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nhl-stories · 1 year

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Apartment 402 – Tyson Jost

Summary: Sylvia is a running away from the only life she’s ever known, turning up on Tyson's doorstep may be the best decision she's made in years.

Author’s Note: Mentions of emotional abuse and postpartum depression, but also Josty being a sweetie. Honestly, I could probably write 4 billion more words

If you feel like you or a loved one might be in an abusive relationship, you can find resources here Please be safe out there and look out for one another

Word Count: 11.7k

Album Series Masterlist

Emptied my hеart, laid down my cards Played my best part, wanting a new start

It was too late to go back. Not that it was really an option, there was no turning around now.

She trudges through the snow that’s piling up on the walkway. This was the right choice, at least for now.

She rings the doorbell and waits for him to answer. It’s late and she didn’t call, she hopes he’s still a light enough sleeper to come get her out of the cold.

“Syl? What– why?” Tyson rubs the sleep from his eyes as he tries to decipher what’s going on.

Before she can answer there’s a cry that grabs their attention.

“You have the baby? Jesus, get in here before he gets cold.”

Sylvia gives a stiff smile and walks into his place with the carrier, she sets it down and pulls Jonah out and bounces him on her hip to get him to calm down. Tyson just watches, waiting for an explanation.

“I left him and I didn’t know where to go, so I just started driving and I ended up here,” Sylvia sniffs, trying her best to not cry. She cried enough in the car.

Tyson is too tired to say anything useful so he just pulls her and Jonah into a hug, he feels her relax in his embrace. When he pulls away, he smiles at the baby.

“Hi Jonah, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he holds out a finger and the baby grabs on and giggles when Tyson exaggeratedly shakes his hand.

Syl laughs along, happy Tyson isn’t prodding into the situation just yet. The wound hasn’t even scabbed over, it’s too early to even pick.

“I can put you in the guest room, but I don’t know where the little guy will sleep.”

“I have some of his stuff in the car, I just didn’t want to lug it to your door. You know in case…”

“In case I turned away a mother and baby in this weather?”

“More like you slept through me ringing the doorbell,” she smirks.

Tyson trudges back and forth for Sylvia to get all the stuff out of the car and then helps her set up in his guest room. She sets up the travel playpen and gets Jonah settled for bed, it’s not perfect but it works for now.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia is the first to go for the hug this time, she’s finally able to squeeze hard without a baby in her arms.

Tyson is surprised he manages to sleep through the rest of the night. He expects the way his blood boils to keep him up, thinking about what that man did to Sylvia, what he took from her, instead he finds solace in sleep.

He also expects the baby to cry, but maybe little Jonah knows how exhausted his mom is emotionally and physically that he gives her a break.

He goes to practice the next morning well-rested and acts like nothing has happened, because as of right now that’s kind of true. Sure, there’s a woman and a baby at his house for God knows how long, but it could be considered just an old friend visiting.

Still, after practice he goes to the grocery store. He doesn’t know anything about babies. Kacey is only two years younger than him so he was barely out of diapers when she was born. He wanders down the baby aisle and throws things in his cart that he thinks will be helpful: food, diapers, wipes, a pacifier with an elephant at the end that he thinks looks cute.

When he arrives home, it’s almost noon and it’s quiet. He knows Syl is still here because her shoes sit by the door like the good Canadian she is.

Sylvia is lying on the bed; her eyes are open but she’s in a daze. Jonah is lying on the bed next to her, playing with his feet while his mother sort of pays attention.

When Jonah hears Tyson in the doorway, he makes an attempt to sit up and gets fussy when he can’t quite get up to look at the visitor. Sylvia doesn’t make any attempts to comfort or move towards him so Tyson scoops the baby up.

“Just get some more sleep,” he whispers and Sylvia just grunts in response.

Jonah starts crying as soon as Tyson gets into the living room.

“Don’t cry little man, we’ll find something fun to do,” he makes a silly face but Jonah’s eyes are closed as he gets ready to scream.

“Shh, shh, shhh,” he looks around the house for something to play with and grabs a loose puck from a side table, he’s pretty sure it’s for some milestone but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Hey look, here’s a puck,” he puts it in Jonah’s hand and the baby grabs it with interest before putting it in his mouth and gnawing on it.

If he was more knowledgeable, Tyson might think about the problem with letting the baby suck on a dirty puck but he’s just happy that Jonah’s calmed down.

He sits down on the floor with Jonah and the baby just happily gums the puck.

“You like hockey then, eh?”

Jonah gurgles in response before taking the puck and holding out for Tyson.

“Thank you,” he smiles though he’s grossed out by the now slobbery puck.

He sets it down but Jonah reaches out for it again. So, Tyson hands it back and Jonah laughs. A few seconds later Jonah passes it back. This continues for far too long to entertain anyone sufficiently and yet; it entertains both until Syl comes into the living room.

“Jonah did you make a new friend?” She brightens at the sight and joins them on the ground, Jonah drops the puck and reaches out for his mom.

“I bought some food and stuff if he’s hungry, sorry I didn’t even think to feed him.”

“He’s still on the tit, but thank you… for everything.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, “are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Syl lets out a heavy sigh and kisses her baby on the head.

“You don’t have to, I –“

“It’s fine, you deserve to know why I invaded your life.”

“I guess I finally opened my eyes and figured out what everyone else always knew? I think when I got pregnant, I really started to see what he had done. He has me push away my family and friends and kept me from my own source of income and when I finally came up for air I was poor and alone and trapped.”

She starts to cry, “But people started sending me money for the baby and I didn’t tell him so I had a little nest egg and then he got mad at me for overcooking a steak and not being able to calm down Jonah fast enough and I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave.”

“And you took his son in the middle of the night across the border?” Tyson tries to keep judgement out of his tone, but he wants to make sure he understands.

“I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far, I thought I’d chicken out.”

Tyson gives her a strained smile. He’s proud of her, he really is; but at the same time, it seems reckless to leave without a whole plan.

“What if he tries to come after you? After Jonah?”

“I don’t think he’d want any of this to become public knowledge. Let something as stupid as me mess up his reputation,” she says it like she believes she’s nothing.

“I’ll help you find a lawyer just in case, people like him don’t deserve to win.”

Before she can respond, Jonah pulls down the collar of her shirt.

“Sorry, did I ignore your lunchtime?” she smiles and gets a gummy sone in return.

Without second thought she pulls out her breast and starts feeding him.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tyson shoots up.

“I know you’ve seen tits at least once before, because I dared Brittni to flash you that one summer.”

“You’ll be shocked to hear I’ve seen a few more since then,” he mocks while averting his gaze.

“You know this is the only actual purpose of breasts, right?” She laughs, a real, genuine laugh.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I need to watch,” he laughs back.

“Well get used to it buddy,” she drops her happy tone, “I mean if I’m allowed to stay here.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You’re a cool, young single guy who just moved to a new city, who doesn’t need a newly single mom and her baby cramping your style.”

“Lucky for you Sylvie, I like single moms.”

“I’m serious Tys, I haven’t exactly been a good friend for the past few years and then I throw this on you. It’s not really fair.”

“I appreciate it, but I got over being mad about the cold shoulder a long time ago. It was never really your fault. Stay as long as it takes to get back on your feet.”

“You say that now, but wait until Jonah really starts teething and screaming, then you’ll regret saying that.”

“You want to order pizza? I feel like celebrating that my best friend is here and left that asshole.”

“Pepperoni, green peppers, and extra cheese?”

“Always.”

It’s like no time has passed since they were last together. Syl can’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. If she were to guess it would have been 5 years ago, when her relationship still seemed good, when she still had friends she regularly talked to, and she hadn’t let herself wither away in the shadow of her husband’s expectations

If she thinks about everything she gave up, she’ll start to cry, and she has to be better for Jonah. For the new life she’s going to give them.

The next day she ventures out of the house with Jonah, the city looks much different with the sun out, like a new beginning. She finds herself driving around aimlessly at first, taking in this new freedom. Then reality sets in when she gets a call from her mother.

“He called me, to see if you came here, which is hilarious to think this is the first place you’d come,” she laughs like it’s actually a joke and not a comment on their strained relationship, which has been tenuous as long as Sylvia can remember.

“But are you okay? You don’t have to tell me where you guys are I just want to know you feel safe there,” despite their less than stellar relationship her mother had always loved her fiercely.

“I’m in Buffalo.”

“Of course, you went to Tyson,” there’s a sigh of relief, “I’m wiring you some money, don’t argue. Think of it as all the Christmas and birthday presents you missed. And get a new phone number. Don’t give him a chance to contact you outside of lawyers.”

Syl doesn’t mention the dozens of voicemails she hasn’t listened to yet. Though she can practically hear the threatening tone of half of them and the faux apologetic tone of the other half. The dichotomy of anger and caring that had kept her caged with fear and guilt for so many years.

Her mom goes into legalities that Sylvia knows she’s only familiar with because of her daughter’s life choices. The deep harbored hope that Syl would eventually come to her senses. Everyone obviously hoped it would happen before a child was involved, but life doesn’t always go the way we hope.

After the phone call, Sylvia finds herself crying in a Target parking lot while Jonah screams in tandem.

Tyson comes home and finds Sylvia’s car missing and her phone number disconnected. He’s starts having a weird vision of Taken and going to Toronto to find Syl and beat the life out of her husband, though he doesn’t really have a special set of skills for that kind of action.

Then the door opens with Jonah strapped to Sylvia’s chest and her carrying some bags.

“Jesus Christ where were you?” Tyson grabs the bags out of her hands and his tone causing Jonah to whimper and start to cry.

“It’s okay Jonah, Tyson didn’t mean to scare you,” she bounces a bit to soothe him, “if I’m staying here a while I kind of need the essentials, cribs, bibs, changing table.”

“Well, you should have texted or something,” he lowers his voice a bit, not wanting to frighten Jonah more.

“I thought I would be back before you got home, but then my mom called and–“

“You talked to your mom?”

That’s the last thing Tyson expected to hear. Sylvia was a bit of a latchkey kid growing up, her parents working all hours, so Tyson mostly remembers her mom as the woman who would pick Syl up from his house or an outdoor rink late at night without much fanfare or conversation.

“Yeah, he called her. So, she wanted to see if I was safe. And told me to get a new phone so he could only reach me through a lawyer.”

“Smart,” Tyson nods, “and that’s why your phone was disconnected?”

Sylvia makes an embarrassed grimace in response, before she pulls out her phone and texts him a matching emoji.

“Before you start having me make furniture I have a gift,” Tyson smiles and drags Sylvia to the kitchen.

“I already owe you so much, you don’t need to get me a–“

She stops and laughs at the gift Tyson is excitedly holding up: a Sabres onesie and a pair of noise canceling headphones.

“I thought you guys might want to come to the next home game.”

“I don’t know…” she wants to go but she also worries about imposing too much on his life.

“C’mon, I want to be the one this little guy sees playing for his first NHL game, plus you can meet some of the guys and their partners. Get to know some people other than me, people who have experience raising their own kids.”

Tyson has a big smile, mostly directed to Jonah and it makes Sylvia insides turn mushy.

“Fine, you’re right it sounds fun.”

The day of the game comes and the last thing Syl wants to do was go, instead she wants to lie in bed and do nothing. And by nothing she meant nothing; she hasn’t even gotten out of bed to change Jonah, who is crying in his crib. It’s the worst version of self-soothing a mother could do, but if that makes her a bad mom she doesn’t care.

She lets him cry for 30 minutes and it still isn’t enough to pull her out of her bed, if anything a new level of self-loathing is keeping her there.

Her phone buzzes and she has just enough energy to look that Tyson texted her that he’s bringing her home lunch.

And it’s the fear of Tyson seeing her lower than low, ignoring her child and wallowing in her own self-pity, that finally rouses her from bed.

She scoops up her son, who continues to cry, “Mommy is so sorry baby, I’ll try and pay for your therapy in the future.”

She laughs at her own dark joke as she changes her son, then decides to just give him a full bath since she let him fester in his own filth like the trash person she is.

“You’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight, Jo,” she says once she puts him in the bath, “hockey is a lot of fun, and Tyson, that’s the guy we’re living with, I guess he’s your godfather or something, he’s really good. And mommy met him playing hockey cause she used to have to play on a boys’ team.”

“And she got in trouble for punching a bunch of boys,” Tyson laughs from where he leans against the doorframe.

“Mommy was defending herself, which makes violence okay,” she smiles at Jonah.

Tyson joins her on the floor and hands her a smoothie, “They made this at the training facility, it apparently has all the good vitamins and stuff for breast feeding.”

“They make you guys’ booby smoothies?” Jonah laughs at the word booby, “Booby is like, the one word he recognizes.”

Tyson laughs, “Makes sense, I get excited hearing about meals too, and no it’s not a special smoothie I just read that you need all these vitamins and calcium so I grabbed one on the way out.”

“There’s another part of this lunch right? I’m not a smoothie-only kind of girl.”

“Yeah, I grabbed you a sandwich too.”

The gloom recedes into the background as the day goes on, Sylvia can feel it looming but tries her best to ignore it. If only to make sure she doesn’t seem ungrateful to Tyson.

She hasn’t seen Tyson play a hockey game since his first game against the Maple Leafs, and even then, as a happy newlywed, she was quickly ushered away before really getting to congratulate Tyson. After that she was always been conveniently “busy” when he played in Toronto.

So, walking into the arena is already a wholly different. It makes her heart swell with pride, that little old Tyson made it here. It also makes her feel guilty for not celebrating him enough before.

Jonah seems as enamored as his mom, he moves his head every which way, like he’s taking note of everything so he doesn’t forget.

An usher leads her to the family suite, which is instantly too fancy for her. She’s used to her hockey games being in cold warehouse rinks on hard bleachers where parents scream too loud and teens sneak in beer. She doesn’t know what to do with herself here.

“Sylvia?” A woman comes up to her, clearly sensing her unease.

“I’m Danielle Okposo, Tyson had some of the guys warn us you’d be coming,” her smile is warm and familiar, the kind of person you just want to hug.

“Warn? I hope he’s not telling everyone the bad stories,” she laughs but it ends hollow as she realizes there are bad things he could say.

She merely laughs and bends down to look into the stroller, “And who’s this guy?”

“This is Jonah,” Sylvia gets him out of the stroller and readjust his headphones.

“Welcome to the Sabres family you guys, come sit down,”

She ushers her towards the other women, who all look beautiful and well-dressed. Sylvia feels bad in her ratty flannel, it was the only clean, blue thing she owned. No one seems to take notice or care, but when you’re holding a baby as cute as Jonah, she realizes people pay very little attention to her.

Jonah plays with the ends of her hair while he stares at the players at warm up and his mom is gently interrogated.

“Tyson said you just moved to Buffalo?” A woman who hadn’t introduced herself asked.

“Uh- yeah, I’m staying with Tys until I get back on my feet,” she stutters, “I’m going through a bad separation,” she adds hoping it will kibosh any further question or at least any question about the father of her child.

“Buffalo’s a great place to raise kids if you end up staying,” Danielle adds before they’re all distracted by the start of the game.

The rest of the evening goes pretty smoothly. Jonah isn’t fussy and only sleeps for part of the second period. Too distracted by the ice, the other kids, and the women who insist on giving her a break and holding him.

She eventually gives into the pleas, letting go of her grounding anchor and getting to focus more on the game. Tyson makes an assist and Syl jumps out of her seat, the old rush of a hockey game taking over.

The Sabres win and the women convince her to come down and congratulate the third star of the night, even when she says she’ll just see him back at his place.

She’s already thrown Tyson’s life off its axis; she doesn’t want to completely knock it out of orbit because he’s too nice to tell her to backoff. Even if she deserves it.

She has an overwrought smile as she watches all the wives and girlfriends hug their partners. She wonders if she’ll ever feel happy like that with someone, if the picture-perfect hugs and grins will be real for her.

“Whoa bud, stayed up for the whole game?” Tyson takes Jonah from her arms and gives him a little toss in the air.

He’s all damp curls and misbuttoned buttons and smiles, for a second Sylvia thinks of kissing him.

She smiles through the strange thought, trying to remain unphased. “Yeah, eyes glued on the ice the whole time.”

Jonah grabs Tyson’s nose and laughs.

“I should get him a pair of skate next then, eh?” He grabs Jonah’s nose back.

“Yeah, for his hands and knees maybe, he can’t even crawl yet.”

“I’ll wait a few months then.”

He makes a mocking face and Sylvia sticks her tongue out at him, Jonah laughs at their faces.

“Want me to take a picture of you guys?” Another player asks walking by.

“No we’re-“

“C’mon Sylvie, I gotta get a good picture to send my mom,” he hands his phone over.

She rolls her eyes and stands by him, wrapping an arm around his waist before pointing Jonah in the direction of the camera. She tickles Jonah’s side so his gummy smile is on full display.

“Cute, I’m Jeff by the way,” he extends a hand.

“Sylvia and the Sabres newest number one fan is Jonah,” she waves his little hand towards Jeff.

“Nice to meet you, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you both,” he smiles, showing off the deepest dimples Sylvia’s ever seen.

“Yeah, probably,” she already feels like she’s getting in too deep.

“Well, it’s bedtime for me and my partner in crime,” she takes Jonah back and puts him in his stroller, “but go out and celebrate, I’ll see you later.”

She gives Tyson a big hug, it’s probably too long and too tight, but she has so many hugs and ‘I’m proud of yous’ to make up for, she doesn’t care.

Sylvia wakes up the next morning and Jonah isn’t in his crib. An unbearable dread fills her body. Had he found her, taken the only thing that mattered to her, just because he could? Just to remind her she couldn’t escape him, that she was nothing without him.

It’s not logical, but the emotions of being a mother are illogical.

She runs out to the living room, but before she can actually have her reaction out loud, she sees Tyson sitting on the couch with Jonah in his lap, facetiming his mom and sister.

Sylvia almost sobs with relief.

“Oh my god, I want one,” Kacey whines from the other end.

“Yeah, in ten years,” Tyson scoffs with older brother protectiveness.

“Either way I’m booking a flight to Buffalo just to squeeze him, Sylvie makes cute fucking babies.”

“Language,” their mom laughs.

Sylvia doesn’t want to interrupt the family moment, but she second guesses that when she realizes her own flesh and blood is involved and she pops in the background and waves. Jonah squeaks, seeing his mom in the screen but not knowing where she is.

“It’s good to see you sweetie,” Laura smiles, “I’m glad Tyson is being a helpful babysitter.”

There’s no pity in her voice or eyes, but pride, she probably knows what Sylvia’s going through, what she will go through better than most. The silent reassurance makes Syl feel braver.

“I can’t complain, his mom raised him right,” she smirks, aching for the company of a family she hasn’t had in years.

She comes around the couch and takes a spot next to Tyson.

“Did Tys tell you grandpa cried when he saw the picture of the three of you?” Kacey grins.

“Of course, he did,” Sylvia’s grinning so hard she knows it will hurt later.

Jonah then leans forward mouth open onto Sylvia’s shirt-covered boob.

“I’m just a giant milk machine to you, aren’t I?” She moves him off Tyson’s lap and closer to her and her now drool covered shirt.

“Wow you’re still breast feeding, good for you I never lasted that long,” Laura says.

“Gross mom,” Tyson groans.

“It’s a perfectly natural thing Tyson,” his mom scolds and Sylvia makes an ‘I told you so’ face.

“I can feel a tooth coming in, so I think it’s gonna be game over soon. I don’t know if my nipples can take that.”

Tyson and Kacey both make gagging noises in response.

“One of the many reasons you don’t want your own yet, Kace. But before I mortify Tyson more, I’ll feed my child elsewhere. I’m sure I’ll talk to you guys later.”

She gives Jonah’s hand a little wave and goes back to her room.

The conversation changes before she makes it all the way in the room, “How’s she holding up, actually?”

“I think pretty well, not really sure how. We’ve talked a little, but I don’t want to push her.”

“He was always an asshole; it was bound to happen eventually. And all you can do it be there for her, she’s really lucky to have you.”

“Thank mom.”

Sylvia tries, really tries to keep it together.

She gets into somewhat of a routine. She goes on walks with Rachel Thompson and her baby Brooks, who’s about the same age as Jonah. And that’s nice. Being around another new mom is refreshing, it’s a chance to vent with someone who’s going through it. Even if their circumstances are drastically different.

Sylvia tries to make life easier for Tyson where she can, she cooks meals, cleans, runs errands for him. It keeps her mind busy but it’s also a little too familiar. Playing the domestic housewife role so well. She has to remind herself Tyson isn’t him.

Tyson will cook with her when he can, he offers to do dishes when she cooked. He won’t go off on her if something isn’t to his precise specifications.

That still doesn’t put her at complete ease.

Then Tyson goes on a long road trip. She thinks it’s somewhere warmer, but she feels nosey asking while he packs. Like she’s crossing some weird line if she asks. She knows he’d probably be happy to share, Tyson isn’t him.

Her mom calls two days in, “He keeps calling, have you seen a lawyer yet?”

“I’m seeing one tomorrow,” morbid curiosity takes over, “what has he asked about?”

“Just where are you and when I get him extra frustrated, ‘does she know how bad this makes her look?’ Stuff about how he gave you a good life and you’re throwing that all away.”

There’s a glowing feeling in her knowing he’s frazzled now, barely hiding his true nature from everyone else. But then frost touches her heart.

“Has he asked about Jonah?”

The pause her mother takes is answer enough, “No, sorry Sylvie.”

She looks over at Jonah sleeping peacefully in his crib, blissfully unaware of the family he was brought into and the father who cares more about the appearance of his missing wife than the well-being of his son.

“At least it should make getting custody easier,” and that comforts Sylvia in the worst way.

Tyson is chilling by the pool in California with his teammates, it’s not very warm by SoCal standards but it’s boiling in comparison to Buffalo.

His phone buzzes with a text from Sylvia: Thx for the lawyer recommendation, we sent divorce papers today

And before he can think it through, he sends her a shirtless picture of himself with a thumbs up, not exactly the best response to the news.

“Who you sending shirtless pics to Josty,” Alex Tuch calls from in the pool.

“Probably the MILF he’s living with now,” Cozens laughs and the rest of the boys join in.

“She’s getting a divorce,” Tyson lamely retorts.

“That wasn’t a no,” Alex grins.

“And it means she’s single…”

“It’s not like that, we’re just friends,” he can feel heat rushing to his face.

He’d only ever thought of Sylvia that way once. It was just a fleeting pubescent crush. He had come back for the summer after his second year away for hockey in Kelowna and in the meantime, Syl had become a woman. He didn’t know how to react to his friend’s growth spurt or the new curves of her body.

She no longer felt like the girl who wore boy clothes and was too competitive in every game they played. Really, she was the same girl just in a new body.

So, when she rubbed up against Tyson while guarding him in street hockey, he felt all new sensations. It was too confusing for a 14-year-old to really grasp. But once he got his hormones under control and learned to accept the changes in Sylvia, she was the same old friend he had always known.

But every now and then the thought creeps out from the back of his mind that Sylvia is beautiful and can give him butterflies.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out,” Jeff grins, his dimples on full display.

“You’d maybe be the only guy I’d let date her, but seriously just leave her alone okay, she’s going through it right now,” he stops himself before he says too much, shares something that’s not his to share.

His phone buzzes with a reply: Very rude of you to send a pic of you in warm weather like that, so here’s my payback.

He reads the text a few times over, trying to decipher it before he receives a picture of Sylvia flipping him off while she is breast feeding.

A shirtless pic for a shirtless pic 😜

He grimaces and exits the text before his teammates get a glimpse.

A swell of darkness comes in with such force Sylvia can’t help but succumb. It had been lurking in the distance for days, but the storm had finally arrived with gusto.

She felt overwhelmed for most of Jonah’s life. She didn’t know how to take care of a small person who didn’t understand the world, she barely took care of herself well enough to be considered well-adjusted or healthy.

“Ow, fuck Jonah,” Sylvia pulls the baby away from her breast.

Jonah wails in response, his mouth gaping wide and the new tooth barely poking through looks almost throbbing with pain.

“Sorry bud, I should have pumped after the last time you tried to gnaw my nipple off,” she tries to reason over the screams.

She lets Jonah gnaw on one of her fingers while she tries to set up the breast pump one handed. By the time she gets it set up both her and Jonah are crying in unison.

In this moment of being milked like a cow while her son greedily chomps on her fingers, she just lets herself free fall into the abyss. The darkness covers her like blanket and she feels warm thinking about falling asleep and never waking up again.

She’s going through the motions of motherhood and she doesn’t know how much longer she can take it. Maybe she could drop Jonah off at a fire station, have him put with a family that deserves him.

She feeds the fussy baby, who only cries more when he’s finished. Throwing a bottle with such force he puts a dent in the stainless-steel refrigerator.

He cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t know how he has this much breath in his lungs. She ran out of tears and breath a long time ago.

On top of that he doesn’t sleep.

It’s three in the morning and he’s just as awake, somehow throwing his loudest tantrum yet.

“Just stop, please! I get it, life fucking sucks but you can’t keep doing this,” Sylvia somehow finds more tears in her body.

He stops for a moment and Sylvia relaxes a little, just long enough for him to spit up on her before he lets out a scream.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She shouts in her son’s face, like if she matches his volume maybe he’ll realize how ridiculous he sounds.

If anything, he wants to win the screaming contest.

Syl has to set him down on the floor to stop herself from shaking him, from throwing him out of a window, from winning worst mother of the millennium award.

She crumples to the floor beside him and sobs. Her body shakes so hard she thinks she’ll bruise her ribs. She never wanted to be this person. She doesn’t want to be a person at all.

It’s 6 AM and it’s still unending; she doesn’t know how he hasn’t just screamed himself into a coma. He’s only stopped when he desperately pleaded for a meal, and the solace of silence was worth her bleeding nipples.

She’s more surprised that the neighbors haven’t called CPS. Maybe they have, it’s not business hours yet.

The door opens, the team had taken a red eye. Sylvia doesn’t react, she might be half deaf at this point.

Tyson comes around the corner at full speed, rushing to the sound of crying. Only to see both Jonah and Sylvia sobbing on the floor.

She looks a mess: dried vomit on an old sweater that probably hasn’t been washed since she moved here, hair looking just as unwashed, and dark bags under her eyes that still show through the red puffiness.

“Shit Syl,” he gets down on the floor and gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“He’s broken,” she sniffles, “he won’t stop crying.”

Tyson’s heart shatters, “Okay,” he pauses to think, he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, make her feel like a bad mother.

“How about I take him for a bit and you go shower and refresh,” he smiles and picks Jonah up before she can respond.

The baby screams in his ear while he helps Sylvia up. She seems too dazed to move so Tyson pulls her along to the bathroom and turns on the shower, waiting until the water is warm.

“This will make you feel a little better, or at least more human,” he kisses her forehead and walks out.

Tyson is right, Sylvia does feel a little better after washing the grime off of her. But she’s not ready to face Jonah again, the echoes of his cries ringing in her ears. She sits on the floor of the shower and cries until the water turns cold.

She gets out and it’s quiet. For a second she thinks she might have actually gone deaf. She puts on pajamas and pads out to the living room, no sign of them. She peers into Tyson’s room and finds Jonah sitting in Tyson’s open suitcase, chewing on a hockey puck. He has big crocodile tears still pouring, but that’s a million times better than he had been.

“I know the puck is pretty cool, but I thought you’d like the matching shirts,” Tyson is modeling a Hawaiian shirt and hold up a tiny version of the same one, they’re horribly bright and in any other moment Syl would point out a colorblind person clearly picked them out.

“We can’t exactly wear them here, so I got it a little bigger so you can grow into it.”

“I’m an awful mom,” it’s not what she wants to say, but it’s where her brain goes.

Tyson turns around and pulls her into his chest.

“Sylvie, you’re not a bad mom, you were just overwhelmed.”

“He’s been crying for like days straight and you come home for five minutes and he stops! Obviously, it’s because I don’t know how to take care of my son.”

He rubs circles on her back and takes a deep breath, willing her to follow suit.

“You’ve been mostly alone for over a week, you were overwhelmed. It doesn’t make you a bad mom.”

When she doesn’t make eye contact with him, Tyson lifts her chin to make sure she sees how serious he is.

“You’re a good mom, Sylvia. You just had some bad days and look,” he points to Jonah who is now snoozing on a pile of Tyson’s travel clothes, “you made it through and he’s still alive.”

Sylvia still seems unsure but she’s too tired to protest. She just nods in agreement.

“He’s really lucky to have you, he just doesn’t appreciate it yet. And obviously he was lost without seeing me every day.”

Sylvia shakes her head and laughs, the feeling is foreign.

“You may be his food source, but I’m the entertainment,” Tyson grins, loosening his embrace but no quite letting go.

“I’m glad he has his own personal clown,” she playfully shoves him.

“Go get some sleep Syl, I got the rugrat for a few hours.”

Sylvia is out of the room before Tyson can second guess his offer. She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.

If she doesn’t wake up at least Jonah would be in good hands. The sick thought is the last thing that runs through her mind before slumber takes over.

She wakes up, much to her chagrin.

But then she hears Tyson and Jonah laughing outside her room and she hates herself. Here she is with a happy, healthy baby and a friend so nice he’s willing to upend his life to help her out, and she’s acting this way? She hates being ungrateful.

She recommits herself to being better.

And it works, for the most part. Sure, she cries in the shower where Tyson can’t hear her or stays in a parking lot to sob, but who doesn’t do that? It could be worse, she knows that, until a few weeks ago Syl was living that.

It’s pretty late at night for Jonah to still be up but he’s been buzzing all day so Sylvia is hoping to tire him out a bit more before putting him down. She’s noticed that he doesn’t wake up in pain over his fresh teeth if he’s completely worn out.

She’s folding some of Tyson’s laundry, a new chore she’s picked up in an attempt to keep her mind busy and have more of a routine. Jonah is laying on his stomach, doing an impression of pushups as he tries to get a Sabretooth plushie Sylvia put just out of reach to keep him occupied.

“You’re so strong Jo,” she laughs as he pushes himself up a little further and moves himself a bit closer to the toy.

He grunts with concentration.

She moves to grab another shirt to fold and turns back to see Jonah on his hands and knees, crawling towards his prize.

“Holy shit,” she whips out her phone to take a video, moving the stuffed animal a little further away from him.

He takes the challenge and moves a little further, getting his hands on the Sabretooth. He gurgles happily and puts it in mouth.

“You’re crawling baby,” Syl doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy than seeing him reach a milestone.

She baits him to crawl a little further a few more times when she hears the door open. Syl doesn’t even think twice about her newly mobile baby before she shoots up and runs towards the door.

“Tys you have to see – oh shit sorry,” Sylvia freezes in her tracks and half turns away in embarrassment.

Tyson has a woman hanging off of him, they’re intentions clearly painted on their flushed faces.

“Oh my god you have a girlfriend?” The woman says as she detaches herself from him.

“No, I’m just staying here, I’m so sorry. I’m usually in bed by now so you wouldn’t even know I was here.” Sylvia rambles, feeling so embarrassed and remorseful she completely forgets why she was so happy.

“Tys you should have texted I would have made sure I was out of the–“

“Jonah you’re crawling?” Tyson interjects when the baby scoots his way towards the noises.

Syl can’t even relish in the pure joy spreading across Tyson’s face as he beams at her son.

“And there’s a baby,” she’s clearly a second from leaving but the cold is probably preventing her from just waiting outside.

Sylvia picks up Jonah, “I’ll just go for a drive with him and let you two have the place for a while, I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking cockblock.”

She starts to gather her coat and boots when the woman speaks up, “I think the moment’s passed, but maybe we can go back to mine next time”

She sends an understanding smile towards Sylvia and somehow that makes her feel guiltier.

“I can drive you home,” Tyson offers.

“I called an Uber,” she holds up her phone, “it’s outside,” she gives Tyson a tentative kiss before leaving.

Sylvia lets out an embarrassed groan, “Oh my god I’m ruining your fucking life.”

“You think that ruined my life?”

Sylvia just glares in response.

Tyson takes Jonah from her, “Now show me what this crawling business is all about.”

“My son isn’t a dog you can ask to show you tricks,” she laughs as she follows him into the living room.

“I think you have to do this for me, since you’re ruining my fucking life,” he winks and sets Jonah on the ground.

The baby immediately makes his way over to the stuffed animal he left on the floor.

“I know it sounds stupid, but this is like the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Sylvia says while holding back tears.

“It kind of is.”

Now that Jonah is on the move any time he’s set on the floor, Syl realizes she should probably baby proof Tyson’s place. It’s a lot of work but it’s just another thing to keep her occupied and if it’s funny every time Tyson finds a new drawer or cupboard he can’t open, then that’s just a bonus.

It feels like she’s on the other side of a tunnel. Then her lawyer calls.

Uncontested divorce.

It sounds nice to get it over with, no arguing or going into court. Never having to see him again

Then the reality sets in. She loves the idea of not fighting over custody but also agreeing to not take alimony or child support in return is a little extreme. Without a little income from the divorce, she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to work and get on her own feet. And she can’t expect Tyson to just be okay with this arrangement indefinitely.

But she also knows her opponent, and she knows he’ll make her life a living hell if she fights back, and is that worth it?

The lawyer talks her through all her options, Sylvia tries to absorb all the information she can but the emotional and logical parts of her brain are at war.

She lying on the ground and tossing a ball a little bit away for Jonah to grab; essentially, she’s playing the most passive game of fetch, but it’s entertaining him so she doesn’t care. It’s the perfect way to wallow and be a somewhat decent mother.

The door opens and Tyson calls out, “I went to the store but I couldn’t remember what solid food he was on, sweet potatoes or beets?”

At the sound of his voice, Jonah bypasses the ball and scrambles to the kitchen. Tys picks him up and flips him upside down, much to the little boy’s delight.

“What?” Syl sits up and gives him a quizzical look.

“We were out of baby food, but I know he’s trying a new food this week and I couldn’t remember what it was.”

The way he says ‘we’ makes Sylvia’s heart swell then burst. She can’t tell if it’s in a good or bad way, but it makes her a little lightheaded.

“You, okay?”

“Yeah, just lost track of time. Forgot it was lunch time,” she rubs her eyes even though she’s not actually tired, “And it’s sweet potato week,” she puts on her ‘happy baby’ voice and walks over to the pair.

She starts to set up the high chair and Tyson helps strap Jonah in and together they’re like a well-oiled machine. Before she knows it, Tyson is spoon feeding her son, sing-songing ‘here comes the plane.’

“Wow bud, you really love these sweet potatoes. You might even rival my friend Nate Dogg,” he laughs and Jonah copies him.

Syl can feel herself doing a robotic kind of laugh, like she’s trying to solidify the fact that she’s there and present, but her brain is a million miles ahead of her and maybe in a different country.

Tyson doesn’t seem to notice from his bonding bubble with her son.

“I think I have to go to Toronto for my divorce,” she blurts, finally coming back to reality.

“What?”

The orange goo of sweet potato slips off the spoon and onto Jonah’s bib. Sylvia takes a moment too long, staring at the food as it slides down further.

“My lawyer called today and I think I want to contest his terms of the divorce.”

Tyson puts the spoon and bowl of food down, doesn’t even notice that Jonah takes this as an opportunity to take both and make a mess.

“And what are the terms?” A deep wrinkle forms between his brows.

“I get to keep Jonah 100%, but no child support or alimony.”

Tyson stares on like he’s missing something.

Syl doesn’t know how to voice all her jumbled thoughts, so she just lets the words flow out, “I can’t just go without money from him, I’ll never be able to pick myself up without something and you can’t take care of us.”

She knows it’s not exactly what she meant to say, but it’s also not completely off. She can’t go from her whole life depending on one man then another, even if Tyson would never use that as some power to hold over her.

The hurt that crumples Tyson’s face makes her realizes he doesn’t understand what she’s really feeling.

“I don’t mind taking care of you guys,” his voice is so small and hurt.

“Just because you don’t mind doesn’t mean you should have to Tys, I’m not your problem,” she can feel her words digging a deeper grave.

Jonah can sense the shift in the air and his lip starts to tremble.

“I’m gonna give him a bath,” she mumbles and leaves the room in a hurry, the hot sting of tears coming through.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next morning. She doesn’t get the chance to explain herself or apologize.

After two days of fretting over an apology text she never sends, Danielle Okposo comes knocking on the door.

“How would you and Jonah like a playdate?”

Syl doesn’t feel up to leaving the house, she’s back in ‘fully alone and unable to clean herself and her son’ mode.

“Uhhh–“

“This is like 90% for me, my oldest two keep bringing up having another baby and I think having them play with an actual baby might help my cause. Because either Jonah is really cute and satisfies the baby needs or he’s a nightmare and they remember how hard having a baby is.”

“Wow, babies having baby fever,” Sylvia laughs.

“So will you come?”

“Why not,” she decides adult interaction is probably healthy and will keep her mind off of Tyson.

“You’re literally a lifesaver.”

They end up at the Okposo house, which is controlled chaos at its finest. Four kids, toys everywhere, but it’s cozy; it’s the kind of house Sylvia always dreamed of living in.

The kids are instantly enthralled with Jonah, who is living for the attention. They place him in front of a mini stick net with an oversized helmet on to play goalie. The three older kids take soft shots at him, and now that he can move, he actually stop some of the foam balls that come towards him.

Sylvia can’t help but take a picture without a second thought she sends it to Tyson with the caption, he’s strangely good at this, a sign I gave birth to a weirdo?

As soon as it says delivered, she worries away at the corner of her lip, wondering if it was wrong to send that without any apology or acknowledgment of their last conversation. The image of his hurt face burned into her mind.

“Everything okay?”

And maybe it’s because Danielle is a real adult who really has it together or that Sylvia kept everything shoved down in the darkest part of her mind for years, but whatever it was about being here right now makes her open up. About everything.

Suddenly there’s someone in the world who knows it all, and she a weight she didn’t even know was on her chest is lifted. She can finally take a full breath and with all the newfound air rushing to her lungs she starts to feel overwhelmed and hyperventilates. It brings out the tears that were just below the surface.

Danielle rubs her back and just lets Sylvia feel her emotions and there’s something profoundly new and profoundly sad about that.

“Oh Syl, that’s a lot to have to carry all on your own.”

Sylvia quickly wipes her tears when she hears the kids come in asking for a snack, Odin awkwardly holding a rather happy Jonah. She sniffles and offers to take the baby.

“We just knew we couldn’t leave him alone; he doesn’t want to hang out with moms,” Odin scrunches up his nose and Syl can’t help but laugh at the glimpse into her own future.

“Why don’t you guys pick a movie and we’ll bring you some snacks in a bit,” Danielle diplomatically gets rid of the kids before they really notice Sylvia’s tear-stained face.

Once they’re out of ear-shot Danielle turns back, “My advice might not mean a lot coming from someone who has not gone through half the stuff you’ve gone through, but I do think you should let Tyson in a little more, so he understands what you’re thinking.”

Sylvia gnaws at her lip but nods.

“And I think you should see a therapist, because the way you talk, that’s not just being sad or motherhood being hard. It sounds like postpartum depression and you can’t take care of Jonah if you aren’t taking care of yourself too.”

Talking about all of this with a stranger almost seems more appealing than talking to Tyson.

“I have a few names I can give you,” Danielle squeezes her hand, “now let’s go feed some kiddos before they get really crazy.”

Tyson is set to arrive home and Sylvia is tempted to ask if she can stay with the Okposo’s just to push off her conversation another day. But she knows she has to be brave. She was brave enough to leave an emotionally abusive relationship, why couldn’t she be brave enough to talk to her best friend?

Jonah is down for a nap and Syl starts making dinner, something to keep her hands and brain busy.

Tyson comes through the door; his usual loud and happy greeting doesn’t follow him. Syl can hear him rummaging around his room, taking his sweet time before they talk. He finally sheepishly makes his way into the kitchen, sitting on a barstool but not yet acknowledging Syl.

She goes on with her business, finishing a stir fry and plating it for the both of them. She sets a plate in front of Tyson, a sort of peace offering, before taking the seat next to him. They eat in silence until it becomes too deafening for Syl, she doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Tyson so quiet.

She doesn’t quite dare to look over to him yet, “you have been so kind and amazing to take care of us and I really appreciate it, more than you’ll ever really understand.”

“But…” he fills in for Sylvia.

“But,” she takes a deep breath, she wants to get it right this time.

“I want to get back on my feet or I guess find the footing I never had so I don’t have to need your money.”

“Sylvie, I don’t mind. I like helping.”

“What if I never get on my feet?” she finally looks at him giving him a stern look in hopes of getting through to him.

“Then you don’t, it’s fine,” he has this blank look, like he can’t understand there are alternatives.

“Tys this isn’t about you! I want to be able to afford daycare while I go to a job or pay for my own lawyer without relying on you.”

She puts a hand on his arm, gently rubs her thumb up and down his sweatshirt covered bicep.

“The last time I let a man have this much power over my life…” she doesn’t need to finish the sentence, “And I know you’re not him, you could never be like that. But I need the chance to find that independence I’ve never had, even if it’s hard.”

She can feel tears falling down her face, Tyson reaches up to wipe a few away, his own eyes glossy.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to fight him to get that independence.”

“What did you say before? People like him can’t win?”

Tyson lets out a hesitant laugh, “then let’s kick his ass and take him for all he’s worth.”

Sylvia is finally seeing a rainbow after the storm. For most of her adult life she’s been on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop; if it’s coming soon, she doesn’t care, or at least she knows she can handle it.

Her lawyer seems to think they’re building a solid case. Years of texts and voicemails she was too lazy delete are making quite the damning pile of evidence.

Her new therapist seems to think she’s making good progress, even before they fully cracked open the can of worm that was her marriage.

“Mmm, mmm” Jonah babbles.

“You almost got it Jojo, it’s Ma Ma,” she smiles at him.

“Mmma, mm.”

“I’ll even settle for no,” Syl pauses but he doesn’t respond, “or hi? But Hs are hard.”

“Duh dddd,” he gives a her his gleaming four tooth smile.

“Okay, I don’t know who’s teaching you that one,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“Duh mmmm.”

“Maybe you can try bye bye?”

Jonah happily waves at her, having recently mastered the skill.

“Yeah, bye bye! Can you wave and say bye bye?” She prods.

“Buh duh,” he waves.

“Fine, I guess I can live with your timetable.”

He gurgles and drools in response.

“But Ma Ma was really hoping to write that she was grateful you said your first words this week.”

When he still doesn’t respond, she sighs and writes down her daily gratitudes sans first words. Jonah and Tyson are numbers one and two every day, which she loves but she hates feeling so boring.

Though if she thinks about it, she can’t recall when she was ever actually interesting. She was kind of interesting when she left behind Alberta for Toronto to be with the love of her life, but that didn’t turn out very well.

The next time was probably when she got pregnant, but that’s only in the way that making human life is interesting. And no one was really interested in her then anyway; recently some of the Sabres’ better halves were sharing pregnancy photos and Sylvia only had one mediocre picture a nurse had taken when she was in the early stages of labor. The rest of her pregnancy lost in preparations to flee her own life.

She guesses that makes her interesting, her escape from a bad relationship; not that she’s publicly sharing that information. But she doesn’t want to be interesting because of her trauma.

Tyson comes into the kitchen in a navy blue suit, he gets an excited, goofy grin on his face when he sees Jonah in his tiny Sabres jersey.

“Hey bud, ready for the game?” he waves at the baby who happily waves back, always excited to show off for Tyson.

“He may not know what’s going on but he is a great good luck charm,” Syl laughs at the fact the team of 4-0-1 when Jonah is in the arena.

“You’re both my good luck charms.”

He doesn’t look away from Jonah as he says it, doesn’t see Sylvia’s cheeks heat up as he gives Jonah a raspberry on his where his shoulder meets his neck; for a moment she pictures Tyson’s lips on her neck.

“You ready to help me win Jonah? Can you say Ty-son?”

“Yah duh.”

Sylvia snatches her son, “Mama might not be his first words but if he’s gonna acknowledge a person by name, it’ll be the person who grew him.”

“Fair enough,” he raises his hands in surrender, “well, be good for mama and I’ll see you later.”

He gives Jonah a loud, obnoxious smooch on the cheek then a subtle one to Syl before he heads out.

Jonah continues to be enthralled by hockey, just stares at the ice with big eyes like he understands what’s going on. The only thing he actually understands is that he loves Sabretooth, especially the life-size one who picks him, it’s much better than the small one he drops when the mascot arrives.

Sylvia takes a picture of it and sends it to Tyson’s family. She gets a 50-emoji response from Kacey.

The team wins and Jonah keeps the title of good luck charm, the others joking that he has to come to every home game until they make the playoffs.

“Okay, hand the baby over and enjoy your night out,” Danielle reaches out for Jonah.

Sylvia doesn’t follow orders, just looks confused.

“Sorry I didn’t tell her, I didn’t want her to run away,” Rachel chimes in, sporting a sort of apologetic look, though Syl doesn’t know if it’s directed at her or Danielle.

“Am I having a stroke?”

“No Syl,” Rachel responds, “we got a babysitter for the night and getting you out on the town.”

“You deserve it, now give me Jonah. Tyson dropped of a bag of his stuff he’s in good hands.”

“I don’t like that this was a coordinated effort; do I seem that desperate to go out?”

“No, but you haven’t had a night to yourself since you moved here,” or since you had a kid or God knows since when is implied between Danielle’s words, “so go be young and have fun.”

Sylvia knows when she can’t win a fight so she squeezes her baby tight and kisses him before reluctantly handing him over.

They go to the Thompson’s house and Sylvia gets handed a drink to loosen her up while Rachel does her makeup and finds something for her to wear.

Halfway through the drink Syl feels tipsy, she never was a big drinker and it had been a while, but she’s enjoying the warmth and weirdly the attention she’s getting right now.

“You’re always hot, but damn you really clean up nice,” Rachel smiles at her while she puts on the finishing touches.

She finally looks at herself, it’s like a looking into an alternate universe. Like maybe this would be a normal occurrence if she had gone off to college, made normal 20-something mistakes, had a close group of girlfriends who shared clothes.

She takes moment to mourn that Sylvia.

“Thanks, I can’t remember the last time I wore make up, or a dress,” she laughs and spins around in the mirror.

They arrive at a crowded bar and meander through the crowd until they find the team. Sylvia waves before she feels everyone’s eyes on her, suddenly self-conscious about how she looks.

“Who’s gonna get our girl a drink? Welcome her to the Buffalo night life?” Rachel’s voice cuts through the noise.

Jeff is at the edge of the booth and the first to get up, Sylvia thinks he’s gonna guide her to the bar but instead he guides her to take his seat, conveniently next to Tyson, before he takes her order.

“Surprise me,” she says before she rethinks it, “but nothing too strong.”

She awkwardly readjusts her skirt that has ridden up too high, she’s too aware of the eyes on her and the weight of Tyson’s arm that’s now wrapped around her shoulder.

Sylvia hadn’t gone out in years; it was always a whole ordeal only for her to get in trouble. She always had to look nice, but if she looked too nice, she was accused of trying to attract male attention. If she went to the bar for too long, it was because she had to be flirting. If she danced too long or in a certain way or with anyone who wasn’t him, she had to expect a long lecture and some verbal degradation.

Going out meant being emotionally exhausted and in a way, she could feel that exhaustion already seeping in.

Jeff comes back and drops a drink in front of her, waiting for her to take a sip of approval. She gives him a thumbs up after tasting the semi-sweet concoction, she’s not sure what it is but it’s good.

“Cheers to mom’s night out,” Rachel holds up a drink and they all cheers.

This drink goes to her head much quicker, probably because she’s taking nervous sips every two seconds.

Suddenly she stands up, a little wobbly on her feet, Tyson grabs her hand to steady her or maybe concerned she’s about to run or something.

“I’m gonna go dance,” she doesn’t yell so she’s not sure anyone hears her, but she wanders onto the dance floor anyway.

It feels freeing, to just let go for a bit and dance. She forgets about her problems and the other people around. It’s a moment of pure joy she hasn’t felt for just herself in a long time. It feels like she’s shaking rust off her heart.

Syl feels someone come up behind her, warmth radiating. She doesn’t care to look just happy to keep dancing to the beat of whatever song. Still, she gives a little start when she feels hands on her hips, it’s a foreign feeling.

Before she can move to look behind her, she sees Tyson move in front of her, she can feel her smile growing. She moves a hand to pull Tyson closer the her, feeling the large warm hands retreat. In her hazy mind she thinks she’s a gloating glint in Tyson’s eyes but when she turns to look, there’s only the mass of the crowd, not one person standing out.

Tyson and Sylvia aren’t really touching while they dance. Syl can’t bring herself to look away from his warm brown eyes, she finds herself thinking about how long and thick his eyelashes are, that Tyson is very pretty. Before she can voice some of these thoughts, she feels her eyes drooping.

“It’s pretty late for mom’s first night out,” he leans in to whisper into her ear, it makes Syl shiver a bit, “want to head home?”

Syl can only nod suddenly feeling very overstimulated.

As they make it home, she feels like she’s only getting drunker. Even though she stopped drinking a while ago. Tyson ushers her into the kitchen and gets her a glass of water.

“Oh no, I’m still wearing Rachel’s clothes.”

Tyson chuckles, “you weren’t exactly going to return them in the bar.”

Sylvia shrugs and downs half the glass of water; she holds it out to Tyson for a refill.

“I miss Jonah. This is the first time I won’t be able to kiss him good night,” it feels weird to have her heart somewhere else.

“You can give him extra kisses tomorrow,” Tyson gives her a hug.

He starts to pull away but Syl doesn’t quite let go, “I can still give you a goodnight kiss.”

She leans up to close the distance between them, she would normally go for a quick peck on the cheek but she doesn’t start to turn her head. They’re lips touch and it should be quick, it should be over already, but it’s not.

There’s too much heat and Sylvia doesn’t who it’s coming from. She doesn’t know whose tongue comes out first, but it doesn’t make either pull away. It’s an unfamiliar feeling that radiates through her chest and she wants to see where it takes her, but it’s also too scary and she can’t possibly go through it without perishing.

She pulls away too quickly and almost falls off the bar stool, Tyson catches her by the waist and it lights her skin on fire.

“Well, good night!”

Sylvia rushes to her room, she falls back on her bed; touching her lips with awe, like it will keep the sensation there longer.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next day. He comes in to check on her before he leaves, but Syl pretends to be asleep. Not ready for any conversation or to look Tyson in the eyes. Still, he moves deeper in the room, kissing her forehead before he leaves.

So, at least she knows he doesn’t hate her.

She texts Danielle later about dropping off Jonah, claiming she has a raging hangover and couldn’t possibly leave the house. It’s partially true, there’s persistent but dull ache in her head. It may be from thinking too hard about the kiss though.

Once Jonah is home, Sylvia can’t let him out of her arms, he’s the anchor keeping her grounded while her brain is all static. She spends most of the day snoozing with Jonah pressed up against her.

The following day she tries to get her head on straight, come up with a game plan for talking about the kiss. She doesn’t have much time with Tyson set to return that evening and with Jonah having an unexplainable meltdown.

She tries to put on a calming demeanor, but it’s like Jonah can sense the worried churning in his mom’s stomach. He’s only communicating his concern in the best way he can, but it doesn’t make the day easier.

She can’t pinpoint the moment her feelings changed and maybe that’s what makes it scarier. It feels a bit out of the blue, she had no time to gauge Tyson’s thoughts before her inhibitions were down and she was acting on it.

All Sylvia knows is friendship isn’t enough for her anymore.

In a panic she packs a go-bag, a déjà vu moment she was never hoping to repeat. But she has no idea what’s to come and she doesn’t want to be a burden in Tyson’s house with any unresolved feelings.

She doesn’t even know where she would go this time around, all her friends are Tyson’s friends first. If it weren’t for her baby she’d just sleep in her car. Maybe she could haul ass to Edmonton.

There’s no time to dwell, Jonah is screaming in her ear and she can’t think over the din.

Tyson comes home to screaming, which is oddly comforting for him. He was a bit worried Sylvia might leave in a panic, embarrassed about the kiss.

“Hey Sylvie,” he says quietly.

“Hi Tys,” she looks exasperated, “I don’t know what’s wrong, I’ve tried everything.”

Jonah continues to cry, knocking over a bowl of food and making a mess. Sylvia looks a second away from breaking down with him, but she’s not looking away from Tyson to notice the chaos.

“Let me try,” he gets Jonah out of the highchair and bounces him on his hip.

Jonah doesn’t stop. But Tyson looks so natural with her son, Sylvia has to have this conversation now. She can’t live in this fantasy world a moment longer if it’s going to be snatched from her.

“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” she nearly shouts, making sure Tyson can hear her.

She flinches out her own loud voice and tones it down, “I mean I’m sorry for the when and the how of the kiss but I’m not sorry it happened.”

Tyson just has this unreadable look on his face, he stares on as he rocks Jonah, who’s screams are subsiding a little.

“You’re good to my son and you’re good to me. And maybe I don’t deserve that or deserve you. But I want you and I can’t help it,” her eyes well up as she exposes her heart.

Her heart hurts too much in the extended silence from Tyson. It’s like it can’t pump enough blood any more, like it doesn’t understand how it was even working before she loved Tyson; like it can’t survive a minute longer not loving him wholly.

“And if you don’t want that, I get that. My life is a mess and I have so much baggage,” she can’t hold back the sob in her throat, “We can leave if this is too much.”

“No!”

It takes her second to grasp that the voice is small and foreign.

“No” Jonah says again.

“Did you just say your first word?” Her tears quickly shifting focus.

“No”

She can’t stop herself from coming over and kissing her son all over his face to a chorus of little nos.

“Kid stole my line.”

Sylvia is jolted back into the moment. She looks up into deep brown eyes, their bodies are too close together.

“I don’t know what that guy did to you and you don’t ever have to tell me, but it makes me so angry that he made you think you aren’t worth it or don’t deserve good things.”

He has blink back some tears, Sylvia can’t stop herself wiping the stray ones away.

“Syl, you’re kind and loving and an amazing mother. You deserve the world and I want to be the one who gives that to you.”

She can’t stop herself from going for the kiss, Tyson is left so breathless he almost forgets he’s still holding a baby. It’s not as heated as the last kiss, but it says everything much clearer.

“No!”

“Yeah we get it bud,” Tyson laughs when they break a part, “You said your first word, the moment is all yours.”

#tyson jost #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost story #buffalo sabres #buffalo sabres imagine #buffalo sabres fic #nhl #nhl fic #nhl stories #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey fic #hockey story #hockey imagines

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gothic-puppyboy · 1 year

Text

I posted 113 times in 2022

That's 113 more posts than 2021!

73 posts created (65%)

40 posts reblogged (35%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@facts-of-fantasy

@muckytailwags

@coyote-gutz

@allistersgayngar

I tagged 72 of my posts in 2022

Only 36% of my posts had no tags

#alterhuman - 44 posts

#therian - 41 posts

#therianthropy - 39 posts

#otherkin - 32 posts

#caninekin - 27 posts

#puppyboy - 27 posts

#puppykin - 23 posts

#dogkin - 21 posts

#canine therian - 19 posts

#dog therian - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#sorry for this. im going to edit that post and take out my recommendation for them

My Top Posts in 2022:

Winter canine things?????????

Hey! Im so excited to get back into requests!! Here is Max's wonderful list of wintery things for canine kin!

play in the snow!!!!

wear lots of cozy clothes (bonus points for faux fur)

Get into kirigurimi! (its cute lil onesies! you can find one that looks like your kin type and be all toasty and comfy)

Catch snowflakes on your tongue

If you live in a place that doesn't get super cold, go for a walk in a nearby forest/nature trail

Use the holidays as an excuse to get gear

Get some cute paw gloves to keep your lil doggie paws warm

Build a den in your room with some nice, warm, soft blankets

Spend time with friends and family, in person or online! show them that you care about them. Canines are extremely loyal and affectionate to their pack members, so remember to show them you love them

125 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

stuff for a wolfkin and a werewolfkin? more leanibg heavily on the werewolf please

I've got you, friend! Werewolfkin things coming right up!

Wolf/Werewolfkin activities:

Check out this junior wolf biologist guide

Use this backyard explorer guide to get some outdoor time

Take this wolf quiz

Go on a hike or a run

Eat some (cooked) meat with your hands

Spend some time in nature

Stay up at night

Go to a wildlife park or zoo to see your kintype

Wear cozy clothes (Bonus points for faux fur)

Build a den outside

Make a scent marker and mark your territory with it

Craft Ideas:

Yarn tails- Tutorial

No sew animal ears- Tutorial

Paper claws- Tutorial

Fangs- Tutorial

Decorate a collar

Make tags for a collar

See the full post

171 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

Summer activities for canine-kin

Summer time is here and canine kin and pet regressors need some things to do! Heres my list of summer time things for canine kin

Go to the beach and dig in the sand.

Go to a dog park and pet peoples dogs. Also, secretly try to communicate with them and let them know you are one of them.

Go swimming! Bonus points if you shake yourself dry.

Go to a wildlife park or zoo or petstore to see your kintype

Go for a walk! (Especially good for domestic canines)

Make a yarn tail

Get a pup cup from starbucks and eat it yourself

Roll around in some grass

Drink water REALLY loudly and REALLY sloppily (dogs really like to do this)

Get some ice pops and bite them really hard

383 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

Tips for canine kin and pet regressors

Quadrobics!

Quadrobics is a sport where one person runs on their hands and feet! It can be very fun and might make you feel more connected to your kintype or regressed species.

2. Kibble!

You cant eat actual dog food, but dry cereals and trail mix can feel pretty realistic. You can also eat (cooked) meat with your hands, and make a point to tear it apart and eat it in an animalistic way!

3. Toys!

Rubber chew toys can contain materials and chemicals inside them, ropes and plush toys can be a great substitute. Human safe rubber or silicon toys, or even baby chew toys can be a great (and safe) option!

4. Collars, Tags, and Harnesses, Oh my!

Collars can be great for domestic canines. They're really good for customization and can be made perfect for your specific style. They can also make you feel super close to your kintype! You can get tags for your collars at any pet store, and you can write your name and things on them aswell. Dog harnesses at the pet store may not fit you (even the biggest sizes are too small for most humans!), so remember that made-for-human harnesses are OK!

5. Training!

Training can be amazing for domestic canines. If you have a handler or caregiver, they can teach you tricks and commands. A way to feel even closer to your kintype is to learn your tricks in a language you don't know. That can simulate how dogs don't know what you're talking about at first, but eventually catch on.

6. Making a Den!

Making a den out of blankets, or laying on a dog bed, can be lots of fun and can make you feel like your true or regressed self. If you were a parent canine, add some stuffed animals in to your den to act as your pups.

7. Ears and Tails!

Wearing ears and tails can be very affirming. Ears and tails can be found online or in costume shops, and can come in any size, shape, or color.

See the full post

496 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Craft ideas for non-humans

Hey! Im super bored so I made this list full of crafts otherkin can do. Feel free to add on! This list includes some links to tutorials and supplies!!

Yarn tails- Tutorial

No sew animal ears- Tutorial

DIY antlers- Tutorial

DIY fairy wings- Tutorial

DIY Bird/Angel wings- Tutorial

Paper claws- Tutorial

DIY hoof shoes- Tutorial

DIY horns- Tutorial

Paint a cat mask- Buy one here!

Paint a dino mask- Buy one here!

Fangs- Tutorial

Decorate a collar

Make tags for a collar

1,061 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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kazoosandfannypacks · 1 year

Note

Hello, this is your Santa here :) Hope your week is going well and that you are staying safe :))

In terms of my progress, I've drafted up some ideas and a general plan of how to go about doing justice to your likes :))

I do happen to have some questions for you and I hope you can answer them :))

1. Do you have any OUAT characters that you dislike? If so why?

2. What is your favorite OUAT season?

3. Do you have any favorite artists? Both in music and art?

I do happen to wanna ask a couple more questions but in a more relaxed form :)

Did you have any favorite Christmas growing up? Like any one experience that just stood out to you....cause if you did I would love to hear off it. Alsooo, have you ever build a ginger bread house? I rewarched shrek and ginger bread man reminded me of ginger bread houses and cookies.....why does shrek remind me of Christmas?

All rambles aside, I do have quite some questions but I shall reign them in until next time. Looking forward to your response.. have a great rest of the week and stay safe :))

My week's off to a great start; I hope yours is too!

I'm so excited to see what you've got cooking up :D

1.. Tbh I'm not a huge fan of Mr. Gold. He's just a lil toxic towards Belle- outside of the context of their relationship he isn't bad though.

However, I also hate Gothel/Eloise Gardner- not in a "I hate seeing her onscreen" way, but in a "I love seeing her onscreen because that way I can actively continue to hate her this is fun" like I utterly despise her but she's so interesting I wanna examine her under a microscope and also watch her die but I'll look away when she does, ya know?

My reasons for dislike of her are her abuse and manipulation of Wish!Killian and Alice. Like. We've got a technical count of assault, and then she holds that over his head every time she sees him after that just to get inside his head and then she basically casts this big dark curse (like it was Drizella's curse, sure, but Gothel was pulling the strings too) and she could've been anyone she wanted in this new curse world- and she created the persona of Eloise Gardner- a runaway nobody- specifically so she could play the role of the damsel in distress in Wish!Killian's life, specifically so she could continue to use and manipulate him- I want to commit acts of violence anytime Eloise is within three feet of Rogers- but at the same time, I love watching and anaylsing her.

Sorry that was long winded 😅

2. This is a hard choice, because I love them all (except maybe season 1, but that's just for lack of a certain pirate) but I'm gonna go with Season 4. A lot of media tends to focus on watching the characters fall in love like falling in love is the climax, but they neglect to show all the work and time put into the relationship after it's started- so I love how season 4 shows you the little glimpses into Killian and Emma not just falling in love with each other, but living in love with each other- we get to see their first date and watch Killian step up as a father figure for Henry and see how they handle conflict together and just those quiet moments where they're there for each other.

Season 4 has a lot of other good stuff too- development of Killian and Belle's friendship, the return of August, Belle's mom (however briefly we had her!,) Emma's outfit in the alternate universe, ext. I also really liked the emotion in the Belle leaving Rumple at the town line scene.

3. Obscurely enough, I love listening to Ben Fankhauser and also Ephie Aardema, despite the fact that they aren't actually all that popular (especially outside of Broadway circles.) I also like Ben Platt and Jonas Brothers and (more recently) Taylor Swift. And Jeremy Jordan! (I also listen to the musical episode of ouat a lot.) Annapantsu is really good too!

As far as art artists, I can't think of any off the top of my head ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I definitely remember a lot of magical Christmas moments. One time my sister and I really wanted snow on Christmas and it hadn't snowed much at all- until it started snowing on Christmas Eve as my dad read our traditional Christmas storybook to us. I remember getting a unicorn pillow pet which I had really wanted one year, and another year when I got my first ukulele (I straight up cried.)

I've done a few gingerbread houses over the years, yes! I love artsy stuff as well as baking and using the resources I have on hand in the kitchen to make masterpieces!

Here's a pic of one of my favorites that I did (with help from my little brother!)

So long, friend! Remember to stay hydrated!

#kazzy answers asks #once upon a time #once upon a time season 4 #once upon a time season 7 #ouat #christmas #a kazzy little christmas

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trash-for-seabass · 2 years

Text

Steve Rogers NFSW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Unbelievably protective. That’s the only way to describe Steve after sex. He likes to be big spoon but he always tangles his limbs with yours and holds you close, like a protective meat cage.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Steve Rogers is a boob man through and through. Soft, sweet, squishy and warm, what’s not to like?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Being the safe, good boy he was raised to be Steve refuses to fuck you without a condom on. That doesn’t stop him however from cumming all over your tits.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

God knows the world (or at least the country) would freak out if they found out Captain America liked fem doms. It’s been a dirty secret he’s kept very close to his chest, only 2 people know (You cause obvious reasons, and Natasha cause she’s far to observant)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He lost his virginity on the Captain America tour and then didn’t get any for 70 years.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything where he can see your face, but Steve really really really loves it when you ride him. Being able to see the face you make when you cum and watching your tits bounce make his brain short circuit.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Any time Steve’s in control he’s a goofy mess, pausing in between thrusts just to boop your nose. One time while he was fucking you doggy style he paused for a moment, leaned down to kiss your shoulder and whisper “I love you” before slapping your ass and growling “ok back to business”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Steve was always well groomed, keeping all his body hair near and trimmed, except for his time nomading, then he let the forest reclaim the land.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sure he loves to get kinky but Steve is a true romantic at heart, often fantasizing about making love to you in a wood cabin in front of a fire place while snow falls outside

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Because of the serum Steve needs to climax at least once a day or it becomes painful. Once is the bare minimum though, he usually cums 3 or 4 times.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Steve Rogers has many kinks but his biggest is being blindfolded and doing temperature play. Feeling hot wax harden and ice cubes melt over his skin drives him crazy in the best way.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He really likes romantic settings. Candlelit rooms, soft silky sheets, and sweet romantic music are his jam.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything gets Steve going, You could simply breath and Steve would have a boner.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn't really like feet, He loves to give you foot rubs but its just not really a turn on for him (Probably because he came across some....Freaky stuff while he was exploring the internet)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Does getting his dick sucked feel good? Obviously but Steve would live in your pussy if he could. He loves seeing your pussy dripping and swollen from his beard burn (One time he literally tied you to his face cause you wouldn't stop asking if he could breath)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Generally it depends on the time of day. He’s a sweet gentle lover in the morning but like some kind of sex wearwolf, the moment the sun goes down and the moon comes up he’s like a rabid horny animal

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Steve Rogers is a king when it comes to quickes, for you at least. His typical morning routine is wake up, eat you out, brush teeth, make breakfast, go on his run.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Steve discovered he loves pressing you up against a window, fucking you while he whispers about how pretty you are and how he wants all of New York to see his best girl.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

Steve could go for literal days if he wanted. However once he cums once his poor cock gets so sensitive that it’s easy to make him cum over and over

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own a lot, Steve likes to rely on his own strength but he does still own a few lengths of rope and some vibranium cuffs. However he does own one toy, a vibrating vibranium cock ring (He’s pretty sure Shuri is still scarred for life but he’s still glad you asked her to make it)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Steve doesn't tease, You tease. “Accidentally” grinding against him in the kitchen, making sure he gets an eyeful of your cleavage during training, sending him dirty texts while he’s away on missions.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a quiet groaner.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Steve has a mommy kink. He is never going to admit it out loud but he always finds himself biting back the phrase “thank you mommy” whenever you make him cum. It’s only a matter of time before he actually says it out loud. (Hey look I wrote a fic about this here)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

(??????? Still confused ???????)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Steve pretty much constantly has a boner around you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When he’s dom Steve instincts to take care of you override his need for sleep however when your dom hes out like a light almost immediately.

#chris evans #captain america #marvel #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #captain america x reader

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

Text

7 - Arena Game

(Gif doesn't belong to me)

Part 8

Victor's Daughter

Haymitch's POV

The tube sends me up and I get sucked in by the beauty that is before me. The wind blows through my hair. The Cornucopia is glowing gold with loads of weapons surrounding it. Turning my head to the left I see a patch of woods. Looking the other direction everyone else is still focused on the beauty when an announcer's voice booms through the arena. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 50th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1" Brushing my fingers through my hair I put on a serious face while the others are still distracted. Running off my pedestal I feel my heart beating in my chest as the killing has begun.

Y/n's POV

Shrugging on a Jean jacket over a grey tea shirt, leggings and black boots. I finished putting my hair in two braids each on one side. Brushing my hands over staring in the mirror. The games are today. Katniss or Peeta could die today. I could die today too. Three soft knocks on my door breaks me from my trance seeing my father dressed in a grey suit watching me. "I'm heading to take Katniss downstairs. Do you wanna join us?" I simply nodded walking towards the elevator. She has her hair in her braid weakly smiling at me. The three of us entered the elevator where I leaned my back against the wall in one of the corners.

“They'll put all kinds of stuff right in front. Right in the mouth of the Cornucopia. There'll even be a bow there. Don't go for it." He instructed her with one last piece of advice. "Why?" She raised a brow confused as to why she wouldn't go for the weapon she was good with. "It's a bloodbath. They're trying to pull you in. That's not your game. You turn, run, look for high ground. Look for water. Waters your new best friend...oh don't stop off that pedestal early or they'll blow you sky high." My father brushes his hair that had fallen in front of his eyes when the elevator door opened. I took her hands in mine, hugging her and she whispered into my ear.

“If I don't make it I need you to tell Prim, I love her." Breaking the hug I softly nodded mumbling to my friend. "Katniss, go show them what District 12 can do." She stepped onto the hovercraft as my hands started shacking. I feel my father intertwining his left hand with my right brushing his thumb over my ring. "What are we supposed to do dad. Just wait to die?" I mumbled shivering at the thought watching the hovercraft lift into the air. He swallowed a lump in his throat not looking my way. "No, we keep playing the game. I won't let Snow kill you like he did the rest of my family."

Haymitch's POV

Running through the woods getting hit with trees I trip falling down a hill. Grunting down the hill I land on my back holding my head. Quickly getting to my feet I heard the cannons go off in the distance. Signaling for the number of fallen tributes. Pulling my bag off I shuffle stuff around finding a knife inside. Getting to my feet I truck through the forest hearing another Canon go off. Stepping around a tree at my feet lies a dead boy with some fruit in his hands. Bending down I figured it was poison since he didn't have any open wounds on him where another tribute would have killed him. Opening my bag I rummage around hoping to find some food. Pulling a bag out with my right hand I opened it, finding some nuts. Slowly popping it in my mouth I prayed they weren't like the fruit. After a few minutes I didn't feel anything so I sighed in relief heading further into the arena.

Y/n's POV

Dad and I stand in front of one of the large screens showing the arena hearing a gamemaker starting the countdown. Biting my lip I can picture the horror on Prim's face seeing her sister on the screens. Gale probably doesn't have the heart to watch. It sickened him about how some people view these games."16...15...14...13...12...11...10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1." Glancing at my father I can see him shiver when the countdown ended and all the tributes raced off their pedestals straight for the Cornucopia, all except a few ran for the woods.

Peeta Mellark was one of the smart ones. It didn't take long before the tributes from 1 and 2 had gotten their hands on weapons. I rest a hand over my mouth seeing some of the younger kids hiding only to get killed in a matter of seconds. Pressing my left foot backwards I shuddered, removing my hand from my father's. Tears clouding my vision where I might puke when all that comes to mind is Prim. Even though she is back home safe, it doesn't hurt any less.

“I have to go - I can't - I can't watch.." I mumbled making my father eye Mr mumbling since we're surrounded by capital sponsors. "Y/n, we have to…" He cut himself off seeing my whole body language. So he lets my hand slip from his watching me walking away. The first person who came to his mind was Maya, who without a doubt watched in horror like you had been.

Haymitch's POV

Three Careers tributes somehow found me. Pulling out my long knife one of them charged for me but when they tried to stab me I elbowed them. Shoving the blade into their chest right when the other attacked me. I ducked underneath their arm when they swung a sword at me. I punch them in the side spinning my knife in my other hand slamming them onto the ground. Slicing their throat right before the third tribute tackle me to the ground. They punch me in the face drawing blood about to kill me, with a blade to my throat. Yet suddenly they get shot in the back. They fail over for me to see a dart in their back which was poisonous. Whipping my head up I catch sight of a blonde haired girl walking up to me. Who holds her hands out for me helping me up. "We'll last longer if there are two of us. I'm Maysilee Donner." Once I'm back on my feet I brush my bloody hair from my eyes replying. "Haymitch, Haymitch Abernathy."

Y/n's POV

Pressing my back against a wall I'm thankful that nobody else is here. Sliding down onto the floor I take in some breaths. For some reason I'm more stressed than I should be and I'm not even in the games right now. Footsteps came down the hall and a sweet voice made me lift my head up from my knees. "Y/n, are you crying?" Celestia comes to sit down by me since I don't say anything. Gale would call me insane for befriending the president's granddaughter. But I can't exactly help that she is just so innocent. Even though she's surrounded by people who cheer on people killing each other as a game. She'll never become a monster like the district's children. The Capital children don't compete in the games at all.

"Is it because of that lady we saw yesterday?" Her sweet voice questions sitting with her legs criss crossed. "Yes it is, Celestia...she's my.." I bite my tongue thinking that she'd run and tell her grandfather. Shaking my head I get to my feet causing her to call after me. "Y/n, Y/n!" She grabbed my arm and I yanked it away from her. "We can't be friends Celestia!" Tears appear in her eyes with a quivering lip. "Wh - why?" Stomping away from her I felt my heart rate increasing. "Because I'm not supposed to be alive. Your grandfather wants to kill my whole family...he killed my father's family!" Celestia ran off somewhere and I ran the other way, almost falling down the stairs. I bumped into the game maker Seneca Crane. He dropped the files he was holding so I bent down handing them to him. He takes them from me where I barely catch a glimpse of my parents and a picture of me. "Watch where you're going. You should be watching the show." He sniped heading down the hallway.

Unknown to you Seneca opened the door stepping up to president Snow. "Ser, there's something I think you need to see. It's about that Y/n girl, the one who came here with District 12." Snow stared up at his game maker. It had been the first eight hours and almost all the tributes were dead. "What is it. The girl is fine. I looked into her file and found no connection." Seneca was about to respond but Celestia burst into sobbing in tears. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" He got to his feet hugging her as she mumbled into his suit. "Why did you hurt her family. Why grandpa, she - she doesn't want to hang out with me anymore." Seneca opened his mouth trying to explain. "I have an answer to that question-" But Snow raised his hand to the man cutting him off. 'Enough, we will talk about your theory later. Now I like you, Seneca. But you are here to make the games. Not chase some girl who has made my granddaughter upset!"

Seneca dropped his papers on the desk leaving the room. Celestia noticed the same picture from yesterday pointing her finger at it whispering. "I've seen her before grandpa. Yesterday, Y/n was almost crying over her." Snow eyed his family member. Maybe Seneca had a point to make. "What did she know about her, darling?" He asked her nicely, hugging her into his chest. "I think she was saying something about...Mother." Snow closely stared at the picture of District 12's only Victor and the mysterious woman. Then picked up the picture of you, knowing he needed to heat what Seneca was going to say immediately.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#victor's daughter #gale hawthorne x abernathy reader #gale hawthorne x reader fanfiction #gale hawthorne x reader #gale hawthorne #liam hemsworth #haymitch abernathy x daughter reader #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #celestia snow #president snow's granddaughter #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay part 2 #mockingjay part 1 #mockingjay #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

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strawberry-jammers · 3 years

Text

a child to protect (pt 3)

tommy x child!reader || a fun time

tommy gets cloths for (y/n) to wear in the tundra, and has a little fashion show

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt 4

The next morning Tommy got up to steal more things, and make (y/n) more clothes for colder climates. Tommy whent outside to get some wool, having stolen everything he wanted from technos. He needed to get some supplies for his kid.

Tommy opened the door from the basement, walking outside to the cold air. It smelled of winter goodness and blood. Tommy didnt pay to much mind, not even to the fact he was supposed to be hiding. Tommy started his walk to the forest for some sheep. “I think blue would be a good color, ghostbur would love it-”

“HEH tommy what are you doing near my home??” ah. He forgot about the blade. “Hey hey man hahaha funny seeing you here!” techno growled. “It's literally my home, what are you doing here?” tommy looked at the blade. “This is my home! Technoblade i think you've gone a little crazy there bud.” techno pulled out a pickaxe. “Ill sick this threw your teeth, get out of my house tommy.” “blade blade, this is our house! We own it together-” techno was tired of this. “Wait how long have you been here??” tommy grabbed a grapple. “A day or so.” he bite the golden apple. “That's where all my stuff whe- wait is that mine!!!” tommy walked back inside, albeit quickly and panicky. “Finders keepers, besides it was in our house.” “IT'S LITERALLY NOT YOUR HOUSE!” tommy shook his head, eating the apple. “Do you have any wool or something to make cloths with? I need to make some.” “yeah, your outfit is atrocious, it's also torn up and dirty and stuff.” tommy yelled back, “NOT FOR ME BITCH!” techno stood there a bit confused, until he heard a bell sound from below them. “hEH??”

before

(Y/n) sat in the room, playing with the stick Tommy gave them months before. They had to wait for their dad to come back, but after awhile they got restless.

(Y/n) heard loud noises upstairs, but they were more determined to find something new to do. Looking around the room, they saw a gold bell next to the prime log. Eyes sparkling, they crawled over to the bell, holding their stick in hand. Sitting next to the bell, they touched the shiny thing, intrigued. They then had a bright idea

Beat the thing with the stick.

So they started to bang the bell with the stick. It was loud, very loud, they soon stopped and started crying instead. They were really close to the bell and hurt their ears. A faint “hEH'' was heard upstairs, but (y/n) couldn't hear it over their crying. Tommy quickly climbed down the ladders to get to his child. “Hey hey, shhh it's okay, are you hurt?” tommy asks. Rushing over to the small child. They kept crying, Tommy not knowing what to do. “Shh shh hey hey it's okay, it's okay.” he said softly, trying to calm the child. (y/n) over time stopped crying, feeling more and more sleepy as time went on, all the while techno just stared at them, rightfully confused. Tommy rocked his baby till they fell asleep, placing them in their crib. Tommy looked at his child happily, before turning to the person he was fighting a second ago.

“So, got any wool?”

------

Techno, albeit against his will, let tommy and (y/n) stay with him for the time being. In exchange, they had teamed up for the time being. Techno didn't really like his predicament, having to deal with an annoying brat and an orphan, but he had to go with it. The voices enjoyed having the baby around, so techno couldn't kill them.

Shortly after their confrontation, techno went out to gather wool for the two. Tommy took what he had and started to make more clothes for the child. He had learned the basics of sowing from eret way back when, so he tried his best.

"(Y/n), try this on." The baby looked at him, just wanting to play with the crows that visited often. "No." Tommy sat there, baffled. "D-did you just tell me no??" "No!" "Okay well now you just lying." The kid giggled, continuing to pet the crows. Tommy grabbed his kid, sitting them on his lap. "Your trying this on." The kid pouted, but complied, slipping on the sweater. "Good?" The kid nodded, crawling off tommys lap and sitting with the crows again.

Tommy sat there for a second, contemplating. "How the fuck do i make pants…"

Tommy had to ask techno if he knew how. He didn't, since he's never had to make pants, so he asked Phil if he had any baby cloths or if he knew how.

“Helloo” techno says as he enters phil's home. “Jesus christ- you know your not allowed in limburg tech.” techno shrugs. “Eh, anyway i came here for something.” phil nodded. “What is it that you need? Ore, food, books-” “i need baby clothes.” “WHAT-” phil wasn't expecting that request. “I need baby clothes, got any? I know wilbur was once a kid so.” phil looked at his old friend questioningly. “Do you have a kid??” techno looked very offended at this. “Ew no id never adopt an orphan. No, tommy needs it.” phil was still confused. “Techno, tommys not a baby-” “NO NOT LIKE THAT! He found a kid so now he's raising them, and they need baby clothes.” phil nodded. “Ohh sorry mate, yeah i think i have some of wilburs old cloths. Lemme go check.”

Phil came back with a bag full of wilburs old clothes, he said just to take it and see which would work for a baby.

“I wish i could come visit, but tubbo needs me for some fucking reason.” techno nodded. “Thank you phil.” philza smiled. “Anytime, now go, make sure tommy didn't kill any of the animals.” techno panicked. “NO THE TURTLES-”

------

“Okay little (f/i), we’re gonna try this on okay?” (y/n) nodded, ready for the cool new outfit they are gonna get.

Tommy pushed a mirror in front of the child. “You like it?” they baby wore a striped yellow sweater with some cute little overalls. They also had snow boots and a beanie to go with it. (y/n) smiled, giggling partly at the fact that they were looking at themself. “You look cute big man! Now, lets see if there's anything else you might like.”

The rest of the day was spent picking out clothes for them, seeing what fit and what they liked. Tommy was having fun with this, so he suggested they do a fashion show for when philza could visit. The kid was excited at this, wanting to meet the all so old philza minecraft. Tommy took care of the clothes that they didn't like or just plain wouldnt fit, while (y/n) messed with the toys that were found in the bag.

“TECHNOOOO!” tommy yells, climbing up the ladder. “Whaaat.”he says, in the main part of the house. “Can phil come here tomorrow???” techno climbs down the ladder to meet the loud child. “Why?” tommy throws the bag in a random corner. “(y/n) wants to meet phil and show them their outfits.” tommy says, not as loud as before. Techno sighs. “Ill see if he can.” YEEEES!!! (Y/N) (Y/N) I HAVE GOOD NEWS-” tommy yells, climbing down the ladder as fast as possible. Techno chuckled, getting back to what he was doing prior.

The next day, phil came by as requested. He was excited to meet the young child, remembering when wilbur was young. Philza opened the front door of the cottage. “Helloooo.” techno says as always. “Hey mate, how's the wife?” techno snorted. “Great great, sitting in the boat as always.” they stare at edward who was staring at them as always. “In all seriousness, whos taking care of tommy been?” he asks, sitting down at one of the chairs. “Fine fine, nearly lost my hearing but other than that fiiine.” phil chuckled. “yeah he’ll do that.”

Tommy came up stairs, hearing the new presence come into the house. “Phiiilza, big p how you beeeen!” philza stared at him. “Don't call me that. I've been fine, visiting tech whenever i can. I heard your raising a baby? How's that going.” tommy sat in the chair next to the old man. “Great! (y/n)s been great, having spent some time alone, their happy with the constant attention.” tommy says happily. “What do you mean by alone?” phil asked, concerned on what he meant by that. “Uhh, anyways me and (y/n) wanna put on a little show for you! They wanna show off their new outfits.” phil let it slide, not wanting to pry to hard. “Aww mate, i wanna see the outfits.” tommy smiled, running off. “TECHNO SET THE STAGE. (Y/N) GET HYPED!!” techno snorted, displeased.

Philza chuckled at his old friend. “First i let him into my home, not killing his child, and now i'm doing shit for him? Ugh.” techno works on the little stage area for the two kids. “Calm down mate, he's just excited.” techno rolled his eyes, sitting next to phil.

“WE’RE BACK!!” startling the two old men, Tommy runs up the stairs with (y/n) covered in a small blanket. He says the outfits are a surprise.

“Ready everyone?” phil and techno say yes while (y/n) says no, their favorite word. “Youre not ready (n/n)?” (y/n) shook their head. “Hat!'' Tommy gasped. “Your hat!” tommy grabs (y/n)s hat from the pile that he brought up and put it on their head. “There! Now you ready?” the kid nodded, getting ready for the fashion show they had been preparing for.

“Okay!! Go little (f/i)!” (y/n) crawled their way in front of the curtain that blocked the old men from seeing the other two. They tried to stand up, having the help of Tommy to get on their feet. They stood proudly, showing off their winter outfit. They adorned a dark green winter coat, with black pants and little snow boots. They also had a grey beanie to add to the outfit.

They continued this, philza thoroughly enjoyed the show they had put on, and techno thoroughly hated it. He kept trying to leave, but Phil kept dragging the piglin hybrid back to his seat. He didnt wanna ruin the fun the two were having.

"Tadaaa!!!" (Y/n) said, having finished the show. Phil clapped happily, while techno slowly clapped as to not be the only one not clapping. Tommy picked up the small child, holding them in his arms. "That was fun, right little (f/i)?" Tommy asks. (Y/n) nodded, giggling happily. "Fun!" Philza laughed, standing up. "I better get going, Don't want ghostbur getting worried." "Awwwww buy you haven't fully met (y/n) yeeeet." Tommy complains, Phil just laughs at him. "I'll be back eventually. Now i have to go. Bye (y/n), you did really well back there." "No!" (Y/n) says, even tho they looked pleased with the compliment.

"Bye everyone, have fun cleaning that up." Phil says, referring to the stage and piles of clothes. Techno snorts in annoyance while Tommy just ignores phil's comment. Philza leaves the house, closing the door behind him.

"Anyways, have fun with that techno!!" "Oh no you don't! GET BACK HERE!!!"

#tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #mcyt x reader #dreamsmp x reader #tommyinnit

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ofcloudsandstars · 3 years

Text

Quick things to do to celebrate Imbolc

Okay since my Yule post was popular I made an Imbolc one since most of us are still going to be locked down lol.

1. Clean and Cleanse your space I know BOO right?? But this is the holiday for cleaning and cleansing. (Even if you hate doing this, this is like the one time a year you have a reason to do it). Time for deep cleaning!! You know that layer of snowy dust behind your bookshelf? Time to open windows and tackle every corner. Scrub off that spot of dirt you have been putting off scrubbing. Time to steam and vacuum your carpets. Wash your bedsheets and add rosemary or juniper oil to the soap. Smoke cleanse your room with Juniper (or Rosemary). Sweep out old energy, old habits, unwanted spirits. Throw out things that do not spark joy. The time is upon us!

2. Bath Magic Along with cleansing your space, it's also the time to cleanse yourself! This is the day to have a ritual bath, the type that looks instagram worthy where you have a bunch of candles and you sit in a hot tub full of colorful soap very pleased and covered in bubbles. If you don't have a tub you can make a special scrub to anoint your entire body with and rinse it off in a shower. This is the time for face masks, feet soaks, those things you glue on your nose to painfully peel off later and fill you with a sense of relief/disgust of what was dwelling in your pores all this time, skin exfoliants, bath jellies and body creams.

Tip: I like to celebrate the eves of sabbats, so I tend to do the cleaning and cleansing stuff the evening before so there’s less of an overwhelming pressure to do everything at once. Especially since cleaning can get draining sometimes. On the day is usually spellwork, nature walks and feasting.

3. Candle Magic This is the sabbat for candles. Not just to look at how pretty they are burning on your altar rejoicing that the winter days are probably like 1 hour longer than before, but to set intentions for your dreams and aspirations!! First take a moment to meditate and ground yourself, then focus on your goals or anything you would really like to accomplish this year, big or small. When you visualizing it coming to be, then light your candle! This is also a great time for candle scrying. You can read your candle flame which can dance fiery omens of the obstacles ahead of you. Here is a helpful but general page for candle scrying.

4. Burning Bayleaves and Barrier Breaking Often when our candle spells keep going out or we receive omens that the obstacles before us are a little more difficult than anticipated, then it's time for Barrier Breaking! Write down anything you feel is holding you back on a small piece of paper. Make sure to get a fire proof dish ready. With that paper think about the obstacles before you or anything holding you back and visualize the sensation of those obstacles coming undone or you being free from it's chains. Make sure you hold on to that feeling as you light it on fire with your spell candle then set it aside on the fire dish to burn completely.

Sometimes this step may call for shadow work as the obstacles that can be holding us back isn't external but internal issues. You can divine with tarot cards to figure out the nature of this obstacle if you aren't aware of it consciously.

Lastly, Burning Bayleaves helps with wishes. You can burn them to help overcome obstacles or to bring luck and set intentions in your life. Just write what you need on the leaves, burn it with your spell candle and set it aside on the dish. Beware as some bayleaves have natural oil in them so they can ignite in a fiery whoosh!! That is usually good luck and shows that your intentions will have no problem being manifested, however, if you are not in the most fire safe area I would not recommend this activity. If you are comfortable doing fire magic and have a safe set up then you can partake in this tradition.

6. Cleansing ALL of your magical tools As this sabbat feels like a gentle awakening and fresh start, you can lay out all of your magical tools and give them a serious cleanse. You can play a cleansing frequency on youtube which could help or ring bells over to disperse any energy hanging on. If you have a smoke bundle or incense you can clease with that and bless your items.

7. Play some Music! Listening to music always helps to set the mood of the day. Here is a playlist for this sabbat!

8. Make a Feast So for a Feast for 1 it's usually just like a festive dish with a side of veggies and a nice dessert. Think about what you'd like as your main dish. For this sabbat I’ve always made an Imbolc Shepards Pie recipe. Reasons being is that I lived someplace where this time of the year was blizzard season though we were halfway done with Winter. So the pie represented the top being the potato mashed "snow" and the meat/beans layer underneath was spicy and represented the earth stirring. (Plus its cute that it's called Shepards pie cause there is a sheep/lamb theme going on but I digress..) Anyway I moved to England and this time of year feels like... very early Spring.. Like it's not really spring spring but it's like.. early pre-spring. (Seasons here in this climate are weird haha but the sabbats make sense here since the traditions were founded in this climate). So the symbolism of the Shepards Pie is a bit lost. However there are a lot of other options such as Cauliflower or Celeriac soup with cheese (or cheese less if you are vegan), winter onion soup, if you are a meat eater than lamb and sage stew (I feel like stews are a big theme here but it fits as it's winter and there is that 'fire in the belly' symbolism that fits with getting sustenance and warmth from a chalice-bowl object). Side dish can be roasted parsnips or stuffed white cabbage (it depends on the main dish). Dessert depends on if you are into cake or tarts but I always either have cheesecake or a milk sponge cake like tres leches. If you live in a snowy area a dessert I used to make would be a warm brownie with vanilla icecream as it's like "snow melt" on earth with life stirring within. Etc.

I know with lockdown and such no one is going to be seeing anyone extra in their lives anytime soon and no one may have the energy to cook a lot, but here is a list of recipes with a feast mood board to check out for ideas.

Have a lovely luminous Imbolc!!

#imbolc #lockdown #quarantine #solitary witch #witch tips #ideas #rituals #magic #witchcraft #candle scrying #spells #imbolc ritual #winter crossquarter

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fwkei · 3 years

Text

How can you be so warm in a place so cold?

Izana x reader (fluff-angst)

WC: 3.3k

CW/TW: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of abuse, mentions of drugs, mentions of blood.

AN: made this take place right before the battle between Toman and Tenjiku, No spoilers. Explanation at the end of the story just incase you dont understand

hey guys, thanks so much on the support/feedback on my last work. I appreciate it sm, and thank you for 5 followers 🥳 love yall fr. ANYWAYS, heres something i just made I hope you enjoy, and again i did not proof read this so I apologize for any mistakes, enjoy!

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“....Do you remember it?”

He felt his body go cold….cold like that one night..That one night when he met you.

The air felt sharp against the skin on your face. But this feeling comforted you in a way. Although it wasn't much, you looked forward to this part of your day, where you could just think and not worry for a couple of hours.

You fisted your hands inside your pockets to create some sort of friction and warmth. You nuzzled your chin and mouth under your thick zipped up jacket that was a little too big on you when the park you always come to came into view.

You looked down at your feet when suddenly you heard the squeak of a moving chain, you looked up. To see a boy sitting on one of the swings, slightly swaying back and forth.

Your eyes softened at the sadden look on his face, and so you sat on the swing right next to him, taking your hands out of your pocket to hold onto the cold chains. He looked down at his dangled feet, and you only looked out into the scenery, debating on what you should say to the young boy.

He was small but still a little bigger than you. His skin was tan and had light pale hair. He seemed upset, maybe even angry. You hadn't even noticed that your gaze completely turned to him. You saw his hands that were resting on his thighs, moving up to grip the chains of the swing as he looked over at you with his cat-like irises. His eyes, they captivated you. They were a color you had never seen before. A lavender. A really soft and beautiful lavender.

You two held eye contact for a good two minutes. When one of you suddenly decided to speak.

“What are you doing out here this late?” he asked in a slightly irritated tone still keeping eye contact with you

“I’m waiting for my mom to finish with work..” you said looking back out

“Then why don’t you just go home. You shouldn't be out here.” he said swaying a bit

“But..I’m always out here, and I don't consider that place a home.” you said swaying with him on your swing

You saw anger and frustration fill the boy's eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, and grip tightened on the chains as he looked at you with hate.

“Do you realize how spoiled you sound? You have a mom and a house. That you can go home to whenever you want. And you’re wanted! There's no reason for you to be out here and act like you’re miserable! Just go away!” he yelled at you

He expected you to cry, frown, get angry, give at least some sort of reaction, and it angered him that his words didn't bother you. Your eyes still softly looked into his. Eyes with a hint of pity. It angered him even more. Just as he was about to speak and yell again. He gritted his teeth and stopped himself when he saw you look down.

“That's not it..at all.” you said watching your feet dangle over the thin layer of snow

“Then what is it?” he asked jumping out of his swing and standing in front of yours

“Why do you want to know?” you asked looking up slightly at him making his breath hitch in confusion

“Because..” he said getting quiet and realizing his outburst was rude

“What is your name?” you asked, stepping out of your seat to stand in front of him face to face, him only a few centimeters taller than you.

“I..Izana..” he said finally getting a good and close look into your eyes

He felt his eyes soften. He felt pity. He felt bad. He now knew he was wrong about you, everything he assumed was completely wrong. Izana could see the hurt in your eyes, he could tell you were going through a lot, and you could tell the same with him. He backed away slightly once he saw you smile.

He felt his heartbeat stop for a moment seeing it. How could you smile right now? Why would you smile right now? After his hurtful words...After what you were going through at home..why?

“My name is Y/n. I’m 10.” you said holding out your hand to the boy with a shocked face

“10 too..” he said slowly, bringing his hand to grasp yours..

He felt his body warm up and mouth part. Your hand was warm, so warm and soft despite the cold air and chains that touched you. It confused him.

How can you be so warm in a place so cold, Y/n?

Izana thought to himself.

“Your hands are cold...here take my gloves...I don’t use them anyway. Do you come to this park a lot? I’ve never seen you here before..” you asked, reaching further into your pockets and taking out a pair of dark red knitted gloves and handing it to the boy in front of you. Looking into his eyes, waiting for a response.

“Thank..you...and you consider this a park? It’s just 2 swings under a streetlight..” he said softly taking the gloves from your hands gently

“Do you not? I thought it was..nice even though it’s not much, I come here every night.” you said

“You don’t get bored of it?” he asked

“It’s the best it’s ever gonna get for me.” you said tucking your hands into your sleeves

Izana’s mouth parted at your words. He knows you were going through something but what? Why was someone like you settling for something so...bad? Izana knew nothing about you except for the fact that you were overly nice. Overly nice to the point where it made him calm down.

“I can uh.. I can..take you to a better park! I know a place! Do you wanna come with me?” he asked bringing his arms to grasp you wrists tight making you surprised

Your eyes traced his face as a small smile grew on your face. Izana felt his face warm up at seeing you smile. It made him feel...good. Really good. It made him feel wanted. And he wanted to see you do it more often. He didn't even realize that because of your smile, a smile grew on his face as well. After a couple of seconds of looking into each others eyes, again...your eyes closed giving him a closed eyed smile as you said with a soft laugh-

“I do.”

Izana let out a scoff of excitement as his eyes traveled down to your hands. Letting go of your wrists and lowering one of his hands to hold your hand tight. He looked back into your eyes with a different look. A look where you finally saw light in his eyes, and it made them that much more beautiful.

“Okay. Don’t let go, just run with me.” he said as he started to walk and look back at you waiting for your reassurance

“Okay.” you smiled bringing your other hand to hold your hat as you two started to run against the cold wind

The cold wind hit your eyes, making you squint. Occasionally Izana would look back at you while running to make sure you were okay, and it really was one of the best sights of your life. Seeing his slightly flushed face from the cold wind looking back at you with a soft and small grin and messy bangs spread across his face. It made your eyes widen and your face relax. He is so pretty when he smiles. You wanted to see him smile more often, it made you feel loved.

The running turned to jogging, the jogging turned to fast walking, and that turned to slow steps. You two stood in front of the park, with your hands still intertwined. You pushed up your hat that was blocking your view slightly and looked up to a park. A park with 2 slides, 4 swings, monkey bars, rods, and all sorts of things. With bright and warm lights shining over it… There was grass instead of cement, colorful benches instead of dirt covered stools, and families with children instead of people with drugs. You felt the excitement grow all across your body. Your mouth opened as you let out a gasp of happiness. Your face flushed because of the overwhelming feeling. And Izana watched all of it. Didn’t blink once when looking at your happy face.

“Cmon! Let’s go and play!” you said gripping his hand tighter before letting go and running to the park

“Yeah!’ he said running after you with a big smile plastered across his face

Hour’s went by, but it only felt like a couple of minutes. You two let your minds run wild, pretending you lead a crew of pirates who had to fight against fish people, to running a spaceship that was battling against aliens, to pretending that the floor was some type of acid that could kill you making you two crawl around the apparatus like spiders till both of your minds and bodies grew tired.

You two had played so much to the point where the cold snowy air didn't even feel cold, but like an AC on a hot summer day. You sat on your legs under the apparatus, while Izana sat the same way, but was playing with the grass on the ground. You watched his fingers fiddle with the green strings. You wanted to ask something, but couldn't seem to put your thoughts into words.

“Izana-” you said looking at him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours

“Yes?” he said looking at you

“....Can we be friends?” you asked rubbing your hands waiting for his answer

His eyes widened..you wanted him. Not only did you want him, but you wanted to be friends with him, be beside him, be with him. It made his heart feel weird, almost fuzzy.

“Yeah! Let’s be friends.” he said smiling making you smile too

“What about you? Do you have a home?” you asked

“No..I uh..I don’t. I don't have a family.” he signed deciding to keep back his sob story

“Don’t worry, I get it. You can talk to me about it whenever we’re together again.” you said

“When will we be together again?” he asked tilting his head

“I don't know..but...I’ll always be at those swings, everyday. And when we get older..we can do other stuff in other places..like go to the beach..and bowling..you know?” you said smiling while counting things on your fingers

“Yeah okay..sounds fun..Y/n..I can’t wait till we get older!” he said smiling making you laugh a little bit

“Same!” you said

Both of your heads quickly turned when hearing an angry man scream, a scream you knew far too well.

“Damn it! You stupid little girl! Is this where you’ve been?! Huh?!” you both heard the male scream

“Who is that? Who is he talking to?” asked Izana keeping his eyes on the man as he walked closer and closer

“No..oh no..I’m late..” you said in a shaky voice

“What?” asked Izana

“Duck and hide. Izana please..” you whispered quickly gathering all of you stuff and crawling out from under the apparatus

Izana had never in his life seen such a terrified face. Your eyes were wide, and your hands were shaking...but not from the cold, but from pure fear. Usually Izana would protest at orders thrown so suddenly at him by people...but the way your voice and whole energy changed within a split second made Izana shut up and listen to you. He ducked under the piece of plastic, Hiding himself while still letting his eye poke out to see you.

“I’m sorry…” you said walking over to the man quickly looking down

“Look at me when you speak to me.” he said when suddenly you felt a harsh and sharp slap against your cheek causing your head to turn to the side. You brought your hand to your cheek, while turning back to look at the man. Izana’s mouth parted in shock and disgust. Just as he was about to run out, you spoke again.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” you said

“Damn right it won’t happen again! You think I like it when your whore mother calls me late at night telling me how ‘our’ kid isn’t home yet?! A kid I never wanted but I have to worry about?! Jesus fucking Christ. Bad shit always has to happen to good guys huh? I just wanted a fuck but this is what I get. he said as you grind your teeth in anger

“I’m sorry.” you said again bowing

Izana’s heart was beating so hard..he could feel it right against his ear. The amount of guilt and pity he was feeling was unbearable, he wanted so desperately to just get up and just defend you, in any way he could, and so he tried to change his position to get ready to run out and help you. But as he did so, his foot hit the halo metal causing a quiet bang, but since the street was quiet it could be heard. Loud enough for the angry drunk man with a bottle of alcohol in his hand to hear. Izana stopped dead in his tracks, and your eyes widened in fear.

“Are you..Are you with someone?” he asked in an angry and deep voice as he started to walk towards the sound

“No! It’s just the rabbit I found! I was feeding it under the slide because that’s where the most full grass is! It probably just ran away.” you said spilling out lies on the spot with scared eyes desperately hoping he would believe you.

“Yeah yeah, I don't care about your little rabbit. Now c'mon start walking, I wanna buy a beer before taking you back.” he said, slightly pushing you, making you lose your balance slightly as your father walked in front of you.

You took a deep breath of relief, as you started to walk you looked back seeing Izana had crawled out slightly, just enough for you to see him, and for him to see you. You saw he had eyes filled with worry and fear, you didn't want him to worry, truly. Because the night you had just spent with him...made your day...actually the rest of your life. And so you gave a soft smile and waved before placing your hands back into your pockets and turning your head forward.

Izana could only watch you walk away in confusion, in anger, in sadness, in every emotion there was. He could understand that you two were different sides of the same coin. And it honestly hurt him. Hurt him so greatly to the point where he swore to himself that he would do anything he can to not just see you smile, but to keep you safe.

And there was no way on earth he could fail at that, no way he would let you sacrifice your body for his well being like you had just done, no way he would let himself...right?

“When we first met...Do you remember it?” you asked looking into his eyes that were now filled with tears

He felt his body go cold….cold like that one night..That one night when he met you.

He couldn't respond, and only nodded his head, as his thumb wiped the blood that spilled from the side of your lips

“Wasn’t it fun?” you asked smiling

“It was.” he responded feeling his heart ache at your smile

“It was the best day of my life.” you said feeling a lump in your throat

“We can talk about that day later, let’s go to the hospital right now, okay?” he said holding his hand over your bloody wounds

“I think this is it, Izana.” you said laughing a bit as he shook his head ‘no’ at your words

“Don’t talk like that, please don’t talk like that.” he said, holding back his sobs, making his words come out shaky.

“Do you remember what I asked you? About wanting to be friends?” you asked bringing your hand up to lift his chin

He didn’t respond with words, but the frown on his face, grew, letting you know he did. Of course he did. Izana would never forget a moment between you two.

“What I really wanted to...say back then was...that I liked you, but we were only so small, and as...I grew up with you, I realized it was more. Sound’s kinda cliche right? Was it the same with you?” you said in between pauses of pain.

“Y/n stop making this sound like a goodbye, I won’t let it be a goodbye, okay?!” he yelled out of frustration, but again, you showed no reaction, like before when he first lashed out on you. It made his eyes soften when realizing the poison you two were in, was just like years before. Just like when you first met.

At the park, with 2 swings, and 1 street light shining over it.

Suddenly, all the thoughts in his head were stopped when he felt your embrace. Your arms wrapped under his arms and around his upper stomach, and you cheek against his collarbone and neck. He was hesitant, his arms still hovering over yours, not hugging you back yet. But you didn't mind.

“Don’t worry, I get it.” said slightly nuzzling yourself into him, breathing in his scent which you loved so much.

“I-”

Izana felt his heart beat so slowly.. at the familiar words you were speaking. But they were different from before, this time, you didn’t talk about being in his future...like you did before. His arms were still refusing to hug you back. His mouth still refusing to accept and return your love.

“How do you think things would’ve been?

“Y/n..”

“Do you think we would've ended up together, and had a family? Like a type of family we never had?”

“Y/n please..”

The feeling in your throat became stronger. You frowned and bit your inner cheek to keep in your sobs

“How can you be so warm in a place so cold, Izana?”

You heard Izana’s breath hitch at your words. His head slowly and hesitantly rested on yours, as you felt hot tears coat your scalp. And his arm’s fell to his sides, still refusing the fact that this is a goodbye.

But why was he refusing? He could’ve easily grabbed you and ran to the hospital. But instead he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he knew deep down that it was already too late. Your body was cold. So cold, it was unsettling. Because your body was never cold. You were always warm, you were home for Izana. Izana knew if he tried to make it to the hospital, it would make his final moments with you a waste.

So what was he doing? He doesn’t know himself...All he knew was that he wanted to be with you till the end, but a part of him couldn't accept that this was in fact...the end for you two.

“Please don’t leave.” he said in a shaky tone against your head

“I’m sorry.” you said feeling the hot tears that were congested in your eyes, finally fall out

“Don’t say that…” he said

“Izana?” you said fighting against your sobs

“Yes?” he said

“I love you. And I always have.” you said smiling as you felt your final breaths.

Izana felt your grip on him loosen, and just as it did, he brought his arms and wrapped them over your cold body.

You felt it, you felt his embrace, and you heard him scream that he loves you back, You heard and felt it all. But you couldn't let him know that you did. You couldn't even keep your smile as you took your final breaths. But you did feel the hot tears run across your cheek. And down to your neck, as he cried and screamed in regret.

HIs body, still so warm..so warm against something so cold.

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

Explanation SPOILER HERE FOR TENJIKU ARC: BASICALLY, Y/n died before the battle against Toman, it’s not in the ff(as to who killed y/n) because i wanted the reader to have some control, but in this ff I made it so that Y/ns death was another reason for Izana to wanna take down Toman and Mikey, so as i was making this i had the imagine that Kisaki would be to kill or have someone else kill Y/n to make Izana even more unstable and easier to manipulate, hence the whole fight thing so yeah lmao. Izana and Y/n thought of each other as home, and fell in love with the feeling of being with each other i guess? BUT in the end, Izana thinks he’s too late, and thinks that Y/n didnt hear/feel him, which just makes him even more frustrated and angry, so he feels guilty and ends up taking that out on others and taking loved ones from others too (hence being a motive for ordering for emma ot be killed) sorry if this is confusing

#tokyo revengers #mikey tokyo revengers #izana #izana kurokawa #izana x y/n #kakucho #tokyo revengers angst #angst #fluff #idk lol

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swcetnight · 3 years

Text

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength." Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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liptonsbabe · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if you can do a request with Finnick Odair and my oc/me (Hannah). You don’t have to use my name, but it’s Hannah if you do. So here’s some backstory. So Hannah’s father is a district 1 victor of the hunger games, her mother is a stylist and her father lived in the capital now due to district 1’s privileges. Hannah was born and raised in the capital, but was taunt by her parents to be anti hunger games, due to her father being in the games and seeingnn the horrors along with being traumatized by seeing them when she was 8. So her and finnick met while her mother was his stylist in the games. They became friends and caught feelings when they were 16. She was one of the only person who knew the truth about his “many lovers” and she was there to help him through it. They started dating when they were 19 and when they were 21 (just after the 72nd games), they were able to sneak Hannah back on the train with them into district 4. The capital tried to get her back, but since this was great publicity and stuff, they just left it because it wasn’t as important and they could also profit off their relationship, as well as also continuing to see finnick. So I was thinking you can write something pretty recently after Hannah arrived to district 4, so maybe at first people don’t really like her because she’s privileged and from the capital, so maybe finnick tries to reassure her. And maybe you can do some cute things where they have a romantic walk along the docks and maybe it can end with them playing in the water after Hannah fell in.

I just thought it’d be something cute

We Remain [F.O]

Finnick Odair x reader

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Snow's a motherf*cker so yeah, he did awful things to Finnick

A/N: Very first request! hope you like it hun. My box are still open for request! English not my mother language so please let me know if something's wrong. Enjoy!

"So, what are you doing here?" Finnick sat down next to you on the thick warm sand startling you by his sudden arrival. You had been sitting on the shore of the beach for a couple of hours now and Finnick kept watching you from the dock not wanting to interrumpt your thoughts.

He knew you were not comfortable in his district. You told him how much you loved the ocean, seeing the sun reflected on the water in the mornings and the beautiful view from the lookout point, yet there was something that didn't make you feel at home.

You slumped your shoulders as Finnick slipped his arm over them giving you a small smile. Your eyes focused on the calm, deep blue sea in front of you. The sun was about to set creating strange shapes in the remaining waves and you kept your gaze fixed on them trying to find them some form.

Finnick sighed pressing you against him. Your body trembled from the closeness which made him smile. Finnick was damn cocky and he loved the effect he had on you. He kissed your hair waiting for his question to be answered. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.

"I...I was thinking."

"About what?"

"About home. I mean...in everything that was left behind."

Finnick nodded thinking you must miss your district terribly. You were born and raised in the capitol thanks to your father winning his games, but your home was always district one. Even if you never saw district one in your life, the stories your parents told about it created in your mind a sense of having a place where you truly belonged.

Your parents raised you to hate the hunger games. It wasn't a tradition, it was a massacre, a terrifying event that disgusted them and they didn't want you to grow up believing that taking children to the reaping every year and watching them die in a bloodbath was what was meant to happen, so, at their peril, your parents managed to get your name out of the urn every year to save your life permanently.

Then, when your mother became the stylist for the winner of the 65th hunger games everything became easier. You met Finnick and he became a protective shield against the capitol. He was only fourteen when he won the games so Finnick spent most of his time at your house in the company of your father. Then in the following years Finnick became a mentor to the new tributes and your father was always by his side creating between the two of you a very strong bond.

Sometimes, when he spent the nights at your house he escaped from his bedroom and went to yours just to talk sitting in your bed while you were eating snacks. You told him about district one and how much you would like to visit there someday and he told you how wonderful district four was and how he spent his evenings before he was the brightest star in Panem. Almost every night you met to talk and when he turned sixteen he stopped knocking at your door.

At first you didn't understand why he stopped visiting. No calls, no texts, no explanations why he didn't come to your house anymore. Until one day, as you were taking a walk downtown you heard the insidious gossips around him.

"Did you enjoy your night with Finnick Odair?" a woman asked another as they enjoyed a warm evening at the diner. Your footsteps stopped behind them feeling your heart skip a beat as you heard Finnick's name on her red lips. The woman let out a giggle waving her open hand next to her face trying to cover her blush.

"He's amazing! Oh my god, dear, it's... it's splendid. Really, he's worth it."

"What does he want in return?" the other woman asked. You felt your face turn green with disgust.

"Secrets. A very good one. One that will trace your path to the stars..."

You walked away from there as fast as you could avoiding remembering the words of those two women. For god's sake, Finnick was only sixteen, he was a kid and he was leading an adult life. It was disgusting. You came home with tears in your eyes and your breath hitching. Your mother squeezed your shoulders but you couldn't speak, you were too confused for that. You mumbled something your mother didn't understand and you ran off to your room not noticing that Finnick had met with your father that afternoon and was watching you from the open door of your dad's office.

Tears streamed down your face as you closed the door. You were speechless. Finnick had left you aside after sharing so many late night talks in his company, so many smiles and so many dreams only to lead a life like the rest of the people in the capitol. The glory and the power had finally brought out the worst in him and you couldn't hate the capitol any more than you already did.

You heard a couple of knocks on your door followed by a "(Y/N), are you okay?" from Finnick's voice. Your cries subsided waiting for him to leave, but that didn't happen, instead he persisted until he heard a response from you.

"I'm fine" you replied with a broken voice. You imagined Finnick frowning.

"Are you sure?" he asked. You listened as he tried to turn the doorknob, but you had locked it in "I saw you coming. I was talking with your dad about some stuff and i thought something had happened to you, may I come in?"

"No!" you replied. Your tears threatening to come out again "I'm-I'm fine, okay? I don't need you. Go away."

Finnick was silent for a moment, nevertheless, he kept trying to turn the knob

"(Y/N) let me in."

"didn't you hear me? I want you to leave. Now."

"Not until you open the door."

"You'll stay there, then"

"If that's what i have to do..."

You walked to your bed sitting on it crying silently. Your heart was aching. Deep down you felt something was going on between you and Finnick, something that went beyond the friendship you both proclaimed, but the blindfold had fallen off your eyes as you listened to those women talk about Finnick like he was a piece of meat. You didn't know what was going on, you didn't understand it either and Finnick was just there playing innocent. Finnick turned the knob one more time.

"Well, this makes me think you don't trust me enough like I thought you did."

Crying gave way to annoyance to that point. You jumped to your feet, glancing towards the door imagining Finnick's contracted face on the other side

"Look who's saying it."

"I don't understand."

"Stop pretending, Finnick"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be pretending" His voice sounded so calm it made you rage. You walked over to the door "I just want to know what happened so I can help you. That's what friends do, isn't it?

"So we're friends now? After you left without explanation we're friends? We're friends even though you didn't tell me what the hell were you doing with your oh-so-many-lovers?"

Finnick was silent for a long time making you think he just left, but then you heard a deep sigh and the creak of the wood as he leaned his body against the door

"So you know it."

You frowned, opening the door with a smash taking him by surprise. Your eyes were bloodshot from crying and pent up anger. Finnick had never seen you so upset

"So you know it, that's all you're going to say?"

"I can explain"

"Then it's true. What I heard..."

"No, no" he denied walking into your room closing it with his foot. You walked backwards trying to get away from him. Finnick knew about the rumors about him in the capitol, he never cared what they were saying about him, but he did care about what you had heard and how you might miunderstand it "It's true. What you said..."

"You're sixteen, for God's sake!" you shouted, disgusted "How-how can you...?"

"It's not how you're imagining it. They're making me do it."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true" Finnick answered approaching you and caressing your cheeks. He connected his eyes with yours and you managed to see a crystalline layer in them "It's true, (Y/N)"

"What?" you asked, horrified. Finnick closed his eyes, pursed his lips and nodded "But how? who?"

"President Snow."

"Why?"

"He'll kill my family if I don't do what he asks."

Your mind went blank. Finnick opened his eyes pearly with tears.

"But, you don't have a family."

Finnick smiled.

"You are my family" Your heart raced "Ever since my games...you and your parents became an important part of my life. You've given me a home, a place where I know I'm welcome, a place where i know all of you don't care what I am, but what I was before I was a victor and what's left of me since then. Snow threatened to harm you and your parents."

"Really?"

"Really. He knows how important you are for me" His breath collided against your lips in a stormy closeness "There is no one I care more about. That's why I had to accept. It's not easy for me, I hate what I became, but I had no choice (Y/N), I swear"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Finnick took a few steps away, ducking his eyes.

"I was too embarrassed. I still am. At some point I would have told you, of course, but I wasn't... I wasn't ready, I'm still not."

"Finnick..."

"I'm sorry for disappointing you."

He tried to leave your room but you stopped him squeezing him in a tight embrace that take your breath away. Finnick squeezed your body tightly lifting your feet off the floor.

"You didn't have to" you whispered. He denied

"I have to and I will. I'm not going to let them hurt you or your parents. What happens to me doesn't matter as long as you're safe."

"God, Finnick, I love you so much."

You broke apart instantly, you were so embarrassed by what you had just said and Finnick were shocked in surprise. Your cheeks grew hot and you were about to run away if it wasn't for Finnick's lips that pressed against yours in a small kiss. Finnick smiled

"I love you too."

Even after you confessed to each other you couldn't have a romantic relationship, at least not in public. Finnick had to continue obeying Snow's orders and you tried not to interfere to damage him even more, so the only ones who knew about you were your parents and Maggs, Finnick's old friend.

He came back to visit you at night in your room, you talked about anything that came to your mind (except about Finnick's many lovers) and, one night, he told you every secret he knew.

"Why are you telling me all this?" you asked him, watching your intertwined hands. You were both nineteen at the time and the secrets Finnick had obtained were too many. He smiled

"No one lives forever" he replied "Someday the advantage I have against Snow will turn against me and if that ever happens I need someone else to tell the truth for me"

"That's not going to happen"

He shrugged his shoulders

"You never know"

When Finnick saw the opportunity to leave the capitol after the hunger games where the tributes from district twelve put on a show and unleashed the wrath of President Snow, he didn't hesitate twice in proposing to take you with him to district four.

He put together a plan to hide you on the train until you passed district three where you were out of the president's reach. You weren't sure if it was a good idea, but your parents encouraged you to run away saying it was the safest place you could be. You were still unsure about it because you knew that your parents' lives would be in danger if Snow found out, however, your father assured you that they would be fine, the capitol wouldn't touch them and you could leave with Finnick and start a new life. You accepted then, sneaking onto the train that left for district four the next morning.

Of course, Snow was informed of your scape weeks later when you and Finnick managed to successfully settle in a house away from the victors' village. Neither of you wanted to live under the government roof and Finnick took a small place near the coast, where you received an unwelcome letter from the president asking you to return immediately to the capitol before the consequences became severe. Finnick replied for you, saying in a single paragraph that he didn't agree with that.

"I have a mind full of secrets. It doesn't suit you for me to become an open book. (Y/N) won't come back and neither will I."

Snow calmed down. Finnick seemed very pleased by that and things calmed down a bit. But there, in the utter calm of the sea, you still felt something was missing.

Finnick rubbed your arms as the sun went down and the moon appeared. The days in district four were too hot and the nights too cold, it was hard to get used to the change, even more so when no one in the district seemed to feel comfortable with your presence.

You could tell by the looks of the women on the shore and the angry faces of the fishermen. For them you were an intruder, a privileged one who had never had to suffer what their children did every year during the reaping cause your father, being a victor, had saved your ass. To them you were a coward, a disgrace and a pest who shouldn't have made it all the way to district four.

Finnick kissed your temple enjoying the silence of the newly arrived night. You sighed thinking about how much Finnick lost when he met you. His freedom, his decision about his body, the affection of the people in his district, his home in the village and so many other things you didn't want to remember. Finnick clicked his tongue, rubbing your arms again.

"Stop thinking, love."

"I can't. This all feels like a dream, a very... devastating one."

"You know what people think or don't think about us is something you can't change."

"Yes, but I would like to show them that I am more than they think, I am more than the daughter of someone who survived the hell of the games. Let them know that my presence doesn't represent a mockery to their dead children in the arena, that I am not a bad person."

"And you're not. Give them time. They're not bad either. They are against the system just like us, at some point they will realize we are on their side. Don't worry about it, I won't let anyone minimize you or make you feel bad. I'm going to protect you, okay? That's what we do, protect each other."

"You promise?"

"I promise. Now come on sweetie, let's take a walk" Finnick lifted you up easily taking your hand to walk across the sand. Finnick's hand against yours brought you security and a relief you couldn't explain. As you walked you rested your head on his shoulder and he hugged you close to him "We'll be fine, (Y/N), just... trust me"

"As always."

"Fair enough."

Then Finnick pulled your hand into the cold water of the sea splashing you in the face. You played back at him and the two of you ended up having a little fight in the middle of the sea. Finnick reached over, grabbed you around the waist and brushed your lips together.

"We'll be fine," he said. You nodded

"We'll be fine."

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #the hunger games #peeta mellark #sam claflin #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #request

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foilfreak · 3 years

Text

Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

#salvatore moreau #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #mother miranda #beauty and her beast #fic #mine #chapter 1 #re8 #re8 village #re village #salvatore moreau x reader #moreau x reader #moreau x oc #salvatore moreau x oc

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3 intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc. words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn.

summary: "...and there was only one bed." - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you.

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID.

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point.

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes.

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks.

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do.

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation,

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again.

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape.

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times.

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset.

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all.

That’s enough.

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue.

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice.

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.”

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone.

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you.

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.”

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.”

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.”

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it.

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created.

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her.

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.”

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.”

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching.

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.”

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you.

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point.

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.”

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.”

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.”

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious.

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years.

Shut up.

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.”

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?”

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you.

“Thank you. Jump in.”

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine.

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road.

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile.

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave?

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him.

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour.

It happened more often than he’d like to admit.

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed.

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself.

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one.

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest.

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him.

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails.

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you.

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death.

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed.

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different.

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend.

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes.

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp.

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary.

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.”

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive.

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning.

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.”

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?” You hear yourself ask.

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully.

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest.

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.”

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first.

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow.

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.”

He laughs, and you tell him.

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge.

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.”

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile.

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.”

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce?

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.”

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.”

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks.

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door.

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag.

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part.

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him.

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him.

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think.

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive.

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you.

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way.

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?”

I love you.

Shut up.

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.”

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips.

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him.

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close.

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep.

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart.

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch.

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing.

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep.

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change.

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him.

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose.

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light.

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his.

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now.

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him.

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son.

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side.

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find.

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now.

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you.

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head.

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal.

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.”

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else.

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach.

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all.

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.).

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.”

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”

“DoJ, in Quantico.”

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.”

Carson, that’s it.

“No shit!”

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure.

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine.

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is.

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in.

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Always.”

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it.

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile.

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron.

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other.

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.”

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest.

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron.

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron.

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway.

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off.

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night.

Don’t get comfortable.

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more.

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you.

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it.

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude.

What?

Now is not the time.

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend.

He is your friend.

I know but that…sucks.

It doesn’t have to.

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.”

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone.

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm.

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day.

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself.

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three.

“We work together.”

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.”

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand.

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home.

But God, he’s good at it.

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together.

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought.

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack.

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms.

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too.

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together.

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him.

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner.

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants.

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower.

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower.

What if you just -

Do not finish that thought.

You are not one iota of fun.

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone.

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder.

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.”

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?”

Ah. So it is Emily.

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan.

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts.

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter.

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.”

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.”

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you.

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on.

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all.

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant.

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far.

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.”

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless.

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you.

“Darling!”

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.”

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.”

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?”

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.”

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.”

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.”

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you.

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.”

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you.

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.”

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie.

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better.

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.”

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath.

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure.

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.”

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.”

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.”

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play.

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions.

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face.

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that.

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you.

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died.

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.”

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts.

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands.

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable.

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend.

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items.

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up.

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light.

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers.

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon.

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his.

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you.

“Good morning,” he says.

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.”

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Don't read into that.

I’m going to.

Don’t.

Fuck.

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way.

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up.

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout.

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!”

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope.

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man.

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?”

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home.

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second.

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.”

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.”

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack.

“Hey bud!”

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation.

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.”

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice.

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest.

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat.

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?”

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile.

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.”

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.”

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.”

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh.

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.”

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.”

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on.

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute.

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world.

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse.

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something.

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door.

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.”

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.”

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands.

Fuck.

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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pallasperilous · 4 years

Text

Boneless Wings

{AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares.

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now.

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it.

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1. Bird mites. Holy shit.

2. Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

3. Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube.

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose.

4. The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is.

5. When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

6. Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

7. After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning.

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can.

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit.

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8. No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.”

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry.

9. Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

10. Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

11. You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice.

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex.

12a. One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV.

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

12b. The less said about angel molt, the better.

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit.

13. There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings.

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

14. Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas.

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

15. Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement.

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

16. So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon.

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously).

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off.

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17. For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration.

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening.

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack.

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel.

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy.

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato.

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually.

18. There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything.

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

19. Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership.

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns.

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

20. Seriously though, the bird mites.

Gross.

#deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #wingfic #or maybe...#wingsquick #spn fanfic #spn fanart #spn crack #sorry everybody #now with pictures!#pallasperilous art #pallasperilous fic #pallasperilous crack

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: this chapter is one that is very special to me and really echoes a lot of the same feelings that I’ve experienced through the years. writing this chapter felt really healing for me, as I hope maybe it can to you who might’ve felt the same. Because of this, please read the warnings below and read what you feel comfortable with! Remember that no matter who you are, or what you’ve gone through you absolutely deserve love!!

Part 5

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, explicit language, HARD angst to FLUFFY fluff, mentions of alcohol, fingering (f receiving), squirting, dry humping, nipple play, protected sex, fluffy sex, cockwarming

CWs: implications of jealousy and possession (past), non-con pressure, fist fighting, quite a bit of blood, bruises, and other wounds, mentions of a scar, mentions of past toxic relationship, mentions of nausea, mentions of low self worth and self deprecating habits

Word count: 8.7k (grab a blanket, your plushie, some fuzzy socks...also I promise no other chapter will be this long LOL)

Chapters

-Two years ago, and some change-

Tonight was different. It could have been for a number of reasons. Maybe it was the way that he held onto your hand tighter than he usually did. You swayed your body next to his like you thought that you should have been doing. If you hadn’t you would have looked out of place. He hated when you looked out of place. The skimpy dress you had worn that night was just for him. You thought that he would like the way that the straps barely clung to your shoulders and the way that it was snug against your curves.

He was watchful. Silent. You had known him to be a generally loud and gregarious person. He had many friends. Many of his friends you really did like; but, there were others that you had liked less...the friends with wandering and judging eyes.

“Why her?” They would ask.

“You could do better.” They would whisper in his ear when they thought that you couldn’t hear.

“Isn’t she...boring?”

“Not boring when I’ve got her alone.”

The club was full of people; a suffocating amount. Bodies thrashed up against eachother in all their sweating heat. Shiny polyester and the tulle ruffles of shirts scratched against your skin in passing. Under the line of sight, no one could see where hands might reach or creep in the dark corners of that room. With the music blasting, no one could hearo f the sinful desires whispered from ear to ear.

“Don’t you want to get outta here?” He had craned down to give you his message.

“W-why don’t we just dance? I like this song.”

“But we’ve been here for so long.” His hand gripped tight on your arm. “Really. Let’s get out of here.”

“But--”

“Let’s bounce. I don’t wanna be here any more. Let’s go have fun somewhere else.”

Fear rose in your throat. His tone had changed to the one that you had been trying to keep at bay for weeks.

“Baby, I’m having fun!” You tugged back at your arm which he hadn’t released. Your brain worked quickly, and you did what you thought would’ve been distracting enough. You kissed him.

Hard and fast you shoved your tongue down his throat in ways that you only would do when it had been the two of you alone. The music was loud. No one could hear the way he forced a moan into your mouth. Your hands wove deeply into his hair that was swathed in that cologne of his that was dizzying. It was saltwater and cinnamon.

Your body pressed up flat against his chest and, as expected, he threw his arms back around you and kissed back with the same fervency that you tried to drench him in.

Your words were breathless. “Can we...stay?”

“Baby, how can you say that when you kissed me like that? God, if I could screw you right here and now...”

His friends had been watching. Or pretending not to watch. It was no lie that their eyes had been peeping from the corners.

“Let’s get some more drinks then? Hm? Maybe later we can head back to your--”

“--NO! I want you now.” His words were violent, and his hands starved in his feverish way, yet still, he sucked his devilish smile into your neck. “Baby, please.”

Just a few more drinks. That was all that it would take. Just a few more drinks and he would be a stumbling mess. He would forget his name and you and then he wouldn’t be able to take you anywhere. You loathed yourself for feeling that way, but it was the only solution you could think of.

“Let’s go out back. No one walks down that alley, you know so.”

A nervous laugh slipped off of your lips. “I-I know, but--it’s so cold outside, it’s snowing an-and it won’t be comfortable--”

“--I don’t need comfortable, I just need you.”

Lazily, his eyes met with one of his friendsand he flicked his finger to beckon him over. “You. Come with us. We’re gonna need someone to watch the door.”

His friend scoffed and shoved his glass into the hands of a stranger. “Fine. What are you gonna pay me back with?”

“I dunno, I’ll think of that later.”

Your arm wiggled, a slight attempt to free yourself of his grasp. “Babe, babe, come on. I-it’s risky, an-and--”

“--And what?!”

“I-I don’t...I don’t...”

“Babe I thought you liked it when we did risky stuff? Remember last week? The bathroom? You liked that didn’t you?”

“That-that was different.”

Above your heads the speakers boomed with a bass drop that you could feel vibrate in your chest. Strobe lights of dozens of different colors blinded your vision. Your head panged with a pain that must’ve been the alcohol, but with each passing second, you felt more and more lightheaded. Air just barely escaped from your lungs and your lungs felt like dead weight.

His voice had been muffled. Your feet started taking steps that didn’t feel like they were their own. He used his body mass to part the sea of bodies, drawing you farther and farther away from it all. The two men chuckled as you neared the back of the building where the haze from the stage seemed to accumulate.

“Stand right at this door and don’t let anyone get out from it. Don’t leave until we come back in.”

His friend rolled his eyes, then took out his showy looking pen to take a long drag. He blew it into the other man’s face. “Have fun you two.”

The cold winter air stung at your dry lungs. You realized then that you had forgotten your coat inside. Under your feet, flaky and white snow had mixed in potholes which had filled with iridescent oil. Together, the only thing that you could think of in that moment was how the two colors and mixed. In no way where they similar: one, black and slick, the other soft and pure. They made no sense.

“Ohhhh...Baby.”

His breath was hot and it steamed in the air like some kind of deadly and wispy poison. His hands were big. Much bigger than yours, and they seemed to wrap you all up in them. They were magnets to your hips which fell into them with ease. He must’ve been cold too you figured: goosebumps formed on his arms where the falling snow fell on them.

“You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you?”

“Y-yours.” Your voice trembled.

“That’s right.”

His freezing hands swept up both sides of your face and you prayed that he couldn’t feel the tears stream from your eyes to his fingers. All at once, you felt nauseous, you felt sick, shame, rage, embarrassment and fear. With the adrenaline pumping in your ears, you did something even you didn’t expect.

“S-stop.”

His mouth continued lapping over yours, even your words which you repeated,

“Stop!”

“Baby, we’re just getting started!” Frigid fingers crept up your shirt to your bare skin.

“I SAID STOP!”

You had bitten his lip, and the metallic taste of his blood dripped onto your lip.

“You bitch!” He stumbled, then wiped the blood to his finger.

Hot tears fell freely, and your body shook: perhaps it was the cold, or your fright, but it shook every part of you.

“What the fuck?!” He rose his hand in the air, “Who the fuck to you think--”

“--HEY!”

A voice echoed down the alley and bounced off the brick walls. He was a black outline, but it was undoubtedly him who had shouted. He was still, but all at once he started running, sprinting towards you and you cowered to the snow.

“Don’t you fucking--”

The other man ran right up to the both of you. He was shorter, but crashed into the other taller man with a fist raised. He nearly had to jump a little, but he had knocked him square in the face with a horrible fleshy sounding thud.

He finished his sentence, “-Don’t you fucking touch her!”

The shorter man rubbed at his knuckles which had bloodied quickly. Your boyfriend had slipped on the ice a few steps back, falling to the ground clumsily and wetting it from the blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He laughed incredulously.

“You pack quite a punch for a little guy don’t you? Well, you picked the wrong fight--”

He rose to his feet with fists raised, then took a swing at the other man. He was agile, and ducked with ease, then twisted around the taller’s body to punch into his ribs. Still he didn’t miss each punch, and your boyfriend landed hits to his face as well. The stranger fell to the ground this time, groaning out and splashing into the cotton snow. While he was down, the taller man kicked into his sides.

“How do you like that? Huh??? You have no FUCKING RIGHT. This is between me and my girlfriend, so, fuck. off.”

The stranger spat blood to the white snow. “A-actually, I did have a right.”

“What was that??” He kicked harder.

“You-you were going to hit her? Weren’t you? Who the hell hits their girlfriend?”

In one motion, the shorter man was back up on his feet, stumbling, but still swinging. He was weaker, but still punched into the taller man’s sides relentlessly. The two men sparred, and you felt frozen. It was as if you weren’t even breathing.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Your thoughts rang, but your voice couldn’t muster it.

“You’re the fucking--” Punch. “--Scum--” Punch. “--Of the--” Punch. “--Earth.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes had become bloodshot red. In a mix of furious arms, he had scraped his wristwatch against the other man who cried out with a horrible sounding whimper, and then a flash of red started to flow down his arm.

Your dress had soaked through with the freezing cold water and you had nearly buried your eyes into your arms. Never had you felt so small, so helpless.

“HEY! What’s going on down here?”

A flash of blue and red lights lit up the pitch black alley.

“What’s going on??”

The policeman’s voice buzzed over the loudspeaker on his car.

The shorter man was a crumple on the ground and he hissed out with pain from his teeth. His arm quivered with pain from the gash that had been pressed into it. By contrast, the peaceful snow fell lightly onto his body and got tangled into his curled, dark hair. Your boyfriend; you hadn’t even seen him turn to sprint down the opposite side of the alley.

Regardless, the stranger still managed, “Ar-are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Your dry and tear-stained cheeks crinkled. “N-no. He didn’t.”

“T-that’s good. Listen, I-I need to go. I can’t afford for them to take me. Ask them to help you and take you home.

The clink of the policeman’s keys on his hip jingled as he neared.

“I’m sorry I have to run.” He stumbled to his feet. For a few seconds, you could see his eyes under the flickering yellow streetlight. They weren’t brown or black, but some kind of dark stormy grey.

He went running down the alley, as fast as he could manage with a limp to his leg and his dripping arm creating a trail behind him.

As he ran, he left behind him a scent, foreign in the winter air. You couldn’t name it exactly, but you had guessed at least for then, it might’ve been something like rosemary and cedarwood.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

2am, and you felt euphoric. Like a fucking cloud. Even though it was typical, there really were no other words that could describe it.

Felix and Chan bumped their hips against yours while they danced in the rhythm of the song that the DJ had played. Both of their bright smiles were utterly adorable, and the three of you doubled over in your laughter at each other’s terribly awkward dance moves. Chan made his best attempt at the robot, and Felix busted out some of his favorite internet dances. You rose your hand to the side of your face as if to say I don’t know them. Felix’s tiny hands interlaced into yours and you danced with him too while Chan mimed throwing dollar bills into the air.

“How much longer?” You yelled over the music until it scratched your throat.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get a chance to look at the line up!” Chan’s body bumped up against others in the crowd while he tried to check is phone. “It’s fine! I’m sure he should be coming on soon!”

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had been to a show that wasn’t to see Jisung. It was strange thinking about all of the things you used to worry about when you had gone to see him in the past: was your outfit sexy enough, had you remembered to put on your lip gloss...you’d even worry over stupid shit like if you had missed any spot on your legs while shaving.

None of those worries filled you now. The clothes that you had put on in your haste made little sense, and were a bit warm in the room where sweat practically dripped from the walls. You had even left your apartment in such a hurry--you had been working on a new piece from a spark of inspiration during midday.

“He said that he was going near the end I think!!” You informed your friends.

Chan did a little excited dance. You didn’t know if he was more thrilled over the fact that he was there or how you had promised to introduce him to Changbin after the show.

The lights shifted, turning from pink to blue, and the music faded too. Your beating heart slowed as the atmosphere changed and Felix clawed back onto your arm.

“Oh my God!!! I think that it’s gonna be him!!!” Chan nearly leapt into the air.

It was frightening how familiar it all felt; you felt as if you had been transported right to that first night, the night that you had met him and the night that he had entranced you up on that stage. Everything in the room darkened, and the smoke slithered onto the stage. Everyone had quieted with their focus narrowing on the empty expanse that had been set up all for him.

To the side of the stage, the announcer chuckled into the mic, “Ladies and Gents, as you know him...SPEAR B!”

Music erupted like a crack of lighting over the speakers and was so sudden that nearly everyone in the crowd jumped out of their skin. The spotlights flooded the stage in a blinding white light, and before your eyes could process it, he had thrown himself to centerstage with some kind of magic or trick of the eye. It was so confusing, all you could do was stand in shock.

Rapid fire lyrics flew off his tongue with lightspeed, and he carried himself around the stage with as much regality as a king. His hooded eyes held nothing but concentration at each of his words, and he threw his arms around with emphasis so you could hang onto every single syllable. He shone under the lights where he had adorned himself in his favorite array of silver and crystal jewelry: his trademark chain around his neck blinked like diamonds. Every curve of the muscles on his thick arms and thighs tensed and the vein on the side of his neck flared as he spoke. With a bite to his lip and an indulgent smile, he owned very single part of his own world.

He was fucking mesmerizing.

Felix and Chan were wildly flapping their bodies around and thrashing their heads along with every other body in the crowd, but you had stood still. It was unbelievable that you had been close to him. All your memories of him holding you softly in his arms, planting kisses into every tender inch of your skin seemed so far away, but so close. He couldn’t have been the same person.

Your heart swelled with a pain. It might’ve been warning, precautionary, or fearful. Or, it might’ve been warm, intoxicated, infatuated. Your own mind couldn’t comprehend it.

Over the hundreds of eyes in the crowd, somehow, he had found yours, and it was just as that first night had been. He was so massive, so crushing. His confidence was something so addictive and his gaze so thick that you felt as if it was crushing. Still, there was one thing that was different about it now.

He knew you. He wasn’t just some stranger.

He knew your ins and outs, he knew your fears, the way that you would shy away from him or how you would lean into him closer. After that one meeting, you had encompassed everything that he could imagine, as he did for you.

You had started as strangers, but now you couldn’t even imagine a time when you weren’t.

He had broken his composure for mere seconds to smile at you. It was a simple: I see you. And you see me.

It was cliché. Fucking cheesy as hell. God, it was sugary sweet and rotten; a phrase you hadn’t said in a year or more. But, with the dozens of other girls screaming it in that room, bumping with bodies and bass ringing, condensation on the walls and music louder than your own voice, you joined the cacophony. Even if he couldn’t hear you screamed the words with your whole chest:

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU SEO CHANGBIN!”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The music had subsided, and the stage lit to normal as the stagehands switched around the arrangement for the next act. You and your two friends were out of breath and exhausted. Sweat beaded on all of your brows and you felt it dripping down your back as well. The three of you stood laughing out in your euphoria: it as a high like none other.

“Damn. Why do I really want ice cream right now?” Felix huffed out his laugher and slung Chan under his arm. “Doesn’t that sound like a really good idea?”

Chan whipped the damp strands of hair from his eyes. “That does sound like a really good idea. But...you think any places will be open?”

With surprised glances, the three of you burst out hysterically.

You wiped an exhilarated tear from your eye, “We’d have to go to the store.”

Somehow, it was the funniest thing that you could have said and Felix and Chan held their sides in their laughter.

“Do-do you think that Changbin would want to come with us?” Felix helped fix your sweater which had become a bit ajar on your frame.

“I don’t see why not.”

Chan did another adorable little dance. “Holy hell. I can ask him about his process!!!.” He scooped you up into a tight hug. “This is so exciting!!!!!”

“Just don’t...scare him away.” You patted into Chan’s hair with adoration.

“He should be back out any minute right? He said he would come looking for you?”

You nodded, feeling your heart start to race at the prospect. You hadn’t felt this giddy about the attention in a while--not at least, attention that had been given to you without a condition.

Behind your little group, you felt a tug on your wrist, then your cheeks swelled with warmth.

“Chang--”

“--Holy fuck! You actually came!!”

Jisung’s eyes lit up and an inhumanely wide smile spread across his face.

“...Jisung--”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it, you actually came! Shit, I really thought that after we talked the other day that--”

Chan ripped Jisung’s grip from your wrist. “You better cut that out.” Once as giddy as he was before, his expression had turned deadly serious.

“What are you doing here?” Felix pushed you slightly behind him.

“Performing? This is my show too. I’m on in thirty. You’re here to see me too?”

“Like hell we are.” Chan rolled his eyes.

Jisung chose to ignore him, bringing his attention back to you.

“B-baby, thank you so much for coming, and for giving me another chance--”

“--Another chance? Y/n, what is he talking about?” Felix asked, then both of your friends eyes were on yours.

A knot formed back up in your throat with your decisions that you had let hang since you had las spoken to Jisung. You thought you had been clear enough to him, and you had told your friends you had thought that you had ended it.

Chan huffed out an authoritative sigh, “We’re leaving. Come on,” he wrapped an arm around both you and Felix. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“No! Wait! Y/n don’t leave! Let-let’s talk about this, y-you never let me see you any more, I’ve been missing you...missing you like crazy,” His grip reached out to you once more, pulling your whole arm closer to him with a pain that panged in your shoulder. “--since you’re here...let’s just talk this out okay?”

The music in the room grew louder once more, and the next act entered the stage with the announcer’s enthusiastic voice. The lights flashed out, and suddenly all of your bodies were bathed in red, pink, and blue light.

Another memory, from another night, flashed before your eyes. He held onto your arm tighter than he usually did. His incessant eyes pleaded over to yours like he had countless times before.

“Jisung, stop.”

“I-I just don’t understand! Let’s not do this here! Can’t we go somewhere private where the two of us can talk? Baby--”

Another hand grasped at your opposite arm, then it snuck around your waist.

“--What the hell do you think you’re doing to her?”

Changbin pulled you into his chest with a force that knocked the wind out of your lungs, then he immediately inspected the arm where the other had grabbed you so tightly.

“Did he hurt you? Let me see.”

Chan and Felix’s eyes widened in their shock.

Jisung pushed himself closer. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing Changbin? Don’t get involved in this, it doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually, yes, it does.”

Everything was unfolding before your eyes, and you felt faint. All the secrets, lies, the way that you had entangled yourself in it all, was crushing you like vines with thorns. Your fear bit bile in your throat, and you couldn’t decide if you felt strong enough to run.

Before you could say anything about it, Changbin pulled you out from the crowd, faster than your wobbling legs could handle. He was furious, you could tell, but he tried his best not to let it seep over to you. Changbin muttered curses under his breath, but pushed forward, past the dancing bodies, past the stage, past the maze of speakers and other sound equipment in the back.

“Let’s just get out of here okay?” His fingers dug into your waist.

Behind you, Felix and Chan shoved their way a few paces behind, ultimately getting caught in the web of people moving this way and that. Not far behind them, was Jisung thrashing with all his might to catch up.

With your heartbeat in your ears, words started spilling out from your mouth:

“Changbin, I didn’t tell you--I-I still haven’t told you, but you need to know before--”

Changbin swung the back door to the venue and it slammed behind you with a metallic clang. It was nearly blizzarding outside, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Rather, he pulled you back into his chest to hug you tightly. He was desperate in the way that he hung onto your body; like he was trying to suck the very life from you.

“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t get there sooner. He’s a fucking dick, I won’t let him touch you again, I promise.”

Your nose clogged immediately, and your sobs came out choked and full of utter fear.

I’m going to loose him. I’ll lose him. He’ll hate me. He’ll let go, and never come back.

“Chang-Changbin...Jisung, he was--”

“Beautiful, why are you crying? Stop, stop, it’s okay.” He soothed you, wiping the tears from your cheeks that got muddled with snow. He too had snow clinging to his eyelashes and his hair that was also strung with sweat.

The back door swung open with another startling clank, and Jisung threw himself out of it with Felix and Chan holding him back by the arms.

“HE DOESN’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW HER!” Jisung screeched, then tore free of both of your friends.

He lunged himself at Changbin who had seconds to respond. He turned his back to shield you with his body, and Jisung clawed with an animalistic energy.

“HE DOESN’T FUCKING KNOW HER!” Jisung had been sobbing too, then swung a haphazard fist to Changbin’s back.

Felix and Chan came rushing to catch you as you fell into their arms, then Changbin swiftly turned to return the hit.

“Me?? You’re fucking crazy!!” He dodged another hit. “What the hell do you know about her?? Huh? YOU don’t know a thing about her!!”

Jisung wiped his eyes then threw another lazy punch. “What are you talking about???”

The two men stood still, both of them turning to turning to look at you with heaving chests. In your friends arms you trembled, and your worst nightmares unfolded right in front of your face. Your body fell to the ground, and the snow seeped into your clothes, just as it did on that night so long ago.

“Holy shit.” Jisung grabbed both sides of his head in his realization. “She fucking played us. SHE FUCKING PLAYED ME.”

Changbin cast his eyes away from you, just as he had when he had barely known a thing about you. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure.

“You were fucking her too, weren’t you?” Jisung laughed out like a madman. “So that’s what she’s been doing this whole time I haven’t seen her. She’s been fucking you and--”

Changbin’s fist rose, and it came crashing into the side of Jisung’s face so suddenly that you and your friends jumped from how fast he had done it.

He said nothing, but proceeded to raise his fist again, then sent it right back into the soft of Jisung’s cheek before he had a minute to respond to the first. Jisung whimpered, then spat blood out of his mouth. His tears had returned, but this time, they were infused in his own anger. The two boys steadied their stance, looking into each other’s eyes with lethal rage. Jisung attacked back with a yell that echoed through the alley, and he too landed punches to Changbin’s sides in sharp hooks. Changbin then grabbed the other man’s shirt collar, pulling him close, then knocking him back with red and bloody fists.

The two boys scuffled and slipped in the snow which had slicked on the ground to make each of their steps clumsy. Jisung sobbed through each of his punches, whereas Changbin held his teeth shut with a grit, merely grunting as he swung more and more. Your own tears blurred your vision, and your chest felt tight; nearly like it was about to burst. Your friends clung to your body just as tight, hushing to you and yelling at the boys to stop, but their voices sounded distant and faint.

Jisung landed punch to Changbin’s eye which split the skin there on his eyebrow. Changbin returned the favor in the same spot, creating the same effect. With crackled lips they swore at eachother, and you could only make out one phrase from Changbin’s mouth:

“Don’t you. Fucking. Touch her.”

The door swung, “Changbin?”

Minho hugged his coat around himself, only to jump out of his skin at the scene in front of him. He dodged two of Jisung’s swings as he clambered over to his roommate to hold him back. He was nearly two seconds late: with a roar, the two boys landed terrible blows at eachother, knocking them both to the ground.

“‘Bin--stop, STOP!” Minho wrapped his arms around his friend.

Just as he did, two other boys exited from the venue: one of them tall with long black hair and the other with hair as white as the snow.

“Fuck you.” Jisung growled dizzily, and his two friends swooped in to help him back to his feet. They too looked furious, but Jisung waved them off groggily. “Don’t w-waste your fucking time. Y-you--” He pointed directly at Changbin. “D-don’t waste your time...on her. I-I’m such a fucking fool.”

“Sung, let’s get out of here.” Jisung’s tall friend urged him. “Anyone on that street could’ve called the cops.”

Minho held Changbin up then looked to you and your startled friends eyes seriously. “We need to leave too.”

“We need to get him to a hospital.” Felix’s voice cracked.

“You think that he can afford a bill? N-no. We can’t do that. I’ll explain later...he’ll be fine. He’s done this to himself before. Idiot.” Minho slugged his roommates arm over his shoulder and Chan rushed to grab the other.

Your legs shook when Felix helped you to your feet. Any second, you thought they would give out. Thick strands of blood and saliva caught on Changbin’s lip. Seeing him like that made you feel even sicker. It was all your fault.

“M-My place is close-by. We can go there.” You locked eyes with Minho.

“Okay. We’ll go there.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Your hands trembled violently once you brought your key to your lock. They burned with the cold, and were wet from how you had clawed at the snow.

“Here, let me.” Felix gently offered.

Your apartment was an absolute wreck. Tiny as it was, you had managed to make a mess of it all with art supplies, dirty dishes, hundreds of sticky notes with reminders and textbooks. As you entered, you swept everything to the side with your feet.

“W-what do we do?” Chan’s own fingers had turned pink from the cold where he held Changbin: head slumped and blinking hazily, then shivering furiously--the action thus making him groan out in pain.

“He-he’s freezing. There’s blood...” You fell from Felix’s arms. “I-I have to help him.” Once more, tears welled in your eyes. “We need to get him warm. Get him in the shower and clean him off.”

“Okay. Where’s the bathroom?”

You guided the group of boys down your hall where it became a group effort to remove him of his soaked clothes. Your pants had also been soaked through, but that didn’t even phase you; not when blood stained his mouth. He slumped his body over into four pairs of arms.

“I can take it from here.” You closed the door behind yourself.

Just as you did, you caught Chan’s surprised and widened eyes after Minho had leaned back from his ear. “He’s the son of WHO?”

You shimmied your own clothes off, ignoring your own shivering as you held him up. The act itself was difficult, and you had given up when it came to your undergarments. It didn’t matter much, so you left them on, along with his. All you wanted was to get the blood off of him--you couldn’t bear to see it.

The warm water on your skin felt unreal: a blanket of warmth to dissolve away the chill that clung to your body. It was as if you were defrosting: melting away the illness, the poison, the doubt and the fear. For a moment, you let yourself think that it was that simple.

“Y/n”

At your feet, the water turned from clear to pink.

“What is it?” You hushed above the sound of the shower, and Changbin rested his forehead on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You shouldn’t be sorry...I’m the one that should be.”

“N-no.” He coughed, “I feel so sorry.”

“Changbin--”

“--Why him? Why him when he would treat y-you like shit? I-I know how he is.”

“I-I don’t know...”

It was a funny thing crying in the shower. It was somewhat like you weren’t crying at all with how your tears mixed with the stream.

He sniffled, “I-I’m not mad at you. I mean...I was, but...I just don’t understand.”

“Please, be mad at me. Be fucking furious. T-this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have lied. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret--”

Changbin chuckled, then rose his head, lips bloodied, one eye squinted, with a smile on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re holding me back. I didn’t have to do it this time.”

At first, you didn’t know what it meant. But then, you realized. You had been clinging on to him for dear life: your arms completely wrapped around him, even now when he was standing on his own.

“I thought that I gave a damn since it was him--it made me so fucking mad that it was him but...”

“...What?”

“Fuck me, but...I love you.”

You shook your head vehemently, tears crossing with the warm trickle of water. “N-no, you don’t.”

He chuckled once more, “I think I’d know if I did or didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.” Your chest shook.

“Why?”

“B-because you don’t mean it. You can’t love me.”

“Why not?”

His hands, bruised and pink cupped both sides of your face.

“Someone like me...You can’t fucking love me.”

“What? You’re not making any sense. Y/n, I think I’ve fucking loved you since the first night that I met you, and you can’t stop me from loving you. Listen, you don’t even have to love me back for now, but can you at least accept how I feel for you?”

How was it you had been able to scream it before, but couldn’t find the words now?

Heated steam filled up your shower, and dripped from the walls. His skin too dipped with drops of that water. You thought to yourself how the blood and the water mixed, the two colors didn’t work together at all. Why was all you could think of colors?

“Okay?” He asked.

Your own hands took to his soft cheeks, where you brushed away any streaks of red you could see there.

You closed your yes after, succumbing to the feeling that the water brought you: melting, fading, dissolving, just like the way that watercolors blended from one to the other on a page. You felt Changbin press his forehead into yours.

“I-I think that I love you too--but--I’m so scared. So fucking scared.”

He let out a relieved “oh” then pressed his lips gently into yours. Each kiss after the other was more and more careful. He poured his whole being into your quivering lips.

“Please don’t be scared. Don’t be scared of me. I swear that I won’t hurt you, I never want to. I mean it. Please don’t run from me.”

Here you were, worrying that he was the one to run from you. You felt pathetic thinking how patient he had been with you, how much he had put up with, and what he had just done, all for you.

He kissed more “pleases” into your mouth, then drew you flush against his chest.

You held onto him tighter. “Do you mean it?”

He nodded, then craned his neck to fill your mouth with more of his answers, and it did feel like the way that watercolors faded into one another.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Will he be okay?”

Felix, Chan, you, and Minho sat on your couch with mugs warming your hands. In the past half hour or so, none of you had said much.

Minho sighed. “He will be. He just needs to rest now. I’ll take him to the clinic tomorrow, see if anything is wrong. Knowing him...thick skulled asshole...” He scoffed with a smirk, “--He’s fine.”

“T-that’s good.” Chan took a sip. “He fell asleep?”

“Right after we got out of the shower. Lucky I stole some of Chan’s joggers back then. I put him in my bed and he was out like a light. Didn’t say that anything else hurt.”

In unison, the four of you took another anxious sip.

“He can stay here tonight? If that’s okay with you?” Minho asked.

“Yeah. That’s fine. I don’t think he wants to move wither.”

Felix looked about himself awkwardly. “Wellll I think that we should get going then. Y/n, call us if you need anything?”

“Mmhm.”

A silence filled the air.

“Y/n, did you know?” Chan blurted out.

“Me? Know what?”

Minho shot the other man a deadly glare, then cleared his throat. “Bin’s dad is some high ranking politian. Someone so high that we’d know his name: that’s how he explained it to me. He left his whole life with them to rap. If he had gotten caught tonight, in the alley or some hospital with his real name, it would’ve been all over the news. He’s been trying his best to be invisible since high school...doesn’t want to tarnish the family reputation or something, even though they practically hate him....I don’t get it. They basically disowned him after he said he wanted to do rapping, not like he minded though. His surname isn’t even Seo.”

“Do you know what it is? His surname?”

“He’s never told me and I never asked.”

Another silence fell over your group.

“...He never told me.” You watched the steam of your tea.

“And I didn’t tell you either, alright? This stays between us.”

Felix mocked a zip over his lips.

“Guess I’ll have to ask him about him about his artistic process another time then, hm?” Chan cracked his sarcasm with an airy laugh.

“Guess so.” You tried your best to laugh back. “Thank you for tonight. All of you.” You met each boys eyes and each of them nodded in understanding.

Felix clapped his friend’s back. “Let’s head out.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

One light was left on in your room: the strand of pink string lights that you hung over the wall your bed was against. The rest of your room was cluttered as well with clothes strewn about and your backpack contents scattered all across the floor. From your tiny and aged window, snow had accumulated in the corners, and further, the yellow and red lights of the city sparkled. Just as you were about to pull the plug for the lights, Changbin groaned out groggily.

“Wait...what are you doing?”

“Turning off the lights. I’m going to go to sleep too now. I wanna give you some space. I’ll go over on the couch.”

“No!” He roused himself, “No. Don’t do that. Can you...stay in here?”

“Sleep with you?”

“If you want? I wouldn’t mind.” He smirked, ever cocky. Nothing took that from him. “Two bodies are warmer than one.”

“Bin...”

His smile really was just a bit too cute.

“Mm. I like it when you call me that.” He reached out his arm to tempt you in. “Please? Come on.”

You toyed with his forearm, shaking it a little like you were throwing a tantrum. “Do I have to?”

“Hey! We just had a fuckin’ moment! I just bore my frickin’ heart for you.”

“I’m just teasing. I will.”

Right by his wrist, a puffy scar caught your eye, and you wondered if you had missed cleaning one of his wounds. You turned his arm over, revealing the gnarly scar: a stripe, about 3 inches long running parallel to his arm.

“What’s this?” You studied it further.

“Oh. That. Don’t get mad, but, tonight’s fight wasn’t my first. Some fucker with a watch or a bracelet or something tore the shit outta my arm this one time.” He inspected it himself, “It’s my battle scar. I’m kinda proud of it. If I hadn’t stepped in, who knows what he would’ve done to his girlfriend? There’s a special place in hell for guys like him.”

Stormy grey eyes.

Rosemary and cedarwood.

You thought you had cried all the tears that would’ve been possible that night. Blurred memories, the ones that you had tried so desperately to forget came flooding over you. How you hadn’t known...was beyond you.

“Hey...” Changbin scooched back up to wipe your tears. “Tears again? What’s wrong?” His thumbs wiped them away. “You can tell me?”

“It-it was you??”

“Me? Me what?”

“On that night, in the alley when it was snowing, I-I was alone and he...”

Changbin’s eyes too blew out, then his own tears gathered in the corners. “Holy shit...that was you too?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

Instinctually, he threw his arms around you, back into his scent that was just as clear as the real first night you had met him. Together, you both turned into babbling, sniffling messes.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Your voice shook. “I’ve always wanted to thank you. I-I can’t believe--”

“--Come here.”

Changbin swept you off your feet and wrapped all of his limbs around your body where he had pulled you into the bed, finally sweeping the covers over top of both your bodies with a kiss to your forehead.

“You’ve gone though so much. Fuck, I don’t know how you’ve done it.”

Your own hands snaked around his body. “Bin...”

“We’re kind of impossible aren’t we? All those years ago, and now...”

“Thank you.” You kissed into his mouth, silencing him something much sweeter than your secrets.

His body shifted, and he returned with his own kisses, each one slow and careful. He twisted his body to lean slightly over you, wincing at the pain that it caused him.

“Fuck. That hurt.” He sighed with a tiny pout, “But, I don’t want to stop kissing you.”

You bit a little smile into his lips. “Don’t push yourself.”

“What? I can’t help it.”

This time, you pushed him back to swiftly cast your legs on either side of his hips to straddle him. “This better?”

He hummed out a happy yes, reaching down to pull your lips into his again. Like it always had been, you could’ve kissed him like this for ages, and time would slip into nothingness: a mere construct undefinable. Outside, the world was still dark and cold, but inside, the heat of your two bodies mingling banished it all away.

“By the way, I wanted to tell you that I think that your art is beautiful.” Changbin broke momentarily, then pointed to your unframed paintings stuck to the walls with painters tape. “I’ve never seen anything like them. I don’t know why you keep them hidden here. The world should see them.”

“Trying to get into my pants now? Who told you to say that?”

From your string lights, his whole being was bathed in a soft pink light.

“No one. But I mean it...you know, if I wasn’t debilitated, who knows what I would do to you right now.”

“Woooow, you talk such big game.”

He shot you a teasing glance. “I’ll fucking do it, fuck my probably broken-or- bruised ribs.”

“No! Don’t do that.” You chuckled. “Don’t hurt yourself.” With a newfound confidence, you lowered your body to hover your lips over his own. “What if I go easy on you....nice and slow? Didn’t you say once that you liked to take things slow?”

His eyes darkened as he mimicked your tone. “Anything as long as it’s with you.” After, his hands swept all the way down your back, lightly brushing up the fabric of your sleep-shirt, then to kneed into your ass. “Will you let me love you tonight?”

“Will you let me love you back?”

“Yes.”

You shoved your hips down into his, grinding as purposefully as you could over his half-hard dick and shivering at the sensation over your clit. Both of your bodies trembled at the action. Under the cotton sheets and down comforter, there was nothing that could have felt cozier against the bare skin of your arms, and the way that his fingertips traced scribbles into your back.

In seconds, he had pulled your shirt off your head, kissing little moans into your mouth once his hands had found your breasts. All the while, you kept your hips moving, reveling in the way that with each thrust of your hips you had felt yourself get wetter. He pulled and tweaked at your nipples which hardened them instantly, and you bowed down to kiss him on all the places where he didn’t know he had needed the attention: on the tip of his nose, in the corners of his mouth, over that scar on his chin, fluttering over his bruised eyelid, overtop the Band-Aid above his eyebrow, giving care to all the little scrapes on his cheeks.

He had keened his hips upwards, now properly hardened from your friction against him. Even just like this, his length felt heavenly. With a careful prompt, he guided your torso upward, granting his mouth better access of your perky nipples which he took into his mouth greedily. Even greedier hands cascaded down your stomach to your boyshorts where he pulled at the elastic. After, he ghosted his touch over the thin fabric separating him from touching your clit. The sensation nearly sent you topping over, but rather you grabbed at the iron headboard to your bed to steady yourself. Changbin blew his words over your nipples with a cool air.

“Can I?”

“Do you even need to ask?” You chuckled out.

“Of course I do.” He hooked two fingers to help you shake the fabric off your legs. “I always do.”

First, he pulled you down into his lips; a distraction, then he coaxed his digits into your folds. You hadn’t known how embarrassingly wet you had become, but that was nothing compared to the reality of it. The sounds of your slick coating his fingers was loud enough to make you giggle, and for him to return it.

“That excited huh?” His index finger rubbed faint circles around your clit.

“W-what about it?”

“I just think that its cute.” He removed his hand to show you the way that your arousal strung around his fingers. “‘So wet for me, aren’t you angel?”

“Mmhm.” Your hips did their own helpless dance over the pads of his fingers once he had brought them back down. “S-shit.”

A wicked smile spread over his face as he indulged in you more. Back and forth, he traced around your swollen clit, then down to your entrance, barely giving you any contact at all.

“Remember our first night? Hmm? Remember what I did to you? ...I could do it again...”

“B-Bin...” You gasped out his name at the thought.

His tongue slicked over your bottom lip, “Would you like that?” His index and middle finger swept even rougher swipes over your clit which sent you mewling back on his tongue.

“Yes? Or no? Use your words Beautiful.”

That intense feeling, that unreal feeling...you would’ve been lying if you had said you hadn’t dreamed of it.

“...yes. I want you to.”

“Okay my love. Just relax. Lean on me if you have to, okay?”

“It won’t hurt you?”

“No. Not at all.”

With your quivering thighs, his hand dipped back down and toyed with the heat of your folds and angrily sensitive clit. Your choked moans muffled into the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. Every single touch of his made your body feel as if it was aflame. Relentlessly, he switched from circling to stopping, every once and a while slipping a couple fingers to stretch out your entrance. He wouldn’t grant it to you fully yet, but his curved digits teased at your g-spot for only seconds at a time.

In his ears, you filled them with “more, more, more’s” and little whimpers of “deeper, deeper, please, deeper.”

“More? Is that what you want?”

He winced terribly at the action, but he pushed you off from on top of him till you were flat on your back, screwing his fingers into you deeply.

“I’ll give you as much as you want.” He kissed the words to your collarbones.

All at once, his pace was renewed, and his fingers curved up sharply inside of your pussy to simulate your g-spot as roughly and quickly as he could. In his skill he gave your clit attention with his flattened thumb. The overwhelming feeling built in your core and inched closer second by second. Your control over your body slipped past you, and you fell completely into the feeling.

You came with a uncontrollable shake of your whole body, and a release of pressure that made you into a moaning mess--that of which you didn’t need to be careful of if you had been too loud or not. Freely, you convulsed with that indescribable feeing, and your liquids wetted both your thighs and the fringes of the sheets which Changbin just barely removed from your body.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

In his adoration, the man above you proudly chuckled at your body still quivering with aftershocks.

“Think you can take a little more after that? Take your time angel.”

Your head spun, but it did so only for a moment. As you came down, Changbin kissed one, two, three, little kisses into your shoulder while he admired the way that your body shook.

You nodded, laughing at the fact that you really did have no idea what time it was, nor could you even guess.

“Do you have--”

“--Dresser. O-over there.” A weak finger of yours pointed to your side table.

A series of grunts slipped out of him, but he rolled himself over to take a condom from the strand and take care of it himself. He hid is tiny embarrassed smirk once he laid down.

“Angel, I-I think that you’ll have to--”

“--I know.”

Back to your origional position, you aligned your entrance against his length which was still as red and hardened as ever.

“Nice and slow right?”

With one hand, you guided his dick into your velvet walls.

“Oh shit.” Changbin pulled at your lip with is teeth upon the first roll of your hips. “Just like that. Just...like that.”

It was beautiful, the way that he felt inside you. It had hurt a bit the first time, but now, it was different. The way that he filled you up was perfection: you were perfect for him, and he was for you.

“D-don’t stop.” He pleaded while he scraped his nails down your back.

To think, the one who had told you he didn’t say “please” was now at your mercy. It took everything you had not to let it go to your head.

He angled his hips upward, pushing himself even deeper, and you nearly lost your composure at the feeling. Your core tightened again, and you let yourself grind over him, not stopping once.

“F-fuck. Bin, ah! Shit--”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Became his breathless mantra. “Y-you fuck me so good angel.”

Clambering lips came colliding and you rode out your orgasm on his dick fiercely, connecting your mouth with his so he could feel every little bit of the pleasure that he gave you. He did the same, spilling his euphoric “ah ah’s” all over your lips and eventually to your neck where he sucked carelessly upon his own orgasm. You milked every last bit of him from his throbbing erection until he shook and begged you to stop his overstimulation.

Perhaps because you were tired, or you craved the feeling, but not a bone in your body wanted to move.

“Can we stay like this...for a while?”

Changbin kissed his answer back to you.

“For as long as you like.”

Yes, the both of you had turned to sweating messes, and the scent of sex hung heavy around the both of you. Of course, it smelled just a little like rosemary and cedarwood. Wrapped up in one another like this, there was no telling where you began and he ended.

Until the sun peaked at the horizon, he filled you to the brim with his “I love you’s” anywhere that he could manage: into the palms of your hands, into the love bites he had painted onto your chest, onto your ears which he nibbled, and, into your sleepy eyes which had held his for as long as you could, until the allure of sleep drew both of them closed.

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Dreams, Chapter 5

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

GET. READY. This is a bigger chunk but I really think it’s worth it.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 5

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5343

Summary: Dean’s birthday proves easier than expected in some ways and harder in others.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol, s l o w b u r n

Sam pulled back from you, opening one eye drowsily. “Are you okay?” he says, voice gritty with sleep.

“Yeah, I…he didn’t die,” you breathed, confused.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“He always dies. He fell off of Bobby’s roof, but he just broke his ankle, he, he didn’t die.”

Sam rubbed his face with his free arm, trying to wake up more in earnest. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been later than 7:30. You hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours but suddenly felt beyond alert. “That’s good, right?”

“I—yeah, it’s good. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The reflex was to say no, usher Sam back to sleep. But your reflexes had already been wrong once today. “Can we?”

The way Sam kept the surprise off his face was admirable. It was the first time you’d agreed to talk about the nightmares that plagued you since losing Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. “What happened?”

You told Sam all about the dream, sparing only the details you couldn’t really remember or only made dream-sense, like the way you knew it was 4th of July weekend without having been told. He listened thoughtfully, the focus obvious in his expression. He waited a long beat when you were done, sure not to step on your moment of vulnerability.

“What do you think it means?” he asked gently.

You thunked back onto your pillow to gaze up at the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t care, to be honest.” The almost-dark made fuzzy static pulse in your vision. “I think I’m going to write about it, actually,” you said, and startled yourself.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Sam said encouragingly. “Do you want me to—” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’ll be back in a little bit, see if you can go back to sleep.”

Sam nodded with more than a little concern and you climbed over him, yanking an old sweatshirt out to throw over your wilted tee and scampering off to the kitchen table.

The house was ice cold and dark aside from the ever-present Christmas lights and you could feel the needles that had begun to drop from the tree under your bare feet, rapidly cooling on the cheap flooring. You picked up the notebook and pens Sam had gotten you and sat down at the kitchen counter to write.

In the days that followed, the constant and varied nightmares of Dean’s deaths returned. When you woke up, more and more often making it to the morning, you kept writing to Dean about them and sometimes your day as a way of processing. You never ‘told him’ about exactly what happened and tried to focus on the sweet things you remembered that made the worst dreams a tease, moving them to your daytime memory and trying to wash away the despair the nightmares left you clawing through.

By the middle of January, you and Sam had fallen mostly back into old patterns. The Christmas lights were still up, a sort of night light against the long Midwestern nights, and you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of despair sweeping up loose pine needles when Sam was in the shower every day. You didn’t want the winter to end, as weird as that sounded with the ice and chill and fingertips that never warmed all the way. It felt like if you moved into spring that you were leaving the time-out that you’d created and would have to figure out a longer-term solution than this rented cabin, all thin drywall and poorly insulated ceilings. Even your jobs didn’t feel permanent, the summer vacationers sure to come back and reclaim their spots in the town as it came back to life with the plants.

The ‘mostly’ was that the boundary you broke with Sam never truly came uncrossed. When you were washing dishes he would come stand behind you, the heat of his lips seeping into the shoulder of your old sweatshirts. You’d intertwine your fingers with his while he drove, realizing only when you went to open the car door and found yourself tangled, or running your hands through his hair while he read next to you on the sofa. You never met Sam’s eyes in these moments—somehow it felt like a secret, private thing that would collapse into dust if gazed upon, some sweet, small creature you were protecting. Neither one of you talked about it in the time since that tequila-soaked night.

As much as you’d needed to be close to him before, you began craving Sam in a way that scared you. You’d always found him beautiful in the way you admire someone you love, but you caught yourself taking notice of the pillars of muscles along his back when he broke down stock boxes and the dark swoop of his eyelashes. The comments about how lucky you were to have him that used to make you nervous your cover was about to be blown started to make you ache a little with fear and something you couldn’t place. You felt a bizarre flick of jealousy when some twenty somethings drinking White Claw dragged their eyes over him at the bar before leaving on their snowmobiles, like he really was yours to claim. It seemed like a manifestation of your fierce attachment and unresolved grief not only for Dean but your old life with the Winchesters, when they sort of were: your teammates and no one else’s. You resolved it had to be and explained it away without inspection, even when these ‘isolated’ moments became less and less isolated.

Before you knew it, you were hurtling toward Dean’s birthday.

“What should we do on Sunday?” you asked early on a Thursday afternoon, trying to keep your voice light and easy while you and Sam got ready for your last day of work for the week.

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

“Did you guys ever do anything when you were little?”

“I mean, not really. Sometimes like a cake or whatever I guess, but Dean was always better at that stuff. By the time we were in our 20s, he only wanted to go meet girls and play up the ‘kiss for the birthday boy’ schtick.” Sam grinned sheepishly as though you didn’t know who Dean had been.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the cocksure half-boy you’d met all those years ago. “Okay, well, if you didn’t have anything in mind, I have a couple ideas.”

“Oh, yeah, I had only really come up with a cherry pie and a bottle of whiskey.”

You stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed Sam’s empty plate, leaning into his drying hair for long enough to inhale the minty earthiness of his shampoo. “I mean, that’s a given.”

In Sunday’s late morning you slipped out of the house while Sam was in the shower, leaving a note behind that said you’d be back in a few minutes. You careened down the road to the quaint main street, running through the list in your head. The grocery store was first for the only bottle of scotch they kept in a tiny plastic container and the fixings for bacon cheeseburgers, then the coffee shop had a cherry pie that looked better to you than whatever pseudo-Entemann’s they had in the limited grocery bakery section. The hardware store had everything else you needed and some extras; you praised the cold climate necessity of having multiple places in town to get gloves and thick woolen socks as you threw a couple on the checkout with the rest of the haul. It was awkward to get everything in the trunk, and you were thankful in this moment that you weren’t trying to drive the little sedan you’d had years ago when it was just you, even as annoying as it was to park the Impala sometimes.

Back at the cabin Sam was solemnly cleaning up, his eyes red as he wrung out a mop. You took the pie and whiskey out of the bag and put the other groceries away without removing your coat. In truth you only took off the boots you were wearing as a concession to Sam’s mopping, feeling itchy to get back outside and let the complexity of your emotions explode into fresh air unencumbered.

You tossed a pair of new woolen socks to Sam, who caught them against his chest. “You’re going to want these.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I think Dean would’ve liked. Put on some layers, too.”

Sam obeyed with a crooked eyebrow, coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking like a lumberjack catalogue model. You didn’t say anything when you realized the hoodie he was wearing used to be his brother’s.

“Ready?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t know where we’re going,” Sam answered honestly.

You gestured toward the door and he followed you out to the car. Thankfully it had snowed that morning, and tiny billows of powdery snowflakes blew up around each car that you passed on the way.

The hill was massive. It was a little surprising considering the flatness of the majority of the Midwest, and you’d had to remind yourself that there were some small skiing outfits in the upper half of the state when you’d found it, sure that it was a garbage dump that had been covered lazily in grass seed and left to its own devices. Less impressive surrounding slopes reassured you when you’d scoped it out a few days earlier, and the fresh glittering snow made it look even more spectacular now than you’d remembered. You decided not to push it taking the Impala onto the snow, instead parking at the dead-end you thought was closest.

“We’re here?” Sam asked, obviously still confused.

“Yep. Come on,” you said, enjoying the surprise more than you’d thought you would.

Popping the trunk made it obvious when the bright plastic sleds were wedged in alongside the miscellaneous weapons whose permanent home it was. You watched Sam’s face as recognition dawned, closely followed by a smirk you knew was in large part to humor you. Yanking them out in one big pull, you handed Sam the green one and one of the pair of gloves you’d gotten that morning.

“These are huge, where did you even find them?” he chuckled, popping the plastic tie between the gloves and sliding his hands into them.

“You’re huge, it’s not like I can put you on a kid’s one. Besides they must be pretty serious about their sledding up here, these were just from the hardware store.”

Sam shook his head and waited for you to put your gloves on. They were comically big on you, but you knew you’d regret not wearing any and tried your best to grip the sides of the plastic sled through them as you took off toward the hill. After a few steps, Sam took the sled from you without a word, able to hold it easily with both his well-fitting gloves and the many extra inches between his arms and the ground.

The walk up the hill was somewhat of a trudge but the way the crisp air sliced through your lungs was a welcome distraction. Snow dampened the ambient noise so all you could hear was Sam’s rhythmic breathing like a mantra, and with one foot in front of the other, by the time you got to the top you felt like you’d been meditating. The view was amazing from the top, a painting or old illustration with its tiny homes and cottages over meandering fields, the snow washing everything out as if you were watching someone else’s dream.

“Should we race?” Sam asked, the swirled pigment of his irises lit up by the reflection off the snow.

The next thing you heard was Sam’s laugh behind you as you took a few big strides and jumped onto the sled. Careening down the hill, your hair snapped around, tiny whips cracking into your wind-tenderized cheeks as you tried in vain to steer the sled in slices across the straight pass. Sam’s cackle was distant but comforting over your shoulder. You closed your eyes to feel the speed underneath you and the wind across your face; listen to that laugh that you’d heard so little recently, an old favorite song to be put on repeat. On January 24th of all days it felt like you were being baptized in the clear crystal sound of it.

When you came to a stop, Sam was only a half second behind you. You fell over in a fit of giggles listening to him play-whine about cheating and “Totally not fair, after I carry your sled all the way up for you!”

“I’ll beat you again with no head start! Unless you’re chicken,” you taunted, brushing snow off your legs to start back up the hill again. Sam scrambled to his feet, passing you up quickly with his huge strides as you started to run after him. Gasping with laughter and exertion, you and Sam half-wrestled and chased each other to the top, collapsing to your backs like snow angels. After catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look over at him.

“Rematch?”

Sam’s smile, all straight pearl teeth and cold-flushed cheeks, was as breathtaking as the icy wind as you tore down the run, this time on your stomach with your head low like a bullet, trying in earnest to win again. The front lip of the sled in your fingertips rumbled against little imperfections in the snow. You glanced to check how much of a lead you had on Sam and had barely turned your head before you realized you were also dipping your shoulder, tilting the sled on its greased-lightning path and therefore you with it. Sam was right on your tail and narrowly missed crushing you when you fell off the sled by bailing out of his, your legs tangling together with misplaced velocity. You tried to hold still so you wouldn’t catch his face with a flailing limb, only moving after a beat when it seemed like the collision was over. Sam’s fall seemed to have been more graceful than yours, as he still had a hand on his sled and only a left arm and hair full of snow that he shook loose like a puppy.

“Are you okay?” he said, getting to his knees to reach out to you.

You could feel the scrape on your cheek before you got up, but Sam’s wince was only minor when he saw it which was reassuring. He snatched off his glove and brushed snow off your face gently, barely grazing the broken skin. The warmth felt so nice and you would’ve curled up in his palm like Thumbelina if you could. “What’s the damage?” you asked, trying to think about the way your breath puffed up in clouds around you rather than the snowflakes caught in Sam’s eyelashes.

He was analytical as he took it in, tilting your head carefully in the light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Did you think I’d get soft that fast? I used to get stabbed like once a month.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you want to go home?”

It didn’t feel as odd as it should’ve, knowing exactly what home meant in this context. “And let you think I only won by cheating? Fat chance!”

“You don’t even have a sled anymore!”

You glanced around you and saw your sled sitting smugly an easy 30 yards past the base of the hill. “Gimme a ride?”

It was a little awkward until Sam sat down on the sled with each heel straddled and digging into the snow, allowing you to crawl between his legs without unintentionally sliding down the rest of the slope. He seemed unsure of himself as he wrapped his arms around your torso, and you hooked your hands around each of his legs to do your part to hang onto him. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm on your neck.

When you nodded, he unstuck his heels and you shot like a racehorse down the hill. Sam’s chest was solid as a rock behind you, cushioned with his layers and fastened with his seatbelt arms. You could feel the muscles in his legs moving against your hands, trying to balance the weight of the two of you on the flimsy material. Despite your fall only moments ago, it was safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The ride came to a stop only a few steps away from your cast off sled.

You turned into Sam to get to your knees before standing up and slipped on a wet patch on the plastic, the melted snow turning the surface impossibly slick. It made you fall forward into Sam, his seated position not giving him enough stability to stay on balance—the sled shifted back underneath the both of you and brushed your lips across his as you ended up with your scraped cheek against the rough canvas of his jacket.

“I—oh my god I’m sorry,” you stammered, springing back gracelessly.

Sam looked somewhat like a little kid or a doll, sitting wide eyed with his legs still spread out around you. You stayed back on your knees feeling like you should move slowly, that maybe you could back away unscathed yet. Sam reached his hands out and you thought it was okay, he understood you wouldn’t cross yet another line with him, that it was a simple mistake and he was going to move past it or ask for your help up, and then his heavily gloved hand slid into your hair and he was leaning toward you, the breath that had felt so comforting on the back of your neck as you flew down the hill now on your bottom lip. Your needle-sharp inhale drew that air from him, and you started to feel dizzy. He waited for a moment, searching between your eyes for you to pull back, to turn it into a joke, but you couldn’t. Something in the light pressure of his hand was an anchor and you found yourself glancing at Sam’s lips and slowly, agonizingly, Sam closed the distance between you.

His lips were so soft and gentle that it made you feel like you were going to cry and then you were crying, just one hot salty tear that stung the fresh abrasion on your cheek as you moved against him, this foreign and scary part of the person you knew the best on this earth. Somehow kissing Sam was exactly how you would’ve guessed it would be—tender and sweet and reverent. The sound dampening of the snow amplified your other senses: the feeling of the cheap Gore-Tex catching one or two hairs as Sam supported your weight, the small brush of Sam’s breath through his nose, the tight flick of the wind against your coats. It was over as quickly as it started, leaving you and Sam staring at each other bewildered while your hair tangled around you.

You could feel that your eyes were as wide as Sam’s. Completely unable to formulate a thought or feeling, much less something to say, you silently extricated yourself from the sled. Sam did too, staring at it like it was some complicated spell, even turning away from you as you crossed over to your own store-bought chariot. You could read his tension even in his back, the tight stretch of his shoulders as he clutched at the scruff of his neck, and just wanted to make it better.

“Okay, rematch for real this time? I would say I won’t fall again but, no promises.”

Sam looked scared when he turned back to you, his voice gruff when he choked out a halfhearted, “yeah, sure” and followed you up the hill. He was far enough behind you that you couldn’t hear his breathing anymore and it took him a little bit to reach you at the peak. His body seemed like it was cracking around him, aging in moments as he shakily got into his sled beside yours. You wanted so badly to tell him it’s okay, it’s just some dumb mistake, we were just goofing off but you knew it wasn’t true and you didn’t want to lie.

The only thing you could fix your mouth to say was, “Count us down so you can’t say I’m cheating again,” and hope he heard the apology and forgiveness in it.

Sam obeyed dutifully and you kicked off down the hill, trying to use the speed you gathered and the clarity in the way it split open your lungs to try to understand what had just happened. The same trip that had felt like glorious ages before was over in a second and you were up out of your sled before you remembered you were supposed to be measuring whether you or Sam had gotten down faster.

“Tie, we’re going again!” you yelled over your shoulder as you did your best to bound through the deep snow up the side of the hill, not waiting to see if he was following you.

Once again at the top, ragged and out of breath and only a few steps ahead of him, you took a second to collect yourself before putting your sled back in the snow and holding it in place with one foot.

“I’m sor—” Sam started before you cut him off.

“Okay, third time’s the charm!” you said with panicked cheerfulness that you knew instantly was too much, but Sam stopped talking and dejectedly sat on his sled next to you.

You and Sam spent probably an hour more sledding, your legs turning to jello underneath you as you ran up the hill over and over again and your cheeks getting more and more wind chapped, before Sam finally smiled, exasperated at some joke about still beating him up the hill with legs that were half as long. It was all the fuel you needed to keep chipping away at him until the sun started dropping and the chill broke through all your layers.

The two of you plodded through the snow back to the car together. Gloves and sleds in the trunk, you flopped into the passenger seat with that sudden too-hot feeling of getting out of the wind and tore at your coat to desperately strip some layers. Sam threw his own jacket in the back. Without giving him a chance to protest or hook up his phone, you turned on the tape deck and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here pounded out like rocky silk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmured. You looked over at Sam, who burst into a kind of frantic laughter that you completely understood. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing either, because of course this was playing during the tense peace on Dean’s birthday in Dean’s car, and then you and Sam were cry-laughing in the rapidly humidifying air of the Impala while Syd Barrett waxed poetic. By the time the second chunks of Shine On You Crazy Diamond started, you were gasping for air and clutching at your sides.

You drove home after that in relative silence, the fatigue of fresh air and running all afternoon catching up with you. Sam took a shower while you put together burgers, switching spots with you to cook them while you washed up. They were pretty good due in large part to how seriously Wisconsinites take their cheese, bacon, and beef, and you wolfed yours long before your hair had stopped dripping onto the collar of the threadbare sweatshirt you’d changed into.

The first shot of scotch burned like it always did, offsetting the sweet tang of the cherry pie and reminding you of the way Dean used to taste when you kissed him at the end of a long night. You looked out the window at the last purple glow of the sunset as it turned the evening into deep, endless inky blue.

“I’ve gotta—I’m so sorry,” Sam spat out like the words were beating their way out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, unable to immediately meet his gaze and looking down at your pie.

“I just—I can’t—I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he stammered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Join the club.”

Sam smirked but it was mirthless. “No, I know, but it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He stabbed a deflated cherry with pursed lips, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The fork clattered to his plate. “It’s not getting any easier. Every day I wake up and I’m so mad. It’s so fucking unfair that I have to stay here without him because I know that’s what he fucking wanted, and I feel like there’s no point in trying to have anything like good or normal because I’m just running out the clock. And then today’s Dean’s fucking birthday and I kiss his girlfriend—what is wrong with me?”

The outburst hung in the air, a toxic smoke that excluded everything else. You slammed the rest of your glass of scotch, relishing the way it scalded. “So I’m just Dean’s girlfriend?”

“No, that’s not what I—I mean I guess—it’s not like you aren’t—I don’t know, it just seems like you’ll always be his girlfriend.”

“Are you still Jess’s boyfriend?”

It was the absolute most cruel and wrong thing to say and you regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue and crashed into Sam, not even really knowing why you’d thought them. They distorted his face in incredulity and betrayal but you didn’t back down, maintaining eye contact until he snatched the bottle and refilled both glasses. When he spoke again his voice was gravelly and broken.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“Sam, this is fucking weird. It always has been, us being alive without Dean, and if you’re just now getting that then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s going on either, but I know that you’re the only thing that’s keeping me from ending up with a bullet in my skull or in a locked ward, so if you’re waiting for me to forgive you for something, for anything you’ve ever said or done, it’s already forgiven. But we’re too tied up together for every tiny redrawing of the boundaries to send us over the edge. Please.”

“Tiny redrawing of boundaries? I kissed you!”

“And I kissed you back, Sam! What do you want to do about it? What’s the absolution here? If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Take the Impala and I’ll find some other car, I’ll borrow the Kaisers’ other one or something. Or maybe you want me to go and I’ll go; I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave right now, you never have to see me again if that’s what you want but I know Dean loved you and loved me and I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to torture yourself all the time so what is it that you want?”

“I want us to be fucking normal and I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating with my brother’s girlfriend! I don’t want to have a cover story and I don’t want to keep running away!”

“Then fucking stop! Stop feeling guilty and talk to me about this stuff!”

Sam laughed, hard and bitter and choked off.

“I’m serious. We can’t keep doing this shit, at least I can’t. We need to start talking—about Dean, about everything. It’s like this lump of decay and we’re just spraying Febreze and not dealing with it.”

Sam’s mouth popped open as he tongued his molars. He bit his lip in frustration before crumpling up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten pie. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

You weren’t expecting that. For all the ways it had seemed like Dean had been the more emotionally closed off, he was always much easier for you to read than Sam, who managed somehow to talk about things without actually communicating how he felt. It was good if you needed to be supported but made it extremely hard to be there for him. Refilling your glasses a bit more conservatively, you offered up an open palm to let Sam go first. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.

“No bullshit?” he asked.

“No bullshit. What’s the point of bullshitting anymore? After everything?”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 6

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