those very people, that did not mean he had to fall prey to their hysteria.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was best to focus on the news he had received. Best to not look at the telltale red that was occasionally splattered across his pillows and sheets in the morning. No, it would do no good and so he shoved it far back and to the graveyard of his mind. He would not think of it. Instead he would relish in the knowledge that he would seem to not only be progressing to priesthood but to a place in the College.

He had been warned, months ago now, by Father Antonio, that there were changes in the air, but never would he have dared to imagine something like this.

"Handpicked." He murmured, watching his reflection in the water basin. He was looking impossibly paler and thinner, his already sharp jaw now razor like, and his eyes, such a lively green, now clouded. "For life."

It was a melancholy thing to hear of a death, but he could see past that and to it's natural place in the order of life. It was simply the way of things. That was true in the most dire of situations and it was true now. Splashing a hand through the water, he let out a breath of relief when his image faded into the ripples and he stepped away to begin his morning routine.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He covered a soft cough with a stomp of his foot on the hardwood. "It has been three days since my last confession and I have fallen prey to pride and fear." There was no immediate response and so he continued. "I have lost not faith but trust, and I fear death."

"There is nothing to fear in death."

"No. But early dea-" He cut himself off, wondering how to parse the emotions that were tying him in knots so frequently now. So much so as to be distracting, leading to forgetfulness, spite, impatience. "I wish penance to renew my trust in God."

Faced with the city at dusk, he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had ventured beyond the halls past midday. It was a colder evening and the wind bit into the hollows of his ribs and forced shivers across his skin. Tugging the cloak tighter around his shoulders, he hurried forward, long legs carrying him past the familiar sights now so strange in the twilight.

The place he had been sent, a seemingly unnoteworthy apothecary, was not far and it wasn't until he was in sight, breath labored and mind fixed on the sign over the doorway, that he first saw the shadow at the edges of the street. It hadn't appeared to have been following him, indeed, it seemed not to notice him at all. But when a second figure lunged forward from the open ended alley and sank a flashing blade into the first's chest, he couldn't stop the strangled sound of surprise from ripping free of his throat and into the night.

It was a mistake.

Both men, for he could see now that they were men, turned to him and he sank back a step. Mind blank in astonishment, he did not at first notice when the second advanced from the dark of the side street and towards him. It was foolishness to think that the glow of his robes would deter the man in any way but he still, for the first moment, held out hope. He just couldn't imagine dying in a place like this.

"Hey!" The first shouted and he for a moment found space in his crowded mind to marvel at the fact that the man was still standing, much less shouting so loudly.

"What are you-" His words were cut off by the fist that connected with the side of his head, and seeing stars, he stumbled back until his calves met a small wooden cart parked nearby. His temper flared, burning away the inky constellations in his mind and he frowned darkly. "You should not have done that."

"Ah man." The first man moaned tiredly. "What do you think you're doing hitting a priest?"

"You should not be hitting any one." He grit, resisting raising a shaking hand to his temple which throbbed more richly with each gust of chill night air.

"Yeah, that's true." The first sighed, leaning languidly back against the building, blood steadily gathering at his feet. "But I think it matters a little less if it's me."

"Shut your fool mouth!" He roared, eyes widening in yet more dread when he felt his own blood gathering in the crevices of his teeth and escaping the confines of his mouth. 

"Hey, you ok?" The man asked, pushing away from the wall, his hair catching the street light and flashing like snow. "You look kind of peaky."

"I'm fine!" He spit, biting down on not just his tongue but the overwhelming, overlapping, paralyzing fear that grew suddenly up from that long buried place, watered with the blood that had, until now, seemed to have been staying where it was supposed to. 

"You have quite a temper there, Father." The man sighed, having finally reached them. He glanced at the second figure who, in seeming disbelief, had not moved since the beginning of their conversation. "I'm tellin' you. It's better if he has his way with me. After all, what do I care?"

"You want to die?!" He exclaimed, livid in both dismay and amazement.

"No." The figure muttered, reaching out now, lightning fast and wrapping an arm around the second's throat. "But even if I did, it's not like I can."

"What in the world do you-" He broke off, watching in incredulity as, with each movement of the mans arms, more blood gushed free and ran like a waterfall down his legs to the cobblestones; he did not seem concerned by this and with what could only be seen as inhuman strength, lifted the second figure over his head and tossed him, light as a child, across the street and into a rubbish pile. The impact rendered the second figure unconscious and the man now turned his ruby gaze back.

"You should probably get home or whatever. Take a long nap."

"Your- eyes are-"

"Red?" The man interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, well I am a vampire."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was growing harder and harder to ignore, he admitted, as he crept down the deserted hall in search of Matteo. Indeed, most nights now, he found it difficult to sleep for the chills and chest pain. He could feel it digging ever deeper, sinking it's unknown fingers into his lungs and muscles and wracking him with aches and shivers and now even an inability to eat. He was thinner than ever, as Matteo liked to remind him, joking that a strong wind might be enough to loose his feet from the floor and sweep him away and to Heaven. And it would have been an annoying enough joke on its own but for the twinge of real worry he could discern in Matteo's eyes whenever he was looked at too closely or accidentally let out a cough that had been punching at the back of his throat for the last hour.

It should have been nothing. He was a man of God. He was pious and good and atoned. It should have been nothing.

But it wasn't.

There had been no answers for him in the dead of night, or the light of dawn. or in the long watches of desperation every Mass. 

Slamming an already bruised fist against the nearest archway, he winced when the hollowed bones in his hand creaked. Rubbing at the spot, he bit his lip, and tried to ignore the panic that fluttered so like children’s breath at his heart. It would do no good. It would only increase the pain. It would only bring on another of his fits.

Knowing that vampires were real, assuming that he hadn't hallucinated the entirety of the event a couple weeks, wasn't making anything easier. His faith, already on shaking legs, was threatening to topple completely when faced with the truth of such creatures, the Damned, lurking in the night, in the city, and free to prey on those they chose. And if they truly existed, then what did that mean for Matteo's claim of werewolves?

He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

He was about to give up for the night, winded and miserable, when he turned a corner and almost ran head first into Matteo himself. He stumbled back, barely catching himself on his weakened ankles and shrugged off the concerned hand Matteo put forth.

"What are you doing out so late at night, my friend?" Matteo asked, the faux cavalier tone to his voice grating against already raw and bloodied nerves.

"Looking for you." He hissed. Grabbing a handful of the others robes, he gave as mighty of a pull as he could, one so diminished from his usual that he almost broke down in tears. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Matteo whispered cautiously. "Do you feel like you-"

"Not about me." He panted. "About the damn vampires."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was probably the time to go and see Father Antonio, he thought detachedly; there was no coming morning for him. And he would go too, he insisted, argued vehemently to himself, if only he could get up.

"Do you want another drink of water?" The voice next to him asked softly and he turned his head, neck muscles protesting violently. 

The figure there was blurry at best, but he thought he could make out blonde waves. Unsure if he had given a response or not, he blinked, willing the vision to clear. If nothing else, what a sight to be his last.

"Is he-" Matteo's high alto drifted over from the doorway and the blonde blur shook its head.

"Please come in." The soft one answered.

A shaking hand wrapped around one of his, seeming miles away, and Matteo's face slowly materialized. His freckles looked more pronounced than ever and it took him far too long to understand it was the unnatural pallor of Matteo's face that made them so.

"How are you, my friend?"

Summoning every ounce of life left in his body, he scoffed, the sound weak and wet in the otherwise complete silence. "You- demonstrate- your empty head-edness."

A trembling smile wound over Matteo's lips and his grip tightened just a fraction. "What would I be otherwise?"

A priest, he thought sullenly, enviously. It had been his future, his goal and meaning in existence. Now, Matteo would see that Ordainment alone. Perhaps he would even earn his spot in the college, one that he had not even had chance to sit in on. 

There were no answers anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When next his eyes opened his vision had cleared, was in fact crystal sharp and bright despite the obvious glow of the moon beyond the windows, windows that he did not recognize. Suspiciously, he cast it about the room and recoiled in shock when he met a gaze he had never seen before.

"Feeling better, aren't we?" The stranger asked cheerfully. "Tell me! How is your head? Your lungs? Quite a toll it took on you there! I'm surprised you held on as long as you did. Naught but mush in your chest by the end!"

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, eyes flying wide at the restoration of his deep tenor. It was something that he had not heard in the last month of suffering and wavering delirium and it's sudden reappearance was startling at best and terrifying at worst.

The man grinned, wide and unfettered. "Welcome to your new life!" He stepped back, out of his immediate line of sight, and spread long arms. "How do you feel, be honest."

"I-" He cut off, scowling blackly and sitting up, once more stunned by the ease with which this small motion, before next to impossible, was now accomplished. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"I've already told you." The man tutted. "Doubt Doubt. That is your name now."

"My-" His gaze flew to the small mirror over the sink that was inset into the wall. In it stared back a mad version of his face. Returned were his delicate, high cheekbones and attractively curved forehead, leading back into shining ravens feathers for hair, but his eyes... gone was the green of a spring rain and in place was a sparkling. cold ruby flame. "My name is-" He trailed off distractedly, realizing that he could not seem to remember it. All his memories were intact, strong and full of conviction, even the dread soaked ones of the last few weeks, but this, his name, he couldn't seem to-

"Not any more." The man smiled. "You are Doubt Doubt. Of Envy."

The mention of the sin, one of the last complete, coherent memories that he possessed, knocked the wind from his newly restored lungs and he bolted up, lithe and sure on his feet once more. "Impossible! Where am I?"

"Your friend really should have warned you." The man murmured, looking for all the world as though he were full of pity. "But then, it's entirely possible he did. Many don't seem to remember those last few days."

Without thought, he crossed the room in six staccato steps, his hands already winding around the throat of the man, this tormentor sent to punish his for his dying sacrilege. But even when his fingers, strong now, stronger than ever they were before, dug into his flesh, the man only continued to watch him calmly. Finally, after several moments of blinding rage he forced his grip to go slack, hands falling away from the mans neck, shoulders, back to his own sides, hanging limply.

"You have quite a temper." The man laughed and instantly another memory was summoned to the forefront of his mind. One of a pale, lackluster youth in worn clothing, with a mortal wound in his chest, tossing a grown man twenty feet; a young man with the same burning blood in his eyes.

"Vampire." He murmured, the words falling free in numb disbelief.

"That's right." The man agreed brightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was with both fear and hope that Doubt Doubt stopped just before the first step of the ancient stairs that led up to the entrance, a path he had so oft taken without a second thought. But there in lay salvation, or at the very least, an end to this treacherous half life, this stain upon his humanity. Tugging the hood low over his face, making sure that nothing but his thin lips could be seen, he took a step and then another. He was unsure if it was relief or disappointment he felt when, in stepping through the doorway and into the gold gilded opulence, he did not burst into flames or finally fall dead to the floor.

It had been months, long enough that he was sure that even were he recognizable, no one would have the time to think twice. As long as he steered clear of the back quarters, kept to the crowded main halls and rooms, it was going to be fine, there was no one that-

"Oh my god." A voice breathed and Doubt Doubt spun on his heel, anguish pooling in his stomach. "You-" Matteo broke off, wide brown eyes suddenly flooding. "I thought he had spoken lies."

"Who?" Doubt Doubt demanded harshly, forgetting his plan and allowing his feet to follow the pull towards the other.

"T-that man." He stuttered, taking his own step back in response to every one of Doubt Doubt's forward. "He told me that you-"

"That I what?" He insisted, now towering over the smaller man.

He could see the moment that Matteo saw the red of his eyes for his face, already pale in shock, drained further, until he was almost a bleached parchment. "Your-"

"Come with me." Doubt Doubt interrupted swiftly, grabbing Matteo's arm and  dragging him as quickly as he could without drawing attention towards the so familiar halls that led to his room.

The door, as he had hoped, was unlocked and, in pushing it open, he felt a rush of regret wash over him. He should not have come back here. Not when he had for so long agonized over his plan already. Matteo, now following willingly enough, was hovering in the doorway and at Doubt Doubt's sharp look, swallowed a gasp and darted the rest of the way in. He, whether out of habit or a lack of self preservation, pulled the door closed behind him and then they stood, silently studying the other in the swirling dust motes filling the room.

Matteo, as always, was the first to speak; his voice weak and hollow in the gloom. "He said he could help you."

"Who?"

"I saw..." His eyes darted to the window, now shuttered, and back. "I met a boy in the square. He was the one you told me about. I thought nothing of it until I saw his eyes." His gaze fluttered briefly up to Doubt Doubt's before falling back away. "You were right."

"Of course I was." Doubt Doubt muttered flatly.

"When you- you died." Matteo sucked in an unsteady breath, his vision once more clouding over with tears. "My friend, my dear one, you were dead and I- I think I-"

"You lost your mind." Doubt Doubt accused, fingers clenched beneath his sleeves, where they could not be seen.

"I could not stand to see you like that. I heard, you know. Father Antonio does not keep secrets as well as he thinks. I kept thinking, thinking that if I could only do something you would be able to, to join the College and-"

"I can do no such thing as I am." He snarled, stepping forward and whipping back the hood, letting his hair fall free, eyes flashing in the muted sunlight. 

Matteo's expression grew fearful and awe struck in equal parts as he looked up into Doubt Doubt's face. "God, what have I done?" He whimpered, hands clasping in desperation between them. "That man, he said that he could change it, reverse your death or- God, forgive me. Please. Forgive me."

"I will forgive when you have done something about this." Doubt Doubt whispered, tone dripping in venomous hate. "Find a way to end this suffering or you will only be destined to join me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." Doubt Doubt began, foot tapping fretfully against the worn wood of the confessional. "It has been eighteen months since my last confession. I have been consumed with hate and vitriol. I am no longer a man of God."

"Everyone is a child of the lord." The voice beyond the veil was elderly and breathy and Doubt Doubt found himself wondering suddenly how easy it would be to frighten such a man to death.

"Every one, you say?"

"Yes, of course. All of mankind is held in his loving arms."

"I am no man."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surely, Matteo would have passed by now, Doubt Doubt mused, watching the water in the hold of the ship slosh worryingly. It had been more than a century. Men were not meant to live so long. And so it was that, feeling his sanity degrade further every day, he decided that it best he leave his beloved city. For what was it now but a painful prison? It was no more his city than the ticket he had used to board this ship had been.

Glancing down, he wondered if the tailor he had contracted had found the request strange. Most likely it was not every day that he was instructed to create a bastard priest's robes. Now in jet black, Doubt Doubt was confident that he would not be questioned or accosted, and the drape, the heavy fall of the fabric was, despite the passing years, still a comfort. There was no ornamentation, no rosary or trim; those were things from the past, things that were no longer in his grasp, and the memories it summoned had been far too much. Each new election, each new pope and passing of priests and bishops had left him bereft and sinking further beneath the black waves of his own destruction; Doubt Doubt had realized he had to leave, because he could not die.

The veil he wore now had been a gift oddly enough. A strange girl with sparkling green eyes had given it to him on the street one late evening. Wandering alone past the river, Doubt Doubt had stumbled, hurriedly pulling his hood and thick cotton scarf back up and over in fear when he had noticed the girl and her mother near the water's edge. She had seen though, he could tell by her knowing look, and when, after a brief word to her mother, she turned her steps towards him, he considered running. It would be easy to outrun one so small; he could outrun anything in the world now, after all.

"That looks uncomfortable." She said solemnly when they were within earshot of each other. Holding out her small hand, she presented a thin, delicately made silk veil. "Take this."

Doubt Doubt stared down at the offering in stupefaction and it was only when she huffed impatiently and waved the veil around a bit that he was jolted back into active thought. "I do not need it."

"But you look like you would like it. You'll breathe easier." She insisted, and without warning, crossed the rest of the distance between them and plopped the soft material into his hand, which had reached out of its own accord in habit. "Please take it, Father."

Biting his lip deeply, enough to bring a flash of copper to his tongue, Doubt Doubt curled his fingers over the veil and let all he could think to say fill the void. "I never made it that far."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become habit to speak lowly, it was far easier to hide his teeth that way. Or at least that's what he told himself. It was more likely that than, though trapped in a never aging body, he was somehow still growing old in mind. Mumbling and hiding and denying were just so much easier. And when one spent his time making little bottled ships, an infuriating hobby that he had picked up from Matteo, one did not really need to speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church in this new city was small, but then, all seemed small in the face of the Vatican, he mused, standing in the street and staring up at the dome. It would accomplish nothing, bring nothing but regret and anger, but he still could seem to stop himself from ascending the stairs and gliding into the atrium. Sister like wall sconces and décor greeted him and he breathed a soft sigh. Letting his fingers trail over the statues lining the alcoves, he worked his way towards the altar and paused, staring up at the swirling scrollwork of the inner bannisters.

"Good day!" A voice called cheerfully, and Doubt Doubt started, his gaze flying to the back of the room. There stood what he could only think was the resident priest, and instantly his heart sank. "Don't worry, you're always welcome!" He added seeing the twist of Doubt Doubt's lips.

"I do not belong here." He said softly, voice carrying in the quiet of the air.

"All belong!" The priest exclaimed, still smiling. "And you have that look. The call of God, it speaks to you."

"I have not heard that voice in years." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was like a long forgotten dream but try as he might, Doubt Doubt could not place his finger on the memory. It sat, hovering at the edges of his mind, winking in and out of sight in frustrating patterns. Something about her long, blonde hair pulled at his empty heart and drew him in, filled him with a sense of ease and happiness that he had not known in lifetimes. She felt like an unfamiliar homecoming.

She was so, so hard to resist.

And so, when she came to him, found him in that dark basement, biding his endless time and pretending not to exist, he did not think twice, did not stop to question why she wanted him. Only rejoiced shallowly in what little feeling he could summon that there was still some reason for his continued presence on this cursed plain, some meaning in his cruel existence.

And now it was too late. She was standing before him, bereft and broken, mad from the hole in her heart, and they were contracted and he had only two options. Both were unthinkable and once more he was left with the clarity of vision that he had never seemed to possess in the moment. Someone, a man he once knew, had joked that his hot head was the reason he had made it to deacon. "You're just too stubborn and scary when angry to say no to!" He had always laughed and Doubt Doubt spent a moment admiring the clarity with which he could recall such words. But what had been his name? 

"You have to." She slurred, leaning forward and draping herself over his shoulders. "You're mine and I say and so you have to."

He remained silent, hoping that she would grow bored and lose interest, but he had no such luck and her anger was too strong, her hate too powerful. 

"You will." She demanded, pulling out a kitchen knife, one that looked pilfered from the family's heritage collection, if he had to hazard a guess. "Use this, it will be so easy. He is so small~" She thrust the knife into his hand and barely looked when, in sliding the blade through her own, she sliced open her lily white palm. "Tomorrow is someone's birthday and I must make a cake. You can think of how you want to do it and then we'll have two reasons for cake!" She used the bloodied hand to swipe back her wild hair, falling in clumps over her forehead and Doubt Doubt almost couldn't resist the urge to jump up and pull her hand away, saving that beautiful color from the sin of her blood. "Figure it out, or I will." 

He was small, though not as small as the one he had come to find, and Doubt Doubt only just saw him in the doorway of the little ones room. Standing there, staring openly into Doubt Doubt's eyes, he seemed to feel no fear, though the flash of the knife was visible in the setting sun's flames through the window. Yes, he had always been an odd one. Doubt Doubt had only talked with him several times, just enough to place his face and name in the great tide of those that resided behind the walls of the mansion he now haunted. Mikuni was his name, yes and he was her son; that much was obvious as he possessed the same silken cornflower hair. 

Neither said anything and, in a fit of determination, Doubt Doubt turned from the doorway, tucking the knife away. He had not intended to use it but between his worried distraction and the siren call of the contract he had found it repeatedly in his hand over the course of the last few hours. 

Mikuni watched him go, he could feel that razor sharp gaze piercing his back, and only when he had once more hidden himself away in the basement, tucked into the darkest corner he could find, the heat of the boiler a comfort to his chilly scales, could he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Surely, she would not be able to find him here. And without his poisonous presence perhaps she could regain her mind, find once more her love and soul that he had so come to enjoy. The connection sang, even within the limited confines of the building but she was not truly thinking, had not been for months, and so he hoped she would not be able to follow it's call.

When hours later the sound of footsteps roused him from his fugue like doze, fear cramped his lungs, shooting ice into his already frozen veins. How had she-

But the figure that stopped in front of his hiding place was not hers, and he relaxed somewhat. No, it was the boys. Mikuni's. And it was with a piqued interest and vague sense of dread that he wondered how this one could find him when even his own master could not.

"I have a proposal for you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adjusting the veil, he approached the cold stone steps that he had spent a lifetime treading up and down and now had not seen in decades. The sun was wasting away behind the promenade and yet people still lingered, modern attire and garish colors at odds with the old world design of the building. Jeje took a deep breath and swept up the staircase, attempting to keep his heart rate and back even. There was after all, nothing to fear. He had entered before, many times, in hopes of destruction and atonement, in desperation, and in rage. It was not absolution he sought now, but the simple peace of truth.

The high, arched ceilings, as beautiful as ever, rose above his head and he sighed, feeling that old cloak, once so comfortable and now only a gaudy costume, fall back over his shoulders. It had been his duty, his only desire- a dream no longer within his grasp. All around him, the scrolling designs, checkered framework of paintings, carved bannisters, and painstakingly carved statuaries reflected back the memories he had carefully piled over with dirt in the past hundred years of existence. Flooding back in such a wave they were incomprehensible and he almost lost his step. It was only when he noticed a set of curious eyes on him that he regained his composure and, straightening the shoulders of the priest robes he had donned so fretfully that morning, strode on. They fit just as well, as they should, as he had not changed, and in the ensuing observations he noted the vague curiosity replaced by an awed sort of respect. So it seemed he still looked the part.

Wasting time that he did not have, knowing Mikuni was holed up at their hotel room, most assuredly watching the clock in begrudging silence and counting the minutes, he trailed along the many familiar winding passages and elaborate stairwells, admiring the filter and fall of the sun, like solid beams, from the windows and across the dizzying tile floors. It was all so equally unchanged, he thought in amazement.

Pulling the freshly cleaned fabric left to right, the light petering out as he did so, Jeje sat on the loving, sturdy bench and waited. The sounds of rustling could be heard on the other side and then a polite cough. With a stranglehold on his bewildered emotions, he cleared his throat and began, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He hesitated. "It has been eighty-nine years since my last confession." The priest on the other side, whoever he may be, to his credit, managed to tamp down on his noise of shock, no doubt confounded by the voice he was hearing. Supposedly that of an as of that moment at least hundred year old man, it was still as silken and low as the deepest of chime bells. "I have committed the gravest of sins. An accomplishment for my already dark soul."

"God will forgive al-"

"Not this." Jeje interrupted, pushing past the ingrained, resurfacing habits of deference. "Not any more. I have corrupted the young and innocent. I have sullied his family home and life. Ruined it as surely as I am ruined. First through his mother and now through, most detestably, him. She was loving and warm, the love of his life, and because of me she fell into a deep madness. She wanted the worst of things. And now she is dead."

There was a heavy pause, the priest- no, the mortal man- on the other side, pulling in a deep breath, as though in preparation. "Was it an accident?"

"No, Father. It was murder."

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-11)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: None

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: I’ve been good. I am very curious about what you think of this chapter, though ;)

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​ Shout out to this girl for being so awesome!

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

“Oh, look at you. You’re so tired.” Madison rubbed your back as you rested your head against the table in between the lectures.

“She does have a night job.” The stink eye you wanted to give Rebecca would require you to raise your head. She didn’t deserve that sort of effort. All of your thoughts were anyway occupied with how Sam’s trial must be going. You were praying that the poor kid would get off.

“It’s a good thing Civil Procedure class is cancelled for today. You can go home early and sleep the exhaustion off before the party,” Madison said excitedly. If only you could make an excuse out of the exhaustion and ditch the evening completely. The thought of Madison’s disappointed face stopped you from doing that. She really wanted you to come. The least you could do was show your face and then go back home.

It irked you that Madison was so excited for this but the rest of her friends were treating this as just any party as opposed to her party. You turned your head towards her and asked, “So who else is coming?”

She perked up immediately. “Well, it’s you guys, Brad, a couple of his friends and a few girls who were in my sorority.”

“What about your brothers? You have two, right?”

Her face remained carefully fixed in the same expression, though you saw the warmth in her eyes go out. “C’mon, you don’t really think they’d wanna be at my party, do you?”

“They’re your brothers! They’re supposed to be with you on your birthday.”

Lacey gave a high pitched laugh. “They’re both older and cooler, why would they wanna be at their baby sister’s party?”

“Clearly you don’t have any siblings,” Rebecca commented. “Definitely not a brother.”

But I do. I do have a sister, you wanted to say. The words never made it out.

Madison took over quickly, realising that the words were unnecessarily sharp. “It’s just different with brothers, Y/N. They aren’t up into each other’s businesses.”

She was still looking at you uncertainly, worried if the taunt from Rebecca had stung. It hadn’t. You had accepted that Rebecca was mean simply for the heck of it. It was her problem that she was an awful person. Not yours.

You were actually feeling bad for Madison. It was appalling that her family didn’t want to spend time with her. Jo wasn’t your blood sister, yet she dragged you to the one ‘average’ birthday party so she could celebrate with you. And when it came to brothers, you had seen brothers who would die for each other. Heck, even when it came to simple things they would crawl over to be there.

Long after you had reached home and dropped into your bed, Rebecca’s comment kept coming back to you.

Definitely not a brother.

She was wrong.

**************************

22nd September 2008

You knew you shouldn’t have been out this late in the evening, even if getting the printouts was essential. The only functioning printing shop was across the town and you didn’t want to ask Jo or aunt El to give you a ride. Already, you were asking too much by agreeing to live with them. So far they had denied your requests to work at the diner to be a helping hand, too. Asking for anymore would only tip the balance further.

The bylane was empty, not a single vehicle on either side. You walked up ahead, holding your papers close to you along with your bag.

“Hey, Darlin’, where you headin’?”

Three men had appeared at the other end of the bylane, their raucous laughter trailing after them. You couldn’t get a look at their face, however, from the way their silhouettes stumbled against the light from the street behind, gave you the impression that, at least, two of them were drunk.

You turned around and started back in the direction you had been coming from. The street there had a lighter traffic than the one you had been heading towards, but it was still better than having to walk past those men.

“Honey, come back,” another one called. The other two jeered in encouragement. You didn’t dare look back as you hurried along, almost to the end of the bylane. Why did it have to be blank walls on both sides? Their voices appeared closer yet and you took off in the sprint, stopping only when you appeared on the street.

Shops were open here and people were still walking up and down. You broke into a run once more without a backward glance till you stumbled into someone.

“Y/N?”

Dean Winchester’s green eyes were looking down at you, in surprise at first, then concern. “Are you okay?”

“I- I…” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, your lungs out of breath.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, slowly leading you towards the steps of a nearby store. “Sit down a minute.”

He perched on the steps next to you as you steadied your breath, his hands still holding you by your shoulder. “I was being followed,” you said. “Those men down the alley.”

Dean’s eyes steeled and he looked in the direction you had just pointed to. There was no one there. Maybe they had gone back the way they had come.

“Did they hurt you?” Anger evident in his voice.

You shook your head. “I was too fast.”

His concerned eyes hovered over your face, ascertaining that you were truly okay. It was something that Sam did, too. See for himself than blindly trust words.

“Those bastards,” he finally spat.

You were beyond glad you ran into Dean. His hand on your shoulder had calmed you more than anything else.

“What’re you doing in this part of the town by yourself?”

“I needed some printouts to confirm my acceptance. I thought I’d take a walk.” Your voice grew smaller with each word, knowing for sure that Dean would chastise you for poor decision making skills. You waited for him to say something along the lines of ‘What were you thinking?” Instead he gently let go of you.

“You think you can walk?” He asked, none of that judgement in his voice.

“Yeah.”

He stood up and offered you a hand. You took it to hoist yourself up.

“My car’s parked a few blocks away,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

You wanted to protest, not wanting to appear a damsel in distress, but you knew your legs just might give out any moment.

Perhaps he saw it in your eyes or in the set of your mouth. Dean gave you a small smile. “Humour me. I had a rough day, too. Could use the company.”

You were beyond grateful to him for upholding your dignity. You didn’t know many men who did that, who wouldn’t want to jump at the opportunity to play the saviour. Not because they wanted to save someone, but because it would stroke their own ego.

“What happened to your day?”

Dean’s smile widened just a bit. “This asshole supplier came in with a shipment, delivered it at the wrong yard and took up a fight for payment.”

“What a jerk!”

He gave you a ‘I know, right?’ look. “Jackass wouldn’t listen long enough for my man to explain the mistake.”

“Must be hard running a place,” you mused.

“It’s actually a lot similar to running a family.” He looked at you. “You’d know.”

“My grandma had a very small business and she ran the family.”

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “It takes one more than one person to make a family and more than one to run it.”

You knew what he was actually saying, the meaning behind his words. That while gran took care of you, you took care of her, too.

“Why didn’t you ask Jo to drive you to the copy place?” He asked out of the blue, saving you from replying to his earlier remark.

“I didn’t want to disturb her. She’s already so busy running the diner…”

“Jo would kill me if she found out that I told you this, but she worries about you more than she lets on.”

You were taken aback. “I didn’t mean to-”

He clarified quickly. “I’m not accusing you for worrying her. She worries because she loves you.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden,” you murmured looking down. You had reached his car.

“Is that how you feel about being with Sam, too?”

He had cut to the chase quickly, and hit the nail right on the head. You didn't know how to answer Dean’s question without making it look like you were putting yourself down. You knew that if you lied, he’d know that, too. Dean was very sharp and perceptive when it came to people. More so that Sam.

You decided to tell him the truth.

“No, I don’t feel that with Sam. He chose to be with me without any prelude. He’s accomplished so much in life already and I’m so sure he’ll achieve so much more. I used to wonder what could he possibly want with a small town girl like me, but I don’t think that anymore. He sees me as the best version of myself and I’m beginning to see it, too.”

“You’re making him sound cooler than he is, you do know that, right?” Dean teased lightly.

You rolled your eyes.

Dean opened the door of his car for you and then got into his side.

“As much as I would want you to see it differently, I understand not wanting to be a burden,” he said, revving up the engine. You thought back to everything you knew about Dean and it made sense that he would understand you. There was never any judgement there. “But they’re your family and I get that you’re self-respecting, that you’re used to doing things by yourself. But would it be such a bad thing to let others help you once in a while? Do it for her and Ellen, if not for yourself. I know you love them enough for that.”

His words made up your mind on something you had been debating for a while.

“Dean,” you said unsteadily but upfront, “I need money for college. I know I can sell off Gran’s old house for the money but I want to keep it. I can’t ask aunt El to help me with the diner facing financial issues.

You took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m asking this from you. But…  with you, I feel like I’m with someone I can trust. Will you be the guarantor for my student’s loan?”

His face jerked towards you instantly.

“You can say no if you want,” you said quickly. “I won’t be upset, at all.”

Dean didn’t answer you immediately. He drove along the lane and turned into Aunt El’s driveway. He turned the ignition off and only then did he look at you.

His eyes were soft and his voice was low. “When Sam was about twelve, he came home one day and announced he was going to be a lawyer. He’s been a smart kid all along, but the look in his eyes… the memory gets to me even now. I knew Bobby didn’t have the sort of money to fund college, so we both worked all the odd jobs we could find to at least start saving.” He laughed as he reminisced.

“Bobby is a stubborn old man. He wanted to pay for Sam’s college. We had to fight it out with him, too and things were somewhat crazy up until this kid scored a straight up full ride to Stanford. We decided to use the college fund to move back here, start the garage. Ended up starting a whole new fund for law school. Turned out he didn’t need that either.”

The faraway look in his eyes vanished and he glanced at you. “What I’m getting at is that the money is still in the account. Use it.”

“Dean!” You gasped.

“Pay it back when you start printing dollar bills.” He held up his hands. “I know you’re not the one for charity. I’m not offering you one. This way you’ll save a lot of interest money.”

This was insane. When Sam had suggested that you ask his brother to be a guarantor you had agreed only because you knew Dean was kind and he wouldn’t put you down in any way. But this was asking for too much. This was his hard earned money.

“I can’t possibly-” you spluttered; he cut you off.

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly. “I was wary of you when you first dropped into this town, seeing how quickly my brother was head over heels for you-” he chuckled. “But not anymore. He couldn’t have found a better person. And look at all that you’ve achieved by yourself. That money can’t be put to a better use. We are all so proud of you.”

You flung yourself into his arms, tears running down your face.

“Shhhh…” he soothed you. “Don’t hold them back, kiddo.”

You didn’t hold back. You clung to his jacket and sobbed into his chest, the way you wanted to when you found out Gran had passed, the way you wanted to at her funeral. It was guttural and raw and instead of flinching away from you, Dean held you tightly against him, his fingers digging into your shoulders.

Slowly your sobs subsided into tired breaths but you didn’t make a move out of his arms. It felt safe here- you were both comforted and understood.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked after a while, voice small.

“Hmm?”

“You said you were wary of me being in Sam’s life. What changed your mind?”

Unexpectedly, Dean laughed. You looked at him in confusion.

“Sam started playing again,” he said simply.

You blinked at him.

“The piano in the house belonged to our mom. She wasn’t an expert in any way, but she loved the sound it made. She used to play simple songs on it for birthdays and on Sundays. In high school Sam took classes, to honor mom’s memory, I guess. He played a lot when he was learning. Ever since he first started college, I haven’t heard him play at all. You come in and suddenly there’s Bethoveen in the air.” He chuckled.

“Whoa.”

“He’s been happier, really. He laughs a lot more now.” Dean titled his head to one side.“That and the fact that you’re pretty freaking awesome.”

Sam was lucky he had a brother to look  out for him. “I always wanted an older brother,” you voiced out your childhood hope.

“You know, when Bobby first took us in after the fire, he told me something.”

“What?”

“Family don’t end in blood, sweetheart.” He shrugged, eyes so full of warmth. “You want a brother, you got one.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

Dean didn’t come inside to meet Jo.You waved to him from the door. He waited till you were safely inside before pulling out of the driveway. You watched the sleek black car disappear into the night from the window of your room, thinking about how just in a couple of months Lawrence had started feeling like a home. You thought about how Aunt El made sure that you ate every meal and Jo gave up the nicer mattress for you. You thought of the selfless love Sam showered you with and now here was Dean, offering up his hard earned money without a second thought. You had yearned for a full family all your life. Here, you had found one.

**************************

“No no no…” Meg glared at you in horror. “You absolutely CANNOT wear that!”

You looked down at your ash coloured jeans and the cream cashmere sweater. “What’s wrong with this?” You were offended. This was the best fitting pair of jeans you owned and it was a lovely sweater.

“You’re going to a party, honey,” Meg said slowly, as if talking to a five year old. “Not to the Walmart.”

“Hey!”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’m not letting you out in that thing. This reflects very badly on me as a roommate.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dear God, stop with the melodrama!”

“You think this is melodrama?” She got up from the chair. “This is a fashion suicide. I know you have your weird cold thing, but three drinks down you’re not going to feel anything.”

You put your hands on your hips, staring her down, knowing fully well that you wouldn’t get beyond one beer. Three drinks Y/N thought it was a good idea to dance on tables. You did not want to meet her.

“C’mon, in you go!” Meg didn’t give you an option. She pushed you into your room.

You protested to the best of your abilities. “I’m not wearing a stupid dress!”

“You don’t have to wear a stupid dress. Just something cool.”

“Like what?” You challenged.

Meg sat up on your table. “Show me what you got!”

Resigned, you opened your wardrobe for her to see. There wasn’t much to it, so Meg would have to give up sooner or later anyway.

“What’s that I see?” She was pointing towards a purple satin top, hanging at the very end. It was skimpy, with a plunging neckline and noodle straps. The top had been a gift from the girls at your last office, hoping it would brighten your wardrobe.

“Oh, hell no! I’m not wearing that.”

But Meg’s grin in that moment would have given the Cheshire cat a run for its money. “You’re totally wearing that, Darlin.”

Too late to regret now. You should have thrown out that scrappy blouse ages ago.

“That’s barely any material. You know me. I’ll freeze to death in it.”

“That’s why man invented leather. I’ll be back,”

With that, Meg bounded out of your room and returned with one of the coolest black leather jackets you had ever seen. “You try them on!”

It was abundantly clear she wasn’t going to take a no for an answer so you stalked off to the bathroom, making sure you huffed enough to let Meg know you were mad. She couldn’t have cared less.

Trying it on, you realised it actually looked good on you. The smooth velvet satin was sultry and felt great against your skin. It would have otherwise been too skimpy and you wouldn’t have dared to step out in something like that, but paired with the jacket and your dark jeans, you looked like a badass. Feeling bold, you pulled out the kohl pencil and lined your eyes for good measures, then pulled your hair up into a ponytail.

Meg, who was holding a book in her hands, whistled loudly at the sight of you. “Hotness!” She sang. “My, my, Y/N. Where have you been hiding all that?” She was definitely eyeing the tops of your breasts.

You blushed. “You don’t think this is too much, do you?”

“Oh, hell no! You look like a goddess! The only thing missing is a pair of heels.”

“I don’t own any except the formal ones.”

“There’s my pair right in front of the door,” she pointed.

You tried on the classy black heeled boots. They fit perfectly.

“What do you think?” You did a twirl.

Meg blew you a kiss. “You look mind blowing. There are going to be casualties tonight.”

You had to admit, this felt great. To dress up and go out and about. Even though the party was bound to suck and you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t stay beyond a drink, this feeling of confidence made you want to keep dancing. You wanted to ask Meg to come with you, however, she had already mentioned that she had some plans for the night. She’d been cryptic, too, about what they were. You had your suspicions.

“I didn’t know you owned the first edition of To kill a mockingbird,” Meg said, showing you the book she had been holding. “This is priceless.”

“Yeah. It’s my favourite book.”

“Must have cost a fortune.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Do you mind if I keep it for a day or two? I promise it won’t leave the apartment,” she reassured.

“Of course.” It was one the only two things from your past life that you couldn’t bring yourself to part with.

“Have fun, Darling!” Meg kissed your cheek as she handed you her purse. It was all very fancy, the jacket, the boots and now this chain strap purse. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You blew her a kiss and set out into the night. The Alibi was just a couple blocks away. In those unused boots it felt like a mile. During the stretch, your mind kept wandering to what had happened in the courtroom. Sam would be back in Stanford by now and you desperately wanted to contact him to see if the kid was finally free. Several times you opened your mail and almost typed out a message to him, then backspaced it all. The second guessing was killing you, however, you weren’t sure about where you stood with Sam still.

You were so relieved when you finally reached the bar, albeit fifteen minutes late. The place was halfway between fancy and fun with dark interiors and dim light. Everyone was already there. Madison wore a sparkly green number that brought out her complexion perfectly. She looked absolutely beautiful. Lacey and Rebecca wore similarly skimpy outfits. Meredith was slunking in the corner, busy in her phone, sipping on what looked like a cosmo. Brad and the boys were huddled around the pool table. There were three other girls you didn’t recognise. You assumed they were Madison’s sorority sisters.

Madison squealed when she saw you and immediately tackled you in a hug. “Y/N! I’ve been waiting for you since so long.”

“Happy birthday in advance, Maddie!” You kissed her cheek. “You look stunning.”

“You’re the one to talk.” Madison put you at arm's length, giving you a once over. “You look like a femme fatale. You have a rocking body!”

“So that’s what’s been hiding under the sweaters?” Lacey teased.

You shushed them and pulled out a small package. “This is for you!”

“You shouldn’t have!” Madison said. She opened the box carefully. Inside, were a pair of dangling pearl earrings. They had cost you a bit, but gosh, they were so elegant. You knew they would look lovely on Madison.

“Oh, these are beautiful!” She quickly removed her sparkly pair and replaced them with yours even though they didn’t really match. You were touched.

“This is such a perfect gift, Y/N!”

“Enough with the mushiness,” Lacey complained. “Get her a drink, someone!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Madison said. “What will you have, Y/N?”

“Just a beer, thanks.”

Rebecca who was holding a glass with something red in it, sauntered over to you. “C’mon! The over-achiever of the class can do more than just a beer, right?”

You were taken aback by her comment. Overachiever? You were hardly that. Is that how everyone saw you?

“If she wants a beer, she gets a beer!” Madison adamantly stalked off to get you one.

You took a seat next to Meredith who gave you a nod of acknowledgement and went back to whatever she was doing on her phone. Sometimes you liked her the best in the unholy trinity that followed Madison everywhere.

“Beer for the lady who is a lovely vision tonight.”

It was Brad. You groaned internally, taking the beer from Madison.

“Gotta say, Y/N,” he slid in next to you. “Never figured you would be the one for beer or satin and leather!”

“What can I say, I’m a new discovery everyday.” The sarcasm was dripping off your tongue, but despite scoring a seat in Stanford, Brad didn’t have the mental ability to figure it out.

“I like that in a girl.”

That was your cue to get out of there.

“Gonna head to the powder room.”

You made your exit as quickly as possible. It was close to twelve. All you had to do was stick around till Madison turned twenty-six and then get the hell out of here.

Easy enough, right?

Not so much.

When you got back from the washroom, everyone at your table was highkey excited, giggling and squealing.

“What is going on?” You asked Lacey.

“Look there,” she pointed out to the other end of the bar. “It’s Mr. Winchester.”

You stomach dropped straight to the ground at the mention of his name. And sure enough, there he was sitting in a corner booth dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, busy with his phone.

“My GOD will you look at him!” Rebecca screeched. “He looks like a fucking lumberjack.”

“Oh, he can lift me all day for as long as he wants,” Lacey sighed.

“Should we go talk to him?” Rebecca asked, excited. “I mean he’s by himself. I can buy him a drink.”

“It’s a private booth, dummy,” Meredith said, looking away from the screen for the first time. “He hasn’t ordered anything. He’s clearly waiting for someone.”

“Maybe we get to see his lady love today,” sighed Lacey.

Rebecca gave her a scornful look. “There’s no one with him right now. So who cares?”

“Madison will. It’s her party and it’s almost midnight,” you said quietly. “Maybe we should concentrate on her right now.”

In reality, you wanted to throw up. You didn’t want to believe Sam would be seeing someone, let alone stay here to witness his date. All that time you had been worrying about his case, had he been waiting for this?

The cake cutting and celebration for Madison was all a blur. There was a lot of hugging, unnecessary screaming and then a round of super expensive drinks.

Rebecca, the absolutely horrible person that she was, decided to go to Sam immediately afterwards and Lacey tagged along. Madison was busy with phone calls, one after another wishing her a happy birthday. It would have been the perfect opportunity to slip out and go home. Instead, with unsteady feet, you walked to the bar.

The bartender had his back to you, so you asked loudly. “Vodka. Neat, please.”

You removed the leather jacket, leaving your shoulders completely bare, the plunging neckline making more skin visible. Next, you yanked the tie out of your hair, letting it spill over your shoulders.

The bartender eyed you appreciatively before putting down the shot in front of you. “This one’s on the house.”

“Thanks!”

You brought the glass to your lips and tipped it back.

“One more!”

“You sure?” He asked, hitching one eyebrow

You grinned, though none of the warmth seeped into your chest. “I am one hundred percent sure.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, hey,” you said, as the distinct squeals of Rebecca laughter erupted from the background. “Make it tequila this time.”

**************************  

A/N 2: Hah! Who is excited for the next chapter? It’s one of my favourites ;)

Biggest hugs to everyone who reblogged and commented. I love you guys!

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist

@feelmyroarrrr​  @gabavaldman​  @im-a-light-child​  @cosicas-cuquis​  @bllyjianne​  @hoboal87​  @i-is-for-inspiring​  @daughterleftbehind​  @wackiekebab​  @mylovelydame21​   @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​  @superbadassnatural​  @bellastellaluna​  @babypink224221​  @badlittlehabit99​  @anathewierdo​  @sams-bubblegum-bitch​  @damn-it-now-im-obsessed  @fandomoverdose666​  @superstarmarvel​  @atc74​  @aiofheavenandhell​  @rebel-author-chick​  @death-unbecomes-you​  @cookiechipdough​  @kbl1313​  @linki-locks11​  @miss-nerd95​  @sunflowers-n-rocknroll​  @stoneyggirl​

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Show Level Violence, Drinking, Swearing

Chapter 7.

It's an odd sensation to have your best friend's hands all over you. It's difficult to get anything done during your morning routine with Dean constantly behind you. 

"De." You murmur as his lips trail over your jawline. His hands squeeze tighter at your sides as he presses his chest to your back while you fix your hair in the mirror of the bathroom.

"Hmm?" He hums quizzically as he presses you closer to his body.

You can smell faint notes of cologne and whisky from his attire and it brings you a sense of calm as you turn to him.

"We have to go gank this ghost." You tell him.

You can hear Sam's feet shuffling impatiently outside of the bathroom as you look up at Dean's handsome face.

His eyes are lighter than usual today, the pretty moss colored flecks in his irises seem to pull you in as he smirks.

"I know we do. I just...I've never had my hands on you like this before. I've never been so close to you. It feels good." He whispers as his hand cups your cheek.

The rough skin of his hand makes your eyes flutter shut and you wish you could just take this day to be with him. Just to talk or to spend time with him but work comes first.

"It does feel good." You agree and his head bows down so his lips can meet yours.

Your lips move together, the kiss passionate and something close to longing as he runs his hands below your t-shirt. 

"Fuck." He whispers against your lips. 

Sam's hand slams on the bathroom door and you're both ripped out of your lustful gaze within seconds.

"Are you guys done fucking?" Sam asks loudly and you snort shoving his older brother away.

Rolling his eyes, Dean fixes his flannel shirt before opening the door.

"Relax Sammy. Not everything is about fucking." Dean says as he hoists the bag of guns onto his shoulder.

Sam stops moving, his head slowly lifts to look at his brother before it tilts.

"E-Excuse me? Not everything is about fucking?" Not a sentence you think would come out of Dean Winchester's mouth.

"You heard me. Candy girl, let's get a move on. I got ghosts to kill!" Dean calls to you and you emerge from the bathroom as you fix your shirt.

He stares at you for a second, the corner of his mouth flickers upwards before he gives a gentle chuckle.

"I want this bastard flamed and burned within the next hour." Dean says to Sammy as he heads for the door.

"Why such a rush?" Sam asks as he scrambles to grab his coffee and follow his brother.

"Because," Dean turns to him from the doorway before meeting your eyes, "He attacked my woman."

The ride in the car to the home of the nefarious ghost was silent. Which you were perfectly fine with. It gave you time to glance at your now boyfriend that you've been in love with since you were just a teenager.

It's so odd. He's pushed you away for so long and you know you have so much that needs to get said between the both of you but you wonder if Dean would be willing to talk about it.

He's so closed off from the world most times that you find yourself thinking that it would be hard for him to open up and tell you any semblance of the truth.

He's kept so much away from you for years. 

You can tell he's in a happy mood by the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel as he listens to his cassette tape. 

The autumn sun hangs high above the car, every so often peppering Dean's face in it's rays. The sun does a glorious job highlighting all of his handsome features. His nose is so perfectly straight, his lips so perfectly shaped and even from the right side of the back seat you begin to count the freckles you can see as always. 

The small smile lines around the corners of his eyes just add to his handsomeness. He looks at your through the rear view mirror and his eyes linger as he stops at a red light. You seemingly become mesmerized by the deep green of his irises likening them to the forest before he sends a wink your way that has your gut fluttering and twitching like a mad man.

"So are you guys dating now?" Sam asks as he rolls down his window.

Dean clears his throat as he focuses on the tar lined road before him. 

You don't want to reply, you want him to. 

Sam looks at you through his mirror and you roll your eyes as he begins to give a devilish smirk.

"Yeah. We are." Dean mumbles and if you weren't in the confines of the car, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear his gentle voice.

"Good. About time." Sam says before sticking his tongue out at you.

"Bitch." Dean says with a chuckle only to hear the natural reply.

"Jerk." Your younger best friend says with a laugh.

With a giggle, you arrive in front of the haunted office of Morley Rosmund.

"Are you okay to go in?" Dean asks as he shuts off the car.

You can't help the chill that runs through your spine as you stare at the decrepit building.

"Yeah. I'll be alright." You reply, mustering up all of your strength.

Last night was a little more frightening than you guess you noticed. He was one angry son of a bitch and you just weren't ready for the sheer amount of anger he was radiating.

He ripped your dress clean off and was stronger than you could have imagined. 

"Just stay with me. Okay?" Dean asks as he opens up his door.

Nodding to him, you open up your door as well before taking in a deep breath. 

Sam wraps his arm around you as you round the back of the car.

"We got your back. You know that." He says in your ear as Dean begins to pull out shotguns.

"I still haven't kicked your ass for leaving me on my own yesterday. Don't tempt me." You tease as you take the sawed off shotgun from your boyfriend's hand and begin to load salt rounds into it.

Sam chuckles as he grabs his own and your eyes drift over to the building once more before swallowing thickly.

Dean swings the door open first. He casually glances behind him to make sure you're okay before stepping over the strewn, decomposing bodies that lay on the floor much like last night. With a grimace, you pick your shirt up to cover your nose before scowling at the dead women on the floor.

"This son of a bitch is disgusting." You hear Dean grunt angrily before he kicks open the office door with his foot.

"I wish we could just burn the building down. Make sure he's outta here for good." Sam mutters as he puts his large hand to the small of your back goading you into the office before him.

You spot your ripped dress on the floor from last night as you step into the office and you shiver at the sight.

Dean notices within a fraction of a second and he's by your side as he kicks the fabric out of sight. 

"Come on, Candy girl." He whispers before pressing his soft lips to your temple and stepping out of the way to explore the shambled office.

Anything of any importance was being piled up in the middle of the room. Anything that was old and leathery. Anything that had a dull shine like a pocket watch Sam found in one of the top drawers of the desk you were forced to sit on last night. Even scraps of different cloth were all in the center of the office.

"What about pictures?" Sam asks as he leans in to look at an old painting.

"What, you think this dead pervert had a hard on for the arts?" Dean asks as he drops a leather briefcase onto the ground beside the pile.

"I don't know. Maybe. Just want to make sure we get everything." Sam mumbles as he continues to search.

"Yeah. I bet he really loved the ducks in a pond painting." Dean says before smashing the glass of the picture frame open.

Your eyes catch something sparkle beneath the woman that lays limp on the desk. It was a whirlwind last night but you managed to remember some things of Morley Rosmund's attire. Like the jewelled beetle that was on the lapel of his trench coat that is now situated beneath the woman's body.

"De. Help me grab this." You instruct him as you point to the pin below the dead woman.

"Oh God." He grumbles as he uses the barrel of his salt gun to lift her up just long enough for you to grab it.

You throw the pin into the pile on the floor before grabbing a hat off of the rack by the door that you remember the ghost was wearing.

Ghosts can be in multiple items and it's better to just get them all to be safe.

Suddenly as your boyfriend pulls open the safe in the corner of the office, your begin to see your breath in the small confines of the room.

"He's coming!" You say quickly as you pull back the hammer of your gun.

Dean holds up what looks to be a deed for the office before throwing it into the pile. 

"Y/N!" Sam yells and you whip around just long enough to see Morley Rosmund behind you.

He gives a gentle smile before you're being thrown over the desk.

You groan loudly as you fall onto your back, your body shivering with dull pain as you lay your head back to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean curses as he throws gasoline over the contents on the floor.

"You little trollope." The ghost sneers as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You cough loudly, sputtering and whining as you claw at his hand. He picks up off of the floor slowly and you shakily lift your gun before shooting the rock salt into him, earning wisps of his body left behind.

Landing back down on the floor, you cough once more as Sam strikes the matchbook on fire and tosses it into the pile.

As the objects begin to catch fire, your body is thrown back to the wall as Morley reappears screaming furiously with red hot anger.

"Y/N!" Dean yells as he rushes towards you.

With a sharp yelp, you press your head back to the wall before the ghost's body begins to catch fire. 

Being swept up into Dean's arms, you're instantly checked on. His hands press to your face, checking to make sure the ghost didn't inflict too much damage before he disappeared into thin air.

"You okay?" He asks gruffly as you gingerly press your fingers to your throat.

Your eyes flicker over to the burning pile of personal possessions before you nod.

"Yeah. I'm good." You whisper before standing up straight and fixing your jacket.

"That's my girl." He mumbles as he presses his lips to your forehead.

"I need a drink and food. Pronto." You say as Sam grabs the duffel bag full of guns and paraphernalia. 

"A drink? It's like three o'clock?" Sam says as you step over bodies towards the front door.

"A woman after my own heart." Dean calls back to him and you giggle as he opens the door for you.

Knowing the job is done brings a huge weight off of your shoulders. It's not often you can appreciate everything around you when so many monsters and evil live in this world. But now, as you sit with your two favorite boys in this run down bar, the world feels lighter somehow. If only for a few hours, you're okay with that.

Dean has been so tried and true throughout the years and now finally you can call him yours. 

Sam has always been your home. He's always seen to reason and has been a comfort in your hard times. You can always count on him to listen.

So when the food comes and you all dig in, there's something so peaceful with listening to the both laugh as Dean plants his hand on your knee. 

You can take a few hours of comfort and calm before you're thrust back into the monster wielding world.

"Gotta hit the head." Dean says.

He plants a kiss to your hairline before he's up and walking towards the bathroom door.

"It's cute y'know. I'm really happy for you guys. Finally." Sam says before finishing off his beer.

You give him a gentle smile as he lifts his beer bottle.

"I'll go get us another round." He says, scraping his chair back loudly.

You pick at your food in the meantime while being alone. You're achy and albeit a bit sore from the attack but you'll heal in no time.

You can't wait to get back to the bunker and just relax for a few days. Wash your car, read up on things in the vast library.

"Hey there." The foreign voice draws you out of your calm daze. Looking up at the owner of the voice, you tilt your head at his handsome features.

"Noticed you with those two Backstreet Boy wannabes." The man says, taking Dean's seat.

You snort gently before shifting your chair away from him as he smirks. 

"Those wannabes are my best friend and boyfriend." You say as you pick up your beer.

It feels weird to call Dean your boyfriend. A good weird. Like it was always meant to be.

"Wanna see what a real man can do?" The absolute gall of this lanky man is impressive.

You give a gentle laugh as you roll your eyes. 

"Nah. I'm good. Thanks." Your voice is short with him and it seems to ruffle his feathers a bit too quickly.

"Come on, baby. I can show you what a real man's cock looks like." You blanch at his words and try to push your chair back uncomfortably as he catches you by your calf with his hand.

"I said no. Jesus. Fuck off." You bark at him.

His grip gets tighter and you sigh loudly before hearing a loud gruff voice that quakes your chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Dean yells from across the bar.

Flinching, you give a quick smile to the man as your boyfriend approaches. 

He is so dead meat.

Destiny Is Heaven Sent Taglist: @roonyxx​, @deans-baby-momma​, @supernatural-love14​, @winchest09​, @flamencodiva, @indecisive20something, @that-one-gay-girl​

Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​

Forever Tags: @mariaenchanted​