Lucifer went from laying on a bed on the floor whining til dad came and laid down beside him to running off and jumping up on the couch, kicking around happily and being super energetic.

Someone was nowhere near as tired as he tried to seem. 😅

That Other Girl (Thomas Shelby x Reader) [Part 3/3]

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2,244

It had been a week since your argument with Tommy, and you hated admitting it, but you missed him. As much as Tommy was a busy man, and a lot of your time spent with him involved him doing some sort of work while you kept him company, you still spent every day together, and this was the longest you’d ever been without speaking to each other throughout your 6 year relationship, and it was hitting you hard. You found that time moved extremely slow, and seeing as you weren’t on good terms with Tommy, you didn’t really get the chance to hang around the Shelby household, so the loneliness was starting to become overbearing.

You decided to distract yourself by going back in to work at the Garrison, and as much as you would have liked to avoid Grace and Tommy for as long as possible, you still had bills to pay and didn’t like the idea of the customers you’d grown to know over the years, getting used to Grace and you not being there. She had already turned Tommy into an idiot, you weren’t going to let her stop your earnings as well.

You walked into the Garrison to find Harry behind the bar polishing the glasses, Grace nowhere to be seen. 

“Well look who it is” Harry smiled at you, “ready to get back to work eh?”

You couldn’t help the smile forming on your face as you’d missed Harry and work

“You bet I am, my ankle’s not all there yet but I’ll take it easy”

You joined him behind the bar and started sorting out the liquor bottles that were all over the place from the previous night. You had been working for about half an hour when the door to the Garrison opened and Grace walked in, her eyes going solemn as she spotted you.

“You’re back to work I see” she spoke, tying her apron and joining you behind the bar

You wanted to pull her hair out, but you figured it wasn’t her fault Tommy had taken an interest to her, especially as she’s knew to Birmingham and might not have known of your relationship, but you still didn’t like her as you couldn’t shake off your suspicions of her having something to do with that  copper

“Yes I am, slowly trying to get back into it, my ankle really screwed with the balance of things”, you could tell she wasn’t really paying attention to you.

“Thomas talked about you, you know?”, you went rigid at the sound of Tommy’s name, especially coming from her mouth, “He hasn’t been doing good without you, shows up every evening and drinks bottle after bottle. Had to lock him out once, he almost broke the door down” she rolled her eyes at the thought.

You felt worry creep up inside your veins, as angry as you were at Tommy, you still cared for him and couldn’t find it within you to throw away years of your feelings from him because of your argument, but when you looked up from the bottle you were holding, at Grace, the worry seemed to fade away as you realised he had just been spending time with her while you hadn’t heard from him

“He tell you what happened?” You asked, wanting to know just how much he might’ve shared

“No he didn’t tell me anything, just said you two had a fight, lots of rambling about how he was gonna lose you, how he fucked up. I felt sorry for him but then I figured I don’t know what he did, and maybe he deserves whatever’s going through his head”

You nodded slowly at her words

“He came by a lot when you were out with your ankle”

“What did you talk about?” You had assumed that if Tommy refused to tell you, maybe she would

“About life I guess, I’d tell him about my life back in Ireland and he’d tell me about all sorts, ranting about work, his brothers, nightmares” she replied, “he spoke a bit about you, your family” she stated the last part with an edge of disgust, you sat in silence, lost in her words, “I don’t think you’re good for him”, you snapped out of your daze.

“Excuse me?” You asked, astonished

“You and your little posh family, you’re not like him, your roots are different and I can tell he’s getting tired of it.” You almost had to hold your jaw shut  to stop it from dropping to the floor. What was it with people bringing up your family? You had been in Birmingham for years, and most people wouldn’t be able to tell you were any different from those born and raised in the city, if not for your slightly differing accent. 

You were frustrated she brought up your family as Tommy had yesterday, but then it clicked that she must’ve been the one to feed him all those ideas about you being some posh brat while Tommy was shit-faced drunk, and you were pissed. Not only at her, but at Tommy as well for being stupid enough to even acknowledge anything she said about you

“Listen here you freak”, you glared at her “I don’t know what you’re doing in this city, and why you think you have the right to speak on who I am and my relationship, but you best believe I will find out, and when I do, I’ll have no issue kicking you out myself. First out of my bar, and then out of my fuckin’ city, you hear me? I’d kick you out right now if I could” you spat.

Grace stood there silent, and you returned to sorting out the bottles, trying to control your anger and not knock Grace out with a bottle of very expensive whiskey

You had decided you’d had enough of being lonely, and dragged John out of the house to go to the new museum that had opened a few weeks back. John wasn’t thrilled, museums not being his thing, but he was happy to spend time with you, cracking his highly inappropriate jokes every 2 seconds.

“Tommy’s been doing horrible you know that angel?” 

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words

“Please no Tommy talk for today, I just want to enjoy the museum.” You tried to brush him off, but you couldn’t help but worry for Tommy.

You were strolling around the museum, John’s arm lazily thrown over your shoulder, looking at different paintings and sculptures, when you spotted a familiar head of blonde hair in front of you, standing next to a man. You quickly pushed John behind the wall next to you, and slightly peaked your head out to spy on her

“Psst, John, who’s that man standing next to Grace?” You had never seen him before, and your first thought was her father, but then you remembered what she told you about him

John peaked his head out above you, and squinted his eyes to get a better look at the man, who as if on queue turned his head back to look around the museum suspiciously, as though he was searching the area, forcing you and John to quickly fall back behind the wall to hide yourselves

“Holy shit” John whispered, taking his hat off and running his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of being deep in thought, and being dumbfounded

“What? What is it John?” You asked, eyes jumping all over his face trying to make sense of the situation

“That’s the copper. Campbell.” 

You were sitting next to John at a family meeting, Tommy’s eyes boring into you as you avoided his gaze. It was the first time you’d seen him since your argument, as he’d seemingly been avoiding the Garrison, and consequentially, you. You were feeling a bit better about the whole situation now that your suspicions had been confirmed, but you weren’t quite ready to confront Tommy about it. 

The meeting went on for a little over an hour, Tommy groggily heading it. Just as everyone was about to leave, seeing as the meeting had come to an end, John spoke up

“Y/N was right” 

Everyone looked between you and John, confused

“Grace is working with Campbell.”

You saw Polly’s smug expression from the corner of your eye. Of course she knew

“What? How do you know?” Arthur asked, Tommy was still silent, a dazed look on his face

“We were at the museum”, you saw a spark of hurt in Tommy’s eyes at the mention of you and John going somewhere together while you had been away from each other, “and we saw her talking to the copper, they were all suspicious and everything Arthur, you had to have seen them, looking around the place like a pair of guilty kids hiding from their ma” John scoffed “I’m regretting giving her all those tips now...” You smacked his arm

Everyone awkwardly stared at Tommy, but his eyes were locked onto yours

It was the middle of the night when you suddenly heard banging on your front door, waking you up from your peaceful slumber. You groggily trudged towards the door, as you rubbed your eyes to try and keep yourself awake, however all the energy seemed to rush back into your body when you opened the door and saw Tommy standing outside, his tired blue eyes piercing into your y/e/c ones.

“Can I come in?” He croaked out

You didn’t know if it was the hour of the night, or the sight of him, tired, at the door, but you didn’t have it in you to send him away, so you stepped to the side to let him in, his eyes roaming over your apartment as though he was there for the first time, even though it was basically his second home.

“Would you like some tea?” You asked, worried he might be cold from standing outside

“Yes please”

You led him to your kitchen where he sat on one of your dining room chairs, you noticed he sat in the same one he always sits in, right opposite the stove, so he could watch you cook. You boiled the tea in silence, before pouring it into the mug he had brought over once and never taken back. It was a simple white mug that Finn had scribbled on with crayon when he was smaller, the crayon never seeming to wash off no matter how many times you scrubbed the mug. The both of you sat in silence, sipping your tea until Tommy spoke up

“I’m sorry Y/N” He looked at you with sorry eyes

“Thomas...” You began

“Please don’t call me that” He pleaded

“But it’s your name. What am I supposed to call you?”

“Tommy. I’m Tommy. You always call me Tommy, don’t change that.”

You stared down into your mug, not being able to meet his eye

“I fucked up Y/N, I was in a bad place and I know it’s no excuse but I was so tired and it just seemed so easy to walk in there and fill my system with as much alcohol as possible”

“You believed what she said about me being some stuck up cunt, you didn’t listen to me when I told you she wasn’t to be trusted” as angry as you were, you were mostly sad. Sad your relationship with Tommy had come to this point

“I know Y/N, and I know I fucked up and I know I made a huge mistake I’ll never forgive myself for, but I love you, I love you so much and I can’t live without you. Just this one week without you has broken me and you don’t know how much it hurt me to see you and not be able to hold you, not have you by my side. To know that I wronged you.”

You were staring into his eyes, trying your hardest not to cry

“You’re only saying this because John confirmed she was working for the copper...” you meekly replied, not believing your own words

“No. I was going to speak to you after the meeting because I’d finally gotten the chance to see you. That other girl hadn’t even crossed my mind once”, his voice was firm and you could tell he was determined to have you forgive him

“Tommy... I don’t-”

“Y/N please, give me another chance, I don’t want to lose you because of something so stupid, because I’m so stupid. Please Y/N I can’t live without you” You noticed a tear run down his cheek and struggled to control your own emotions. You loved him and it broke your heart to see him so upset.

You got up from your seat, panic glossing over Tommy’s eyes before you walked up to him and hugged him, his head resting on your stomach with your arms holding his head close to you

“It’s okay, I forgive you, just don’t cry, please. It doesn’t suit you” You smiled down at him, your hand holding the side of his face as you used your thumb to wipe away the tear on his cheek, Tommy leaning into your touch

“And you really are stupid”, you half cried, half laughed “promise me you’ll never do that again” you held out your pink to him

He smiled up at you and took your pinky with his own 

“I promise.”

AAAAAAH this is the end guys! I decided to give it a happy ending because fuck it why not! This is my first completed series and I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I went a bit crazy with the ending and I hope it’s not too cringe or disappointing, I just couldn’t stop myself. I was thinking about making a version where the reader ends up with John instead (because I love John), so let me know if you would be interested in that

Requested tags: @namelesslosers​

The Moon Spirit - three

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: Fenrys being cute, badass reader but like a shit ton of angst, allusions to sexual assualt (Fenrys canon stuff), mentions of weapons? idk if that counts

word count: 4.4k

a/n: so this took a while but it’s finally done, please comment it genuienly keeps me going cause it’s super easy to get unmotivated, hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————————————

After he left you, Fenrys begrudgingly found himself back at the palace, bowed on one knee in front of Maeve. She looked cruelly beautiful as always but there was something more sinister sparkling in her eyes today, remaining quiet as he stood back to his full height, meeting her gaze with wavering confidence.

“Who have you been with?” she finally broke the silence and he cursed himself for thinking he could ever get away with that.

“I just walked a young girl home, she was new, and I was afraid someone may take advantage of her if she was alone,” he spoke truthfully, allowing Maeve to push into his mind as she searched for a hidden lie.

He watched as she drew in a sharp breath, something like fear flickering across her face before her tightly drawn lips spread into a wide smile.

“Come here,” she commanded, and he went to stand in front of her, close enough to smell her sickening perfume and to see the flawless texture of her skin. “Do you love this girl?”

He shook his head, no, and she ran a hand down his face in a motherlike way. “Good, you will be recruiting her.” His eyes widened and he had to put his energy into not flinching away.

“What?” he spoke with an incredulous tone and Maeve glared at his lack of respect making him bow his head. “Sorry your majesty, I’m just slightly confused. She was just a young girl and didn’t seem to have any former training.”

“And that’s why I’m in charge, you men are too foolish. That was a powerful girl, and I would rather she remained on my side than any other.” He frowned, powerful? She had seemed kind, lost and strong enough to hold her own – but not powerful.

“I need you to see her again, convince her to join.” Fenrys physically felt the command go through him and he stood taller again, nodding gruffly as she waved her hand in dismissal.

--

Your first few days of work had been harder than expected, and you had gone home with aching muscles from lifting books and sore cheeks from plastering on smiles. Albert had made your days easier, drinking hot tea with you as you slowly revealed more and more about your past to him, his kind, old eyes lulling you into a comforting state.

But you didn’t receive rest when you got home. Ploughing through books on spirits and practicing using the limited magic you had found until the early hours of the morning, getting barely two hours of sleep a night unplagued by nightmares. By your fifth day Albert had handed you a pot of cosmetic product to hide the circles forming, commenting on scaring the customers away as you stuck your tongue out at him but smearing some on regardless.

On the second Saturday after your arrival you had a day off and used it to venture into the market, your empty shelves no longer sustaining you, let alone Amaris. Your basket soon filled with colourful fruits and vegetables, and you were browsing the fish section when a shadow fell over you.

“Let me take that for you,” you turned to see Fenrys standing over you with that same easy smile, his head tilted slightly. You rolled your eyes, trying to block out the feelings expanding in your chest at just the sight of him.

“And here I thought I had lost you,” you muttered, and he laughed, taking your basket from you, and paying for the wrapped salmon you had just been passed. “You don’t need to do stuff like that,” you told him, and he took your arm as he led you out of the market.

“Can’t help myself, I see a pretty girl in need and boom, I have to help.” He joked and you laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, the damsel in distress disease, I’ve heard that’s a nasty one to cure,” he smiled down at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Not really, all I need is a kiss,” he tugged you closer and you squealed, shoving him away as he laughed.

“As I said, nasty.” He dramatically put a hand to his heart, throwing his head back in distress.

“You wound me darling,” he complained, and you laughed, hating how much you genuinely enjoyed his company. You reached your apartment in no time, and he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to your door.

“So no invitation of tea, a glass of wine, a home cooked meal?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes,

“I’m afraid I reserve that for people I like,” he raised his eyebrows, hopping up the steps two at a time.

“Even if I have genuine cause to talk to you?” he asked and the sincerity in his eyes made a shot of fear run through you. He couldn’t know, could he?

“What is it?” you asked, and he smiled softly, a little pain shining through his loving eyes.

“The queen has a proposition to make.” His voice quietened and you straightened your posture, your entire demeanour switching in a second.

“Come in.” you opened the door and stepped in, allowing him to duck as he followed.

The first thing he noticed was how barren your apartment was, a simple kitchen, connected to a room with a pale blue sofa and worn coffee table. Your shelves were bare, and he sneaked a look into your room as he passed the open door, your mattress on the floor covered by only a thin blanket and a few cushions, one incredibly expensive looking gold dress on the floor, stained dark red. But before he could venture further in he heard you cooing in an impossibly soft voice.

He turned the corner and blanched at the sight he saw, “What the?”

You turned from were you were feeding small bits of salmon to a pure white bundle of fluff that hissed as soon as it saw him. “Amaris, be polite!” you scalded, and he surveyed the cat with a wary look, untrusting of the small creature.

“You have a cat.” He stated, suddenly completely unsure of his taste in women.

“No he’s actually a spider,” you deadpanned and Fenrys pouted.

“But I thought you’d be a dog person,” he complained, and you laughed, moving to throw open the curtains in the room before you started putting away the food you had bought, boiling a pot of water over your stove.

“I just like animals, why does it matter?” you asked, and he threw his arms up before transforming into his wolf form. You gasped and Amaris meowed loudly, scampering to hide behind your legs.

“You’re a wolf.” You stated and he turned back with a smile.

“No I’m a spider,” you flipped him off as you turned to put the rest of your food away.

“I prefer you as a wolf, they’re one of my favourite animals,” you told him and he smiled, sticking his tongue out childishly at Amaris who just sauntered of to doze on a pillow.

“So, what does the queen want?” you asked, pouring the hot water into a pot you had prepared, and he sat down on your worn-down sofa, cringing as it creaked under his weight. You followed suit soon after putting the pot and two mugs down, curling your feet underneath yourself as you looked at him.

“Well, she has told me that you’re actually extremely powerful and because of this she wants to recruit you. She wants you to join the Cadre.” He spoke surely and confidently but his eyes shone with wariness.

“Okay first of all, I’m not at all powerful, secondly how would she even know if I was, which I’m not! And third, what is The Cadre?” he laughed slightly and moved forward to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Well you clearly are because she recognised you and always knows these things, trust me. She’s never wrong about this. And The Cadre is a group I’m in, elite soldiers sworn to protect Maeve.” He explained and you shook your head.

“Fenrys I barely know basic self-defence, I’m not a soldier. And I don’t want to be sworn to royalty.” Your hands were shaking slightly at the thought of being sworn to another tyrant, “Plus in all honesty I only found out I was Fae on Monday, so I’m not exactly well versed in this shit.”

“How did you not know before?” he asked – frowning.

“The country I… come from, there was no magic. The king wiped all magic out years ago.”

“Why?” It was an understandable question but still made you panic, he couldn’t know.

“I don’t know, all I know is he did, so those alike me – with magic but born into a magicless world – never got to know.” You were good at concealing emotions, that much Fenrys could see. You seemed to have iron walls built into the clouds around your heart, protecting it as fiercely as you would Amaris.

“Well, Maeve wants to meet with you soon, so let me know when you decide gorgeous,” he stood, and you smiled at him gratefully for not prying further.

“I’m really sorry Fenrys I just don’t think it’s a good idea. As I said I’m not a soldier.” He nodded but his eyes still conveyed a sense of worry.

“Well keep in mind you would get to train with me, probably shirtless.” He joked as you opened the door for him, grinning when you laughed loudly, shoving him through the door.

“Bye Fenrys,” you said, eyes sparkling as he waved, whistling his way down the street comically.

You closed the door as your smile fell, a weight settling on your chest as you already knew why he looked so wary – Kings and Queens didn’t understand the word no.

--

You practically ran to the library the next day, opting to bring Amaris with you as he peeked out of the small handbag you had found stuffed into the back of your closet. When you flew into the library you instantly sought out Albert, who took one look at your flushed, shining appearance and abandoned the pile of books he was putting away, motioning for you to sit down.

You sat quickly, huffing out a breath as Amaris crawled out of his makeshift home and started exploring the new territory of the small backroom reserved for staff only.

“What bothers you child?” Albert’s voice was steady as always and his dry, warm hands grasped yours gently as your eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I just – I needed to talk to someone,” you stuttered out, your breath coming in harsher pants as he shushed you.

“Take a minute and allow yourself to breathe first dear,” he commanded, and you pressed a hand to your heart as you tried to slow its pounding. “Start from the beginning, tell me what’s wrong.”

“The man I loved, his- his name was Dorian, Dorian Havilliard.” You said quietly and Albert let out a small chuckle.

“I presumed as much, I visited Adarlan once, and an old man never forgets the face of a princess.” You looked at him through blurry eyes, confused.

“You knew?” he smiled sadly at you.

“I was 90% certain, but I would never have pressured you to reveal secrets like that.” He passed you a tissue, “But I sense that’s not all that weighs heavy on you?”

You shook your head, “Queen Maeve has made clear that she wishes me to join the Cadre.”

Albert’s face changed with the clear shock, and you bowed your head, shamefully.

“And what did you say?” he asked slowly.

“No, of course! I don’t have any desire to be another monarch’s puppet.” You stated and he shushed you again.

“You need to remember that people always listen.” He scolded, repeating one of the first things he had told you when you started working. “I agree that you should be cautious, but perhaps gaining the queens protection would be beneficial. Plus you would become an extremely skilled swordsman.”

“I am not a man, nor do I wish to be.” You said through gritted teeth, “And I vowed that I would become skilled on my own and go back to Dorian.”

“Yes but if you join, you will be more skilled than ever before,” Albert reasoned and you shook your head, tears welling up again.

“I thought you’d be on my side for this, you are the one who told me to be careful around powerful people.” You felt unjustly betrayed as he spoke and his shoulders slumped slightly, sighing before grasping your hands lightly again.

“I am dear, and I urge you to do what you think is best. But I am simply reminding you that if you truly want to beat this king you are being offered power on a silver platter right now, and perhaps it would be foolish to deny yourself it.” You let his words run around your head as you worked overtime trying to figure out a plan.

“Say I joined – what do I need to do to ensure I don’t become another puppet?” you asked, and he smiled at you.

“First of all, she will offer a blood oath and you must refuse it with everything you have in you – she came to you remember you hold the power. On that note you must summon all those queenly powers of yours and ensure when you speak to her, she is meeting you and she is trying to win you over. Never the other way around.” You nodded, pocketing the information in your head. “When in the palace you are always being watched, always being listened to, so keep your wits about you. But I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

You laughed under your breath, “It’ll be just like going home,” you commented, and he smiled.

“Sadly yes, now take this money. Go but a new dress and tomorrow you will take a carriage, you can’t walk there.” You thanked him softly, placing the gold in the purse you held, “You’re a kind girl, that is what makes you strong and that’s what will make you a good queen. Don’t let them take your heart.”

Your throat tightened and you nodded due to the lack of trust you held for your voice, standing, and collecting your bag in one hand and Amaris in the other. Albert stood to take you to the door with a smile, and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You can have tomorrow off work as well, however I feel our work together is already coming to an end.” You smiled softly, allowing him to pet Amaris’ head softly before he kissed your cheek gently, ushering you out the door.

“Have a good night Albert,” you said, turning to see him watching you with sorrowful eyes.

“Remember what I told you dear, don’t let them take your heart.” Your smile was sad as you spoke,

“I won’t.” You both heard the lie but, neither of you decided to correct it. Not tonight.

--

Of all the things Fenrys expected to see the next morning, you were the one he hoped for. But as he looked around at the powerful men surrounding the room he felt white-hot panic seize him as he realised what you were about to do. You hadn’t even looked at him when you walked in, keeping your eyes trained solely on Maeve, not even dropping them as you dropped in a low curtsy.

He was even more shocked by the blood red dress you adorned, the v-neck deep and skirts long with a slit up either leg, high enough to reveal the halter you wore with a silver dagger and a ruby encrusted hilt secured into place. Every man, woman and mouse watched as you walked through the room – head high and shoulders back, revealing enough to entrance everyone in the room but covering enough to keep them wanting more and he felt his anger grow as he watched you.

You waited with a soft, but condescending, smile on your face, allowing Maeve to regrasp some power by speaking first – every movement so calculated and precise. As he watched you he saw the power and understood the fear and lust building in the room.

“So I guess you heard my offer.” Maeve finally said, drawling low with relaxed posture.

“I did.” Your statement was short, to the point but you saw it grate Maeve’s nerves and smiled as sweet as spun sugar, “Your majesty.”

“And?” he watched as Maeve grew more agitated and was surprised she hadn’t killed you yet, usually not standing for even an ounce of insubordination.

“I am willing to accept on one condition – I’m not taking a blood oath.” He had to fight jumping in the air with glee as you spoke, so afraid you were going to get tangled in the mess he was in. Maeve’s face grew dark, but you held your ground, never letting your eyes stray lest she see your weakness.

“Well that’s simply not viable,” she stated, glaring you into the ground but you just smiled again, nodding with a polite laugh.

“I see, well this was a lovely meeting, gentlemen.” You raised your hand politely as you moved to leave, your eyes finally flittering over him and the rest of the cadre. You bowed once again to Maeve, making to leave when Maeve raised her hand.

“We are not finished.” She stated.

“Well I’m terribly sorry your majesty but I’ve made my terms extremely clear, and since you refuse to budge - I believe we are done.” Your voice was still sweet, but he watched your face change slightly, every bit a queen looking down upon her people. He couldn’t help but wonder were you learned to speak this way, but Maeve simply laughed.

“Yet here you are,” she spoke with a mocking tone, and you smiled with your teeth this time.

“Need I remind you that you sought me out, if I have terms it should be in your best interest to meet them if you wish me to join your miniature army.” Fenrys heard Lorcan snarl lowly next to him but gripped his arm in warning.

“Oh your training is impressive princess, but I’m afraid it will be of no use.” Your face didn’t budge as Maeve spoke, but Fenrys watched as something flickered through your eyes, “You see, I learn of misdemeanours in other courts very easily and I wish to show you what I learned of Adarlan.”

“There’s nothing you could show me that I won’t have seen before,” you said, and he watched the two of you laugh like you were mingling at a party instead of standing of in a court.

“Oh I’m afraid this is relatively new, you might reconsider your terms after this,” you stood straight as Maeve walked down the steps and moved to whisper something the rest of them couldn’t hear in your ear, her hand pressed lightly to the base of your neck.

She pulled away after a few minutes and he took in your now shaking hands, eyes filled with tears you clearly refused to let fall. You took in a steadying breath before speaking, “You’re lying.”

“Oh I wish I was princess, but I can only show the truth and it appears your prince had moved on rather quickly, what use is there going back to a country where you can no longer rule.” She stroked your hair condescendingly and you chewed the inside of your lip as it quivered. “But here, here – under my control – you have power of your own. Men will no longer hold onto you like a prized pony, you will become something they fear, you will be my perfect princess, the daughter I never got to have.”

Fenrys inhaled sharply, he knew Maeve never planned to relent the throne, especially not to a woman from another country. She looked at you like you were a doll, something for her to reshape and change. You must have seen it to, but through your blurry eyes everything had changed.

“Okay,” your voice was smaller than before, and he wanted to tear Maeve limb from limb for having broken you down so harshly with just a few words. She smiled cruelly at you as she cut a small line along her forearm and you bowed your head in pain, before falling to your knees – graceful even as pain consumed your entire being. You brought your lips to her wound and drank as she repeated the words that he remembered all too well.

When you rose your lips were sparkling red, and your eyes were glistening with tears still unshed – but you raised your head like a queen and Maeve smiled.

“I believe you have already met Fenrys, he will be training you as the training you have received is not proficient, I’ll have all your belongings brought to a room here.” Maeve waved her hand to some guards, but you stopped her.

“I only need Amaris brought here; the rest can burn.” You muttered.

“And for your new wardrobe?” She asked and you smiled looking down, wiping your mouth slowly.

“Make it red.” You finally met Fenrys eyes, and he stepped forward, desperate to drag you far, far away.

“Shall I escort her to her new room?” he asked Maeve and she flitted her eyes to him, then to the hand he had pressed to your back.

“Yes and then afterword’s come find me,” she smiled cruelly at him, and he felt you stiffen under his hand, but he just nodded and began to lead you out of the room.

He led you through the corridors and up the stairs in silence, angry at you for accepting and at himself for not putting up more of a fight. When he reached the room he presumed would be yours he opened the door for you, following you in as you sat on the bed, your usual lightness replaced by the weight on your shoulders.

He watched you bow your head and came to sit beside you, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise; this was my choice.” You said and he reached an arm around your shoulders, but you quickly shrugged him off.

“I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, if you and the queen are…” you trailed off and Fenrys bowed his head in shame.

“It’s not like that, she, she makes me,” he muttered, and you inhaled sharply, turning to him with those watery eyes.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” you whispered, instantly looping your arms around him neck and holding him tight. “She’s a monster.”

Fenrys huffed a laugh, pulling away, “You’re telling me.”

He reached a hand for your face slowly, wiping under your eyes where a tear had escaped, “how did she change your mind?” he asked, dark eyes searching your face for clues as your bottom lip quivered in pain.

“She showed me home,” was all you said, and his shoulders dropped. He would leave it for now, you were young and clearly not ready to speak – and now, they had all the time in the world to speak.

“Sleep tight, training starts at seven tomorrow,” he stood and kissed your head lightly and you nodded, words getting caught in your throat. He left quietly, walking away as quickly as he could to avoid hearing the soft sobs that erupted as soon as he closed the door.

--

You could barely contain your tears until you got to your room, repeating rule thirteen over and over in your head, crying in public is only appropriate at funerals and weddings. But as soon as Fenrys left your room you sobbed into your hands, wailing, and crying like a child throwing a tantrum as you let out the emotions, the screams that have been locked inside of you for so long.

You had done everything for Dorian, changed every part of yourself and become the perfect princess, girlfriend, fiancé – and he, mere weeks after you had to run, was already moving onto a new girl.

As hard as you tried you couldn’t get rid of the image of him and the blonde girl out of your head. How he kissed her softly, his hand on her lower back where it always used to rest on yours. The smile when he pulled away, the way he laughed with her, the way Chaol smiled at his brother when he was happy. You had been forgotten, replaced, almost instantly, the warmth you used to feel when you thought of home, of your princes’ arms replaced by a tight chest and a cold feeling encompassing your heart.

“I’m sorry Albert,” you whispered into the air as you stood looking out on your balcony, gripping tightly to the rail as you feared your legs would give out, “She already took it.”

You were interrupted by a quiet knock on your door, wiping your eyes as you opened it – taking Amaris from the tall guards’ hands as a flurry of women pushed in, filling your drawers with clothes and cosmetics, candles and hair pins, books and plants, a million supplies for Amaris and then some. You smiled politely at them as they left without saying a word, in and out extremely quickly as you stared at a knot in the floor.

Another knock sounded soon after and you turned your head to see one of the Cadre staring in with piercing green eyes. You motioned for him to come in and stood, tilting your head up to meet his gaze as he took in your messy, tear-stained expression.

“You’re the first female member of the Cadre, ever.” He stated and you blinked slowly.

“Lucky me,” your tone was sarcastic, voice rough from the crying but the man smiled.

“I’m Rowan, it’s good to meet you.” He reached out a hand and you met it, allowing him to kiss the back gently.

“(Y/n)” you returned, with a slight curtsey.

“I look forward to fighting with you (y/n),” he stated, releasing your hand and turning to leave, stopping right before he reached the door, “Oh, and don’t lose that dagger, you’ll find a shocking number of men dislike powerful women.”

“First I’m hearing of this,” you deadpanned, and he chuckled.

“Goodluck kid.”

Shades of Him

Chapter 3

Warnings: violence, fluff, caring zemo, death

For the first time in awhile, you had slept without another nightmare. Granted it was like 3 hour you had rested but still. You didn’t want to get up, not yet. It was so warm and comfy that moving would be a sin. The blanket wrapped around you felt like a cocoon, making you feel safe. Your eyes slowly fall open. They land on a couch across from you. That’s strange, how did you.. Realisation slapped you in the face. That blanket around you isn’t a blanket at all. You look down. An arm was wrapped around your waist. It was then you felt the soft pounding of a heart beat against your back. Panic started to set in. This is not good you thought, not good at all. Closing your eyes you think of the best way to get out of your predicament.

“What the actual hell” Your eyes fly open. Sam stood there, eyes wide, staring at you. Shit. “Sam calm down, this can be explained.” Your whisper. “Can it?!” He whisper shouts “ I’m going to get Bucky”. Oh fuck no. Sam had already left the room to find him. Carefully you untangle yourself from Zemo. He was still sleeping peacefully on that couch, thank god. Slowly you roll over, however you miss judge your move and fall onto the carpet below with a loud thud. Zemo stirs in his sleep. You curse yourself as you get up and race after Sam.

You didn’t realise that as you exited the room, two chestnut eyes had followed your every move. Thankfully you reach Sam just as he was about to knock on Buckys bedroom door. You pull him into a room that looked like some type of storage area for food. “Look I woke up really early this morning and went down to get some pills for a headache that I had” Sam raised his eyebrows. “and so you ended up sleeping with the enemy?” “You make it sound like I did something more than just- anyway he’s helping us! I wouldn’t call him an enemy” He ignores your statement and says “So how did you-“ You explain what happened last night “so I sat next to him and fell asleep, nothing happened!”

You hear footsteps in the hallway. “ I’m no one to judge y/n, just please be careful, especially around him.” “You know I’m always careful!” You grin. He returns the gesture and opens the door. Your glad he kept this between the two of you, Bucky would freak out and get his metal arm in a twist. You walk back into the kitchen followed by Sam. Zemo was gone which explained the footsteps. Had he heard anything? You push that thought aside and go to make some tea for the second time that morning. You and sam both sit at the breakfast table, sipping from your mugs. He really was a good friend to you.

You were getting yourself ready when Sharon announces that she has a location on Nagel. You hurry and quickly check yourself in the mirror. You wore black slightly baggy pants, a matching vest top reaching just above your belly button and an accompanying jacket. It was perfect for missions like these, not too suspicious and practical. You fix all your weapons to yourself including you new gun and head downstairs to meet the others.

You all arrive at a place with cargo containers littered all around you. On the way there you kept glancing at Zemo to see if he acted any different. Fortunately he just kept to himself. Did he notice your intimate moment this morning? His expression revealed no answers. Following Sharon in the maze of cargos she led you to one particular one, handing you each an ear piece. “I’ll keep and eye out for you while you talk to Nagel” she says “thanks Sharon, for everything you’ve done so far” “just hurry people” you nod and all pile into the container.

Finding it completely empty, you do some searching until Zemo finds a secret door leading to a downstairs lab, an upbeat song playing in the distance. Walking down one by one you find a man filling test tubes up with some sort of liquid. Bucky stops the music and he turns around, shocked to find us standing there guns raised. “Who are you what do you want” ignoring his first question you state “you recreated the super soldier serum” after being told to get out of his lab you had no option but to threaten him. Nagel looked just like the crazy scientist you expect him to be, his calculating voice didn’t help that imagery.

“I’m not saying anything” you roll your eyes. This guy does not understand how this is supposed to work. You step forward until you were in front of him. “I can burn you alive from the inside out by making your blood boil, starting from your feet, then your legs, then to your heart, so I suggest you start talking” disbelief was prominent on his face so you summon up a flame around his ankles. “Okay!” He down right screamed. He begins to explain how he created the serum and how it was stolen by a girl named Karli.

“Guys we have company” Sharon says over the device. Shit how have they found us so quickly?

“Is there any serum here?” Sam asks. “No” was all he said. Sharon runs in “we’re seriously out of time”. Bang! A gunshot sounds through the lab. Zemo was holding the gun, now being restrained by Sam and Sharon. Seconds after, you were thrown back against a wall, the noise of an explosion had blinded your ears. Things were breaking and smashing all around you. Your whole body ached from the force that had lifted you into the air.

You hadn’t realise how much derby covered your body until a strong hand lifted you out of the rubble. None other than Zemo was now guiding you out of the collapsing lab and out into the open. “Are you okay?” That was the second time he’d asked you that today. “I’m fine” you were slightly annoyed at him. You were perfectly capable to getting out of there yourself, you’ve experienced worse. Guns were being fired and you both duck. You pull out your gun and start shooting back. “Did you steal that from somewhere?” “what? how did you-“ “they all have trackers on them, this is how they must have found us so soon” he looks at you. The one thing you didn’t want to do was get your friends hurt, and now you have led them right into a trap. “I..I didn’t know”. You were disappointed in yourself, and when you looked over towards the others, now also fighting these bargain hunters, that feeling turned to anger. Anger at yourself for being so stupid. You felt your body fill with energy.

The bargain hunters started shooting at you again, making you explode with rage. Without another word you start to run towards the men standing a few metres away from you, and send a monstrous flame, racing towards them. You let them find you. Another burst of flames in the other direction, engulfing the unfortunate soul in a living hell. You put your friends in harms way. The men started running away now. You couldn’t let them get away. You needed them dead. Fire burnt in your eyes, and death shone upon you, guiding you to them. You felt yourself loose control. Loose that sense of focus you had before, your task was to find them, and make them suffer for your mistake. It was the only way to stop that feeling of guilt building in you. If you deal with the threat then was there really any harm done?

Zemo had been watching your fiery battle in astonishment. He couldn’t move, he could only watch you gracefully send those men to their deaths. Only when he saw you move once again, following the guys running for their lives, did he run after you. “Y/n stop”. You spin around ready to fight whoever that voice belonged to. You stopped short. “Darling I think they’re gone now”

“No” you say forcefully and in a gravelly voice. “They want to hurt us”. You were not yourself anymore. You were only the killing machine you were trained to be. Zemo takes a few small steps towards you. “They’re gone” he repeats, taking another few paces. You look down on your hands, flames licking them. You had let yourself become the person you swore to keep away. “ you’re okay now” Zemo rips you out of that thought. You couldn’t find anymore words to say but “I’m sorry” you whisper, your eyes began to well up with tears. The baron reaches his hand out carefully, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

Before he could reach you however, your knees hit the solid ground and your face falls into your hands. Zemo quickly follows your action and wraps his protective arms around you, letting you bury your head into his chest. At that moment you didn’t care who he is or what he had done. You didn’t care how this would affect your future. All you wanted to do was crawl in a hole and stay there for the rest of eternity. “It’s okay your safe now”. Your mind was spinning with thoughts. It felt like you would never be able to escape them ever again. Zemo strokes the back of your head as he rests his chin on top of it, locking you into that embrace. You felt the most vulnerable at that point but yet so safe.

On the way to the airport you separate from Sharon. No one questions your blank expression as you look out of the car window. They had all seen your outburst. All knew better than to talk to you while your were like this. It was better for you to have space to think. Zemo had helped you get to the car, after you calmed down a little. Now being emotionally and physically drained, you wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped you. Would you ever have ever returned to your normal self if he didn’t come for you?

Back in the jet Zemo was preparing something in the small kitchen at the front of the plane and Sam and Bucky were discussing the next move. You were sat away from them, staring aimlessly out of the window again, pretending to be interested in something outside. A few moments later Zemo hands you a cup of tea that you presumed was cherry blossom from the look of it. You give a very small smile and return to your staring. He leaves and a few minutes later returns with a blanket, silently suggesting to you to get some rest.

You sip at your drink and feel yourself drift away from reality. “How is she” a faint voice asks. “By the look of things mostly just tired now” a different voice whispers. “I should talk to her when she wakes up” “are you sure that’s a good idea.” “It might help” that was all you heard as you travelled to the world of dreams.

Note~

I know these aren’t the longest ever but the next part should be up in a day or so! Hope you enjoy 😊

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose​

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

Let Me Try Something? - Din Djarin x Reader

This is part 3 to the Forget Me Not Series 

A/n: Thank you so much everyone who has reblogged and been enjoying this series. You guys are so sweet and I am so happy that I can write for all of you lovely people. I hope you guys like this chapter!!!

Summary: As you and Din get closer and more comfortable with one another, you try and spark more memeories. 

Warnings: mature themes, memory loss, female reader 

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A warm weight rests around your waist, holding you to the very firm yet impossibly comfy pillow you are laying on. Maker, that was the best you’ve slept since… ever. It’s like you’re a new person. But now, as you try to piece together where you are, you realize the pillow is breathing.

Opening your eyes, even as they protest, you find yourself staring up at a sleeping warrior. His head leans on his folded arm, mouth slightly open as soft snores fall from his throat. The other arm wraps around your form and keeps you secure. Feet have entangled with your own as you lay between his legs.

Shuffling slowly up his body, you press a kiss to his cheek. Tucking yourself away in his neck, you close your eyes again and find yourself falling back into a slumber.

Your husband takes in a long breath and his hand starts to trail up and down your spine. It sends shivers up and down your body. In gratitude, you press a kiss to the spot just beneath his ear. He hums his approval and rubs his scruffy cheek against your head, much like an oversized dog.

You giggle as his facial hair tickles your skin and you roll away from him. His arms reach out for you to try and pull you back into his hold. “Hold on I have to pee.”

Groaning, his arms fall to his side. “Hurry.”

He is just as you left him, eyes closed and arms waiting to be wrapped around your body. “Good morning.” You crawl back towards him and press a kiss to his lips.

That seems to have woken him from his unfaltering slumber. He pulls you back against his lips as you start to lean away. “Morning.” He mumbles through kisses.

You move to straddle his hips and lean away from him. His muscles flutter and his eyes close as you scratch your nails down from his face, along his neck, across his firm pecs, and back up to trail along his biceps. Your thumbs press into particularly tight areas, trying to soothe out the knots and pinched nerves he has.

“Mmm, cyare.” His hands grip at your hips and squeeze when you press harder into a sore muscle. You grin, happy that you can elicit these sounds from him. But it really takes the cake when you feel something twitch beneath you. Gasping, you bite your lip and start to move your hips along his own.

Your husband's eyes open wide. “No, cyare, no.” His hands easily lift you off of him as he stands.

The sharp pang of rejection rings out through your bones. You look down at the blanket as tears start to form. You bring your knees as close to your body as you can, trying to form a ball and disappear from the world.

His eyes soften as he realizes his mistake. “No… I-... Look, I’m not ready for this. I don’t want you to think that you have to do this.”

You look up from where you had tucked yourself away, teardrops falling down your cheeks. His hand reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s not you. Don’t even start to think that this is your fault. I just… everything was ripped away so quickly and now we’re moving almost too fast. I just need some time to process. Alright?” You nod your head. It makes sense, it has only been a little over a week. But you can’t ignore the way your heart has crashed to the floor.

You just wanted to make him happy, to be who you were before.

“I need to go check something in the cockpit alright?” He gives you one last glance before climbing up the ladder and away from you.

***

You’re sitting right next to the mandalorian as he pilots the ship. You can’t even imagine what it must be like to be in his shoes. For someone you loved and trusted the most in life to suddenly forget every single thing about you. To be demoted down to nothing, to start over from scratch. To wake up everyday and see the lost memory of your lover.

Oh.

It would be so easy for him to just give up and leave you. Then he wouldn’t have to ever think of you again. He wouldn’t have to look at you and know what he lost.

But no, he’s stayed right along with you. He gives you everything you need and ask for as soon as he can. You smile as you remember the second night after the incident. “Can you show me where the tea is?”

He was in the middle of fuzing a couple wires together, but as soon as he heard your voice he literally dropped everything and gave you his full attention. “Tea? Yeah it’s over here.” He reaches up into a cabinet and pulls a tin can down. “Do you want some? Here, I’ll get the water started, you just go sit down, I’ve got it.”

He loves you so much.

He’s offered you so much compassion and care. Making sure every one of your needs are met. And making sure you’re okay.

Looking up at him as he pilots you see him in a new light… a softer light. Recently you have been thinking of yourself, not even noticing what this must be like for him.

“Hey, ummm, I’m sorry for this morning. I should have realized how abrupt it was and how it made you uncomfortable.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes scanning over your face. “No, cyare, you have no reason to be sorry. I just want to wait a little bit.” He reaches out and grabs one of your hands, squeezing it as he says, “I don’t want to spark any memories too sudden.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. When you giggle his face softens. “But I’m serious, I don’t want you to use too much energy too quickly.”

“You’re too good to me.”

***

The next few days are filled with the quiet routine of your lives.

You’re once again in your spot to his right as he pilots through the universe. It’s a few hours into today’s trip and you’re starting to get bored. The child is asleep down below in his hammock so you don't have anyone to play with.

Din, seeming to be in the same boat, or he just noticed your fiddling says, “It’s too quiet, how about some music?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, come on, we’ll go eat some lunch too.” He grabs your hand and leads you to the main hull. You start to prepare the rations as he flips through a hologram, pressing buttons and waving with his fingers.

A melody fills the air. It’s a tad upbeat while still not being fast. Your head tilts as your mind works. This tune… it’s almost familiar.

“Wait.” Your husband turns from the speaker to look at you. “Why- how…” Suddenly you feel the need to move; like an invisible force has pushed you into the center of the room. “Come here.” You reach out for him.

He walks over and stands opposite to you. As if on a silent cue, you take his hand and start to move along the song. As you gain confidence, you give up control and let your body lead you.

The two of you spin and dance in a way that could only be practiced for many hours. Your hand stays enveloped in his even as your eyes widen. Your feet move on their own, carrying you around and with his body.

Suddenly, memories of laughter and the strong smell of beer fill your head. Almost as clear as day, you look around you can see different mandalorians surrounding you and your husband as you dance. They all watch you in earnest, raising their filled glasses and loudly cheering for the new couple. They drink as much as they can through their straws, allowing them to not take their helmet off.

The armorer sits with some children as she points at you. She nods her head at you. It is now when you realize your arms are covered in white lace. A wedding dress.

It’s beautiful, more beautiful than you ever could have wished for. The skirt flows with your every move, intricate lace decorates and accentuates your frame. Your sleeves, tight near the top but fall into long tendrils of fabric. As you twist and spin, it follows you and makes you feel even lighter on your feet.

The song you were originally dancing too suddenly turns softer, slower. You wrap your arms around Din’s neck and his large hands grab your waist, bringing you close to him as the two of you sway along.

When his forehead touches your own, you snap out of the flashback. You’re met with a pair of curious golden eyes. They skim over your face, searching for any tell of your emotion, any twitch or pull of a muscle that signals him of your thoughts.

“I-... this song,” His eyes widen as he slowly nods his head, “this dance.” A smile forms on his lips, the dimple becoming deeper as the skin around his eyes wrinkle.

As you try and piece together the final bits of the memory, a wave of emotion runs over you, almost knocking you down in the process. The intense feeling of just pure love, so simple that it’s almost complicated. Your heart swells, threatening to push past your ribcage. A gasp rips itself from your throat.

You remember. You remember how magical the day had been, almost as if it was a dream. The smile you would try to hide, but ultimately failed to, as the two of you stood before the Armorer. The vows you repeated back and forth. The cold touch of his helmet to your head.

The happiness you felt that day was like no other. Finally, after so many years, you were able to call him yours. Even now, your cheeks hurt as you recall the eternal smile you held. The covert gladly celebrated along with you two. Laughter and cheers filled the halls for the entire night.

Tears spring to your eyes, as you think of the end of the night. Sat before him in a private secluded room, nerves ablaze as he slid the helmet off his face. As each bit of skin was revealed to you, your eyes widened. Two lips, lips crafted by the gods. A strong handsome nose. Then, those curls. Those soft brown curls that frame his face perfectly.

And finally two enchanting eyes.

Eyes that hold so much emotion. Eyes that convey a long story with a single glance. Eyes that stare into your soul, and instead of making you feel small and weak, they urge you to grow, to let him in. Eyes that you love.

“Cyar’ika… you haven’t said anything.” You recall him saying, timid and insecure.

“Wow.” It’s all you could say, because he literally took every word from your head. The perfect and exact example of speechlessness.

Once again, you are snapped back into reality when a hand cups your cheek. Closing your eyes, you shake your head slightly and return your focus onto the man in front of you.

“That night, it was so special.”

“What night, cyare? Come on tell me.” Swirls of excitement sparkle in his eyes, his voice only proving his eagerness.

“Our wedding night. I remember the loud cheers as we did this exact dance and the fierce love I held for you.”

He nods his head frantically. “Do you remember anything else?”

Smiling you nod in sync with him, giggling at the fast pace. “So much. I remember how warm your hands were as they held mine before the armorer. I remember my dress. I remember how I could feel your eyes on me through the visor. I remember that night when he went back to our room and I finally saw you for the first time. I remember how I could only say wow.”

He chuckles as he kisses both your cheeks. “You were so beautiful that day, you still are. But then, in your white dress, all pretty for me, it was amazing. I felt like I was the luckiest man alive.”

As the song slows to an end, the two of you continue swaying. He tells you stories of that day, filling in the blanks your mind didn't. He tells you how when you walked down that aisle, he felt like his soul had left his body; in a good way he assures you.

The two of you laugh as you converse about the details. Specifically him telling you it's a shame you have forgotten the taste of the wedding cake. It was “like nothing you have ever tasted before.”

Babbles sound from the ground, and when you look down you are met with the outstretched arms of the child. “Hey little guy.” You lean down and pick him up, placing him in your arms. He coos and your husband rubs one of his large ears.

His little hands slap at your cheeks as he smiles, babbling to you about something.

“I know, I did remember something. Hopefully I’ll start to remember our memories too.” You smile at the child before looking up and meeting the warm eyes of your mandalorian. “But, slowly and within our own time.”

Overjoyed with your response, your husband smiles and wraps the two of you into his arms. “I love you cyare.”

“I love you too.”

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Next Part: Know That I Love You

So yeah, I hope you all liked it. I’ve really been enjoying writing this series! 

Please consider reblogging, it really helps me out as a smaller blog. I also just love hearing what you all have to say, it makes my day! 

Love you all, Lordy :) 

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Escape

Prompt:  I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with from @masterofthedarkness‘ 300 follower writing challenge! Congratulations again Val, I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re having a bad day and your crush seems to notice

Warnings: Mention of injury (not your own), mention of alcohol

Word count: 2k

A/n: So I had a complete brain flop writing this and forgot that Snape was not, in fact, teaching potions in the Marauders era. However, I’ve written the fic now and don’t have the energy to change it, so consider this an AU of sorts? (Putting in bold bc I keep getting comments about it)

Fic:

It started the moment you woke up. You couldn’t explain why but all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed, wrap the duvet round you, and hide from the world. It was as though your energy had been sucked out of you, leaving a shell that felt too heavy. And yet you were a good student, you couldn’t stand missing lessons, plus you didn’t want anyone worrying about you. Which is why, in spite of your body’s groaning protests, you heaved yourself out of your dorm and down to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

Your friends were talking animatedly around you, occasionally trying to get you to join in the conversation, but all you offered in response were weak smiles and one word replies. As a last resort your best fried Beth tried bringing up your crush, Sirius. The topic normally excited you, but today it was just a reminder that nothing would happen between you, and you became even more withdrawn. Luckily your friends understood - you wanted to be near them but weren’t up to their early morning gossip - so they stayed with you but didn’t try to get you to speak anymore.

As always, halfway through your meal the owls swooped into the hall, bringing newspapers, letters, and the occasional parcel. Mild surprise filled you at the sight of your own family’s owl Lolly settling in front of you. You stroked her head before gently untying the small, crumpled letter attached to her leg, and she nipped your finger affectionately. Your parents didn’t send you letters very often, and you were stumped as to what could be written inside. You took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

Unfolding the parchment carefully revealed your mum’s scrawled handwriting. Odd. Normally your dad would write the letters; he found it calming to sit with his parchment and special quill after a long day as an auror, pondering his words for a while to make his messages as concise as possible. He said the process was therapeutic. But when you read the words inside it made sense, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know. Dad was injured at work. The healers say it’s treatable but he’ll be in St Mungo’s for a while. Hope school is going ok. Love Mum xx”

Swallowing your tears down, you let the letter fall from your hands and settle on the table. You forced your eyes to look up, away from the words, and you could’ve sworn you caught Sirius watching you from across the hall. As soon as you’d thought it, he’d already turned back to his friends, and you shook your head at yourself. So desperate that you were imagining interactions with your crush. Pathetic. You lay your hand in Lolly’s warm fur, focussing on how soft she felt between your fingers, trying to push the rest of your thoughts to the back of your mind. Breaking down in the middle of the Great Hall was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your lessons did nothing to help your mood. In transfiguration you were supposed to be turning rats into clocks. By the end of the class most students had done it perfectly, but your clock had a tail instead of an hour hand, and instead of ticking it squeaked with every passing second. You felt so deflated, the only thought that kept you going was getting back to your dorm at the end of the day and hiding in your bed. Maybe finding some firewhiskey too to dull the aching you felt when your thoughts drifted to your dad in a hospital bed. In fact, what you really wanted, the one thing that might bring you peace, was to have someone hold you. Not just someone. Sirius. But you knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. You couldn’t event transfigure a rat, you’d never be good enough.

You had mixed feelings as you made your way to your last lesson of the day. After this you were free for the evening, but first you had to endure an hour of Snape’s teaching, and his judgement of you. Potions was your worst subject and Snape made a point of noticing every little thing you did wrong. Begrudgingly you approached the dungeons, the echo of your footsteps was all that filled the empty corridors. Most of the time Hogwarts felt familiar, but in times like these it felt cold and unforgiving, emphasising the loneliness that was building in your chest. Wait- why was no one else in the corridors? With a jolt you realised that you’d spent so long lost in your thoughts between lessons that you were late. Your steps sped into a run, and when you finally burst through the door to Snape’s dungeon, he stopped mid sentence to scowl at you. Everyone else turned towards you too, so many pairs of eyes drilling into you. You willed the stone floor to swallow you whole.

“I will not tolerate students showing up late to my class.” You gulped, trying to suppress your heavy-breathing as you awaited your punishment. “I’d have thought you of all people would want to be present for the whole lesson. Then you might finally brew a decent potion. Alas…” he trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. You felt your cheeks burn, your head hung low. “Detention. After class you will scrub everyone’s cauldrons clean. No magic allowed.” It was all you could do to nod. You felt so defeated as you stood at the table beside Beth that you almost didn’t notice the small explosion a few tables behind you. You whipped your head around, and- no, you definitely weren’t imagining it this time- Sirius winked at you as Snape stalked between the desks towards the commotion. He glared down at Sirius.

“Looks like Y/L/N won’t be alone in detention.” He sneered, and weaved his way to the front of the class without another word. Your jaw was slack and Beth nudged you with her elbow. 

“He did that on purpose!” She whisper-yelled. Your jaw was slack, not quite sure if you believed her.

“Well- well maybe it was an accident? Or he did it for fun?” Your excuses were weak even to your own ears. But why would he want to be in detention with you?

Seconds stretched into minutes as you willed the time away. Thankfully Beth was good at potions so she did most of the work, telling you which ingredients to chop and when to add them to the cauldron. Snape still found things to fault but you just tuned his voice out, feeling like you were watching the scene through a window instead of being in it yourself.

Eventually the class was dismissed, and Beth gave you a sympathetic smile and mouthed “good luck” as she left the room. When it was just you, Sirius and Snape left, he held a hand out to each of you.

“Wands.” Reluctantly you and Sirius both placed your wands in his hands, not quite meeting his eye as you did so. “I want the equipment spotless.” With that he left the room. Despite feeling as bad as you did, you couldn’t help your heartbeat quickening at the thought of being alone with Sirius.

Avoiding his eye, you crossed the room to the cupboard full of cleaning supplies, dirty cauldrons being the only thing that stood in the way of you and the relative peace of your dorm. You felt his gaze on the back of your head.

“What?” You kept your focus on the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies to find what you needed.

“Are you ok?” After a moment, you turned to face him, throwing a sponge which he caught effortlessly, without breaking eye-contact.

“I’ve been better.” You didn’t elaborate, instead getting to work scrubbing the grime off the cauldron closest to you. Sirius abandoned his sponge, coming to stand on the opposite side of your table, watching your determined face as you tried to get one particularly tough spot of dragon-bogey off the side of the cauldron. He found himself admiring the way you furrowed your brows as you concentrated, the way your tongue poked out slightly from between your lips. Those lips. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how it would take double the time to clean if Sirius didn’t do his half. Subconsciously you squeezed your sponge tighter until your knuckles turned white.

“I bet I could make you feel better.” You huffed. Sure you had feelings for Sirius, but he could still be infuriating.

“I bet you could.”

His eyes twinkled, surprised that you’d joined in with his flirting. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His hopes were soon shattered as you replied.

“By helping me clean so we can leave this bloody dungeon.” Sirius was taken aback. You never normally snapped at people, and he was just trying to be nice. Godric, he’d got himself a detention just so you wouldn’t be alone.

“You know what? Fine.” He stormed back over to his sponge and started cleaning the cauldron furthest away from you. The two of you scrubbed in silence for a while, making decent progress on the cauldrons, but you felt guilt creeping in at the way you’d treated him. The guilt, the tiredness, the worry about your dad, all of it swirled through your thoughts in a perpetual loop until you couldn’t help it anymore. You let out a small sob, trying your best to be quiet, but in the otherwise silent room Sirius heard it perfectly. He abandoned his cauldron, rushing over to embrace you in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He had no clue what to say, but the silence didn’t bother you. It gave you a chance to work through your feelings. 

After a while you pulled away, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for darling.” He rested his hand on your arm for a moment, waiting to see if you wanted to say anything else. When you just smiled, he returned the smile, before going back to cleaning the cauldrons. This time the silence that filled the room was comfortable, both of you lost in thought. Finally, arms aching, the two of you finished your last cauldrons, and Sirius went to Snape’s office to collect your wands. You sat on the floor outside the classroom waiting for him, picking at a loose thread on your robe. When Sirius returned he handed you your wand, and slid down the wall so he was sitting next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder, whispering into the corridor.

“Thank you.” 

Sirius wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “What for?”

“I know you got that detention on purpose. Just- thank you for being there.”

“Not a problem darling.” His fingers traced tender circles on your shoulder, and you felt yourself melting in to him. Being so close to him you thought you’d be nervous, but instead you felt peaceful. Safe. 

Sirius broke the silence. “What’s going on?” It was almost a whisper, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve asked, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own. He needed you to know that he was there to listen.

“It’s just- it’s a bit of everything, y’know? I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” You laughed at how stupid that sounded, but Sirius took your hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I’ve got some firewhisky in my room?” It came out as a question.

You turned so you were face-to-face.

“And the cuddles?”

“I’m sure I’ve got some of those to spare too.” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle in turn. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. Then he stood up, helping you off the floor after him, and your hands stayed connected the whole walk back to his common room.

End

A/N: I hope you liked it (regardless of the Snape/Sirius timeline error oopsies)! If you did feel free to give feedback or check out my other stuff, and also give Val (@masterofthedarkness) a follow if you haven’t already! <3

any human friend • graham coxon/reader

i know its been a while but at last its here! thank u so much for the prompt anon, hope u didn’t give up on me n i hope u guys enjoy it jkhkdjd loved writing this fic so much

word count: 2.873 pairing: graham/fem!reader

It’s a Saturday. Usually, you always have plans with your friends after your concerts, but for different reasons they all canceled that day's meeting. Life was tough for artists on the rise. The week had been exhausting enough that you wouldn't give up drinking to forget about your problems. When you arrive at the pub, you don’t recognize any familiar face, and, somewhat disappointed, you sit next to a man with graying hair who is very concentrated on his phone.

A bummer of a night for such a talkative girl.

“One pint of lager and a packet of crisps, please.” You order, mindlessly tapping on the table to the beat of a random rhythm. You kept stealing sideways glances at the man sitting by your side. 

“Can’t believe she did this.” The man mutters, still very concentrated on whatever he was watching or reading. You, for a split second, thought he was judging your very basic order for some reason but then noticed he just thought out loud, and you joke: “What’s wrong with my order, mate?”

This takes him out of his trance as he awkwardly and quickly apologizes, and while you calm him down you notice he’s one of the artists that shared the stage with you on The Nightingale earlier that day. He was absolutely incredible - you wanted to tell him how much you enjoyed his music but didn’t get the chance. Well, apparently now’s the time. “Wait, I saw you playing today.” is what you say, mid sentence, a little starstruck even though, just like you, he wasn’t famous. You were at the same page in a matter of stardom, actually. He blushes and smiles, and after he takes a long sip of his drink, he asks: “And did you like it?” 

“A lot!” You answer a little too excitedly, containing yourself so you don’t scare him away. Music was always a topic that excited you to the point of making you tremble sometimes. “Um, you’re an awesome songwriter. I played in The Nightingale today too, I don’t know if you were already there when I played. My name's Y/N, by the way. You’re Graham, right?”

“I actually arrived when you were at the stage. And yes, I-I'm Graham, nice to meet you, Y/N.” he chuckles, giving you his entire attention after he shakes your hand. Turns out you’ve found a company on this lonely Saturday night. “You’re an awesome singer, I’m quite honored to hear that you enjoyed my show.” 

It was now your turn to blush, and you playfully motion as if dismissing his comment. “You were something else. ‘In The Morning’? I think that was the name of the first song?” He nods, basking on the attention his work has gotten from a fellow artist, and you continue: “Your playing alone somehow sounded like 3 different guitars on that one. Don’t Believe Anything I Say was a favorite of mine too, what an earworm.” 

“You remember the names.” He notes, genuinely surprised and… happy. “Your voice blew me away too. You… you were stellar.”

God knows how hard it is to make a name for yourself. Actually, to make people just pay attention to what you’re doing when you aren’t a commercially successful musician is really tough. You know how you feel when you’re complimented in that sense, and you’re shocked that Graham’s artistry has been ignored all this time. He truly deserves the praise, and you want to give it to him.

“Thank you, you’re too kind. I mean, how could I not remember the names of your songs? They’re fantastic. For how long you’ve been playing?” Your order arrives, and you eat your crisps while he talks about the role music has had in his life. His reveal that it’s just a hobby to him surprises you.

“And what do you do for a living?”

“I paint. I’m a visual artist.” He steals some of your chips. “I enjoy it just as much as I like to play, but only painting is putting money in my pocket. What about you?”

“I actually work at a bank, but I’m trying to make music my main job. Do you plan on changing careers in the future, or…?”

“Oh, no. I’m too old to be a rockstar.” He ruffles his hair, timidly. There was something about this man. He’s quirky and seemingly distrait at his absurd musical talent, you almost feel offended at what he says about himself. 

He also has super broad shoulders and his arms are somehow really strong and his lips inviting but you push these thoughts to the back of your mind. He’s a total stranger, after all. An adorable and extremely talented stranger, but still a stranger.

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re awesome, bloody hell, I became a fan of yours just from that gig and music’s just a hobby to you. I imagine you’re bloody Da Vinci when painting.”

“I’m really not all that, I swear.” He laughs. "Something I found curious was that you only stuck to covers. Why is that?"

“Oh. You noticed.” You answer, a little embarrassed. “I’m still not that confident in my own material. I write songs, but… let’s say I trust my music taste way more for now.” He nods in understanding. “But before you lecture me though,” he chuckles at your energy as you continue ranting. “I know how important it is for me to sing my own songs, I’m just building up courage to do it. I still think they’re stupid.”

“The only way to find out is to play them. People make all sorts of faces. It’s like a thermometer.”

“It’s true.” You down some of your pint in hopes it gives you more stuff to talk about. “Which of my songs you liked the most?” 

“Well, they’re not your songs,” he jokes, and you share a laugh. 

“Shush. Go on,”

“But I quite enjoyed your rendition of that Fiona Apple song and Wild Time. Also your cover of Band on The Run was really great. Not everyone nails that one.”

“Thank you. Those were my favorites too.”

“But I’m looking forward to seeing you again with your own material. Blend them with the others, depending on who you were influenced by, they’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right. Thanks for the words of wisdom, Graham.”

“No problem.” He pauses for an instant. “You’re a regular here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m here with my friends every Saturday night, but they all cancelled on me last minute. Some of them went to see me play, at least.”

“Huh. That’s rare enough. You were lucky.”

“I know. Did... anyone you know... come to see you?” You know what you were trying to ask him, and he knew too.

“Um… Someone used to.”

“What happened?”

“We weren’t exactly right for each other.” he smiled wistfully. “Did someone other than your friends… see you?”

“Not really, no.”

A comfortable silence hangs between you two, as both of you share some shy smiles. A song by The Smiths starts playing in the background, and that’s enough to get the gear of a nice talk running once again. You really liked this man. Gradually, he talks more about himself, and also learns so much about you in the span of a few hours. 

As you feel more comfortable and used to his presence, you allow the back of your hand to brush against his a few times as you pick up your food. You give no indication you noticed the weight of his gaze, and you feel the butterflies fluttering on your belly. After eating and having a few more drinks, you were out on the sidewalk. 

There's nothing you loved more than the aftermath of afternoon storms. The earthy scent that permeates the city's dusk while its lights are reflecting off the wet asphalt, the mysterious aura that hovers over every street is something that really speaks to your senses, in a way. You also loved how those lights now reflected in Graham’s eyes. He offers to walk you home - after you tell him where you live he agrees it’s indeed not very far. Those who walk past you might think you’ve been friends for years. 

As he walks you up to your door, you feel he’s reluctant to say goodbye. And so are you. 

And the inevitable question escapes from your lips.

“Will I see you again?”

“I… I hope so.” He answers, somewhat relieved you asked. “Whenever you feel like it. And… whenever you’re free, of course.”

“I’d love to. Actually… Graham, if you can, of… of course, I-I want you to stay tonight.”

He blinks, as if the invite went completely over his head. You giggle, and make your intent more clear.  “Gosh, don’t make me repeat myself. I want you to come inside.”

“Inside, yes,” he blushes, his eyes shining. He reacts like a flustered, yet excited, teenager.  “Of course. I want to stay too, then.”

-

You were definitely not expecting to bring someone home tonight, so your flat is a cozy mess you try to conceal as coyly as you can. You show him to the couch, and after handing him another beer, you go to the kitchen to fiddle with your temperamental oven to try and get it to warm up enough to cook a frozen pizza. While you wait for it to cook, you stand in the balcony, watching him from afar still wondering about the courage you mustered to bring him home.

His eyes met yours, and there it was, that cute, easy smile of his again. He sighs, as if silently asking what was going to happen next. And you answer. “I barely ate anything today because I was so nervous I was finally playing on The Nightingale. I know we ate already but I’m still hungry, sorry for being anticlimactic.”

“Don’t worry.” He looks around, a little nervous. I guess that’s a first for him too, you think. “Cute place.”

“I recently moved so there’s still a lot to unpack, but I haven’t had the time.”

Small talk ensues, and after you finally eat what you need, you share the couch with him - in a somewhat of a bold move, but just to show how comfortable you feel around him, you place your head over his shoulder. His arms fall over yours.

“Thanks for not letting me spend my Saturday night alone.” You murmur, positioning yourself so your face is closer and facing his. He tends to speak with his brown eyes - which are now cast on your mouth. He answers by very calmly slipping his hands below your ears, making you shiver, and pulling you to a tender kiss.

Then he says, “Thank you for having me.”

He kisses you fully now as you arch into him. His hands are now inside of your coat, teasing to take it off, but before they explore your skin further than your sides, he asks if they can, if you’re comfortable with going all the way. You nod, positively impatient. After a few more heated moments of kisses, you now find yourself on your back, with just your bra and jeans on, his weight on top of you as his lips travel down your jawline and your neck. His fingers run tantalizingly through the hem of your high-waisted jeans. “Planning on taking that off any time soon?” he whispers. 

“I was afraid you might think I was going too fast if I went any further, actually,” you giggle. “Do the honors.”

“My pleasure.” 

After he takes it off you, he pulls you closer to him, your bare skin against his still very clothed one, and you wrap your legs around his waist, once again trying to be as near and physically intimate with him as possible. He seemed to want that too, slowly rocking his hips against yours, groaning softly. “Please get rid of those too,” You whine, voice slightly breathy, tugging lightly at his striped shirt. Your wish is his command. 

Now that he’s shirtless, if he was already an eyeful to you before, you absolutely can’t take your eyes off his body now. He’s surprisingly fit for his age, though that wasn’t something you were particularly meticulous about. You were aching for him, painfully wet, and your anticipation was almost tangible in the air you shared - he detected it, apparently, and you hear the slightest waver in his voice when he adjusts himself to slowly begin stroking you over your underwear. “Tell me if I’m going too hard.” The softness of his voice made you shiver. You nodded, not intending to tell him anything of the sort as you pressed yourself harder into the soft pads of his fingers, gradually picking up speed. In a few more moments, you were worked up enough to nearly panting. 

You pull your panties to the side and guide his hand to your heat directly. His other hand lifts your chin. “You want to see my face while you touch me, right?” you asked, voice smokey. He huffed gently, eyes darting away, a light blush spreading on his cheeks while your breath starts to falter. You don’t know what does it, exactly – the slow and deliberate circling on your clit, the lingering over skin that makes you whimper your pleasure, or the gentle flick of a finger over the small bead of nerve endings, but suddenly everything is blurry starbursts and your body is spasming with the intensity of your orgasm.

You let out a sound that’s hallway between a whimper and a sigh as reality blurs back into your consciousness. As you come down from your high, you try to say something but your voice doesn’t seem to be working quite yet, so instead you shut your eyes and let out a long breath. That had been intense. You wonder what Graham has in store for you next. 

His finger then enters you without warning and your hips buck involuntarily into the penetration. You clench around him, gnawing at your bottom lip as he eased his finger in and out of you. You closed your eyes and shuddered at how good it felt. He pushed two in deep and crooked his fingers. You felt a flush of new heat radiate from your middle. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, shakily, and sank into it.

“I don’t intend to.” He coos as he presses the pads of his fingers against the walls of your pussy. Involuntarily, you made this needy guttural sound you’d never heard from yourself before. You wanted to ask what he was doing to you. While it felt good, it was different. There was a new kind of tension now. It wasn’t like your first climax. This was hot and urgent and taut like a fist clenching. You writhed on the couch and mewled for something. 

Feeling you were close once again, he abruptly stops his movements - that fucker! - to your clear dissatisfaction - and rids himself of the rest of his clothes. His size intimidates you a bit, but you were determined to make it work. Once his hips are adjusted to meet yours once again and he puts on protection, after a few more kisses and a few more hard breaths, he is inside you, hands not leaving your clit this time as the eager hips of both of you started to settle into a cohesive pace.

"So fucking tight," he breathes. Your fingers dig into his skin as he's getting faster and more urgent with every thrust. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are half closed, and you tilt your face up and kiss him sloppily. There is no possibility for precision. Your bodies are rocking back and forth together too quickly for that. He grabs your ass, drinking in the moans he pulls out of you. "Come on my cock, baby, touch yourself for me," He murmurs into your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. Your attempt at a reply is cut off by another moan, pleasure overriding your senses. 

He isn’t going to last very long, not if he keeps fucking you like his sole purpose is tearing you apart. And neither will you, as one of your hands goes to your clit and moves in sync with his hard thrusts. You want to tell him that you're about to come, but you can’t, you can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone coherent phrases, so you tighten the hand that’s gripping his arm tight and you press a bruising kiss to his lips while you clench around him, hoping it’s enough. Seconds after, judging by the way his breath falters and his pace becomes slightly more mechanical before it slows down and stops, you guess that has done it for him too. You stay some long minutes in that position after you're both done, completely spent.

He pulls out of you after he gives your forehead a small kiss. "That was amazing." He smiles, voice still a little breathy. "You're incredible in every way."

"So are you, and I didn't even know about that talent of yours."

"Got some more time for me to show you the rest of them?" 

"Definitely."

SELF-CARE MONDAY

Paring: Dean x reader

Prompt: In which you’re in dire need of a bath, but Dean and a spell end up changing your plans. Still, you could call it a self-care Monday, because it was fun.

Warnings: NONE, it feels like it might go to smut at some points but is just pure fluff.

It had been a long day, you were only getting back from a hunt and you were in dire need of a shower. But you were so tired, you convinced yourself that, since you had taken down an entire vampire nest earlier, you deserved a good long self-care Monday. Luckily, today was Monday. And what is more self-care than a good long bath? And the bunker HAD a bath. Granted, it was rarely used since the showers were faster and it was easier to get all the grime out on them. But today, you needed a bath.

Or at least that’s how you persuaded yourself to walk into the big rarely used bathroom and start running the bath. You found some essential oils around, they were mostly for spells and witchcraft, but they were still essential oils so they would do fine. The lavender one convinced you so you dumped a bit on the bathtub. Then, you grabbed some dried petals and added those in too. Some book somewhere on the bunker said something about dry daisy petals being amazing for recharging you energies or something similar, so you thought you’d give the spell a try. Obviously, it was something simple and you could’ve easily found similar things online, but this was real magic. And boy you need recharging quite badly.

You used the showers to take off the grime and as you walked out with a towel around your body you bumped onto Sam. “Rested?” he asked, he’d seen you come from the old hunt and evidently you were exhausted.

“Not yet, but I’ll be like new in a few hours,” you smiled.

“That’s some really nice positive thinking,” he complimented, obviously he didn’t know you were actually going to test some magic spells, but he’d seem so happy from the idea that you were thinking positively that you decided against correcting him.

You kept walking and after getting a nice scented candle you kept in your room you walked onto the bathroom. The one with the bathtub on it. The water looked bubbly already and after you chanted the words on the paper it turned a Caribbean sea turquoise. You shrugged and got it. You immediately felt better. It was like sleeping for 3 consecutive nights, you felt so revitalized that if someone walked in and told you there was a hunt on the west coast you’d be happy to help. You had to do this spell more often, you thought to yourself.

After a couple of minutes, when you were almost falling asleep you heard the door burst open. Your instincts kicked in and you quickly turned towards the moving figure on the darkness.

The light was turned on then and a very confused Dean appeared. “(y/n)? Wow, I’m sorry… I didn’t know… I mean I didn’t expect… Sammy told me he saw you walk into your room, I would have never–“

“–What are you doing here, Dean?” you asked, your body was covered by the water and bubbles so your concern was more directed towards someone interrupting your self-care day.

He licked his lips on that very particular way of his and after making a face he responded: “Sammy told me there were clean towels here.”

“Oh, of course,” you nodded. He stared at you for a second, or maybe a minute he wasn’t sure “You’re staring,” you pointed out.

“Sorry,” he said as he snapped out of his head “It’s just, you look so, um, relaxed and cheered up. And you just killed a whole nest on Arizona. Cass said you were unbelievable there”. He excused, maybe if he said enough stuff you’d forget he was staring, especially since you looked so gorgeous covered by just bubbles. But he was your friend, hunter coleege, relationships weren’t the kind of thing either of you could deal with. And a one night stand would make things too awkward, especially since you had practically moved into the bunker at this point. Even then, he still stole glances of you when he had the chance.

“Oh you wouldn’t believe it,” you told him. “I found a spell!”

“A spell?” He questioned, reclining against a small table near the wall. He couldn’t avoid noticing how the bubbles slowly burst. Showing more and more skin.

“Yes!” you replied excitedly, of course, you were excited you’d just found the best spell of them all “It’s the simplest thing and you get a recharging bath!”

“Recharging bath?” he questioned.

“It’s incredible Dean, come?” you motioned him towards you. Where you hyper? you felt a bit hyper, would you have told Dean to come closer had it been a regular day, was the spell affecting your thinking. You weren’t sure, but all the questions went away as a rather insecure Dean came closer, sitting on the steps of the bath.

“Here,” you said as you grabbed his hand and pulled it towards the water, just slightly so he would feel it.

He looked rather confused at first, but then it hit him, like drinking a red bull kind of energy boost. “What the…?”

“I know right?” you said excitedly.

“Dude, you need to tell me everything you used,” he told you. “It’s insane how–“ as he was moving his hand underneath the water carelessly part of it accidentally graced your leg. He swallowed hard “I’m sorry.”

“As if you didn’t do it on purpose,” you teased.

“I didn’t!” he defended himself.

“Fine, I believe you,” you replied, and then used your hands to throw water straight to his face, wetting his face and his whole shirt along with it.

“What the hell!!”

“Oops, It was unintentional,” you replied innocently.

“You little son of a bitch,” he replied with a smile on his face. He then threw some water towards you too, not that it would get you more wet, but it definitely caused a reaction, you threw another bunch back at him.

By then you were both laughing and throwing water at each other, after a few moments your own laughs made you stop, neither of you could keep playing because neither of you could stop laughing. Perhaps the spell had affected him too at this point.

As both of you laughs slowly died out you just stared at each other for a while. you laid your hands on the tub and rested your head over them, still covered by bubbles.

“God you’re gorgeous,” Dean thought but rather than on his mind, he said it out loud.

You just giggled and threw more water on his face. Now the spell definitely had done something. You were acting like a drunk version of you, and Dean wasn’t all that sober either.

As you both laughed and continued playing around, alternating between staring and throwing water Sam walked in the room. “Hey, Dean did you find the towels you asked about–”

“–Sammy!” you both said and smiled as you saw him at the door.

“I found a spell,” you started.

“She found a spell!” Dean followed “It’s amazing Sam you need to try it one day. You should come feel the water!”

Sam shrugged and grabbed the spell book sitting on the table, after flipping a few pages he noticed something in particular.

“Hey (Y/N), did you use blue or purple lavender for your water?” he questioned

“Blue!” you answered like a child on a test.

He realized then, that the “relaxing” spell you were trying to recreate, had turned into a numbing senses spell instead. A spell that would generally make people act childishly. That's why the both of you were acting weird.

“I think… I think it’s time the two of you get out,” he said, “take a good long shower and wait on your rooms until the spell wears off.”

“But I don’t want it to wear off!” you pouted.

“Me neither,” followed Dean.

“All right,” he said as he walked towards his brother and pulled him to stand from his place “come on Dean, to the showers.”

“Can I stay longer?” you questioned.

“No,” he replied sternly and pressed the button to empty the bath, he was sure once the water was gone, you’d recover enough senses to get out of the shower and walk to your room. He then pulled Dean with him and left you in the bathroom with your bubbles.

Dean turned towards you before being completely pulled out.

“I don’t want the water to go!” you complained.

He turned to Sam “Please Sammy, just five more minutes!”

Sam just dragged Dean completely out of the bathroom and gently shut the door after he was outside. He was going to have to deal with the two of you under the influence of a spell now as if it wasn’t enough to deal with you on a normal day.

Permanent Dean taglist: @akshi8278 @hobby27

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-2)

Word count: 4.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Depression, some fluff, the usual

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines from now on. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Fingers crossed that you guys like this part :)

Beta: The sweetest @deanssweetheart23​. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Athina <3

Read part 1 here

It was, at least, a couple of hours before you found the courage to step out of the bathroom stall and walk out of the campus. With every turn you made, it felt that Sam might be there around the corner. On every bend, you were afraid that you might bump into him. But it wasn’t just that. Every colour looked brighter, every sound seemed sharper. It was as if the bubble of numbness that cocooned you had suddenly burst open and flung you in the middle of the world- raw and naked. Every sense felt more severe.

You were completely and utterly disoriented and exhausted when you turned the key of your apartment and entered. The inside was a brand new mess of boxes and pile ups. You flattened yourself against the wall.

“Hey!”

You looked around the box to see a brunette in all black sitting cross legged on the floor with a vicious cutter in her hand. 

She saw that your gaze had landed on the cutter and waved it around. “This is just for the boxes,” 

Meg.

It had completely slipped your mind that your roommate was supposed to move in today.

You whispered a quick ‘hey’ without looking at her, and rushed to your room. Locking the door, you slid to the floor, wishing for the sharpness to go away, willing your safety bubble to come back. It did not. And the senses, the memories kept assaulting you over and over.

*********************

13th July 2008

“Happy average birthday, Y/N!” Jo squealed in your ears, and you flinched back.

“Happy average birthday to you, too. Also, don’t shout!” You said. “ Do you want to announce it to the whole bar? You’ll get me kicked out 

“You’re 19!” 

“Exactly!” You pointed out. “The legal drinking age in Kansas is 21.”

Joe rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Y/N? Anyone ever told you that you need to loosen the hell up? One beer isn’t going to hurt.”

You gave her a sly look. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Jo grinned back. 

“Here!” She slid across a fake id. “I already got you the entry pass if anyone asks. But let’s just stick to beer, shall we? Don’t want you throwing up all over the place in case you can’t keep your liquid down.”

“What if Aunt El finds out?” You whispered.

Jo squinted at you. “Mom will not find out what she doesn’t need to find out. You shut up and I shut up. That’s all there is to it.”

Ellen, Jo’s mom had been your mom’s sister. You didn’t want to get in trouble with anyone here, especially since you were here just for a few weeks. 

“You have that look on your face again,” Jo said. “The one where your eyebrows all scrunch up and you worry the hell out of that tiny little brain. I never know what you’re thinking Y/N!”

You smiled a little at her whiny tone. “There’s not much going on here anyway,” you said, pointing at your head.

She jingled the little frill on the tight, body hugging one piece she had put you in. “Maybe something will go on after tonight!”

“Hey,” you protested. “You’re the one who’s tango-ing with Dean Winchester… or whatever you two have going.”

“Dean Winchester is the one who wants to Tango with me!”

You rolled your eyes. “As if you’re not interested in him at all.”

She gave you a superior look. “He doesn’t need to know that. Who knows? Tonight he just might get lucky.”

You had been here for a little over a week, and were somewhat familiarised with the people of the town: Langdon Wheeler, the guy who sold old cars next to the fire depot; Sheriff Johnson and Old Rufus living outside the barn, but nothing had drawn you in like the story of the Winchesters. Ellen had told you about it over dinner on your second day living with them. John Winchester had been her friend. He and his wife had died in a house fire years ago. Their four year old boy, Dean, had barely ran out of the house with his 6 month old brother when the first floor blew apart, killing the couple. It was the tragedy of the town, repeated over and over on drunken nights in every bar. The boys had both lived with a friend of their father’s and his wife in Sioux Falls, Missouri before Dean was old enough to live by himself and move back here. Secretly, you had believed that it was good for the boys to have lived away from this gossip mongering town. You’d been here barely for a week and everyone was up Ellen’s nose asking for everything there was to know about you. 

Besides, Dean Winchester had made a reputation as the town’s playboy since he’d arrived. Apparently, there were middle aged women knocking on his door every morning with Casseroles and he’d turned them all right back. You knew first hand how miffed women talked, so no wonder Dean was turned into the badboy overnight. It didn’t help that he was extremely handsome- you had seen him a couple of times with Jo- and obviously unachievable. Honestly, you didn’t blame Dean. If those women were gonna snoop into his business and make everyday a funeral for his parents, they got what they deserved. 

Jo had put on a stoic face when you had voiced your opinion at the dinner table, leading you to assume she wasn’t a big fan of the man. It wasn’t until you were laying in bed next to her that she’d gone all out on an epic rant about how the town needed to treat those boys better! Dean was an honest man, who made his living by running the only good auto-body shop in three towns and being flirty wasn’t a capital offense. Snooping into other people’s business should have been though, according to her. 

Jo had dozed off after a while, but you’d stayed up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling of her room, not thinking about Dean Winchester, but about that little boy, who was only 6 months old when a fire took away everything that he had, save one person. Sam Winchester was lucky that he had an older brother to look out for him. God knew, you had always wished for an older sibling even when your parents had been alive. But like Dean, you remembered what your mom looked like, you remembered the sound of your dad’s voice. Sam didn’t have that. It would have been awful growing up without the reassurance of those memories.

The next morning, you had asked Jo about Sam, and earned her sly smirk. “Getting into the story, aren’t you?” She’d said, but told you anyway. No one knew much about Sam except that he went to Stanford and then Yale to become a lawyer. He showed up during the summers but wasn’t seen out and about much. Though that was about to be changed because this had been his last year and he was coming back to Lawrence this weekend for good. Jo had seen him a couple of times at their diner where she helped Aunt El, but that was all she would tell you.

It was like some epic karma. A lawyer from an Ivy League? You didn’t care if it took hounding this poor unsuspecting dude, but you were going to get it out of him how he managed that? He clearly didn’t have influence or money.

After badgering Jo some more, she had agreed to let you tag along to Dean Winchester’s place when his brother got back.

“Hey!” Jo swooshed her hand past your face. “Earth to Y/N?”

“Sorry!” You said quickly.

She looked like she was praying for your awkward social skills. “I’m gonna get us some beers, and you are going to try to get lucky. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh.” Fat chance of that!

You watched her walk towards the bar, sashaying her hips. How did girls do that? How did girls do anything even remotely sexy for that matter?

Then there was you, dying to get out of this dress. It was off shoulder, and you were starting to feel hella cold. Jo or even Ellen for that matter didn’t have to know about your weird cold sensitivity. Should have brought along that sweater.

“You mind if I sit here?” 

You looked up to see this really tall guy standing over you. It was a Friday, and the place was bustling full. There was no other place to sit, while you had three chairs empty right next to you. It would be rude to turn anyone around. Besides, when Jo came back, she’d sush away a stranger, anyway.

“Sure,” you smiled nervously.

He sat down, and you were left to gather your wits for a few moments. The boy was hot. There was literally no other way of saying it. He had long brown wavy hair that fell below his chin, and beautiful hazel eyes.

“Thanks,” he smiled, and dimples appeared at the side of his cheeks.

Speech. You had to actively remember that you had that ability so you could respond… even if it was just a noncommittal shrug.

Oh, what it must be like to be cool. You wanted to keep looking at him and that was exactly why you concentrated all your energy on looking anywhere but him.

After a while of total silence, he asked, “So you’re from around here?”

“Uhh… no,” you said, “I’m just staying at my aunt's place for a bit.”

“Oh, hey! Happy birthday!” He said, holding up the little placard on the cupcake sitting in front of you. 

“Thanks,” you replied, hugging yourself, not wanting to explain that it really wasn’t your birthday. It really was getting cold out here. You saw his eyes flicker towards your hands catching your elbows.

“Celebrating by yourself?” He asked, and you felt a little bad for him trying to make a conversation with you out of decency. He could have used the time to hit on a waitress who could have gotten him a seat by the bar… or more. The least you could do was tell him the truth.

“Actually, it’s not my birthday today. It's in October and I’m here with my cousin whose birthday was in April. Since I’m just visiting for a few weeks, we decided to average it out and celebrate our combined birthday now. She’s here somewhere…” you said and found her in the shadiest corner of the bar, hands wrapped around someone in a leather jacket. Then, discreetly she pulled him towards the back exit with her.

Mr. Hazel eyes followed your stare and groaned. “Uhh they’re gonna be in there for a while.”

You wanted to bang your head against the table. Not that you begrudged Jo her alone time with Dean, but you really didn’t know anyone here. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said apologetically, running his hand through his hair. It looked so soft. You wanted to touch it. And his eyes were really kind. It made you a little mad that he was sympathetic about the fact that your cousin had ditched you on your combined birthday outing.

“My brother can be an idiot sometimes,” he shrugged, and you realised that he truly was apologising and his words weren’t judging at all. “I can keep you company till Jo gets back.”

Then it hit you.

“Wait! You’re Sam Winchester?” You blurted

He raised an eyebrow. “I can see that my reputation precedes me.” He laughed nervously and you immediately felt contrite. Way to make him feel spied upon.

“No, no,” you explained. “Jo told me about you, is all.”

“Something good I hope,” he mumbled, looking down.

Suddenly you could actually feel your heartbeat, and the blood rising to your cheeks. Here was the one person you had been wanting to meet and he had just walked into a bar and found you instead! Looking like that.

“So you’re Jo’s cousin?” He asked, clearly making the link that Ellen was your aunt. “How’re you liking Lawrence?”

“Not so much,” you answered honestly. “I’m tired of the pitying looks I keep getting.”

“Yeah, I can relate,” he said. 

Of course he could. The bar was crowding up further and more than a few stray glances were making their way towards you. It made you uncomfortable.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” Sam asked, then clarified realising how that sounded. “I mean there’s this park right outside. We could wait there till... you know…” he waved his fingers vaguely towards where Dean and Jo had disappeared, light blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yes!” You said jumping out of the chair. The realisation hit you afresh, how short your skirt was. That’s it, you were never wearing Jo’s clothes again.

Sam stood back and let you pass before him in a true gentleman fashion. You tucked your hair behind your ear, walking ahead, and then out of the bar.

The cold air hit you hard in the face and your naked shoulders, making you shiver.

“Here,” Sam offered you his jacket. He had shirked out of it as he’d walked behind you. “Take this.”

Ordinarily, you’d never had accepted, but it was either that or freezing your fingers off.

“Thanks.” You reached for it shyly, pulling it on and rolling up the really long sleeves. The jacket was so big that it was just barely shorter than your dress. It was pleasantly warm and smelled wonderful.

You had the sudden, maddening urge to move closer to Sam. Of course, thanks to the tiny logical part of your brain that wasn’t short-circuiting, you did not act on it.

Now that he was walking next to you, you noticed what he was wearing- A dark flannel open over the well-worn brown t-shirt and jeans. They were about as ordinary as clothes went, yet he managed to make them look so good.

“Hey, can I ask you something,” he said hesitantly. “Why did you say you were tired of the pitying looks?”

You glanced at him and blurted the truth. “I’m the new attraction, I suppose. My parents died in a car crash when I was five and I’ve lived with my grandmother in a small town a hundred miles south of Topeka since. I really don’t have any other relatives except aunt Ellen and Jo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, sincerely. He was keeping up with your slow pace. “That sounds awful.”

You shook your head. “No, all things considered, I’ve had a good life. Grandma loves me, and she has always reminded me that I am important to her. I know of kids who’ve lived with a full family and felt neglected, like they were never needed.”

When Sam didn’t reply, you turned to see that he was regarding you thoughtfully. “That’s one way to look at it,” he said after a while.

“You would know.”

He shrugged, acknowledging the obvious- you knew about his childhood. You had already reached the park bench. It overlooked a lovely little pond with ducks resting on the fringes. 

You huddled in the jacket, drawing all the warmth from it.

“So, you said, you were staying with Ellen just for a while?” He asked, turning to face you with his undivided attention, like it was somehow vital for him to know the answer to that. Meanwhile, you were having a hard time concentrating on the conversation when he was looking at you like that.

You trained your eyes on your fingers which rested in your lap. “Yeah, I’m hoping to hear from a few colleges.”

Sam perked up. “Really?” 

You grinned up at him sheepishly. “I was actually hoping to run into you.”

He looked surprised at first, then his gaze turned skywards. “Well, will you look at that, my stars have finally aligned. This really is my night,” he said with a wink and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips.

His eyes softened.

“I’m hoping to get admitted into pre-law for the winter semester. I’m still applying to a few places. And you… well, you seem to have managed to do well for yourself.”

Sam laughed, but there was nothing conceited about it… if anything, he looked slightly embarrassed. 

“C’mon,” you goaded, “What’s the secret to making it big?”

He narrowed his eyes, as if choosing his words. “I don’t know if there is a secret. My brother would tell you, I got in because I am the geekiest nerd to ever exist… and as lame as it sounds, he might actually be right.”

You laughed. This was the most that you had laughed in ages. It was just so easy to talk to him. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. For as long as I can remember.” It was the one thing you had wanted with a burning passion.

“And you will be,” he said, simply. 

You rubbed your palms against each other for friction, to imbibe some more warmth. Sam’s fingers moved, like he was reaching out. Then he pulled back, as if he thought better of it.

“I know you must have crazy high school girls running after you all the time, but if it’s not too much, will you take a look at my application essays? I don’t know anyone who’s done this before- the whole college thing, I mean- so this would be great help.”

He licked his bottom lip, then gulped. “Of course. It’s the least I can do. You can come by the house anytime you want.” Then he made a big deal of looking behind his back. “I don’t see any crazy high school girls though.”

Laughter sounded behind you, and you immediately recognised Jo’s voice. She must’ve come looking for you. 

Sam looked in the direction of the voices, then let out a nervous huff before reaching out for your hand. His palm was rough but also very warm. “Happy average birthday, Y/N,” he whispered. “I’m so very glad to have met you.”

*********************

There was a loud bang and you woke up with a start, your heart hammering out of your chest. You had fallen asleep on the floor right next to your door.

“Sorry!” A voice yelled from outside the door.

You looked around bewildered. Where were you? What was happening? 

Oh, this was your new room at Stanford. One easy breath later, it all came crashing down. The class, Sam standing there on the podium, looking at you with shocked eyes.

It had all happened, really happened. 

Your hand flew to your chest. You were simply incapable of comprehending this situation… everything was still sharper and clearer… and Sam was here.

There was a knock on the door. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah,” you called back. “Just tired.”

“Whatever,” Meg said, and you heard the sounds of footsteps walking away.

You dragged yourself to the bed and lay on it, wishing that you could just zone out, wishing that you could just go back to being numb. It did not happen.

You spent most of the night blankly staring into space, only falling asleep when the sun came up again. In fact, if you didn’t have to use the bathroom, you wouldn’t have left the bed at all, even on the day that followed.

By Friday evening, the emptiness was eating at your insides so much that you finally decided to dress up and step out of the room. The door to Meg’s room was closed. A small part of you wanted to knock on it and apologise for being so rude, but most of you just wanted to run away from not just yourself but from existence itself. 

Stepping outside the apartment and into the meadow seemed to liven your senses in a good way, so you walked out onto the street. It wasn’t to clear your head, more like to fill it with something to think about that wasn’t Sam or the absolute horror you felt about going back to classes.

You had worked your ass off for the past several years, both to earn the money to move, and the LSAT score and scholarship that let you into Stanford, and now you were simply blowing all that off by not attending the classes. In fact each minute of Thursday and Friday had felt like a heavy stone of anxiety slowly lowering itself in your stomach… Each minute that you had missed the classes. However, the  thought of facing Sam after what had happened, absolutely petrified you. 

Somehow being on the street amidst people who didn’t know you or didn’t care, quieted the storm in your head enough to think things through. You had two options. First to go back to College, and pretend like Sam didn’t exist for you outside the persona of a professor, that he was nothing more than a person you saw each day. That seemed absolutely impossible.

Second option was to run away, far from all of this, far from Sam. Again. 

You mulled over to two options again and again, roaming around aimlessly till you were back in front of the apartment gate. Sighing, you pushed it open and found yourself looking at a jolly sight. 

Along the parapet of the fountain, sat Kevin with Jack and a couple others. They were laughing about something, in fact, Jack seemed in hysterics. You stopped in your tracks.

Kevin noticed you standing there.

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Hey,” you said, over conscious of the state of your appearance. Your clothes were faded and thanks to the humidity, your hair stuck to your face, greasy and rough at the same time.

“Cas,” Kevin said to the one guy you didn’t know, “This is Y/N!”

“Y/N, this is Castiel,” he added. “You, of course, know Pam.”

Pamela Barnes was the landlord, so you had met her before. What you didn’t know is that everyone just hung out in the evening with her. She lived in one of the ground floor apartments. Easy to keep a watch on everyone like that. From what you knew, she was a bartender in one of the more popular bars in the town.

You said your hellos shyly. The awkward interaction was thankfully interrupted by a pizzaman. 

“Oh, wonderful,” Jack exclaimed. “Right on time.”

“I’ll see you guys then,” you said, slowly backing away.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Kevin exclaimed. “The pizza is for everyone.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” Pam said. “It’s our ‘welcome to the apartment’ free pizza ritual.”

“What?” Cas gave her a look. “I didn’t get one!”

Pam kicked him in the shin, and it made you smile. “Of course you did. I just decided to keep it for myself.”

“C’mon, in,” she said, turning towards her flat.

You considered making a run for it, but didn’t see how it would work. Kevin kept you company, prattling on about everyone. Pam had two apartments to herself on the ground floor. With all the walls knocked down, it made one cool living room and three spacious bedrooms. It was a dream house of sorts. The third apartment on the ground floor was empty. 

The first and second floor were either university kids or people who worked in the town. There was one married couple who was grossly in love with each other and did not interact with anyone else. And then the three apartments on the third floor. Kevin and Jack Kline, who was majoring in literature from University, lived in the first apartment. Then you and Meg in the flat next to them and opposite to you, lived Castiel Novak, Third year of Med school. 

“So, Y/N, how’s Stanford treating you?”

Like a punching bag.

“It’s been good for most part,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Maybe it was because you were in proper company for the first time in a week or because you hadn’t eaten anything in two days, but the pizza tasted good. The tang of the tomatoes was perfectly balanced by the gooeyness of the cheese. 

An involuntary moan left you as you took in another bite and four pairs of eyes turned towards you. You could feel the blood rushing to your face.

“Now that’s how you enjoy pizza,” Jack said. “Y’all don’t know anything about enjoying food. Maybe Y/N could bring some culture to this place. You heathens need it!”

Everyone laughed at that. The knot in your chest loosened.

“Hey, Cas,” Pam called. “Grab that 6 pack on your way from the kitchen.”

“Sure!”

You took another tentative bite of the pizza. It really did taste great.

“Y/N?” 

You looked up to see Pam holding a pint over you.

“Er- “

“Here,” Kevin said, handing you a can of coke. “Y/N isn’t much of a drinker.”

“Oh, cool!” nodded Jack. And just like that everyone was okay with it.

You reached out to take the can. “You remembered,” you said through a strangled voice.

Kevin brushed it off with a raise of his shoulders, like it was nothing. “Of course I remembered. We are all so glad that you joined us for dinner, Y/N!”

And he meant it. He really did.

You felt tears press the edges of your eyes. You didn’t know if Kevin noticed, but if he did, he didn’t show it and the conversation flowed around you.

So the second option was out. You couldn’t run away from this. You had yearned for seven years to finally be here, to feel little things, little joys like these… and there was so much more to experience. 

That left you with only one alternative… facing Sam. Maybe, just maybe you could manage to live your life without him affecting you like that. Afterall, he was only your professor now, you weren’t expected to interact with him on any level. It was only a matter of two semesters.

“More pizza?” Cas asked kindly and you nodded. 

That decided it for you. You were going to take your life in your hands and you were going to walk into that class on Monday morning and never look back.

*************************

A/N 2: The blankness and the bubble that dulls all senses; that’s how I’ve experienced depression. And the sudden sharpness of senses is how I recognised that the worst of it was behind me. Have you guys experienced it differently?

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Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 2

Work is...work. I don't think anyone really enjoys their job, some days are just less shitty than others. I'm stuck with being a waitress until I make it big. Most days it feels like that'll never happen.

In all fairness, waitressing isn't always bad. I have some cool regulars and the rare but appreciated big tippers. But I have a strange feeling about today. I'm not sure if it's good or bad but I do know that today will be eventful.

"Hey, Julianna." one of my co-workers, Dylan greeted me as I walked by.

"Hi."

I could see that, at least for the time being, things at the restaurant were extremely slow so I started doing some cleaning while I still had the opportunity.

"American Girl" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers was playing over the sound system when two guys walked in. They clearly weren't regulars and they seemed to be around my age.

"I fucking love this song!" The brunette on the left exclaimed loudly. I could tell by his loud voice, slurred speech, and difficulty standing still, that he was heavily intoxicated.

Who the fuck drinks before 10 in the morning? And with my luck I'll probably be stuck with these guys while they're here.

—

And I was right! Those two guys were complete nightmares. Between the constant flirting and being groped, I don't know how I didn't break someone's jaw. Just part of my job, unfortunately.

They didn't even leave a tip. Yet they decided to write their numbers on the back of their receipt.

Definitely going in the trash. Phone numbers don't keep my fucking rent paid.

The rest of my shift went by fairly quickly. I had been counting the hours until band practice since I woke up.

When I got there, my bandmates were talking about god knows what, seemingly finding whatever it was pretty amusing.

"That's fucking hilarious." Our drummer, Veronica, laughed out.

"Hey, guys," I said as I sat my guitar case down and began opening it.

"Did any of you have any luck with the songwriting last night?" Tiffany piped up from the corner.

When the three of us groaned in unison, Tiffany had her answer.

"Well, I'd ask you the same question but I have a feeling you were preoccupied last night."

Tiffany looked taken aback by our lead singer's venom-laced words, but it's not a secret to anyone that Gwen and Tiffany haven't exactly been the best of friends lately, but they usually kept whatever they had to say to themselves so it wouldn't affect the band.

"You don't always have to be such a bitch, you know that, right?" Tiffany shot back, the spite in her voice just as clear as Gwen's.

Veronica and I exchanged glances and sighed. This won't end well.

"You didn't have to fuck my boyfriend like the slut you are, you know that, right?" Gwen's shouted response sounded more hurt than angry, but her words cut deep nonetheless.

"For the last time. YOU broke up with HIM. He and I got together before I ever met you!"

As much as I hate picking sides in arguments of this nature, Tiffany has a point.

Gwen had a habit of breaking things off with Victor over the dumbest things. Victor got tired of it and he happened to bump into Tiffany. A one-night stand turned into a relationship and she met Gwen a few months later.

Tiffany and Gwen were good friends at first. They had a lot in common, listened to the same music, and when Gwen mentioned that she wanted to be a singer, it just so happened that Tiffany and I were looking for a lead singer.

Everything was working out pretty well until about a month ago when Gwen realized who Tiffany had been talking to us about constantly.

Instead of responding, Gwen stormed out of our rehearsal space. So much for our Wednesday band practice.

Veronica ran a hand through her hair and let out another sigh before getting up and leaving through the door after Gwen.

"We don't need the whole band here to brainstorm. We'll just fill them in on any progress we make." I sent Tiffany a reassuring smile and picked up my guitar.

"I think I'm just gonna head home," Tiffany muttered dryly, heading for the door.

Looks like it's just me today. That's not really a surprise, this is how things have been for the last two weeks and it's becoming more and more stressful as I begin thinking the worst.

I'm the only one who seems to be investing time and energy into our music. Is this band really going to end over something this Fleetwood Mac drama, before we've even been together a full year?

At least the members of Fleetwood Mac could stand each other long enough to put out records.

When it comes to the band, I've found that I work best when I have at least one person in the band to bounce ideas off of. Someone to help me make sense of the things translated from my brain onto the page.

It helps the process and it makes our music feel like it was something we all created together instead of just one person. Another plus was combining our strengths. I'm pretty good with lyrics but when it comes to melodies, there's an abundance of room for improvement. Tiffany isn't the best at lyrics but she can bust out a melody like it's nobody's business.

Rather than try to come up with something on my own, I go for a walk on Sunset Strip. If inspiration doesn't strike at some point, at least the fresh air can do me some good.

Normally, I wouldn't even think to walk the strip alone at night, but after the day I've had, I'm throwing all caution to the wind. What's the worst that could happen? I'm not even going to think about answering that question.

The warm air flowing off of the pacific ocean and into the streets of Los Angeles hit my face as soon as I opened the door to the outside of the building. I'm not particularly in the mood to engage in a conversation with anyone, small talk, or otherwise, so a big part of me is hoping I don't run into anyone I know or an overly chatty stranger.

When I left, I didn't have a destination in mind, so I guess I'm going wherever my feet take me. Sometimes I forget that the strip is pretty crowded, even more so at night. It's only Wednesday so it could be a lot worse, but the traffic surely wasn't light by any means. So it's not the best location for an impromptu absent-minded walk. Of course, I go crashing into someone.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, cunt," the deep voice boomed in annoyance.

I wonder who pissed in his Cheerios.

"I'm so sorry!"

The redhead sighed and shook his head.

"Sorry, I'm Axl. Axl Rose."

The name sounded familiar, and the face looked familiar too now that I had a good look at it, but I couldn't remember where I'd heard that name or seen that face before.

"Julianna Cohn."

"Well...I gotta get goin', I'm playing the Whiskey with my band tonight. See ya around."

He went to leave but stopped himself.

"Unless you wanted to see us play?"

I thought about it for a second. I didn't have any specific plans. Sure I had never met this man in my life, but we were going to a public setting so it couldn't be that dangerous.

Probably.

Instead of responding, I began walking. I had only been to the Whiskey a Go-Go once or twice in the time that I've been in Hollywood, but if my band wants any chance of being successful, the nightclub scene is our best shot. I made it a point to memorize exactly how to get there from all directions.

It didn't hit me until we arrived that he was the lead singer of Guns N' Roses. He definitely seems like the type to name his band after himself.

Being underage and terrified of having any sort of interaction with the cops, I decided that I wouldn't try my luck at the bar and find a spot within view of the performance area instead.

This should be interesting.

I had a fic I was working on for 2Doc week, but it betrayed me and turned angsty when I wanted something softer. So instead, I thought I could share a fic I never published, and I believe the first fic I ever wrote (dated in Google as complete on June 17th, 2016. Holy moly!)

It fits into day 3′s prompt of firsts - the first night the spent together on good terms. The beginning of the bond, I guess. It could also be considered the first head massage (lmao), as I like to think 2D is good with his hands in various scenarios 😉. (I adapted the head massage into scenes in later fics, but this was the first time I worked with it as a concept.)

If there are any “M” or “D” I apologize! When I was starting out, I was too self-conscious to write their entire names (lmao @ me). Oh, how things have changed. Hopefully, I corrected them all, along with most of the typos...

The rating here is T. Essentially, Murdoc encounters 2D late at night when he can’t sleep, and ends up watching a movie with him. They begin to form a tentative bond, head massages are had as much needed sleep. Takes place during P1.

Also happy bday again, Murdoc 😭

For Murdoc, sleeping is a daunting game of chance. First, there are the good nights, when he drinks enough to remain in a complete stupor until daylight. Then, there are the bad nights when his body’s need for genuine slumber catches up with him. On these nights, he dreams. More often than not, they come to him in the form of nightmares ranging from painfully specific to vague and unsettling. Like a flood, all of the emotions and thoughts he had intended to leave behind in Stoke return.

Tonight is one of those nights.  

This one, in particular, is the reason he’s left the grimy safety of his Winne, head still aching. He intends to rummage through the studio mini-fridge for the half-consumed bottle of rum he started that morning. (after all, his anxiety wasn’t going to fix itself). Instead, he's thrilled to discover the fridge has been restocked, and he's about to grab an unopened bottle of rum when he's interrupted by a crash coming from the direction of the lobby.

The noise is coming towards the kitchen now in slow, shuffling steps. Murdoc presumes it could either be one of the wayward demons he summoned the other day, or it could be another one of the building's many intruders looking for a blank wall to vandalize. Nothing he wants to deal with now in his anxious state. Murdoc considers making a run for his Winnebago but decides against it. ‘You’re Murdoc Niccals” he thinks to himself, ‘Bass god and creative genius. You're not ten anymore and you don't get scared.' With that, he braces himself and he turns to face the unknown figure that was now in the doorway.

“Oh...Hi, Murdoc.”

It’s 2D.

“I've got half a mind to lob you through another car window,” he says trying to mask his surprise. “What the hell are you doing walking around with the lights off in the middle of the night?” That must have been the source of the noise. Typical. It’s as if 2D is intentionally searching for a way to get injured.

2D scratches his head. “No need to get so steamed up about it. I, uh, well, I guess I was trying to keep to the ambiance and all that. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake right now.”

“I don’t know what’s so unexpected. I get more done in a night that you would in a year,” Murdoc replies. He takes a sip of one of the bottles of rum he’s assembled on the counter. “So long as there are still songs to write, the siestas can wait.”

“Not sleeping well then?” 2D asks blithely. Murdoc can’t tell if the singer has seen right through him or failed to comprehend a word of what he just said. He finds him very unreadable at times, and in the most infuriating way.

“No. I was working. Being productive. You ought to try it once in a while,” Murdoc grumbles in response. “Anyways. What’s all this about the ‘ambiance’?” As if 2D is that deep. “And why here?”

“That new zombie movie, you know the one I was telling you about? Well, it arrived today,” 2D says with a grin. “And now I’m watching it. It’s a lot scarier when you do it the dark.”

“Well you have a TV, no, THREE TVs in your room,” Murdoc retorts, exasperated. “Just go away and watch it there.”

“Yeah, uh, l thought about that, but the special effects in this one are supposed to be wicked good and the screen in the lobby has a clearer picture than the screens in my room. I would have watched it this afternoon, but Russel said Noodle shouldn’t be watching all the blood and guts, so I waited until now. It’s better watching scary movies late at night anyway, you know?” 2D is looking at Murdoc now, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. “A couple blokes on this forum I was reading were describing it like a Romero meets Raimi type film, really over the top.”

“Sounds like a real Oscar winner you have there,” the sarcasm in Murdoc’s voice is palpable.

“Actually, it was a straight to video release, but you should check it out,” 2D says. “I’m only about ten minutes in now...if you have...time,” he trails off awkwardly.

The band had faced many inexplicable and absurd situations, but it is 2D’s consistent attempts to be friends that confounded Murdoc the most. His first inclination to tell the singer to fuck off. Yet the thought of the solitary journey back through the car park gives him pause. He isn't sure he can handle being alone right now. He needs an immediate distraction, a mood lifter, and making fun of 2D has the potential to be a two in one solution. At the very least, it was a safer gamble than going back and running the risk of falling asleep again.

Murdoc makes 2D wait for an answer in uncomfortable silence before replying. “Fine,” he says, “This better be entertaining.”

2D brightens at his response. “Just let me grab some snacks and then we can go back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, and this time turn on the damn lights.”

With some newly acquired light and a bag of crackers in hand, 2D leads Murdoc to the lobby. A collection of pillows and blankets litter the floor. All the while, and to Murdoc’s annoyance, he takes the time to tell him every detail of the conception of his setup. He had been in the lobby for the past four hours watching movies. According to 2D, doing so in such an open area was much scarier than in his room or even in the building’s cinema. He was also sorry because they would have to turn the lights off again when the film starts. “Because well, you know, Muds. The ambiance.”

“Just start the bloody movie will you,” Murdoc replies from his spot on the floor. The size of Kong is intimidating at night, and it’s not helping him calm down. He hates how much his dreams still affect him. Physically, he had left all the bad energy behind ages ago, but mentally it follows him like a low-hanging mist, threatening to completely engulf him daily. He couldn't seem to make it go away, but he could control how much he thought about it. Alcohol was typically his mainstay but right now, that job belonged to an unwitting 2D. If he didn’t start the movie soon, Murdoc was going to set his entire movie collection on fire.

“It’s the little triangle that does the trick, right?” 2D asks as he studies the remote. “Never mind. I think I have it. There we go.”

The scene starts with a group of young adults in their twenties hiking through the woods as night falls. Occasionally, the camera switches angles. It shows the group from alternate perspectives such as the bushes or the tops of trees.

“The director wanted to flip the whole slow zombie portrayal on its head,” 2D explains. “There’s already been talk of fast zombies in the indie horror community, but he wants to take that one step further. In an interview, he said that not only were his zombies going to be fast, but they were also going to fly.”

“That’s stupid. And you thought this was worth the twenty or so quid you blew on it?”

“He’s ahead of his time. You’ll see. Look,” 2D says through a mouthful of crackers. He points to the current scene. One of the protagonists had wandered away from his group in search of a good place to set up camp. “See what he does with the camera there? We’re watching the main character from the perspective of a flying zombie. The director wanted to make a movie about an outbreak that emerges in the wilderness, not because of some virus. It's meant to add to the impossibility of the situation. How do we fight against something not man-made? Watching the film through the eyes of the monster emphasizes how alone and insignificant we are in the face of well, everything. Man versus nature, nature versus man.”

Murdoc grabs the bag of crackers from 2D. “Oh please. This is hardly cutting edge. We all know they’ll all be dead in the end because nature is bigger than man. Duh.” He takes a handful for himself and continues watching.

2D ignores him and continues his reflection. “It makes me wonder whether it would be better to be a zombie at the end, rather than survive. Not sure I would want the loneliness that comes with it.”

Murdoc is beginning to realize that 2D is in one of his chatty, philosophical moods. He attempts to tune out the singer’s blathering with another drink from the bottle of rum he brought with him from the kitchen. He came here to watch a ridiculous movie. Instead, he's stuck listening to banal musings about the true nature of humanity from someone with a half-functioning brain.

“Well if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse here, I’ll be sure to let them eat you first if you’re so eager. You’re already halfway there anyway, and certainly no better off than these divs on screen.”

“Thanks, Muds. If I ever get infected, I’ll make sure not to bite you...unless you want me too,” 2D replies.

This time, it’s Murdoc's turn to ignore him. “Anyways, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who’s too pathetic to fight against a zombie apocalypse deserves whatever is coming to them.” He gets a twisted sense of comfort from blaming.

“I dunno...I don’t see any shame in being afraid of a monster bigger than you. That’s what makes these movies so scary. We all have our own monsters that seem impossible to overcome,” 2D says sagely. “It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just how it is.”

Murdoc scowls. “Does watching movies at this hour always turn you into a half-braindead Socrates? Or Plato? Hippocrates? He's just naming names now. He fidgets.  

On-screen, another character screams as one of the zombies bites her arm.

“Are you alright there, Muds?” Why did 2D have to pick up on everything? “Movie too scary for ya?”

“No!” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not that… It’s just...” Neither 2D nor the rum he grabbed from the fridge earlier had done anything to dull his current bout of nerves. Instead, all the tension has been gathering at the base of his neck. The throbbing in his head from before is even worse. He groans in frustration.

“You just seem a little on edge, that’s all.”

“...It’s my head.”

“Oh, you have a headache,” 2D says, seemingly pleased that it’s an issue well within the breadth of his expertise. “Do you need any help with it? I was talking with my mum about mine just last week; she gave me something good.”  

Murdoc perks up. He could count on one hand the number of scenarios where he would place his trust in 2D. Pain medicine was one of them. A strong painkiller could change everything. “Do you happen to any of those buggers with you now?”

“Sure,” 2D says, smiling as he moves closer to where Murdoc is sitting.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m um, well for this to work I’m actually going to have to touch your head.”

Immediately, Murdoc jerks away. “You what?!”

2D shrinks back in response. “It’s just a head massage, Muds.  My mum’s worried about the number of prescriptions I have so we cut one of the stronger ones out and replaced it with this. We wanted to see if it made a difference. I’ve been going to a massage therapist for the past two weeks or so. It doesn’t quite do the trick but it works well enough, I picked up some technique myself, uh, I think.”

“You can take all that geeky zen rubbish and sod off,” Murdoc mutters.

“Okay, Muds...alright.”

They continue watching the screen as victim after victim gets infected. 2D continues to interject with overlong descriptions about symbolism, zombie lore, and film technique. Murdoc weighs his options. If he’s being honest, he’s at a point where he would accept anything that might make him feel better. But why did it have to be 2D? On the other hand, the singer wouldn’t stop talking. Considering it was just the two of them, and no one else would ever have to find out, Murdoc makes his decision. Allowing 2D to touch his head in this scenario was justified. Interrupting yet another explanation about the folly of man, he asks, “Hey uh...2D? You know that massage you were talking about? Will giving me one make you shut up for more than ten minutes?”

“Oh..uh,” 2D sounds surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, we can give it a try.” Hesitantly, he moves behind Murdoc and begins.

2D’s fingers send tiny sparks along Murdoc’s scalp as he kneads the muscles in his forehead, moving downwards along his hairline. He dwells on how amazing it feels but pushes that thought to the side with haste. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen and the excessive depictions of gore and chaos. It’s an apt representation of turmoil he is currently feeling inside. What he finds so maddening about 2D, even more than his inscrutability and empty-headedness, was his willingness to be kind to Murdoc. Murdoc had spent the past twenty or so years convincing himself that kindness was not meant to be a part of his life. There was something inherent to his existence that repelled it from him. And he had come to accept that until 2D had to come along and mess it all up. It had to be because he was just too stupid, there was no other answer. Murdoc wasn’t sure he would be able to handle any other answer.

As 2D moves his hands to the back of Murdoc’s head, he begins softly humming. He begins following along to the soundtrack of the movie but soon trails off on his own. Evidently, watching the movie without any sort of verbalization was not going to happen. However, the melody he’s come up with is wistful and soothing. Murdoc makes a mental note to ask him about it in the morning to see if it would fit with some lyrics he had drafting. Slowly, and a bit self-consciously, Murdoc feels himself begin to relax.

“How does it feel so far? Is it working?” 2D asks.

Oh, it was working. More than that, Murdoc realizes a significant amount of his tension had abated. The darkness of the lobby no longer looks so menacing, the unpleasant memories that were hovering over him seem to have floated away. He's never been able to settle himself down from a bad night without copious amounts of alcohol. It’s an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation.

“I think the movie is almost over. Didn’t quite live up to the hype but it was still pretty entertaining after all. How about you?” 2D asks, still looking for a response.

Murdoc yawns. “I’ll give this director you were so excited about some credit. He knows his way around a good death scene. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fake blood used that way before.”

“The fake blood actually cause a lot of controversies because some of it was real animal blood. I almost didn’t buy it myself.”

“Ah. A man after my own heart.” 2D’s hands are still kneading the back of his head when Murdoc moves to lie down on his stomach.

“Oh, are you going to sleep now?” 2D asks.

“No. Keep going.” He would have never considered it earlier in the night but, as the singer's fingers continue to run through his hair, Murdoc muses that sleep may not sound so bad after all. Even though it was just 2D, it’s comforting to have him there. 

“So I guess it’s been helping then? My mum will glad to hear,” 2D says. “But you might want to run a comb through your hair a bit more often, it’s all greasy...also a bit tangled in the back.”

“Just...shut up.”

So he does, returning to the reflective melody he had been humming just minutes ago. It’s the singer’s soft croon that sticks in Murdoc's mind as he finally drifts off completely.

-------

When his eyes open, the first thing Murdoc notices is the half-empty bottle of rum he had left by his side. The next thing he notices is that he's still in the lobby, surrounded by blankets. He must have slept there the entire night. 

“Oh, morning, Muds,” comes a familiar voice just to the right of him. “You’re awake.”

Turning quickly in the direction of the voice, Murdoc finds himself face to face with 2D. “What the hell are you still doing here?” M demands, mortified, “Why didn’t you go back to your own room?”

“Well, I was going to do that, but once you laid down, I wanted to lay down too, and you rolled over on my arm and wouldn’t budge. I tried to tell you, but all you did was try and elbow me. You missed though,” 2D mumbles. It sounds like he’s still half asleep. “Then I guess I just nodded off.”

Murdoc feels his embarrassment beginning to morph into anger but decides to ignore it. He's pretty comfortable right where he is. “You’re lucky you’re my lead singer.” 2D was also lucky that he gave good head massages. “Because otherwise, you would be on some really thin ice right now.”

“We’ll be lucky to see any ice at all this winter what with all the warm weather.”

Usually, an obtuse response from 2D would have earned him a string of insults or a swat on the head. Today was not going to be one of those days. Murdoc turns again so that he’s facing away from the singer, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the light. He was going to savor the moment a bit longer. Despite 2D being 2D, it’s rare that he’s ever felt so at peace.

“Hey, Murdoc? Wait,” 2D says, “You never gave me my arm back.”

“Too bad. I’ll check back in a couple hours,” Murdoc grins beneath the blanket. He still couldn’t pass up a chance to inconvenience the singer at every opportunity. It was too much fun.

“Don’t be such a wanker,” 2D says as he attempts to jerk his arm out from underneath the bassist. “I was nice to you!”

He was right. And he was probably nicer than he deserved, given their history. For that reason, Murdoc would roll off his arm soon enough. He still wanted to talk to him about that song he had been humming.

The singer had surprised him last night. Murdoc knew that 2D had an uncanny ability to figure out how to annoy him to maximum effect, but he never would have expected him to also know what to do to put him at ease. Underneath the covers, he ponders what exactly this realization means to him. He isn’t sure, but he knows it means something. It wasn’t going to eliminate the underlying resentment he still clung to, nor was it going to solve his infinite list of issues. But at the very least, he could rest assured knowing that he wasn’t completely alone.

Closed Hold

The long awaited next installment of the Shadowgast Figure Skating AU (inspired, as always, by the amazing art of @fiovske) is finally here! I don’t know if it’s cheating, since I was already planning to write this, but I’m also counting this as my submission for Day 7 of @essek-week because hey, it’s definitely an AU! :D You technically don’t have to read the first two works in the series - Inside Edge and 3 Turn - to enjoy this one, but some details may make more sense in context. Also, warning that things get a little NSFW by the end, in case that’s not everyone’s cup of tea! [Also on Ao3] [Find the whole series of one-shots in this AU here!]

(cw. implied past dub/con, chronic pain)

Essek never thought he’d find himself in a place where he could call sharing a hotel room with someone else ‘comfortable’. Yet here he is, sitting at a little table with his laptop open while Caleb slouches against the headboard, too engrossed in his novel to care for posture or dignity, Essek finds himself at ease in a way he didn’t know he was capable of - at least, not in another’s presence.

A bottle of wine sits open and half-finished by the tray on the nightstand, and every so often Caleb reaches over and takes a bit of carrot from the remains of Essek’s salad. He eats absentmindedly, the motion so regularly spaced that Essek can’t believe he’s aware of what he’s doing. He should find it disgusting, but not a single drop of dressing spills onto the sheets, and there’s something about the movement that’s almost mesmerizing in its steady, involuntary rhythm.

He almost wants to tell Caleb that they can order more food, if he’s still hungry. He doesn’t need to pick the scraps from Essek’s plate. But he knows enough now to say that the suggestion would be ill-advised - or rather, he knows enough now to say that he doesn’t know what Caleb’s reaction would be, and that is a good enough reason to be cautious. Slow steps have worked well for them in the last few months. There’s no reason to take unnecessary risks with something so delicate.

These evenings, where they share the same space - conversation - a good meal - are still difficult to come by. There are murmurings of renewed hostilities between the Dynasty and Empire, and orders from the Bright Queen to reduce contact while the situation cools, and fewer and fewer public spaces they could go where privacy would be assured. Essek is certain that some would find the idea of the two of them sneaking off to hotel rooms together, only to do nothing more illicit that talk the night away, an utterly unbelievable story. But truthfully, it’s only after long nights of competition that they find themselves in the same countries - much less the same cities - and neither has the energy for much else after so many hours at the rink.

And besides, this quiet time - where both are engrossed in their own worlds, but still close - it’s just as soothing as a calm bath, just as warm in his chest as a hot drink, and Essek wouldn’t trade it for any more exciting diversion.

Caleb stretches, the book’s spine knocking the top of the headboard as he curls backwards like a cat. As he settles once more, there’s an audible creak - not of the wooden bedframe, but of tendon against bone. Essek glances over again in time to catch a wince of pain in Caleb’s jaw, and his fingers pushing gingerly against the small of his back. Eventually, he flips on his stomach and resumes his reading.

“Are you alright? That sounded... unpleasant,” Essek says. Caleb doesn’t even look up from his book to reply.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says coolly, “I’ll try to keep it down.” A note of dry humour laces his voice, and as always, Essek’s heart lifts to hear it. They’ve gotten easier around each other, slowly but surely, and Caleb’s knife-sharp, often obscure wit is one of the greatest discoveries he’s made in the process.

Still, Essek’s concern isn’t assuaged. Caleb took a hard fall this evening - not so disastrous as to knock him out of the running, but ugly enough that Essek had ached in sympathy as Caleb picked himself up off the ice. If he isn’t bruised from calf to hip, which Essek quietly expects, he’s at least likely to have twisted something in his back from the awkward one-handed press he had to do, to get back on his feet in time for the next element.

“Did you stretch enough?” he asks. Caleb hums noncommittally, nose still pressed into his book, and Essek thinks back to the moments after Caleb’s routine finished. “I didn’t see Beau there this evening. Were resistance bands enough, or did someone else help you?” Again, there’s no answer except a grunt. Essek gets the sense he’s being purposefully ignored. “Caleb,” he says, more loudly. “Please tell me that you stretched.”

“Stop worrying,” Caleb says, flipping another page. “I did stretch.”

“Clearly not enough,” Essek chides, standing so he can better survey Caleb’s posture. Even prone on his stomach, he’s still favouring his right side. Not a good sign. “You need to take care of your body, or you’re going to injure yourself, permanently.”

Caleb shrugs. “I’m old, Essek - too old for this sport, according to most people. How much worse could it get?” A twinge of heat sparks in Essek’s stomach, something low but simmering to a boil, until his hands are clenched and his jaw clicks with the effort of not snapping.

“Worse,” he says, and at last, Caleb looks up. The rising frustration fades just as quickly as he clocks Caleb’s assessing gaze, and pivots to embarrassment at his own unguarded reaction.

They need to choose another subject, and soon is not quick enough.

“Just… will you let me help you? At least to work out the worst of it, before you fall asleep on that book and wake up with a cramp.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow. “You want to... help me stretch?”

Essek clucks his tongue at Caleb’s dubious tone. “I assure you, I’ve had many years of practice, and it’s always easier with a partner than with a band.”

Caleb’s gaze grows more distant, less like he’s looking at Essek, and more like he’s found a ghost at the edge of the room.

“...I know,” Caleb says, voice softer than before, but still, he doesn’t move from his place on the bed. Essek sits down on the other side, leaning closer, but not so close that his weight disturbs Caleb’s half of the sheets.

“Then let me help. It would set my mind at ease, at least.”

“Well,” says Caleb, with a small smile, still not quite meeting Essek’s eyes, “if it would set yours at ease… give me a few minutes.”

Caleb pushes himself up at last, closing the book while trailing a rather forlorn finger down its spine, as though saying a reluctant goodbye to an old friend. Then he walks to the hall between the two rooms of the suite, and begins jogging lightly in place.

Caleb’s warmup gives Essek plenty of time to consider his plan of action. He closely watches the muscles twist beneath Caleb’s long-sleeved tee and loose sweatpants, searching for a place to start. Pain in the lower back often stems from tightness of the hips, which is also one of the most difficult areas to stretch without help. Essek notices too that his shoulders still ride up to below his ears as he runs, creeping higher and higher with each footfall. That could use work, and maybe his obliques as well, if the side Caleb jarred today isn’t too bruised…

At last, Caleb finishes and returns, slightly more cherry-cheeked than before, but not huffing and puffing - just enough to get the muscles warm and limber.

“Show me what you usually do for cooldown,” Essek says, still seated on the bed, and Caleb launches into a series of standard stretches, ones that any skater has in their arsenal. Essek does notice the age difference between them as he watches, but not in a significant way. Caleb’s joints don’t bend with quite the same arc as they might have for a dancer ten years younger, but he’s still very flexible. His arabesque reaches past his head - though Essek notes a small tremor in the inside of his thigh as he holds the position, and there’s an unsteadiness there that concerns him. It could be hip tension, as he suspected before, but Essek worries-

But it’s one in a million chance, as it was for him. There’s no logical reason to believe the tremor is anything more than fatigue.

“That’s it,” Caleb says, rising back into a standing position after his final lunge. Essek presses his fingers to his lips, considering.

“Let’s start with your shoulders,” he suggests. “You have a good range of motion overall, but I’d like to loosen them up, the right one especially.”

He moves behind Caleb, bracing one hand on his left shoulder while placing a flat palm against the apple of the other, and begins to gently rock the joint in its socket.

It’s a position he’s quite accustomed to, having done the same for others on his team when he was far younger - back when he still had peers, rather than admirers. And yet, there’s something strangely more aware in coming back to the action as an adult. He feels the differences between his own body and Caleb’s keenly. Though Caleb is far from stocky - very few figure skaters are - the muscles beneath Essek’s hands are less lithe than his own. Broader, as though bred for a different purpose, and whittled down to their current lean shape. He wonders if Caleb grew up doing manual labour of some sort, a kind his body still remembers in form, if not in substance.

For the first few pushes it almost feels as though those muscles are getting tighter. Like Caleb is tensing, resisting the movement. Essek frowns.

“Breathe,” he instructs. Caleb, with effort, takes a deep breath, and the catching of the tendon finally releases with a soft click. The process goes much more smoothly after that, the joint sliding like butter in his palm by the end of the seventh rotation. He moves to the other side, and has no more issues.

As Essek steps away, Caleb swings his arms forward and back experimentally. “Better?”

“Much,” he says, smiling a surprised grin. “Thank you.” Essek nods.

“Of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Hips, I think, if that’s alright with you.”

He guides Caleb down to the floor and onto his back, and takes a position on his knees at his side. Though Caleb ordinarily has a few inches of height on him, from this position, he feels very high up. Caleb waits, motionless, as Essek hooks a hand under his knee and raises it up slowly, watching the microsmal twitches in Caleb’s expression for any sign of pain or discomfort as he pushes the leg up towards his chest. But Caleb’s eyes fall closed, and whatever resistance he had offered before, he lets Essek’s hands work now without any complaint, bodily or otherwise.

When he spies the first twinge in Caleb’s jaw, Essek slows his pace, but continues pressing, trusting his hands to feel when the resistance is too great. It’s a delicate balance; too little pressure, and the stretch does no good, but too much, and he risks injuring Caleb. He could strain muscles, even tear ligaments, if he’s not certain of how hard to push.

It requires a great deal of trust, he muses, to let someone do this for them. Since his days as a trainee, he has allowed few others to help him, unless they’ve proven themselves time and time again to understand the nuances of his own situation. Mirimm is one of the small number on that list, and his own mother, when she still had time for such things.

Who has Caleb - cautious, reserved Caleb - given such trust? He knows he’s seen Beau follow Caleb into the locker room at least once, so presumably her, but have there been others?

He presses one more inch. Caleb winces, but does not fight him. He remains perfectly still.

An awful, nauseating thought floats into Essek’s mind.

He lets the leg float gently down to the floor, bowing the knee out ever so slightly so that the joint has a chance to rotate, then removes his hands to his lap. Caleb cracks one eye open, looking up at Essek and raising an eyebrow, as if to say is something wrong?

Yes, Essek thinks, I’m afraid there might be.

“Caleb,” he says quietly. He does not want to ask this question. He must ask it. “Did… Did Ikithon ever-”

Both of Caleb’s eyes fly open.

“No,” Caleb says, the clipped syllable harsh, and it sounds believable, and Essek so wants to believe him. “Whatever you are thinking, no.”

Essek breathes out slowly. “Then this sort of thing-”

“I would not have done with him.” Caleb turns his head to the ceiling, staring up at the hospital-white plaster, and Essek is still very conscious of his height, so he leans back on his hands into an uncharacteristic slouch. “He was… he was not a hands-on sort of teacher, so to speak. He preferred to instruct, and trust the three of us to do as he asked.” Caleb falls silent for a moment. “With them, yes,” he says at last. “We did this sort of thing together, always.”

Astrid. Eodwulf. Names never to be forgotten, though Caleb has only spoken them aloud once. They are burned there, in Essek’s mind, along with every spare detail Caleb has told him of his past. He wishes, some nights, that he did not know. That he could exorcise the names from his memory, and the pain from Caleb’s as well. But at least the burden is shared between them now, and he has to believe that is better than the alternative.

Essek reaches out and pats Caleb’s ankle. “I’m sorry to bring it up,” he apologizes, and Caleb’s smile is acknowledging, and forgiving too. “Do you want to keep going?”

He’s gratified that Caleb seems to genuinely consider the question before answering. It gives him hope that he hasn’t, yet again, overstepped a line, one hidden beneath the layers of uncertainty between them he fears he’ll never fully unravel.

“I think so.” Caleb shifts his hips. “It was already feeling a little better.” He lifts his other leg, just slightly, and as Essek shifts around to take it in hand, he thinks again of trust. Of Caleb putting his body in his hands, believing he will treat it kindly, even when others have not. The warmth in his chest grows, and grows.

He presses down, and this time Caleb keeps his eyes open.

When Essek is satisfied that both hip flexors are as loose as they’re going to get without professional help, he asks Caleb to sit up, then kneels behind him. He leans his weight into the space between Caleb’s shoulder blades until Caleb bows, forehead touching his knees as he curls his arms beneath them. Already, Essek can see the difference in the fluidity of the movement from earlier, and he presses with his thumbs at various points of the lower back, pleased to discover that most of the tension there has been released. He guides Caleb back up, then prods at his upper back. The left side isn’t bad, but his right… Essek can barely go five inches without finding another knot.

This isn’t the result of a night or two of inadequate stretching after a competition. This is months, years worth of stress gnarled up beneath the skin and never adequately dealt with, if addressed at all. No wonder Caleb’s shoulders rise so high that the judges take off points for it. No wonder relaxing at all is a force of will. His body is wound so tightly that Essek barely needs to dig deeper than the surface to find the evidence.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a massage?” he asks, curious. Caleb’s incredulous little laugh ripples out beneath his palms.

“A very, very long time. That’s a kind of luxury I can’t usually afford.”

Essek wants to argue that it isn’t a luxury - that it is, in fact, essential to the proper functioning of a figure skater’s body. The benefits in terms of flexibility and mobility are incalculable. And yet, without sponsorships or other income, the calculation must be done.

How very far Caleb has managed to go, despite his lack of resources, continues to impress Essek, but scrappiness doesn’t equal a healthy body that will outlast the competitions to come.

“They have a spa here, downstairs,” Essek suggests. “It might be closed now, but I’m sure if I called the front desk-”

“No,” says Caleb, just as clipped, though his voice softens much more quickly than it did before. “Thank you. I don’t- it doesn’t appeal to me.”

“A massage?”

“The environment,” Caleb replies. “The table. All of it.” Essek doesn’t press for more details, sensing he’s hit upon another wall neither is eager to dismantle tonight. Caleb’s shoulders are already rising again beneath his hands. He smoothes them back down with his hands, not fully conscious of what he’s done until the motion is already complete.

“Would a bed be better?”

“What,” ask Caleb, glancing over at the bed, mere feet from where they currently sit on the carpet, “order up?” He chuckles again. “I think that you might have a harder time explaining that expense to your superiors than an extra plate of room service.”

“True.” It takes Essek far longer to offer the second suggestion, because even though he fully expects Caleb to refuse, he still has to work up the courage to speak it. “Or, I could try my hand?”

Caleb swivels, his face so close to Essek’s that his bangs tickle the tip of his nose. “...Oh?”

“I’m no professional, but I have some experience.” No need to explain more than that, about the hours spent frantically massaging his own legs in the bathroom, willing the cramps to release in time to make it onto the ice. He knows that he can coax a bitterly stubborn muscle into functioning, and Caleb’s would be far easier than his to manage.

And still, he’s nervous in the seconds after speaking - not for fear that he can’t do what he’s offered, but that Caleb will say no, and be upset or offended.

That he will say yes, and the place that leaves them.

“...Ok.”

Caleb stands, then turns back to Essek, who still kneels on the floor. His hands flutter nervously at the hemline of his shirt, first tugging up the fabric, and then letting it fall back down. “How do you- I’m not sure what the procedure is. What do you need me to do?”

Essek swallows, fighting down the lump of anxiety in his throat. He pushes himself to his feet, and tries hard to project his usual air of confidence, one he does not currently feel.

“It would be easiest if you took off your shirt - if you’re alright with that, of course. I have some oil in my bag.” He goes to fetch the bottle from the other room: massage is still an essential part of his travel regimine, and he keeps it with him at all times. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Caleb is still standing where he was before, but now barechested, clutching the discarded shirt in his hands. Essek pauses at the doorframe, momentarily caught off guard, then shakes himself and continues on.

“Lie on your front.” Caleb does, still watching Essek as he approaches from the corner of his eye, and the look in his eyes is apprehensive.

Essek can feel it too - the difference now. The tension in the air that wasn’t there before. What they did for the last fifteen minutes was accustomed. They’re both athletes, used to having their bodies maneuvered by others for very specific purposes. The practice of guided stretching, while still sensual in the more general sense, doesn’t carry the same implications for them as it might for those outside their world.

But as Essek sinks down onto the side of the bed, and as he ghosts his cool hand over Caleb’s skin and watches the goosebumps rise at his almost-touch… he realizes this is something different entirely, and that they’re both aware of it. Caleb turns his face into the mattress, out of embarrassment, maybe, Essek can’t quite tell, but he knows his own face is burning just as bright as the flush creeping down Caleb’s neck.

It’s intimate, to a degree that frightens Essek more than it excites him.

“A little closer,” he murmurs as he sets the bottle aside and warms a generous squeeze of oil between his palms. Caleb shuffles over far enough that their hips brush, and Essek leans forward and places his hands in the shallow plane between Caleb’s shoulders. The skin there is pale, and freckled, and he traces lines between the marks with his fingertips before running them down the length of Caleb’s spine with one smooth stroke.

Up and down, he moves his fingers through the hollow places of Caleb’s back lightly, not pressing yet. For now, his only aim is to warm the oil further, and to make sure Caleb is comfortable and relaxed. And that when he finally leans over and begins the massage in earnest, his heart will have calmed sufficiently that Caleb won’t be able to hear it beating through his skin.

It’s not as if they’ve never touched before. This is not their first kiss, nor even their first fumble in the dark. But it had been dark, those times. Here, in the dim glow of the lamps over each nightstand - here, in a hotel room only they share, with trays of food set aside and Caleb’s toothbrush by the bathroom sink - here, where he can’t pretend the depths of his feelings aren’t evident to anyone who would dare look - he can’t see Caleb’s face, but he can see his own hands, and what they’re doing, and how much he wants to keep doing it.

He wants this. He wants Caleb under his hands, breathing out slowly as Essek’s fingers find the hidden spots within him where pain festers, and begin to work in slow circles, drawing out gasps of discomfort as Essek presses deeper, and deeper, and deeper still. Caleb arches his back and he runs his other hand down his shoulder, comforting him in a way Essek wasn’t taught, but what he learned to do for himself, when his own agony became too great to bear. A muscle shudders beneath his knuckle, spasming involuntarily, and he watches chills run down the nape of Caleb’s neck: raised goosepimples of referred pain. He knows that sensation well. If one part aches, the whole of the body is affected. You might never be able to name the true source of the pain.

At last, the first knot loosens, and Essek eases off. Caleb visibly melts into the mattress as the pressure releases. “My apologies,” Essek whispers, and even so, his voice sounds too loud for the intimate space they’ve created in this room. “I’ll try to be gentler on the next one.”

“It’s alright,” mumbles Caleb. “I can take it.”

They’re not unaccustomed to pushing through pain, the two of them. One cannot be a figure skater and not learn how. One cannot have lived through what they have lived through, and not be an expert in the subject.

“Alright,” Essek says, “I’m starting again.”

He goes over each half of Caleb’s back in quadrants, feeling for the places where the muscles draw together and kneading the tension out. Each time, Caleb tenses, but as soon as the knot releases, his bones become looser, his body sinking deeper and deeper into the bed and his breath coming in slower intervals, and though at first every wince was followed by screwed-tight eyes and clenched fists, by the time Essek finds the last problem spot, his expression has slackened to something almost dreamlike.

“Caleb,” Essek murmurs. “Are you awake?”

“Mm,” Caleb hums. “Yes.” His voice is lower than Essek has ever heard it before.

“Shall I continue?”

Caleb hums again. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Essek smiles at that, adding a little more oil to his palms and returning to his earlier broad strokes. Caleb’s shoulder blades shift more freely under his hands now, the muscles relaxed and uninhibited. He raises the arm that lies closest to the bed’s edge experimentally, testing the range of motion and watching the way the shoulder glides easily in its socket. Encouraged by a tap on his side, Caleb shuffles a little more towards the bed’s edge, and Essek slides off it. He pulls Caleb’s wrist out until the ligaments are stretched to their fullest extent, then lays the arm back in place at his side. Ideally, he’d want to do the same for the other arm, but Caleb looks so peaceful now, half-asleep in the sheets, that Essek is reluctant to force him to reposition.

He’s not unaware of the scars exposed by their current situation, and no more so than in this moment, as he gazes down at the roughened brown and white patches in the space between wrist and elbow. He’s glimpsed them before, and he knows part of their story, can even guess at the rest. But not tonight. Not here. This isn’t the time for more questions. He doesn’t need to know more than that Caleb is with him, and that he trusts Essek enough to do this, despite his history.

Essek has caused his own share of hurt. He has done selfish things, with no other purpose than to advance his own career. He has been cruel, and uncaring, in order to achieve all he has in his life. But Caleb trusts him, and that is enough to make him desperate to live up to his expectations, unrealistic as they may be.

When he’s satisfied with the rest of the back, only the neck remains. Caleb’s hair is still pulled into the remnants of his elaborate show ponytail, but as usual, bits have begun to fall out. Essek sweeps aside what strands have caught in the oil, caught off guard by how soft it remains. Most skaters with hair as long as Caleb’s cake their hair in hairspray before competition, to prevent loose ends and flyaways. Even Essek’s hair, so carefully gelled at the beginning of the day, would likely crunch like fresh snow under another’s hands. But Caleb’s hair is loose, and just slightly curled at the ends, and for a moment, Essek’s mind flashes with a vision of pulling the tie fully free. Of running his fingernails against Caleb’s scalp, of feeling those auburn flames pour between his fingers, of leaning down and pressing his lips to the place below the ear where hair and skin meet and breathing deep of hotel soap and his own shampoo and Caleb-

He startles out of the daydream with a small hitch of breath. This is not what this is about, he reminds himself sternly. Essek panting after him like a schoolboy is not what Caleb needs. He may ache to try all things new and unexplored, all the things he never thought he would have the chance to experience, but he is, as always, in control of himself. He has to be, or it will all go wrong. In what way, he does not know; the things he fears are undefinable, but that does not make them less of a yoke around his neck.

Essek runs the pads of his thumbs along the spot where he’d just been imagining his own lips pressing, smoothing out a path to Caleb’s shoulders. He takes care not to let his other fingers encircle Caleb’s throat, and so they bat like moths around the empty air, without a place to land. Caleb arches up again, but this time the noise is pleased, rather than pained. Essek shifts his hips, reminding himself again that this is not the situation they’re in. That he cannot read too much into the sound. That he should never assume what Caleb has not explicitly agreed to.

There isn’t a part of the back before Essek left untouched by oil, though the lower parts are drying, leaving the skin tacky but still warm from friction. Essek does one last assessing stroke with the flat of his hands, and finds nothing remaining to fix. He sits back, and considers what to do next.

With Caleb on his stomach, there has been a safe screen of separation between the two until this point. Essek did not need to work hard to hide any reaction of his to the experience, other than in his voice. But there are still muscles on the front of Caleb’s shoulders to work, and an incomplete massage can be worse than no massage at all. He doesn’t want to leave anything tight enough to pull his back muscles out of alignment again.

But then Caleb may see him, and know.

Know what, again, he cannot say.

It takes a few taps on the shoulder to rouse Caleb from his comfortable state, and even then his words are slurred with pleasant doziness. “Do you need me to move?” he mumbles, before pressing his face back into the mattress.

“I’d like to finish your shoulders from the front, if that’s alright.” Caleb murmurs his assent, but makes no attempt to move from his current position. “You’ll… need to roll over. For me to continue.”

Caleb grumbles good-naturedly, but does manage to turn himself over, immediately flinging one hand over his eyes to block out the - thankfully, dim - light. Essek starts to reach for his wrist, meaning to maneuver it back down on the sheets, but after a moment of thinking, he instead reaches over and grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed. Essek tugs the pillowcase off and tosses the pillow itself to the floor, then folds the fabric neatly into a band, which he lays over Caleb’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Caleb murmurs, and another thrill goes through Essek’s body. He can see Caleb’s mouth moving now when he speaks, his lips that are slightly parted, soft and unconcerned as he breathes in and out, as his chest rises and falls with the same rhythm. Essek has never dared to look so long.

He chides himself again. Caleb is blind in his current state, and any unnecessary stares on Essek’s part are as good as leering in this context. This feeling, of towering over someone… it isn’t something to enjoy. He’s always relished the feeling of control, of being above the rest. But with Caleb, Essek is an equal, and so when he offers him control, Essek cannot take pride in having earned it. He can only fear betraying the trust he’s been given.

Essek starts again on the massage, letting the discomfort flow out of himself and into the motion of his hands. With every breath Caleb takes, his collarbone rises to meet Essek’s palms, and he bites the inside of his lip, and keeps his own breath steady, and his eyes focused on the task at hand. His body is a distraction, but one he is proficient at ignoring.

The front takes far less time than the back. Caleb is so loose by now that his muscles want to follow Essek’s lead, and do so without complaint. The only stir Caleb gives is when Essek’s hands stray too close to his windpipe, but even then it’s more a twitch than a flinch, and Caleb settles back down immediately into his previous boneless state once the fingers retreat.

Essek has kept his eyes in line until this point, but in a moment of weakness, he lets them wander down the expanse of Caleb’s chest - slim, but defined muscles, skin waxed smooth save for the trail of hair that runs past his navel, and there, yes - a bruise along his side, as ugly as Essek expected, but already beginning to yellow at the edges. He carefully avoids it as he runs his hands down Caleb’s sides, drawing trails of oil like paint strokes all the way to his hips, just shy of the band of his sweatpants. Caleb shivers, and that’s when Essek notices, though he tried so carefully not to put himself in the position to.

Caleb is hard. The bulge isn’t obscene, but noticeable, and impossible to ignore, once Essek makes the realization. His mouth goes dry, hands stuttering to a stop halfway back to Caleb’s shoulders.

Of course, he knew it was a possibility, that Caleb might be affected in the same way… touch is a powerful thing, even absent of desire, and he knows that Caleb does desire him, at least under some circumstances…

“Are we finished?” Caleb asks without moving his head, sounding regretful, but not displeased.

He must be aware of it. How could he not be, of his own state? But he hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t made any effort to hide it, or to call Essek’s attention to it, as though he’s simply unbothered whether Essek knows or not.

What courage that must be - to accept that others see you, without any shame.

He… he wants to find that courage as well.

Essek reaches up with one hand and removes the folded pillowcase from Caleb’s forehead. Bleary blue eyes squint up at him, half lidded against the light. The other hand, he moves to the sharp bone of Caleb’s hip, fingertips just skimming the edge of the bruise, and then the place where Caleb’s waistband pulls away from his skin. He waits until he’s sure Caleb is looking at him before he speaks.

“Do you want me to go lower?”

He brushes his fingertips again at Caleb’s waistband, so that his meaning is clear. And even still, he hesitates to do it, unsure he’ll be able to go through with the offer, regardless of Caleb’s reply.

He is still so uncertain, about so many things.

“...I wouldn’t complain,” Caleb says, echoing his previous words with a wry smile. It’s that smile, that humour, that utter expression of ease... he only realizes in hindsight, that that was the only thing that would have convinced him to move forward. The only way he would have been alright with it.

“A word, and I will stop.”

“I know.” Caleb’s eyes have already begun to drift closed again, but they open once more when Essek taps him on the shoulder.

“And still, I’ll say it again. A word.”

Caleb’s humoured smile shifts to something softer, almost fond, and he lifts one hand to cover Essek’s and pats it gently.

“I know my limits. You can trust me to say how much is too much. Right now, I am happy for more.”

“...Then I’m happy to give it.”

Moving to Caleb’s other side so he can recline on the bed as well rather than perch at the edge of it, Essek gathers what oil hasn’t yet dried on Caleb’s skin in one hand and reaches down past the waistband, fingers grazing through a thicket of coarse hair before settling on heated flesh. Essek draws Caleb out, grateful that his eyes are closed, so he can’t see the full extent of Essek’s embarrassment. His experiences prior to Caleb had been… limited - which is to say, non-existent - and even if this is not the first thing they’ve done together, he still finds himself impossibly shy, when it comes to it. For lack of anything else to concentrate on, he returns again to Caleb’s hair, leaning forward on one elbow to touch the tresses spooled across the pillow, as his other hand begins to move up and down.

Some of the curled tips are still damp with oil, but most of it is dry, and fans out in a beautiful array of red and copper highlights. He follows their path to the crown of Caleb’s head, where his bangs are swept to one side, not hanging over his eyes. Though his other hand is on Caleb, he’s still seized with the impossible, unfullfillable urge to touch. To be closer than they are, closer than they could ever possibly be. He threads his fingers into the hair around Caleb’s forehead, dragging his nails gently against the scalp, and Caleb tilts his head back into Essek’s hand.

Caleb’s lips part, but his breathing isn’t ragged or hurried. It’s still slow and relaxed, if a little heavier than before. His eyes are closed, but not held shut tight. His shoulders stay where they are, content to remain immovable after Essek’s ministrations, and his mouth still holds a little smile at the edges, and his face, a softness, like what Essek is doing is just another part of the massage.

The atmosphere isn’t even particularly erotic, Essek realizes, and realizes too that the lack of gravity in Caleb’s response is settling his own nerves. There are no shouts of ecstacy or scrambling hands, no open mouthed devouring kisses, or desperation, or even lust. Just… comfort. Just pleasure, without expectation of rapturous release. Just being together, in this way, because they want to be. Because it feels good to be.

Caleb’s shoulders only begin to tense near the end, and even then it’s easy to coax them back down, so that when the final moment comes it’s with a long, slow exhale, and a body more relaxed than before. Essek’s right hand stills, but his left keeps on stroking Caleb’s hair, until at last Caleb’s eyes open.

“I’m very tired,” is the first thing he says.

“I can tell,” Essek replies fondly, then lowers himself down to the mattress, so that they’re at eye level when Caleb turns his head to him.

“That was wonderful.” Caleb smirks. “You have been holding back your skills from me. What else are you hiding, I wonder.” Essek chuckles softly, and Caleb nudges forward and presses a tender kiss to his mouth. “I should treat you as well, hm?”

Caleb turns his body to Essek, reaching down between them to tease at the drawstring of Essek’s leggings before hooking his fingers into the waistband and beginning to slide them over-

Essek jerks to the side, catching Caleb’s hand before it can go any father.

The lights. The lights are still on, and Caleb will see-

“Essek?” Caleb asks, eyes confused.

“You should relax. You said you were tired,” Essek says, and Caleb shakes his head, and begins to move his hand again.

“I’m happy to-”

“Don’t.”

Caleb stops this time for good, and Essek sits up quickly, pulling at his waistband to make sure not a single inch of skin is showing.

“Essek-”

“I trusted you to know your limits. Trust me to know my own.”

There’s nothing but silence for as long as Essek can bear to look away, and when he finally turns to look at Caleb once more, he expects to find frustration in his eyes, or annoyance at Essek for having soured the mood.

Instead, Caleb’s expression is one of quiet understanding.

“Of course,” he says, and sits up too, so they’re at eye level again.

He wants to apologize, but can’t bring himself to, so he sits there, staring at the floor and saying nothing.

At last, Caleb gets off the bed.

“I should shower again, get cleaned off.”

Essek nods, eyes still on the carpet, until his vision fills with the sight of a kneeling Caleb, his face impossibly close.

“Thank you,” he says, “for telling me.” Caleb cups his chin and leans forward, kissing Essek gently on the cheek. The ice in his bloodstream begins to thaw, in slow waves. “Take some time for yourself. I’ll come to bed soon.”

Then he’s gone, and Essek stares off at the light from under the bathroom door for a good few minutes before folding over onto the mattress. The heat of Caleb’s body hasn’t yet faded, and Essek curls into the warm spot where he lay, and pulls the sheets over his shoulders.

He lets the tactile comforts that remain - the smell of oil, the warmth of the blankets, the sound of running water - seep into every part of him, and waits for Caleb to return.

Thy Neighbor II: Lovin’ The Crew [Chapters 19 + 20]

[Prologue] [Chapters 1 + 2] [Chapters 3 + 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapters 7 + 8] [Chapters 9 + 10] [Chapters 11 + 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapters 14 + 15][Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] 

Warnings: Language, smut thoughts

The madness continues... 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Y'lan's favorite spot inside of this lavish AirBnB just blocks away from Center City is the outdoor patio. Full of lush bushes peppered with flowers of multiple hues and a large table long enough to fit more than twelve disciples, it's job as the bar is doing the trick. The table is way more than a wet bar, stacked with every type of whisky, gin and tequila known to man. It's also the grandest medicine cabinet Y'lan could have in hopes to soothe his raging emotions toward Trevante.

Y'lan always knew Trevante to be a loose cannon when it came to women. He heard some of the stories straight from the horse's mouth, the worst of them coming from both Michael and Yahya, his best friends. But what he's been hearing from -- and about -- Trevante during the early hours of this pre-bachelor party has him on edge.

Trevante just spoke of "sexing down some chick" just weeks ago, describing her as "super thick, nerdy bitch, tight pussy, all that." Y'lan would only know of Ciara's shape, need to wear glasses and disposition toward learning new things. He never got the chance to see if he'd get stuck inside of her love. However, hearing Trevante talked about Ciara -- or who he imagines to be, at least -- this type of way disturbs him beyond belief. The same girl that Trevante spoke of "ending his playboy ways" with is being talked about in a room full of immature frat boys as just another "fuck", as Stephan just called her. A label that Trevante didn't correct but rather laughed at.

Maybe Trevante just wants to impress his friends or he is trying to keep up appearances. Either way, Y'lan wasn't having it. A shot of top shelf whisky is to keep his mind on other things.

"Yo, bro ... we got all night, man." Trevante catches Y'lan just as he pours his next shot. He saw him pour his first two drinks, watching him out on the porch as the rest of his friends cracked jokes and delved in laughter around him. Trevante didn't want to talk about Ciara in this way. She wasn't a "fuck"; she was his girlfriend. While he loves her body, makes her keep her glasses on during sex as a fetish thing and puts her at the top of his "best sex ever" list, he didn't mean to make their love life his boys' business. Trevante reverts to number-eight-on-his-SPR07 line when he's around the fellas. He's grown since then, he thought. But once he saw Y'lan leave the room, he knew he messed up.

Quiet as it's kept, Y'lan is who Trevante wants to be. He admires Y'lan's drive to live life for something greater than himself, volunteering and giving his life to the church. Trevante wasn't a religious person but he would pay attention to how Y'lan would talk about how God helped him get his act together from a life of doing dirt, Ciara catching most of those stains. He felt Y'lan's "stand up" energy and wanted a part. Him checking in on Y'lan is in his way of trying to be better -- and hoping that he didn't turn off the person he hopes can turn into his best friend.

He pours himself a shot as well. "Y'lan, you cool?"

"Yeah. Just a lot going on in there, man. That's all."

"If you're not feeling this, we can always dip out. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. This really ain't for us anyway. "

Y'lan is taken aback by Trevante's invitation to leave. In one way, he's glad that his friend is aware of what may or may not be a place that he would want to be. On the flipside, he's hurt that his friend is responsible for making him feel uncomfortable in the first place. "Nah, man. I'm good. It's just for today. The wilderness lasted forty days. I'll be solid." Y'lan knocks down another shot. "Let's head out to the day party spot. I'll be cool. I just need to breathe a bit."

---

"I feel like I can breathe up here..." Ciara marvels at the orange, auburn and marigold-hued leaves that fall around her and Winston as they wind around a somewhat busy trailway on a Saturday morning. They make sure to make room for the bicyclists and runners with their strollers as they walk the twisted pathway through trees and rotting cabins. "This reminds me of back home."

"Where's back home for you?"

"Suburban Maryland, toward the mountains. We were like the only Black family there but it was a beautiful place to grow up. What about you, Winston? You've been in New York all of your life?"

"Ehh, it's a long story."

"I got time..."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Raised by a preacher father and a stay-at-home mother who were both full-on fire-and-brimstone, barring secular music and television inside of their house, Winston and his sister, in church six times a week and twice on Sundays, were forbidden to go on class trips or to sleepovers. Feeling trapped, Winston started hanging out with all of the "'Rican and Dominican" kids from the neighborhood. There he met his best friend, Ronald.

Built like a NFL player by tenth grade, Ronald scared everyone except Winston, big and bad just like he was. As much as Winston's parents didn't like his new crew, they knew Ronald's mother from church so they lessened their grip. The two became inseparable, Winston spending weekends at Ronald's house during the summer. He got to watch BET and play XBox for all hours of the day, this little ounce of freedom in a world full of restrictions.

But then one day, he couldn't go over Ronald's house anymore and Winston's dad wouldn't tell him why. Winston would hang outside with Ronald but then his mother would drag him into the house. "I better not catch you hanging out with that boy..." is all his mother could say. Nothing made sense until it did. Ronald's mother found a note written for Winston. Inside were Ronald's feelings for him, feelings that his mother felt "were for girls..."

"So that's why you're writing about the persecution of sexuality in the early Church, then? Makes sense." Ciara exhales from hearing Winston's story. It was a lot to take in but Winston felt comfortable enough to tell her about it.

"Yeah. I'm passionate about why we do what we do, you know? There's a root to everything. But I didn't mean to make this all sad and stuff, I'm sorry..." Winston laughs to break up his somber tone. Ciara finds it nice to break up her life with some God talk. Outside of school, she doesn't get much of it. She definitely doesn't get it with Trevante.

"No, you're good! I appreciate it. It kinda reinvigorated me to get back to working on my paper, actually. I don't get to have these conversations with other students often because of work and like, all my close people aren't in the church like that, so..."

"I'm always down for meeting over coffee whenever you're free, if you need to keep fleshing things out."

"Man, Winston. I would love that so much..." Ciara pauses to take a look at Winston before he gives a response. His smile says enough.

"We should be getting you back though, I know your girls are probably looking for you..."

"They ain't even thinking about me. They in that house knocking down mimosas like it's a job." Winston and Ciara both laugh as they turn around on the trailway. The closer they get to the house, the louder the sounds of Jodeci are coming from their AirBnB.

I've been watchin' you for so very long tryin' to get my nerve built up to be so strong/ I really want to meet you but I'm kinda scared/ 'cuz you're the kind of lady with so much class...

The crowd at this day party is way too young to know anything about Jodeci. Most of them weren't born when K-Ci, JoJo, Dalvin and DeVante were killin' the streets. But Trevante, Y'lan, Stephan, Michael and the boys make the most of it. And the worst...

"Yo, Stephan is a damn savage," Michael says as he watches his friend's married frat brother flirt with another girl that looks just a shade over 21. Y'lan's been waiting and watching Stephan all night, calling him a "fuck nigga" under his tequila-laced breath. The girl's look of discomfort is clear to everybody else but Stephan.

It's even more clear to Trevante. Stephan wasn't just drunkenly flirting with some random. He grabs the girl's hand and takes her to their VIP section.

"Yo, yo... this is Meganne. She's a Lambda. Ain't think they were still out here looking this fine, shit." Meganne gently smiles to hide her embarrassment. She spotted Trevante and his crew some time ago as she and her girls grooved to another Ma$e song that they were too young to know. After Trevante told her to cool it for the sake of his relationship, she didn't walk by his office like she would always do, hoping to catch his attention.

After talking to her prophytes, she realized that Trevante was in the wrong for how he treated her. She felt strung along, feeling as if Trevante had this "girlfriend" for as long as he was taking her home from work and to lunch everyday. He would be her first "fuck nigga". Too bad he had to be so damn fine.

So as she sits down, she tries not to catch eyes with Trevante. Trevante is staring holes into her and Y'lan notices. He then remembers running into a girl that looked just like Meganne trying to hold back tears as she ran out of his office. Y'lan puts what he thinks is two and two together. He had enough. His fingers -- and the liquor -- went to work.

I ain't trying to win you back, Ciara. So that's not my move. You just need to know how trash this dude is. You deserve better, straight up.

Taglist: @doublesidedscoobysnacks @diva-princess-on-fleek @voyagetoadinas9 @walkrightuptothesun @wvsspoppin  @dreamlovealways @rockwit609 @thegayaxeman @joyfulwombatdreamermaker @blackpinup22 @hookedtoherfire @kris-did-it @l-auteuse @styleismyaddiction

Tag Team (V)

Chapter: I II IIIᴹ IV V VI VII VIII IX Xᴹ

Kai was sharpening the last of his knives when he heard the music. Hours ago, Joori had finally fallen asleep after fidgeting back and forth, caught between fighting sleep and trying to get comfortable. Now there was angry music ringing around the room and Kai wanted to silence it so Joori could keep sleeping.

If she woke up, he would have to deal with her sad eyes again.

Kai paced the room, looking for the source, when he approached Joori’s tiny body curled on the floor and slowed his footsteps.

She jolted awake and let out a little yelp when the cuffs on her wrists fought against her brief struggle. Kai winced and reached to his pocket by instinct for the key that would free her from those cuffs.

But Joori sat up and pressed a finger to her ear, turning the music off.

“What was that?” Kai asked.

Joori blinked sleepily up at him. “My alarm.”

He wrinkled his brows and sat down in front of her, pulling out another energy bar for her. “You set an alarm for four in the afternoon?”

This time, she didn’t fight his offer, and he held back his smile of triumph. “It’s my regular alarm for my days off. Sometimes I will work until the morning and sleep all day. This is the only way I can make sure I see some hours of daylight like a normal human being.”

“So today was supposed to be your day off?”

She nodded as she took a bite.

He chuckled. “And you always wake up to heavy metal?”

A smile made her dry cracked lips more apparent, and Kai grabbed a glass of water for her. “Heavy metal. Rock. Whatever invigorates me.” She put the glass to her lips and took a drink.

Kai looked away, feeling like he shouldn’t watch her so closely when he was her enemy. “What was that song?” he asked casually as he began sharpening his knives again.

“Roulette by The Velvet Redz. Ever heard of them?”

He shook his head. He had learned how to play the guitar from a friend when they were teens, but he didn’t have much time to listen to very much music.

“Ah, you’re missing out. They’re my favourite.”

Kai let the sound of his knives take over the silence for a bit. “Do you go to their concerts on your days off?”

He imagined a tiny Joori pounding her fists to a rock band, her hair whipping back and forth as she screamed the lyrics with the band.

Joori giggled and the light sound made Kai look up. “No, they’ve never had a concert here. Maybe one day.” She took another bite of the energy bar. “It’s a little stupid because I spend all day in my lab anyway, but on my days off, I like to make random bits of music.”

Kai turned back to his knives. “Music?” he asked, wondering how a guard like her contradicted the image he had of his enemy’s guards. He expected them to be cold and inhumane, yet here she was. Very...warm and human.

“Well, silly music bites. Lots of synthetic sound. If I could be a one-woman band and learn every single instrument, I would. They sound a lot better.”

He held back the fact that he could play the guitar though it was on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to sound like he was trying to impress her, even if he kind of wanted to. It wasn’t like he was a guitar prodigy anyway; he just played a few songs here and there for his family and friends.

“So why do you want the $500 000?”

Her question almost gave him whiplash with the way it was so sudden.

He looked at her and saw the sleepy daze gone, replaced by a calculating gaze that locked him down. He could practically see the gears in her head working away.

If she wanted the truth, then he would give her the truth.

“Your boss promised my family that much money when I left home to work for him. It’s been weeks and my family has not seen a single dollar. I agreed to all the experiments and enhancements.” He fought a shudder remembering all the chemicals that had been injected into his blood. “My mother and sister are still back home, now working the farm day and night without me.”

Joori’s lips parted in confusion and then she looked down at her cuffs and her clothes. “My boss?” she whispered.

Kai applied more force to his knife, sharpening it as far as he could. He didn’t want to kill, but even if he were forced to run this knife through his enemy’s neck, he would strive to make a clean cut. “Even if I can’t go home to physically help them anymore, I want to make sure they’re safe and have food on the table.”

If he went home right now, he knew his mother and sister would be glad to see him. He’d be stronger and faster with his enhancements and training. He’d be able to harvest so much to sell at the market, and then he’d probably pick up a construction job on the side too.

But he’d be okay with sending a steady stream of honest money back home if it came down to it. Whatever would keep his mother and sister safe and off the streets.

“Kai,” Joori’s soft voice stopped his hands and he looked up.

For some reason, the look on her face told him she was about to deliver bad news.

Why did it not surprise him when she said, “Kai, I’m not your enemy.”

-

Joori shifted as Kai paced another round back and forth in front of her. She had migrated from the floor to his bed, a small upgrade, but she was still uncomfortable as her wrists chafed against the spiky cuff whenever she moved too much.

She and Kai didn’t exchange many words. They ate and drank, then resorted to silence. For some reason, she was much less scared now that they both knew she was the wrong target. Still, she didn’t let her guard down.

“My teammates won’t hurt you,” she assured him as she watched him testing the straps on his gun holster. This man was preparing for war.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you have men on your team?”

She nodded, even though Jongin was the single man on her team who was out on the front lines of missions. Her uncle was too old to be running around.

“Are any of them your boyfriend?”

Joori could feel her cheeks turning red. “N-no. Why?”

Kai looked as if he didn’t believe her as he went back and yanked on the leather of his straps. “If I were your boyfriend, I’d make sure to kill the man that kidnapped you.”

She almost sputtered at his words. What was she supposed to say back? That Jongin didn’t look at anybody besides his wife? Or that Jongin didn’t really stand a chance against the ultra strong and fast Kai?

No, she couldn’t reveal her weaknesses.

And Kai must’ve been speaking figuratively, because she also couldn’t reveal that her weak heart had skipped a beat when he said that.

She’d never envied anybody’s relationship, but sometimes when she was up late working away on a new gadget, she wished she was in a relationship of any sort. Somebody who would celebrate her inventions with her. Somebody who could warm her empty bed at five in the morning when she climbed in after working all night. Somebody who jammed out to heavy metal with her.

Somebody who could protect her from the outside world as she lost herself in hours of work.

“We leave in twelve hours,” Kai said, interrupting her thoughts. “You should get some sleep. It’s a long hike to the escarpment.”

Her muscles protested. They were already sore just from a bit of running yesterday.

But Joori nodded, because what else was she supposed to do for twelve hours other than sleep? Stare at a wall?

She climbed off the bed and went to her corner.

“Where are you going?”

She took a seat on the cold hard floor, her butt protesting already. “To sleep?”

“On the ground?”

Before she could respond, Kai’s arms came around her back and under her knees, and she was suddenly lifted up into the air.

“It’s freezing on the ground,” he grunted as he set her back on his bed.

“It’s fine,” she replied, ready to get off as soon as he turned his back.

But he reached behind him and shut off the light, bringing them to darkness.

The room suddenly did feel colder.

Joori reached out her hands as she felt the bed shift. “Where are you going?” She felt his fingers and held on with both hands.

Kai stopped. “I’ll be right here, on the floor.”

“But it’s freezing.”

Joori’s eyes adjusted to the dark and she could feel Kai’s ironic gaze. “I only have one bed, Joori.”

She shivered, whether from the cold or from the way his words held a different meaning, she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t let him sleep on the ground, not when they had a long day ahead of them.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, right?” She gulped even as she said the words and tugged on his warm fingers. “As long as we don’t cross each others’ sides, I’m okay with...”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She’d never slept with someone, let alone a man.

Strangely, relief washed over her as the bed sank. She climbed under the covers in silence, turning toward the wall and staying as far away from Kai’s side as possible.

The silence continued as she listened to his breaths while the minutes ticked on. She was tired but didn’t want to fall asleep, lest something happened. But an hour seemed to pass and Kai stayed in the same spot, his breaths getting slower and deeper.

Reluctantly, Joori let her body relax. She buried her nose under the blanket, avoiding the cold that seemed to drift from the wall. She could smell Kai’s scent under here, and it seemed to calm her senses a little.

Tomorrow, she would be running for her life and Kai would be running for his. She prayed for both of them as she drifted to sleep.

---

Two people, one bed? My favourite 8))))) Sorry this update came a bit late but I hope you are all enjoying this story <3 I have a lot more ideas floating around in my head these days so I hope to get more stories out in the near future (I say that but I also know that these plot bunnies are very fleeting....) thank you all for reading and have a great week!

Kissing Fire [pt. 8]

Pairing: Jungkook x reader x girlfriend (oc) Genre: cheater!AU, angst, smut Wordcount: 8.1k Warning: smut, lies, heartbreak and more lies and maybe fluff if you squint

Summary: It always feels like there is only one person in the world to love. And then you find somebody else.

a/n: I don’t condone cheating on your s.o., so please don’t read if you have a problem with this! (also I’m not saying this is something Jungkook would actually do!) Warning chapter 8: none ??? (it’s an angsty mess, profanities if you squint)

Breathing heavily Jimin’s eyes darted to the youngest member in the mirrored wall of the dance studio; every time he looked at him the betrayal he felt made him sick to his stomach. How could he have been so wrong about Jungkook? He had always treated him like his own flesh and blood; he had been there for him when he needed a shoulder to cry on but now his face was barely recognizable; almost like his eyes were trying to blur out the pain that was omnipresent in his heart every time he looked at his little brother.  He felt exhausted, unable to focus on anything, his dance moves were mechanical like his limbs automatically just repeated the moves from memory. He desperately needed sleep but every time he closed his eyes, his brain started to go into overdrive, not allowing him to rest until he passed out from exhaustion - only to relive the moment he had found out over and over again. It had been two days and his patience was wearing thin, running on three hours of sleep.  “That’s it for today.” Sungdeuk clapped his hands and turned the stereo off. “All of you should keep practicing!” He addressed the group but his eyes were focused on Jimin, wanting to spare him from the exposure in front of the others when agony was painted all over his face but at this point, he didn’t care. He had no energy left to apologize for his lack of commitment in the past few days.  The other members sat down on the floor and chairs, trying to calm down from going over the choreography over and over again. Jimin’s legs felt wobbly as he made his way over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, hoping that the cold liquid would refresh his senses and pull him out of this slump. The thought of drinking his sorrows away once he got home creeping up on him yet again, in hopes of passing out and finally getting the rest his body was longing for. 

“Jimin-ah, get me one too please.” Jin groaned, lying down flat on his back; arms and legs stretched out in all directions like a starfish. His heartfelt heavy like a ton of bricks, weighing down his entire body as he sluggishly made his way over to his hyung - it felt like he was just robotically dragging his legs from place to place. After handing the oldest his water; he walked back to one of the chairs, desperately needing to give his legs a break when his eyes caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s phone; he was tapping on a picture he had just been sent. Sharply Jimin sucked in a breath through his teeth, anger igniting in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jungkook and y/n were secretly hooking up; she still had the audacity to send him lewd pictures. Immediately recognizing the slowly fading bruises on her bare ass from the video he so desperately tried to erase from his memory. From the little wiggle of his ears, Jimin knew the youngest was smiling as he zoomed in and out of the picture to take in every inch of her naked body. “Jungkookie, why are you smiling? Let me see.” Taehyung scooted over to the younger one, trying to get a glimpse of the screen but Jungkook quickly locked it, shoving the phone into his pocket.  “Oh nothing, it was just a meme Yugyeom posted into the group chat.” A loud thump echoed from the studio walls when Jimin’s water bottle hit the ground; he spun around storming out of the room; anger and hurt giving him enough energy to make his way to the break room at the end of the hallway. The door handle loudly crashed against the wall, making Ha-na look up from her laptop. “What the-“ “I can’t take it anymore.” Jimin’s voice was shaking as he pushed his hair from his forehead while pacing up and down between the small tables and chairs. “I changed my mind, I want us to talk to Jungkook.” Ha-na’s pupils were blown wide as she hastily closed her laptop, work not being her main priority anymore. “Why now? What made you change your mind?” “Because I just saw that y/n sends him nudes and I can’t stand it. It makes me so angry that they think they can get away with it.” His hands balled into fists; his whole body shaking in anger from the shameless display of treacherous behavior he had just witnessed. “Do you want to do it now? Because I’m so ready!” Ha-na got up, locking eyes with the boy across the table, he slowly nodded his head. “Phone.” She demanded, holding out her hand. “What are you doing?” He asked, handing her his phone with no hesitation. “Shooting a text to the little traitor letting him know we need to talk.” Fingers trembling with the excitement of the imminent confrontation as she typed out the message. [Jungkookie - 4:34pm] We need to talk! Right now! “Do you think he’ll come?” He wondered, his eyes glued to the chat on his phone when the three dots in the small speech bubble made him screech. “And if he doesn’t I’ll drag his ass here myself.” She scoffed, watching as the little dots disappeared again. * Jungkook was hiding in the bathroom, after reading his older brothers texts over and over, a bad feeling started to spread in his chest. Those weren’t the casual texts they would send each other; this sounded troublesome and it scared him shitless. Perspiration gathering on his forehead, hands feeling clammy as he tried to wipe them on his sweatpants. His phone vibrated in his hand, an instant smile tugging on his lips when he saw her name, even now that he was scared of what Jimin wanted to talk about; nothing could outweigh the happiness he felt when he saw her name flash across the display. [y/n - 4:51pm] Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I had to sneak to the kitchen to text you back. Do you know what he wants? [Jungkook - 4:51pm] It’s okay, baby. No, I don’t //: do you think he knows? [y/n - 4:52 pm] I hope not. There’s no way he knows! We have been careful. Let me know how it went, okay? I love you, Kookie <3 Don’t worry, everything will be okay! 

[Jungkook - 4:53 pm] I will! I love you too baby For a brief moment he buried his face in his hands before leaving the bathroom; almost running into Yoongi who was walking to his studio. “Yah Jungkook-ah, watch where you’re going.” He playfully scolded him; forcing a nervous chuckle from the younger boy as he bowed repeatedly. “I’m sorry, hyung!” Jungkook watched the dark-haired boy turn around the corner; if Yoongi wasn’t mad at him that probably meant that Jimin was just messing with him. If he really screwed up, then all of his older brothers would know but his heart was still hammering against his ribcage as he opened to door to the break room where Jimin had told him to come. He was startled in his movements, when he saw Ha-na leaning against a table, her eyes now piercing his skull as he stood in the doorway. Jimin was pacing up and down the room, nervously fiddling with his phone. “Close the door!” Ha-na commanded before pointing to a chair that looked like they had put it there just for him. His obedient side kicked in and he did as he was told, slowly walking to take his seat; brain too numb to even realize what was going on. Nervousness was taking over his entire body, he could feel the sweat gathering in his hairline again, slowly streaming down the sides of his face. Ha-na’s gaze lingered on the boy who looked so tiny in his big sweater, his dark doe eyes wide and filled with questions and confusion. She despised the innocent look on his face with his mouth open in a slight o-shape; was he just trying to fool them into believing he didn’t do anything wrong, that he didn’t cheat on his girlfriend for months and months without feeling an ounce of guilt? “Do you want me to do it?” She asked Jimin, who had finally taken his position next to her, he simply nodded, his hands were shaking so he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “Fine, I’ll go ahead then."

Jungkook gulped down the big lump that was threatening to close up his throat. They looked so big and intimidating towering over him like hawks ready to attack their prey. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck and followed the curve of his spine as his fingers dug into the soft material of his sweater. Ha-na cleared her throat, momentarily closing her eyes while taking a deep breath. “We know what you’re doing with y/n.” Jungkook’s body froze, his brain was petrified from fear while his heart was beating so fast he was sure he was gonna have an aneurysm in a matter of seconds. “What?” He croaked, mouth as dry as the desert. He was mortified, hoping that he just didn’t understand her right.  “You heard me!” He shook his head, eyes wide in panic as he tried to come up with a lie, anything that would get him out of this situation. “We’re not…” He began but Ha-na interrupted him right away. “Oh fuck me. Stop lying! Jimin…” She pointed to his brother, who had been quiet, just staring at his feet with a pained expression painted on his face. “And I have seen it! I saw you making out with her in the kitchen and Jimin saw your little video.” “No no no..” He mumbled to himself, hands flying to cover his ears from hearing any more of his secret from her lips. His pupils were moving unusually fast as he tried to get a grip of what was happening; the scenario he had feared the most was threatening to make his heart stop. “You got it wrong…we are not..” “Cut the bullshit!” Ha-na snapped. “You’re hooking up with her, stop denying it.” Jungkook sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, trying to stop it from trembling. This was all too much; he wanted to run away and hide somewhere where they wouldn’t find him. When his fight or flight senses kicked in and he jumped to his feet, ready to make a break for the door and run to find the only arms that would give him the comfort that he needed. “Sit down! You’re not going anywhere!” Jimin’s voice was sharp, cutting through him like a knife, his body responding involuntarily obliging the older one’s words. Ha-na pulled out a chair, sitting directly across from him. She tried to look him in the eyes but he just stared at his hands, his right leg bopping up and down quickly. His bangs were sticking to his forehead; she knew he was scared and some small part of her felt bad for the young boy sitting across from her but he had to learn that his actions had consequences. Jimin shifted in his spot; the silence was almost too much to bear, making him even more nervous than he already was - maybe this was the moment that would change the whole dynamic of the group. Jungkook definitely wasn’t the 16-year-old innocent boy anymore that needed to be babied; maybe they all had been too lenient with him. Their utmost admiration for him painting a false picture of the boy in front of him. “Jungkook…” Ha-na began, her voice sounded like it was very far away. His ears were deafening from the pressure in his head while his thoughts were just a jumbled mess, fighting to get the upper hand as he looked for a way to deflect the situation. “Hey…” His older brother nudged him with his foot, snapping him out of his trance. “You know what you two are doing is wrong, right?” She tried a simple approach, seeing as Jungkook was still in panic mode, looking like a deer that was about to get hit by a car at full speed. He nodded, his fingers picking at the fuzz on his cheek as his sleeve slipped down his arm a little, revealing the black leather bracelet Jimin had talked about the other night which she now saw for the first time. “Then why are you doing it?” His voice cracked as he attempted to speak. “I-I-…we…” “Are you just sleeping with her or what?” He shook his head. “No, I love her and she loves me…” Ha-na’s mouth fell open at the sudden confession; although she had been aware that it must have been more than the occasional sex, the actual words twisted her stomach into knots. “What? Since when?” “Ever since I saw her for the first time.” “You have been in love with y/n for like five years?” Jimin asked in disbelief; everything he thought he knew had been wrong, remembering the only time y/n had visited the dorms a few months before their debut in 2013. “No, when Taehyung brought her over after she moved here…” His voice was so small and fragile, on the verge of breaking at any given second. “We locked eyes and I just-…I didn’t know what it was but I just felt something and then I heard this beeping and I just knew she was my soulmate…”

“Don’t give me that anime soulmate crap! You cannot know someone is your soulmate because you heard a noise.” Ha-na groaned. “That’s not how it works, especially when it was probably just the fucking microwave. That’s not a sign from the universe to cheat on your girlfriend, Kook!” Jungkook swallowed hard, not knowing how he should explain himself or his feelings - they would never understand that he just knew she was the one. That looking into her eyes, made him feel something he had never felt before. “I know and I did try to fight it and not act on it but it got harder and harder every day because she started coming over a lot.” “You never really spoke to her that much, I know that because she asked Tae if you didn’t like her.” Ha-na’s index finger was tapping her chin as she combed back through her memories. “What did he say? Did he suspect anything?” Ha-na shook her head looking at Jimin. “He reassured her that Jungkook would just need time to warm up to her. Tae still has no idea what they are doing behind his - all of our backs.” “It’ll break his heart when he finds out…” Jimin trailed off but so did Jungkook’s thoughts. Y/n had been worried that he did not like her all those months ago? He knew now that she had sensed the same spark he felt when their eyes met but his conscience had tried so hard not to cave in; he had been strong for a while but eventually he gave in to temptation. Maybe he had been too busy fighting a war with his inner demons to notice that she had liked him too until that one night that set everything in motion... He had snatched his favorite spot on the big sofa, between Jin and Hoseok, where he could steal glances at her without anyone noticing. He would never be able to understand how anyone could look so effortlessly beautiful in just leggings and a t-shirt but she did and it made it hard for him to take his eyes off her but whenever she moved her head he looked away; afraid she would be able to see in eyes how he felt. “I’m going to make us more popcorn.” Her voice was so sweet; all he wanted was to listen to her forever. “Can you bring some jellies too?” Taehyung mumbled while handing her the empty popcorn bowl. “Sure.” She ruffled his hair, making his stomach churn - Taehyung posed no threat, he was in love with Ha-na but Jungkook would have given everything he owned for her to show him the same affection she showed her best friend. Watching her walk to the kitchen; he finally focused on the movie but he had no idea what happened when he had paid no attention to it for the last fifteen minutes. “Why’s he doing that?” He leaned over to Jin, hoping his eldest brother would fill in the gaps of the plot he was missing. “He is just looking for clues to find out what’s happening to his daughter.” Jin didn’t even look at him, eyes quickly scanning the subtitles on the tv to not miss a thing. Jungkook pursed his lips, sinking back into the cushions with a groan. He could feel himself getting bored; it was torture to know she was here but he wasn’t able to look at her when all he was allowed to do was stare at her face for the remainder of his days.  “What’s taking y/n so long?” Taehyung sat up, peeking over the couch towards the kitchen. “I’ll go check, I wanted to get some water anyway.” He jumped at the opportunity to be in the same room with her, although he never managed to muster up the courage to actually speak to her when they were alone. Too scared that his heart might betray him and force him to just confess that she was all he could think about. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Jungkook couldn’t help but smile; she was on her tiptoes trying to reach the bag of Tae’s favorite jelly candy on the top shelf of the cupboard while the popcorn maker was heating up. His eyes darted to the small exposed part of her back where her shirt had ridden up from stretching her arm making his tongue run along the inside of his cheek. Her skin looked so soft, the urge to just run his hands over it stirred up in his chest. Sucking in his breath as a tingling feeling shot down his core, making his dick twitch excitedly in the confinements of his sweatpants. “Do you need help, noona?” He asked, trying to sound casual as he walked up behind her. “Oh, Kookie! Yes, please. I can’t reach the candy.” She didn’t back away when he leaned closer to grab the plastic bag.  Still, on her toes, he felt his semi-hard dick press against her butt. He wanted to curse himself; now she would think he was a pervert shamelessly pressing his member against her. Preparing himself mentally for her to turn around and slap him, he closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable blow that never came. She didn’t move, she was holding still - her perfume clouding his senses; making him feel light-headed. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if she actually leaned back against him, her body so close to his that he didn’t dare to move even an inch. Yet a little voice was screaming in his head to just rub up against her, getting the friction he wanted so badly.

“Jungkook-ah the jellies.” She sounded flustered as her hands held on tightly to the shelf, turning her knuckles white from the pressure. “Oh yes, sorry.” He shakily exhaled, his fingers fished the small bag off the shelf when she turned around, still trapped between his body and cupboard. Both of their cheeks tinted in a pinkish hue, his eyes followed hers as they rested on the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. The uncomfortable silence drowned everything out as he watched her lick her lips, eyes still fixated on his crotch when suddenly the loud plopping of the popcorn maker made them move away from each other. He didn’t know what to say to her or if he should say anything at all; embarrassment flooding his mind that he wasn’t able to control himself. “I’ll go give Taehyung his jellies.” “Jungkook, hey.” Jimin waved his hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening?” Startled by the sudden movements of his brother, he flinched. “Sorry…” “When did it all start?” His older brother repeated the question, but he had a difficult time focusing, every memory in his head started to blur and fade away as he tried to remember anything that had happened. He didn’t want to tell them what he did with y/n or when. Guilt and shame crashing down on him for committing the ultimate betrayal towards the girl that loved him with her whole heart and that he had stopped loving months ago. “I-…when we had our last concert.” “What? When? I was there, I didn’t see anything.” Jimin wrecked his brain but the memory of that night was hazy; blaming the amount alcohol he had consumed that night. “Nobody saw…it was just me and her…” “When? At the Arena? We were all there…” Jungkook took a deep breath, closing his eyes to prepare himself. He didn't want them to know but he knew they wouldn’t stop prodding him with questions until they got answers from him. “It was when we went to that restaurant to celebrate..” He trailed off, clutching the hem of his sweatshirt tightly between his fingers. “Where? When I got there you were nowhere to be found…” Ha-na’s mouth fell open when the realization set in that the two of them must have wandered off somewhere to be alone.  “It’s a long story...”  “By all means go ahead, we have all the time in the world.” The girl crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in the chair.  Jungkook was tired but the high of performing was still fueling his body. It had been their last show of the tour in Seoul and he had exhausted himself; wanting to give the fans a night they would never forget. Y/n was sitting next to him at the table in the restaurant the staff had rented to celebrate the end of a successful tour, but she was not paying much attention to him to his dismay. She kept talking to Taehyung who sat across from her; telling him how amazing he had been on stage. Jungkook felt jealousy gnawing at his heart, a part of him had put even more effort into every single dance move, into every single note he sang to impress her but she didn’t acknowledge it. Her eyes only set on her best friend, showering him in praise and compliments. What would he have to do to get her attention - to get just one compliment? “Are you not going to drink?” Taehyung asked as the restaurant staff was serving beers and other various alcoholic drinks. “No, I have that job interview for that restaurant tomorrow. I can’t fuck it up, my brother is getting mad that I still don’t have a job.” At that moment he decided he wasn’t going to drink either, although he really wanted to as a reward for finishing the tour healthily and successfully but he also wanted to remember every moment he spent with her. Although the prospect of alcohol lending him some confidence was enticing, he just couldn’t risk making a wrong move. Ever since the incident in the kitchen three weeks ago, he had noticed small changes in her behavior. He had been so scared to even look at her in the beginning, scared that she would think he was disgusting but things had been different. One afternoon, she had watched them practice and he could have sworn that her eyes had been glued to him - eating him up, she had watched his every move - clapping loudly after he finished practicing his solo stage. Every time she walked past him, she would find a way to slightly brush against him, whether it was their arms or their hands touching. He was craving her attention and each day that passed without getting any felt like a day not worth remembering; but just one smile from her could turn his whole day upside down, setting the abundance of butterflies in motion in his stomach. “Hey, can you pass the Kimchi?” Namjoon muttered while stuffing some meat into his mouth. In unison, they both moved their hands to the small bowl to hand it to the leader; her soft fingers brushed against his, making them both pull away hastily, almost knocking over their glasses. Jungkook felt his ears getting hot as he let out a nervous chuckle, her eyes glued to her plate to avoid looking at him or anyone for that matter. “What’s with you two?” Taehyung grabbed the bowl, handing it over to the other side of the table. “Nothing.” He mumbled, and honestly, there was nothing - nothing worth mentioning that he could add to the list in his mind of all the small touches and smiles. A part of him was still unsure whether he was just wanting to believe that all those things were happening on purpose or if he just wanted it so badly that his mind tricked him into believing they were real. But there was no denying that there was something between them that was like an ominous cloud hovering above their heads ever since that one night. Maybe he was imagining it, but whenever they were close to each other, there was an electricity in the air that no one else could sense.  

Everyone was laughing and chatting loudly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere in the room, telling tour stories and already throwing around ideas for the next one, wanting to make it even bigger and better. From the corner of his eyes, he watched her put the chopsticks down and reach for her cola lifting it to her lips; he loved her lips, they always looked so smooth and plump - perfect to steal a kiss or two. “You were really good tonight.” She said quietly, turning her head ever so slightly in his direction. His heartbeat started to pick up; if he was a puppy he would be wagging his tail like crazy at her words. “You think? Thank you.” He beamed, bowing his head a little, warmth spreading through his body as he finally was rewarded with the compliment he had longed to hear. “Yes, you know how to move your body really well.” Letting out a staggered breath, he didn’t know how to answer. Was she just complimenting his dancing or was there a hidden meaning behind her words? Adjusting her body to face him a little more; Jungkook bit down on his tongue. The mounds of her breasts peeking out of the white skintight dress, evoking the urge in him to just bury his face between them. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Thank you, I just enjoy dancing a lot.” “Hmm, I can tell.” Her finger traced the rim of her glass as she pressed her thigh against his, mentally adding this small gesture to his list. It had been an hour of him watching her across the room after the members had decided to thank the staff for their hard work and making dreams come true over the past weeks and months. Everyone was deep in conversation, downing alcohol and laughing loudly when he spotted her putting on her denim jacket. Without thinking, he quickly made his way over to her; he couldn’t let her leave just yet, it was too early - he had not spent enough time with her. “You’re not leaving, are you?” He inquired, setting down his glass on the table. “Oh no, I just wanted to get some fresh air.” “I’ll go with you.” He grabbed his jacket and followed her outside, no one noticing that they were leaving. “Do you want to walk for a bit?” He nodded, walking closely behind her as she stretched her arms out. “I love being outside this late, it’s so quiet and peaceful but it such a shame that you can’t see the stars in Seoul.” “I know, but it was the same back home…not that I remember it that much.” She turned around under a streetlight, eyeing him carefully; giving him the time to admire her features, how the smile that was playing on her lips reached her eyes first and how she so effortlessly brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t you miss being with your family?” “I do but I also have a family here which makes it a lot easier but I got really homesick in the beginning.” She nodded, finally letting him catch up with her. “I noticed that all of you are really close and I’m so glad you’re taking care of each other and I’m so thankful that you’re looking after Taehyung for me.” He hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it’s great. They’re all really like brothers to me.” For a split second the backs of their hands brushed against each other. “I’m sure Tae is happy that you’re here, it’s like a piece from home, you know?” She chuckled, taking a few steps to get ahead of him again, then turning around, walking backward to look at him. “Did you hear him say it? Because he said that to me the other day.” Huffing under his breath, he tilted his head a little. “No, it’s just how I feel when I’m around y-“ His last words were drowned out by two guys yelling at them to stop from across the street, making y/n direct her attention to them as they crossed the road; both reeking of booze and smoke when they were getting closer. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” The shorter one slurred, clearly intoxicated judging by the almost empty Soju bottle in his hand. “I’m not by myself.” Both of the men eyed him from head to toe before bursting into laughter. “You’re with that big baby?” She didn’t respond, shying away from them to get some space between them. “Come get a drink with us! We’ll show you a good time.” The taller one, whose hair was styled similarly to Jimin’s, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Jealousy pumping through his veins as the two men tried forcing her to walk with them. “No, thank you.” Crudely she pushed his arm away, ducking her head to get away from them. “Oh, so you’d rather be with the softy over there?” He sneered, shooting Jungkook a withering look that got his blood boiling. Sure, he maybe he didn’t look that manly in his big grey sweater but he could pack a punch or two if he had to. “Come on, we would be willing to share you!” The sly grin on the guy's face made something snap inside him; he grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him. “Back off, she’s with me.” Waiting for one of them to make a snide remark or to come at him; he eyed their every move.  “Hyung, is the little mommy’s boy trying to fight us?”  Jungkook’s free hand was balled into a fist, his nails digging into the palm of his hand.  “Ah, some sluts are just not worth it. Let’s go!” They turned to leave, snickering disparagingly.  He took a step forward while she desperately tried pulling him back but he was too strong to even notice her attempt. “Kook, no.” She whispered, her fingers tightening around his hand. 

“Say that again, I dare you!” His voice was deeper than before, no one would insult her like that when he was around. “So, you really want to fight?” The shorter one turned around, crooking an eyebrow at Jungkook. Her other hand clutched the back of his jacket as he tried to take another step. “Kook-ah, no! Please.” She whined, pulling him back with much more force than before. “Listen to your girlfriend.” A breath got caught in his throat…g-girlfriend- if only she was. Jungkook’s chest was rising and falling quickly as he watched the men leave in the opposite direction. His arm was shaking when he stretched his hand; not able to fully grasp that he had been willing to fight two drunk guys for her. Unsure if he would have been able to actually go through with it if he had to; play fighting with his brothers was different from actually hitting a stranger. When she let go of his jacket it was like he came back to his senses; he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Holding her hand felt amazing; the way their fingers laced together so perfectly seemed like a match made in heaven. A nervous feeling stretched out in his chest, sweat beginning to form underneath his bangs, his hands getting clammy - now that they were alone again she would let go of his hand soon. They watched as the men entered some bar further down the street, just to make sure they weren’t going to bother them anymore. “Thank you so much, you didn’t have to stand up for me.” She smiled up at him and it was like all the anger and jealousy that had consumed him evaporated into thin air instantly. The smile on her face disappeared, her lips were slightly agape as she stared into his eyes; Jungkook felt like he was drowning in them and he didn’t care, hoping that this moment would last forever. She didn’t let go of his hand when she got on her toes, her face getting closer every time he blinked when suddenly her soft, warm lips pressed on his. He couldn’t even close his eyes to fully enjoy the feeling of his insides dancing happily when she pulled away again. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, I know you have a girlfr-“ She stuttered, cheeks burning red and without warning, he let go of her hand to cup her face reconnecting their lips. “You kissed her back? Are you fucking serious?” Ha-na whisper yelled when the youngest finished his recollection of their first kiss, hanging his head in shame, nodding ever so slightly. “I know it was stupid but I was so happy that she liked me that I just threw caution to the wind. It was my only chance and I couldn’t pass it up.” “You have a girlfriend, you should’ve passed it up.” “Jungkook-ah, what happened then?” Jimin asked cautiously, as he sat down on the table. “We just started sneaking off to kiss whenever she was over.” Ha-na groaned. “Why didn’t you wait until you broke up with Yina?” Jungkook nervously tapped his fingers on his knee. “I don’t know, I was scared. I liked y/n so much and it’s so hard for me to say no to her. I didn’t want to hurt Yina and I knew she would be mad if I started seeing someone else right away like I just replaced her.” “And you thought that sleeping with another girl behind her back for months and falling in love with her wouldn’t be much worse than just breaking up with her right when it happened?” He gulped down the big lump in his throat, knowing that she was right but he couldn’t explain his thought process back then; he had never been good at explaining his feelings. He never wanted to hurt anyone, always wanting please the people around him. And he thought that maybe if he waited just long enough, Yina would break up with him or it would get easier, but it never did. “Listen, love is weird and falling in love with y/n is okay but you shouldn’t have strung Yina along for as long as you have.” His older brother eyed him carefully as he began pinching the denim of his jeans in between his index finger and thumb. “I know that.” He snapped, looking at both of them with wide eyes that were burning from holding back tears. “It’s disgusting and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you the same. You’re doing the worst thing you could possibly do to Yina and you seem perfectly fine with it. Why is that? Don’t you have one ounce of decency in your body, Jungkook? You used to love her, you owe her to be honest with her and not fuck her over like that! Do you know how humiliating it must be for her? You’re fucking another girl behind her back and now we know before her. You’re just a sad little boy who has no conscience whatsoever.” “Ha-na, calm down.” Jimin rested his hand on her shoulder but she just shrugged it off. “No! He deserves to know what a shitty person he is for cheating and lying. Don’t protect him! Don’t baby him! He made that decision all on his own. He decided it would be okay if he got his dick wet somewhere else for months!” Jungkook wanted to run away; he couldn’t stand being in this room any longer. He didn’t want to listen to them list all of his mistakes and that he was a terrible person; he knew that. He had known it ever since it all started but the longer he waited the harder it had gotten. “Don’t you ever think about how bad it must be for y/n as well? You say you love her but if you did, you wouldn’t hide her.” His heart contracted painfully in his chest, getting flashbacks from the night where she had cried so much that he wasn’t her boyfriend. Quickly he wiped away the tears that were spilling from his eyes. “Oh, now he feels bad when it’s about y/n.” Ha-na rolled her eyes. “You’re playing both of them! You have to make up your goddamn mind and man up!” “Don’t you think I’ve been trying to do that? I know, I fucked up! I’m not stupid but it’s so hard and scary.” His voice was firm in the beginning but slowly got quieter until it broke, not caring about the tears rolling down his face. “I know, I’m hurting both of them but every time I try to break up with Yina…I just can’t.” His lips were trembling when he felt Jimin’s hand on his knee trying to comfort him. “I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to make her cry.” He blubbered, as crystalline tears dropped onto his sweater.  “You are hurting her, even more, the longer you wait!” “I know! It’s twisted but she was my first girlfriend and ending it like that…I just can’t.” Ha-na slapped her hands on her thighs before getting up. “I don’t fucking care! If you don’t break up with her by Saturday, I’m going to tell her what you’re doing!” With his pupils blown wide, he stared at the girl in front of him, sternness painted on her face as she pushed her dark bangs from her face. “Please don’t! Ha-na, I’m begging you, don’t do that.” He hid his face in his hands, choked sobs escaping his mouth. She scoffed under her breath. “She’s already suspecting something’s up with you anyway!” “What?” Panic laced his voice when he looked up, he thought, he had been good at hiding his slowly disintegrating feelings for her. “Yes, she told me you’ve been cold and distant. Jungkook, it’s only a matter of time until she finds out anyway and for your sake, you have to be the one to tell her! Don’t make it worse than it already is! Be the boyfriend she deserves one last time and break up with her because if you don’t, I swear, I’m going to tell her! I can’t stand cheaters and I’m not going to sit back and watch you cause her more pain than you already have!” Slumping back in his chair, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He knew she was right, he owed Yina that much; she had been his first for everything and he had to be the one to tell her, not Ha-na, not Jimin - it was his responsibility. There was no way around it, he would have to break her heart even if he didn’t want to. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be here for you, Kookie! I know you can do it. I know you will do the right thing.” His older brother’s voice was soft, his hand giving his knee a light squeeze for encouragement. The clicking of Ha-na’s tongue made both boys look at her. “You have two days, Jungkook! Don’t forget! I don’t want any excuses!” The dark-haired boy nodded, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “I-I’ll do it. I promise.” “Don’t you dare do it over text! Be a man and look her in the eyes.” It felt like his trachea was tied in knots making it hard to breathe. How was he going to be a man when he felt like a puppy that had been kicked to the curb? His phone vibrated and he instantly pulled it from his pocket. “It’s y/n.” He whispered, looking at the picture of her on the display. “Are her whore of Babylon senses tingling?” “Ha-na, come on. Don’t be mean.” Jimin muttered, earning a sarcastic laugh from her. “You were the one who was upset that she sent him nudes.” Jungkook looked at Jimin, his face was contorted in a shocked grimace. “I know but I didn’t know how much he loved her then.” He gestured towards his little brother. “I don’t condone it but I think he knows he fucked up.” “Oh, shut up! She’s just as bad of a person as he is! She knew he had a girlfriend, yet she still made a move on him. They’re both disgusting liars.” Without thinking Jungkook jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk about y/n like that! I love her, she’s my whole world! You can yell at me all you want, but don’t be mean to her!” “Unbelievable! You two deserve each other.” Ha-na scrambled to get her laptop and headed for the door. “Break up with Yina!” For a little while, the two boys sat across each other without saying a word, both emptily staring at the floor. “You really love her, huh?” Jimin inquired, breaking the suffocating silence. Jungkook sighed. “Yes, I know I shouldn’t but it just happened. It is like I can’t function without her, she just understands me and always has my back.” He licked his lips, before sucking in a deep breath. “I know she’s hurting too because of me and I just want to make her happy.” “You’re not a bad person, despite what Ha-na said. We all make mistakes and this is just a really big one but it’s not too late to do the right thing.” “Please don’t tell the others, I don’t want them to hate me.” “I won’t, just do what Ha-na said, please.” Jimin got up to ruffle his hair. “It’s gonna suck but you have a good heart, Jungkook-ah. I know you have it in you to go through with it.” “I promise, I will.” He mumbled, watching as his older brother left the room and a staff member entered, making him get up immediately as his phone vibrated in his hand again. Sprinting out into the hallway when her name flashed on the screen. “Kookie.” She sounded worried when he lifted the phone to his ear. Simply hearing her voice relaxed him, for the past hour he had been so tense that it made him feel nauseous. “Hey.” He breathed, looking up and down the hallway to check if he was alone. “I don’t have much time, my break is almost over. How did it go? Is everything okay?” For a second, he considered not telling her, not wanting to worry her even more. “Jimin and Ha-na know about us.” Her gasp sent shivers down his spine. “What? How? Oh my god, no. We were so careful.” Her panicked tone made him feel even sicker than he already was; a small reminder of what he had to do. “Don’t worry, they won’t tell anyone.” A lie; she wouldn’t be able to get through her shift if he told her the truth.  * Yina readjusted her bag on her shoulder, trying to keep it from sliding down her arm as she was carrying the paper bag with the cookies down to the dance studio. She was well aware of the fact that her boyfriend didn’t like it when she showed up announced but the freshly baked cookies from the little French bakery left her no choice. Ha-na was right, this was just a rough patch in their relationship and surely, Jungkook would come around. Maybe she just had to work a little harder to show him that she cared. She passed by Yoongi’s studio, her ears picking up a muted beat through the closed door; making her feel better knowing that they were actually here and she wouldn’t have to waste those cookies on her coworkers. As she turned the corner, she instantly spotted Jungkook a little further down the hallway, he was on the phone pacing up and down. Normally, she would just walk up to him and wait for him to end the call but something inside her made her stop when he spoke in a hushed voice, hiding behind the protruding part of the wall that separated the ladies from the men's bathroom. “You really don’t have to worry!” He sounded nervous. “Everything’s okay.” She leaned against the wall, careful not to make any noise that would give away that she was there. But his next words made the blood in her veins freeze, a tight feeling spreading in her chest. “Okay, call me after work. I miss you too, baby.” Her eyes were tearing up as her free hand flew to her mouth, pressing harshly against her lips to stop the sob that was threatening to force its way out of her. Like a statue, she stood there, blinking furiously to hinder the tears from spilling; Jungkook’s warm laugh felt like a punch to her stomach, making her feel like she was about to throw up. “Stop it! Go back to work.” Until now, she had never even considered that this was the reason why it had felt like he had been slipping through her fingers, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto him. “I love you too, noona.” Jungkook, her Jungkook, was cheating on her; the boy who had won her heart by storm, the boy who was always so sweet and considerate, the one she loved with all her heart, was telling another girl that he loved her. 

Her manicured nails dug into her skin, trying to shift the pain she felt to a physical one that she could bear because her heart was breaking; feeling like that with every breath she took a part of it chipped away that could never be replaced. She had to get out, she couldn’t stand being here, she wanted to run as far away as possible until she couldn’t feel her legs anymore.  As she walked back towards Yoongi’s studio, she heard footsteps behind her. “Yina! Hey!” She stood still, closing her eyes making tears drip down her cheeks. Quickly she wiped them away; she had to be strong, she wasn’t going to break down, not now and she put on her best fake smile before turning around. Jungkook was walking towards her, shoving his phone into his pocket. “What are you doing here?” For the first time in months, he didn’t sound like he was unhappy to see her. “I just brought you cookies. I didn’t want to bother you, so I was just going to leave them by your studio door.” “That’s very sweet of you, thank you.” He smiled, showing just a hint of his bunny teeth as he leaned in closer, pressing his lips to her cheek. It took everything from her not to push him away; the lips that once made her fly had lost their wings.